The Aquarium

by Emily Shore

  “Can you get us out?” is my first question to Milo once I’ve finished appraising him of our current situation and the parties involved.

  He is better at keeping his head straight, focused on the water before us. Too aware of the camera, I must fight the urge to turn back because it would look suspicious if I were concerned about anyone paying attention to this meeting—security or otherwise.

  The lines around Milo’s eyes form. Multiple creases from days and nights undoubtedly spent reading. Maybe not even the digital books that so many have upgraded to. If I get close enough, I wonder if I could smell the layers of dust on his clothes and skin. A hint of leather. Of candle smoke.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Leaning over the railing, I sigh. “It always is.” Salt pecks at my face from the waterfall spray.

  “Your contract forbids any legal wrangling.” He folds his hands on the balcony in front of him, maintaining a steely countenance, but he inclines his head to mine as if he’s posing a listening ear. “Short of Syndicate involvement, we can do nothing. That leaves only physical escape, but, due to your contract, she could use that against you later.”

  “And what about the twins? Couldn’t we have legal defense because she kidnapped them?” Beneath my fingers, the railing is a little slippery…just like my counterargument.

  “Other than your testimony, there is no proof. The world would simply err in favor of your public testimony on The Vision. That was a clever move on Haven’s part,” he comments, frustrated notes issuing out of his breath. By the way his fingers tighten, it’s obvious Milo sees the hopelessness of our situation. But the new gold cross dangling from his clerical shirt and brushing those fingers is a symbol for hope.

  “You mentioned physical escape?” I turn my body until my back is against the railing, just enough of an exposure so anyone watching doesn’t suspect. Milo turns his perceptive eyes, dark and weathered, like the leather spines of old books, and waits for me to add something unrelated to our conversation.

  “Sometimes, I feel like I will never get it right.” My false statement is vague but believable. “That I’m always letting everyone down.” A play for the cameras. I’m not the self-deprecating type. Too much of my father in me.

  In another moment, I twist to my prior position while Milo keeps his face to the side at just the right angle so his lips are viewable when he responds. “Perfection is unachievable in this life. We can only strive to be our best versions of ourselves in whatever roles we carry.”

  At least his priestly advice when acting is good.

  Milo rejoins me, hunched over the balcony just a little. Reaching over, he gives my hand a little squeeze. Keeping up appearances.

  Then, he folds his hands in front of him again. “Physical escape is much more challenging, given the involvement of the twins. I could potentially get them out first. But it would leave you and Skylar completely vulnerable to Haven. And even if we could accomplish that great feat, she would likely double down security.”

  “Does she ever leave the Aquarium?” I wonder, holding my breath, holding out hope.

  The priest shakes his head, and hope drifts away with my exhale.

  “Her brother sometimes does when he scouts for new recruits for the Aquarium. Perhaps…” he suggests while reaching for his cross as if to strengthen the idea. “If you play this role well, so well over the course of the next few months, your family, or at least part of it, could earn a visit to the harbor. You and your twins. Or you and Skylar, which would grant us the opportunity to act on behalf of the twins.”

  By us, I understand that he means the Task Force, though I suspect he’s the only one physically inside the Aquarium.

  “And what about Neil and Lindy?” I ask, referencing the other parties.

  Milo presses his lips together. “More complicated on our end, I’d imagine, but I’m certain your brother has enough of his own Syndicate connections still intact to gain some aid.”

  If he does, I imagine it’s not much, or he would have said so. After the Temple bombings, Neil distanced himself from the Syndicate and returned more to the graphicking world. Or to the cutthroat modeling world, but with Lindy by his side to keep him grounded.

  “Let us focus on your family first.” Smiling, Milo pats the back of my hand.

  I decide not to mention how Neil and Lindy are my family. It won’t help right now. Besides, there may be another way. Even if I won’t accept Tristan’s offer to return to the Temple and Syndicate as Yang, perhaps I can give up more of my shares in return for him helping Neil and Lindy.

  But as Milo said, that is all contingent upon how well we can play these roles. History repeats itself but doubled this time. And even if I’ve had countless practice, Sky has not. Somehow, I have a feeling this will be far more difficult for him than anything he encountered in the Temple.

  17

  W e e K e n d

  * * *

  On Friday morning, I wake to the scent of Sky. Face down, his cheek is pressed into the pillow, dark waves like shadow-wrapped autumn leaves almost canvassing his beautiful face. Hoisting myself on top of him, I scoot aside those waves and begin kissing the back of his neck.

  “Mmm,” he murmurs appreciatively before turning over and scooting his eyes across my form. His hand settles on my naked hip, finger creating a trail of heat around my navel. Our last bit of familiar before our performances and later interactions. “What time is it?” he pauses for a brief moment to ask.

  Leaning over, I whisper low in his ear, “I woke you early.” Give it a tiny nip.

  Sky slides his hands along my back, fingers rubbing the line of my vertebrae jutting out. The week away from the performances and interactions has been good for us, and I can only hope they will continue. That on Monday, we won’t have to pick the weekend chunks off us like scraping barnacles from the bottom of a ship. That we can find our rhythm, knit our laughter and heat and soft caresses each time.

  * * *

  I face myself in the three-way mirror. Apart from the tail, the costume is complete. Tonight, it’s different, and I imagine it’s tailored to mimic the client’s interaction desires. Hands webbed in black prosthetics that are far too real. Cold and clammy to the touch. Hair tinged to a dark blue-gray the color of Sharky’s skin, swirling black designs branching out from my eyes to flirt with my cheeks and sides of my head, more swirling designs like sinister tattoos revealing some mer-power since I learn they are bioluminescent and will glow once they touch the water. Nothing about the makeup is whimsical. Not with the accentuated shadows above my eyes, climbing to my brow line. Today, the crown is made of fused black sea glass in three unequal sharp points that remind me of flint.

  All around me, the angels float in the deep, predatory jellyfish undulating, not at all curious as to the great tower that has plunged straight down into their territory. Or who is beyond that tower.

  “I would have done so much better,” Lindy scoffs, giving the programmed chair a little kick. “If they wanted it to really pop, I’d add a few black diamonds here…” She draws a line along a couple of the swirling designs scoping out my cheeks and sides of my forehead. “And I would have highlighted the black with some gray undertones. This cheap program is going to be the death of me!”

  Leaning over, I reach for my friend’s hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Calm down, Lindy. Go to your happy place.”

  Lindy rolls her eyes. “You don’t even know where my happy place is.”

  “I bet it involves an endless supply of makeup products and Neil dressed in a tutu with sprinkles all over his body.”

  At first, Lindy giggles, but a feigning little gasp and a hand pressed to her chest replaces the laugh. “No tutu. But replace with edible glitter.”

  “Oh, you’re cruel,” I joke, but I’m certain they’ve had somewhat of similar experiences over the past two years. Not that I spend any time thinking about my brother’s love life…unlike Neil with me.

  “Time to esc
ort you to your performance,” Wylder’s voice penetrates from behind me, and I realize I was too distracted by Lindy to notice or hear him approach.

  Sighing, Lindy clicks a button on her portable makeup case, which closes automatically. With Wylder’s arrival, her entire posture has changed.

  When I turn from her to eye him, Wylder’s eyes make no move to stray. Instead, they roam, pausing here and there as if he is a ship’s captain charting a course on a map, pinpointing various stopping points until X marks the spot of the buried treasure.

  But I am not his treasure.

  “I quite like this one,” he adds when I step away from the chair. “I hope it’s ordered again. The black diamonds were my idea,” he credits himself, lifting his hand toward the diamonds coating my breasts, a mere thin line of white cleavage between them. “Convinced my sister to spare no expense for them.”

  “Should’ve spared expense for a few more around her eyes,” Lindy mutters, sticking her tongue out. “Would’ve completed the costume.”

  “As if the opinion of a clucky artisan mattered,” he chaffs, causing Lindy to bristle. “The help is dismissed.”

  “The help has a name,” I correct him, defending Lindy while turning my eyes predatory.

  “Pick her up again like you did last time,” Lindy threatens, poking a finger toward him, finishing, “you’ll mess with the bull.” She turns her finger inward to her chest.

  Unhindered, Wylder leans over and murmurs in a sultry voice, “A hornless bull at that.” He flicks her baby bump. She opens her mouth, her tongue ready to skirt Wylder’s danger zone.

  “Lindy,” I interrupt before she can retort. I have more protection here than she does. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for all your help.”

  Sighing in acquiescence, Lindy mutters to her hands on her way out, “BODY, my ass. A million insured for each of you babies. Shh…hush now, let’s get you in some paraffin.” She disappears down the hall branching out from the preparation room,

  “Feisty little strumpet,” Wylder remarks before directing his gaze on me again. “Your reward will be keeping a few diamonds…provided you get it right,” he hisses just as I begin to pass.

  His verbal taunts have hardly mattered to me, but when he snatches up my arm, dragging me back to his side so his other may reach up to grip my neck, all I feel is lightning erupting in my blood.

  “I will escort you,” he emphasizes, indicating my disrespect at departing without him.

  I spit one lightning drop, launching it at his cheek right before summoning one of a multitude of self-defense moves Sky has taught me over the years. In time, he will train Verity. Judging by her personality and characteristics, she will excel.

  Slamming my arms down over his and breaking his hold, I back away from him to catch my breath, wheezing. He squeezed just enough to constrict my throat but not enough to cause me to choke.

  Wylder is not used to disobedience. I’m certain he’s not used to anything but blind worship. But none of his delicate, yet sharp features to create a flawless model contrast of balance and symmetry hearken to me. Where my father was a vampire who delighted in sucking the life out of people until he owned them, Wylder is a pirate. Obsessed with treasure, obsessed with the voyage, he shapes his person and professional life around that goal.

  And this is one voyage he will never finish.

  Digging my fingers into the black scales along my thighs, I tighten my spine, swallowing my lightning until it plunges into the depths to rejoin my butterflies, and then face him. Judging by his sneer, he’s had enough today. I’ve given him just a necessary sample to show him who he’s dealing with.

  So, sweeping a hand to the exit of the preparation room, I mockingly pronounce, “Lead on, Mr. Graves.”

  This time is different. Instead of remaining on the shoreline, beached and helpless, I manage to snag a soldier, dragging him down into the dark water where he acts as a drowning man. With the rapid tempo of the music and the suspenseful drumbeats in the background, it’s the perfect scene for my dark mermaid costume. And then, the other soldiers, roused to come to the defense of their drowned comrade, begin shooting. Blanks, of course, but my costume is programmed to react. My scales bleed as well as the area of my chest just beneath the black diamonds on my left breast. A kill shot to the heart.

  Obeying the directive, I float up to the surface of the water so the soldiers may haul me onto the shore. How convenient they have forgotten about their comrade when faced with a mer-prize. A prize they begin to de-jewel, laughing with each bloodied rip.

  And I turn my face to the side, dropping my hand into the water of the shoreline as if to summon the water to my aid. Responsive, my Sea King comes. Rising out of the water with white, foamy waves thrashing on each side of his body, sharks trailing in his wake. The sight of him alone is enough to terrify the soldiers, but, even so, one shoots and misses. Sweeping his trident in an arc, the Sea King pins the shooting soldier as if he’s hooking a fish and discards him to the water so the sharks may feed. A projected sprite-light displays an upgraded show of violence and gore. Perhaps it was also Wylder’s doing?

  The ending is different. Skylar scoops me into his arms, lowering us into the water, but the blood doesn’t stop. A lyrical melody plays in the background, woe stitched into each note. A funereal song. By the end when Skylar surrenders his dead mer-Queen to a pod of dolphins to be carried away, I imagine there’s not a dry eye in the audience.

  But I am the opposite. So, I let the BODY device remove my tail, but I don’t bother with the rest. Instead, I make a beeline for Haven’s office. Screw the information buzzing in my ear implant with directives for the next interaction. Apparently, I’m supposed to remain in costume for that one anyway. But before I do anything, I am going to speak to Haven. And just as I round the corner of the skyway that projects from my preparation room, I notice Wylder approaching from the other end of the hall. No doubt he intended to check on me to make sure I’m ready for my interaction.

  Our eyes connect for one moment. His are Captain Ahab’s, but he won’t capture this white whale tonight. More thankful than ever for my bare feet, I break into a run, hearing a climbing growl from behind me.

  “Don’t you dare,” he shouts from behind me, and I let him waste his breath. I don’t turn around once.

  Only when I reach Haven’s doorway does he manage to catch up to me and wrestles with me, but it’s too late. Her gaze swings toward us, deadly, like tentacles ready to ensnare and sting.

  “What is going on?” she demands from her desk, rising to approach us, her bodysuit betraying each curve and reminding me of some lithe jungle cat.

  “I tried to stop her,” Wylder proclaims in his defense, his hand still arresting my arm.

  “What are you trying to prove?” I accuse her, throwing my damp hair back, careless of how it thwacks Wylder in the face. Mustering up my strength, I tug for the countless time and retrieve my arm before raising a warning finger while backing away.

  Haven sighs and waves a hand, which I assume is code for dismissing Wylder since he narrows his eyes before departing. I can almost smell the smoke pluming from his ears.

  “What exactly am I supposedly trying to prove?” Somehow, Haven directs the question back toward me, deflecting. But her stance is guarded, alert.

  I ball my hands into fists. “You target my family, force us to play your game. You say this is just a metaphor for life, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  Haven breathes, maintaining her stance, her expression as calm as the deep water surrounding the Aquarium but also as fathomless. “You think I am petty enough to wage a personal vendetta?”

  “Why not? It’s good enough for your brother at three in the morning,” I stab, testing her.

  She doesn’t flinch once, but she does part her lips, pausing before responding. “Don’t mistake my intentions, Serenity Storm. You are no prize to me. I will not treat you like your former directors. You are a weapon in my arsenal. That is all.”
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  “Weapons can be turned against one,” I point out.

  She smiles. Like her jellyfish, she must keep them in an inner tank somewhere and only retrieve them when she knows she’s in a dominant position. My comment has amused her, and it’s understandable, given her background.

  “Come to think of it…” She begins to walk around me, a flesh-eater circling its prey while continuing, “I have treated you differently. I have treated you with more respect because whatever else you are, you are a Syndicate daughter. But perhaps a promise speaks louder than a threat.”

  I didn’t even see her strike. In one move, my back was to the floor. Her body pins mine just as she places a dagger to my throat. Where did the dagger come from? No matter what I try to do, she countermoves, thwarting my efforts toward defense despite how much I know thanks to Sky. Every kick, punch, thrust, jut…not one finds a mark. It’s as if she is a jellyfish slipping through my hands. And I’m caught up in her tentacles.

  Haven lowers her mouth to my ear. In a low warning, she hisses, “I don’t want you dead, Serenity. For now, your flesh is valuable to me.” Not one word dips into a whisper. “And you’ll do well to remember there’s always a bigger fish.” And with that, she nips at my earlobe and releases me, rising with one last statement. “I do not have the time to deal with your petty rebellion. If you have a complaint, you take it up with management.”

  I sit up, flattening my hands on the floor to support myself before I practically spit out, “You mean your brother.”

  Haven returns to her desk, her eyes drifting once to her jelly tank. “Assistant Director Graves.”

  I roll my eyes and rise, wiping my hands. “Perhaps you should remind him that my title is not the Swan.”

  “Remind him yourself.” Haven lowers herself into her chair.