by Ash Krafton
"I understand your reservations. Marek said it's been lifetimes since the last Sophia. I understand why it's important, even if I don't yet understand the details. I don't seek a title, or honor, or..." I faltered, unsure of the right words. "Please. I'm just Sophie. I care for people. I try to better this world the only way I know how: one person at a time. Marek knows this and believes this is what the Sophia must be. I want him to know for sure, to follow this to the end, so he doesn't spend the rest of his life wondering."
Marek watched me, unmoving, eyes gleaming. No one had ever held me in their gaze with such love, such acceptance. My heart swelled, almost too big for me to stand without running to him.
"I'm not here for me. I'm here for him. If I am what he thinks, fine. I'll do whatever it is I'm meant to do. If I'm not..." I shrugged. "Who cares? I'll still do what I've always done. I can't change. If I can help, all you need to do is ask. It's what everyone else does."
Their eyes weighed me, silent and cold, and I lost some of my resolve. Rather than look at the emotionless statues, I studied my feet, waiting.
Look at me.
Someone's power called to me. It wasn't Marek. Someone in the Conclave.
My head snapped up and I scanned row after row of blank faces. No one spoke or moved or gave any indication they knew someone had used their power to touch me.
Look at me, girl. Seek me out.
I took a step, then two, closer to the rows of benches. The words carried on a ribbon-thin hum of power, one I could track back to its source. I paced along the edge of the orchestra as I played a game of hot and cold.
When I followed the touch up one of the aisles, halfway up it snapped off. I bit my lip, stretching my awareness out, reaching around for it like I searched for something in a darkened room. When I detected it again, I seized it, tracing it to an iron-haired woman. She didn't acknowledge me but I knew the power was hers. Everyone in the room sat motionless, staring at the circle as if I remained below.
Placing my hand on her shoulder, I whispered. "You?"
She turned her lined face to me, the creases between her pale blue eyes deepening. For a moment I doubted myself. I hastily looked toward Marek, who hid his mouth behind his hand.
When she spoke, her voice shocked me and I almost left the ground. "She has the gift of empathy, as proven by this trial."
What? A frigging test? Son of a... Wait. I passed. Woo-hoo me!
Dunkan stood. "Ms. Galen, please resume your place."
"What happens now?" I could have skipped down the steps.
"Why, my dear." The older woman smiled thinly. "It's the inquisition."
The next half-hour passed in a blur. It was like SINCERELY SOPHIE: LIVE! except I'd have included a house band and some great audience giveaways. I supposed this was the talking Marek had said we'd do.
Dunkan briefly spoke about the traditional role of Sophia as oracle, and the next thing I knew they subjected me to the most grueling session of Q and A as ever I had the misfortune to endure. Person after person asked question after question on every conceivable (and more than one inconceivable) topic.
It was worse than work, Donna included. At work, I had the luxury of time, consideration, and coffee. Here, the questions flew, bam-bam-bam, one after another. As soon as one person would sit, another would stand up and throw a complete spin on the previous topic.
All in all, I held up my end, even under the circumstances. I gave awesome advice, and in fact more than one time I hoped a stenographer took notes because I was on fire. Even when they pummeled me with the more bizarre DV questions, I found something to which I could relate, something I could be helpful about.
When at last they finished grilling me, I wanted to sag with relief.
I hoped there would be some sort of adjournment because now would be a good time for a potty break and a cup of coffee. I was tired of talking, tired of standing, tired of looking at the impassive faces. Still, I was proud of myself, which gave me the buoyancy I needed to maintain my composure.
"Ms. Galen." Dunkan called out my name, startling me. "You have demonstrated a strong gift of empathy. You have satisfactorily endured the inquisition. Citizen Thurzo, we have given your petition full and measured consideration."
"So," I said. "Was Marek right? Am I what he thinks I am?"
"My dear..." The old woman stood and folded her hands gracefully before her. "You are wise, you are practical, and you desire to help those in need. However admirable these qualities may be, they are not enough to make a Sophia. I am sorry."
The verdict came as a shock. It took a few heartbeats for it to sink in. Halfway through this I had started to believe that Marek was right. Something cold and hard hit the floor of my stomach. I think it was my pride.
The faces lost some of their impassivity. Pulses of regret and disappointment seeped down toward me. Pity crept toward me and I did my best to push back that ugliest of emotions before it made me break down in front of everyone.
Disdain glowered, pointing out the irritation of a man near the top of the benches. This? I felt his power clearly. This is the best humanity has to offer? Angry tears stung my eyes and I stubbornly held them back. Lifting my chin, I boldly met his glare. He didn't even blink. Maybe he was a million years old and could knot the hairs on my arms from where he sat but I wouldn't let him cow me down, not after all this.
I am still me. I am still Sophie. I didn't do any of this for you. I did it for him.
Before I could look at Marek and see the awful disappointment I knew he must have felt, I thanked the Conclave with terse words, spun on my heel, and walked out.
"What was I thinking when I let you talk me into this?" I kicked the door when it didn't open fast enough. Embarrassment burned my face, stung my eyes, tightened my jaw like a cramp.
The looks they'd given me—the pity, the contempt. What had made me agree to this? It had been like taking an oral exam I never studied for. How was I supposed to prove to them I could do whatever it was Marek was convinced I could?
I was an advice columnist. So what. That made me a Messiah? The embodiment of wisdom? What kind of idiot was I? If I was so goddamned wise, why didn't I foresee the disasters life dropped on me at fairly regular intervals? Why didn't I know what a dope I'd look like before Marek's great big important council? Why couldn't I figure out how to deal with that bitch at work?
"Sophie, relax. Relax!" Marek had caught up to me on the stairwell, and I tried my best to outrun him. He grabbed my arm and interrupted me in mid-mental-rant. "You're overreacting. It didn't go the way I thought it would. That's okay. It doesn't change what you are."
"Great, that's great. Because I am nothing but a total asshole to have thought for one second I was your Sophia." I wrenched my arm free and glared up at him. "I give good advice because it's my job, not because some god made me special."
"You have that job because of the gift you already had," he countered firmly. "Wasn't your previous practice was successful because of your advice? What about your thing with the priest?"
Something about the way he said thing with the priest set my teeth on edge again. I doubled back on him, catching him off guard. He pulled up to avoid steam-rolling me.
"Don't even." I pointed a finger and poked it into his chest. "You don't know anything about it. Don't cut it down. Don't bring it up at all."
"I'm not cutting it down, I am just reminding you. Your heart changed the boy's life, as it has changed many others." He turned away but not before I saw his dour expression. "I cannot stop being unhappy knowing about your past together. I believe you and he will not carry on the way you once did but I will not pretend to like knowing you're still close. It's not right."
"Marek. He. Is. A. Priest." I bit off each word and spit it out. "And he is my best friend. And, he is a priest!" Several heads turned in our direction. "Men don't come any safer."
"My brother is your friend. I trust him above any other man alive. He well knows what would belie him should he
ever overstep his bounds. Still, I would not like you to be alone with him, either."
"Way to show how much you trust me. Some Sophia I must be. I'm the one you say will guide your race but you can't trust me alone with any one of them. Is that it?"
"It's not you I do not trust. It's them."
"Same thing."
"No, it's not." He raked his hair in frustration. "Look. You have a special quality, Sophie. It drew me to you. It made me follow you until I could devise a way to meet you. One hint of your scent and I could think of nothing else. I didn't know I'd be the one consumed, Sophie. You conquered me. You do that to everyone who gets close to you. My kind would love a chance to taste you. It makes me insane on countless levels of countless issues."
I was dumbfounded. "What are you saying? I'm—I'm vamp bait, is that it? That DV will sniff me out and chase me down? That's horrifying."
"No, that's not it." Marek broke off with an aggravated noise. "I'm not saying it right. It's not a pheromone; it's a quality. It shines through your actions. Your words. Your determination to set everything right. I saw it one day, before we officially met. You gave money to a man on the street for food. I told you it was futile but you refused to see anything but possibility. You couldn't change a damned thing for him but you were still determined to try."
"Wait, wait." I glared up at him. "You told me so?"
My mind raced back to before I met him, trying to remember. Trouble was I gave money to a lot of people on the street. But when did someone ever say something?
Then it hit me. The pizza shop. The guy on the corner. I'd ranted to Barbara about it. She'd told me to blow it off and I did. Did try, I mean.
"That... was you?" I knew I hadn't looked too hard at the guy. I had been too flustered to see, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. That's why we met?
He nodded, following my thoughts in his uncanny way.
Uncanny, shit. He's Demivampire. It wasn't uncanny, it was predatory. He'd stalked me. I frowned in accusation.
"No!" Anguish flooded his face. "Never prey, I swear. If it were that, I would have compelled you to forget anything and everything about me. Prey would have been blood and nothing more. It was never like that."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head. "I saw what you did. I saw an eminence in you as I have seen in no other before. You try to save the world in your own way. I thought maybe you would save me."
When he at last turned so slowly to face me, he reluctantly met my eyes. "I should have been damned long ago. My soul hangs by a thread. I have done so much to hate myself and I don't want to end up like the Fallen. Your spark convinced me you'd fight a ferocious battle to save someone, even if it was a losing one. What am I, if not that?"
Marek spread his arms. "Sophie, I'm not wrong about you. I've lived in isolation—desolation—for so long. You changed me. You brought me back from a terrible edge."
He reached for my hand with both of his, pressing it first to his mouth then to his chest. I could feel his heart beat under my fingertips, a steady, patient rhythm. "I know who you are, Sophie. Believe me, even if you won't believe in yourself."
"Believe in myself?" I whispered. Blinking hard to quell the tears, I shook my head. "I let myself down more than anyone else does."
Protest crowded his face, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips. In a swift movement he sprang to his feet again, attempting to pull me toward him but I backed away.
"And now, back there, I just let you down, too. My God, I love you so much, Marek, and I want so badly to be what you want me to be. But I'm not. I'm just plain old Sophie, and I am so sorry I disappointed you."
The last words were strangled by a sob that refused to remain inside any longer and I succumbed to tears. Turning away before he could see me break, I blindly twisted away from him and stumbled into the stream of people.
Even while I tried to lose myself in the crowd, he sent out his power to me—a touch of sympathy and love, a silent request to return. Truthfully, part of me wanted to. Part of me wanted to run and cling to him and let him wrap himself around me and hide me until I felt better.
But I didn't. I wasn't strong enough to do the right thing. The rest of me needed time alone to hate myself for a while. I kept walking.
Funny. It'd been so long since I'd given myself a good self-berating. I hadn't done this since... well, since I met Marek. Ever notice how we had to relearn good habits but the bad ones always came right back to us? Shaking my head, I pushed aside the touch of his unseen gesture and tried to put the city between us.
Rounding a corner, I cut through a narrow service street I knew would lead to one of the bus routes. Apparently, the city had been busy redecorating, though, because one of the buildings that had bordered the street was gone, replaced by a courtyard park.
Paved paths streamed from several directions to meet at a circular court, a tiny haven of benches and dwarf trees. I headed through, too blinded by my thoughts to appreciate the new scenery. These little corners of my city never failed to surprise me. Every now and then I turned a corner and bumped into something new and unexpected. A new skyscraper, a new parking lot, a new something that hadn't been there when I walked by six months earlier.
The city never ceased changing. A living thing, it grew and died and constantly redefined itself. It was a phoenix that rose from its own ashes. It was a girl who couldn't decide what to wear. It was fickle.
My mood soured. People were fickle, too. You woke up thinking you had something figured out and wham! Your life wasn't anything like you'd thought. All the tiny unnoticeable changes you'd gone through have somehow added up and the person in the mirror didn't even remotely resemble the person you saw in there the last time you'd looked.
The world kept changing, too. Not too long ago I'd looked out my window and thought, yep, that's my city, this is my life, here it all is, just like always. Then a guy walked into my life and turned everything on its ear. "Hi there," he said. "Did you know? Vampires and Werewolves are real, my family and I drink blood and have magical powers, and if that's not enough to make your eyes pop, I'm in love with you. Oh, and by the by, you're a god-gifted oracle destined to save my entire race from eternal damnation."
People weren't meant to constantly redefine themselves. They found something that fit and they stuck with it. I haven't changed in fifteen frigging years. Why did I have to do it now? I wasn't that fickle. I wasn't that resilient. I wasn't that strong.
You are, came the whisper of Marek's power, dimmer for the distance between us.
"No, I'm not," I said out loud.
I could live a fairy tale life with Marek because I loved him, every grimly beautiful and deadly and perfect inch of him. I could deal with the whole DV thing, no sweat. Any culture outside of middle-class Irish-American was pretty much foreign to me, so DV was just another ethnic group. My talent for giving good advice was a simple combination of common sense and imagination but if he wanted to call me a goddess when we were alone together, fine with me. I loved pillow talk. I did, however, have a huge problem with having to prove something like that to a bunch of strangers.
"You shouldn't have to prove anything to him. Not if he loved you."
A nearby voice startled me so much I jumped. I'd been emoting so intently I forgot I was still out in public. I detected a DV vibe at once and glanced around to see who'd picked up my bad mood.
A group of teen-aged girls was hovering near a bench up the path from me. No one seemed to be looking in my direction, so I guessed they weren't actually speaking to me.
What a relief. I'd always been a mental screamer, although lately I'd learned to tone it down, what with DV power and the ability to scent out what I felt. Marek had once said my empathic nature went both ways when I thought hard enough.
As I approached the girls, I recognized several of the faces as Shiloh's friends, and, of course, wherever her friends were, so was she. She looked up and waved when she saw me, breaking away from the little
group to bounce over.
"You okay?" She peered into my face, and I hastily smoothed the telltale crease from between my eyebrows.
"Yeah, Shy, I'm fine," I lied, then nodded to one of the girls who huddled on the bench, crying. "What's up? She okay?"
Shiloh shrugged. "Boy problems. Problem number one being the boy."
"Shiloh..." A tear-soaked whine issued from the miserable girl on the bench.
"Please." Shiloh rolled her eyes and held up her palm. "Don't even. I told you, Tess, he's a bum. I don't know why you don't listen to me. You know I'm right."
I forgot all about my pissy mood and almost laughed. She sounded like she'd been taking classes at Marek's School for Bossy Maniacs.
"You don't understand," said Tess. "You can't help who you fall in love with."
Her voice sounded mournful and her faint power swirled with confusion and sorrow. Her pain radiated so distinctly it brought back memories of my own misery fests when I'd been her age. It was all too easy to sympathize with her.
"In love with a bum, huh," I said. "Sucks, don't it?"
Sighing, I sank down onto the bench across the path from the small crowd. Eh, I had nothing else to do, really. Maybe if I talked with Shiloh's bunch I'd forget some of my own angst. Nothing like someone else's problems to help me ignore my own.
Tess right away put on her smug teenager face. "Hardly."
When she met my eyes, though, she broke down and smiled weakly. "Okay, bummy, but not a total bum. He's a nice guy. He's just got... problems."
"Ha! What an understatement." The brunette standing closest to her barked a short laugh. Swinging her head in my direction, she put her hands on her hips. "He's a junkie."
"Ugh," I said. "A junkie?"
"He's not a junkie." The tone of Tess's voice told me she was accustomed to arguing this point. "He just uses with his friends. He never does blood rush when I'm around."
"Ahh." I nodded my head like an old wise woman. Well, I was twice their age. "Classic case of bad influence."