The Aviary

by Emily Shore

  I shrug. “You said they’ll never stop wanting more. Everyone always wants more.”

  “Exactly.” Sky palms my shoulders. “They’ll always search for something more, something better. He’ll just move on from you once he gets what he wants.”

  “He isn’t like that,” I say, defending Luc. “He’s better than those other men.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s just good at what he does. Don’t buy into it.”

  “But…” My tongue tiptoes on the words, hesitating before speaking them. I know how it will sound, but it means something to me. With his recent offer, Luc has shown just how much I mean to him. “I’m his Swan.”

  The rush of heat from Sky almost sears my skin.

  I pause in the full understanding of what I’ve just said. Sky’s hands leap from my skin like he’s a rod conducting electricity, and he turns away from me.

  I spin around so I can see his eyes, but he won’t look at me. When I try to reach for him, he shoves me away. He’s always pushing me away, but something in this world will always bring him back to me. Just like the day Sky pulled me back to land after I swam out too far.

  “Sky‒”

  He cuts me off while moving toward the door. “I only had a few minutes to loop the system. He’ll be coming soon.”

  I follow him out of the closet and to the main door. “Sky, it shouldn’t be this way between us. It’s too much. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Neither do I.” And he closes the door behind him.

  “Give me your hand,” Luc requests when he enters my room and shuts the door behind himself.

  As soon as I accept, Luc produces something from behind his back and places it in my hand. My fingers curl around its edges, studying its porcelain curves. “Why a mask?” I ask. “I thought you—”

  “First, I want to show you something. I need your help tonight.”

  I hesitate even as my fingertips capsize into his palm. “Where are we going?”

  Touching the small of my back, he whispers low, “Just follow me.”

  After he leads me out through a secret exit, I discover Luc has ordered a limousine transporter for us. We travel away from the glass walls of the Aviary on a remote track along the outer edge of the city. It’s much more extensive than I originally believed. The museum itself rests on the city’s eastern edge in an upscale neighborhood that’s popular with tourists, near malls and business centers, and wealthier, private residences. Now, we are driving toward the western edge of the city, where skyscrapers pepper the night and a metrodome interrupts the darkness like a white fist raised to strike. We pass them all, progressing to the western edge. From the tinted windows of the car, I stare at the city lights glittering like armies of dragonflies battling with fireflies. Two lone spotlights compete for attention on the outskirts, and the vehicle finally stops in a reserved lot near the center of the spotlighted area.

  “No one will see your face,” Luc reassures me, motioning to the mask. “They will assume you are an anonymous escort.”

  I suck in a deep breath, remembering the last time I visited the Glass District.

  Because Luc is a wealthier and more connected patron, he is free to use one of the private viewing centers constructed above the shops. Others have already taken their places in various ones nearby when Luc escorts me into the glass elevator that transports us to his reserved viewing center. Even so, Luc is recognized. Other patrons and even security guards bow their heads in respect. Luc’s status is well-known. There are even a few reporters who request interviews with him, but he declines. It shouldn’t surprise me that the director of one of the most popular museums in the country should have a certain amount of celebrity status.

  The room is only a little bigger than the elevator itself, but there are two chairs as well as a viewing screen on each wall. Luc switches on the screens. Off to my right and left are lines of mostly male customers, some female—probably madams, looping around various blocks, waiting to use the Glass District. The demand for bodies is just as high as ever.

  When I look down through the mask’s eyeholes, I can see the heads of some of the customers through the glass of the viewing center. I wrinkle my nose at the thought of why they’re here.

  Luc catches my attention, then motions to the glass displays of the windowed shops before pointing to the screens above our heads. Screens are outdated, but the districts don’t have the funds for volumetric tech like museums. After the first presentation of girls, which lasts about a minute, the lights dim for a few moments, but it doesn’t take them long to flash on again. At their signal, a new wave of girls has appeared. Like an assembly line.

  None of them should be here.

  Most of the girls’ expressions are familiar—imprinted on my mind from my first visit, years ago. Come-hither smiles with blank mask holes for eyes. Nothing much has changed, just the viewing center and the sophisticated screens. Many girls’ costumes mimic the pattern of museums from flowers wrapped around their bodies, to wings embellishing their shoulders, to fruit garnishing their chests. Above the shops is one giant screen portraying a profile of each girl, flashing from one to the next and the next, repeating an endless cycle. On each side of our viewing center, screens beckon with those same profiles.

  Luc doesn’t let go of my hand, even when he clicks the button on his remote. “Screens like this have always existed. They exist in homes, on the streets, in businesses, anywhere one can be a consumer. Every Glass District is simply a more palpable experience for customers who want it firsthand.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” I ask. My mask trembles.

  “I hope this visit will ease your sadness over Finch. The Swan must be prepared for her exhibit, and…I do not enjoy seeing this side of you. There are more girls here. And more who want them.” Luc gestures to one of the centers on our right. “You see that man?”

  From here, I can only make out his features by the glow of the screen. He is dressed more extravagantly than Luc—his clothes remind me of fish scales—and it leaves little doubt as to who he is.

  “A carnival owner,” I say with certainty.

  “He enjoys bidding higher than me. He knows I have a weakness for hatchlings, and he goes out of his way to outbid me on them.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” Repeating my earlier question, I scan the screen briefly as a few girls’ profiles flash before us.

  “Because tonight, you will be his house of cards and the ace up my sleeve. You are going to choose first.”

  He places the remote in my hands before I can respond, and the understanding of what Luc is gifting me trills into my fingers while more faces travel past. Some do not reappear, which means they’ve been bought—whether it’s for one night, one week, or permanently. I know final sales are rare unless it’s a special auction, like mine.

  My fingers tremble as my eyes wander across skin and cheeks and mouths, flowers and wings and fruit and feathers and petals. And they stop. On moss and leaves, on skin and hair white as snow.

  I hold the button down on the remote, and Luc places his bid as soon as my eyes pause on the screen. I catch the dull bell ring—a signal he is outbid. He glances to his right, and so do I.

  The carnival owner turns to Luc, raises a hand in mock gesture, and grins.

  Luc bids higher.

  In the same moment, I stand and sweep toward the window, knowing I’ve caught the carnival owner’s attention. At first, he tries to multitask. But then, I remove my mask and wink at him. He won’t be forcing Luc to bid higher.

  The bell signals that Luc has won the final bid—at a much lower price than he anticipated.

  “Well done,” Luc says.

  I lower myself back into the chair beside him.

  “Though I would have preferred you’d kept the mask on.” His narrowed eyes soften when the screen shows us the face of the girl I’ve selected. “My youngest hatchling was Mockingbird, of course. But this one is the youngest I will have invested in since. You must
understand something, Swan.” Luc reaches out to cup my chin beneath the weight of the mask. “I do my best to preserve the innocence of my Birds until they are older. I have a place set aside for the younger ones. A flight school, as it were. You will not be permitted to see her. When she comes of age, she will be brought to the Aviary.” Obviously, Finch is an exception because of Raven.

  I memorize the color of the girl’s eyes before nodding. “What will you call her?”

  Luc examines the screen and then scrutinizes me, judging my reaction. “Ironic that you chose her. To me, she is the Fawn Zebra Finch. I know my Birds—their genetics and mutations.”

  “You won’t call her Finch.” My voice hardens.

  “Of course not. She will go by Fawn Finch.”

  My eyes tilt back to the screen, and I nod as I study the girl’s eyes, the color of a fawn’s back; the name will be worthy. I wish I could see this flight school he’s referred to, but as we descend back to the ground level, the carnival owner approaches us to express his distaste for Luc’s method.

  “Well played, Director Aldaine,” he croons as Luc places himself between my body and the man with the face of a weasel. A weasel wearing a joker suit, considering the rash color palette.

  That’s when I notice a crowd of people moving toward the Glass District opening. The signs in their hands leave little doubt as to who they are: activists. On the opposite side, closer to us, is another crowd, but they are paparazzi with holographic cams. Some of the paparazzi cry out “Director,” wanting to take holograms with Luc.

  “You’ve always had a wandering eye, Willis. Pity the stench of deep fried butter will always waft from your person.”

  Luc’s audacity almost catches me off guard, but the revulsion he shows toward Willis practically hisses off his body.

  I turn back to eye the hoard moving closer to the entrance. Security hasn’t arrived yet. No wonder the crowd chose now. Since much of the bids have been placed, security will be escorting girls to their claimers. It’s an opportune time for a protest strike.

  I consider another fleeting thought: It’s an opportune time for something else.

  The carnival owner clears his throat, alerting me. His eyes roam across my form.

  “I trust you still have all your lovely Birds’ wings clipped. Except for this one, I see. Is this your latest acquisition I’ve heard so much about? Surely you didn’t take the risk of bringing the Swan outside Aviary property, Aldaine! What a surprising treat.” He cups his hands over a decorative cane, then leans on it to eye me.

  “I have confidence in my ability to protect what is rightfully mine,” Luc says lazily.

  “Of course.” Willis bows his head before staring once more at me. “Perhaps I will visit the Aviary during my stay here. After all, I wouldn’t want to miss her next exhibit. Not after having finally seen her. Until then, she shall haunt my dreams.”

  Count on it, I want to say before glancing at the crowd out of the corner of my eye. They are only a couple dozen feet from me. It’s risky, but I consider how so many activists have Sanctuary connections. If I escaped, it would be simple to get in touch with Sky. We could get my parents without Aviary interference. Without me sinking deeper into Luc’s world. There’s no guarantee Luc will keep his word about his favor. No guarantee he’d be satisfied with my definition of the real Serenity. Skeptical thoughts swarm in my head, advising me to play it safe, but then Luc turns his head from me. It’s a chance I can’t refuse.

  I break away from him, making a beeline for the crowd. A few seconds later, I think I hear him shout, but by now, the cries and chants from the hoard waving their signs overwhelm me. I crash right through their barricade, but they don’t part. Almost as if they can’t be bothered with me. Like they’re drones following their mission with no regard to anything else. Bodies cram me in, stealing my air. Voices assault my ears until they throb. A hip almost crushes me, and I stumble from the action, terrified I’m going to be trampled as the activists continue to move forward. Somehow, I squeeze through a pair of legs, tearing my dress in the process and getting to my feet. This was a mistake. Never have I felt more panic. Never have I felt more surrounded. My mind reels. Right now, I’m on a manic ferris wheel that has broken off its hinges—spinning out of control.

  One of the protestors curses at a Glass District window. Curses the girl inside. More shouts and jeers follow as more bodies hem me in. I don’t understand. Another body slams into me, and brutal fingers come down on my mask, ripping it from my face and scratching my cheek at the same time. One man pitches me to the ground. Shouts ‘Breakable whore’ in my ear before marching onward with the oncoming crowd.

  They’re going to trample me!

  I shouldn’t have left Luc’s side. Better to be a flightless Bird in the Aviary than to be meat fodder for these activists. None of them are with the Sanctuary because Sky would never throw his lot in with them.

  Just as I try to get up, another leg thrusts me back to the ground. More curses, more shouts, more sign waving. I whimper when another shoe bears down, stomping on my back hard. How long does it take to get trampled to death? I realize I won’t find out when a strong hand latches onto my waist, raising me from the dirt. I recognize his hold. His expression confounds me. Not one trace of anger is in his eyes. Instead, they are laced with creased concern. He exchanges no words with me, just starts to pull me along, and I comply, treating his hand like an anchor. As it is, I’m little more than seaweed clinging to his body as he hauls me out of the ocean of people and away from the Glass District. Back into the Family limo.

  Now, he shows his anger. Brows deepening the shadows around his eyes, which become thin as wires. “I should have enforced the skin shield. What the hell were you thinking?” He raises his voice and tugs on my wrist because he hasn’t released me yet.

  Panting, I shake my head and slam my eyes shut, trying to expel the feeling of the bodies smothering me. “I don’t know. I—” I swallow to regain control of my voice, then find myself throwing my head back with a frail laugh. What was I thinking? “Can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”

  “Wrong.” Luc’s voice is the hardened edge of a blade. “Those protestors care nothing for Breakables.”

  I got that message loud and clear. No, they were blaming the girls, targeting them as if it’s their fault the world is the way it is. As if it’s our fault.

  “Rest assured, you will be punished,” Luc hastens to add. “But I intend to keep my word first. One favor for the real Serenity.”

  I nod.

  More than ever, I want to return to the Aviary.

  “So, this is you?” Luc asks with fingers titillating the back of my neck.

  In my head are all the thoughts, memories, of what Sky said about Luc earlier. They chip away at my resolve, at my ability to complete this, but Sky must know if he’s willing to go to whatever lengths to save me, that I am willing to go just as far for my own blood. At least, I think I am.

  I want to believe in the man behind me, the man who slaughtered graphickers for me, and the man whose eyes overpower me like a fever, whose arms lull me like the quiet eye of a storm, promising protection with hands transforming me into his fantasy.

  “No. I won’t let you see the real me.”

  Luc’s hand cups the back of my neck. “Why?”

  “Because…” I sweep my hand to my shoulder. “It’s without this.”

  Luc doesn’t move. “Without this…” His hand lingers on one of the straps.

  I don’t look at him. “You promised any favor, right?”

  “On the condition you swim for no one’s eyes but mine.”

  “I can’t give you that, Luc. I can’t show you, but I’ll tell you. There was one night at this lake house…I snuck out and went skinny dipping. Nothing around me but dark water and the reflection of the stars. I hate walls. Walls are cold and immovable, and I hate drapes and blinds that hide the moon. I love water, though, because it moves beneath me and all around me, but
it follows me, too. It holds me close. Lets me use it however I want. If I dive deep enough, I can’t hear anything. I forget about glass walls and graphickers and swan dives and girls in comas. I forget everything but the quiet.”

  “It’s where you feel free.”

  I nod.

  “Serenity.” I inhale when he uses my real name. “I will keep my word of one favor. But will you grant me just one in return? Provided my eyes remain closed?”

  I hold my breath when his fingers light on the strap of my dress, and he urges it down the curve of my shoulder. The mirror of my virtue cracks. A hairline fracture. He slides the strap farther down, fingers brushing the tattoo, but he keeps his word and doesn’t open his eyes.

  I listen as his breath increases when he does the same with my other strap, fingers slow dancing on my arm. They don’t quite press, so they’re not as cold as usual, more like cool mist. It’s the first time I shiver without reservation. He pauses, kisses his feather tattoo, and inhales deeply as his hands teeter along the fabric of my waist before he urges it down. The dress plunges lower, fabric sliding across my breasts to free them.

  What does this mean to him? All I want to do is become water. Slip right through the hands gliding across my skin and leaving goose flesh there. Instead, I find myself warping the hands. I change them and make them rougher, bigger, more calloused. Not as gentle as they discover my hips. Sky’s hands. The only hands I can imagine touching me more. They are familiar. I know every curved and straight line, every common blister and callous, every scar, the shape and contour of his palm and fingers as well as I know my own. Luc’s hands are alien. He’s already wheedled his way into my mind. Will I let him get underneath my skin?

  I’m still holding my breath, watching him. His eyes never open once as he coaxes the fabric down my hips, knuckles gliding across the skin there until the dress pools at my feet. He doesn’t stray once. Would Sky?