by Emily Shore
“That is my Naamah,” Force designates, gesturing to the exhibit. “I use her as a standing exhibit for this month every year, unveiling her for public display now and only now. If clients request her any other time of the year, it must be only as a private interaction. Trust me, many do.”
Naamah’s fingers are crusted in blood. As part of her display, she reaches one arm behind her until her fingers land on what she has lost. The one sacred wing she has left coddles the left side of her body like a scabbard longing to cover its sword. She is a weapon. A weapon with tortuous curves and lost eyes any man would want to hunt down for two lifetimes.
“Isn’t Naamah the fallen angel of prostitution?” I sarcastically quip as the girl behind the glass kneels to gather up her forsaken feathers.
“Well now, someone has studied her mythology.”
“I went through an angel phase,” I excuse. It was a pet name my father always gave to my mother.
“Hmm…these beauties are not so rare anymore. After all, even the early days of our culture associated angels with modeling lingerie and undergarments.”
“A poor representation to the reality of angels.”
“Reality? What a surprise my own daughter should blur the lines between magic and realism.”
Tightening my fists, I confront my father. “Some are made of nothing but fire. Others are nothing but shadows and death. No one could ever see or hear them coming. One angel can strike down hundreds.”
“Fascinating, really. Ahh, Neil.”
My father motions to a figure behind me. I turn around to see my half-brother sauntering toward us, Luc following behind him. Keeping something behind his back, Neil stops just before me, eyes landing on Naamah’s exhibit for a moment.
“I trust everything is in order, son?” Force addresses Neil.
“Just as you ordered.”
Neil produces a small screen that features a national magazine cover image of me underwater from my Swan/Skeleton Flower grand opening. When he swipes the screen, multiple covers reveal others. One of me in the boat, one of me with a hand fanned out on the glass, one of me surfacing—Neil outdid himself. Despite his finger swiping, his eyes aren’t focused on me but on Naamah.
“Excellent,” Force commends him before glancing at Luc. “And how are the next stages coming along?”
Unlike Neil’s casual manner, Luc keeps his hands at his side. So rigid, they’ve practically transformed into stakes. “The next exhibit’s final draft is finished,” he replies in a stony voice.
I spin back to my father. “What is the next exhibit?”
Grinning, he reaches out to tap my nose. “Now, do you honestly believe I would tell you that, my dear?”
“When?”
“Next week. I prefer to draw out your exhibits. But that does not mean you have free time every evening. In fact, I think I’ll have Luc join us for lunch since you will be otherwise engaged for dinner.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t want him to come for lunch.”
Force eyes Luc from the side before flicking his gaze to me. “Don’t be foolish. This show of play is pointless, though I am curious to ascertain what is driving its source. Rest assured, I will learn.
“Now, Neil, if you can manage to clean up the river of drool left in your wake from staring at Naamah, I trust you and Luc can escort Serenity back to her room for lunch. I will be there shortly.” When Neil doesn’t respond, our father huffs, “Honestly, boy, just bed her already. I’ll even give you an interaction on the house.”
Force doesn’t give me the chance to argue more. I groan, frustrated. Even more frustrated because Luc didn’t bother to object to the lunch date.
Neil is still staring at Naamah.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I poke him in the side.
“Ow!”
“Baby.” I stick out my tongue before turning to stand next to him. After screening his eyes that have for once lost all their charm, I surmise, “She’s the one, isn’t she? Let me guess, you’ve never photographed her.”
He shakes his head. “My lens could never do her justice.” His eyes follow her, dance along every curve as she moves, even as she descends into a tragic kneel, neck arched, eyes crying to the heavens.
“You could always schedule an interaction and just talk to her,” I suggest. “Like you did with me.”
“Serenity.” Neil rolls his eyes, then gazes at Naamah again as she wanders toward the back of the exhibit, bare feet smoothing across the polished floor. “No one talks in the Temple. It’s for secrets and fantasies. Nothing more. What happens in the Temple…”
Denial sounds weak coming from Neil’s mouth. Perhaps there really is more to him than meets the eye.
“She is statuesque in a way,” Luc notes. “Nothing like Serenity’s ferocious allure.”
“Stop,” I warn him.
“You two go on ahead. I’ll…be…right there.” Neil waves us off, and it’s clear he intends to take his time. I bet he’ll miss the appetizer course.
“Let’s go,” Luc says.
He tries to take my elbow, but I refuse him and step forward on my own. It doesn’t take him long to fall into stride with me.
He sighs as we approach the elevator. “I’m used to pursuing challenges, not forsaking them.”
“I’m not a challenge, Luc. No girl should be. We’re not conquests.”
We reach the elevator. Luc has a barcode that provides him access to all levels including the Penthouse. Once the doors close, he finally speaks.
“Yes, you are,” Luc contradicts.
“Excuse me?” I exclaim, doing a double take.
Luc stops the elevator. Advances toward me. Instead of backing up against the corner, I retaliate. Familiar with my habits, he knows better because he manages to wrestle my aggressive hand and pin it behind my back just before his other follows suit. I continue to struggle.
“Every man has a deep, stirring need to conquer. It is one reason why wars are fought.” Luc murmurs in my ear, voice bordering on smoky. I can almost sense fumes coming from my ears when he continues, “Despite how simple it is for men to order any girl, their deepest desire is to win one. It’s why so many are never satisfied. It’s why Neil refuses to bed Naamah. Paying for her is far too easy. Love is always a battlefield.”
“You lost the war, Luc,” I seethe.
“There are no rules in war,” he informs me. “Or love for that matter. All is fair. Even theft.”
“You’re a fool.”
“Perhaps.” Leaning in, Luc sweeps aside my hair from my shoulder to reveal his silver brand. “But I noticed you stopped struggling against me.”
I pause, realizing the truth of his statement. Oh, well. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty. Kicking my legs up against the wall, I use the pressure to throw my whole body back and drive him against the opposite wall. His grip on me loosens as well as his balance, and we tumble to the floor, but I use the moment to punch the button. Clearly unfinished with the discussion due to his obsessive need to have the last word, Luc tries again, but I position myself right in front of the panel, guarding it, lightning ready to pounce.
Luc drags a hand through his hair, eyes pinching. “Back away.”
“Not on your life.”
“Fitting.” He steps toward me. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“Gladly,” I shout just as the elevator doors open to the second level of the Penthouse.
As soon as Luc tries to close the distance between us, I duck and slide into the hall, catching up the ends of my skirt so I can run, grateful I’m in bare feet. Shoes have never been much of a necessity for me. I reach my bedroom just before Luc catches up to me.
My hand touches the knob, but I only get one second to turn it.
“We aren’t done yet,” Luc commands, ripping my arm away and shoving me against the wall.
I gasp when he pins me there, reminded of the one heated night where he almost took his fill of me. “Fine. We’ll talk inside. Oh, that’s
right, you’re too much of a coward,” I hurl the word at him.
“Fool, coward—sticks and stones, Serenity. You’re denying what’s right in front of you.”
“That’s right! And I’ll keep denying it and chase everything else that really matters. And if you weren’t so thick, if you had one ounce of decency, you’d respect—” His mouth comes down on mine, lips trying to peel mine back. “Luuuu!” I weasel my face to the side, but my cry comes out only halfway before his mouth wrestles with mine again.
I close my eyes and endure, chomping down on all the sensations stirring inside me. The feelings swirl in my stomach, giving my butterflies dizzying dreams, but they try to right themselves through it all. They cling desperately to the inner linings of my stomach walls, wanting so much to stay grounded even as Luc plunders my mouth senseless, tasting me for the first time in weeks.
Once he pauses, creating a gap of no more than a millimeter between us, I try to move, but he keeps my hands settled so far against the wall they become fossilized there. The rest of his body is my pitfall. It seals me into its snare. But no matter how much he tries to inject his ice into me, it doesn’t penetrate unlike before. My butterflies easily shake the frost dust from their wings.
I roll my eyes. “Are you done?”
Annoyed, Luc tries once more, and I groan into his mouth. His determination is the weakness I need because when he lowers his hands to cup my face, I take the opportunity. History repeats itself. I’ve come to appreciate the way my nails can shed his blood.
“You don’t think I won’t tell Sky?” I threaten when he shrinks away from my attack.
He applies pressure to the scratches. In the next moment, his eyes blister. “No, you won’t.”
“Oh?”
“You won’t take the risk. Because you know what he’ll do. And you don’t want your father to know.” Luc wipes away some of my blood right before approaching me again. “Trust me, Serenity, I’ve considered telling him, but I won’t. Again, challenges are what we desire most. And I have patience in spades. I’ll enjoy working to convince you.”
“If you want to keep whatever little respect I have for you, you’ll stop this now.” I raise a stern finger. “It’s only going to take you down a deep, dark hole you’ll never come back from.”
Luc’s shadow towers over me as he utters, “As long as I take you with me, I don’t care.”
Both our heads turn at the sound of a one-man audience clapping for us. “Bravo! Excellent form, Aldaine.”
I taste bile in my throat from Force’s presence. Wait! Alarm sends my butterflies scrambling. Luc and I both mentioned Sky. How much had Force heard?
“I wish I’d caught the beginning of the interlude, but even the last few moments were a delightful treat,” my father comments as he glides toward us. “Perhaps we will discuss some avenues over lunch.”
Force opens the door for me.
Eager to be as far from Luc as possible, I hurry inside but pause, capturing the edge of the door with my hand. Then, I face the two of them and announce, “I’ve got an avenue. It ends with both of you out of my life!”
After I slam the door in their faces, I press my ear to the door to hear my father chuckle, “Chip off the old block, that’s for certain. Oh well, come now, my boy. We will enjoy a lunch together. Rest assured, I have a solution to this whole business.”
My solution is standing at the top of the stairs.
Unfortunately, Luc was right about one thing. I won’t take the risk of telling Sky anything about his brother’s actions. If there was a guarantee he wouldn’t do anything hotheaded, maybe, but it’s a possibility, especially with him stuck in the rafters every day.
Before I take another step, I overhear Force.
“What? I’ll be right there.”
A pause.
“Lunch will need to be postponed.”
His voice edges away, and I crack the door just enough so I can hear the rest of the conversation.
“If you’ll come with me, Luc, there is a situation where I could use your expertise.”
Luc doesn’t accompany my father just yet. Stopping a few steps away, Force turns to face the former director.
“And what expertise is that?”
“Why, the art of killing. Naturally.”
“And why would you require my expertise in that particular field?”
“More like your reflections. A girl has been murdered on level twelve.”
No.
Invisible hands choke all my butterflies. I close the door, sink to the floor, then burrow my face in my knees.
Not again.
Part II
18
D e J a V u
Luc
“She was bound,” I remark as I bend to examine the body, which lies face down on the glass floor. “You can see the chafing on her wrists.” I circle the area above them without touching her.
Using a pen, I sweep aside her hair to study her neck, confirming my suspicions based on her skin palette. “There are signs of strangulation, indicating a necessity for control over the victim.”
“Good observations thus far, Aldaine.”
It astounds me how that man can pay compliments at a time like this. Always playing the charming director mask despite my knowing the contrary. I suppose we all don them in some form or other. I have my own, but at least I’ll admit it.
“I need gloves.” I turn to look over at Force, who squats next to me. “Don’t you have a forensic pathologist or medical examiner on staff?”
“Retainer,” he clarifies. “Situations like this don’t occur too often. Naturally, accidents happen in the line of duty for girls here, and we avoid the negative publicity and compensate the families if such families exist. In this case, Star Fruit—” he gestures to the victim, “—was one of my Exhibit Girls of the Year. There is one for each level.”
It doesn’t surprise me. We had our own system at the Aviary with girls who had performed more admirably than others and rose to become Higher Birds. None such as Serenity. Just beckoning the Aviary memories where she was under my control and not her sadistic father’s stirs the killer inside of me. My greatest regret is the auction since it didn’t make a damn bit of difference anyway. She walked right through the doors of the Temple.
“What do you think, Aldaine?” Force diverts my attention. Necessary at present. “Jealous rival? Obsessive client? Lustful guard?”
“What about the security cameras?”
“None for this particular area.” He circles a finger around the back employee stairwell. “Higher levels are equipped with better security.”
It does not necessarily mean the killer was employed with the Temple. With proper motivation, an obsessive client could easily determine what avenues don’t have as much security.
“What about other areas? What was her schedule like today?”
“She was off-duty until later this evening. Exhibits of the Year are only featured once a month, and it shifts for each level. Star Fruit could have been in her dressing room or on any other level for all we know. Why?”
“She was not killed here.”
“And how do you know that?”
“The angle of the body, how she was placed—they are all wrong. Her hair is also damp as well as her clothes, which could be a result from drowning, but there is no water in the stairwell other than directly around the body.” I trace the outlines of the corpse. “A lung ‘float test’ during the autopsy will help determine whether she was killed by strangulation or by drowning.”
“We have well over a hundred pools in this complex.”
“Don’t forget whirlpools or private baths or on rare occasions even sinks or toilets.”
“My thanks. I hadn’t thought of that. I will have my security team begin scanning the footage.”
I consider offering my own man as a security consultant, but it’s not the time for a risk, even a calculated one. By now, I know to make such decisions with my brother.
“What we do know is she wasn’t attending to a private interaction,” Force offers. “Her last one ended hours ago, and I interrogated him myself. Close ties to the Syndicate.”
“Name?”
“Tristan Teane.”
I stiffen at the recollection of the man who kissed Serenity upon her first interaction. Though I was not present, I still heard about the encounter from one of the other business associates, who I knew from my Aviary days.
“With your permission, I’d prefer to interrogate Tristan myself.”
Force taps his jaw. “I suppose that could be arranged. What about the body itself? The choice of dress? White is not Star Fruit’s color.”
“Ritualistic or symbolic perhaps,” I opt when I consider the soaked material that is eerily similar to the fashion stipulated for Serenity in the Aviary.
“Sexually assaulted?”
“I’d prefer gloves to turn the body over to check.”
Force snaps his fingers to one of the guards, who removes his black ones. “They will do while we wait for the medical examiner.” He hands them to me.
Donning these gloves feels like second nature despite my father severing me from the Guild. Every time I slide them on, I sit on the artist inside me, push him far down while another part of me may operate whether director or assassin. My gloves become my mask.
Taking the girl by the arms, I shift her body until she’s lying on her back, keeping my eyes on her thighs. Edging the damp fabric up, I examine the skin there.
“I don’t see any bruises or signs of vaginal laceration, but a bodily fluids analysis will have to be completed. Nor do I see any other bruising signs elsewhere on her body, on her arms or—”
I pause when I observe red marks on her chest, muted beneath the fabric of her dress.
“What is it?”
Leaning over, I tug down on the fabric of her dress to see the scored image resting between her cleavage. A series of colorful curses erupts in my mind, but I only mutter one of them.