by Emily Shore
Finch’s body is laid in a glass casket for all of us to see. Tonight, everyone wears black except for Finch, who is clothed in a white shift. A bed of roses bears her casket, and a circle of white daisies crowns her head. In death, her curls seem to have regained their splendor, all spread around her petite body like a circus of copper-gilded lights.
This is all new to me since I wasn’t at Flamingo’s funeral.
Next to me, at the head of Finch’s coffin, stands Luc. He doesn’t know about the hazing, and Nightingale will keep my secret, take it to her grave of black-winged melodies.
Tonight, only one thing is a silver lining. After what Peacock said about Finch and how Nightingale confronted her got out, Peacock’s popularity ebbed, rolled out with the tide.
Raven is the first to place her feather on top of the coffin. Each Bird will give their own feather, gifts provided to them by the Owl. Each one is silk, so it will last longer. In my hands, I carry the only white feather, and when my turn comes, I hesitate. After my last words to Finch, it seems pitiful, unworthy, to add my feeble feather to the tapestry of others.
Luc regards me with sinking brows. With my hand limp at my side, I drop the feather to the floor and say to Finch, “My feather doesn’t deserve you. It never did.”
Whispers crush the air until Luc silences them, then dismisses everyone but me in short order. The entire time the Birds flutter to the stairs to go back up to their rooms, my eyes don’t once leave Luc’s. I want to show him I’m ready for whatever words will follow.
The first thing he does is walk around the coffin. Then, he kneels and picks up my feather. He nestles it into the featherbed resting on top of the glass. Folding his hands behind his back, he turns to face me. “What happened to Finch is not your fault. She was poisoned,” he says. “Her food was poisoned.”
I trip over his words in my head. Where Luc’s revelation was supposed to bring relief, it does the opposite because I remember something. Finch stole my food. I lean over the casket, gasping in a breath before crunching into a ball beneath it.
I cry into my arms until Luc raises me up.
“Swan—”
“Don’t you get it?” I ask. “You painted a target on me, Luc. The other girls… That poison was meant for me. She ate my food at dinner that night.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I did not know about the poison until I tested all the food from that dinner. I know it was meant for you. But you are here.”
That’s when it dawns on me. I tear myself from his grip. “You’re glad! You’re glad she died instead of me!”
Luc doesn’t let me escape. He pins my arms, backing me against a glass wall. “I’m glad you are still alive, not glad Finch is dead. There is a difference.”
I won’t look at him.
“I will tell you what you are. You are my Swan.” His thumbs leave shivers on my cheeks. “You are unlike any other Bird. You have something inside you that is different. You will never lose it because it’s lightning. Don’t you see that you’re the only one who can light the fire in my soul?”
Before Luc can close the tiny gap between us, I summon all my strength, shove him away, rush for the stairs, and climb them two at a time. At the top, I turn back to where Luc is standing, smiling at me, but not following. Because he knows I understand now. I understand how well he sees me.
All this time, Luc wasn’t just peeking into the window of my soul; he’s shattered the glass. In this short spell of time, he’s come to recognize what has taken a lifetime for Sky. Which means he’s invading my heart, pushing Sky out, and possessing me.
Back in my room, I take out my mother’s journal. It’s the only thing keeping me sane, grounded.
Serenity is like a hurricane in a bottle. I wish she could go to school. I wish she could play with other children. But she doesn’t have the identification chip they insert in all infants at birth. No papers showing her existence. No certificate of birth. I can’t take the risk of her DNA tracing back to Force. I must keep her hidden. But I wonder how long she can go on like this. And I wonder how long Sky will be strong enough to endure her. Could anyone else ever manage?
24
G u L l
When I cut myself off from the rest of the world, my room becomes my drug.
All night long, I remain wrapped in my sheets, curled up in the alcove, staring at the gardens. Not once do I leave the window ledge.
I finish reading my mother’s journal, in hopes I will be able to piece her scattered thoughts into some sort of advice I can follow.
That night, he used the riding crop, the whip, and the spurs. He stockpiled my bruises, opened my skin like it was a cache, spilling my blood. I remember I felt warm before my muscles stopped working and went limp.
I came close to death. But when I awoke the next morning in a Centre bed, both death and life were closer than ever before. Because that was the first time I saw Kerrick.
From what I know of my “father,” he found my mother one morning passed out after the Vampire sucked almost all her blood away. Before my father was a security guard, he was a nurse. He did more than just rescue her; he healed her.
My mother told pretty stories to protect me, but in the process, she failed to properly prepare me for anything in this life. And even though she spent her whole life trying to hide me from the world, and hide the world from me, she didn’t protect me, from life or death.
After reading through the journal for hours, I stand up and make for the door. Sky doesn’t try to stop me. He must know I need to escape. He follows me wordlessly, keeping guard, even if I can see his neck muscles flexing with the desire to simply pick me up one-handed and deposit me safely back in the room.
Instead, he gives me some space and lets me go to the Nest wing, where all is quiet because it’s the wee hours of the morning. Except for Finch’s coffin, which screams at me, accuses me. The poison was meant for me. No possible way for me to guess, considering the enemies I’ve made here.
They will take Finch’s body away tomorrow. She will be burned so she can truly fly away, and her ash will become like magical gray ships sailing her to silver shores. Just like my mother, I use my own pretty stories to cope.
“I’m sorry, Finch,” I whisper.
Then, I hear the cry. It transforms into a wail.
The Bird’s cry echoes through the hallway of the Aviary somewhere near the staircase. If she reaches the stairs, will she fall? Those stairs have felt too many bodies tumble.
Her next wail crawls into my very heart. Makes a bed there.
That’s when I glance up to see her, wandering the edges of the staircase, in her gray nightgown, nightmare-drenched cry, tears wetting her cheeks, eyes closed and blind to the stairs. Gull.
Swifter than swan’s wings, I race toward her. I reach her just in time, catching her in my arms before she can fall. Though she’s thinner than me, she takes me down, her body crumpling into mine as we stumble to the floor.
When Gull opens her eyes, there’s more black and white than anything else. Pupils dilated so much, they accent the whites of her eyes, drowning out the gray of her irises. At first, she thrashes against me, but when she senses my arms around her, Gull shuts down. Her skin cracks, letting some of my care seep into her. Suddenly, she’s grasping for me, arms around my neck, fingers kneading my dress, face pressing into my chest above my beating heart. Yielding, I coil my arms around her till I’ve practically swaddled her body. She curls into a terrified fetal position.
I smooth away her hair, permanently dyed gray for her exhibit. But I freeze when I find the bruises. When I tug the long sleeve of her dress down the curve of her shoulder only to discover more bruises riddled all across her forearm, I gnash my teeth. Seemingly ashamed of them, Gull pushes the fabric up farther and nestles closer into my chest.
“Gull.” I wrap my arms around her once more, whispering in the still darkness, “You’re going to come back to my room to sleep. All right
?”
Her head flicks to mine, and she begs me in a whimpering voice, “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t leave you.” Not after Finch. I can’t deny how selfish this is. How Gull is the balm to my crater-sized Finch wound.
I can’t carry her, but I don’t have to. Just behind us, I hear footsteps and turn to see Sky jerking into action. He rushes toward us as I try to lift Gull, but she buckles again. Without a word, Sky hoists her into his capable arms. I bite down on my lower lip, admiring how safe his arms look as he carries her back to my bedroom. He’s not possessive of her the way I imagine Luc would be, because to Sky, Gull is just a girl, a human being. Not a commodity.
Once we arrive, Sky lays her in my bed. I crawl in beside her, then pull the covers around us both and kiss her eyelids. Sky disappears outside the bedroom door to give us space.
Never have I shared a bed with anyone but Sky. Nightmares were frequent when I was little, and he’d let me snuggle with him in his bed. But that was many years ago. Now, I am the protector.
Trembling, timorous, scarred Gull. I think about how arrogant it is of Luc to think he knows everything, and can control everything, that happens in this place. Like so many girls in the Glass District, Gull is scarred from crude client hands, from their hungry fingers. Where is he now when she needs him? Probably meeting with the Guild, I imagine.
Sky creeps back into the room after a few minutes. Under his watchful gaze, I fall asleep. I dream of breaking the fingers of Gull’s abuser, one by one, by one, by one.
Sometime during the night, I feel Gull shift in bed, and I kiss her cheek. By now, she’s calm, and she poses a question. “Will you sing me something?”
I shrug. “I’m not very good at singing. At all.”
“I don’t care. Sing me a lullaby.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear my voice. How about I tell you a story?”
I select a random fairy tale. One beginning with darkness and blood but ending with hope and chiming bells. As I tell it, I ponder this girl, tinier than me, with a broken soul so determined to get to its knees and keep on breathing, so determined to piece itself back together after it has been cracked one too many times. She is so much younger than I am, and so much older at the same time.
“Did they live happily ever after?” she asks when I finish the story.
I nod. “Yes, they did. They still are.”
Gull turns on her side, curling her body toward me with her hand tucked under her chin. “I’ll tell you a story, too, Swan. My mother was really pretty. Prettier than me—she told me that. She told me I’d never be good for anything other than the Glass Districts. She and my stepfather trained me from an early age. It was training, but my stepfather took a piece of me with him. And every time I go into a client room, they take pieces of me with them, too.”
I wonder how much is left of Gull, after so many men have taken so many pieces. How small can a soul shrink and remain intact? Can it ever hope to grow back to the size it’s supposed to be? Not here. Glass walls and soft feathers and hurtful hands are no fertile soil. Gull is more nightmare than dream.
She takes hold of my hand, then squeezes my fingers so tight they whiten. I try not to cry when I listen because I know she’s dying to tell someone, anyone, who will listen.
She licks her dry lips, then shrugs. “Swan, will you fly away for me? Promise?”
I promise her all the while, knowing I’ve chosen to sacrifice myself for my parents. Because I’m stronger than my mother. Nothing will stop me from keeping her out of the Temple. The most I can hope for is to stay here in the Aviary. Forever.
I wake with the scent of Gull all around me. Like seawater brine. I almost expect to hear ocean waves if I press my ear to hers.
Late morning sunlight streams through the windows, warming the room, and I’m covered in sweat from the extra body heat. I twist my head around but see no one. Not Sky or Luc or Dove.
Something must have happened.
It’s not too difficult to get out of bed without disturbing Gull. She’s had so many sleepless nights, it’s time for her to catch up. And there’s something I need to do today, especially since Gull will have an exhibit later.
Without bothering to change from my white nightgown, translucent from all the sweat, I throw on a robe and hurry to Luc’s room.
To my great surprise, it opens when I knock. Luc’s hair reminds me of a dark teabag, all wrung and rotten and sticking to his face. So different from how it always is—swept back and soft as sighs. His eyes are burdened with grief.
When he closes the door and his fingers seek my cheeks, I don’t flinch or pull away. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night. My grief clings to his, as his forehead kneels against mine. I feel his lips with my own, his numb mouth bearing down on mine. He drags his mouth to my chin, lingering on my neck, hovering above the Swan charm at the base of my throat. Then, he places one hand against the door behind me, flattening it on the glass while dropping his head to the floor, eyes pinched shut, pained.
Drawing me into him, his one arm coils around my waist and urges me farther into the main room, a mirror copy of my own.
I don’t ask yet what his trouble is, and he doesn’t give me an answer until we reach the bedroom and I see her.
Raven’s body rests in the center of his bed. Hands folded over her stomach. Hair spread around her like a dark raiment. Sick, artificial lights shroud her skin, turning her lips so blue it’s like melancholy made its home there. No wonder he didn’t respond to Gull or me last night.
“Raven.” I touch a finger to her arm, struck by how cold it is. “How long has she been here, Luc?”
“I found her after you ran from me. It’s the only reason I didn’t follow.”
“You’ve been with her since? All night and all morning?” I almost trip on the words, feeling his body suddenly warm against my back.
“And a meeting with my father to notify him of the situation. I love my Birds, Swan.” He rubs his eyes. “And I am losing them. I’ve interrogated the staff. I’ve checked every inch of my property for security breaches. I’ve performed room searches. Though I have access to the security feeds, some have been tampered with. If an outsider was hurting anyone in this building, I’d have discovered it by now. It can only mean…”
“One of the Birds,” I finish.
Cupping my shoulders, he shifts me around to look at him. “What will happen if I lose you?” His knuckles rub my arm, along the fabric of the thin robe.
“Oh, Luc.” I have to raise myself high on my tiptoes so I can kiss his lips, just once, and then I plead, “It’s time to let her go. She and her sister are finally together now. Let them both go. There are others here who need you.”
He shields one side of his face with his hand. “You alone matter most to me.”
I shake my head. “You are not allowed to do that. I won’t let you!”
“In spite of our bargain?” Now, his brows knit low, creating shadows of doom above his eyes. “I know about your fall with Gull last night. But I also know what happened in the basement. When will you listen to me and forsake this fruitless quest for friendship? It doesn’t exist in museums.”
Luc tries to take my face in his hands. “You are my Swan now. You agreed to that the moment you asked your favor. They are fowl compared to you.”
The lightning inside me practically singes my blood.
“Stop it! Stop talking about them like that! If you would stop pretending for once! Stop pretending they’re wings and feathers and beaks, nothing but pecking, pecking, pecking! Damn you, Luc, they are girls! Girls with thoughts and dreams and desires and heartbeats!”
He steps toward me, but I jerk back and throw my hands in the air. “Maybe if you look at them once, if you take your eyes off me, you’ll see them! You’ll see that Mockingbird needs one ounce of your attention. You’ll see that Peacock needs more time in her exhibit—not in the client rooms. And you’ll see the bruises on Gull’s body because
that’s what gives her nightmares every damn night!”
Luc doesn’t need more, but I do. My lightning is ready to set a forest on fire. Every emotion that has been stirring in me since the moment I was stolen from the hotel—since I spent an entire day and night thinking I would spend the rest of my life as a Breakable in the Glass District; since Luc bought me for his Aviary and then bought and sold my heart so many times since then I’ve lost count—every emotion since then seems to hit me all at once. It feels like a fire ready to burst forth from the chest. It all comes out as fury.
Fury toward him but fury toward myself. For not seeing these girls as they truly are. Not dolls. Not broken. No, in many ways, they are more whole than I am. Stronger than me. Beautiful no matter what.
I launch a chair at Luc’s wall mirror, pick up one of the fragments, and hold it against the soft flesh of my wrist. He steps toward me.
“If you care about me—me, not Swan—you should care about each one of them.” I blackmail him with one prick, one drop of blood. “Swan might be a part of me, but I’ll always be Serenity. And Serenity cares about each and every one of them, too.”
Luc tries to advance, but I push the edge of the glass down farther, so he stops, eyes creasing. “Of course I want all my Birds safe. I care for their protection and well-being more than anything.”
“You want to protect them; you want them safe. But you don’t care,” I accuse him. “Caring requires love, and love requires effort and emotion.” If he really cared about them, if he had any honor, he’d let them go. Take them to the Sanctuary. Give up this…life. Give them better lives.
“I care for you.” There is a rabid desperation about his voice.
I lick my lips. “Luc, just put us aside for one minute. Please. I’m just like them. Just a girl.”
He hangs his head and sighs, bringing two desperate fingers to rub his eyes. “Not to me.”