The Aviary

by Emily Shore

  “Don’t do that,” I warn.

  She crooks her mouth into a sardonic smile. “Let me tell you something about peacocks, darling. We don’t mix well with other birds.” A gold peacock winds around the outer curve of her ear, but its eyes must be mood-changing stones since they turn crimson from anger. Suddenly, the peacock tail of dozens of tiny gemstones fans out in a half-moon just as Peacock pinches the left side of my thigh. Hard.

  Her assault triggers something in Sky. I recognize it before he even moves. His lips thin just like that day when a hotel employee made a move on me last year. Just one moment is all it takes for him to lash out, grabbing hold of her arms and pinning them behind her back. I rejoice in the sound of her squeal as he yanks her away from me, dipping his head low to hiss at her.

  “No one touches Swan.”

  Not to be left out of the fun, I advance toward her. “Doesn’t the name peacock refer to male birds? Aren’t females called peahens?”

  I pause just so I can see her lips pinch as thin as a crescent moon. “Owl will hear about this!” She struggles against Sky before he releases her.

  Fury poisons her features. She raises one finger in warning before spinning on her bare heel to depart without another word. I wonder for the first time if she is the one who attacked me the other night. I wouldn’t put it past her.

  I shoot Sky a grateful smile. “You seem to make enemies with ease,” he says, nostrils flaring just a little.

  I widen my eyes, feigning innocence.

  He draws a circle around the room in a casual fashion. “No listening devices here. Everything else is monitored: vitals, heartbeat, blood pressure. He takes extra care with his Birds.”

  Relieved, I slump into the chair near Blackbird’s bedside. “So I’ve noticed.”

  “You should be more careful with the other girls here.”

  Taking stock of his frustrated mouth, I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me to be careful? Really?”

  Sky flares again, but settles a moment later. “Just try. I might not be here next time.”

  Just in case we have any other visitors, he positions himself against the back wall. I turn to Blackbird. In this room, she looks peaceful. When I take her hand, I feel warmth heating my skin, something I did not expect.

  “I want things to be the way they were,” I tell Sky, softening my gaze.

  “I don’t.”

  I trickle my fingers across Blackbird’s knuckles, trying to ignore the wounds his words cause. “I’ll never get used to this place.”

  “Your little Swan swim last night could have fooled me,” Sky scoffs, defiant arms crossed over his chest

  “I was just playing my role, like you told me to,” I protest.

  “Your acting skills are extraordinary then. Seemed to me like you were trying to impress him.”

  I retort, “Do you have any idea what he did to me after?”

  Sky tenses, and I do my best to explain. I don’t tell him about how Luc picked me up and carried me back to my bedroom, or how his heartbeat subdued me. Nor do I tell him how Luc’s possessive yet tender arms managed to enslave me and melt my armor while he held me. Maybe that’s why Luc terrifies me so much; he doesn’t need to use his fists to pacify me.

  After I’ve told him everything, Sky doesn’t move, but he continues to wear his muscles tight, body tense. I recognize he’s using more effort than normal to control himself. I’m almost surprised he hasn’t marched right up to Luc and body-slammed him. “Did you close your eyes?”

  I nod. “But I heard everything, all night. Please, Sky…tell me you have a plan.”

  Sky’s gaze settles on me, steady. “I can tell you more if you can get to the chocolate shop.”

  Just then, he stiffens, his eyes hardening back into Vulture’s. I focus on the door. Luc enters, striding toward me with his hands folded behind his back. I don’t let go of Blackbird’s hand. It’s the only thing keeping me anchored.

  “I saw Peacock on the way in. You made quite an impression.” He flicks his attention to Sky. “I appreciate your dedication to Swan, but I care about all my Birds. Keep that in mind, Vulture, and tread carefully.”

  Sky nods in acceptance, retreating from the room. I imagine he’ll be right outside the door, in guard mode.

  Squeezing Blackbird’s hand a little, I ask, “Have you figured out yet what happened to her?”

  After settling in a chair at the foot of the bed, Luc leans back and surveys me. “Did you enjoy your time with Mockingbird?”

  “Yes, she was very helpful,” I say without looking at him.

  “At times, Mockingbird talks too much.”

  “I like her.” I spit out the words. “She’s different.”

  “Well, she has lived here quite a long time.”

  “She said you found her when you were ten,” I reflect on Mockingbird’s story. “And now she’s…how old?”

  His voice betrays his amusement. “If you want to know how old I am, Swan, all you need to do is ask.”

  I turn to scrutinize his blue eyes, too stubborn to ask. Damn him.

  “I’m twenty-five.”

  Nine years older than me.

  He must know what I’m pondering because he directs the same question on me. “I’d wager you’re sixteen, but only because of your youthful spirit and stature.”

  “I’m short. You don’t need to sugarcoat it.”

  “I never sugarcoat anything.” Wicked grin. “And you’re not short. You’re petite.”

  He waits.

  I decide to give him a little help. “I’ll be seventeen in the winter.”

  Clearly unconcerned by the gap in our age, Luc folds his hands behind his head and comments, “I still find your visitations with Blackbird fascinating. I am uncertain as to your motivation.”

  “You don’t need to know my motivation.”

  Luc hushes for a few minutes, but I ignore him, giving all my attention to Blackbird. I can feel his eyes, but whether he stares at me or her is unknown. Coasting my fingers from her hands to her wrists, I glance at the inky feather tattoo on her shoulder, the polar opposite of mine.

  And then, Luc starts to sing. A lullaby of his own.

  Here is my ditty to bring you to trance.

  Here is my tune to force you to dance.

  Here is my lullaby so lovely and deep.

  Here is my song to sing you to sleep.

  Suddenly, Blackbird squeezes my hand…hard. The movement does not escape Luc’s notice because the air around my body thins to make room for him when he hurries over.

  He pauses to address me, hovering over my shoulder. “Whatever you are doing, don’t stop.”

  My fingers create webs of circles along Blackbird’s skin. I trail them along the side of her arm, and Luc repeats his lullaby. This time, her eyes crease, wrinkling the eyelids. Once again, her hand squeezes mine.

  Luc is so close behind my chair I can feel his body warmth. Holding my breath, I touch her shoulder. Roused from whatever land is inside her head, Blackbird slowly opens her eyes and turns them on me, despite Luc hovering just above my head.

  Blackbird cranes her neck. Her eyes sharpen against my hand, which still cups her shoulder. Under her gaze, I quickly remove it, feeling uncomfortable, but she shakes her head and murmurs, “You’re the one I felt?”

  Luc moves to my side. I lick my lips, glancing at his rather surprised face for a moment before nodding.

  Her eyes don’t stray from mine. “I remember you. You stopped to look at my exhibit. What happened? Why am I… Owl?”

  Finally. I breathe a sigh and lean back in the chair, glad she’s moved on to speaking to Luc now.

  “You will be fine now,” Luc assures her, voice brightening. “I will explain more later.”

  “I think…I’m hungry,” she informs him, sounding a little confused.

  Luc smiles and tilts his head just a little, speaking into some sort of device inside his ear. “A dozen oysters on a half shell to Blackbird’s infirmary ro
om immediately. And strawberries and cream.”

  Her smile reminds me of the edges of a fan spreading out to reveal alabaster paper beyond. She licks her dry, slightly chapped lips and whispers, “My favorite.”

  The next thing Luc does is call for a doctor to double-check Blackbird’s condition. I linger nearby as he advises more rest and sets up another round of fluids. The doctor also attaches a device across her neck, shoulders, and arms. It looks like plastic to me, but he explains it’s a new technology equipped with stimulation sensors that help the body recover its muscle memory quicker. Though oysters are not recommended, Luc proceeds to ignore that part.

  After the doctor leaves, Luc starts to question her, “Blackbird, do you remember anything before your coma?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Just being in my exhibit and then…waking up just now.”

  “Yes, you collapsed in your exhibit. Do you recall encountering anyone beforehand?”

  “Just my artisans. I didn’t speak to anyone else.” Blackbird’s words become more assured.

  “Thank you, Blackbird.” He glances at me for a second. “I have some business to attend to.”

  “Luc…” I try to object, a little unhinged at the thought of being alone with her, but he interrupts by cupping my cheek. That touch sends chilled tendrils needling into my skin, but somehow, I still flush.

  “Owl,” he corrects me. “You have earned your first town visit. Vulture will accompany you whenever you choose.” He raises a finger in warning. “But only one place. And you will use a skin shield.”

  I understand what it means. No one can touch me. An electronic field around my body.

  Before he leaves, Luc adds, fingering a curl of my hair, “When you decide where you wish to go, alert Vulture, and I will arrange for the place to be private. Free of any other customers.”

  I think my very blood vessels will burst, crack from how they’ve frozen. As soon as he exits, the room begins to warm, but I don’t stop feeling cold. He’s left his ice inside me.

  14

  A n s W e r s

  “I can’t believe you called him Luc.” Blackbird points a finger at me, much more alert now. “We all knew you were special the first day you arrived.” She stretches out her arms. Flexes her hands. Winces. She must be sore. “I tried to ignore it. Not like it’ll affect me that much, anyway. Was I out for the grand opening of your exhibit?”

  I nod.

  “Figures.”

  She dumps a good portion of the blankets off her body. Beneath the white fabric, she wears a black hospital dress that pools past her thighs. She draws her knees toward her chest. I avert my eyes from her lower half as she situates herself, attempting to regain the use of her stagnant limbs.

  “Why did you wake up?” I wonder, thinking back to a few minutes ago. “Was it Luc’s song?”

  Blackbird shakes her head. “No. It was more the feeling. I’ve never really been touched like that before.” She gestures to my hand.

  I shrug. “It wasn’t anything special. Just…normal.”

  She winks, trying to tease, I think, but it falls flat. “I haven’t had normal touching in a long time.” She stretches her arms again, changing the subject. Her face is drawn, tired, but she’s restless “How was it? The exhibit?”

  “Luc was happy,” I say.

  “Good. You’ve ruffled their feathers, you know? The higher-up Birds.”

  A waiter enters with a rolling cart containing the ordered meal. He removes the bulbous silver cap and prepares to serve her, but Blackbird snatches the plate from the cart―an action I know wouldn’t be possible without the sensory attachments she wears. She immediately cradles one of the oyster shells in her hand. Seeing that his presence is unneeded, the waiter leaves the bowl of strawberries and cream on the table at her bedside.

  I observe her as she dips the shell toward her lips, tilts her head back, and slips the sleek and slimy oyster into her mouth. She doesn’t chew.

  “Aren’t you a high Bird?” I ask.

  Blackbird grins, holding up three fingers. “Third. Peacock’s second. Nightingale’s first.”

  “Peacock hates me.”

  “Good,” Blackbird mutters while grabbing another shell. “If she were here, she’d gag. She hates seafood.” Slipping another oyster into her mouth, she swallows effortlessly. “You’re good for them. They haven’t had any real competition in a long time. And they’ve let it go to their heads.”

  “You’re not friends with Peacock?”

  Blackbird shakes her head, reaching for the third oyster. “She’s a show-off. Fortunately, her taste in clients and mine are completely different.”

  “What do you mean ‘taste in clients?’”

  Blackbird pauses, quirking a brow. “He didn’t tell you?” She rolls her eyes, smiles a little. “Should have known. Owl’s really sweet, you know.” I bristle, but manage to listen as she continues.

  “We get to choose our clients, Swan. Most of us get at least a dozen claims a day. Higher Birds can get up to thirty, but they don’t make us fill that quota. That’s the way it’s done in the Glass Districts—quantity over quality. Museums are…different. They charge a flat rate at the door, and the prices go up with each level. I’m a High Bird, so I cost more.” She winks. “Has Owl told you how many claims you’ve had yet?”

  “No.”

  Gratified by her dish, Blackbird sighs, licking her plump, dark lips. “He’s probably drawing it out. Ugh…” She yawns, her energy seeming to have run down. “I’d give anything for an energy patch right now. They’re my favorite.”

  I nod, thinking of the patches Sky and my father used from time to time for training. Similar to an adrenaline shot, but lasts for at least twenty-four hours.

  “So, you like it here?”

  Blackbird reaches for a strawberry embellished with puffs of cream. “What kind of question is that? I mean, have you tried the food?”

  “But…what about the rest?”

  At first, Blackbird sucks on the strawberry, pondering my question. Popping it from her mouth, she finally remarks, “Sure, the job isn’t glorious, but the clients aren’t bad. They bring in a lot of extra money. Right now, I just send it to my mother. She lives in the town nearby. Besides, feed me and I’m happy. And I’m always hungry.”

  “But you’re so—”

  “Skinny, I know. Good genetics from my father’s side.”

  “Your father?”

  Blackbird shrugs as she sucks the juice from her fingers. “I guess it’s an antiquated term. I’d say he doesn’t deserve the title, but most men don’t stick around these days. Just the way of things.”

  Cupping my hands together in my lap, I think of my father. He stuck around. He stuck with us through everything.

  Before I use my town pass, I take a few minutes to read more of my mother’s journal. Thanks to my conversation with Blackbird, thoughts of my father keep nagging at me. I think it’s time I sifted through the pages Sky marked even if his foreboding words still hover in my mind.

  And then, I see the first passage.

  It crumbles my entire world.

  Doctor Moby told me to push. It was the most important thing I had to do just then, if I wanted to escape. I remember how much I wanted Kerrick to be there. As far as I am concerned, Kerrick is Serenity’s real father. Not Director Force.

  I swallow back the lump polluting my throat, struggling to breathe. Her words answer every question I’ve wondered about for a long time. How I take after my mother but have never found an iota of Kerrick in me—physically or emotionally. Both my parents are calm wind and deep water. Sky is earth and thunder. And I am pure lightning—just fire and electricity.

  How long has Sky known? For so many years, I’ve taunted him, calling him a Family brat. The name couldn’t be more hypocritical. We are both Family brats. One more thing we can share.

  No wonder my mother hid me all those years. Director Force would be searching for his child.

  The words
on the page stick like burrs in my mind, poking at the false security that has protected me all these years.

  I continue reading.

  The first birth was quiet.

  The first?

  I heave just a little, more frustrated than ever when my mother doesn’t provide immediate relief.

  Serenity came out mewing louder than a cat in labor, expressing distaste for this fractured world when she was perfectly happy an hour ago in the warm cocoon of my womb. Even as Moby wiped her off, she refused to stop screaming. Moby gave me a few minutes to feed, double checking that Kerrick was in his proper place. As soon as I started having contractions, Kerrick severed the call lines to the Penthouse and left to pick up the limousine. The Family Syndicate was on location that day. It meant I didn’t have much time before Director Force showed up to inspect his baby.

  I stared down at the child suckling at my breast. Severing us would be more impossible than a flag remaining still during a windstorm. Invisible roots crawled from every inch of her—mighty as thoughts—and wove straight into my heart, fusing with the strings there, doubling love and life and soul in the span of a single moment. When I looked at my child, there was no Temple, no skyscraper walls imprisoning me, no memory of Director Force’s stink hovering over me…there were just these unbelievable, unshakable olive branches of peace growing around me. Perfect Serenity.

  I’d been unaware I was rocking myself until the action causes the tear on my cheek to tumble onto the page below.

  A balm of forgiveness drives out the burrs in my mind. My mother always told me Kerrick was my father, and it makes sense why she said that. Even if he isn’t biologically, he is still my dad. He’s always been there behind the scenes, supporting us. Loving us. He loves my mother the most—I can see his devotion every time he looks at her—and that’s always meant more to me than anything.

  Moby gave me everything I needed. Medical scrubs and a nurse’s mask for a disguise, along with a medical bag to conceal the baby. As soon as we said goodbye, I knew I would never stop missing the doctor who helped us. But I could almost taste freedom.