by Emily Shore
I’m grateful she asks no questions. Then again, why would she? She’s lived through this. But never at the hands of her own flesh and blood. That is where we differ. I suppose Force was altogether a different sort of bond. Perhaps even closer. I know that bond still exists on some level. Even if the strings binding them together are raw and tattered, they still exist. No one can ever escape Father. So much more than a ghost, he becomes one’s own personal poltergeist.
“She did well,” I say after a few minutes.
“Don’t,” my mother requests as she finishes the process, eyes focused on my back.
“It was my choice.”
It’s the first time I’ve made my mother pause. It’s the first time I’ve seen her gaze more than just contemplative, patient, loving, or even understanding when she stares at me. In fact, it’s resentful.
“It wasn’t yours to make,” she says, voice deliberate.
“You didn’t want to. I did.”
“It’s not your responsibility.”
“It’s not about responsibility.” I set my chin on the pillow. “Father has been a part of me for a long time. Longer than the stretch of time he spent with you. I understand him on a level you never will. I will never fall into the snare of needing him like you would. I keep him at bay. I keep them all at bay.”
Serafina sighs as if doubting my words.
“And what about Serenity?” At least she doesn’t argue with my last statement.
I don’t look at her. “What about her?”
“She is your sister.”
I shake my head.
“Will you always keep her at bay?”
When I don’t respond, Serafina sighs, and I wonder if she understands why I refuse to really see the girl who wears my face.
“Serenity has her faults. She has her father’s blood, but she is not him.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at her. At the words she’s repeated that earlier came from Serenity’s mouth.
Serafina purses her lips and stares up at the ceiling, weighing words, narrowing down which ones she wants to use. “Serenity may be a butterfly flying in a storm. But she always comes back to the earth. She has something that grounds her. She won’t let Force lead her astray. She won’t fly straight into the lightning.”
I remember the girl’s face inside the Breakable Room. I remember the anger striking a chord on her features when I’d refused her help because she thought it was something she could fix. Oh, her arrogance in thinking we could ever share anything but DNA! Perhaps if I saw more of Serafina in her, but there is not enough to reckon with. Father and his pride are strongest in her. Now that we are all in the Temple, our mother will see soon enough.
Serenity can never be both parents like me.
She will always see the world through fire-colored glasses.
16
M y N e S t
Serenity
Sky feels like the nest I come home to. He is waiting for me in the middle of my room. Luc is with him. Glad to see they’re tolerating each other.
When I enter the bedroom, I imagine I must look as haggard as I feel. Without bothering to shake the curls loose from both sides of my face, I take slow, single-minded steps in a straight line until I’ve reached my destination. His arms come around me, reminding me of their sanctuary even while I want to resist the healing.
I flick my gaze over at Luc, and Sky juts one finger at the door.
“Out.”
Luc does not argue with his brother, for which I’m thankful. I’d like to believe it’s because he recognizes how much I need Sky right now, but I doubt it.
“Talk to me, Ser.”
Yes, talk. Words are necessary. Kerrick’s death was different. Now, I need to sort out my thoughts, reckon with my emotions, face the consequences.
“She hates me. I don’t blame her.”
“I don’t either. I blame that parasite of your father.”
I make my way to the bed and slump onto it, shoulders heavy. “It’s more than that. It might have started with him, but she’s built up a wall around herself. Having to play my father in the Breakable Room just makes it thicker. How am I supposed to get through to her when I’m supposed to ‘become like him’?”
Shrugging, Sky collapses onto the bed beside me, legs hanging halfway off to the floor. “Guess you try three times as hard when he’s not around.”
I lie next to him, ease my head onto his shoulder, and peer up at the sprite light canopy. The one with a tranquil lake scene with ambiance noises of crickets and bullfrogs. I smile. Sky must have chosen it. I raise a finger toward the water, discovering how the canopy lowers at my body’s motion. My father’s feature, I’d wager. The corner of the scene offers an option to change the programming. I summon up the canopy’s internet capabilities, sweeping my finger to a host of apps.
Sky snorts next to me.
“What?” I glance at him.
He jerks his head, points to an app. “Pleasyour.” He says the app name, which sounds like a butchering of “pleasure”. “I’ve heard of it. Must be Force’s little present. It’ll send energy pulses in the form of pleasure wavelengths into your body.” He selects the app, shows how I can choose any setting and any model or story I want. Countless celebrities and models make up the repertoire. Sky and I start going through the gallery, laughing at the cheesy stories.
“Come on, Sky,” I tease, elbowing his side. “You know you’d totally want the naughty maid who knew too much.” I gesture to the exotic mystery story.
Sky chuckles, bantering with me. “How about him?” He pulls up the profile of a muscular knight from medieval times, who kneels and holds a rose. “He seems interesting. Description: Heroic, romantic, worships at your feet, will perform any command you desire. The sky is the limit. Hmm…” He trails off before nudging our foreheads together. “Seriously, are you curious, Ser?”
I flick my hand up to turn off the canopy. “No. I want my first time to be with you.”
It came out so fast I shouldn’t wonder why Sky appears a little surprised himself. I can’t think about it all right now. Not with how close his body is. Or how in this light, the dark muslin in his eyes wraps me in warmth.
So, I whisper, “Have you figured anything out yet?”
Sky sighs, staring up at the canopy. “I could get you and your sister out but not your mother. She’d want you to go.”
“I won’t. Not without her. And Bliss won’t either.”
“The implant link is recent technology. I’m still researching what I can find. It can’t be hacked remotely because it’s connected to Force’s personal interface. It has to be tampered with manually. And there’s no telling where the implant is located inside him.”
“So, it’s pretty much impossible.” I throw my hands in the air before dragging my nails into my scalp. “What if I’m not strong enough for this? What if I start to become him?”
He blows out a breath through his nostrils, upsetting a couple of wavy tendrils of his hair in the process. “Would like to say it won’t happen because you have me. But it’d be a lie.” Sky turns so our noses bump, so his eyes peer dead into mine. “I’ll be here for you like always. But you gotta fight it, too. I can’t do it for you. We all got our own demons we gotta wrestle. Came to grips with my own in that Shed just like you did yours. Guess you’ll be facing your biggest demon here.”
I cup my forehead. “That’s an understatement.”
“Hey,” he says, and I turn with a sigh. “Stay with me, Ser. I’ll always come for you. Just ask that you stick around.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Sky shifts our bodies. Folds us under the covers, saddling me against his body, nestling his arms around my waist and creating a cocoon of our combined body heat.
When I wake in the morning, he’s returned to the rafters. It’s cold without him, but I still smell him on my skin, so I hang onto that even when my father’s voice calling me for breakfast sours my appetite.
>
17
T e m P l e T o U r
Serenity
“This is the Mermaid Exhibition Level.”
Force reveals this singular level to me in his extravagant sky-city. It’s a higher level, and he’s saved it as one of the last exhibit levels he will show me today. A closer, more in-depth tour will occur later tonight. I don’t bother telling him I’d rather stay in the Penthouse. After all, any information I can give to Sky will be helpful. Mentally, I try to catalogue all the security details I can: the temporary barcode every visitor is required to have upon entry, the sensor-driven glass gates that scan each barcode to determine if patrons have paid for a certain level or interaction—credits, of course—the Black Hand security guards scattered throughout each level. Naturally, more monitor the higher ones along with drones. Two accompany Director Force on every level but the Penthouse. Their shadows have hovered behind us all this time.
Up ahead, I get a glimpse of the first exhibit and feel overdressed again. Just like I did in Arabia Land. Or Ballerina Land. Or Beach Land. The last took up entire lower levels and boasted a real sand beach and a wave pool with a solar-driven backdrop to simulate an ocean horizon. My father boasted about the palm trees he’d imported from tropical locations.
Upon entering the mermaid level, we pass a receptionist’s desk strategically placed before any of the displays. On either side of the desk are frosted glass gates that prevent viewers from entering until they’ve scanned their barcodes. She doesn’t look up on our initial approach as she studies the holographic screen in front of her, narrow-framed spectacles perched on her equally narrow-bridged nose.
“Welcome to Mermaid Land. Would you like to schedule a personal tour or interaction?” she drones, monotonous.
“Good morning, Rhonda.”
Immediately, she straightens and leaps out of her chair, upsetting a coffee mug before scrambling around to the other side. “Director Force! My deepest apologies. I wasn’t expect—”
“Come now, Rhonda, I don’t bite,” he tells her while scooping up her hand to kiss it.
Rhonda is much older than me. I’d wager closer to my father’s age, and I wonder why he’s arranged for someone more advanced in years as a receptionist and tour guide. She manages a half smile, and I sense a history between them. Considering how many girls my father has taken to his bed, it doesn’t surprise me that he would have sampled a wide variety.
“Do you need a personal tour?” she offers, but Force raises a hand.
“No, thank you. We won’t be long since lunchtime is approaching. Please don’t forget clients still grace our halls during the day hours, slower though it may be.”
“Yes, Director Force. We have many interactions scheduled for this evening, and—”
“I understand, but this place must run like a well-oiled machine. Do not forget what happens to parts that cannot perform.” His voice lowers an octave on that last note, tone like a bristling porcupine, reminding one of its needles.
She lowers her head, and he dismisses her. For her, I can tell the receptionist’s desk is more like a bubble. Considering he didn’t bother to make an introduction, I know he counts her as no more than a bug he may squash at any time.
My father taps his temple, both sides of his mouth curling as the frosted gates open before him. Proud as a jester with peacock feathers to preen. “I used to have interface lenses, but they would be far too simple for my enemies to steal and manipulate. A neural interface is far more effective.”
“Anything you’re pondering?” He escorts me down the hall. Designed as such for lines, but tanks line each side filled with exotic species of fish.
Oh, you know, trying to keep a log of everything I’ve learned so I can later use it to escape or so I can use it against you.
“All your receptionists are older. Why?”
“A simple question with a simple answer: I prefer my exhibit lovelies to be the main spectacle. I do not detract from them in any way.”
“But in the main lobby—”
“The processing center is different,” he interrupts, staring back at me every so often but not at any tank. “One must keep up appearances. Having worthy girls checking clients in keeps them more intrigued. If those girls are simply ones who act as directional guides, then what are the exhibit ones like?”
I suppose there weren’t too many girls in the lobby. Everything was automated from barcode machines to screens allowing someone to customize their visits for the day—what levels they would pay for, how much time they would stay, and if they wanted to pay extra for an interaction. Digital advertisements only served to tease clients more, providing them with tidbits of information regarding the higher levels—a method used to seduce credits straight from their barcodes. Yearly sponsors are provided complimentary access to one level for the duration of the year. Lifetime sponsors get full access including behind the scenes interactions and extended services of their choosing.
Up till now, I haven’t asked many questions. Exhibits have proven too distracting, much like this one now as we come to the entryway.
The first two displays are simple rectangular boxes resting behind glass-barred gates, preventing any sense of full access to the girls. These girls have simple prosthetic tails and similar additions to the rest of their body. They alternate between climbing into the water-filled boxes to swim only to issue out and sit on top as if they are sunning themselves. With the solar lights imitating the sun above our heads and the ambience of ocean waves, it’s not difficult to picture.
However, my father doesn’t linger here. Here, there is a system. Exhibits become more complex the more we progress. Displays continue to grow, adding touches of coral, seaweed, oceanic rock formations. The final exhibit is an ostentatious tank with a backdrop of a glittering sunken palace. More than one mermaid frequents this.
Once I cross over to examine the mermaids inside—the attention to detail paid to their prosthetics and makeup from the symmetrical scales on their legs to the prosthetics joining their feet. Some have coral prosthetics or octopi-like suckers so they truly become part of an oceanic world. Blue hair for a few, green for another—no color left untouched. A couple have shells to decorate their privates. Scales, pearls, or jewels house others while a couple don’t have anything but their serpentine hair mushrooming into the water. They all swim down to my level, pointing and gesturing, hands spread against the glass. I turn to see my father watching with an amused smirk, hands folded behind him.
“Your underwater dance the other night has become an overnight sensation. My mermaids are eager for you to join them.” When he sweeps a finger against the glass, one girl flirts with him, spinning around in a teasing manner.
None of them surface. A never-ending supply of bubbles continue to trickle up from their noses.
Puzzled, I narrow my brows, waiting for an explanation.
“My beauties here are equipped with built-in oxygen devices.”
Spreading my hand to theirs, I dream of the possibility. To actually breathe underwater!
“Naturally, I cannot allow you to swim in dual exhibits. You will always have your own private one. Ahh, that would be Jewel.”
Startled at the sudden creature sashaying through the water, back end bobbing up and down, I hurry to catch up to her shape as she swims past the other mermaids. Their fingers tickle across her sleek back, the steel gray of her skin and fins. Her eternal smile lodges in my memory, the familiar whistles and chirps I remember waking to one childhood morning we spent in my parents’ seaside villa.
My father cups my shoulders as I stare at the dolphin. “Would you like to swim with Jewel, Serenity? My beauties here are trained to do so for exhibits, but I can certainly arrange for you to have an experience.”
To breathe underwater while swimming with a dolphin.
The Temple’s lasso tightens.
“We have one level dedicated to the different seasons. I’m certain you would enjoy Winter,” he says knowingly.
More of a summer person, but I can take winter as long as there’s a way to swim inside like a hotel indoor pool. Summers with my family at our lakeside manor were the best times. Summer days swimming in the water, nights curled up by the fire. Winters in hotels were the best. Wool sweaters snuggled my neck and hid my curves as I watched the snow fall outside the windows while Sky and I sneaked into the pools after midnight to swim.
The elevator doors open.
“This one is another personal favorite of mine,” Force tells me.
This time, Force has chosen an employees’ entrance into the main wing on the opposite side of the receptionist desk. As soon as I step inside, I notice movement on my right from behind glass. Inside is a young girl no more than fourteen with an ensemble of eye makeup that runs in strategic drips from her eyes that emphasizes weeping. Flecking the end of each tear-line is a tiny diamond. She wears nothing but a transparent white dress. While the rest of her exhibit is pitch black, a spotlight dazzles her form wherever she walks, casting a dim glow around her outline. As soon as she moves, her wings appear. Great, feathered, and black as nightshade and nightmares.
“This is Angel Land,” Force declares, sweeping a hand to the floor.
Some girls wander in exhibits clothed in nothing more than white feathery wings and lacy lingerie. One exhibit is a featured one, the signature for the month—labeled Fallen Angel. Pupils dilated so much it looks like they’ve swallowed her irises. Black veins web out from random areas of her eyes and the corners of her blue-tinted mouth, resembling thin sinister branches. Nothing but a black rose for each of her breasts. On the ground all around her are clumps of feathers splattered by blood. Off to the right exhibit side, I see a wing lying there, plucked and discarded like an unwanted doll. When she turns around, the black tea skin of her bare back reveals one long jagged gash where the wing has been severed. The injury drips blood I’m certain is a result of some timed-device that is meant to drip every few minutes or so.