by Emily Shore
“I’m sorry,” I apologize to Bubbles, who shakes her head.
“Don’t.” She gets to her feet. “At least I know now.”
What does that mean? The bubbles on her skin turn darker, a glossy black. Was that the only reason she brought me out here? She still says nothing returned to the bubble craft and climbed back in, pulling dry clothes onto our wet forms. Bubbles wastes no time in setting the coordinates. Her tattoo implant is my one major advantage because while some bubbles remind me of dark Aquarium waters, others are red as a sky the morning before a storm—an early warning.
“There were all these rumors your father spread about Yang,” Bubbles finally explains the closer we get to the Aquarium. “But we didn’t want to believe it. Me and the other Temple girls.” She stares straight ahead, navigating the craft via its sprite-light system. “Even when he’d parade you around on countless floors in your Yang ensemble, we all believed it was just pretend.”
“It was pretend,” I insist, then finish in a softer voice. “Back then.”
“I’ll never forgive him for this,” Bubbles snarls just a little, all her bubbles turning flaming colors like miniature demons. I understand who she’s referring to. And I know why. What Wylder did awoke Yang. But Bubbles doesn’t have a counterpart inside her soul. That much I’m certain of. Both hurt and embarrassed, I say nothing because Bubble’s jealousy of mine and Yang’s relationship far outweighs her anger at her brother for what he did to me. Even in as much as Yang is my own demon that I hate to love, Bubbles doesn’t have a Yang. And nothing in me can blame her for that jealousy.
The lull of the week never feels like a scab with these two. They are the balm.
Kerrie enjoys playing in the mini wave pool even if he keeps toppling over thanks to the life vest that makes him look like an inflated, green puffer fish. Every time the waves cycle round, his laugh triggers something inside me. Verity’s perceptive eyes, how her hands press themselves to my face, all chubby and soft, do the same. They are a sort of touchstone. My compass as I navigate a treacherous sea. My treasure map.
Due to all the recent security threats, Haven closed the children’s wing down for our private use during a less populated time. Only our family can come and go, including Neil and Lindy and some minor staff. In addition, security bots that keep a six-foot circular shield around us. However, they also act as sprite-light recordings. Something about allowing her patrons to witness the Sea Star and her family in action. It’s one thing for Sky and me to be publicized. Our children are another thing.
Tristan’s offer sounds better and better.
Verity leans over the side of the tank, stretching out her arm to a stingray that coasts toward her. When her fingers close around a slippery wing, she laughs. Unlike Kerrie, her laugh doesn’t skip and frolic at random. It’s lower because it resounds from a meaningful place deep inside her. Like a gong signaling something significant. Only Sky and her brother can get her to laugh on command.
And sometimes Neil, considering she giggles when Kerrie splashes him from the wave pool, and he starts fussing over his damp hair. Sometimes, I wonder if my brother really was born… or if Jade shaped him together one night from a variety of flowers and placed him in an ornament box delivered to my father. But he was never the child my father wanted. Never pretty enough inside or out, so Neil compensated, finding his own beauty, owning it, and then living through it. I’m sure he only chose graphicking because it undoubtedly pleased Force more than any other profession that used a laser lens. Since he met me…since he married Lindy, he’s distanced himself from that world more and more, so I can’t fault him for his persnickety fashion choices. Even dressing for two, considering Lindy’s changing body.
Unconcerned over her appearance, Lindy scoops up Kerrie from behind so his legs start paddle-kicking and send more water in Neil’s direction. From the other side of the bay room, I can’t hear their voices, but judging from Neil’s exaggerated shocked reaction, he wasn’t anticipating Lindy using our toddler as a water weapon. Kerrie eats it up. And I haven’t seen Sky smile like this in quite a while.
By now, Kerrie’s curls are like a dirty blonde dishrag dripping over his face, but I nod to Sky because our son is still not ready to leave. Verity is. She points to the darkened tunnel nearby where a glowing sign hovers in the air, showcasing a series of clips of bioluminescent creatures and a mermaid beckoning viewers forward.
“Mah-maid,” Verity insists, the upper half of her body tugging forward. She repeats the word over and over.
Without the heart to tell her no, I wander toward the tunnel, leaving Sky to watch over Kerrie. Once inside, I step onto a moving walkway, which leads into a tube where we are surrounded by water on all sides. The tanks feature a variety of glowing sea creatures that Verity fawns over from sea stars to jellyfish to crustaceans. Between the soothing background music and the low hum of the walkway, Verity turns quiet, mesmerized by the sight of the shimmery seascape. The irony since so many species trigger their glow because they fear a predator. Or they are trying to attract a mate. So, the creatures we observe are either in a continuous state of hyper awareness or simply emitting a siren call. Not so unlike what exhibit girls feel. Not so unlike what I feel now on both spectrums. No choice but to expose our light. No choice but to always feel threatened.
The moving walkway offers three different branched-off tubes and a map with different options for a path. The outcomes are—a shipwreck, an Atlantis-style structure, and an underwater pirate’s cove. Each one features a different interaction. The shipwreck has a shark cage, the Atlantis has mermaids, and the pirate’s cove offers pearl diving. Verity stares at the sprite lights projected in the air before each tube, then promptly chooses the one with the mermaids.
“An excellent choice, little one,” a familiar voice says from behind us. I glance back at the priest with a smile as he embarks into the tunnel alongside us. Of course he would be one of the few staff Haven would allow. These are his working hours. “I’ve reprogrammed the bot so we may have a private conversation,” Milo says, who also gestures to a few of the security cameras above our heads. “Both it and the cameras are set to run on a loop.”
“Do you have more information?” I ask. I let Verity down once the moving walkway ends and the tube spills into a vast bubble-like room large enough for a crowd and surrounded by the ocean. Outside the bubble is a compelling and detailed Atlantian structure. Miniature kelp forests and coral grow around and through it with purpose, seductively waving between pillars. All Verity cares about are the swimming mermaids. She toddles over to the edge of the bubble, then presses her nose and hands to the glass. Motion-activated, two sprite-light screens hum to life to provide a mythological story about the exhibit as well as some history that inspired it.
Milo touches my wrist, motioning me toward one of the screens. We remain close to it so the projection can act as a barrier for our voices…just in case there are other cameras.
“I regret to inform you that getting you and your husband out at this time would be an impossibility.” Milo’s face falls in shame. “Perhaps if this were the Temple, it would be simpler to smuggle you out and hide you in the city somewhere until it’s safe. But…”
I touch his arm, my smile fading but understanding. “It’s the ocean, Milo. It’s not your fault.”
The Temple injects itself into my heart, ready to brand itself…if I’m ready to receive it.
“I could arrange for a small sub for your family, but Director Haven’s security would catch up to us before we reach the surface. However, all hope is not lost.” He raises a finger, then turns his eyes to Verity.
When one of the mermaids skims through the water, glittery gold scales reflecting in Verity’s eyes like lantern light in gray fog, my daughter starts to bounce up and down, squealing, “Mahmaid! Mahmaid!”
The mermaid smiles. By now, I can tell when one is genuine or not. I imagine the sight of a child with wonder in her eyes is a treat compared to clien
tele housing lust. I wonder what the demographic is for the audience since the Aquarium has become a popular destination for families—a concept that is trending, though rare. Still…
“I could get them out.” Milo’s words crash into me. Reversed, an iceberg to my ship, sinking all my hopes.
“No,” is my first reaction. I shake my head, my arms already fighting the urge to scoop up Verity because I don’t want to disturb her joy as she follows the mermaid sashaying from one edge of the bubble to another. The other two mermaids join her, which only catapults Verity’s joy. My little girl is particularly good at unconscious manipulation. If one of the mermaids begins to sweep away, Verity puckers up her lower lip, eyes longing and hands reaching, anchoring the mermaids to the glass. Even they cannot resist my force of a two-year-old. Every now and then, the mermaids glance at one another, each one with a knowing grin at my daughter, who is just as entertaining to them as they are to her.
“This may be your only opportunity to keep them safe. At a later time, perhaps I can get you or even Skylar out.”
That is a pipe dream. A pipe the width of a thread. If our twins suddenly disappeared, Haven would resort to drastic methods to keep us both here. Even if Milo could get Kerrie and Verity to the Sanctuary, I won’t consider it. They’ve already lost two parents. They won’t lose us, too. And I can’t lose them. My treasure map. My touchstone. However selfish it is, without them, even with Yang, I wouldn’t survive the Aquarium. Just the thought of life without them feels like a squid squeezing tentacles around my heart.
“Our family stays together,” I tell Milo, resolute as iron chains forged in molten lava. I’d rather take my chances with the Syndicate.
Not one mermaid rises to the surface this whole time, so I know they are equipped with breathing devices. And since this is still a deeper part of the ocean, I imagine they have some anti-decompression sickness skin shields or pressure patches. Some advanced technology that enables one to dive deeper without the need of scuba gear or a painstakingly slow rise to the surface.
Milo sighs as if disappointed, then turns his attention to the mermaids. “So lovely. Such potential wasted in a place such as this. More’s the pity.”
If they even had a choice in the first place.
Milo gazes at the mermaids for a touch longer while I turn my eyes to Verity. I watch how she presses one hand to the glass, studying the mermaid with the emerald scales as she does the same with her hand overlapping my child’s. Verity lights up like a sunrise over water, waves catching the rippling light and casting beams beneath its surface to twirl with one another underwater.
“I wuv you, mahmaid,” Verity proclaims right before she pivots her head in my direction. “I wuv you, Mommy.”
My heart joins that light. I hurry to one half of my treasure map, lift her in my arms, and spin her around until we both collapse laughing on the floor. Verity curls up in my lap, murmuring against my chest, “Shahky?”
I smile and cup the back of her head, threading my fingers through her hair. “Not today, sweetie. Tomorrow.”
Satisfied with my answer, Verity yawns once before bolting up to wave goodbye to the mermaids who swim to the Atlantis building. I look back to ask Milo if he could at least get Neil and Lindy out under the radar, but he’s already gone.
24
R e g R e t s
* * *
I can’t take much more.
As soon as I surface at the end of the exhibit after the spotlights have darkened and the crowds have dispersed, I know I can’t take much more. Nothing in me wants to do the interaction.
That’s why you have me, Yang reminds me, her voice echoing in my head. Clearer every day. No murkiness in the water. And yet, she is an infection. An invisible one but deadly all the same. With every day, I feel her voice growing and mine fading. Tonight is no different when my costume repairs itself for the interaction. So similar to my weekend routine. How I must repair myself during the week to compensate for the weekend. But my mind has no off switch. Yang is always there waiting in the wings for one trigger. One sideways glance from Wylder. One licking of the lips from a viewing client. Or even one glare from Sky.
Tonight, there are interaction clients. I imagine Haven granted them a discount since they are acquaintances of Wylder. Undoubtedly from the modeling world judging from their high-fashion clothes and sharp, statuesque features. Since it’s a group, she still got her money’s worth. Mostly male but also two females. One Wylder whispers to, who laughs at some comment he’s made. When he points, I know it’s at my expense. I want to vomit at the implications.
As soon as Sky places his hands on me to repeat one of our earlier interactions, I catch a glance of Wylder, his hair reminding me of the black spines of a sea urchin. Beautiful but deadly. How I long to pluck out each strand one by one if I could. Still, I remember that while he took a piece of me, I took pieces of him first that night on the beach. Little matter when I remember the sound of my children screaming, how Kerrie struggled when Wylder had him taken away from us. It won’t happen again.
When Sky rips the netting on my chest, I close my eyes and allow Yang to surface as if I’m coughing up saltwater. She stings every time.
Like clockwork, Wylder comes to the domed chamber. He’s trying this again? No model friends accompany him. This is always his sweet spot. Meant for him to cherish. Not to be shared.
I’ll let you have this one, Yang informs me, grinning on the inside since I maintain nothing but a dominant stance and unbreakable, hard as a hammerhead.
Skin still damp and clinging to the black shift I’ve donned for the evening, I crack the whip, longing to whisper a word of thanks to my old electrified, leather demon, who has now become my friend. Like Yang. Except Yang is a part of me. The whip is just a tool used for good or evil. Tonight, I use it to protect myself.
“Afraid to take me on without your little bullwhip?” he challenges, gliding to the side, squaring his shoulders. Model prowess. “Or perhaps your alter ego and I can come to an arrangement.”
We both hiss at that. Under other circumstances, I know Yang would be open to it. But not since that night. Perhaps if I’d had her before, but she could only awaken out of violence. Summoned from fire and lightning.
Wrinkling my nose, I raise my chin and feel Yang slipping closer, eel-like, ready to shock, yearning to take over.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore.” I straighten, swelling myself up more even if I won’t outrank him in height. “I don’t have to be.”
With that, I close my eyes and dive into the underwater sinkhole of my mind, allowing Yang to rise. My monster of the deep. She shakes off my lightning, allowing me to hold it deep inside while she steps toward Wylder, energy spawning from her fingertips.
“You want her?” we challenge this pathetic pretty boy and his unlimited perversion. “Come and get her.”
At first, Wylder pauses, then sighs. But he’s nowhere near ready to give up. Masochistic in his chase, this is all a game to him. His own way of dragging it out, torturing her because he knows she can never let her guard down. He’s some parasite, a barnacle sucking on her, a tumorous growth. It’s why she needs me.
As soon as he charges forward, we shock him by doing the same. We register that split second when his brows shoot to his forehead. Savoring it but only for a moment, we swing our arm up, bending our elbow so the full force of our ulna bone strikes his throat. At once, Wylder stumbles back against one of the windows, hands flying to his throat as he chokes, wheezes, but most importantly…panics. For today’s purposes, we give this moment to Serenity. We’ve had our fill of others. It’s what she wants.
I swallow back Yang. Standing above Wylder, my shadow overlaps his body. He’s cowering in the dark depths, gazing up at the silhouetted predator circling in the sunlit water above.
“From now on, if you try to touch me, I will touch you back,” I say above his coughs as he struggles to speak, but his wheezy words come out in a jumble. One tap to his
throat in concluding reminder. “In ways just like this.”
Wasting no more time on him, I leave him behind to contemplate the possibilities. For once, I’m not exhausted at the end of the night. And I don’t have to go to the showers, steam room, or Sharky’s tank. I return to our rooms to hug and kiss our twins as they lay fast asleep in their cribs. It’s so tempting to give Neil a kiss, too, considering he’s so cute curled up on the couch with his mouth open, drooling on Lindy’s shoulder, but I leave them alone to sleep. Wandering into the bedroom where Sky is already in bed as usual, I don’t disturb him.
First, I change into one of his shirts, which falls to my lower thighs, and curl up under the covers. But before I can nudge my back into his, I feel the energy corkscrewing inside me, signaling Yang’s rise as she nudges me instead.
You’re welcome.
Recognizing the truth of her words, I put as much of a gap between Sky and me as I can. We are not alone in the bed anymore. Despite this triumph, it’s not my triumph. Even if she gave me the credit, even if she used my body, I was the one who failed. Serenity failed. Every time I let Yang take over, I, Serenity, fail. Ashamed, I refuse to turn my head to look at my husband. I lean away even more from his body heat, allowing the cold sheets to close over me like deep water. Finally, I close my eyes, whisper, “Thank you,” to Yang, and float down into dreams of bubbles and lightning popping each and every one so Yang and Wylder are all that’s left.
In the morning, I rise early. Early enough everyone is still sleeping, even Neil. Early enough so I can confront Haven. Tristan warned me Syndicate enforcers would be here by the weekend. Even if she’s already dealt with them, the Syndicate has sent a strong message—they will keep trying. Now she won’t view it as an empty threat. I just have to hope she doesn’t call my bluff of using my Syndicate connections, however of a gray area since the memory of my mental adoptions hasn’t disappeared. Something inside me understands whatever hopes I had of Milo and his Task Force connections getting us back to the Sanctuary have snapped. Breakable as kelp between the jaws of a great white. I just have to be strong enough to admit it, so I summon the courage to speak with Tristan again…and arrange a meeting with the Syndicate’s Temple board.
