by Emily Shore
“Some specialized pieces were custom designed for you.” Dove motions to the assembly of Swan jewelry. A couple of wrist and arm cuffs, rings, earrings…I finger the arm cuff, the delicate swan wings, and the diamond-encrusted eye. Another gift from Luc. Pursuing my misguided desire, I slip it onto my forearm, flinching in surprise when it latches onto my skin, molding to my arm’s curve. As soon as it’s in place, the swan wings begin to flutter in slow, even movements while the diamond eye shimmers.
I sigh.
It’s just a cuff. A very high-tech, impressive, expensive cuff.
“Did you always know how to do all this?” I ask, distracting my thoughts.
“To a degree. But when Birds are no longer fit for museum service, we are trained in the art of beautifying those who are. It just so happens I have a skill that coincides with it.” Dove motions to the bottles of white paint on the counter near me.
For a moment, I think about refusing, but I remember this is something that holds meaning to her. These designs belong to Dove. She’d said she’d come close to becoming the Swan herself; I wonder if painting me causes her pain.
I don’t ask to look at myself when she’s through. I don’t want to see. Don’t want to remember the photograph of my mother as the Unicorn; I’m afraid of how similar my reflection might be. Instead, I curl up on the window ledge and stare outside at the garden.
“Owl will be here soon,” she says while corking the paint bottles. “Your display is finished, but from what I’ve heard, he has something different in mind today.”
I want her to define different, but Dove exits in short order. Bracing my knees to my chest, I lean forward against the windowpane.
“Would you like to see the gardens?” Luc utters from behind me.
“I’m looking at them now,” I say, not bothering to take my eyes off the magnificent landscape. I hadn’t heard him come in, but I’d seen his wavering reflection in the glass.
“Up close, Swan.”
I say nothing, refusing to answer to Swan. Unfortunately, he’s holding the cards and he knows it because I hear his footsteps getting softer as he walks away. More than anything, even more than I want to stubbornly cling to my pride, I want to get outside these glass walls.
“You said I was restricted to the Aviary,” I point out, finally moving to look at him. He turns to me slowly, triumph in the creases around his smile. “And what about my display? Aren’t you going to show me to my cage?” Like drawing an arrow back from a bow, I stretch the sarcasm in my voice.
“There is time.”
Almost against my will, I study him. He wears another white shirt, one without a collar this time, and silver wings are embroidered into the fabric. Wings that flutter whenever the light hits them.
“I’ve arranged a suitable punishment for your behavior last night. Remaining in your room at night is one requirement I refuse to bend.”
“Punishment?” I incline my head to him as my heartbeat quickens, thinking about the Isolation Room.
“You could have been taken… or killed.” Luc’s voice cracks. Worry lines crease his brow, but almost before they fully form, his face is stern again. Back to being nothing but the museum director once more.
“We’ll discuss it later tonight. But for now, I am offering you a chance to see the property outside these walls.”
I sit up a little taller. “You’re taking me somewhere?”
“My museum is one of the few that houses a number of gardens. Most prefer to use their funding for oyster houses or chocolate shops since such aphrodisiacs provide more return on investment. But those are prominent in the town nearby, and the gardens are for my own personal enjoyment. Not many girls here are interested in flowering artwork. Perhaps you are like them?” He voices it as a question, but I can tell he is goading me. The flicker in his eyes makes it evident he’s aware how badly I want to go.
When I do stand, I wince. Luc‘s face tightens as if he feels my pain, too. It’s unsettling, how much attention he pays.
“Your dose has worn off.” He scowls at my obvious discomfort. “I told Dove—”
“It wasn’t her fault. I’m healing. That’s what’s important. I don’t need anything for the bruises. I don’t want anything else inside me.”
I can’t tell whether his smile is one of approval or if it’s sardonic.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
When we reach the main wing, I can see a few girls huddled inside the makeshift exhibits. My instinct is to herd myself closer to Luc, but I know hiding my gaze will only convince them of my vulnerability. I can’t tell whether they are practicing or coping. Some of their movements beyond the glass seem forced, like they’re trying too hard to be natural.
Luc guides me to a hallway with a moving walkway, which opens into one of the main exhibit areas. I tense until I realize this is just preparation time; there are no visitors yet.
In one exhibit, an iron park bench sits in the middle of a cobblestone road. Neutral colors paint the girl’s skin, and she wears a transparent shift that clings to her subtle curves. Subtle if only because of how tiny she is. Smaller than me and thinner, with spindles for legs and arms. She is young, with childlike features, but I can see the hawk in her eyes.
“Did you know pigeons are among the strongest fliers?” Luc remarks.
There is a plaque of information about the bird next to the exhibit. Anything about the girl herself is limited to her ranking, which is nowhere close to others. I imagine she must be new. Nothing else. As a piece of artwork, she becomes an object, part of the décor. Girls lose themselves.
The moving walkway ends just past another display—the Blackbird exhibit. She’s in the top five.
I pause.
Luc watches as I smooth a hand along the digital plaque. I read about the Bird before studying her. Her skin is black. For once, I recognize it as her own skin rather than paint. It is beautiful—the only visible paint on her skin is where yellow circles have been drawn around her eyes to evoke the pattern of the bird. All around her, flowers rise in exotic fiery reds, oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples. She stands with hands wrapped around their stems, neck arched to the side as if she’s smelling them. Her only covering is the bit of black feathers strung across her breasts and bikini line.
“Perhaps I can introduce you to Blackbird sometime.” Luc places a hand on the small of my back, sending a warm tingle up and down my spine. He leads me toward the door at the end of the walkway. “Interesting you seemed to connect with her exhibit. You’re complete opposites. She has a tough exterior, but she doesn’t make trouble. And I’ve never had a complaint about her services.”
Each exhibit is so unique, complex, and eye catching. I can imagine why this is one of the most popular museums in the country. The last one I see is Flamingo’s. Her hair is snow white, but her naked skin is dyed bright pink and stuck with pink plumage along her bikini areas. She stands on one leg in the middle of a shallow pool of water surrounded by tropical trees. I wonder how many requests she receives.
I wonder how many requests I will receive. My stomach clenches at the thought and my shoulders roll forward, caving my prominent chest inward.
Luc pauses before the door, rolls up his sleeve, and summons the technology humming beneath his skin. After a moment, the door responds.
“Is the entire Aviary in there?” I ask, glancing back at the door as it closes behind us.
Luc beams. “Yes. I am connected to every part of this Aviary.”
After he’s escorted me out of the museum, I realize how vast the facilities are. The city is quite some distance past the winding drive. From this vantage point, I can see the skyscrapers in the distance. A few other buildings pepper the area, and my guess is they include some restaurants or shops strategically placed near the museum to attract clientele. If I squint, I can make out the Temple miles beyond the city. It’s still the tallest structure in the nation. A silver needle from this distance.
At the bo
ttom of the drive is an enormous iron gate, and trees line either side of it. It’s a prominent selling feature—the Aviary is an oasis of secrecy and wonder. No one can see anything beyond those trees and the lasered border fence, and no one could ever sneak in. Or out.
I wonder, not for the first time since dinner last night, how Sky managed to secure his position here.
Diverting my thoughts, Luc leads me from the courtyard to the first garden pathway, which creeps toward a white bridge. The structure arches over a pond with a trickling fountain. Only when we near it do I realize that what I first believed to be white marble is actually a mosaic of flowers. Some centrifugal force must hold them together, but all I can see are the pale blooms fused together, coating the bridge.
Luc pauses, turning back to extend a hand to me with those sultry shadows bathing the skin above his eyes.
More out of curiosity than anything, I follow him, but refuse the hand he offers.
Wind robs some petals from the branches above, distracting me from Luc’s closeness and his hand once again on the small of my back. A few land on my shoulders, but I don’t brush them away. On the far side of the pond, a translucent waterfall weeps over jagged boulders. Luc leads me across a stone pathway in the shallow water that passes in front of the waterfall. Moss garnishes the stones where I stand. Mist sprays the ends of my dress. I reach out a hand toward the waterfall, longing to touch the steadfast stream.
I can’t stop beaming even though I try. It’s obvious Luc can tell how much I love this place.
This time, Luc doesn’t offer; he just takes my hand when the stones come to a gap between the water and solid ground. I’m not remiss in noticing how his other one idles on my waist.
“What do you think?” Luc asks. “Could any girl compare to the natural beauties here?”
I answer his question with one of my own. “Could girls compare to birds?”
Luc draws his hand from my back. “Have you seen any birds in real life?”
“Only from a distance. Some of the courtyards had peacocks, pheasants. I’ve seen pigeons in a park. And up close, seagulls…” I reminisce about a few years ago when Sky and I were staying at an oceanside villa, and the seagull that had perched on my windowsill. A smile tugs my lips. “It kept pecking at the windowpane.”
“That reminds me of you.” He raises my hand to his mouth. “Always pecking at the glass. Never quiet.”
He rubs his lips across the back of my knuckles, and I try to ignore how my skin prickles there. Instead, I look around for something else to focus on. The property of the Aviary is extensive. This garden alone is acres long. Part of it feels like a flowery prison, but better than a glass one. And no natural bird art here.
Rich and fertile, the trees ripen all around me, broken only by clusters of vibrant wildflowers. At my request, Luc permits me to pick one, so long as it’s white. He explains the Birds are territorial about their colors. If I so much as pluck a pink flower to tuck in my hair, Flamingo will have every right to take offense. Color is only allowed in exhibits for background and makeup. Sometimes paint.
Luc is relentless. He seeks my hand again and again until I give up, allowing my fingers to tangle with his. From the fading sunlight to the early spring breeze, there is too much to enjoy without concerning myself with Luc’s proximity. Despite knowing it’s another subtle tactic, I don’t care too much. He can hold my hand all he wants. Soon, I won’t ever see him again.
The gardens and trees clear to a wooden cottage built atop the lake water in traditional Japanese fashion. Handcrafted wooden lanterns float around the house while willows protect the surrounding pathways. Millions of tiny pebbles decorate the foundation, flanking slabs of black stone for us to walk on. The front overlooks the lake, but toward its right side is a floor like marble where the glow from candlelit lanterns shimmers and frolics in random patterns. Two panels on this side slide apart to reveal the interior.
Luc steps onto the floor. “This is a solace house. I come here for retreat and meditation. You are the first I’ve brought here.”
I flex my fingers at my side. “How many others have you whispered that lie to?”
At first, I think he might be upset, but Luc only chuckles. “It also happens to be a bathhouse.”
Almost wincing, I withdraw my hand from his and form both into fists. I quickly manage to change the subject. “Some would disagree with you.”
Luc tilts his head to the side. “Disagree about what?”
“Some say peacocks are the most beautiful bird.”
Luc sniggers a little at my argumentative comment, then glides a hand along one seamless wooden panel. “Yes, indeed…beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
He closes the distance between us, his hands smoothing the skin of my arms, brows screwing down to command my attention. “One thing that is irreplaceable is innocence, Swan. I don’t know how you came to be, but innocence is most valuable—so please believe me when I tell you I will preserve yours at all costs.” His eyes are a tornado of shadows. Intimidating, bordering on menacing.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him I am not so innocent. My body, perhaps, but my heart and my mind are far from pure. But Sky interrupts us, and I lose my moment.
“Pardon me, Director Owl. There’s been an incident that requires your immediate attention.”
Luc’s eyes are on me, hands still braced around my arms when he asks, “What sort of incident?”
“One of the girls has collapsed. She’s in a coma.”
10
B l a c K b i R d
“Escort the Swan back to her room,” Luc orders. “Take the garden tunnel through the aviary, please. Not the lobby.”
Another moment later and he’s gone.
I reach for Sky, but my hopes sink when he turns his back on me. Until he whispers, “Wait, Serenity. Cameras.” His eyes dart back and forth.
I want to shake him silly, but I restrain myself, following him past the bathhouse and into the aviary. Here, the twittering ambience doesn’t annoy me as I take in the kaleidoscope of dozens of birds fluttering around the exotic trees, hopping from branch to branch, and others soaring above the trees just under the domed glass ceiling shedding sunlight everywhere. A colorful parrot flits down to a nearby branch and cocks his head at me as if curious, maybe wondering if I’ve brought bird food. More than anything, I want to stretch out my hand and see if he’ll roost there, but it’s not the time.
Sky still says nothing, leading me deeper into the aviary. The sound of rushing water grows until I see the tunnel ahead with the manmade waterfall in front of it. Inside is a viewing fence so I can watch the falls gush over rocks into a steady stream where a few birds sip and wet their wings. As soon as we enter the tunnel, Sky’s hand catches my arm. He pulls me closer to the edge of the fence, then presses me against the rock wall just near the baying water. The rocks conceal us, the falls drowning out any noise we make; I understand this is one of the rare places with no cameras.
As soon as he signals that we are clear, I throw my arms around his neck and he winces. Though tempted to call him out on the hurtful action, I just pause, wondering what it is about me now that seems to bother him. I drive the thoughts back, tackling the more important matter.
“Sky,” I say after I finish hugging him. “You’ve got to get me out of here. What happened? What are you doing here…like this?”
“You need to stay.” It’s the last thing I expect to come out of his mouth. “We need to stay.”
I shake my head. “Do you know what he’s planning? What I’ll be used for here?”
“I can take you out of here. But if I do, we’ll be on the run. Hunted.”
“We’ve been hiding all our lives; it’s nothing new.”
“They have your DNA now. They know your face. If we leave now, we won’t make it.”
“Where are Mom and Dad?” I can hear the urgency and emotion in my own voice. None of this is what I’d hoped.
The shake of Sky�
�s head and the deep mahogany in his pinched eyes inject panic straight into my spine. “Gone. They never came back to the hotel.”
Fear shoots into me. “Why aren’t you out there looking for them?”
“I am. And the best place for that is right here.” He circles the air with his finger.
I don’t understand. “Why here?”
“It’s not safe for us to talk much longer. Listen, I’ll be watching out for you. But whatever you do, don’t pull another stunt like you did last night. I just barely got there in time. If you do it again…” He drops his eyes. “Just don’t, okay? You’ll get us both into trouble.”
“What are you talking about?”
I take a step toward him, only to slip on the path, stones slick from the spray of the falls. Reaching out, I grab Sky around the waist to stabilize myself. He rights me, but thrusts away at the contact, arching his back and wincing.
Foreboding roils in my gut. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on,” I seethe.
Reluctantly, Sky turns and lifts his shirt so I can see the bruises soiling his hard abs and the lash marks covering his back. Deep cuts of dried blood are like an intricate latticework there. These are Sky’s brand, like my tattoo. Except he didn’t do anything wrong.
My heartbeat skitters out of control, and angry tears fill my eyes.
Sky drops his shirt, not meeting my gaze. “I’m your guard. If anything happens to you, I’m held responsible.”
At my involuntary gasp, he looks up. Noticing my expression, Sky taps my cheek. “Serenity, I’m all right.” He straightens, rolling his eyes. “Takes more than a little beating to rile me up.”
I wonder what would. Sky’s always kept his temper in check.
“Look, I can handle myself,” he goes on. “But try to placate him until I can figure out a few more things. Just…try to play the part of the docile Swan, okay?”
I can see a hint of a smile on his face while he considers whether I could actually accomplish docility. Ironically, swans are the furthest thing from docile. Their temperaments are quite aggressive.
