The Aviary

by Emily Shore

  As if knowing I’d want to ensure he’s done nothing else, Luc raises a mirror to my face. Save for the violet shadows under my eyes and some other random fading ones, it looks untouched by injury.

  “Do you have any idea what you did to me?” There is a sense of urgency in his voice. When I look at him, I see for the first time that his eyes look haggard, burdened by invisible weights. “I was afraid you were in a coma.”

  My voice is cracked and dry when I ask, “Finch?”

  “Swan.” He’s so calm. Even when he smashes the mirror against one of the walls, causing me to flinch. He drags his hands through his hair before turning back toward me. “How can I make you understand they are none of your concern? You are singular. You are not like them. They will never accept you! You are my Swan!”

  “Blackbird—” I try to argue, but Luc cuts me off.

  “Where do you think she is now? One of your darker hours, and do you think she is here trying to visit you as you did her? No, she is attending to a client. Inside this Aviary, you have one advocate. You have me. Never forget that.” He turns, shifting his gaze to the glass shards. Then he starts to chuckle. “You must be a negative influence. Look at what I just did.”

  “You should try it more often,” I say. “It looks better that way. Reminds me what the Aviary really is. Broken.”

  Luc doesn’t react the way I think he will. “I have to agree with you. You are the only unbroken Bird I have ever found.”

  Shifting in the bed, I raise my head a little. “I’m still trying to figure you out, Luc. Whether you’re broken or whole.”

  “Owl. And trust me, I’m just as broken as the rest of them.” He leans forward. “But when I’m with you, I’m whole again.”

  Luc stays by my side most of the day, but leaves me alone at night to ponder his many facets.

  The Aviary director: the master to whom all must bow.

  The Owl: protector over the Birds.

  The son of the Guild: a threatening Black Hand.

  And finally, Luc: whose steadfast hands lull me and create masterpiece exhibits where I come alive.

  Maybe one of his other roles can still benefit me. Like the Guild leader’s son. With his father’s approval resting on him, Luc must know about my parents, must know where they are and about their connection to me. Maybe all it would take is one request. If I ask him for a favor, he might not be able to resist me.

  I lose my chance when they come. Footprints as quiet as shadows tiptoe into the room, and a small bottle is thrust against my nose. I try to rise to defend myself. Even when the chemicals whip my consciousness, taming it to submission, the last one who invades my mind is Sky.

  My body feels like one giant eggshell just waiting for some uncaring boot to crack it. Whatever Luc gave me to abate the pain is gone.

  “The agents will be here this morning. Pictures must be done now if we want to market her!”

  “I know, Anders,” returns the voice like shaved gravestones. “We’ll take them now, edit later.”

  “While she’s sleeping?”

  “Oh, she’s not sleeping.” The smile is apparent in his voice. “Are you, your Swanness? I’ve done this enough times; I can tell when they’re awake or asleep.”

  I am awake enough to register how my bare legs are curled into the fetal position, and when I stir, whatever holds me shakes. Beneath my body, I feel several soft and light things, but when my hands move, the objects flutter. Feathers. Hundreds of feathers, and below the spread of feathers, I feel a cold and metallic surface. Opening my eyes, I realize I’m blinded by a scrap of black fabric. I jerk it away.

  “Careful,” the first voice warns. “She may bite. Or peck.”

  At first, I’m confused. Whatever they put me in is far too small for me to stand up. I can only crawl to my knees, but that’s far too much effort, especially with the giant white wings attached to my back, so I manage to sit. Gold lacquered bars block my body from the men in front of me. When I look up to see the bars shaped into a dome above my head, I recognize it. I’m inside the mouth of a birdcage.

  Pressing my cheek against one cold bar, I struggle to gain control of my breath. Wilder than a trapped lioness, I target the two men.

  One of them raises an object to my face that flashes. The first one grins approval. “Perfect.”

  Undoubtedly graphickers.

  Ignoring the pain throbbing under my skin, I grip two bars and begin to shake the cage, which dangles from a chain fixed to the ceiling. All that produces is more flashes, more photography. Ancient compared to holography. He must be new at this career. Or retro is back in style.

  “Don’t shake too much, Swan girl,” the first graphicker warns me. “Wouldn’t want to shake those feathers right off now, would we?”

  The second one eyes me with a hungry expression. “I wouldn’t mind, your Swanness.”

  I’ve only focused on my surroundings, my disgust for the graphickers, and the pain under my skin. Now, I look down at the mere strips of lace harboring my lower regions and the feathers pasted across my breasts. Other than that, I’m naked.

  I cross my arms over my chest, curling my legs closer to the rest of my body. Anger pecks the tears from my eyes, and all the emotions from the past few days cause them to flow freely.

  “Now, now, don’t spoil that pretty face, Swan. The Temple will take good care of you. We had just enough time to disable the alarm system, kill the guard outside your door, and smuggle you out.”

  No! Which guard? I start to panic.

  “Been canvassing that place for weeks. So lucky you dropped in when you did. Far bigger prize than the other Bird we were going to steal. Graphicking is much more lucrative than smuggling, but I haven’t lost my smuggler’s touch, have I?”

  I don’t give them the benefit of speech. They can capture my body, incarcerate my form behind the glowing screens, but they can’t cage my heart—can’t tell me not to cry. What I wouldn’t give to return to the Aviary. Luc and Sky are both right. Outside, the world is a cage. Worse than anything I’d ever experienced in the Aviary. Luc would never do this.

  “Swan.”

  I peer up just enough so I can see the head graphicker close to the cage now, staring at me. His smile is sinuous and sultry as he lifts the digital printed photograph to the cage.

  “Hush now,” he whispers to the tears in my eyes. “Do you understand why we need to do this?” He traces a finger across the outline of my body on glossy paper. When I don’t respond, he barks an order to the other man, “Open the cage.”

  “Come on! You know how long it took me to set that up?”

  “Open it,” the lead graphicker dictates again, taking one step forward. The other man flinches just a little before producing the keys.

  Even after the door is opened, I make no move. I shrink away when the lead graphicker extends a hand to me. Right now, the cage is my only barrier from them, and I plant one hand on each gold-lacquered bar, closing my fist around it in an iron-tight grip. My new position prompts more photos.

  The lead graphicker approaches me, and I arch my back farther against the cage just as he tosses a collection of photos inside. Each one is mine. Each one imprisons me.

  “It is not about desire,” he continues. “Desire will never be satisfied. It’s about control. Right now, I control everything about your body. But trust me, you’re not powerless.” He motions to the photograph again. “We can do whatever we want to your body, but it’s because of you that I will fail to control my addiction. I’ll surrender whole-heartedly. I become a slave and you the master. And I will keep coming back for more and more.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  The invading voice is savage yet melodic, brutal yet angelic. Sweet as a nightmare’s lullaby. “I hold your fate.”

  In Luc’s hand is a dark barreled object of shiny, silver metal. A gun.

  “Release the girl.” He calls me a girl. Not his Bird, not his Swan. Girl.

  The head graphicker steps f
orward. Withdraws a gun from his jacket. He targets Luc. “The Temple owns her now, bird man.”

  “No one owns her, porn pusher. You have one. Last. Chance.”

  The graphicker raises his gun, and I realize it’s smaller than Luc’s. “Get out of my studio!”

  “So be it.”

  The cannonades inside Luc’s eyes thunder with the force of a thousand curses. He speaks three words to me. “Close your eyes.”

  I do what he says.

  I hear the ricochet of bullets followed by a sickening crackle. Two frantic, panic-induced screams. Then…nothing but the stench of blood and burning flesh.

  The next thing I hear is Luc’s voice once again commanding, “Do not open your eyes.”

  One able hand encompasses my waist and the other roots itself just under my legs so he can hold me. His arms feel just as I remember them. Like he’s holding something light and precious, as though fearful I will float away to where he can’t find me. Except, I could never float away. In this moment, I feel him bending back my wings, taming me just as he predicted he would.

  As he carries me out, I smell smoke in the air. I’ve heard of weapons the Families use. Certain, specialized guns that can shoot bullets that will explode after burrowing in flesh, or ones that will split apart and poison victims with a black, venomous liquid, making a slow and brutal example. I know I should keep my head tucked into the asylum of Luc’s shoulder, but this is my chance to learn what I can about Luc. Not the Guild progeny. Not the Aviary director. Not even the Owl. Luc.

  As soon as I open my eyes, Luc catches me and hisses, “Serenity!” He’s used my real name, evoking how enraged he is.

  The charred bodies reek of cinders. Hot oil oozes out of every orifice. Lethal, precise bullet holes are embedded in their heads.

  Once I tear my gaze away and into the eyes of my rescuer, all I can do is whisper, “Who are you?”

  17

  B I R d s F a l L i n g

  Night again.

  After he returned me to my Aviary room, Luc left for the rest of the day. Whether he did that on purpose so I could process his actions in the studio or he did it out of shame, I couldn’t tell.

  Dove helped to scrub the graphicker feathers clean off my body before letting me rest, which was simple with Sky standing outside my bedroom door now. There was a shift change. Otherwise, the graphickers never should’ve managed to take me without Sky’s notice. As it is, Luc has heightened security due to my abduction. Upgraded the Aviary’s system.

  After sleeping through most of the day, I linger in the heat of a bath, drawing the warmth from the water into my bruised body. Thanks to another dosage of pain reliever, I feel much better. Even if pride touts I should feel the bruises I’ve received for Finch, I’m far too tired to care. Besides, Luc would never have it.

  “How did he find me?” I ask Dove, who sits behind me on the tiles. Her fingers fish through my hair, deciphering the tangles.

  “Most girls are equipped with tracking devices, but your implant is linked to his personal interface. Owl always finds his Birds. I simply cannot brush your hair like this. You must come out.”

  Surrendering, I nod. There is more water than bubbles now anyway.

  “I’ll fetch your robe.”

  After securing me in the cotton folds, Dove motions to the bed so she can comb my strands. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  “Does everyone know?”

  “Owl told me but no others. Some secrets must be kept for the house to function.”

  “I understand.” Images from the studio scratch the surface of my memory; the echoes of their scars will forever linger.

  Luc is always in control. The puppeteer in everything. And now…I owe him. The first day I arrived, the thought would’ve sickened me. Now, it’s like he’s managed to noose one wedge of my heart. It’s as though I’ve given part of my lightning to him. What he will do with the electric currents, I cannot begin to imagine.

  “Dove.”

  It’s the first time I don’t flinch. Instead, I turn to find Luc, hand extended so he may take the comb from her. Tonight, he is dressed all in white.

  I remain where I am while Dove exits my room, and Luc holds the ends of my hair and begins to comb them.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asks. I can hear anguish in his voice.

  I curve my neck ever so slightly, but I can’t see his eyes. “No,” I say, hoping he can hear the resolve.

  “I told you to keep your eyes closed.”

  “I’m not very obedient.”

  He continues brushing and remarks, “Yes, I am keenly aware of that.”

  “Are you going to punish me?”

  He pauses. “No.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I believe the studio was punishment enough. Do you understand now how the Aviary is a safe haven?”

  Too conflicted by Dove’s voice competing with my parents’, I don’t say anything.

  Luc plays with a few strands of my hair, coils them around his fingers. “They were correct on one level,” he says, referring to the graphickers. “We all seek pleasure, but rarely does that pleasure ever fully satisfy. Even what I do for my Birds…there is some satisfaction, but only on the surface.” He pauses. “This is the first time in my life that I’ve found someone who satisfies my heart.”

  I stare down at my hands. To prevent them from trembling, I squeeze the ends of my fingers. His words cause me to consider my own heart. How my will has tried to strengthen my armor, but I’ve underestimated that formidable foe in my chest. Still, I refuse to accept that the fickle organ will beat me. Reminding myself of my parents helps keep my feelings in check.

  Luc’s voice hums to a whisper before he pulls up a chair next to me, then places two fingers beneath my chin to turn my face to him. “Swan.”

  I don’t shirk this time, but I do change the subject, “What you did in there…I knew I was more than just an investment to you.”

  He nods.

  “But what you did to them…”

  He pulls away, and I let go of my breath at the same time he utters, “You said you weren’t afraid.”

  “I’m not.”

  He tilts his head to look at me. “Then, what?”

  “Who were you before the Aviary? How did you even do that?” I refer to the graphickers.

  He smirks. “Ahh…you’re curious. Why should I share anything regarding my past when you refuse to oblige me? All I’ve seen of you is an obstinate girl who laughs at sharks underwater.”

  I know less about Luc’s background than he does mine. But do I risk revealing more of myself? Do I risk letting him capture more of Serenity so he can twist her into the Swan he desires?

  Every time I think of his arms around me, the prospect is less and less horrifying.

  But can I trust him?

  Luc closes the distance between us. His scent cradles the breath around my face. “You want to know who I am. I want to know who you are, and who you want to be. Perhaps we can compromise. We ask one question to each other every night. Nothing but the truth.”

  I think of Sky and his proposal. This could be the chance to get what Sky needs. Still, the risk of losing myself in this Aviary, of becoming like my mother, terrifies me. But if it means finding my parents…rescuing them…

  I nod. “One question. But…” I raise a finger, brandishing it like a conditional blade that impales him, “you must call me Serenity.”

  He frowns right before the corners of his mouth lift like the spreading of wings. “If you will call me Owl.”

  One word. “No.”

  He waits.

  I shake my head, stare at him dead on, two birds of prey measuring each other, waiting for the other to blink. I’m almost dumbfounded when he relents, sighing.

  “Very well, Serenity.

  “Good. I’ll ask first. Who were you before the Aviary?”

  Luc doesn’t hesitate. “I took an interest in the Aviary at a young age. My father came here often to recuperate from the d
rudgery of Family business, and I always joined him. I spent my youth wandering the glass hallways and sketching the girls in the exhibits, memorizing their shapes…their curves…their anatomy.” Luc studies my reaction, but all I return is a blank stare.

  “My father did not originally train me for a career as its director. First, I was a smuggler. Then I was a transporter, then recruiter. I excelled in weaponry and marksmanship. With those unique skills, my father found the best use for me as a contract killer.” He pauses again, but I still don’t react because for the first time, I understand the reason his skin seems to breathe frost into mine. I may not accept it yet, but I understand.

  “Between assignments, I always returned to the Aviary. On one such assignment, I didn’t follow the rule of never leaving a witness behind. All I could see when I pointed that barrel in her face was her potential. Her dark hair, creamy skin…it would’ve been such a waste. So, I brought her to the Aviary.

  “At first, my father was displeased. Until he saw her exhibit and heard her sing.”

  I knot my hands together. “Nightingale?”

  Luc nods. “She excelled. Counted my sparing her life as a mercy and dedicated herself to the Aviary. Her exhibit helped the Aviary to join the ranks of the elite museums in this country. Shortly after we made headlines, my father placed me in charge for a trial period. I used my artistic ability, appointed artisans like Dove to carry out my visions, and the Aviary soared all the more. So, after the trial period ended, my father officially designated me Aviary director. I’ve carried the title for three years.”

  Luc is generous. He could’ve given me a one-sentence answer, but he didn’t. Part of me is worried because what if he asks me the same question? By now, I’m fairly certain Luc can tell whether I’m lying, but do I dare risk telling him anything about my parents, why we’ve always moved, my mother’s escape from the Temple?