by Emily Shore
And I’m just frozen there. All I can do is gaze at the familiar mark sliced into her chest.
A swan.
21
T o S h A m e
Luc
At least she allows me to kiss her before I surrender her to the water. Small comfort, but I don’t have time to consider it. Force gave me orders to inform Bliss of his plans for later. Ever since the Garden, I’ve stopped giving myself the luxury of watching Serenity’s exhibits play out. Tonight will be grand, I’m certain. Indulgent coward I am, I know I will cave to the temptation of watching her feeds on my bed canopy tonight.
It takes some time to reach the Penthouse level to walk the halls to Bliss’s room on the far side. Serenity will be a few minutes into her song now, but her father will draw this one out as far as he dares. Despite how well-trained the sea creature is and its programmed suppressor, the thought of her swimming with that beast unsettles me, which is why I must focus on the present and limit the images in my head.
I knock on Bliss’s door.
No answer.
After my second knock, I use my barcode to open it just a crack. But she’s nowhere in the main suite. Her bedroom door is wide open. Her father said she would be here. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with ensuring everything was in order for Serenity’s Undine unveiling, he would deliver the message himself. Not that I can blame the director after last week’s unfortunate event—if it can be labeled that. He will go to extraordinary lengths to prevent another murder. Just as I would if I were playing director. As it is, I must buck from taking on that authoritative mold. At times, I’ve caught myself wanting to challenge Force, advise him on how to handle the situation. He welcomes my advice in certain areas, but Force is far more qualified at this position than I am. It is one area I can respect. Not his treatment of his daughters, but his treatment of the Temple—the precision in each one of his actions.
“Director Aldaine.”
Bliss steps out from the bathroom, a wake of steam behind her. The white silk robe she wears holds her curves like a lullaby, outlining them. My eyes linger, exploring certain areas, deciphering differences in a matter of seconds. She is thinner than Serenity. Not as full in one singular area, but the contrast between the two of them is still quite subtle.
I turn to fix my gaze at a spot on the far wall. “Your father sent me with a message. I knocked twice, but there was no answer.”
“I didn’t hear you.” She keeps her words simple and unadulterated. Unlike my roaming thoughts.
Bliss makes her way across the room and to her closet door, which is open. Less than a minute later, she returns with a white dress in her hand.
“How is Serenity’s exhibit?” she questions me.
“Intense.”
“I suppose it will stir an appetite for tonight’s interaction.” She stands before the mirror, tilts her neck to the side, and touches her fingers to her slender throat.
Her obvious attempt at small talk reminds me far too much of her father. I get to the point.
“A client has requested your services immediately following the interaction.”
“And what business is it of yours?”
“None. Your father has merely tasked me with a message. He’s planning to continue Serenity’s training—inside your client room.”
Bliss peers at me from her vanity mirror but only nods. “Thank you, Director Aldaine.”
Shaking my head, I step toward her. “The Temple has only one director, and I am not him.”
“My father says once a director, always a director.”
“Not in my case. I rejected the title and my Family name.”
She reaches an ornate box filled with a cream. “Do you have another title you’d prefer to be known by?”
“Luc will suffice.”
“Very well, Luc.”
Bliss rubs the cream into the back of her neck, easing her hand underneath the robe. It slides back to give me a partial view of a week-old laceration there.
“Luc,” Bliss says. “My personal preparer always takes time to rest before mine and Serenity’s interaction together. I can summon a medic aid, but since you’re already here, would you mind?”
She motions to the cream before sliding the edges of her robe down her shoulders to reveal the multitude of whip marks on her back. I consider refusing out of propriety’s sake, but I am an artist first and foremost. Between that and my background as a director, I have seen countless girls, Serenity included. Bliss’s body is familiar to me, but her skin feels altogether unique when I apply the cream to her scarred back. To her, there is nothing sensual about this moment. She doesn’t close her eyes or lean her head to the side, and I can sense the rigidity in her spine. Bliss is trying desperately not to move, not to wince, cringe, or flinch from my fingers nursing the cream into the marks scattered across her skin. Some of the wounds betray signs of a skin fuser, others automatic grafting. But the healing cream laced with antiseptic is still a necessary process.
My eyes wander across the length of her back. Her bones protrude more than Serenity’s, but it doesn’t detract from her beauty. She reminds me of her father’s glass sculptures. All delicate sharp angles. I’d give one hand just to sketch her.
The farther down I go, the straighter Bliss becomes. Finally, I pause, unable to withstand much more.
“Stop it.” I gaze at her from the side.
Unconcerned over her exposure, Bliss angles her neck to ask, “What?”
I cup her chin. Unlike Serenity, she does not retreat when I tell her, “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt. I know it does. I’ve felt the marks myself.”
“Expressing it won’t change anything, will it?” she counters. “Pain is guaranteed. Suffering is optional.”
“It makes one human. Something you seem to have forgotten,” I accuse her.
“Hmm…” Bliss muses with a soft smile. “Your irony surprises me, Luc.”
“Irony?”
“Yes, it’s obvious you see no other girl in the universe but my sister. And yet, you’re desperate to compare me to her. But perhaps I know why.”
I place the cream box on the vanity, trying to ignore her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Confronting her was a mistake. I should leave now.
“Please don’t insult me.” Bliss leans back in her chair, flaunting the two badges of honor on her chest, goading me on. “Anyone can see her rejection has trapped you. We both know Serenity will always get her way… just like Father does.”
“Stop.” I’m in danger of raising my voice.
“But perhaps she really isn’t lost, is she? After all, one identical body is as good as another.”
The sheer force of her words, however softly she speaks, accosts me. A taunt dressed in silk.
“All this suitor business is just for Father’s entertainment,” she continues. “It’s his way of playtime with her, of getting a rise out of her. Just as he manipulates you into believing you have a chance. No one has a chance. No one will ever be good enough for his little princess. But if your bed gets too cold one night—”
She starts to stand from her chair, ready to forsake the rest of the robe.
I turn my back to her. For the first time in all my years, I capitulate. I walk away from a battle with a woman, confirming her words at the same time. Serenity’s warfare is far simpler than this. A physical level I can easily handle. Bliss prefers the psychological.
Screw Force.
His daughter puts him to shame.
22
M o R e T r a I n i n g
Serenity
“Go away!” I fling the glass vase at my father’s head as he marches toward me.
He swings his head to the side, evading my aim, and the glass shatters on the floor behind him. The determined smirk on his face reveals he’s not daunted by my fit, however justified it is. Ever since I saw her corpse, ever since I saw the swan carved into her chest…it’s only natural for fear to rise. For me, there
is far more anger.
“As much as I’m enjoying your little tantrum, your interaction is at midnight, and I’m going to see you get to your preparation on time. Even if it means I have to drag you.”
“Leave me alone,” I scream, making a beeline for the stairs.
Force is taller than me, legs long enough to slice my stride in half. He grabs both my arms, thrusting them behind my back. “Come along, now. Your audience awaits.”
I seethe. “How do you know one of them isn’t a cold-blooded killer?”
“Two reasons. Number one, a killer with this sort of palette enjoys working his way up to the prize, and the savoring of that prize would only happen in private—not public. Number two, I am a cold-blooded killer myself, daughter. I can recognize one from a mile away.”
Working his way up to the prize. That means more girls will have to die. More death…always death around me.
“You either come with me now or—” His words border on a threatening promise. “I will make you watch while I whip your mother within an inch of her existence.”
Oh no, he didn’t! I weasel out of his grasp, hands primed for his throat, but my father grips onto my wrists and wrenches them apart, baring my face to his eye.
“My beautiful Swan. My little Skeleton Flower. My dark Undine.” He samples on each one of my names. “No wonder you have a serial killer obsessed with you. No wonder every man in the world would deal with the devil himself just to bed you. You’re already sending my Temple climbing to the edges of the galaxy!”
I spit in his face. “Before it dives straight down to hell.”
Force leans in to murmur. “Let’s go together, shall we?”
After the burning encounter with my father, Queran’s hands feel like water on my skin. His words, soft as silkworms, soothe my quaking nerves. And the origami mermaid holding onto a shark made me smile.
While Queran prepared Bliss, I took the moments to come down off my dark horse, but the lightning is still warming my blood. Free to walk around in her Yin skin—nothing new unlike all my Temple Face costumes—my sister reflects on my fury, which could have melted her bedroom floor more than my pacing feet wore them down.
Tonight, our interaction style is different. While Bliss is still the dark one, her Yin skin is more of a midnight blue rather than black and provides a sharp contrast to the fiery gold Queran paints on mine. Gold flecks and glitter complement the paint. Queran even attaches a whimsical gold skirt to the backs of my legs. Full-bodied complete with ruffles. On the contrary, Bliss’s skirt is a spill of blue ink.
“Father thinks you should be flattered,” she dictates as she paces.
“Excuse me?”
“He takes a sense of pride. A serial killer has chosen you as his inspiration vessel. It will only bring more repute to the Temple. It will go down in history.”
I can’t believe she just said that! I slam my fist down on the table, but all that does is upset all the makeup tools there. An overly concerned Queran scrambles to my front and touches his fingers to my cheeks, staring into my eyes.
“Shh, sweet girl!” His fierce whisper competes with the softness of his fairy wing-blue eyes.
I lick my lips and nod, accepting the way his forehead brushes mine. “Yes, Queran, yes.”
I take a few moments while he rights the objects on the dresser, arranging them again by height and purpose. Sucking in a deep breath as he continues to paint my arms, I prepare to confront Bliss.
“Killing girls is not a compliment,” I tell her, feeling like a scolding teacher just for having to tell her this. “It’s murder. It’s wrong.”
“In some cases, yes.”
I shake my head. “In all cases. You’re destroying a soul, plain and simple.”
“Souls are a fickle thing in the Temple. We are not all innocent. Girls lose theirs much too fast here.”
“Like you lost yours?” I flick my head to her.
Bliss does not respond.
Queran takes his time, brush smearing paint around my elbow. Careful and conscientious.
“I didn’t lose mine,” my sister finally says after a few minutes.
“Do you just deny it? Bury it so deep you don’t even know what it feels like anymore? Do you feel anything anymore?”
Even in Yin’s dark skin, Bliss doesn’t seem real. If I could see her soul, I imagine it would look like a frozen bubble. Maybe my father keeps it locked up somewhere. Maybe he keeps the soul of every girl locked in glass jars in his Temple somewhere. He must take them out and look at them every day, pleasuring himself with their temporary satisfaction.
Not mine. He’ll never get a hold of my soul.
We spend the rest of the time in silence, barely looking at one another. Queran is ready to paint my front, and I drop my robe. He pauses to raise a finger, and I’ve grown familiar with the action. After all, he spent an hour just painting my whole back. He needs another bathroom break.
Several times, I turn to eye Bliss, but she doesn’t reciprocate. It doesn’t matter. I force myself to meet her eyes because of what will ultimately come later. It has to mean something to her. It means something to me—the way she doesn’t just suck our father’s poison into herself, she’s part of it. Like her body is trapped in the poison bottle, skin washed in it all the way up to her neck. Just a pocket of air at the top to give her breath. But it’s enough for her.
How can she breathe so freely when I feel like I’m suffocating?
And then, I consider…if her soul is a frozen bubble, it’s unbreakable. Because she won’t let herself break.
It feels like I’m a rock—weighed down and strapped to this table—with an overdose of moss smothering my face.
“Yes, she seems quite feisty tonight.”
“Not her sister. So stoic.”
I crane my head to see the speaking gentleman trace a finger along the swell of Bliss’s breast. No, not gentleman. There’s nothing gentlemanly about any of them. One by one, I pick them off, eyes impaling them. The only one they can’t pierce is my father.
“Stoic is old hat,” one closer to me mentions, plucking up a small bead of salmon roe from my navel. “A girl with some fight appeals to a more refined palette.”
“Cause you’re so refined, Wallace. What was then name of that two-bit Breakable stripper in Club Wonk last weekend?”
“Sod off, James.”
Everyone at the table jumps at the sudden sound of a gunshot cracking the interaction in half. All my nerve wires pop like buttons. Butterflies scramble about in my stomach, some flying for cover, others flapping their wings and muttering curses, still others rearing their heads, shaking wild antennae. I twist my head to the side to see two gunmen entering the room. Masked, of course. How on earth had they gotten weapons into the Temple? They knock out the security guard they smuggled to get up to the Penthouse. Only the highest dorm levels require my father’s interface. Not the conference level.
“Don’t move! None of you move,” they bellow out the orders. “Don’t try anything!”
Are you kidding me right now?
One of them gets the message too late. The other men shout in protest when their comrade ends up shot and slumped on the floor. I can’t tell whether he’s dead or alive. Too much is happening. I don’t know whether to look at my sister or my father, but I end up settling on my father. If anyone in the Temple has a gun, it would be him. Then again, my father’s cutthroat sense does prefer knives. One of the gunmen keeps his weapon primed on Force while the other approaches the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your cooperation,” one of the masked gunmen sarcastically states. “We are here for one thing and one thing only. Miss. Yang?”
I flick my head toward the gunman, face a mask.
“If you’d be so kind…” He gestures for me to get off the table.
What a day I’m having. My shark was more well-behaved than this.
Sushi tumbles off me as I start to get up. First, I glance at my sister,
who hasn’t moved whatsoever, then at my father, who clenches the balcony railing so hard his knuckles turn white. But he’ll bleed that railing long before a blood drop leaves his body. I couldn’t care less if any of the men here gets shot. If my father didn’t have that damned implant, I wouldn’t care about him, either.
“Very good,” the gunman commends me. “Now, walk to the elevator. The three of us are going to take a little ride together.”
By the way he says “ride,” I know full well what he’s referring to. Biting the inside of my lip, I start toward them slowly, delaying as long as possible.
“You are making an enormous mistake, gentlemen,” my father states from his balcony perch.
I’m at the right angle to see the elevator doors sliding open once more, but the assailants can’t, and they don’t hear the elevator opening.
“And who’s going to stop us, Director? You?”
I pick up where my father left off. “No, you should really worry about him.”
Neither man gets a chance to turn before Luc seizes both their guns, dismantling them within seconds. It doesn’t stop one from grabbing me, dragging me back and forcing a knife against my throat. Too hard. I feel a nick there. Luc forces his partner to his knees, fracturing his arm, earning a howl from the man just before smashing his head against the glass floor. Luc rises to confront the one holding me.
“Mmm,” the masked man murmurs in my ear. “Worth it just to touch you, Swan.”
“That’s not my name,” I declare, my voice bone-needle sharp.
My father starts to descend the staircase. “Release my daughter immediately. You’re going to die no matter the case. It’s up to you whether your death is slow or instantaneous.”
