Ashes of Iris

by Stephanie Poscente

  Chapter 12

  The sound of silverware scraping porcelain dishes filled the large dining hall, almost drowning out the low buzz of conversation. Two large tables were adorned with flowered centerpieces and flickering tea-lights. The wedding party and family sat around one, while the guests who were lucky enough to be residing in the castle flanked the other.

  Sophie sat, crushed between Aunt Marilyn and a man whose name she thought was Phillip. He babbled on about Brian and their ongoing friendship. She had tuned him out earlier, though he seemed not to have noticed. Her sister and parents were around the opposite side, paying little attention to anyone but themselves. They were speaking animatedly together, Brian joining them, and Sophie sighed as she poked at the cold chicken on her plate with the fork prongs.

  Another few minutes passed and the hum of conversation was broken by the harsh sound of a knife being thrust against the side of a wine glass. Carol stood, her face alight with pleasure, looking down at Katie and Brian.

  “I would like to start the toasts,” she said. “As mother of the bride, I think it is my official duty to keep things rolling. You know how it can get at weddings.”

  She paused while an awkward titter went through her small audience.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming so far to be with us, I know most of you can more than afford it,” she winked and Sophie cringed. “Tomorrow is the day my daughter will walk down the aisle, saying goodbye to her adolescence and starting her new life. I simply cannot express how proud I am. To say that it will be the best day of my life would be an understatement. I have been waiting for this since Katie was a tiny baby, probably even before that.”

  She paused, wiping a tear from her eye. Sophie shook her head, glancing around. Some of her neighbors were whispering to each other, while others kept their gazes locked on Carol. Emotions ranging from amusement to rapture were plastered on their faces. Some heads bobbed in agreement, while others remained tilted toward the abundant piles of food on their plates.

  “Now,” Carol raised her glass, “I would like to toast my beautiful daughter. May your wedding be the most wonderful experience of your life, because you deserve the best of everything.”

  “Cheers,” the word echoed through the room, followed by the soft trill of bumping glass.

  Sophie tapped the rim of her glass with Aunt Marilyn's and took a sip, noticing that Wilton sat at the next table, facing her. He caught her eye as she looked at him, raising his glass in the air with a nod and a wink. She smiled in response, turning her attention back to her parents as her father stood, his posture suggesting he may have had too much wine.

  “Kate,” he slurred, pointing the mouth of his glass at his daughter, the wine inside sloshing dangerously near its edge. She let out a shrill giggle and leaned away, pressing her back into Brian's chest. “I'm so proud of you, honey. You've got a great man, there. A great man. I hope you two have a long, happy life together. Don't make the same mistakes I did,” he swayed, blinking furiously.

  “Oh, Dad,” Katie gave him a half-smile.

  “No, I mean it,” the volume of his voice increased as he spoke. “Be careful. Life goes by so fast, you need to cherish every moment. Don't let the little things pile up, or you'll regret it. Enjoy each other, but don't forget about your family,” he paused, and Sophie watched as his eyes shifted to her. He shook his head slowly, a deep sigh heaving through his chest and shoulders. “You will regret it.”

  Carol slapped his arm then, rolling her eyes at the guests.

  “Wine does this to him,” she laughed, her own voice slurred, and tugged so fiercely on his sleeve that he toppled backwards into the chair, wine sloshing down his front.

  He did not protest, but dabbed at his shirt and eyes with his napkin, his gaze locked on the table. Carol whispered something into his ear, her blond hair trembling with the force of her harsh breath. She then turned back to the silent guests and raised her glass once more, motioning to the bridesmaids with a wave of her free hand. The girls stood with wide smiles and, in turns, began to reminisce. Sophie leaned her elbow on the table, cradling her chin in her hand, and allowed her eyes to glaze over and her thoughts to wander.

  When the toasts came to an end and everyone was enjoying dessert, Sophie excused herself from the table, tossing her napkin onto her plate and waving away her aunt's concerned look.

  “Need some air,” she whispered, before turning her back and heading for the exit.

  In reality, a shrouded figure had emerged from the corner of the room, near the doorway, and had stood waiting for the duration of the speeches. As she neared him, well aware of several pairs of eyes on her back, Sophie made a small motion with her head to indicate to Fantir they needed to move away from the crowd. He followed as she headed for the patio across from the dining room, but pulled her to a stop before she crossed the threshold. She turned to him with furrowed brows, ready to argue.

  “I cannot go there,” he reminded her quietly.

  Her shoulders sagged, the frustration dissolving instantly, and she nodded once, going instead into an empty sitting room.

  “Is everything alright?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at his sullen expression. He shook his head, bringing his eyes to meet hers.

  “I feel that something is stirring,” he said, so quietly that she had to lean forward to hear him. “I feel it in the air, in my body. I knew her well, once,” his eyes rolled toward the ceiling and Sophie knew he spoke of Ziva, “and I can sense her presence. I can feel her anger. I recall her telling me long ago that a spirit's greatest tool is a living body, a source that might be used as an instrument to directly affect the living world. I fear her intent may be to find one for herself. To find a body to use.”

  “Use,” Sophie repeated. “What does that mean? You can't be talking about some kind of,” she paused, dropping her voice into a whisper, “some kind of possession? Like in the movies?”

  “Her spirit, until now, was silent and mournful. I've been aware of her existence for some time but I knew she was trapped in another plane, so I did not speak of it. Now, however, something has ignited a fire in her,” he eyed Sophie meaningfully, “and she grows stronger with the anger. I feel it in my bones, and I am afraid for you.”

  “Fantir,” her voice was suddenly frantic, “you can't let this happen. She'll hurt my family, the people here. We need to stop her.”

  “I can do nothing,” he said, “for I hold no power in the world of the living. If she is successful in entering a human we can only hope her power will remain with the spirits, that she may walk and speak, but the evil lurking within her will not cross. Though, the human power to murder will inevitably be hers to hold once more.”

  “What would be the point then?” The question seemed comical in light of the circumstances, but Fantir did not smile.

  “Freedom,” he answered. “Vengeance.”

  “How do you know this, Fantir? Have you spoken with her?”

  He shook his head again.

  “She does not speak, but I am connected to her in ways even I do not understand,” he raised an eyebrow. “I have always had the ability to feel her but, since the day she was burned her emotions have been weak, almost undetectable. I almost began to hope her presence was fading entirely, until you arrived,” he broke off.

  “Are we all in danger? Should I warn the others?”

  “I do not know if that is necessary, yet,” he answered. “She feels only for him,” his eyes widened and he tilted his head toward the outside wall. Sophie nodded in understanding.

  Lukas, she thought.

  “His name,” he continued, “his presence, it summons her and she follows. She lurks for no other reason, I believe, but to seek vengeance for her suffering.”

  “Vengeance on who?” Sophie hissed.

  Fantir shrugged and sighed. After a moment of silence, his head whipped to the side and he slunk away, leaving Sophie alone in the shadows. Carol rounded the corner, her steps uneven with drink and
her eyes glassy and wide.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” she demanded, pointing a French-tipped fingernail in Sophie's direction. “Who were you talking to?”

  “Talking? No one. I'm just-”

  “Save it,” her mother spat. “How typical of you to come up with excuses for the obvious. After all I've done for you, you can't even sit through a dinner for your own sister.”

  “Mom, I-”

  “Your sister,” she interrupted, laughing darkly. Sophie felt a surge of apprehension. She heard her father's voice calling from the dining room, but Carol rounded on her, pinning her against the wall with her hands. “You don't even deserve to call her that. For years I have been kicking myself for bringing you into this family. It would have been perfect. Perfect, if not for you.”

  Sophie looked into her mother's fierce eyes, her own filled with confusion, and shook her head.

  “I don't know what you're saying,” she whispered. “You're drunk.”

  “Drunk!” Carol screeched, raising her hand. Sophie flinched at the motion, expecting to feel the sting of her mother's slap on her face, but the pain never came.

  When she opened her eyes again, her mother was looking at her with hatred pooling in her blue eyes. After a moment, she sighed and turned away. Tim sauntered into the room, a half-empty glass in his hand, and froze when he saw the two women. His mouth opened and he raised a hand, stepping forward, but Carol threw her hands up.

  “Don't stick your nose in,” she yelled. “It was you who got us all into this in the first place, Tim, and I've had enough of the bullshit.”

  “Carol,” he said, and Sophie could see his struggle to keep his balance. “Think of what you're doing.”

  “What I'm doing,” she sneered, turning back to her daughter, “is setting the record straight.”

  “Mom,” Sophie began, but the fierce look she received upon speaking the word cut off her breath.

  Carol leaned forward, her eyes narrowed into harsh slits and her breath reeking of red wine and garlic.

  “I've tolerated the word,” she sneered, the words seeping from her lips like venom, “only because I felt guilty. Now, when my dreams are about to come true for my one and only daughter, that guilt is gone. You have never belonged to me. That much I can be proud of. As if someone like me could have ever given birth to this,” she moved her hands through the air, motioning from Sophie's feet to her head.

  Tim stumbled forward, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  “Honey,” he slurred, “don't listen to this. You shouldn't be hearing this.”

  Sophie's heart had turned to ice upon hearing her mother's words, and her father's intoxicated touch did nothing to warm the chill. She pulled her shoulder away, keeping her eyes fixed on Carol's mocking face. When she opened her mouth to speak, no words came, and tears began to well in her eyes.

  “Oh, don't be pathetic,” Carol rolled her eyes. “You abandoned us years ago. Don't pretend to give a shit now. It's a little sad, to be honest.”

  “Is it true?” Sophie turned to her father, her voice hoarse with the effort of speaking. “Dad?”

  The pained expression on his face and his hesitant silence answered her question and she felt as though a blade had pierced her through the stomach, sending burning acid into her veins.

  “I never meant-” he began, but stopped, his shoulders sagging. The remaining wine in his glass tumbled to the floor.

  “Why didn't you tell me?” she whispered, the reality of the news weighing on her like an anchor.

  “Because we didn't want to hurt your feelings,” Carol chided, the sarcasm in her voice deepening Sophie's already festering emotional wounds.

  Brushing the burning tears from her eyes, she turned to her mother slowly. Before she had a moment to speak, Carol sighed loudly, rolling her eyes.

  “We couldn't have a baby,” she said, her voice tired, bored. “That's what they told us. It didn't matter so much to me. I had a life to think of. He,” she motioned to Tim, who was slumped against the wall with his head bowed, “was devastated. So, we decided to adopt. Little did I know what a disaster that would turn out to be.”

  Sophie braced herself against the insult, focusing on the information her mother was giving her.

  “But, Katie,” she said quietly.

  “Katie is all mine,” Carol interrupted proudly. “Five years after we got you, I got pregnant. Infertile, my ass. And when she was born, she was perfect. I knew my life was complete. Except for one tiny problem,” her glare was hard as she looked upon Sophie. “Your father was intent upon raising you both the same, but how could I? On one hand, I had you. Ungrateful, awkward, ugly. On the other, there was this beautiful gift from heaven that I could call my own. I didn't have much choice, did I?”

  “Sophie,” Tim spoke, “please. You have to understand-”

  “No,” Sophie interrupted, the debilitating hurt making her head swim. “I don't understand. How could you? How could you?”

  “How could you,” Carol mocked, the intoxication making her stumble. “Don't get dramatic, now. Tomorrow will be the best day of my life, and you are not going to ruin that. I have half a mind to send you away tonight. After all, this wedding is for family and friends, and you are neither to me.”

  She deserves more than you were ever willing to give her.

  Aunt Marilyn's overheard words floated through Sophie's confused mind, and she suppressed a sob, pushing past Carol's proud shoulders and stumbling into the hall. Wilton stood outside the dining room, an empty cocktail glass in his hand, calling out her name in concern as she flew past, heading for the nearest stairway. Her breath came in painful bursts as she ran to the main floor, looking for a way out. The moonlight cascaded through the windows, silver-white light illuminating the rooms as she passed.

  Only when she heaved the French doors open and tumbled through onto the patio did she feel the hot tears streaming down her face. The cool breeze chilled them against her skin and she let out a loud sob, stumbling forward, desperate to reach the trees.

  Upon breaking through the barrier of thick undergrowth, she continued to run, as best she could, until her sides ached and her breath felt as though it entered her body in shards, piercing her lungs. The first time she stumbled, her palms scraped against the trunk of a wide tree. The second time, a pair of hands grasped her and she fell into them gratefully, sobbing without restraint.

  A hand stroked through her hair while the other held her close, pressing into her back. The comfort she felt at the contact did not startle her, but only made her tears flow with more intensity.

  Lukas did not speak a word, but held her silently as her body shook with the effort of her emotions and her hands grasped the front of his shirt with the likeness of a child clinging to its blankets. They stood together, time passing slowly, until her racking sobs slowed, leaving behind soft hiccoughs and silently flowing tears. It was not until his hand moved from her hair to brush away the tears from her cheek that she pulled away.

  “I'm sorry,” she murmured.

  He shook his head without a word, his face blank but his eyes deep and sad.

  “I didn't know where to go,” she continued, small sobs breaking off her words as she spoke. “I-”

  “It's alright,” he cut her off. She took a deep breath, resting her forehead against his tear-stained shirt and closed her eyes. The musky scent of his skin overwhelmed her and her face contracted against the onslaught of emotion.

  “What do I do now?” she whispered, fresh tears tumbling from the end of her nose.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  Sophie shook her head against his chest and sniffed loudly. He let out a soft sigh, rubbing his hands along the length of her arms.

  “It was horrible,” she said, not daring to pull away and look into his face. “I don't want to repeat it.”

  “I can't help you if I don't know.” The simplicity of the statement sobered her and she stood straight, wiping at her cheeks
with her fingers.

  “You can't help me anyway,” she said quietly. “Not with this.”

  “I could try,” he replied, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. “Did something happen with the man from town?”

  His voice was even, but Sophie could hear the strain behind the question. She shook her head, keeping her hands planted against his chest. He did not pull away from the contact, though she half expected him to.

  “No,” she said. “Nothing.”

  “With your sister?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Why did you come to me?” his voice was still quiet, but frustration was beginning to color his tone.

  “I don't know,” she whispered. “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “You had solitude,” he said. “It would have been better suited to your desire for silence.”

  “Are you angry?” she stepped away, letting her hands drop.

  “Of course not. I only want to be sure you are alright. Are you?”

  Her eyebrows furrowed as Sophie held back the tears that rushed to the surface. Her lips pressed together in a firm line. Lukas cocked his head, keeping his eyes locked on hers and waited for her to speak. She sucked in a breath and, as her eyes released their pools of tears, she began to recount her mother's words.

  He watched her speak with no expression. There was a distance in his eyes when her voice cracked with emotion, but she did not pay attention. The ache of recounting the incident was intense, searing through her chest, spreading down her arms and encompassing every thought. Had she been on fire, it would have added little to the pain of that moment. Pausing to take a shaking breath, Sophie glanced up to his face. She had all but forgotten his presence, ensconced in her own words, and he maintained a stiff silence while she spoke. His eyes searched her face, the distance fading until she could see a spark of sympathy deep within them.