by Emily Shore
Love and violence can never mix. There is no fine line between them. There are miles bound by intimacy, affection, honor, and respect.
I won’t run away this time.
Jade closes my fingers around the lip of the healing bottle, startling me, before pointing to the water bowl and cloth. She also gives me the skin-splicer.
“You are getting stronger.”
She departs without saying another word. Invisible roots are dragging my ankles back. The length of time it takes for me to reach Sky is pitiful.
“Sky…” My voice cracks as I try to garner an explanation, a pithy excuse, an apology.
“Don’t, Serenity,” he warns. “I know what your mother looked like for years before you did. But you’re not him. You hear me?” He flicks his head to the right, eyeing me as I press the cloth to his wounds and cringe with him. “Ser, look at me.”
Pausing, I meet his deadpan gaze.
“I’ve always been able to read you, Serenity Lace. You look like you just swallowed a thistle bush.”
“But I wanted it, Sky.” I try to deny his words. “In the middle of all that, I wanted it.”
“We all have our demons.” He shrugs it off.
Except my demon is built right into my DNA. I try to remember Sky is Family, too. And he has other demons to reckon with. Ones I see every day.
“You don’t look like he does.”
Sky winces when I dab at the blood on his back, ensuring the antiseptic gets inside before I fuse the skin together. “What?”
“You don’t look like Luc when he’s in pain.”
Sky smirks. “How do I look?”
Wringing out the blood and rinsing the cloth again, I touch my fingertips to his arms. “You feel it.”
“Yeah.” He coughs, clears his throat, and adds, “Been feeling a lot of different things in here. Makes one aware of how much they can take. My pain limits have stretched more than they ever have. Why didn’t you run this time?”
“It was…overwhelming. But I couldn’t run from you. Not this time. It’s just—he used a whip, too. How do I know—”
Sky grunts, interrupting with a shake of the chains. “What does your mind tell you?”
“That it’s wrong. But it feels right.”
“What’s stronger than your feelings?”
I close my eyes and drop my head on his shoulder, recalling his words from when we were younger…
I stare at the butterfly I’ve caught in my glass Mason jar. Restless, it flutters. Wings fanned in and out, in and out. I tap the glass once, beaming at the prize, wondering for a moment what it will look like pinned in a frame, its flutter-less corpse decorating my wall.
“But she’s so beautiful, Sky,” I protest, hugging the glass to my chest. “She makes me feel like I can fly just by watching her.”
Sky touches the top of my hand, urging me with his soft eyes. “I know, Ser. But remember what we promised? Nothing should ever be locked in a cage.”
“Because of Mom.”
“Right. And what’s more important than feelings?”
“Love.”
“And what is love?”
I don’t think. Just duck under Sky’s arm to press my lips to his. Even in the cold Shed, they are warm. Like him. He tastes like sweat and salt, but my tongue can still pick up a trace or two of the earth just after the rain because that is my Sky.
With my cheek pressed to his, mouth bowing upon his, I finish, “A choice, Sky. We always have a choice.”
“Good girl.”
25
N i g h T i n g a l e’ s C h o I c e
Last exhibit.
At one point at the end of the week, I brush past Chrysanthemum in the hallway. As soon as I notice her eyes—blanker than wispy tulle—I understand she’s nothing more than a slate wiped clean. That’s why I haven’t seen her since she murdered Shane. No more bounce in her step. No longer does her hair flick back and forth like a dancing marigold. Instead, she wears it in a bun now. This Garden is filled with other blank slates, skin whipped into quiet servitude or minds lost in Bliss-filled clouds so they can feed men’s bodies every day and night—like Cosmos. Whether Cosmos will ever come down from her swing in the clouds is a mystery, but if she ever does, it’s a long way to fall. At least I know Forget-Me-Not will be there for her. I wish I could take them all with me.
Jade continues to escort me to the Shed, monitoring my progress with Sky. Over the past few days, she moved onto interrogation, training me in the art of coaxing information from him. All related to me, Sky was forced to surrender the finer points of his fantasy. What he felt during my Swan dives, what he wants when he looks at me, what he wishes for our future—but I can still tell there are pieces missing. Parts he doesn’t want Jade to know. He hides the undercurrent by only showing what’s on the surface. Last night, he’d related a dream he’d had in the Aviary, one involving a Swan dive in the lake especially for him. Rather than listening, I’d blocked my mind, focused instead on memories we’ve shared. Like the one spent at a lake house over a year ago.
* * *
“Are you done?” Sky asks me from the bank as I approach the shallow end.
Taunting him, I fan my arms above my head and float onto my back. “Maybe. Maybe not!”
“Your fingers must be prunes now. You’ve been swimming for hours. You finished swimming with your relatives?” he calls, referring to the native fish who reside here.
“I’m mastering their language. You should learn it. It’s quite interesting. Lots of gloops and croaks and grunts and squeaks.”
“Fish don’t squeak,” he disagrees.
“Yes, they do,” I protest, pushing up to stand with my hands on my hips. “I know I heard a squeak.”
“When?”
“Um…” A little sheepishly, I crinkle my nose. “When I tugged on its pectoral fins.”
Despite the night all around us, the full moon exposes Sky when he rolls his eyes. He shakes the towel clumped in his hand. “Out, Serenity,” he orders.
“Have to catch me first!”
I don’t wait for him to fume. Diving under the water, I caress the lake like a designer judging fine silk. It will take Sky longer to catch up with me. Since it’s dark, it will also be more difficult for him to find me, so I take my time, sucking up the hide-and-seek moments, surfacing only when my lungs start to whine.
I rise far from the shore. Way out here, the water is deeper. My legs ache from the cold, but as long as they keep moving, they can create pockets of warm currents. I almost regret my action when I notice Sky’s expression as he swims toward me. Those lips of his have compressed into a familiar thin line—a sign of frustration. It’s normal for his curled waves to impede those deep-set eyes of his, but now, his eyes are bare and heated. Bubbling chocolate orbs boiling over the sides of a cauldron. His muscles alone would be enough to strike fear into the heart of anyone…but not his eyes. Only when he squinches them and narrows his lips do his eyes turn a shade of deadly, but Sky could never scare me. To me, he’ll always be dreamy. Okay…dreamy with muscles.
“I knew I’d get you out here one way or the other.” I splash him a little just as he pumps through the water.
“You’re shivering, Ser. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
I shrug. “What’s a few days in bed with you granting my every request? We both know you’ll do it.” I poke his chest.
He recoils, rolling his eyes again. “Yes, I’m your indentured servant for life. Happy? Can we go in now?”
“Do you realize you look like a water god?” I flick one of his biceps. He turns at the motion, threads his brows. “Like Poseidon.” The compliment comes out on a whisper.
“Are you done?”
“Oh, lighten up, Sky!” I nudge him, but Sky shoves me away.
“Stop, Serenity. You’re fifteen, and I’m nineteen. Things aren’t the same anymore.”
Nothing is the same anymore.
* * *
“Skeleton
Flower…” In my room, Magnolia garners my attention. The memory dissolves like dying frost before the morning sun. “You’re ready.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“It’s what I do.”
I touch her arm just as she prepares to cap the body paint. “I know. It’s what you’ve always done. You try to be the best. You try to hold yourself together. That’s how you fight every day. You’re my exact opposite,” I reflect.
“I cannot dupe myself like most girls. Can’t let my body and mind go to fog from Bliss, but I also can’t burn like you. I’m not numb, but I don’t feel everything. It’s enough for me to simply…be.”
Only body paint as our barrier, I weave my arms around Magnolia’s frame. We come together as friends, our white skin mirroring one another’s, ghostly hair wisping together. As soon as Jade turns the door handle, Magnolia steps away and hands me the transparent Skeleton Flower shift.
“Wait,” Jade interrupts, causing us to pause. “I want to look at you first. This is your last exhibit here, and nothing must be left to chance.”
Her pinched eyes study me. Even her fingers have eyes when they arrest my arms, turning limbs over to inspect Magnolia’s body paint—a host of white vines and glassy Skeleton Flowers. Finally, Jade nods, leaving me free to adopt the shift. Magnolia departs, but Jade lingers, fingers my curls.
“You have practiced well this week.”
She refers to our Shed rendezvous, how we’d experimented with different floggers and brands of whips. The device is a wonder. Fuses the skin back together, regrowing cells without the necessity of stitches. Only so I can open them again.
“At least I can comfort myself with this. You are learning. Your flesh is sharpening.” She tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear. “You remind me of your father. You will crush men. Perhaps you will even accomplish what I cannot—learn the secrets of the Temple. I have no doubt you will meet your father soon.”
I have no doubt of it either. But I already know the Temple’s best-kept secret—my twin. Neil will lead me to her. As much as I want to believe I can rescue my mother and Kerrick, as much as I want to believe Bliss is within my reach, another voice in my head, one that sounds faintly like Sky’s while we were growing up, warns me that riding into the sunset on magical horses is just a fairy tale. No amount of wishing will make it real.
As soon as I enter the exhibit, I wonder if the walls will crumble around me because I feel like my fingertips can shatter the glass. My lightning is ready to strike the water and boil it into steam. I stray from the center of the exhibit, leaping off the stones. Convinced the Aurora Borealis has taken refuge in my eyes, I lunge for each window, clawing at the glass. A she-wolf with fire and ice in her veins. Might as well end with a resounding bang. Let them look if they want. Let them salivate. Let their eyes roam across every inch, every curve and curl and camber. In my mind, I whip each ogling iris and pupil into blindness. It is I who plasters their faces in hot tar and seals their mouths so they can suffocate. Down to the very last window, I pursue them with a smile. Manipulative. Some devious marionette plotting the murder of her master. The cold raindrops almost simmer when they land on my fiery skin.
As soon as the music pummels to silence like a fist connecting with a jaw, I end on the stones, dropping and crumpling with my arms wrapping around myself, denying them their one last moment to see me. Victorious, I raise my head when the spotlights turn dark.
Jade opens the corner doors to collect me.
At first, I thought she’d be disappointed, but the haughty eyes and smirk betrays her pride. She doesn’t lead me to my room, but I recognize the familiar hallway and the door she opens. Inside is Neil, though he stands before the glass window, the viewing chair still spinning from his sudden departure. He welcomes me with a towel in one hand and my own clothes in the other—my willowy skirt and peasant blouse.
“Stupendous,” he exclaims as Jade closes the door behind me. “Our limo awaits.”
Untarnished jubilation from the thought of leaving the Garden and never returning injects into me. I advance toward him, peeling off the saturated shift and seizing the towel from his hand to wrap it around myself. Wringing out my hair, I eye Neil from the side, matching his infectious smile dead-on.
“I have a remover available if you want to wash off the body paint.” He directs a hand to the table behind me, motioning to the bottle.
Part of me wants to forget the paint. Let it dry for all I care. Don’t waste time. You can do it later. But then, I remember my last act in the Aviary—toppling the Swan sculpture, rejoicing at the sight of all that wrecked glass. Right now, I decide this will be my breaking moment, my final act. Ridding myself of the white curse on my skin.
Careless of Neil, I sweep toward the chair, drop the towel, sit, and then uncap the bottle. Tonight, I am the queen with the secrets. He is nothing but a trickster, and I recognize every one of his antics. Nothing he does will pillage this moment. Whether he tries to tease me, intimidate me, goad me, provoke me, exasperate me, or just plain gawk, I don’t care. His eyes aren’t surgeons dissecting me anymore. To me, they have straitjackets on.
Lathering up a rag with the remover, I drag it across each arm, closing my eyes and reveling as the white starts to smear. After soaking the rag in water, I bring it to my face, wiping away shimmer and sparkle, tearing at the Skeleton eyelashes. Cloth rinsed, I pour more remover, scrub the paint and silver flecks from my legs, from my thighs, from my belly, and finally from my breasts until the water is the color of an iced cake. After drying myself once more with the towel, I stand, secure my undergarments, and end with the peasant blouse and skirt, the latter kissing the floor. I march to the door, ignoring Neil, but pause when he doesn’t follow right away.
“There’s something different about you.” With his fist planted on his chin, he seems to ponder his statement before he drops his hand and approaches me. “Out there and in here, you’ve acted like a goddess. Like you’re untouchable. You act like—”
“Don’t say his name!” I strike at Neil fast in warning. “He doesn’t exist right now!” If my tongue could drip acid, it would. Neil touches his fingertips to his cheek, light, amused. “I am not him! Like you said, we have our own talents. Even if they come from him, we can still damn well use them against him.”
“Hmm…” Neil cups my chin, indenting his thumb just above. “And you wonder why men fawn all over you.”
He leans in, but I exhale nightshade into him at the same time. “Finish, and I’ll filet your eyeballs over a bonfire.”
Neil snickers before shrugging with a tilt of his head. Releasing me, he retreats. “As a graphicker, I’m quite fond of my eyeballs, and since I fully believe you’d make good on that threat, I’ll refrain from a sample.”
“Ever,” I clarify.
He stretches out his hands. “Can’t lie. No promises.”
“We might share DNA, but mine will strangle yours in your sleep if you ever try anything with me again, Neil Force,” I spit, stinging him with our biological surname.
After raising a finger to signal me to wait, Neil meanders to the table where a champagne bottle rests. My devious grin mirrors his but for different reasons as he uncorks it, spilling a confection of bubbles over the lid. As he approaches, Neil tips it back, swallowing a hearty draft before offering it to me. I scrutinize the bottle, rubbing the wet drops between my fingers. Quick as a flash, I hurl it as hard as I can, aiming for the exhibit window. It doesn’t break, but the bottle does. Gratified by the smithereens of glass and spilled contents, I turn around and open the door, hearing Neil mutter behind me, his tone playful.
“Bloody waste of a good year.”
“I’m not going with you, Serenity.”
To say the least, Nightingale’s statement stupefies me.
“I’ve thought it over for the past two weeks, ever since you told me about Neil’s offer.”
She drums her fingernails on the table while I gape at her from the opposit
e side. “I’ve spent years accustomed to life in a Museum. Ever since Luc scraped me out of life as a Family stripper,” she declares while nodding to the former director who stands behind me with his hands draped around my shoulders. “Even though Skylar can get me safe passage to the Sanctuary, it wouldn’t be the place for me. More than that, I believe I can do more good if I stay here.”
“How do you figure that?” I want to know.
“Cosmos.” All she has to do is speak the one name. It dissolves every excuse, every persuasive argument.
“Gale, after everything…” I reach across the table to take her hand, but Nightingale retracts.
Luc interrupts, answering for her, “Do not take Nightingale’s word lightly. Her mind has always remained firm.”
“It’s Black Orchid now,” she reminds us before straightening in her seat and swinging to the side. “I will miss Snow.”
She inclines her head to the slight child I’ve come to love, the one with the white skin, doe eyes, and deer-brown hair who stands next to Luc, pleating her arms together in front of her, elbows bumping. Nightingale pats her hair a little.
Stricken dumb, my first reaction is to stare back at Luc. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out except a croak trapping my words.
“Please don’t come visit me,” Nightingale requests. “It’s better this way.”
“What if—” I stop myself.
It’s foolish to ever consider the world will actually change. Sure, a pebble in a lake creates a ripple effect—one life at a time—but it isn’t enough to launch the full-fledged tidal wave to drown the industry. I don’t want Gale to be a part of it. I want to drag her right out of the Garden, prop her on a paper boat, and then watch her go sailing away to the Sanctuary. Words are more powerful than a croak this time.