by S. M. McCoy
“That sounds so sad. You don’t remember anything about my mother, or her mother before her?” I could see the pain in Aislin’s eyes like there was a hole from her life missing, a piece of her heart torn away each time. A phantom limb of her existence tingling within her insides reminding her that she wasn’t whole.
A weak smile spread over her lips to console me. “I can feel deep inside me that I loved your mother, but I have this fear more than losing a memory that without the ring I will lose you before I could help you fulfill your destiny. All of my memories are not gone—they are stored—and I know that before this generation I had access to more spells. Every generation I’m supposed to take your ancestry to the astral plane to train, but my memory of how to get there isn’t triggered without the ring.”
Before now I had a very different destiny in front of me. I would have been training with a supernatural witch to hunt down the very people on whom we were now relying to help us. Funny how things like that worked out, I smirked to myself before opening up the trunk held closed with a bungy cord and some rope. I opened the garment bag and laughed out loud at what I saw as our options to go to a wedding.
“Well, in that case we are in the right spot,” I called back to Aislin still sitting distressed in the car. “The Dragon said we’d find the ring.”
Aislin pushed herself out of the car and joined me staring into the open trunk while laughing under my breath. I shook my head and pressed my lips together. She was going to get her wish, we were going to wear black to a wedding.
“So black dresses it is.” She smiled like a fantasy of hers was coming true.
I pulled out two dresses of black flowing fabric with sparkling sheer overlay. Climbing into the back wire framed seats covered in duct-taped pillows, I tossed a dress to Aislin. She held the cloth securely in her hands and looked at it with excitement.
“We can use the white dresses if you insist.” The garment bag also contained two white dressed, but they were rhythm dresses, short cut and completely bedazzled in Swarovski crystals.
She looked back at me and smiled. “What? And out show the bride, I think not.” She winked and resumed her solemn expression of remembering why we were there. Aislin seemed to stare into space in silence while she held on to the dress unmoving. It made me think something else was bothering her.
“Would you rather wear my dress?”
The strange thing about friendships was sometimes the best way to get information was by sticking with the topic that was irrelevant and remaining oblivious until they wanted to share the information. Sometimes it was sooner or sometimes it was later…
She’d better spill sooner than later.
“No, mine is fine,” she finally responded, devoid of tone.
Finally, she opened the door, but left the dress on the seat.
“Aislin?”
“Something is wrong. This feels wrong.” Her hand swiped through the air in a pattern and her eyes closed like she was communing with nature.
“The wedding? The place?” I tried to clarify. I got out of the car to join her. Looking into her eyes, they were hazy as she reached into the pocket of her jacket to remove a glowing quartz.
It was a transparent blue as she clutched it in her hands, it looked like one moment it was glowing like the sky above us then fading to nearly invisible.
“Aislin?” I asked, concerned.
“What color is it?” she asked quickly.
“Blue,” I answered, wondering why she couldn’t see the color herself.
“Communication…” She opened her eyes like she was in pain, squinting.
“What do you mean?” I grabbed her shoulders, half to urge her and half to keep her steady.
“It’s a feeling; it doesn’t seem right.” Whispering, she then moved toward the garden.
Give me your hand…
I could hear it. That voice again.
Damien… He was here; I knew he was. Then what about…
“Did you hear that? Aislin…”
The quartz in her hand faded and maintained a light blue hue and she stopped where she stood. I followed her gaze and saw a young man lying tousled among the flowers. His dark complexion making him clearly visible against the light pastel colors around him.
“I don’t believe napping in the flowers is something he had intended to do…” Aislin went to nudge him and the sun glinted off a freshly wiped tear that fell down her cheek. Something was very wrong.
“Is he okay?” I questioned and moved forward to get a better look.
“He is quite fabulous, really. But heavens, you’ll never get into the party with those clothes, mademoiselles. Lilac is the new black for this gathering though weddings are truly depressing sometimes. Some are just not meant to be.” She smirked.
Clapping her hands off to the side like a mistress summoning her servant, the gentleman eased from the flowers like a puppet dangling from its strings. Just moments before he wouldn’t even move from Aislin’s foot pressing on him.
“Now look what you’ve done, dear garçon. The pedals are dreary, and you’ve made quite the impression on the flower bed and dare say the flowers standing before you now. For shame.”
As she blinked, her long lashes sparkled bringing attention to her brilliant silver eyes. Wearing a satin camisole off-the-shoulder gown with a sheer train cascading down the back, she could outshine any bride. Not a hair of her silky honey colored locks was out of place. Perfect, like the house and like the evenly cut grass she fit right in to the picturesque scene before me.
Her arm wrapped around his and they walked toward the mansion. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder, giving a little nod to signal for us to follow her. I felt uneasy about following someone into the mansion that we didn’t know. I kept thinking that she could be leading us to security for trespassing.
“No dawdling, darlings; the party will most surely start soon. Chop, chop.”
I felt compelled to walk in her footsteps and to do what she asked. Not because I wanted to and not because she was overly kind in her assertions, but because she wanted it. She was blunt in her opinion of our attire and seemed completely used to people doing as she pleased without so much more than a glance or a gesture. I supposed the hesitation on our part for not following immediately to follow had tried her short thread of patience, but she hid her astonishment at our resistance well.
What type of life had she lived that she gathered people around her like birds to a feeder? Or maybe my first impression of her was too harsh and judgmental.
“Are you here on the bride or the groom’s side?” Aislin casually asked.
“Oh, how silly, my pet. I am from neither, for I hardly know them, but that won’t be the case for long. I get to know everyone, and they will know me, as if they’ve known me for centuries. Such will be the case for you as well, is it not? You come to make friends, yes? Oh, I will show you many fabulous people; they will most surely be your friends. But heavens, it will not happen wearing that. But no worries, mademoiselles, that bridge will be tethered appropriately soon, I dare say.” She hustled us inside past the guest list and into the west parlor.
She released the man’s arm to stand in front of a tall mirror on the wall to admire herself in the reflection. The mirror ornately designed with metal vines and flowers about its frame. It was rustic, very worn with some cracked thin metal leaves like it had survived a torrent of water or aged from neglect. Her eyes shifted from herself to both Aislin and me in the image; her expression changed from amused to distressed, and then looked back at us once more with a tense smile.
“Yes, of course. Dresses. Garçon go stroll around, will you.” She shooed him away with a look and he sluggishly complied by stepping outside the parlor one lazy foot at a time.
Looking back at the mirror, she ran her finger along the metal artwork of vines and stopped at a prominent flower depicted in full bloom. Pressing it firmly, a click was heard from behind the mirror as if the mere pressure of a finger wa
s straining its already unfortunate structure.
Curious as to why she was intently observing the mirror, I stepped closer for a better look. I noticed on the flower that all of the pedals were chipped but I was unsure as to whether it was an artistic decision or more sign of the wear and tear.
“It is quite a glorious dress, is it not? Do not fret, my pet, there are others to choose from,” she said as she looked at my intent gaze at the mirror.
Feeling suddenly uneasy at her discovering my examination and mistaking it for admiring her, I stepped back next to Aislin, who seemed to be just as intent at surveying (or scrutinizing might be a better choice of words) the lady as I was with the mirror.
Very quickly she twisted the flower one direction then the next and back again as if intent on twisting the metal to its breaking point.
“A lock,” Aislin whispered to me.
“Yes, quite. Can’t have everyone raiding through my wardrobe now can we?”
Click.
Pushing the mirror to the side like a sliding door the opening in the wall revealed a rod filled from end to end with elaborate outfits with a shelf above them stacked with matching hats.
“Hidden closet? You live here? Do you often treat strangers to your secret wardrobe?” I couldn’t hold my tongue for an explanation, so my words were blunt and fell out like sauce slapped on a Sloppy Joe. No preparations, just add water and voilà, there it was, my words in a raw unfinished form spilling from my mouth. Questioning the existence of real meat, meat being the answers and whether or not I’ve asked the right thing.
“Goodness, are you a stranger?” She smirked at me and pulled on the tasseled rope beside the clothes and the rod moved to the left revealing more clothes and a new shelf full of accessories. There were evening gowns of various fabrics and colors with sparkling jewels of different stones and shapes to compliment them.
This lady had avoided the question by asking another question that acknowledged me but answered nothing. Was she the one I was looking for? The Shifter?
“Do you know Damien?”
Thumbing through the dresses, she lingered on a violet off the shoulder with princess cut sleeves and a sequined bodice. A piece of sheer lace pinned from the shoulder blade dropping loosely to its counter point on the wrist creating a wistful and distinguished look.
“It may be a bit on the older fashion, but I am told old is now new.” She unlatched it from the rod and held it up to Aislin’s body. “Parfait!” Giggling, she tossed it at Aislin and resumed perusing the dresses.
Aislin caught the dress in her arms before it dropped to the floor then felt the fabric between her fingers, smiling.
“So soft,” she whispered to herself.
“Of course, it is pure silk with illusion sleeves truly delectable to the touch, is it not? Don’t just touch it, put it on. Feel it.” She then pulled another dress from a hanger: a medium purple with chiffon flutter sleeves, a ribbed corset bodice, and a mermaid-cut bottom with brilliant bead work. It was gorgeous. Simple and elegant, yet elaborate with detail missed by only a quick glance. “This is a lighter dress, a silk-rayon layered and sleeved with chiffon. Art in fabric. Belle, lovely.”
Handing me the dress she then looked at Aislin as she pursed her lips in what looked like dissatisfaction.
“Are you not dressed yet?”
Aislin cocked her head to the side in amazement to her question. I could only imagine she was thinking the same thing I was. Of course she wasn’t dressed yet, did it look like the dress was on? It had been less than a minute of her time perusing the dresses for the one in my hand that she turned to Aislin who still happened to be holding the dress, perhaps still astonished at the lady’s abruptness.
She acted as if we’d known her for years and we didn’t even know her name. I was not sure if I could hold my words for long. I believed it was time for some answers on her part; to wash off some of the dust hazing our understanding of the situation.
“Miss… Miss…” Aislin looked off to the side, pretending to recall a name to prompt an introduction.
“So forgetful, no worries. I find that if you visualize the face as you say the name it tends to roll off the tongue easier. So, visualize and say my name a couple of times and poof, it’s a memory saver. Miss Cerise—but we are way past formalities, aren’t we?—so call me Cerise.” Pausing, she looked over at me then back at Aislin and waved her hand side to side impatiently. “Dress, dress.”
Her attention drifted back to the closet and she took a hook that was hanging on the inside of the wall and used it to latch a pair of shoes by the strap and lifted them from the floor. She observed them like a night owl watching for field mice, intently scrutinizing the color, shape, and glam of every nook on, around, and within the shoe.
They were remarkable shoes, a pair of pumps that looked like a flower. The heel transformed into the light purple petals with silver leaves enveloping the bottom of the petals down the heel and the pump turned into the stem. The vines of the leaves connected from both sides of the heel down to the pedal strap across the toe of the shoe.
Cerise smirked at them and placed them on the floor beside her with the hook. I’d seen the hooks used in retail stores to enable the clerk to reach the clothing on the top shelf. But I’d never seen them used to lift objects from the floor or place objects on the floor to prevent the daunting task of bending over or squatting. But when you’re wearing designer dresses it’s probably a precaution to avoid unnecessary wear and tear. Then again if you can’t bend, how does one sit?
Aislin was almost dressed and I only had the time it took Cerise to find another pair of shoes to finish getting dressed before she became bored with what she was doing and wanted to move on to something else.
“Have you lived here long?” Aislin held her quartz and maintained her distance from Cerise.
“Of course, of course.” She hooked another pair of shoes and tossed them in Aislin’s direction without taking a keen interest in admiring them, a plain pair of violet pumps with some bead and sequin work. Her choice seemed fueled by annoyance then she replaced the hook on the inside wall and slid the mirror back in place.
“I feel like someone is in pain,” Aislin softly said to herself and looked intently at the mirror, or beyond it, like she was zoning out.
“Darling, everyone is in pain during a wedding. But luckily we don’t have to join that particular party. Being as we have no ties to the family or the stress, we are left with the enjoyment of the music, dancing, and the admiring. Admiration, of course, of our fabulous dresses.” She looked in the mirror first at herself then to the reflection of Aislin. “Goodness, take that hideous thing off. That doesn’t mesh with the softness of the dress.”
Aislin continued to touch her crystal necklace with her fingers and raised her eyebrow at Cerise.
“There are some things a person can’t sacrifice for fashion.” Aislin smiled, trying not to insult our ticket into the wedding.
“Well this is one thing a person should and will for the sake of humanity. It’s not the proper accessory for chiffon and silk, it’s positively sinful. If a choker must be worn it should be of small diamonds or a string of fine pearls. Come now and replace it with these pearls.” She held out her hand, showcasing a small necklace of three strand cream pearls.
“Are we on time for the wedding?” I asked to distract her.
Cerise continued to look at Aislin a moment longer then turned to me and renewed her smile. I couldn’t tell when she was smiling honestly or not, but I could presume this one was fake due to circumstances.
“We really must be getting down to the reception. Come, mademoiselles.” She looked down beside her feet to smile at the shoes then resumed looking at me. “These are for you, dear.” Stepping aside she waited momentarily not long enough for me to react but long enough it was noticeable she was waiting. “Well, put them on, come come.”
As I stepped into the shoes she puttered behind me and placed the pearls around my nec
k.
“Aren’t you quite jolie.” She looked to the side, observing me in the mirror as the tension of the choker of pearls began to feel like their namesake. She released and then turned to exit. “Well, shall we?” Her finger pressed the flower on the mirror again, closing up the hidden closet.
Cerise’s questions, I’d noticed, weren’t questions at all but prompts she expected to be followed. “Will you” meant “you will.” “Isn’t it” meant “it is.” “Aren’t you” meant “you are.” “Shall we” meant “follow.” How far should a person follow someone who was most probably only looking out for number one? How far should I trust?
Cerise walked out the door and we followed, however distantly, we followed.
Aislin stopped to stare at a portrait of a young man in the hall. His hair perfectly smoothed back, not a strand out of place. The eyes were solid and bright, handsome, but no depth that told his story. The background was dark with hints of blue and the only telling thing was his clothes elaborately decorated showing of his class, but looking at him, I knew nothing and felt nothing. Too symmetrical, too perfect, too beautiful to be considered striking or appealing to warrant more than a glance let alone a stare.
But I stared.
Wondering, who was he? Why did someone paint him? Was he happy? How long did he sit in that same spot waiting to be painted?
“Isn’t he simply gorgeous…my pet…”
Her eyes lit up as she looked at him and watched Aislin observe the painting. Almost a longing shining through those portals, her voice slightly subdued caused me to wonder what memory this man touched and whether she was addressing Aislin and me, or speaking to herself. For the first time she seemed to truly pause.
“Were you close?” It was strange but the feature on him were very familiar, but the painter missed something about him to truly capture it.
“Silly doll. He passed away over a century and a half ago.” Cerise smiled at the picture then turned her face away. “Her…”
“Her?” Aislin inquired.
“Oh, just a story, just a tale.” She waved it off with her hand and walked down the hall toward the laughter, chatter, and music.
