The Aquarium

by Emily Shore

  I imagine I’ll hear more about Tristan later.

  How she referenced “your” is unsettling. Wylder looks prickled, stung…by his sister’s own tentacles. His bruising grip on my arm echoes his expression; this is another sample of their dynamic. How long has she blamed him? How long has he worked to please her?

  “Who was she?” I ask once we’re in the elevator.

  Wylder doesn’t respond, nor does he even look my way.

  “I recognized her. Just the little I saw before Sharky—”

  “Before your beast devoured her,” he snarls, playing the blame game of his own. “If he wasn’t so damn expensive and popular, he’d be some fine sushi for the Commons.”

  “I’d feed you to him first,” I don’t hesitate to say, but when he stops the elevator a second later, brows diving low, I realize I’ve triggered him.

  Blocking the elevator buttons, he faces me. “You and your smart-ass mouth.”

  Wylder is not the only man who has kissed me against my will, but he’s the only one with anger strapped to his mouth. For Luc, it was desire. For Neil, it was a bastard’s curiosity. For Tristan, it was showing off, a counter play that didn’t really count. It can’t be defined as a kiss so much as an assault. In one mere moment, I sense the chaos of a sinking ship as if a kraken has attacked it. And the sense of control lost. Madness, fury, and loss. I feel it all, taste it all right before I charge my fist at his jaw, connecting with his cheek when he shifts at the last second.

  The inertia causes Wylder to fling back, enough to let me push a button for the elevator to open. Only one floor above mine, but I don’t care. Somehow, I’ll find some stairs. But Wylder doesn’t give up his pursuit, even more incensed by my defense.

  This level is too quiet. Nothing but empty preparation rooms, staff quarters locked tight for the night on one end, and one or two community rec rooms. I don’t look back because I hear Wylder following me. Just then, I round the corner and smack right into the person I expected to see the least here.

  “Milo!” I gasp, a strange mixture of relief and protectiveness swelling inside me.

  Only a few steps behind me, Wylder arrives and stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees me standing next to the priest. I don’t retreat even as I pant, waiting for his next move.

  “Assistant Director Graves…” Milo nods, bowing his head toward the other man.

  “Father Finn,” Wylder responds, nodding back, appraising the priest in his clerical robe and gold cross. “Your nightly rounds lasting later than usual?”

  Nightly rounds?

  “Daytime hours would be preferable, but I understand the scheduling conflicts. A few others are reaching the ends of their shifts.”

  Oh.

  “You remember Father Finn…” Wylder gestures to the priest on my behalf. “You have desired his services yourself.”

  Milo smiles, chuckling, “Yes, though I’m not used to waterfalls or mermaid tanks as confessional boxes, but a priest must be ready for anything in this day and age.”

  “Yes, I’m certain you’ve heard quite a few stories in your time,” Milo acknowledges. “Thank you for your services. It makes the girls here far more…compliant,” he emphasized the last word, his eyes settling on me, pinpointing hard like stabbing a knife into a location on a map. X marks the spot.

  “I’ll admit it wasn’t my intention to extend my sabbatical, but Director Graves made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. See, after the Glass District cathedral, I find this atmosphere to be quite peaceful.”

  I hear Wylder’s huff even if Milo doesn’t. The lack of concern, even monotony at the priest’s babble, is evident in Wylder’s eyes.

  “I am so enthusiastic to be free of all the echoes in the Cathedral, the hollowness of its halls, the empty pews,” he drones, voice reminiscent of a boat motor, and I understand why when I see Wylder bristling, eyes pinched in annoyance. Milo’s making more words on purpose. For my sake. “Living in an environment surrounded by the wonder of our Lord’s creation, the tranquility of the water, the beauty, and energy of the reef, the enchantment of—”

  Wylder loses patience and interrupts, “I will inform Director Graves that it meets with your approval. Thank you, Father Finn. I’m certain you need to be on your way.” He motions to the hallway behind us.

  Milo raises a finger. “A shepherd is always there if one of his flock has a need. And it seems this one may be the lost one.” He smiles, one dimple showing, and takes my hand, patting the top of it. “The ninety-nine may wait for now.”

  Though he doesn’t bother to conceal his distaste, Wylder isn’t about to argue with a priest. He departs without another word.

  Once Wylder is out of earshot, Milo cups my shoulder, hand reassuring as he expresses, “Your son is perfectly safe. One of my rounds included the staff area. I witnessed him playing in one of the nursery rooms with various other small children.”

  “Children?” I question, confused.

  “Why, yes. Some who apply bring children with them. The Glass District is less of a…cordial environment. Museums provide a better lifestyle, one that affords girls the opportunity to interact with their children if they choose it.”

  “What do you mean ‘if they choose it’?”

  Milo pauses for a moment before gently setting a hand on my back while leading me around another corner and down a nearby hallway. On the left are floor-to-ceiling windows offering unobstructed views into a scape as black as midnight ash with occasional ember sparks from glowing creatures no larger than pinpoints.

  A sigh heaves from Milo’s mouth. Fogged over by sorrow, yet resigned when he shrugs. “It’s been my experience to learn the unfortunate dynamics of Breakables and their children. Those who genuinely love their children wish to be close to them, but those who don’t care will just as easily give them up to pay off their debts. I’ve witnessed mother and daughter working alongside each other in the same District.” He bows his head as we approach a door at the end of the hall. Scanning his wrist barcode, Milo ushers me into the doorway, his words echoing. “I’ve witnessed working girls turn into mothers, then become madams who sell their daughters just as they themselves were sold. Trauma is…an unforgiving beast and affects each Breakable in a different way.”

  Though I am surprised he used the derogatory term for Glass District girls, I remember how many he’s met over the years and how it would be simple to don the terminology in his position. In any case, there is no scorn attached. Just a matter-of-fact label.

  Silence looms. We descend the staircase to the floor below to my family’s quarters. One missing for now, but Milo’s words about Kerrie’s well-being are a comfort. Still, our son has always been the sensitive one. While Verity crashes into a deep sleep every night, Kerrie is the one who wakes multiple times. What will happen when he doesn’t recognize the arms that come to lift him out of his crib? When he can’t find mine or Sky’s scent? When he can’t hear our familiar voices? And what will it do to him in the long run?

  When I enter the main room, I discover Lindy sleeping on the couch, curled up as best she can, but her belly nudges past the cushion’s edge. Nothing from the adjoining room where Verity sleeps. And our bedroom door is closed, so I assume Sky is already asleep. Only Neil is awake. Confused if only because he’s using a shield screen, I approach, observing how pixelated his form is. Voice low but words far too distorted for me to make out.

  Approaching from behind, I raise a hand toward the screen. Judging by the loud hum, I’d wager it’s a motion-activated alarm. Neil turns his head just as the shield screen dissolves, revealing one side of his body where he holds a spoon coated in ice cream. A sprite light of mine and Sky’s last performance projects onto the table.

  “Hey, sis,” he crows, then takes another bite of ice cream. “You get the good stuff here. You realize this…” He taps the ice cream container. “Is the electronic stuff? Like a mini ice cream printer. You can sort through the menu. Just tap whatever flavor you want and voila!
Instant white chocolate macadamia nut.”

  I sigh, shaking my head. My brother will never change. But I sit across from him right after grabbing my own spoon, then reach for the container. After perusing the menu options, I settle on a decadent dark chocolate with chocolate shavings, marveling at how the ice cream shifts color and injects the thin morsels. When I try it and sigh appreciatively, Neil winks.

  “So…” Twiddling his thumbs on the table in front of him, he nods to the bedroom. “Trouble in paradise? Doesn’t seem like Armstrong is doing too well.”

  I swallow another bite and exhale, wanting to choose my words more cautiously, more diplomatically, but I’m sick of treating Neil that way. Sick of treating him like the little boy he is. So, I stick the spoon in the container, slam it down on the table, and practically growl at my brother. “Of course he’s not doing too well, Neil. They took our child away, forcing us to watch while we could do nothing. You’ve never had anything ripped from you. You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter. You don’t even see how all this is affecting Lindy.” I thrust my jaw toward my sleeping sister-in-law. “What do you think she feels when someone just rips Kerrie out of her arms? Don’t you care about her at all, Neil? Why won’t you both just…leave?” I hold my breath because even though it’s the right thing, even though they can leave and they should leave because they would be safer out there than in this fishbowl, nothing in me wants them to. Other than our children of course, Neil and Lindy are our only stabilizers. Our only other touchstones. Our family already feels brittle. Like a shell ready for the breaking. I don’t want us ripped apart any more than necessary.

  Neil blinks a couple of times, opens his mouth, shoulders heavy as if he’s ready to confess something. But then, he gets that knowing glint in his eye, and I strangle the instinctive urge to flick him when he predictably answers, “If we leave, I wouldn’t get this.” He snatches up the carton to switch the flavor to cherry bliss. Then, he wags the spoon toward me. “And you wouldn’t get to see my pretty face.”

  “A true tragedy indeed.”

  “Night, Serenity.”

  “Night, Neil.”

  When I tiptoe into the bedroom, I discover one reason why Verity’s room was so quiet. Sky brought the rocker in here, and they’re curled up together, fast asleep. I lean over to kiss Verity’s brow, knowing she won’t wake. Then, I pause before kissing Sky, watching the way my shadow sails across the one side of his face while the other presses against Verity’s head. Instead, I let them be and crawl into bed. For the first time, it’s cold because Sky has always been there to warm it before me.

  19

  B u b B l e s

  * * *

  It’s Saturday night at eleven, just following our interaction. My body is numb, raw from everything, and I still can’t shake the memories. It’s like someone has stretched out every one of my butterflies, tugging at their wings, tearing at parts of their delicate membranes, leaving them hollow. Every time I step into one of the performances or interactions, I want to muster my lightning. But then, I remember Kerrie’s cries, his little body doing its best to thrash around, silver curls shaking like underwater sand upset by a rolling wave. So, I shove the fight back down and just try to survive, wondering how my sister ever managed to do it for years…in far worse conditions.

  It still doesn’t go away. And it’s probably why Sky has barely spoken to or touched me lately.

  Behind me, I hear footsteps from beyond the screen shield. At least I’m fully clothed this time. Preparing to meet Wylder, I wait for the shield to dissolve from his command, but it’s not Wylder. Even if the screen pixelates the form, those hips and hands alert me it’s female. At first, I believe it’s Haven judging by the body type, but Haven doesn’t come here…ever.

  And she wouldn’t stand there and wait.

  So, I shut down the screen myself, but I pause before saying anything.

  “I’m Bubbles,” is the first thing she says.

  A familial connection of some sort is undeniable. She has the same foreign features. The same exotic, thin eyes. But not skeletal like Wylder. I’m certain if she wanted, she could make them sharp as katanas, but they remain open a little wider. It seems like it takes her effort. However, it’s not her eyes as much, it’s her skin. The digital tattoos are distracting as they’re programmed for her entire body—all over her arms, legs, chest, and even her throat. No wonder she calls herself Bubbles when the chaotic circles dance all over her skin, a never-ending supply floating along her skin, some bouncing off each other but not popping. Like one of those historic lava lamps. And all in assorted colors.

  “Do you want to see your son?”

  My heart doesn’t leap. Instead, it’s like waiting, watching the surf, and wondering whether a worthy wave is going to form or not. With everything that has happened here in the Aquarium and everywhere else, I know not to get my hopes up.

  A purple bubble floats in a bobbing line across her chest, and I have to work hard to focus on her face. Especially given how her hair is a luminescent purple. Like amethysts. “How can I trust you?” is my first question.

  “Do you want to see your son?” she asks again, and I hear Haven and Wylder’s same relentless voices, but Bubbles doesn’t ramble on like they do. She licks her lips, which are much fuller than her family members are. Plump as two ripened berries. Her gaze does not waver unlike all the bubbles on her skin.

  Biting my lower lip hard, I feel the wave rocking against my chest as I nod.

  “We don’t have much time.” Bubbles withdraws a small device from the tiny pocket of the slight slip she wears. She’s tiny enough the slip makes her seem like a marionette doll. One with rainbow bubbles erupting all over her skin. Once she presses down on the device, an enormous bubble shield envelopes the air all around her, causing her to disappear. Sky told me about this technology. While Sky and the Task Force have used camouflage shields that allow one to blend into the environment, this is something different. Something far more advanced.

  Suddenly, Bubbles reaches out to clutch my hand and draws me inside. Once she does, she presses a different button on the remote. “No one can see or hear us now. As long as we stay in the bubble. Let’s go.”

  She begins to walk. I follow just as a stream of multicolored bubbles spiral up her arm, carousing along the curve of her shoulder. They all disappear at the graceful curve where her throat meets her chin. As we walk, I notice this happens occasionally, but the majority of rainbow bubbles simply remain content to play along her skin. It almost reminds me of Haven’s jellyfish as they bump one another in the tank.

  I want to ask Bubbles why she’s doing this, but I don’t want to give her any chance to second-guess her thoughts. So, I opt for something a little safer.

  “Are you their sister?” I murmur, glancing up because I hear my voice echo just a little off the bubble walls. They seem so thin. Like I could just reach out and…

  “Careful,” Bubbles warns, tugging my hand back. “It’s a powerful force field. It will shock you if you get too close.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And yes, I’m their sister…in a way,” she finishes, her voice dipping lower like a shadow underneath the water’s surface.

  If nothing else, I know she’s the youngest because she is even younger than me. Well, me in my physical form frozen at age sixteen. I’d wager Bubbles is no more than fifteen.

  Bubbles leads me down the hall that is the opposite direction of the performance auditorium. Still, we do pass by a few moving walkways where a few midnight tourists roam accompanied by escorts. But Bubbles uses her barcode to access an employee’s entrance and back hallway. This is in the main area of our level, which I’m not permitted to access. No windowed walls, no decorative sculptures, no flashing wall ads or pop-up screens, no tanks shimmering with bioluminescent creatures for these back areas. We pass by a couple of recreation rooms for employees, the kitchens where some employees are finishing up for the night, setti
ng the dishwasher and various other kitchen cleaning apps so everything will be clean and put away the next morning, a dark commons room, and finally…a nursery.

  Bubbles turns off the device right before we enter the doorway. Most of the children are asleep in similar chambers like the ones in our quarters. Suspicious why there are no chaperones, I ask Bubbles as she leads me past multiple chambers toward the end of the nursery.

  “Security bots are used at night. Most girls are working right now. They get more time to spend with their children during the day. Or the ones who show up do,” she adds, then gestures to one more bubble-like chamber. Leaning over, I press my hands to the glass and sneak a long peek at Kerrie. A conflict of emotions swirls in me because all I want to do is wake him up and hold him. But I can’t take him with me, and it would be cruel to do that.

  “How…” I push the whisper out. “How’s he been doing?”

  Bubbles drifts over to the other side of the chamber to my right, then looks down at my sleeping boy. “He’s hanging in there. He asks about his mommy and daddy several times a day. Even when he’s playing, I’ll catch him looking at the door every time one of the chaperones comes in.”

  “Are you a chaperone?”

  Bubbles chews on her bottom lip, head tilting from left to right just slightly. “No, I’m just…special.”

  “How special?”

  “Special enough I can stay as far away from my brother as I want… but not become my sister while I’m at it,” she hints, tone underneath wrapped in a variety of layers, each one different—much like her bubbles.

  “So, Haven protects you,” I say, exploring a little more, marveling when Bubbles nods. Haven’s enemies would consider Bubbles a weakness. In a way, she reminds me of my sister. The Ghost of the Aquarium. Like one of Haven’s prized jellyfish she keeps in her tank. Considering how she treats her brother, it’s more than surprising.

  “I like your son.” Bubbles smiles, popping her head down to eye him. “He’s sweet. A little energetic but sweet. Not like Verity.”