The Aviary

by Emily Shore

  “We couldn’t go on the run with you in this condition, anyway. You need to keep healing. In the meantime, here—” Sky thrusts something hard and rectangular into my hands. “Hide this. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone see it. It should give you some clarity.”

  I finger the small book with the leather-bound cover, recognizing it as my mother’s journal. “How did you get this?”

  “The truth is complicated. It’s going to be hard for you to swallow, but it’ll give you some answers. Read the pages I marked first. They’ll explain everything.”

  When I open to the first page, something drops out. I catch it in my fingers, recognizing it instantly. It’s my mother’s photograph. The Unicorn.

  “I remember this.”

  “What?”

  “Remember that time I snuck into Mom and Dad’s bedroom and tried to break into Mom’s chest?”

  “I also recall catching you.”

  I huff, conjuring up the images of Sky hauling me over his shoulder and planting me back in my bedroom, ordering me to stay right where I was.

  “What did you say when I tried to follow you back in? That I had all the impulse control of—”

  “A mad baboon,” Sky finishes with a grin. “Not much has changed there.”

  Studying the photograph, I ponder that day. “This was all I saw at the time.”

  I want to reel at the thought of what could happen until Sky is ready to get us out of here. “What do I do now? Tell me what to do.”

  He smooths aside my hair. His eyes seem wild and desperate, as though he wishes he could keep me from all that I’ll have to face in the days or maybe weeks to come. He glances around to make sure we’re still alone. “There’s a chocolate house in town. It’s called Lust and Cocoa. Sometimes, they give passes for good behavior.”

  We both know it’s a stretch.

  “Wait!” I grab his arm before he can move. “How are you here? How did you get this job?”

  Sky crooks one side of his mouth. “Do you think there’s another man alive who could prove how much he wants to protect you?” There is something else lingering behind that statement. He pauses and winks. “Muscles didn’t hurt either.” Sky leans forward, reaching to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. Then, he murmurs low, “You’re not who you think you are. Read the journal.”

  More than ever, I want to open my mother’s journal and learn the truth behind his words. She’s always kept me closer than a pearl in an oyster shell, but her secrets have always kept me at arm’s length.

  Until now.

  Sky’s words about the chocolate house haunt me. I don’t know how I’ll manage to get a town visit, considering my behavior so far must cause Luc a fair amount of distrust. I wonder if there is more than one chocolate house in the city, but it’s doubtful. Through the years, chocolate houses have taken a back door to opiate ones. With the legalization of narcotics and stimulants, opiate houses thrive. For most, getting high is more common than satisfying a sweet tooth.

  When I enter the Aviary with Sky following close behind, the other Birds show me their disgust. Noses raise high in the air, brows knot, and eyes narrow as I walk into the main lobby where Dove greets me. My attention isn’t on her but on the Blackbird exhibit I’d passed only a short time ago, now empty. I was so caught up with Sky and the diary, I’d forgotten all about the Bird in a coma. Girl in a coma.

  Upon seeing my muddled expression, Dove explains, “Blackbird collapsed, and has succumbed to a coma. She’s in the infirmary.”

  “Where is the infirmary?” I try to ignore the threatening way some of the other girls pause nearby to watch me.

  “In a separate sector attached by a glass tunnel.”

  “Will you please take me there?” I request politely.

  Dove hesitates, regarding me curiously. “We should be getting you ready for the unveiling of your display. Director Owl has specific instructions—”

  “Screw the display!” I exclaim, aggravated. “Take me there.”

  Dove’s cheeks flush like cherries bursting inside her skin. “Why? I’ve warned you about the other Birds here, and so has Director—”

  “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I just feel…” I can’t tell Dove what I myself don’t understand. I just know that I need to see Blackbird right now as everything else in my life unravels.

  “The infirmary is open to visitors at this time of day. But I will inform the Owl of your insolence.”

  Guess he’ll have to tack it on to my punishment later.

  Part of me believes I should avoid all the other Birds here, but another emotion, one always so powerful inside me, beckons—curiosity.

  The infirmary is connected to the main wing by a glass tunnel, just as Dove has said. Adjacent to the second and third floors are more wings with rooms upon rooms. Before we can see Blackbird, we both must wear a digital shield patch that will encase our skin and prevent any bacteria from leaving our bodies during our visit.

  As soon as I enter, I see her.

  Blackbird—black skin, tiny black braids raining down to her breast—lies on a sterile white bed, her hands tranquil at her sides. Around her eyes, the yellow paint is gone, scrubbed clean, and I notice the basin of tinted water sitting near the bed. Luc rises from the chair where he regards Blackbird from a safe distance. Traces of yellow smear his hands.

  Luc doesn’t acknowledge us until Dove announces our presence, “She insisted on coming here.”

  His face bears a mere feather of surprise when he turns to me. He indicates a hand to the chair next to him. “Please, Swan, sit.” After I’ve accepted the chair, he informs Dove, “You may go now.”

  She retreats immediately.

  He also dismisses Sky.

  I am too close to him. That much I know by the way his leg glides against mine when I sit down. If the hairs on my skin stood up, I wouldn’t blame them; everything about Luc magnetizes me. Choosing a safer route, I inch my chair closer to the bedside where Blackbird sleeps. Underneath the sheets, she’s dressed in a black shift that can’t veil the beauty of her skin. I don’t tell Luc why I feel connected to her because I don’t understand it myself. For some reason, the way she looked in her exhibit—she reflected outside what I’m feeling inside. Like she has lightning, too.

  So far, Luc says nothing. I stretch my hand forward to her ebony one gracing the sheets, then close it around her palm. Hers feel softer than mine but colder. Maybe due to the skin shield.

  “I must say…” Luc says, “…your fondness for her fascinates me. After all, you haven’t even spoken to her. And you’ve seen her only once.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I still plan on unveiling your exhibit tonight,” he informs me. “You should prepare yourself.”

  In a voice no lighter than a wisp, I say, “I think that’s Dove’s job.” I twist my fingers lightly across the fragile skin of Blackbird’s, hurriedly speaking before Luc can say anything. “What happened to her?”

  “All the tests are negative. She just collapsed inside her exhibit.” Baffled, he pushes a hand through his hair, lips parting from this puzzle.

  “Is she taking anything?” I ask.

  He sighs. “Blackbird is different. She doesn’t buy narcotics from the street vendors or shops when she’s on town visits. Some Birds will use on town visits, the types that leave the blood before testing. But not Blackbird. She enjoys Bliss every now and then, but mostly she indulges in the oyster shops in the city. There is no reason for her coma.”

  Luc moves forward to touch my braid. I freeze, numbed by the winter blue of his eyes. He tries to soften any loose, willful strands that have escaped, but they refuse to be tamed.

  “City visits must be earned,” Luc explains while lighting his hand on the swan charm. “I have every confidence you will be allowed to go soon enough. Trust me…” He inches the loose clasp to the back of my neck where it belongs, finishing with, “No one desires it more than me. And your punishment later, for last n
ight’s disobedience, will be no pleasure for me, either. Come, I will escort you to your room. You may return to check on Blackbird later.”

  11

  T h e S w A n E x h I b i t

  Before Dove arrives to transform me, I have just enough time alone with my mother’s journal to leaf through it. I huddle behind layers of clothes in a corner of the closet so I can travel across some of the pages, eager and demanding answers. Instead of turning to the passages Sky marked for me, I start at the beginning. It seems disrespectful to read the middle pages first. I smile, reflecting on my mother’s beautiful handwriting.

  I played my part well. I never want my daughter to find out how well I played it. She knows only what I give her. She hears the stories, the fantasies that always end with my escape, but she only sees the surface story of what gives me nightmares every night. She doesn’t know the things I’ve done…or the things that were done to me or how I convinced myself to love them.

  She’s such a sensitive thing, journal. How could I ever tell her about how he chained me to a post, directed the artist to paint my naked skin white as porcelain and paste real gems onto my body just so he could rip them off later? I became his Unicorn on the sick carousel that is his Penthouse.

  How could I ever tell her that my lips twitched into a smile when he brushed the riding crop against the back of my neck or when he braced his whip if I didn’t perform to his satisfaction? How could I tell her that I shook my mane for him whenever he desired? How I slipped far into the back of my mind, letting the Unicorn take over because she wanted the flick of his whip and the touch of his chest against her back when he took her from behind? How the Unicorn loved Director Force…

  My smile fades, sickness roiling in my gut. We were never allowed to say his name. My mother just called him the Vampire. I never knew what he did to her. Only that he bled her dry and my father brought her back to life.

  I hope no one will ever bleed me dry.

  Dove’s voice, muffled from behind the door, interrupts my thoughts. “Swan? Are you in there?” She knocks a little, and I bury my mother’s journal behind a bunch of stockings in one of the closet cabinets before opening the door.

  After a medic confirms my bone has healed and they give me a required anesthetic, Dove transforms me into the Swan once again.

  Tonight, my gown is slit all the way up one side to my lower thigh while the other side cascades to the floor in spectral beds of white fabric, swathed in hundreds of crystals equipped with glowing optics. Dove patterns those same crystals into a circlet for my hair. No simple task when my ghostly tresses adorn my face in chaotic, fluffed curls. From the white cliff of my breasts on down, the dress is nothing but swan feathers stitched together into an elongated, magnificent corset. Chiffon swathes make up the strap on my left shoulder, connecting in the back far down to my lower spine to deliver a teasing peek of skin there. Even the gloves are lace and swan feathers, though smaller than the ones coating my body.

  Once my costume is complete, Dove paints elaborate curving designs along the panes above and around my eyes. At the end of it all, she stains my lips white and places me before the mirror.

  I feel like I could fly away.

  I feel like the Swan.

  For the first time, the glass walls around seem more like a cocoon than a cage. I’m ready for my metamorphosis.

  For the first time, I see the girl I’ve always wished to be—the girl I am on the inside—reflected in the mirror. Hauntingly beautiful, she is a goddess of starlight, trailing silver and secrets in her wake.

  I feel mysterious and powerful. But the source of my power perplexes me. Nothing inside me could ever appreciate this place or what Luc has’ done to me. Could it?

  Dove inhales sharply and steps back, admiring her work. “I was wrong. You didn’t just walk in off the pages of a fantasy book. There is no better explanation than magic for your existence. You are some siren, and you don’t even need a song to lure men to their deaths. You could tempt an angel to sin.”

  I stare at my reflection. “I’ve never looked like this before,” I say, stunned but grateful.

  “Your beauty doesn’t come from some paint and chiffon, girl. It comes from within you. Make it your own. Remember, this is your body. Only you can make the choice when to reveal yourself to the world.”

  Dove departs, and I rush toward the closet, desperate to scoop up a piece of my old life.

  “Please, Mom, give me something,” I beg. I turn to a random entry, hoping for anything that will keep me grounded.

  I miss those days when she was young. When Kerrick would hoist her over his shoulder and dump her back into the water again and again. Every single time, she would ask for more. Our daughter, the daredevil, our little water baby. Nothing could keep her from the water—the ocean, lakes, pools. Not even when Kerrick did his best to put some fear in her by letting her sink for a few seconds in the deep end when she was only two years old. She came up laughing.

  A silly memory is not what I need.

  I scramble for another entry, but the knock on the closet door prevents me. He doesn’t wait before opening it, but I manage to toss the journal in a dark corner just before he enters.

  “It’s almost time,” Luc announces.

  Without asking me why I’m in here, he draws me out of the closet, observing my trembling hands. Then, he positions me before the mirror once again.

  I can’t bring myself to look.

  “The moon herself would quake in the silver shadow of your beauty.” He fingers the swan chain at my neck.

  I try to still my chest while he warms the naked skin of my back with his palm. Again, I feel the temptation to embrace his touch. Everything from our garden visit together, to watching him with Blackbird, and now the way his fingers linger on the space just above my cleavage where the charm rests…

  But then, I remember.

  I remember the slices and bruises on Sky’s skin.

  The punishment Luc promised to inflict on me later tonight.

  That I’m just an investment to him, that he bought and paid for me.

  I remember my armor.

  Instantly, I step away from him, mentally spitting out any sense of appreciation for him. I will never be his Swan.

  I am Serenity, and that’s all I will ever be. Except my mother’s words in the journal haunt me. Is my blood my own? Or does too much of hers run inside me? What if the Swan is really there, lurking inside me like the Unicorn was inside my mother?

  “Come with me.” Luc’s fingers touch my wrist. I shirk from his grasp, from the cold sting it gives me. He tries again. This time, I yield.

  Instead of leading me to the main lobby where all the other exhibits branch out, Luc guides me to the door at the end of the hall, which opens at his command. It’s so difficult to walk in this dress. My left leg is completely free from the thigh-high slit, but I keep trying to coax the other—unsuccessfully, as it’s trapped in fabric—to my left side.

  After a few more moments of watching me struggle, Luc finally pauses. “Take it like this.” Snatching up a bundle of fabric, he lifts it to expose my right foot. “Leave the left. You don’t need to hide it.”

  I’m still self-conscious about my leg, but I concentrate on the crumpled fabric in my hand. Part of me wants to rip it, tear it, delay this exhibit somehow. But I want to trust Sky, remembering his words about the chocolate shop in town, secure in the knowledge he will find a way to help me once I earn a city visit.

  Bottling up my resentment, I play my part. So much of me wants to fight this, but if I do, Sky will reap the punishment.

  Luc leads me to an entirely different wing where a winding glass staircase descending to a lower level greets us. I accept his hand, my other hovering above the railing as we traverse the steps. Upon my descent, the dress forms a V at my lower thighs, the long train on the right side flowing behind me. I am careful not to get it caught inside the gaps.

  The staircase seems to descend for ages.


  At its end is a door painted with the insignia of a swan.

  When we get to it, Luc stops and turns to me.

  “I have waited for this night for many years.” He steps toward me, leans closer and breathes in my scent. I tremble, knowing what’s about to happen. His hands cup my shoulders. “Shhh…” He curls a few fingers under my chin, raises my trembling jaw. “They will worship at your feet.”

  I can’t stop shaking. He kisses each one of my eyelids. Whispers, “My Swan.”

  Then, he opens the door.

  Inside, there’s a steel swing suspended by cables. It’s surrounded by black walls so close I can touch each with my arms. This is the gateway. Here, he directs me to sit, to keep my hands braced around the cables. To hold tight.

  “Be still. Be brave.” And he closes the door.

  Hysteria attacks me.

  I don’t have a moment to breathe. Above me, a series of pulleys crank the swing, and I ascend. After a few feet, I’m lifted above the room to see walls of water behind glass on each side of me. Pulleys continue to lift me until I’m well above the water, and once I’m through the gap, I hear a mechanism thundering as the floor descends back into place, shifting the waters below me. Deep enough to form a manmade lake.

  The pulleys raise me until I’m level with trees. A rush of wind stirs my hair, but when I look around, seeing nothing but glass walls on each side, I know it’s artificial. Still, the glass domed ceiling above my head allows for stars, stars that are shimmery teardrops reflecting the water’s surface. I see myself there, too.

  So, this is my exhibit. From hotel pools to the manor lake Sky and I swam in when we were young, water is my glory. How could Luc know that?

  I glance to the shore of the lake not far from my swing. Behind glass windows, scores of people dressed in fine clothes watch me. Curious Birds, men, some women. All their heads crane up to see me. In their hands, each person carries a candle—something I assume was Luc’s idea to benefit the effect.