The Aquarium

by Emily Shore

  Just then, Sky looks up to see me. When he smiles, not bothering to brush away some deep autumn waves, a powerful undercurrent swirls my butterflies around. It has to be a good thing.

  I smile but chew on my lower lip, recognizing how much harder it will be to continue with this…life. How can we predict what else will come from the interactions? However, it’s simply a few on the weekends. Can we keep this up for the next two years and remain Sky and Ser? Or will the Sea King and Sea Star drown us both?

  Leaving the twins to play, Sky stands, approaching me. The undercurrent inside me warms my butterflies when he reaches down to cup the side of my neck and press his lips to mine. A tender kiss. Then, he raises his hands. “Haven “requested” for you to meet her in her office this morning.” He makes air quotes.

  Grumbling, I rake a hand through my messy curls just before wandering toward the kitchen. “What does she want now?”

  “I don’t know. Something about the interaction tonight,” Sky says. I look behind to see him ruminating, gaze flicking to the twins every so often. They’re starting to grow bored of the fish tank. Kerrie’s picking a fight with Verity, hoping to persuade her to wrestle with him. Sky leaves them to play, striding into the kitchen after me.

  “Will Neil and Lindy come again?” I ask.

  He nods as I tap the 3-D food-and-drink printer built into the wall. This one is the high-performance version. Already, its artificial intelligence asks if I want the cupcakes I ate yesterday after the interaction. Tempting. But I tap into the FoodNet app for the gourmet options instead. It offers a variety of options from a series of different chefs, including ones from the Star Chef, dubbed because his show is based in his permanent space-station home. His meals are inspired and decorated to resemble the celestial bodies.

  Most homes just use chef bots these days. Or the cheaper versions of food printers, which give one basic food cubes with the flavor and texture translated to such.

  When I order the chocolate-caramel pancakes from a famous restaurant in the Temple, I marvel as the food printer’s lasers work back and forth to transcribe all the data until the dish is finished. Retrieving the plate from the platform as it extends to me, beeping, I inhale the decadent scent and offer Sky a pancake. He joins me at the table, but his body thuds down harder than normal.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him shove a whole bite into his mouth. He gulps it down without chewing, his lips curving down at the corners.

  I sigh. “We don’t have to be miserable all the time.” I hope he can get past this. It’s not like it was before. Back then, we could function easier with him being the frustrated, gruff one. But now, we’re a family and a couple.

  “I don’t have that luxury,” Sky fumes, twisting the tip of his fork around and around on the plate. “You’re already falling into your old routines and patterns. It’s not that simple for me.”

  I gaze back, eyes and voice intentionally firm. “We separate what we do from who we are. We have to.”

  “All those times I criticized you for becoming the Swan or the Skeleton Flower or Yang in the Temple… I could have never predicted this.” He turns to eye the twins, who are rolling around on the floor. As long as they don’t scream for longer than a few seconds, they’ll be fine.

  Verity opens her mouth, eyes primed for Kerrie.

  “Verity,” I warn, my voice firm, and she glances up for half a second. “No biting.” I lean forward, narrowing my brows to show her I mean business. She gives me the stink eye before leaping on top of Kerrie, who squeals and tries to roll back.

  “No one could have predicted this,” I tell Sky before taking another bite of pancakes. They are warm and moist, toasted sugar notes sinking into my taste buds.

  “I hate it, Ser. I hate the exhibit. I hate the interactions. I hate everything.”

  “So do I.”

  “And this is what you do?” He pokes his fork into a pancake. “How you deal with it all?”

  “I’ve always tried to enjoy the little things. You know that. But mostly, I’m coping for them.” I nod to the twins, giggling when Kerrie plops on Verity’s stomach and she blows a raspberry on his neck.

  Sky observes the display for a few moments before his gaze swoops onto mine, turning as dark as squid ink. “It’s different for me, Ser. I…they want me to hurt you.”

  I purse my lips, remembering how I had to hurt him once. Years ago, back in the Garden Shed, when I’d been forced to take the whip to his back. How I spliced the skin back together, then healed him again and again. How Sky endured overwhelming temptation with the countless girls my father sent him to test him in the Temple. How the obstacle course caused so much havoc on his body and almost killed him. Or how he waited patiently, day after day, even after we were officially married because the last place I wanted to lose my virginity was inside the Temple.

  Now, it’s my turn.

  I don’t hesitate because it will make it harder for him. Instead, I only shrug and state, “Do what they say.”

  “I’ve got boundaries. Lines I won’t cross,” Sky insists, fingers curling like a snail shell hard into his palm.

  “Stand on them, then. Just enough to satisfy her. To satisfy them,” I say, referring to the clients.

  “How can I do that to you, Ser? Tell me,” he urges, voice pressuring me so hard I could be outside these walls five thousand feet below sea level.

  “You have to. For them.”

  “I’ll hate myself.” He drops his gaze.

  I make my way toward him, slide onto his lap, and sink my lips onto his, kissing him long and hard. “I’ll love you through it,” I say when I come up for air. “Just like you did for me.”

  14

  D e l E g A t I o n

  * * *

  I’m late to meet with Haven, so it’s no surprise she’s scowling. Today, she pulled her black silk hair into a vicious bun with crystal spikes poking out from its insides.

  She marches straight toward me, heels clicking on the tile, and I realize her shoes are fused-together sea glass. But it’s the skin-tight dress formed of bioluminescence she wears that is the most imposing. Through the transparent fabric, I can see a seashell bra. Each lethal curve is pointed like a fishing spear, ready for the plucking.

  “Next time I call for you, you will come immediately,” she snaps, hand on one imposing hip. “I will let it go this once, but I expect you to respect my authority.”

  I don’t bother to ask what the consequences would be otherwise. I already know there are multiple people she can use against me.

  Haven does not turn her back when she weaves her way to the table. She summons the sprite light of the performance tank. “Last night was exemplary. More will be added and changed for each performance to keep viewers interested. Tonight, for example, your costume will incorporate pearls instead of jewels.”

  “Still having the pirates this time?” I ask, regarding her. I didn’t try to lace my voice with sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Sailors tonight.”

  “Is it a metaphor for the world in general or for your Aquarium?”

  “You are very lucky to be here,” she points out. I fight back my huff, remembering similar phrases launched from voices in every Museum that came before this one.

  “Let the audience interpret however they want.” Haven shuts down the screen, then begins signing digital documents on her desk with the speed of a charging swordfish. “All we know is every man wants to be the sea king…and some women.” No playfulness in her voice or upward turn of the mouth hints at anything. “You will have a pop-up exhibit this month, but the rest of your time is yours to do with as you wish. If you want access to the Commons, you will be restricted to private VIP experiences, or must do so after hours.”

  “Could we get one of the bubble devices that plays musical notes?” I request, referring to the one from the client room the other night.

  “Yes.” Haven peers up, surrendering all too easily. Or at least I believ
e so until she opens her mouth to add, “Provided you do well tonight. I am not unreasonable, Serenity Storm. But I do expect effort.”

  “And the interaction tonight?”

  “We’ve had a bit of an interesting request. The client has only purchased the Bronze package despite how the Gold is a better deal. It means you will only swim together in your tank tonight.” Haven finishes her digital signing, stands, and migrates toward the jellyfish tank, gliding a finger toward the ghost beauties. “The ironic part is the client has paid additional for the personal introduction… but only for you.”

  Instinct causes me to stiffen.

  “Come now, Serenity.” The action wasn’t lost on Haven, who jerks her head toward me. “You are far too proud. You act like this entire world owes you something. The world has given women nothing since its origin.”

  “You’ve achieved much.”

  Haven’s sudden gaze prickles like a pucker fish. “And yet, do you see me interacting face to face with the world?” She sweeps a hand in the air. “Down here is my domain. I do not have the freedom to move about as any male director. If I were to act like Wylder, it would ruin my reputation regarding my background. The Aquarium would be at risk of all sorts of threats, so here I remain.”

  With her hands stiff and straight as paddles at her sides, Haven approaches me, that prickly stare holding. “I handle security threats, elite clients, and run the Museum as a whole, tending to any negative PR directly from my office. Wylder manages the conservation program, marketing, and hiring, while my other managers handle the rest. And as my brother is head manager, you will respect him as such.”

  “He has no respect for women.”

  “He respects me. I’m sure you are aware of the food-chain concept,” she trills, tilting her head to the side.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I decide to try the offensive. “And where would the Temple Princess fall in the food chain?” I ask, reminding her of my status, almost regretting it since I’ve never desired association with the Temple in the past.

  Haven simpers, not intimidated by my mention of the Temple. “Wherever she falls when her crown has been knocked off her head. It just so happens she ended up in my net. So, she will play by our rules unless she figures out a way out.”

  I narrow my brows. “Is that an invitation?”

  “It’s reality.” Sighing, she returns to her desk. “You will find Wylder in the CellGen station on this floor. There is a new preparation room for yours and your husband’s disposal. Wylder will give you the information.”

  “And you can’t?”

  Haven huffs, rolling her eyes as if my question is more annoying then sandpaper scratching her. “That is what managers are for. Delegation for such trivial tasks.”

  Sighing, I turn to leave, chancing a glimpse back at Haven, whose eyes have not strayed from my departure. Not content to resume her work until I’ve left. Her shoulders are made up of such delicate curves, it’s difficult to imagine such heaviness sewn into them. And she holds them higher than any other person I’ve seen.

  * * *

  When I reach the CellGen station, a group of bikini-clad girls are departing, their skin betraying the needle marks from injection sites. Sometimes, CellGens are used for healing like Neil, but, mostly, they are a jump starter for damaged or dying cells. But nanotechnology is far more expensive. Instead, these are a temporary search-and-destroy microbot programmed to repair any semi-damaged cells and to remove excess fatty tissue. Not that these girls have much to speak of.

  A temporary fix that lasts for a month while mine is a lifetime surgical implant. Lifetime being an experimental term since some medical scientists have theorized the implant can double a lifespan.

  Entering the station, I discover multiple rooms containing the beds with injection technology. Most beds are in the process of charging.

  I don’t see Wylder anywhere.

  One room’s door is ajar. A little apprehensive but more desiring to get the information and return to Sky, I bolster myself and walk toward the door, already regretting it as soon as I see Wylder’s naked form climbing out of bed. For a brief moment, my eyes coast along his back to see the faint silver lines. I recognize them automatically thanks to my history between Sky and Bliss, not to mention the others my father used me to torture. Whip marks. No more than a day old, so this must be his first CellGen visit to restore them since one visit doesn’t erase them.

  I turn away but not in enough time. Head cocking in my direction as he slips on a plush robe, Wylder approaches the door and swings it open wide before he’s even tied the sashes. Too pleased with himself, he adopts a common model walk and strides toward me even though I keep much of my back to him.

  “Enjoy the view, Swan?”

  I shrug, grinning, and eye his face from the side. “I’ve seen better. In bed…” I add. “Every night.”

  Eyes creasing, Wylder weaves his way around to my front, his fingers tying the sashes loose enough to exhibit his chest and part of his upper abdomen of honed muscles. For once, his hair isn’t in a ponytail, but across his shoulders like black seaweed—ragged and tangled.

  “Model Magazine labeled me the perfect male specimen in last month’s issue.”

  I recognize the title of the most prestigious online magazine. The same one Nile Bodelo, world-famous graphicker, aka Neil Bloode—aka my brother—is still regularly featured in for his model images.

  “I could have any booking in the world. Any agency I desire.” He reaches out for my chin, but I raise it beyond his reach.

  “Haven said you would direct me to the latest preparation room. What was wrong with the old one?”

  “Come with me. I will show you.” He snatches up my hand, motioning toward the door.

  “You can send the directions to my interface—”

  “It is my job to ensure everything related to the performance is perfect,” he interrupts, derision pluming from his voice like hot smoke. “That includes preparation and ensuring you know exactly where the room is and how to get there on time.”

  “My interface can provide me with an interactive map with guided directions to any location on this level,’ I say, dragging my steps, but Wylder is much stronger than I realized.

  Unhindered by my delay attempt, Wylder continues to tug me along, a pinched edge in his voice, “It’s also my responsibility to ensure you are satisfied with your accommodations. The new preparation room must meet with your approval. Only the best for our Sea Star.”

  Before he can do more, a familiar voice interjects from the opposite side of the room, “Get your damn hands off her, Graves!”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, shaking my head. No, my brother seriously did not just quote that old movie.

  Neil tries to look imposing as he marches toward us, but compared to Wylder and his skeletal eyes, it’s like swimming against the current. My half-brother can’t help it. He inherited princely pretty looks from our father and his mother, Jade, but none of their combined force. His fair curls, soft as pussy-willow, situated just under his ears doesn’t help his cause much.

  Undaunted, Wylder shifts his entire body in Neil’s direction, making it clear who the authority is.

  “This is a private CellGen station,” Wylder proclaims without relinquishing my wrist.

  Neil strides to my side. “Haven just gave me access to this level since my wife and I will be going back and forth as the twins’ primary caregivers while my sister and her husband swim out your little skits.”

  “Director Haven to you.” Wylder does not address the rest of Neil’s statement. “What were you doing in here?”

  Neil’s gaze drifts around the room. “Beds here are more advanced than the Commons ones. I saw a girl leave before the others, so I figured I’d check out the technology.”

  “And why did you close the door if you weren’t using it?” Wylder gestures down the hall.

  “I didn’t.”

  Leaning over to peer around Wylder, I note t
he closed door at the end of the hall. Wylder grumbles, releasing my hand and departing in that direction. “Doors are to remain open unless a machine is in use.”

  I reach down to squeeze Neil’s hand. He’s pretty cute when he blushes. If only I could shrink him and plop him in one of my snow globes. He’d look adorable as a sugar-plum fairy.

  “What did you do?”

  Both Neil and I turn at the sound of Wylder’s voice, which has dropped dangerously.

  “Whoa, scimitar eyes!” Neil holds up his hands defensively as Wylder stalks toward him. “I just got here a few minutes ago. What are you talking about?”

  Wylder taps the digital dragon tattoo on his chest, which projects an interface that summons his sister. Haven’s face appears in midair. “Yes, Wylder?”

  “Get to the CellGen room now. We’ve got a problem.”

  Suspicion swarming inside me, I move down the hallway just after Wylder starts accusing Neil again. Ignoring the sounds of arguing in the background, I reach the end of the hall and stop in my tracks, veins turning cold like a network of frost branching out within ice. A body is draped over the CellGen bed in a delicate arch. It’s one of the girls I saw Wylder inspecting yesterday, the skin of her neck ruined with reddened ligature marks. Someone had strangled her.

  History repeating itself in a whole new way.

  When Haven arrives to determine the “problem,” her eyes turn darker than underwater caves. And like a creature lying in wait in a cave crevasse, she is ready for attack. It only takes her a second to awaken her own interface. She begins scrolling through the security feeds. Neil and I are directed to remain, though we can’t see what they can. But after a few minutes of Wylder scanning the footage with her, his eyes grow more strained while hers do not lose their predatory setting. It’s the first time I get a sample of the assassin within her.