by Emily Shore
Confused, I open my mouth, staring up. How does she—
“They were brought here the first day,” she explains, then leans against the wall. Most of her bubbles tint to blue, traveling slower. Mood bubbles, too? “Verity doesn’t get along with the others. She sticks close to her brother, but she’s always trying to dominate him.”
“Mmm,” I agree, thinking of our daughter and wondering if she misses Kerrie right now, if she’s dreaming of him. “We’re working on that. It’s…difficult now.”
Bubbles comes off the wall, her bubbles brightening to hues of orange marmalade. “Yes, the life of a working parent.” She gestures for me to follow her. Past rows and rows of other chambers. How many are there?
Glancing back over her shoulder, Bubbles offers more information. “Nine babies, eleven toddlers. No older children. They’re in a separate wing in the dorm sector where most working girls live. Unless the mothers don’t want them close and have no debt to pay off. Those kids get sent to orphanages.”
Everyone knows an orphanage is just a stepping stone to the Glass District.
Bubbles turns on the shield bubble once more as soon as we step outside the nursery. The circles voyaging across her skin have returned to their default rainbow colors.
I teeter on the edge of asking her another question, which Bubbles grasps since she straightens her neck and nods. “Go ahead. I’m not like them. I don’t bite.”
“Why?” Why isn’t she like them? When her bubbles turn blue again, I sigh and apologize, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
She licks her lips, then shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. You’re trying to figure all this out, trying to figure them out. But it doesn’t help. Didn’t help me in the Temple.”
“The Temple?”
A late-night employee meanders down the hall from the opposite direction, and Bubbles and I go quiet. She looks like someone on the cleaning staff. Even though bots have been revolutionized for home and commercial use for such tasks and are a long-term investment, they are still expensive and require maintenance. Human beings are cheap and disposable. Perhaps it’s Haven’s way of saving money since she’s invested millions everywhere else in the Aquarium.
Once the employee is out of earshot and we pass into the public sector, Bubbles opens up, “My brother hates you because you don’t worship the ground where his feet have walked.” She doesn’t answer my question regarding her past. I observe her bubbles changing colors, turning hotter. Sun-swept golds, the occasional burst of coral pink. “He hates me for the same reason, but he won’t do anything to me because my sister won’t let him. And he worships the ground where her feet walk.”
I’ve noticed. I remember how he knelt before her, how she whipped him, how he took it.
“How did you end up here?” I ask as her fingers glide along the window to our left. With tiny bubbles floating along the skin there, her fingertips remind me of white foam on dark water.
“Haven.”
I wonder how. It occurs to me why the Syndicate won’t touch Haven. Maybe she performed so many favors for them that her connections may be closer than I considered.
Just then, I spin around and head for the elevators, giving Bubbles no choice but to do the same since we’re still contained in the shield.
“What are you doing?” Her legs aren’t long, so she almost has to jump to keep up with me.
“I’m sorry. I just need to talk to someone.”
“Where?”
“He’s in the Commons.”
Bubbles stops before I realize it. I smash into the shield, wincing at the little electric pulse that vibrates like a ripcord up and down my body.
“I never go to the Commons.” Bubbles doesn’t take another step. “And I have to get back to watch the children.”
I nod, pursing my lips. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you again.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m special, remember?” She doesn’t giggle, but her bubbles frolic a little quicker up to her neck, a few stray golden ones popping. In a way, her bubbles do the talking for her, which reminds me of how Queran used his origami speech back in the Temple.
Smiling once, Bubbles ejects the shield and retreats to the employee quarters while I head for the elevator. Dumbfounded that I make it up the Commons without any sort of interference, though I’m certain Wylder must have some sort of alarm trigger for my movements, I tiptoe out of the elevator, wondering if he’s waiting for me around the next corner. But other than the spray of the grand Aquarium waterfall in the distance and the pulsing nightlife from the club district, it’s pretty quiet.
Once I take the path leading away from the hotel lobby and toward the private condos where Tristan is staying now, I start to relax. The tranquil instrumental music paired with ocean tide sounds in the background help along with the digital, animated seascape murals along the walls. Sweeping my hand across one, I smile when the water shifts, rippling from my motion. Given how humid the air is along with the tangy salt hints, I have to credit them for the atmosphere. All the palm trees and bushes with tropical flowers surrounding the condos also lend to the disguise.
The condos are soundproof, so I’m glad I can’t hear any of goings-on.
When I arrive at Tristan’s door, I waste no time in knocking, but I do check my surroundings. Any minute now, Wylder could saunter around a palm tree and wrestle me to my quarters.
But it’s not Wylder I see first. It’s Haven opening the door to Tristan’s condo and swinging it open wider for me to see. Tristan lies on the floor, face down, with his shirt off and a patchwork of open striations on his back, oozing blood. Inhaling deep, I hold my breath while directing my gaze to Haven. Not one hair is out of place where it holds together in a trim and tidy bun, reminding me of a sea urchin—bleached and despiked for decoration. Her skin-tight bodysuit is closer than a tattoo. The whip in her hand is as tight in her clenched fist.
“I told you I would deal with your little Syndicate friend later. Everything has a price. But he is very compliant and as long as he pays, he will still retain access to you. But consider this a warning, Sea Star,” Haven advises, tapping my chest with the whip.
No wonder Wylder didn’t come after me. Clearly, Haven wanted me here so I could see this. As soon as Haven steps out of the way, I burst into the room and scramble to Tristan’s side. I still haven’t taken a breath yet. First, I take his pulse, relieved when I feel the beating. Finally releasing my breath, I tip Tristan’s head to the side, hearing him moan when I do.
“Couldn’t just leave me passed out, could you, princess?” are the first words Tristan says…or mutters right before he winces, pinching his eyes shut.
“I’ll call for a medic.” After I get to my feet, I summon the automated room’s hotel services app.
“Oh, don’t bother,” Tristan mumbles, still on the floor. “It’ll be all healed up by tomorrow.”
I stop just after I’ve called out for emergency services. “Wait…what?”
He chortles into the textile rug, then shrieks when he tries to move while uttering, “You’re not the only immortal one in the room.”
Oh. Even now, the implant must be working on overtime to ascertain the damaged flesh and repair the affected site. Tristan is right. By morning, he’ll be fine.
“Put me to bed, princess?” Tristan asks, raising one arm toward me.
Still flustered, I hurry over to his side and hoist his arm over my shoulder, struggling to raise him up to my level. Careful not to touch any of his wounds, I nimbly wrap my arm around the base of his waist and help support him so I can get him to his bed. But we only make it to the couch before he collapses. Finding washcloths in the closet, I wet them down with antiseptic and place them across the deepest wounds.
“What you really need is a skin splicer,” I inform Tristan as he groans into the couch. Wounds like these take more time for the implant to heal. With a skin splicer, it doesn’t take as long. Fortunately
, most upscale resort condos stock them in the first aid kit if I can find it.
Lifting an arm, he grabs my shoulder and pushes down on it, forbidding me from getting up. “Quit your fussing. It’s not the first time I’ve had a beating. Daddy Drake gave me plenty of ‘em. Tried to beat the girly right outta me when I was a teenager. Just been some time since my last one.”
“I’m sorry, Tristan. I shouldn’t have let you get involved. I never meant—”
He shifts his hand from my shoulder to my mouth, forbidding me from continuing my apology. “Pfft. I was already involved. I got myself involved. Told the Board to send a familiar face. This is normal Director stuff. Muscle flexing. Might have noticed I’m a little wanting in that department.” He flops his arm back down onto the couch. “Do me a favor and grab the brandy bottle. It’s in the velvet box on the counterpart. But you’ll need to bring it over so I can open it.”
Despite how curious I am as to why I have to bring it over, I don’t waste any time.
“I’ve been saving this for a special occasion,” Tristan says right before pressing his finger onto the seal. A fingerprint scanner. Older technology but still secure enough for items like this.
Be that as it may… “Why do you keep your rum under lock and key?” I wonder as he grips the neck of the bottle. Inside the box, the casing is leather, and the cork looks to be made of crystal. There’s an animated picture of a smiling pirate on the front of it.
“Because it’s rum.” The words are casual in their obviousness. Tristan tugs off the cork with his teeth, spits it out, cranks his neck up, and swigs back a haul before wheezing out the next words, “Besides, it’s a ninety-thousand-dollar bottle. Made by some Jamaican pirates who became famous for looting cruise ships and thieving off rich tourists. Only two exist in the entire world.” Only the best for Tristan Flynn. “Thanks, princess. Looks like they’ll be sending an enforcer now. Definitely not as pretty as me.”
Somewhere deep inside me, I know it won’t matter how many enforcers they send. Haven will be prepared for them. If she is willing to hurt her own brother, she won’t have any qualms about sending the enforcers back to the Syndicate in pieces. Nothing short of a full-fledged attack on the Aquarium would stop her.
It was the only thing that stopped my father.
20
L i g h T n I n g i n a B o t T l e
* * *
Tonight is our last interaction for the weekend. Wylder instructs me not to change out of my costume. Other than the tail, which, of course, has been removed. My feet look like white-water lilies compared to the deep blue of scales coating my legs above them. The performance was similar to the first one, so I get the sense Haven cycles through them.
This time, Wylder doesn’t escort us, but Sky and I receive instructions to make our way up to the Commons but via a service elevator.
We say nothing during the trek. More than anything, I want Sky to say something or even just to squeeze my hand, reassure me that it will be okay. But I know better than that. Because it won’t be okay, will it?
My costume soaks me, adding extra weight and dripping a mini lake onto the elevator floor. Once the doors open, we are greeted by the sight of palm trees. The sound of the waterfall grows more intense, and I realize we must be on the walkthrough path Haven once referred to. Where will this one end?
The hike through the jungle is taxing. Both sand and dirt find their way into the spaces between my toes. The salt notes in the air are cloying. The occasional bird, curious at our presence, flaps its wings nearby before fluttering to another branch. In the darkness, it’s difficult to make out any species, but every now and then, a stand-up tiki torch guides our way, the soft gold light catching Sky’s eyes and turning them to amber. Under different circumstances, this would be romantic. But it can never be romantic now.
If there were more time between the performance and the interaction to allow the Immortal implant to keep up, it would be different. In some ways, I’m glad. Having the buildup prior makes me more anxious. Then again, this hike is forming its own sort of buildup. Every now and then, Sky pauses for a sample, fingers lighting on a new place on my body each time. Exploring, testing. He’s doing much better at all this than I am.
From here, I can just make out patches of silver waterfall through the trees about five hundred yards. It doesn’t laugh. It screams, gushing. That must be where we are headed. Then, I remember the one private experience Haven referred to—the lagoon. But will that mean…
When the path slopes to the clearing, Sky brushes aside a palm frond to reveal the lagoon with waterfall cascading into it. But I can barely appreciate its beauty. Not when I see our “client” standing on a platform built into the trees, offering a perfect vantage point to the lagoon. I can’t help but begin to pant. The first time was behind glass. And every time before, it was never like this. Even for the Yin and Yang interactions with Bliss, they ate off my body, brushing minor spaces, but it still wasn’t like this.
“Serenity…” Sky tugs me along, gesturing to the lagoon.
Overwhelmed, I hesitate. I want to shake my head. How can I be expected to do this? Sky gives me no choice when he closes in. Instead, he drives his mouth onto mine, tongue searing, bewildering me. The kiss lasts only for a few moments, so much quicker than I expected. And that’s when I realize why. Wasting no more time, Sky takes the netting around my shoulders in his hand and tears, ripping through the fine-fused ropes and Sea Star fabric attached to them as if they are feathers. Air sails across my naked upper half. Instinct causes me to cover myself, to curl my eyes upward to the client, who leans over, elbow on the railing before him, smile simpering…eyes thirsting for my form.
I imagine what Sky would really do in this moment if it was our choice. He would drape a coat over me. He would shield me until I was safe within the trees. And then, I could see him climbing the metal pole up to the platform and punching the client so hard they would never be able to find every tooth after they fell into the lagoon.
But he doesn’t do any of this.
Instead, Sky drags my hands away from my breasts so they are on full display. He follows with removing the layer of scales on my legs, which peel off with no issues. A private exhibit. But my uninhibited body is made public. No paint. No scales. No feathers. No lace. No simple skeletal slip. No disguise whatsoever.
The blush I feel heating my cheeks betrays all my senses.
It is little comfort that Sky becomes just as naked. It only incenses me more. A second later, he couples my naked self into his arms, hoisting me up until I’m situated on his hips. It’s all too fast. He carries me into the water, but he keeps both our upper halves out and on display because, again, Sky knows the instructions. And I…didn’t want them. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to be prepared.
Now, I must wonder if it was a mistake.
Careful and cautious, Sky tips me back so my spine is in line with the water, my chest thrusting into the air. Anchored on my back, one hand holds me still while his other slides along the fine line between my cleavage. And before I can blink, he jams himself into me. My face is within a direct line to the client and my eyes draw an invisible line right to him. His lips are parted, chest heaving from arousal. I slam my eyes shut just as Sky finishes his own final slam right before his throb lingers for a few moments.
Nothing but emptiness for me.
But I suppose that is every client’s fantasy.
Our work is done. Interaction over.
A simple dress was provided for me after the interaction, which I slip into right after the client is gone. If it’s possible, Sky and I are even more silent on the elevator ride back. If nothing else, Kerrie should now be back in our quarters. My nose yearns for his scent, to bury my face in his curls. I ache to hold him, especially after watching him sleep in the chamber last night.
Sky returns to his preparation room to get his own scales off. Part of me doesn’t want to bother, but I know if I don’t, I’ll regret it.
BODY is designed to remove it with a singular applicator. If I go back to our room now, Kerrie and Verity will start ripping the scales off with their fingers, and my skin will bleed.
As always, my flesh is a little chafed and red after the process, but it will heal in no time.
All around me, the bioluminescent angels cast soft silver light into the room. As if they are broken-off chunks of the moon, drifting, knocking into each other like chaotic celestial bodies in space.
But all I can think about are Kerrie’s silver curls.
Just as I turn to leave, the shield dissolves before I can turn it off. As soon as I see Wylder, I huff and try to pass, but he pushes me back.
“I know what you did last night.” His eyes thin like starved bones. Too starved because I recognize the glint in his eye, both feral and hungry.
“What are you talking about?”
He brandishes a threatening finger in my face. It reminds me of a stinger. “Don’t deny it. Perhaps I should arrange for a longer nursery stay for your son. Or maybe your daughter this time.”
“Don’t you dare take away my children,” I snarl, stepping forward, careless of how my forehead bumps against his finger.
It happens too fast. When he seizes my one arm, twisting it around my back, his voice low and predatory in my ear. “You think you’re so special. You’re not. You believe you have some sort of power here. You don’t. I do.”
I have to wrestle my lightning words back down my throat. Nothing in me wants to. I want to challenge him, remind him of what Haven does to him at night, or launch a string of fiery insults because he’s nothing but a power-hungry coward.
“Let me go,” I command, but Wilder doesn’t leave. The performance and interaction tonight have left me more exhausted than usual, so it’s more difficult to wrangle my arm back. As soon as I do, I put as much distance between us as possible. But he doesn’t step aside to let me pass.