by Emily Shore
On my way to the elevator, I pass by more windows offering glimpses into the dark underwater belly outside. Except today, I can make out ghostlike outlines of bioluminescent creatures. Tempted to pause, I must resist the desire, especially when I hear voices from a nearby office.
Rounding the corner, I notice two decorative doors, oceanic swirls and lotus flowers fused like smoke into the glass. One is open, betraying a view of several girls standing in a line. Each wears some form of lingerie or a bikini. Most try not to shiver, but I can see them shaking from here. Stationed on each side are Security drones. And then, Wylder appears. Hands joined behind his back, he wanders back and forth in front of the line of girls, eyes scanning each one, reminding me of a barracuda, assessing for vulnerabilities.
Finally, he stops before them and singles out three. “Her, her, and her. Return the rest to the Glass District.” He directs his words to a security drone that thrums around the discarded girls.
I move behind the door, unseen as they exit the office and progress down the hallway. From the crack in the door, I observe Wylder smile and approach the ones he’s chosen. He cups the first one’s chin, nods, then pinches the slight fold of skin on another’s belly, then roughly kisses the third. After which, he pats the creamy umber skin of her cheek and pronounces, “You’ll all make fine lamias.”
I recognize the term from mythology. Lamias are like mermaids but the serpent kind, not fish. Shouldn’t Haven be in charge of this sort of thing? Why is Wylder doing the recruiting?
Meeting Neil and Lindy at the elevator turns out to be the best method of shaking off what I just witnessed. When the elevator doors open, Neil is kissing Lindy. He doesn’t stop.
After another moment or two, I tap on the wall beside the open elevator and cough. “I didn’t see the sock.”
Lindy breaks from Neil, giggling when his nose brushes her neck. “Apparently, pregnant Lindy is like crack to normal Neil,” she explains as she meanders out of the elevator, almost dizzy. Cupping a hand to her cheek, she whispers, “You won’t believe the morning I got.” She leans against the wall, breathing in deep.
“I think I got it.” I raise a hand, not wanting more information about my half-brother
She sighs and smiles at Neil, who stands next to me, a sheepish hand wandering within his fair locks. “At this rate, I won’t need to exercise.”
“Omyword, I got it.” I shake my head. “Glad to see you’re doing better, bro. But I don’t care if my twins are sleeping…” I raise my finger, brandishing it like a poker in Neil’s face. “If you two have sex in our bed, I’ll shave your hair. Every last strand,” I promise him.
Neil gives me the thumbs-up sign. “No boinking in your bedsheets. Got it.”
He weaves around me, kisses Lindy once more, then follows me to the twins’ room. When we arrive, Sky’s expression alerts me of one thing—it’s time.
Lindy insists on doing my makeup, but Haven has ensured the BODY-NAILS machine completes the costume portion.
I try to quell my jittery butterflies. Lindy helps with all her normal fussing. Talking to her fingers is routine for her. I’ve discovered she has named them. The only ones I can keep track of are Gustave, her index finger, named for a world-famous French designer, and her thumb, Coco.
“Neil says your ratings are going to soar after your first exhibit,” she says as she applies a gold-shimmer lilac gloss infused with real gold liquid on my lips.
Certainly, social media teamed with questions regarding my background, my likes and dislikes, fashion preferences during my time as the Face of the Temple, but my father arranged for artificial intelligence drones to respond to everything. Yang business kept me too busy, then drained for much of anything.
This time, Haven expects me to interact. Fortunately, I have Neil for that.
I close my eyes as Lindy abides by the programming. A deep violet nightshade eye makeup with three silky black lines extending from the lower corners of my eyes, accenting my “expressive intensity”.
“I’d kill for your laser eyes,” she notes right before pressing a hand to her belly.
“You all right?”
Lindy rolls her eyes, reaching for a couple of tiny pearls from the NAILS device drawer. As she pastes them along each of my brows, she waves me off. “I just started my second trimester, but I’ve been feeling flutter kicks. Little rascal likes it when I work.” Plaiting her hands together on her knees, she winks. “A budding artisan in the making, maybe?”
“He has two very creative parents to live up to.”
On each side of my face, Lindy paints midnight-blue makeup, then shimmers ground-up crystals to create a dusty luminescence following the lines of my cheekbones.
“Was that in the program?” I gesture to the crystal dust.
Lindy shakes her head. “No program can compete with me. If Haven can’t appreciate my art, she can shove an eel up her ass for all I care.”
I laugh, my insides sweetened by my sister-in-law and her razor tongue. She makes me want to get my edge again. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve lost it. Too tamed from motherhood and the need to protect my children. But there’s a deeper edge that goes beyond the tongue. There were things I could get away with in the Temple I won’t get away with in here.
Once Lindy finishes my makeup, the device injects digitized contact lenses onto my irises, deepening the green orbs and causing them to swirl like the ocean tides.
Time for my hair. Lindy’s hands swipe each other, and she watches as I sit on the chair built into the advanced program. Royal purple tint to match my eye makeup. An elaborate gold and jeweled crown with dozens of gilded spikes protruding from the base is added to my hair. In some ways, I prefer the machine. Lindy won’t be able to do this every time, and I’d rather have the programmable machine tend to my makeup and costumes rather than other ordained preparers. Less risky and much faster, too.
Lindy takes a few steps back, rests her hands on her bump, and observes.
“Please stand for the costume,” BN’s electronic feminine voice declares. I’m sure I’ll come up with a better name for her than the abbreviated form of BODY and NAILS.
After I stand, BN sprays my nude skin with a cool paint. Violet-and-gold tinted. But black veins branching out along my arms, stomach, and chest grant me an otherworldly element. As if I’ve risen from the deep to finally join the sunlight, which is appropriate since I am being reborn after two years.
My costume is a mix of gold lace and netting that fans out in five different directions to resemble a star. Studded here and there are more pearls and a few shells. By itself, the costume isn’t too ostentatious, but the crown that comes down upon my head is. Real gold, authentic shells, and an amethyst gem the size of a small sand dollar embedded in the center. Spiraling out from the base of the crown, the curvy gold spikes remind me of gilded seaweed. Still, the crowning achievement is not the crown but the mermaid tail. Glittery gold and royal purple to befit a Sea Star mer-queen.
BN announces the end of my costume. A drone-powered cart was ordered for me, but when Wylder enters the BN room, I suspect I won’t get the chance to use it. He’s mastered his vulture impersonation, considering the flawless circle he walks around me.
“Beautiful. Time to go, princess. The world awaits.” He wastes no time. I open my mouth to protest, misjudging his subtle muscles since he has no trouble in scooping me up regardless of the costume with its scaly tail.
“Hey, pretty boy,” Lindy protests for me, her braced fists wagging at her sides as she follows us out of the preparation room. “She didn’t give you permission.”
Wylder ignores her, choosing to focus on me instead. “Wouldn’t want to start your first day on a bad note, would you?” He winks, flicking his ponytail off to one side.
I’d much rather bite that serene nose straight off, but my children are the anchors that hold my lightning back.
“I’ll be fine, Lindy,” I reassure my sister-in-law. “Go check on Kerrie and Verity
for me. Make sure they’re not terrorizing Neil too much.”
Wylder progressed toward the hall that will lead to the tank’s backstage area. Lindy stares back, eyes longing, but she’s more bark than bite, and I know she won’t come after us. Lindy’s not a fighter. But she does remain where she is, so I don’t see her disappear until we’ve rounded another corner and Wylder opens a backstage door with his wrist barcode. Then, I overhear a programmed voice introducing the show and giving instructions for those who may want to avoid the splash zone as dolphins and whales will be used for the performance.
“Ready to make some magic?” Wylder coos low in my ear.
“I always look forward to making magic with my husband,” I acknowledge, voice low and sultry, eyes beckoning.
Wylder pinches his eyes to a slit, which makes them look dark and exotic. “Better make it look good, princess. My sister might be director, but I oversee marketing and operations.” His fingers pressure my back, fiddling with the netting there as he leans forward and whispers, “You’ve already impressed her. Time to impress me.”
Judging by how many times his eyes have descended to my cleavage, Wylder is already impressed.
10
T h E S e A S t A r
* * *
The show has already begun. From this vantage point, I see Sky in his Sea King costume on the opposite side of the enormous tank, waiting for his introduction. Adorned in turquoise glitter, his stubble, brows, and hair accent the gold-armored scales along his chest and shoulders as well as the resplendent crown on his head.
During my beautification, I could witness the opening number, which featured an entourage of acrobats performing with dolphins and mermaids dancing underwater to a choreographed scene. Some with chest-shells, others not. They, with the acrobats, part, as four black whales, a little larger than dolphins, tug forward the shell-shaped chariot Sky rides in upon. I’m almost jealous I don’t get a chariot. Or an impressive triton. Its three prongs are the norm. The descending style is not, but it lends to a more supernatural approach. Unlike me, Sky does not have a tail.
His chariot floats on the surface of the water, resting upon the makeshift island erected in the center of the great take. The Sea King calls for his queen, his Sea Star.
The song for my solo dance begins. My introduction is chilling, lyrical, haunting as I swim in graceful arcs and patterns through the water with my hair like a bridal train twirling behind me. Three trained dolphins swim in a circle around me, and I reach out to sweep my hands along their sleek bodies. They form a perfect ring of gray blue, their skin as soft as mist.
The song lasts for three minutes before building to a crescendo. I hold my breath for that duration until the dolphins take their place below me, bottlenoses stationed the arches of my feet. Just enough pressure to hoist me out of the water to greet my sea king. Later, I imagine rehearsals will build up to where the dolphins will launch me into the air, but, for now, I rise with sea spray on each side of me until they plant me on the small faux island in the center of the tank where Sky stands. In the span of a moment, he catches me, supporting my soaked form and leaning down for his mouth to find mine. Deep and driving. The kiss seizes me at the same time as the final musical notes, and the crowd responds with a standing ovation.
When I open my eyes, a little winded, the first thing I see is Sky’s crown. Along with spiral spikes to mimic the one I wear—albeit thicker and longer—gold-plated shells form his.
With his hands stationed around my waist to support me due to the costume and tail weighing me down, Sky pauses a breath from my lips as the narrator explains our story over the speakers. I am the Sea Star, but while my Sea King can go on land whenever he desires thanks to the freedom of his legs, I cannot.
We don’t have to move our mouths to our lines. Only our bodies in grand, stage-like gestures.
“I want to join you on the surface,” my character expresses just as the sea king falters, hands sliding to my shoulders. “Take me with you to the world of earth and air.”
Sky shakes his head, piercing me with his gaze as sharp as the trident standing upright beside him. Our dialogue continues on the speakers. “You belong to the sea. You cannot share my world. It would destroy you.”
Slowly, he releases me until I slide back down, my tail fanning in and out of the water. I look up, longing shimmering from my eyes.
The scene changes. I’ve memorized the scene or at least the highlights. Above the water of the tank, the digital backdrop is changing. Sky and all others have disappeared to indicate I am swimming alone and rising up and up…closer to the surface.
Music turns ominous with bass undertones, minor notes, a violin playing rapidly. And the water begins to churn, lights dimming, skies darkening into thunderclouds. A torpedo of bubbles erupts from below me, the tank creating programmed waves. Enough to thrash my body around, the current arresting me and shoveling me onto the sand bed that rises on one side of the tank. The new scene. I am a beached mermaid.
Not one person in the audience makes a sound as I rise from the sand, arching my neck but gazing at my tail. My mer-curse as my character dubbed it. It looks like a real beach. Dozens of palm trees, exotic flowers, scattered pieces of driftwood like pockets of fog drape the sand before me.
And then, I hear the voices coming through the trees. Haven did not share this part with us. Thanks to my interview yesterday, I didn’t watch the end of the sprite-light feeds. Five pirates. The leader sports an eye patch. Two have their shirts off as if their characters planned to go to the ocean for a midday swim.
Until they discover me…
Even as I try to flop back into the water from where I came, all five form a blockade around me.
“Pretty mermaid.” The speakers resonate with the words. Judging by how the one with the eye patch squats down beside me, I know they were meant to be his.
“Pretty star,” one behind him echoes, then points to my scales. “All that is gold…”
“She won’t mind if we help ourselves to some treasure,” the eye-patch pirate states right before ripping a scale directly from over my right leg. Now, I understand why BN placed the under-layer on first. It oozes with simulated blood. I suddenly remember Wylder’s words—make it look good.
And I do. With each scale they tear, hoarding the gold for themselves, I scream, I thrash, I fight. They rip at my costume. Two hold me down while three complete their work, all with greedy glints in their eyes. Even if it’s all an act, even if it’s not real, the message is loud and clear. And…I feel it. Just a taste. But I feel it all the same.
The eye-patch pirate stands, then pronounces, “Thank you for the jewels, Sea Star.” The other rises to join him as he sweeps off his pirate cap to bid me farewell right before they depart through the trees once again.
Mournful music begins to play in the background. I sink my head to the sand. Despite the fact it’s the first time, I can’t seem to summon the raw tears that should come. I remember why I’m doing this. I remember we’re doing it together this time.
When he appears, striding down the sand with one spotlight like a sunbeam glorying in all he is, it’s the best reminder I could have. Despite having no instructions, I play it up, hiding my face behind my hair so my Sea King must brush it aside. And then, he scoops me up into his arms with the simulated blood dripping to the sand below me. Acting as if I am near death, I let my head fall, arching back, but Sky bears me, his muscles taxing just a little from the effort. A few descending steps lead into the water, and the sea king carries his fallen star queen into the waves while a lyrical melody plays.
It’s time for our underwater dance.
Sea stars have the ability to regrow their limbs. Resurrection will come.
Sky takes the lead, hands framing my waist and propelling my body into a twirl. Closer and closer, he pulls me in until his legs coil around my ruined tail and we are pressed together, chest to chest, with his mouth crashing down on mine. Bubbles escape from his nose. Sky�
��s not as practiced, so they must have given him a breathing implant since he doesn’t need to rise after a couple of minutes. Just after the kiss, I feel a warming sensation on my legs, and I understand why. The costuming is brilliant. Smart fabric that repairs itself, forming a brand-new tail over the ruined one. A better one. Each scale shines with the intensity of a star on fire. And new glittery gold fabric simulates a star’s points.
Under the water, Sky and I form our own dance. One similar to what we have already done for so many nights in our own spot of ocean outside our Sanctuary home. We didn’t have to rehearse because we’ve spent the past two years doing so. No matter how much we tried to escape, our Sanctuary life was simply a pre-stage to this one.
I try to make this moment our own, but it’s not our current. Even as the sea king raises me to the surface and into the air so his queen may be a part of it for a moment, it is not the same air. And the faux waves around us are not our waves. Most of all, we are not Sky and Serenity. We are Sky, the Sea King, and Serenity, the Sea Star.
And when our bodies join at the end of the song with our mouths crushed together, I close my eyes, but I can still hear the applause booming through the water.
11
I n t E r A c t I o n
* * *
It is our opening interaction. For the first time, I watched the feeds of what was expected. We must rewrite the story of our love life because it’s not how Sky and I work. It must be both battle and dance. We’ll lose the tenderness we share. We must banish the funny moments we normally share. Intimacy is…forbidden. We’ll have lost what it means to us. Instead, what it means to the client is everything.
The first interaction is a simple bedroom until the lights dim to a deep, ethereal blue with watery ripples cast about the walls. The ripples leap. Laser sprite lights timed to music. Ones we must follow. That set the pace. Sky takes my waist in his hand, and I respond within the parameters. I resist. But Sky does not bow. Instead, he strengthens his hold, then we embark onto this dance battle where the blue ripples time to swirl around us, sometimes leaping under one of our arms.