by Emily Shore
After shutting down the interface, Luc adjusts his tie, surveys me, and then steps toward me, boxing me in before I can move. “Allow me to help you keep something in perspective, Trinity… My security here is state of the art. The windows are constructed of unbreakable glass. A laser fence surrounds the property. I have dozens of security members on staff who are not the routine bodyguards you will find in the Glass District. I have exercised a good amount of patience with you thus far. You owe me some appreciation.”
“Appreciation?” I try not to bend beneath his eyes. “You think you can just buy me off the street, turn me into your little sparrow? You’re nothing but a flesh peddler!”
Luc cups my chin; his hand is an iron snare. “I find myself amused by your ferocity. But my patience is finite. And you do not wish to see me angry. Try to keep that in mind.”
The thought of unbreakable glass causes me a moment of pause. But lightning can still burn anything with just one strike. “Do. Your. Worst.” I spit in his face.
Not even cringing, Luc wipes his cheek before raising his finger in warning. “Please do not ask me to prove myself. I will if I must.”
As the elevator ascends to the third floor, Luc takes pride in telling me more about the Aviary. “There’s another museum on the other side of the country where they showcase flower displays; it’s called the Garden. But mine is one of the oldest museums in the country. The Temple continues to grow, and they are our main competition, but I’ve revolutionized the Aviary and achieved the success only past directors could have imagined.”
The elevator doors open, distracting us momentarily. Luc guides me down an empty hallway on our right to a separate wing for exhibits, and I know they must be quite expensive.
Luc can’t possibly read my mind, but he always seems to voice some word, some idea related to what I am thinking. “Our wealthier patrons usually arrive after the normal rabble has left. They prefer their anonymity. Once they’ve viewed each exhibit and rated it, they place their opening bids for additional services.” Disgust works its way upward from my stomach, twisting my intestines into knots. Every magazine, advertisement, even the virtual tour Luc gave me—they are all manipulative airbrushing. They try to paint roses over my eyes, luring me, enticing me.
I follow Luc around a corner into a room with all white walls, which won’t divert any attention from the main theme: the glass exhibit. I feel my disgust, almost tasting salt and iron. Unlike my mother, who was born in the Temple with that glass film over her eyes—and so many other girls who have no choice—I refuse to accept this new home.
“The exhibits change weekly,” Luc explains, joining his hands behind his back. “We have over a hundred Birds here. Unlike most museum directors, I take a special interest in each and every one. It’s why I’ve achieved such success. First and foremost, I am their Owl because I am the ruler of the night. You will call me Owl or Director Aldaine. Did you know that owls were once believed to be keepers of spirits passing from death to another plane?”
Sky would come up with a good quip for that one. I try not to worry about him. He’s the plotter and thinker. I’m the feeler. There is no doubt in my heart that I will see him again. Right now, Sky and my parents must be using all their resources to search for me. My parents are wealthy, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they could buy me back. For now, I just need to wait, learn, and fight against the rose glass.
I half-expect to see laser peacocks strutting around as the lobby displayed a series of flying volumetric birds in the virtual tour. But it’s evident by the white atmosphere that Peacock herself must demand all the attention.
When I see Peacock up close, my mouth turns dry. Like someone’s ripped feathers right from a bird’s breast and crammed them inside my mouth, forcing me to swallow them. I gaze at her teal hair, ripe and verdant along her shoulders in decadent waves. The curled ends are the color of plum juice, and her bare chest glows a salacious blue. All the butterflies in my stomach seize and die. Nothing left but crumpled wings, bits of antennae, and broken thoraxes. Then, her eyes move.
I nearly leap back, but Luc’s hands frame both my arms, and he murmurs in my ear, “Careful. Peacocks are quite introverted and highly aggressive. Even so, her ratings are very high. Come with me. I will introduce you to some of my other Birds.”
My old world is beginning to fade. I’m drinking in this new one where feather-clad girls are trapped. Frozen in the glass birdcages society calls exhibits. How long before I must perform the same sickening acts?
Overwhelmed, I follow Luc to another elevator, where he pushes a button marked N. There is no alarm button in this one.
“We’re entering the Nest Wing. This is where my Birds live in their off hours—where they eat, drink, and play.”
When we enter the Nest Wing, I see nothing but glass. Glass domed ceilings trickle starlight and moonbeams onto the heads of the girls like feathers dripping from the sky. One-way glass walls where glass sculpture gardens reflect off dancing water from glass fountains. Digital screens project a kaleidoscope of bird-themed art everywhere. In the lobby, it was exhibits of the past—a tribute to the Aviary’s history. Even the walkways are made of glass with birds flying wherever my feet step as well as fused into the railings. I wonder if any of the glass is breakable. If I could shatter something, I could cut him, twist that bewitching smile off his face.
Inside the lobby of the Nest Wing are more girls than I’ve ever seen in my life. The ones who flit past me all pause to stare. For a moment, I forget about Luc. One girl has a tiny diamond bird embedded into her retina. They aren’t Birds. None of them. They are more like dolls. Cracked dolls who dress in doll clothes, prancing about in one giant dollhouse they dare to call a museum. How many of these girls have disappeared into their Bird selves? The stitches holding my emotions together begin to rip.
“I run one of the top three museums in the Union.”
“Let me guess—you’re the third.”
“I may be second to the Garden and third to the Temple, but I’m getting close thanks to my winged ones. Hello, Flamingo.” He smiles at a wisp of a girl with white skin, flesh-pink hair, and eyes the color of freshly gutted salmon. She arches her neck, waves back, and flounces away.
I’ve seen other girls from my hotel windows and ones on television, but never so many at one time. Each one bears a tattoo just like mine on their shoulder blade, but mine is the only silver one. I have no basis, no sense of how to so much as speak one word to them. I can almost feel their eyes sinking past my pores, becoming teeth that gnaw on my bones. Did my mother ever have trouble with girls in the Temple, where competition is even fiercer? I wonder how she protected herself when she is so slight like me. She must have some fight in her somewhere. Otherwise, she never would’ve escaped.
What unhinges me most is how Luc knows them. Every. Single. One.
“How’s my little Mockingbird?”
A girl, smaller than me with rosy round cheeks and pearly gray hair, flitters up to him with her hands coyly strung behind her back. Her gray dress makes her seem smaller than she is, younger even, especially with her slender frame. Squeezing his arm, she pushes her plump lips into a pout. “You haven’t come to see me in days, you naughty Owl.”
He leans down to peck her on the cheek. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
She peers over his shoulder at me. “New flesh?”
Stepping aside, Luc asks, “What do you think?”
Her eyes are pilgrims journeying down my body, across my hair, my arms, my hands, against my stomach and legs. “Where in the world did you find her?”
“She’s a wild Bird. But don’t worry. I’ll tame her yet.”
In response, I flip my bird, but all Luc does is smile with that same beckoning expression.
“You tame them all, Owl.” Mockingbird’s attention focuses on my face. She hasn’t yet let go of his arm. “Look at all that white hair. Is it natural?”
“Ask her.”
I narrow
my eyes. “Most of it.”
“Immortal Treatment.” Mockingbird clucks her tongue. “So jealous.”
She turns her attention back to Luc. “Egret?”
Luc just returns her question with a beguiling tilt of his lips.
“You don’t mean…” Mockingbird flicks her eyes to me again before her widening gaze bounces back to Luc. “Does Nightingale know?”
Leaning over, he says in a singsong murmur, “Hush, little Bird, don’t say a word.”
“Aww, Owl…” She pouts. “You should know never to tell a secret to the Mockingbird.”
“You’re my hatchling.” His smile is all sweet and syrup when he asks, “Just for a little while?”
“Anything for you, Owl.”
Once he kisses her cheek, Mockingbird scampers away, but not before sidling up next to me and whispering, “I’d kill for that rack!” I fight the urge to glance down at the plunging neckline of my white dress.
Luc guides me through the wing toward the staircase.
“Feeling well, Gull?” he asks a girl whose skin is so white it looks like froth. Her eyes remind me of dead flesh and her hair frosted bubbles. Her fingers hold a cookie. From her hollow eyes to the way her back relaxes so far into the glass wall behind her, one would suspect narcotics, but Luc specified that he forbids them. Maybe one of those safe hallucinogens. Like Bliss.
“Nice to see you again, Hummingbird,” he says to a girl who flutters about the lobby. Her hair is like spiced oranges, eyes like ripened cherries.
Some girls unnerve me more than others.
His Aviary with its sculpted-bird chandeliers unnerves me, too. It doesn’t take long for me to notice a few empty exhibits sprinkled about here and there. I wonder why they are here in this wing reserved for the living quarters.
Luc touches my elbow, leading me toward the grand staircase in the center of the wing. Like everything else, the steps are glass, vast enough for dozens of people to stand on each side. Blown glass fused together with feather designs makes up the intricate banisters. When I step onto the staircase, it moves, giving the impression of flight. Halfway up, it splits into narrower ones on each side, one to the left and the other to the right. It ascends the two of us to the right one; Luc explains the other leads to more dormitories. The moving pathway stops, and I realize it’s because of Luc. Midway up, he pauses to study the tattoo on my shoulder before fingering it in approval. I wish I could grow a beak right then and there. Peck his hand until it bleeds.
Before we reach the second level, I glance back to eye the lobby and the empty glass exhibits.
Luc beams, taking my observance for interest. “Those are for my Birds. Sometimes they need to use them during their off hours.”
I can’t fathom why they’d want to spend time in a glass cage.
“I am also an artist.”
“How innovative.”
Luc smiles. “Innovation is a necessity and a privilege here. All my Birds have a part to play. Just as you will.”
“Which part? You haven’t given me any clue as to what stupid Bird you’ll turn me into.”
“I will make that revelation in time.”
“Ooh, a puzzle, then. The anticipation is killing me.”
He laughs.
I hate Luc’s laughter because it’s the sort I could see myself wanting to wrap up in.
He’s piqued my curiosity. From all the ads I’ve seen, I know there’s no end to a man’s fantasy. No matter how ordered, how pristine, the thought of posing scantily clad in one of those glass cages nauseates me.
“This is an ideal situation for you,” Luc says. “Far preferable to the Glass Districts. You could have become a Breakable.” He refers to the stereotypical term for Glass District girls. I’ve often used the word, but after learning more about this place, I wonder if there’s more to district girls. Breakables…no one cares if they’re broken or if someone else did the breaking. Older generations still call them hookers.
“As I’ve mentioned,” Luc continues, “I prohibit all narcotics here. Though they are free, decriminalized, and available for all outside these walls, I order monthly blood tests. Any Bird with narcotics in her blood is suspended without wages.”
I snort at the comment. “As if they get to spend anything since you probably take eighty percent of their pay.”
Luc pauses, posture tightening. “As well I should. The funding it requires to run a museum such as the Aviary is astronomical. And since I provide them with anything they may need from food to clothing to caretakers to the latest fashion technology to protection, I assure you their wages are more than generous. But no drugs on my property whatsoever,” he redirects the subject. “Not even at a client’s request.”
I don’t comment, considering I’ve never had any experience with narcotics. Sky tried Bliss only once. A ground-breaking hallucinogen that produces all the effects of street-drugs but with no long-lasting negative impact. Then, he flushed the rest down the toilet after he woke up to discover I’d managed to get a tutu around his waist and paint little hearts all over his face.
“The second level of the Aviary houses bedchambers for each one of my Birds. Your room will overlook the grandest part of the sculpture garden, which covers twelve acres.”
“Lucky me.” I don’t reveal how much I love flowers or how much I enjoy walking. Any time we stayed at one of my parents’ seaside villas or country manors, I always spent as much time as I could outdoors.
“You will not be permitted outside the Aviary walls…for now” Luc crushes my hopes, but I consider the last part of the statement. “But you will have access to the adjoining aviary. I house some of the world’s most exotic collection of birds. Many enjoy interacting, particularly if you bring bird food.” He leans over, humming in my ear.
“An aviary within the Aviary. How fortuitous.” I try not to show how the prospect of visiting a true bird sanctuary is thrilling.
“I have a chamber on the same level. My room is located directly across from yours, since I have a personal interest in preserving your future here.” He pauses to survey me once when we reach the apex of the staircase.
“I’m sure you do.”
He ignores me. “The staff here attends to all my Birds’ needs. Sheets will be changed daily, food prepared fresh. You will join us for breakfast and dinner. Lunch is served in your room, and the rest of the day is yours to fill.”
“Will I ever get my old clothes back?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “From now on, your clothes will be provided. Each Bird is defined by her color. Some alternate color is permitted for exhibits, but not during free hours. You will wear nothing other than white.”
I rack my brain, searching for images of white birds. Pelican? Snowy Egret? Ibis? Goose—no, not a goose. Dove, perhaps? Dove seems like a safe assumption.
He touches a screen to our left, and a frosted glass door opens.
It’s more than just a bedchamber. More like a penthouse suite. Like the hotel rooms Sky and I grew up in, it has its own bathroom, bedroom, and attached sitting room as well as a kitchenette. But no refrigerator. Of course not. There is a digital screen on the kitchen wall with Menu glimmering in bold font with a 3D printer directly under it. Whenever we stayed at a hotel with one, I’d sneak off in the middle of the night and print cupcakes.
Upon entering, I notice one side of the room has a large circular window with an alcove hollowed into it. That ledge will be getting a good deal of company soon. Staring through windows and daydreaming about the world beyond them is a frequent hobby of mine.
The door clicks shut. I spin to see Luc standing behind me, hands lingering at his sides as he tries to determine my reaction to the room. He takes a step toward me, hand advancing to my shoulder. I know some directors mix business with pleasure—none as egregiously as Director Force—but based on the way the other Birds treated Luc, I don’t think him the type.
But if he is… it will be over my fifty-million-dollar body.
I grab the hardest and heaviest thing I can find—which happens to be a metal trash can—and smash it against the floor-to-ceiling mirror right behind me. To my surprise, it shatters and I lunge. I’m seconds too late from getting my hands around one single shard of glass that would’ve served as a worthy weapon. Now, Luc’s hands are around me, strong and purposeful, dragging my kicking body backward. He doesn’t yell. There are no frustrated words or insults. Not so much as a groan.
I’m still flailing when he gets me into the bathroom, releases my wrists, and locks the door behind him. While I collect myself in the far corner, he paces back and forth with a fist trained at his side. His reaction is a shock. He laughs.
“One of your best attempts, I must confess. But, Trinity, I’m afraid I must show you that I am not your enemy.”
I cringe when Luc grazes a finger across my cheek, capturing a tendril of my fairy hair and rubbing it between his fingers. “You think this place is a cage. But where you came from is the real cage. You don’t understand this yet. Anyone can tell you have not been groomed for this world, unlike the vast majority of girls. In the Glass District, girls are beaten when they don’t perform. Most are drugged into compliance. Surely you must recognize your good fortune here.”
Jerking my face away, I hiss a threat, “Get your filthy hands off me, Luc!”
“Owl,” he corrects, then takes my face in his hands and rubs his thumbs across my cheekbones. “You are so feral. We’ve never had such a wild one. It’s why I chose you. I could see it in your eyes. I knew it was not a mistake. Confirmed when you had the gumption to thwart district security and attack the auctioneer.”
“His ass looked better in the dirt.”
Chuckling, Luc tucks a curl behind my ear. “I have no intention of breaking your spirit. It is what makes you great. But you must learn respect. It’s required in a place like this.”
