Feather Bound

by Sarah Raughley

  “It’s a masquerade ball. We’ll have to use that to our advantage; all you need is the right attire.” I fished my phone out of my purse. “Hyde’s cousin, Anton Rey, is gonna be there with a few models on his arm. They’re all going to be wearing this mask.”

  I showed her Anton’s text: the photo of a laced, exquisitely embroidered gold mask.

  Shannon’s eyes sparkled. “Ooh. Yum. So?”

  “I can get you a few of these. I know where to get them.” Not really. But if I asked Hyde, I was sure he’d find out where to get them and then buy a few for me. That was the plan, anyway.

  I was just using people left right and center, wasn’t I? I fought to suppress a shiver. It was to help him, right?

  “And then?”

  “And then you wear the masks and impersonate the models to get inside.”

  Shannon raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t tell if it was an incredulous or intrigued eyebrow, but the tiniest curve of her lips told me that she was at least partly amused.

  “Anton’s supposed to be picking them up himself. All you have to do is be where I tell you, wearing the masks. You’ll get to ride in a limo, if that’s any consolation.”

  “You seem pretty sure Anton won’t instantly know we aren’t his lady-friends.”

  “Anton isn’t exactly pro-feminist. He uses and discards girls like they’re nothing. His models don’t even speak English. It’s risky, but I’m confident he won’t know the difference as long as you keep your masks on and don’t, you know, talk. Which I’m sure he’d prefer anyway.”

  Her smile widened. “OK, Dee, so how do we get rid of the real models? Where do we stash them?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want them to get hurt or anything. We just need to get them away from the party.”

  Shannon stroked her chin. “I guess we can figure something out.”

  “To make it work we’ll need three girls who are skinny enough to make believable models. You’ll have to be one of them.”

  “Sounds good. I think I can scrounge up two more girls.”

  “The ones I met are white and blonde... Anton said he had a type.”

  “Guy likes his Aryans. OK, fine. For me it’s nothing a little hair dye won’t fix. Though that leaves Yazmin out of the mix. Damn. She would have loved this.”

  “Whatever you plan on doing, you should make him one of your targets… and Hyde too. Hyde has a hand in the editorial decisions made at Bella,” I lied. “And Anton suggests stuff to Beatrice Rey all the time since he’s her stepson.” Another lie. Maybe. Who knows? “Using Lamont as a designer was entirely Anton’s idea, even though he knew swans were involved. And Hyde signed off. So if you’re going to target anyone, they should be on the list.” Lie, lie, lie.

  Shannon frowned. “Well, I haven’t quite figured out exactly what we’re going to do once we’re inside, but… OK. I’ll keep that in mind I guess.”

  “No.” I was on the edge of the bed now, back stiff. “Has to be them. Anton and Hyde. Honestly, they’re horrible. Some of the stuff they do… they’ve done…” In my mind’s eye, I saw Anton’s pasty face through steel bars. “A couple of rich kids who use people however they want, whenever they want – especially swans. Especially swans. No matter what, we need to–”

  “OK, OK, relax.”

  It was only after Shannon had spoken that I realized I was very nearly shrieking.

  Shannon plopped back down onto the couch next to the bookcase. “This is your first rodeo, right? I’m guessing you’re a little nervous. On edge?”

  “Yeah.” More so because I knew how severe the consequences would be if this went wrong – or more specifically, if Anton were to find out that I set this whole thing up.

  “I can see this is important to you. For you to go this far… meeting me, setting this up. Takes guts. Or a lack of sanity. Or both?”

  “Try desperation,” I said, though I hadn’t planned to. I couldn’t reveal too much, couldn’t let her know what this was really about or why I needed her. But I said it anyway, because it was the first truthful thing I’d said to anyone in a long time.

  “Hmm.” Shannon folded her legs, sheathed in deep violet tights, and gave me a sidelong glance. “Are you sure this isn’t more about embarrassing your boyfriend than it is about seeking social justice?”

  I pressed my lips. Targeting Hyde and Anton was critical and I needed a third party involved, a party seemingly acting based on their own agenda that couldn’t be traced back to me. If Shannon did something as shocking as she did at the funeral – flashing, chanting, whatever – that could potentially make Anton’s “seduce and destroy” plan completely pointless. I hadn’t thought it all out yet. No, to be precise, I had no goddamn clue what I was doing. But I had to try. I had to do something.

  I wasn’t going to be Anton’s pawn.

  “No, it’s not that,” I told her. “If I just wanted to screw Hyde over, there are plenty of things I could do.” Like drug him and try to force him into a public orgy. “It’s just that Hyde’s been… the source of a lot of pain for me. And for a lot of people.”

  Shannon was silent for a while, chewing her frayed pink lips as she stared off into space.

  “Are you OK?” I asked, but only when the silence had gone on for too long. “Did I say something?”

  “You know, it happened when I was thirteen.” When she talked, she looked right at me with her pale green eyes. “While I was growing up in Bakersfield. It was the short, geeky kid who sat next to me in homeroom. He’d always been nice. A little too nice, you know, the kind of ‘nice’ guys are when they expect ass as a reward.”

  I watched her sigh, but said nothing. “I didn’t, of course,” she continued. “I didn’t want him. Eventually, he asked me out and when I said no it was like I’d broken some kind of unspoken contract. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. I thought he’d just suck it up and move on. It was all over when he found out I was a swan.” She shook her head. “Three years, Deanna. We were McGinnis High’s cutest couple.”

  I curled over, propping myself up on my knees.

  “You know, when your feathers are taken, it doesn’t matter where you are. You’ll be at home, at the grocery store, on your way out of town and it’ll hit you. Once the sun goes down, that one thought tugging at you, screaming at you to obey: ‘I have to go to him’. No matter what. Wherever he is, you have to be there.

  “It’s like the fairytale, Dee. The hunter steals the swan maiden’s feathers. She follows him. They make a home together. But what they don’t tell you is that she is his because she has to be. And no matter how far she runs, she always comes back to him, every night. As long he has her feathers, she doesn’t have a choice. All the times I snuck out of my room. My parents thought I was some kind of ‘problem child’. They didn’t know what was really going on because I physically couldn’t tell them – because of the swan’s curse: that unspoken rule that forces you to be loyal to the one who’s captured you. All the time. Always. As soon as he took my feathers, it was just second nature – a drive as natural as breathing. I was caged in a nightmare.”

  “Shannon…” I shook my head, clenching my teeth as if it would force the horrible images out. “How…” I didn’t even know how to ask.

  “How did I get free? He killed himself.” Shannon had said it so simply that I half-expected her to ask me if I wanted to go grab breakfast next. My stomach wouldn’t have been able to handle it anyway. She turned, facing the bathroom door, sinking deeper into the couch with her arms folded over her chest. “Bastard killed himself. And at the end of the day, he was the one they cried for, even after they found my feathers. ‘Poor Matt. He’d been suffering for so long. His guilt must have sent him over the edge.’ I was a footnote in someone else’s tragedy.”

  She laughed, as if laughing were the reasonable response to something so horrifying. “So I get you. I get why this matters. It matters to me too. If I have to gatecrash a few masquerade balls and terrorize a few sociali
tes to get the message out, so be it.”

  When I finally raised my head, I noticed she was looking at me. She’d just shared something personal she didn’t have to. And there I was trying not to cry all over her friend’s duvet.

  “It’s OK. This isn’t tit for tat or whatever. I told you my story. You don’t have to tell me yours. That’s your choice. Everyone deserves a choice.”

  I nodded, thankful for the thousands of knots loosening in my chest.

  “So. We need to talk details. You wanna get out of here? Union Square is pretty damn close. Oh, and I’ll call some of my friends over too. Gotta meet the partners in crime, right?”

  She stood up, throwing her bag around her shoulders, beckoning for me to follow. For one ridiculous second, I felt as if I were one of them. As if I were part of some greater movement.

  “You coming?”

  “No, it’s OK,” I said, but my smile struggled. “I’ve gotta get home. Let’s chat online later.”

  I wasn’t a part of anything. Just a clueless coward who’d been driven into a corner. Shannon wasn’t my partner. She was my soldier and I needed her, even if I couldn’t tell her exactly what her help meant to me.

  And how vile I felt for using her.

  16

  MASKED

  Hyde had been so busy with his meetings, I only saw him once before Saturday night. I figured Anton would think I was slacking and dial me up, once again dangling the threat of slavery over my head like the perfect prick he was. But he didn’t. He was probably banking on tonight.

  “Wow. Nice,” Ade said in my doorway, leaning on the frame. I was in front of my mirror, holding up the black evening dress I’d tried on yesterday morning: its tight floral bodice had just enough cleavage to make Anton think I was trying, and synched at the waist, flowing down my legs in a layered cascade of fabric.

  “Yeah,” I muttered and placed it on my bed.

  “Looks like you’re getting used to the Ericka-lifestyle. Balls and gowns. How’s it taste?”

  I couldn’t quite look Ade in the eyes.

  “I’d rather not go,” I answered flatly, sitting at my desk, pushing aside the Margaret Atwoods so I could lay my head down.

  “Why not? You’ve got a pretty dress. Hot rich boyfriend – even these little weird glove things.”

  When I looked over, she was trying them on.

  “Marry Hyde and you’ll be Ericka: The Next Generation, except richer and only slightly less neurotic. Who needs straight As, am I right? You’ll finally get to leave this dump for good.”

  I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy or disdain lining the disgust in her tone. Could have been both.

  “So what’s the problem, Dee?” She paused. “Or is it Hyde? Your man giving you problems?” She chuckled. “Damn; it’s always the guy who messes up the fairy tale, isn’t it? Ha. Ericka 2.0 indeed.”

  To say Hyde was “giving me problems” was an understatement large enough to fill canyons.

  “How is little Richie Rich, anyway?” she asked. “He doing OK?”

  “Fine, I guess.” Actually, I wasn’t sure. Hyde had barely been paying attention when we’d gone out, half-nodding and half-smiling at everything I said. At first, I’d just shrugged it off as “‘that thing some guys do sometimes”; that is, until I’d noticed he’d been checking his phone for messages as frequently as a text-obsessed school-girl.

  “Oh sorry,” he’d said when I’d asked what was up. “It’s just...” He’d looked around conspiratorially. “I have my legal counsel, Roan, and some private detectives working on something for me. Something important.”

  “Something came in the mail for you, by the way,” Ade said, snapping me back to reality. “Hyde sent it. Whatever he’s doing, it’s obviously not bad enough to keep him from showering you with expensive shit – or is that just a commonly accepted custom among the elite? ‘Oh I treated you like crap, here’s your diamond ring, see you next week when you catch me with my secretary.’”

  “Go ask Ericka.” I left my room and walked into the living room.

  There were four thin boxes, each eggshell white, stacked on top of each other on the coffee table. I lifted the lid off one, its textured surface a little rough against my fingers. My heart gave a nervous tremor. It was the golden masks I’d asked Hyde to get me, lying that I needed a few to choose from, not really caring that it made me look like a spoiled faux-cialite. I checked my phone – yes, the mask was the same as the one in the text. Perfect.

  I walked into the closet and dug out an old schoolbag of mine I hadn’t used in about three years. Then I dumped all three masks inside.

  Ade blinked. “Um–”

  “Sorry, I’m kind of busy; can we talk later?” I rushed her out of the room and closed the door in her face – gently so I’d come off as less bitchy, if that was even possible. Then I grabbed the lid off one of the white boxes on the table. The name and number of the store was there in beautiful gold, embroidered into the lid.

  “Going out,” I told Ade on my way to the front door. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I walked a few blocks until I found a payphone. I didn’t want the call traced back to me.

  Step One: get the address.

  “Thank you for calling Moretta, how may I help you?” said a woman after I dialed the number on the boxes. She sounded pretty young. Hopefully she’d be easy to swindle.

  “Hello, I have a problem.” I forced my voice into a ditzy, breathy pitch that made me sound, somehow, like a twelve year-old from the Valley. I’d deal with the embarrassment later.

  “OK, how may I help you?”

  “A delivery was supposed to come for me and my friends last week. Three golden lace masks. Venetian. Paid for by Anton Rey?” This was risky. “Is there any legitimate reason why you people haven’t sent it yet like you were supposed to?” I figured a pinch of entitlement would help me sell it.

  “A delivery?”

  “Yes, last week. God. Are you people completely incompetent? I have a ball to go to. What do you think is going to happen if I show up without a mask? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that’ll be? Or is assisting with social suicide a part of your services?”

  “I could… check for you, miss. But I’m pretty sure we delivered all our orders.”

  “Except I don’t have it! And this party is tonight. I mean, did you even get the address right? What address did you send it to?”

  “An order by Anton Rey?”

  A moment of silence and the clicking of keys. “We sent the order to 315 West Broadway last Wednesday. Room number 541. Isn’t that right?”

  I wrote the address down in the little notebook in my jeans pocket.

  “Hmm… OK, wait, let me check again.” I counted to thirty in my head. “Oh wait, is it this white box thingy here? Oh my God, what? Oops!” I laughed. “Oh my God, I’m such an idiot. It was buried under the mail. I’m sorry. Forget I called.”

  Step Two: confirm targets are at said address.

  After I hung up, I used my cell phone to call Shannon. “315 West Broadway last Wednesday. Room number 541.”

  “Ooh, good work.”

  “Remember – they’re tall, blonde–”

  “–Russian models, if memory serves from the last ten times you reminded me. Don’t worry; I’ll get back to you in a bit.”

  The bounce in her voice made me wonder, briefly, if she was enjoying this. Good for her. It was all I could do to keep from fainting onto the sidewalk.

  I waited. It was all very simple, really. Shannon’s friend, Mick, would “accidentally” deliver a pizza to the “wrong address”. Of course, this whole plan only worked under the assumption that Anton really would be having his models picked up at their apartment.

  “Good news: they’re there getting ready, apparently – and not at all interested in melted cheese.”

  I nodded. “Good, good.” I nodded again, running a hand through my hair, my heart pounding. “This is good. Wait a second.”

 
; I dialed Hyde as I continued down the sidewalk.

  Step Three: arrange for transportation.

  “Deanna? Anything wrong?”

  “No, nothing, it’s just…” Yet again with the honest concern. My stomach squirmed at the thought of feeding Hyde more lies, but I gritted my teeth and reminded myself that it was for the greater good. “You’re… sending a car, right?”

  A pause. “What, you thought I’d make you bike across the bridge? I asked you to be my date, the least I can do is give you a ride.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. Kind of made it harder. “Actually, about that… I kind of need a big favor.”

  “Favor?”

  I sighed. “Well… Ade kind of did something to piss me off a while ago.” Not only entirely untrue, but not entirely fair either. “So I stopped talking to her and then she stopped talking to me because I stopped talking to her first. I’ve been feeling pretty bad about the whole thing.”

  “So just apologize.”

  “It doesn’t seem like enough, though. I really want to make it up to her. Ade acts like she doesn’t care, but she really does enjoy the high life whenever she can charm her way into it. Dresses, parties–”

  “You want to get her an invite to the masquerade ball?”

  “No!” I said a little too quickly. “Um, no, she and her friends have this… thing at a night club in Jersey.”

  “Jersey?”

  I bit my lip. “Well, yeah. It’s this really hot, fancy party apparently.”

  “In Jersey?”

  “Or something.” I probably should have thought through my excuse a little bit more before trying it out on Hyde, but I had to send Anton’s girls far enough away without it legally being kidnapping. I figured stranding them in Jersey would get the job done. To a high end Russian model living it up in Soho, it might as well have been Mogadishu. “Anyway, I thought she’d love nothing more than to show up and show off in style, you know, so… do you think you can get your driver to pick her and her friends up instead? She’s staying at her friend’s for the weekend.”