The Aviary

by Emily Shore

  So close I could just turn and bite his nose off. But Luc would never forgive me if I got blood on his last costume.

  “You will never have me,” I hiss low, matching my father’s eyes.

  “Oh, I already do.”

  Dove escorts me this time.

  Luc will never escort me again.

  Not even my father’s visit unhinges me. I’m ready for my grand finale.

  This time, there is no swing. There is a glass pedestal, and onto this, she directs me to stand. As soon as my hands settle on the glass, the pedestal moves. Up and up and up. Ironic, because all I feel is down and down and down.

  I just want the dive. I want the water, want to rip all the feathers off. Don’t close your eyes, I remind myself.

  The surface of the lake is alive with the fluff of thousands of white feathers, restless for my Swan dive. The ends of the skirt trail in the water, feathers kissing feathers. Notes knit a melody into the exhibit, speakers manipulating the sound like the music is issuing from the depths before it stirs in the branches around me, culminating behind me. The song is Luc’s, but this is no lullaby. This is a new one he has written for me. For the finale.

  In the midst of the first sprinkle of notes, the glass dome of sky above me begins to shed. Snowflakes, hundreds of them, float through air, each one like a tuft of magic as they frolic on the branches of the trees, prance across my skin and in my hair, while the rest pirouette onto the feathers below me.

  I hear Luc’s words, but out of Nightingale’s mouth.

  White Swan,

  Bliss in lightning skin.

  White Swan,

  Hide me in your pinions.

  White Swan.

  Wings flying passion and pure.

  White Swan,

  Sin and guilt fading forever.

  White Swan,

  White Swan…

  The last words are a naked whisper, becoming an echo. An echo of our conversation. Behind the glass, people freeze, stunned hands bearing down on the glass wall. Some curl their fingers like they’re hoping to catch some of the purity, some of this astonished innocence. Instead, I will give them my lightning, my sparks, and water.

  When the pedestal begins to shrink, I curb my body, bring my arms together, and dive. Water slaps me, softened by the feather bed. My act disturbs them. I wreck the feathers all around me…and on me. Now, I understand what Dove meant when she told me I would know what to do, because the bindings on the skirt break. It falls apart, becoming nothing more than a white sinking ship. It leaves me with Dove’s handiwork, her white lace painting, the undergarment of pearls she’s fastened around my pelvis, the wings on my breasts, and the ones behind me, but they do not inhibit me. Feathers float in front of my body, some tripping over the wings on my breasts.

  A free Swan.

  And Serenity.

  My lungs haven’t even begun to sense the stirrings of fire, but my heart does.

  This is the last thing I expected.

  He swims to me, his legs bonded by white pants, chest pardoned of clothes. His arms yank the water back to bring his body closer to mine. It’s the body of a dancer, muscles braided so lithe and graceful into his calves, into his thighs and shoulders.

  No one needs to tell me this is the first time Luc has ever joined an exhibit.

  Like me, his skin is painted white, and when his bubbles twine with mine, we crash together, my Swan body vying with his into a serpentine water dance. Luc moors both his legs around one of mine, liberating the other to rebel in the water.

  Together, we sink.

  The edges of his feet flatten on my ankles, causing the full force of his body to plunge me lower as I arch my neck, resisting the way his chest towers over me. Regardless of the spectators, Luc’s hands become the cage for my face before his head anchors against mine, mouth trampling mine, opening its boundaries to taste me and to share breath. Like he’s giving me a precursor to what inevitably will be if I don’t make it out.

  When the water vanquishes the last of my bubbles humming around Luc’s face, I close my eyes while my hands wrestle for the surface.

  Too long under. A particle or two left of air.

  Close to fainting, my head lolls back, hellfire seizing my mourning lungs as their watery funeral approaches.

  But Luc’s hands grab me around my waist, and he tugs us up through the water. Just before we surface, he takes the sides of my legs in his hands, then thrusts me fast and hard into the air.

  I gasp, chest heaving from its salvation. Just to my left is the boat, but this time, it’s my boat. Bow protected by a swan figurehead, wings girding the sides.

  Luc climbs the ladder to the stern, then turns around to take me by the arms and bring me to him. I realize I can’t hear anything. Standing there, with my body pressed against his—furnished only by drowned white wings, pearl undergarments, and paint—I know we have left the audience in a spellbound stupor.

  Luc’s fingers cradle the sides of my head, burrow them into my hair, and then he whispers two words to me, magnified to the audience by the exhibit speaker.

  “My Swan.”

  I faint to the sound of applause.

  30

  G u l L’s C r a c K s

  Tonight, Dove is not in my room to help me un-Swan myself.

  I am alone.

  Briefly, I wonder if that was Luc’s doing, or if the Aviary is on lockdown for the auction. Whatever the case, Sky is in my room just like always.

  Even behind bedroom doors, I feel the need to hide behind the dressing screen while I peel the wings from my chest, unloop the pearl underwear, and comb through my hair. I tug on the customary white dress.

  Tonight, I feel too white. The paint seems heavier than ever before.

  Even now, I can imagine the auction progressing. In light of the exhibit, of the palpable desire between Luc and me, I know there is no competition. How long will it take for Temple transporters to arrive? Will Director Force speak to me alone first? When will Sky act?

  The waiting is the hardest.

  And the silence.

  I was never good at silence.

  Sky doesn’t flinch when I yank the bedroom door open. I rush for him, fingers straining against his arms. “Sky! Please.”

  All it takes is one nod to shatter me, to pour an ocean of relief into my skin. “Yes, Serenity. It’s time.”

  He leads me out the secret entrance at the back of the dormitory building, the one reserved for security. As we slip into the night, I think of the Swan. How Luc has trapped my image forever here. For the rest of the world to see, images from my exhibit will become illusions on the entrance walls just like the first night I arrived here.

  On our way out, I pass by the sculpture garden. I think of the glass Swan statue—it will become a relic of this place. A living piece of history.

  “One last thing,” I whisper before he motions to the self-driving Family limo on the back road past a security gate. How on earth did he manage that?

  With Sky following me, I hurry into the glass sculpture gardens and find the Swan in the center where it always slumbers. I wonder when Luc built this, how many nights he must have stared up at it, wondering if his beloved Swan even existed.

  I can never go back to who I was, but this is my first step forward. This is my last act. I will show him she didn’t have ultimate power. Though she will haunt me the rest of my life, I won’t let her take me down.

  I’ll take her down instead.

  Bracing my hands against the two magnanimous, frosted white wings, I feel the cool embrace of the glass on my palms and push hard. Harder still, but it doesn’t give way. Then, Sky’s steady body heat warms my neck, just before his hands cover my own.

  Together, we push. It starts to slip and loosen, but the pedestal it’s sealed to topples with it. Just like I am sealed to Sky. If he breaks, so will I.

  The Swan sails and cracks and shatters. Not into fragments but into chunks—glass wedges the size of Sky’s hands. Winde
d, I step back to admire them, lean against his chest and sigh just as he takes my hand, fingers threading into mine. In this moment, I feel more powerful than I ever did in the exhibits. Leaving here, I will have conquered Force, Luc, the Aviary, the Swan, and anything else that would tear me from my family.

  “Are we ready?” I tilt my head back to his.

  “Yes.”

  “Sky…” I freeze. “Shh.”

  I suddenly break away from him. The shadowy figure glides past the archway of the glass garden, almost seeming to float toward the garden of trees and flowers.

  Glancing up at Sky, I whisper, “What is she doing here?”

  Sky tugs on my arm for a moment, pulls me back. “Something’s happening inside the Aviary.” Pressing a finger to his ear, he listens. “Get into the car and stay there. I have to get into the system again or the gates won’t open. Someone’s overriding the system. They’ve opened all the doors. The girls are attacking each other.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Go!”

  I have no intention of going to the limo. Not after I see Gull stagger across the bridge leading to the lake with her hands shaking and trembling. Her gray hair swims down her back and chest in elegant waves, and she wears nothing but the designated Aviary gray dress.

  Gull only stops when she reaches the shore. Pressing myself against the side of a tree, I peer behind the bark, finally comprehending what she’s doing. She is meeting someone. Dumbfounded curiosity hollows every other emotion.

  I have to force myself not to cry out.

  I recognize the man with the bruises—the broken nose and his one good eye and the broken arm in a sling. He hands something to Gull, after which she smiles and presses the small item to her nose. When she inhales sharply, I realize she’s taken something—Bliss, probably.

  When he touches her, the full force of my lightning strikes.

  I can’t take it.

  I throw myself forward, running toward them while crying her name.

  “Swan.” Gull raises her head with a fading smile.

  “Gull, why?” I lament. “You wanted me to fly you away. Why?”

  Sky was right. He’s always right.

  “The Swan.” The man’s one whole eye feasts on me, and I take a step back.

  “Our bargain,” Gull reminds him.

  “Yes.” He brushes his hand across her neckline. “Even after what the director did, I knew you’d come running back to me. You always do. What about her?”

  “Let her watch. She should watch.”

  “What did he give you?” I ask Gull in confusion. “What are you on?”

  Gull breathes deep with eyes closed, whispering the word in an exhale. “Memory. The most expensive. It stimulates what I need to remember. Those nights with my stepfather and the carnival owner.”

  I face them both, but my eyes are aimed at Gull.

  Her eyes are gray eggshells, cracked but searching for someone who can piece her together. “My stepfather tried to drown me. After my mother died, he came after me. Struck up a deal with the carnival owner. They took turns. They shared me.” She pauses as she closes her eyes, once again breathing deeply like she’s remembering.

  “They gave me Bliss after the carnival shut down every night. And took me to the lake.” She stares down at her own hands, fingers fanned out, studying the gaps of air between them.

  “One night, he told me he couldn’t look at me anymore, said I looked too much like her. So, he tried to drown me.” Gull says it so simply. “But he didn’t know I’d started wearing a knife. I didn’t mean to kill him, but his hands were around my neck, and I couldn’t breathe. Through the water, I couldn’t see where I’d stabbed him. In the throat. And then, Jonas found me. He took me away. Brought me to the Aviary. I promised him he could visit me. Just as he promised not to tell. And he never has. And I never have…until now.” Turning to him, she announces, “I’m ready.”

  Gull walks a few steps, until the lake tucks itself around her bare feet.

  “Gull…what are you doing?” I ask her, petrified.

  Jonas eyes her. “You’ve been a naughty bird. Are you ready for your punishment?”

  “Yes.” Gull wades in to her knees. “I’m ready. It’s what I deserve.”

  Jonas follows her.

  I slide down the meadow slope to the shore, but inertia propels me to my knees. No girl deserves this.

  Jonas wraps two hands around Gull’s neck, then he tips her back until the ends of her hair touch the water.

  With her expression tranquil as snow clouds eclipsing sunlight, Gull shuts her eyes beneath the waterline. Jonas plunges her lower, and the lake closes over her nose. Bubbles gush from it and then her mouth.

  Gull puts me to shame. She remains there with the water lapping against the curves of her body, her dress floating up to the surface, for an enviably long time. Her hands don’t struggle once.

  Is this her dissociation? A punishment and a coping mechanism? Reliving the nightmare of her life. Just like Sky said—some Birds can’t fly because they are too used to the cage.

  “Please…stop,” I whisper, pleading with the man, but he only grins.

  I lunge for them at the last minute, but I’m too late.

  The water around Gull turns blood red, and I see the blade jutting through the other side of Jonas’ throat. From other hands.

  I gasp when Jonas falls into the bloody water.

  Gull starts to surface, but this time, she’s too late.

  The other Bird’s claws are too strong. They dig into Gull’s skull, pinning her beneath the watery cage.

  I scramble to my feet, splashing water around my knees, but the lake becomes barred glass, indestructible, soldered shut over Gull forever. By the time I reach her, tugging her by the arms until I’ve dragged her body to the shore, her skin is paler than egg whites. Her eyes are hollow as the first nesting doll without her family. More water than Gull.

  I hold the drowned Bird in my arms. Kiss the cold skin of her cheek.

  “Why?” I scream at the other girl. Cursing at the darkness that hid her as she swam from the other side of the lake until it was too late.

  She rises from the water with a triumphant grin, a beguiling string on her face.

  “Because it’s finally my turn,” Mockingbird says.

  31

  M o c k i n G b i r d’ s G i F t

  I cradle the sides of Gull’s face and tilt my forehead against hers, crying.

  “I gave her what she wanted.” Mockingbird approaches, water cascading off her dress, dripping to the grass beside me. “She always wanted to know what it felt like to drown. She drowned every night in her dreams.”

  I squeeze Gull’s hand, drizzle my fingers along her arm up to her shoulder, to her neck, and finally her face as Mockingbird continues.

  “Water makes everything quiet. You should know that better than anyone. You’re the Swan.”

  “So, what? Are you going to kill me now?” I eye the blade in her hand, the one weeping Jonas’s blood.

  Mockingbird glances at me, her hands coddling the knife hilt, and she crooks her neck to the side just like a Bird hatched here would. “What are you thinking? I can see you figuring it out.”

  Thoughts scurry like feathers upset by a gust of wind. “Blackbird…”

  “She wasn’t the first. But she was the first high Bird I tried to kill. She was supposed to die, but she must’ve thrown up the poison thanks to her morning sickness.”

  “Raven?”

  “Raven was a little harder,” Mockingbird says as she wanders in a circle around me. “She took too much Bliss every day. Made my poison lighter. It didn’t take right away. You know what my gift is?” Mockingbird suddenly crouches before me, her eyes wide and hyperactive, animated as two thieves with their hands smothered in gold.

  She giggles, flicking her hands up, fluttering her fingers, all except two—which still house the knife.

  “I have magic hands,” she d
eclares. “They’re ever so fast!” I remember the magic trick she showed Finch once—a coin appearing out of thin air. “Mmm, clients enjoy them, but they’re meant for so much more. They’re meant for stealing things. For slipping things into little Birdies’ drinks and food. Don’t you think it’s funny?” She cocks her head. “They said the Mockingbird couldn’t keep a secret. Turns out she had the biggest secret of all.”

  I remember Luc’s words the first day he brought me to the museum.

  Hush little bird, don’t say a word. And she never did. Her fingers do all the talking, but they’re far too quick for any of the other Birds to hear.

  “Why Flamingo? She wasn’t on Raven’s level. Or Blackbird’s.”

  “Silly, stupid little Pinky. Only one who ever saw my fast hands. Was going to tell Owl, but I fixed her first.”

  “Just like Finch.” Something snaps inside me as I think of the little girl.

  “You didn’t eat!” Mockingbird accuses me. “I was going to take her under my wing after you were gone.” She’s almost nose to nose with me, peering into my eyes. “I poisoned your food a lot, but you never ate enough.”

  The bits of poison must have been the reason for my loss of appetite over the past couple of weeks.

  “How did you ever get to Raven after what happened with the others? She would’ve had a guard.”

  Mockingbird chews on her index finger. “I had a little help.”

  “I wish you would give me more credit than that.”

  I flinch at the sound of the voice. Not because it frightens me, not because it alarms me, not even because it startles me. But because its owner has discovered every way to make me beautiful. Her brush has painted designs on my skin; her hands have touched forbidden places.

  I feel like a fruit peeled of its skin. A bird plucked of its feathers.

  “Dove…” Her name is almost a plea as I watch her come up behind Mockingbird and cup the girl’s shoulders.