by Emily Shore
“You’re a fool.” Jumping to my feet, I march toward him so I can look him right in the eye. “No, not a fool. You’re nothing but a coward. You think you can pick me up off some street, pay for me like I’m some damn trophy, then dress me up in your feathers and I’ll just become what you want me to be? You’re just like the rest of them.”
“Stop it!” he yells. He lunges toward me but stops short.
Inches from his eyes, I laugh again. “You know what the worst of it is? How much I admired you for the graphickers, for your answers, for Gull’s abuser, for the exhibits. Your hands are so full of life. The way they create beauty from what you imagine in your mind. And even how they’ve carried me.” Luc’s hands grip my face, but I continue. “It’s amazing how I’ve loved turning into your Swan. How much I love the lie. It’s just so beautiful.”
Luc squats down in front of me, then whispers low in my ear. “Auction or no auction, no one will ever have you.”
“No one but you,” I correct him, because we both know it’s true.
I imagine what it will be like with Luc for the first time. My mind erupts into millions of bubbles of thoughts and images. I want to pop them all, but I can’t deny them now. They’re unbreakable. All this time spent with him has just been a buildup to this moment of acknowledgement. With the Temple’s involvement, escape seems less likely. I will belong to Luc. Like the swan statue in the garden, I will become an Aviary legend. Soon, we will become each other’s ghosts, haunting our bloods for a lifetime.
Luc leaves. Which is a mistake, because I slip out to meet Sky by the lake on the grounds where he said he’d wait for me.
Sky must take me away from here. Even with Force coming, I have to know if Sky can live up to his word.
Somehow, I know he’s disabled the security system. Unconcerned, Sky stands beside the lake—just outside Luc’s bathhouse retreat—shoes off, feet bare on the shore. His loose pants are rolled up to the knee, black fitted shirtsleeves nestling above his elbows.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Heard everything. I know what you want, and we’re almost there. But I think we should do one last thing before we leave.”
One blank look is all I can give him before Sky seizes me by the shoulders and then by the waist, bringing me with him into the water. That is Sky. Simple, wordless, effective. Always knowing what to do.
Exhilarated by our action, the lake whirls, splashing above our heads until the water canvasses us. We sink lower. Sky dives with me, and we pull each other down, a watery wrestling match that takes us back to our childhood…yet everything is different now.
Once our feet squish against the muddy bottom, our bubbles drift upward together like a flock of skittering birds.
I hold them back, better at the practice than Sky. Insistent, Sky keeps his powerful hands on my arms, stationing me under with him, showing me that he can endure the world underwater. His fingers travel upward until they tug my neck forward so his mouth can cram down on mine, feeding me the last of the air from his lungs. Giving me every last scrap.
Under here, there are no lies and no secrets, no feathers and no flesh, no glass and mirrors. Just Serenity and Sky, silence and touch, lightning and thunder.
He raises my body to the surface first, so I can breathe air again. A moment later, we come up in the deep water of the lake where my legs wrap around his waist, my arms snake around his neck, and my fingers thread into his wet waves.
Pressing my forehead against his, I close my eyes, pant into his neck, and my heart blesses him over and over for this. Sky lets my body weigh him down as he uses all his muscles to tread in the deep water.
“You swam with me.” I gasp the words just under his ear.
“I never stopped wanting to,” he says.
How could I forget Sky and I are two sides of the same coin? That Sky would walk barefoot through hell for me?
“I’ll get you out during the auction. It will be the perfect diversion. Until then, I need you to hang on. One more exhibit. Hold your breath if you have to. Oh…damn.” My lips only stop tilting on the edge of his when he curses.
Fear possesses me when I open my eyes, but it’s not Luc watching us. And then I register how much worse it could be.
It’s Mockingbird.
27
P e a C o c k
Before she has the chance to open the door to the Aviary, I grab Mockingbird by the arms and drag her into the sculpture garden, forcing her back against a glass bird. I’m soaked in water, my white dress completely see-through, but I don’t bother to cover myself. What’s the point, when she’s already seen everything?
I can see that she’s frightened of me. Good.
I narrow my eyes like I’m a raptor. “Mock, if you tweet one word about what you just saw—”
Mockingbird shakes her head once, eyes wide. “I wasn’t going to tell him!”
I hesitate.
“Why would I? All the girls exploit the guards.”
“Not me. You know that. And you know what Luc would do.” He would kill Sky. “And I know you enjoy telling your little secrets. That’s how you survive, Mockingbird. Secrets make you feel valuable.” I shouldn’t be so hard on her. Mockingbird isn’t made of the same stuff as me. Nor does she have any sense of identity other than who she is here.
Mockingbird juts her chin forward, marking me with her eyes. “It wouldn’t matter if I told him. It wouldn’t change anything. Once I saw him with you, I knew it was over.”
“You’ll get another chance soon enough,” I tell her. “One last exhibit, Mock. And then, it’ll all be over.”
Mockingbird shakes her head. “He’ll do anything to keep you here.”
I trade one secret so she will keep mine. “He can’t fight the Temple.” He won’t fight the Temple.
Her brows lift at the hint. “The Temple?”
I smile.
“What about him?” She points back to Sky, studies my eyes, and discerns something for herself. “You have a history.”
“You might say that.” History is far too weak a word to describe what Sky and I have.
“They’ll do another medical test,” Mockingbird warns me. “If you—”
“It’s not like that,” I assure her. It’s a half-truth. But neither one of us would act on anything until my family is safe and a thousand miles from Force. Even then… “Trust me, I’m still pure.”
“I’ll keep your secret.”
When I release her, Mockingbird hugs me, and I breathe her in, unable to find a scent. Like her skin and clothes are as neutral as the rest of her. “When you’re in the Temple, you’ll have to sleep with one eye open.”
I shake my head. “Both eyes open.”
I’ll get you out during the auction.
One more exhibit. Just a little longer. I trust Sky.
I take the private entrance to my room, where I peel off the wet, clingy dress, change into the customary white nightgown, and retreat into the bathroom. Sky is in his usual place in the main room.
As I begin to unstring the wet tresses of my hair from my cheeks, I hear a light tapping from the mirror. Behind the glass, someone is requesting an invitation, not demanding one. The mirror doesn’t have any hidden grooves or knobs, so my restless hands must explore its edges, pressing down until they find the right application until the mirror submits, unfolding to reveal the girl on the other side.
“Nightingale.”
In one of her hands is a candle, its glow a golden web of gossamer pricking the darkness.
“Swan,” she whispers. “Please, will you come with me?”
Trust is not a luxury one can afford in this place, particularly with Nightingale. Reminding myself what she did to me on my first night, I hesitate.
“I need your help,” she says. “You’re her only hope—and mine. Bring muscles with you if you must.”
Sky would come after me either way, so I wave him forward into the bathroom. He doesn’t hesitate, which ma
kes me suspicious, but there’s no time for questions. We follow her into the darkness.
Sky doesn’t close the mirror behind us, and Nightingale walks ahead to guide the way with her light. The darkness is a devouring wolf, but the dark has never frightened me. Lightning does well in darkness.
What my drugged and blind state before could not register last time I was here is now apparent. At the base of the path, the tunnel spreads into a corridor lined with shelves, all sealed by thin, metal bars. But it’s the heads on those shelves, heads choked by plastic tarps, that cause me to cringe. Each one is exactly the same. They are all models, mannequins, molds, and casts from the eras before this one—the days of wax. Luc said this was one of the oldest museums in the country.
The next corridor is much the same. Except inside these, the wax figures live on behind iron bars, wigs on their heads, clothes on their frames, some of which are moth eaten, hole-ridden. This was once a wax museum, until a prominent Family member concocted the idea of live models. Down here, they are just eerie ghosts from a time past.
Rounding the corner, we enter the same circular room where Peacock and her ensemble brought me. Except now, it’s she who lays in the center of the circle, hair half-veiling her face. Alone, Peacock doesn’t move, nor does she look up to see who’s entered the room. For a moment, I wonder if it’s some sort of trick, but when I near the circle, I understand what prompted Nightingale to come to me.
Peacock looks like a busted marionette. One of her arms hangs limp at her side with her left leg much the same. Her breath comes in light, pained inhales. Judging by the bruises on her chest, I can tell her ribs are cracked, if not fractured. I smooth away her hair to see one side of her face, blanketed in a cocoon of dried blood. Sky inspects her just after me.
I whip my head around to Nightingale. “Why didn’t you go to Luc?”
“Because I know who did this, Serenity. And if they find out I spilled their secret…I can’t afford that risk.” Who could Nightingale possibly fear here?
“But I can.”
“Of course you can.” Something in the simplistic way she says it, in the way she folds her arms over her chest, makes me believe she knows something. “We all know you’re the reason Blackbird went missing. I don’t know how you did it.”
“I didn’t.” I glance at Sky.
Nightingale addresses him, “Can you help her?”
“Only if you turn a blind eye.” He tilts Peacock’s chin to the side to scrutinize the wounds on the side of her face. “She’s not going to last much longer.”
“Can you do anything?”
“I can. It’ll be risky.”
“Do it, Sky,” I say.
Peacock’s too injured to pick up on my use of his real name, but Nightingale peers at me, head tilted. If she intends to say anything, she doesn’t get the chance.
“You girls better get topside,” Sky tells us. “They’ll be checking the rooms soon.”
“Why?” I ask as he gingerly lifts Peacock into his arms. She whimpers when he does so. It’s the second time I’ve watched him carry a girl for my sake.
“New security precaution Luc just enacted.”
Or his father, due to the upcoming auction. I can’t help but wonder if they are mounting security, can Sky still get me out?
As Nightingale and I prepare to part ways, I ask her one last question. “Why, Nightingale? Peacock is second only to you. And I will be gone soon. Why would you want to help the only one who stands in your way?”
Nightingale twists her form toward me, smiling as Sky disappears down a conjoined hall with Peacock. “No one stands in my way. Except maybe you.”
For now, I accept her vague answer.
I take the stairs two at a time. Once we reach my room, Nightingale leaves. She is too concerned about her reputation; everything is about the Aviary for her. I close the mirror, sink to the glass floor, and sigh, second-guessing my decision. Peacock could wreck everything. Place Sky and the Sanctuary in danger.
After everything that’s happened to her, will Peacock want to leave? Or is her identity too wrapped up in this glass birdcage like so many others? And why did Nightingale want to help her? There are too many loose threads, and I can’t even begin to string them together.
I should’ve known Luc would check on me. As usual, he finds me sitting at my alcove, staring at my reflection through the window. By this time, my hair is dry, giving no indication of mine and Sky’s swim earlier. He doesn’t mention a word about Peacock or why she’s not in her room, even though he always checks on me last. Odd. Tomorrow, I will get answers from Sky.
Luc shifts into a sitting position with his back against the other wall of the alcove, opposite me. The confident, controlled expression he wore earlier is now gone; I can see worry lines creasing the spaces of his forehead between his brows. On his cheeks, the scraped flesh where I’d dragged my nails earlier cackles back at me, proud.
Luc sighs, places his arms across his raised knees, and flattens the tips of his fingertips against each other. “Swan, I cannot cage you here any longer.”
I don’t take my eyes off my nail marks on his face.
Luc nudges his head so I can only see one side—the clean side. “The Temple will shatter you.”
I grin, playing along. “Or maybe I will shatter it.”
“Only what you tell yourself to keep the fire going.”
I hug myself tighter. “It’s not fire. It’s lightning.”
“Yes, electrical sparks inside water and ice.”
“Mmm,” I murmur in admission.
“For the hundredth time, I want to know where they made you. You have more fight in your little finger than thousands of girls have in their entire bodies, heart and soul included. I have admired that spirit from the beginning.”
“And now you’ll get to admire it from Temple publicity photos…and in the Penthouse.”
Luc doesn’t refute my accusation. Instead, he talks to me about my last exhibit.
“Your exhibit will be your final act in my Aviary. The auction will commence as soon it is finished. It’s a private auction; you won’t be on display.”
He is wrong. My final act will be leaving this Aviary. No matter what security measures are taken, Sky won’t dare let me go to the Temple. Little by little, I’m regaining parts of my old self. My butterflies are rising from the ashes, attacking the Swan inside me until she becomes nothing more than a ghost. Just enough to get me through one final display.
“When is the exhibit?” I ask while knitting my fingers into one another.
Luc traces the tips of his fingers onto my arm, slides them down to cord into my hand. “After the weekend, when all the other exhibits are finished.”
“So soon,” I say, staring through the glass. The sooner, the better.
“My father believes it will draw the most committed buyers, root out those less than worthy.”
I twist my hand out of his. “We both know it will be Director Force.”
Luc’s brows are like trenches, dangerous and brutish when he grimaces. “This is your form of torture, isn’t it? You play it so easily, like you enjoy it.”
“I feel very alive right now.” I stare at my curled fingers and opt for a more physical suggestion, reaching up to trace one of my marks.
Luc only chuckles. “No, thank you. You always feel alive, and I’d rather we retire your child’s play for another evening.” Standing, he extends a hand to me.
I sigh, reaching up to take it, and allow him to escort me to bed.
28
O b s e S s i o n
There aren’t any chances for me to meet with Sky before our escape. Luc barricades himself in his room, only coming out to attend to any necessities, and I learn from Nightingale it’s because he’s designing a new wave of exhibits for the weekend.
“His genius knows no limits,” Nightingale says. I’ve invited her to my room for dinner.
I wanted a change from Mockingbird; all she does is
gossip about other girls and talk about her client rendezvous. Nightingale is subtler. With the exhibit a short time away, the last thing I want to do is hear about clients.
Nightingale ignores the sampling of sweets I’ve printed, preferring her soup, which I’ve always seen her eat, but I greedily wolf down a pastry chilled inside by cream. Since I’m leaving soon, I only need the supplemental food once a day.
“I guarantee you he has all the displays finished. He must be adding something to yours,” Nightingale says after sampling her soup.
Unlike most of the girls in the Aviary, Nightingale never leaves her hair down. She always keeps it in a tight bun, low to the back of her neck.
“He must come out some time,” I say, gazing out the window. I wonder if I will see Luc walking to his private retreat.
Nightingale shakes her head. After finishing her soup, she strides about the room, observing what she can, pausing near the fish tank. “He takes all his meals in his room when he’s engrossed in a project. Thank you, by the way, for inviting me to dinner. More like dessert, for you.”
I shrug. “I’m taking advantage. Besides, Luc stopped our community dinners.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “It’s the calm before the auction.”
“Why do you always eat soup?” She even orders chilled fruit soup for dessert.
“Soothes my vocal chords.”
Simple explanation. My appetite goes through phases. Sometimes, this place thins me, its tight walls constricting my appetite. I’ve skipped meals, stomaching only the sweetest of flavors like pastries and chocolate.
I decide to ask Nightingale the same question as Mockingbird. “Are you happy here?”
Nightingale blinks once, eyes curving down as if tentative, debating on whether to tell me. Perhaps because I am an outsider compared to her. Whatever happens, I know she’ll tell me the truth. Not like Mockingbird and her denial.