by Emily Shore
Water laps at my toes, returning me to my senses. I bite my lower lip hard. This moment isn’t about them. It’s about earning a favor, one favor, which I will use to free my parents.
I think Luc’s finished until his fingertips curl behind my neck, causing me to shiver again as he removes the swan charm.
Luc whispers, breath dragging along my neck. “Serenity.”
How can his hands feel so cold but his breath so warm?
I dive into the lake. No doubt he can hear me splashing, but I don’t stop to turn. I don’t want to know if he’s kept his word. Just so long as he keeps his word about the favor. Everything is clear now. Dark water nurses every inch of my naked skin. Down here, I can think. With no one watching me, no hands on glass waiting for me to move, I can just think.
I want my family back, but for that to happen, I’m in danger of accepting all of this.
I understand one thing—in return for their freedom, I would exchange mine. I would stay.
If Luc can free my parents, I will become his most glorious Swan. My breath escapes in a hundred bubbles, and I dive deeper until there is nothing but darkness. My lungs are just on the edge of burning. Despite the water, it’s the first time my body feels like it’s burning, and I know it’s the lightning inside me—the knowledge of what I’m going to ask once I surface.
If escape is possible, I would be breaking my word. Part of me wonders what is worth more: my word or my dignity. What of Luc’s word? He said that I am the only one to satisfy his heart, to make him whole. Everything he has done for me has set me apart to prove his words from rescuing me from the graphickers to Fawn Finch in the Glass District to offering me the singular Swan exhibit. The thought of entering the exhibit and seeing what Luc unveils again and again used to churn the bile in my stomach. Now, my inner Swan considers not only embracing her exhibit, but also accepting Luc. Would he buy me himself? He said he would treasure my soul. If I could choose to stay, better Luc’s bed than in the hands of Director Force.
My body presses against the underwater viewing center where I can see one solitary figure standing with hands in his pockets. For some reason, I don’t panic when I see him there with eyes wide open in surprise.
I wonder what he sees without the spotlights dazzling my skin.
A white shape blurred at the edges by darkness? An outline? Curves? More? Whatever the case, he knows I can see him. Because of what was said earlier, it seems almost inevitable. I never realized what my exhibits meant to Sky until now.
He used to be the only one who ever watched me. Now, everyone has studied my every curve.
Every swan dive must shred his heart—I know he can’t bear to share me. Sky has spent his life protecting me, but he can’t protect me from everything. And tonight, I’ve let Luc in. Guilt floods me as I realize I’ve shut Sky out at the same time, keeping him at a distance because he kept the truth from me. He doesn’t deserve it. Not after all we’ve been through.
I’m losing him.
Nothing should stop me from fighting or running. The stain of a broken promise should be easier to live with than losing my virtue, than breaking my mantra.
Even as I lose more bubbles, and my lungs pray on their last knees for me to surface, I stay to watch Sky turn and walk away.
Luc greets me with closed eyes and a towel. For a moment, I stand there in front of him, staring at the way he spreads the towel, fingers hovering at the corners…waiting. I let him fold the towel around me, after which he finally opens his eyes. To see my face, pale in the darkness of the exhibit.
“You seem thinner,” he observes and cups my cheek. “You seem weaker.”
“Finch, Blackbird, the exhibit…” Sky.
“What is your favor?” Luc asks. “What do you want?”
“I know you’ll never let me go, Luc. I won’t insult you by asking for that. But I will ask that you let my parents go. Please.”
Luc’s fingers drift from my cheek. “Your parents?”
“You have to know, Luc. I’ll be your Swan, but don’t let my mother become Force’s Unicorn again. Don’t let the Temple take any of us, and I’ll stay here. With you.”
Luc’s hand retreats, fingers rubbing his temple.
“You said anything,” I remind him.
“Swan,” he reverts, crawling back into his director shell. “You’re asking me to go against my father.” So, he is involved. He’s known all this time who I am and who my parents are. “You ask me to betray my very Family.” He emphasizes the last word, so I know it means more than just mere blood.
Lightning pulses through my pores. “You gave me your word!”
“You know how long I’ve waited for you. This could jeopardize everything I’ve worked for.”
“If I mean as much to you as you’ve said, Luc, you’ll do as I ask.”
After another few moments of silence and just staring at me, studying my unwavering gaze, Luc touches my shoulder. “It’s time for your punishment now. But if you wish to visit the town, I will arrange for a transport. You performed very well tonight.”
“But—”
His mouth covers mine, causing ice to spread into my blood like venom, rooting me to the ground. Winded, I part my lips, but he doesn’t deepen the kiss.
“I will see what I can do.”
I bite down on my lower lip, then pose another question. “What about your father? What if my next exhibit…I mean…what’s next? What could you possibly do to top what we did tonight?”
“Never doubt my creativity.” Luc pulls away, grin stretching before escorting me out of the exhibit. “I am an artist. And a supreme one at that.”
For my punishment, Luc escorts me to the Isolation Room again. At least it’s not above the client rooms, so I don’t struggle when he opens the door and urges me inside. Spent from the night, I sink to the cold floor and wait for the electronic sound of the virtual machine.
The Isolation Room dims, and I recognize the long windows on one side of me, betraying the Penthouse. The brush of the whip on my back is familiar. So is the glitter all over my skin and the bits of horse fur strung along the sides of my face. I feel the horn sealed in the center of my forehead, and I hear the whip as it’s uncoiled. Closing my eyes, I wait for it to come down, the seconds in between more excruciating than the action, but it doesn’t land. I open my eyes to see my costume replaced. No more fur. There are feathers. Feathers everywhere on and all around me. The hardwood floor beneath me has been replaced by a bed, a bed suffocated by millions of fluffs of feathers. Recognizing them as swan feathers, I stir from the pillow beneath me, disturbing them, finding nothing on my skin but a plunging corset knit of the same feathers.
Then, I hear the familiar voice beside me. “My Swan,” he whispers in my ear before plucking one feather from the bottom of the corset.
More than anything, I want to fight, I want to run, but the Isolation Room strangles my ability and pins me to the bed just as Luc rips at another feather. Worse than the whip from my father, this is my deepest fear—my armor dissolving like warm snow.
One by one, Luc plucks the feathers, taking his time. Every one reminds me of pieces of my old life that he’s chipped away at since I entered the Aviary. Unraveling me little by little, discovering parts of me I wasn’t even aware of. Only one other man knows me to such a degree. Luc doesn’t deserve to share that, does he?
Fewer feathers and more skin now. He places a hand on the smoothness of my stomach, smiles down at me as if reminding me of the night with the graphickers and the time in the Glass District when I chose Fawn Finch, when he rescued me from the crowd. His fingers brushing my skin echo the day he bought me. He takes another feather, blows on it, and it lands on my cheek. Rubbing it away with his thumb, he turns my face to his.
When he kisses me, it doesn’t feel new. Like a replay of every other time he’s kissed me, but his lips sink lower onto my bare neck, and I find myself arching in response even as his hand lowers to grip multiple feathers and tear them off. Just the
barest string left covering me, clinging to a fragile thread. Luc fingers the leftover feathers in between my cleavage, toying with them, toying with me just as he always has.
I clench my eyes just as he prepares to tear the final line of feathers, but everything disintegrates into voxels when the Isolation Room lights flood me, the sound of electronics humming down. I’m still lying on my back in my dress, but I’m on the metallic floor when Luc enters. Without waiting for me to speak, he raises me up and beckons me outside the room. His expression is all tight creases and hard lines, features bordering on dangerous. Did he see everything? Was he insulted by my subconscious fear paraded before his eyes?
He says nothing while escorting me back to my bedroom. By the time we reach the door, I’m convinced his demeanor has nothing to do with the Isolation Room. Something much more serious has demanded his attention.
We reach the door to my bedroom where Luc isn’t gentle about pushing me inside. “Stay in your room and don’t come out,” he commands.
“Luc,” I try to stop him. “What’s going on?”
He prepares to close the door. “I need you safe. I’ll send for Vulture.”
I try to imagine all sorts of scenarios, but without any clue as to what’s going on, I come up empty. After I change into one of the white nightgowns, I curl up in bed, too exhausted for anything else.
Sky arrives a few minutes later. Based on the way he carries himself, I understand the security system is very much engaged. He doesn’t even look at me, just stands in the corner, in the shadows of the room near the door.
I scan the layers of night to where he stands. “What’s going on out there?”
“One of the Birds is missing.”
“Who?”
Sky doesn’t give a moment to pause. Would he have cushioned the blow if he wasn’t Vulture? I can’t stop treading on the name over and over and over and over again.
Blackbird.
I reach for the object under my pillow I’d smuggled from the closet and open the book, holding onto it like it is a life preserver. Moonlight spills through the window, helping me distinguish the words.
Girls went missing from the Temple all the time. We weren’t supposed to get attached to each other, but holding onto each other was the only warmth we ever felt. Spending most of my time in the Penthouse made it more difficult. Every morning, I had to rest, heal, and prepare myself for the Vampire to come at night. Before the Penthouse, I had one friend. We called each other by our real names. We whispered them at night beside indestructible glass windows where we could see the sky, the one thing in our lives that wasn’t polished or airbrushed.
I remember Violet. She knew I was moving up in the ranks of the Temple, while she was on her way down. Violet came closer than anyone I’d spoken to about the Penthouse. While all the other girls on our level slept, Violet and I crawled through the ceiling shafts, lit virtual candles since real were forbidden, and pretended what the world was like outside. She called me Sera. She never talked about what happened to her on the upper levels, and I didn’t ask. Every girl knows the clients are richer there, more Family-oriented.
People rumored I would reach the Penthouse. Each level, I was tested. My seduction grades were increasing, and the studios became more advanced and glamorous with every level. My artwork was popular. The faces I saw the most were graphickers and artisans. Unlike me, Violet never spoke about her artwork, but every now and then, I’d find a dab of purple paint on her shoulder like a tattoo left behind. I wondered if they turned her into a flower.
I never found out.
After my studio the next day, they announced they were moving me up to the Penthouse. The infamous Force had asked for me. A trial. I was thrilled. I hurried to pack my things, to tell Violet the news, but her bunk was empty. One of the other girls said she was taken to the Centre. Now, my better sense tells me that Force discovered our connection and snapped our thread, the first stage of his control. My imagination still thinks she broke the glass and flew away.
22
F l y A w A y
In the morning, Sky is still standing in the corner of the room when Dove comes in. She looks haggard somehow, not pristine as she always is.
“They still haven’t found her,” I say, reading her face. “Do they know anything?”
Dove shakes her head. “Owl has ordered a lockdown.”
It means I won’t be going anywhere today. Is there any point in getting out of bed?
“Let me paint you,” Dove says, her appeal like a ragged echo. She was Blackbird’s caretaker before she was assigned to me.
Too numb for much of anything, I let her lead me to the chair in front of the mirror. After setting up the screen, Dove uncaps a few different bottles.
One tear paints her cheek. Despite her attempts at neutrality with the Birds here, it’s obvious Dove favors those she paints. And she painted Blackbird before me. Her voice cracks, but nothing more than a whimper escapes as she decorates me, brush twirling against my skin. For once, I don’t ask to see. This is her moment more than mine. I’ve known Blackbird a pittance of time compared to her. I don’t have as much right to grieve.
Dove starts looking better when she weaves my hair into a steadfast mass of twists until the strands resemble interlocking vines.
She retrieves a backless dress for me, and I wander out from behind the screen a few moments later. If Sky is surprised by whatever she’s painted on my back, he doesn’t react.
Looking seems too invasive. Even if it is my own skin. So, I just ask her instead.
“What is it?” I motion to my back.
“A serpent. A viper striking,” she says simply, before catching a tendril of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. “It’s how my daughter perished.”
“Oh, Dove…” I murmur.
“She brought so much life to this museum. It took long years, countless clients, but she was mine. She came from my body. But her body was too little when it bit her. It took her in a few seconds, just long enough for me to see her eyes go still, for the froth to fill her mouth.” How could a poisonous snake get here from the outside? Was it on purpose? I don’t ask her for details. Doing that would only bring her more pain.
Instead, I ask in a small voice, “Do I look like her?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you wanted to paint me from the beginning.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as she recaps a few of the bottles on her workstation. I don’t tell her how she reminds me of my mother, but without all the secrets. The words in my mother’s diary are like Dove’s paint on my skin, but Dove doesn’t hide her past from me. She doesn’t try to protect me. She just tries to nurture me while doing her best. There are no secrets between us.
“Dove,” I say, “may I see Finch? I want to visit her.”
“All girls are restricted to the main wings.”
Sky clears his throat. “Director Owl informed me Finch’s room will be open to visitors, but only one at a time and under security.”
I meet his eyes, brown as two acorns. No sunlight to warm them to amber. He nods, giving me permission. Dove promises to stay in the bedroom and wait for me. I won’t be gone long.
Only when I enter the outer hallway do I realize Dove’s grieving gift has become a curse. A familiar figure walks past me, her gaze settling on my back, and I hear her seethe before she turns and advances toward me, ravishing and dark as a child’s nightmare. I don’t move, but she does.
Nightingale is stronger than me, her curves hard-worked muscle. Her eyes are like wrought iron when she grabs me by the arm, shoving me against the wall before smearing the paint on my back with her hand.
“Black is my color,” she snarls before wiping her blackened thumb across my cheek.
Before Sky can step forward, I throw my body back so she stumbles off me. “Don’t you dare touch me again, you glorified crow. I never asked to be the Swan.”
Nightingale’s ready for anot
her assault, but a figure interrupts, flitting down the hallway toward us. “Leave her alone, Gale,” Mockingbird says, defending me.
“You stay out of this,” Nightingale warns with a jut of her finger. “Don’t pretend you’re here to help her. You’re only helping yourself.”
I don’t understand what she means by that until Mockingbird says, “You’ve always been jealous that Dove never chose to paint you. That she chose to paint me and the Swan over you.”
“Let’s see if that remains true after I speak to Owl. Perhaps he will demote her.” She backs away from me, lustrous dark hair flicking over her shoulder as she does so.
“And who do you think Luc will listen to more?” I call out, and Mockingbird grins next to me.
Nightingale turns on one heel. “Just because you call him by his real name doesn’t mean he belongs to you. Remember, you’re art just like the rest of us. You just happen to be the flavor of the week.”
Mockingbird tries to stop me, but I’m quicker than a lightning flash. I round a corner and flee down another hallway, outside to the aviary and the tunnel behind the waterfall. Once there, I submerge my hand under the water and splash it against my back, trying in vain to rub away the black paint. It sluices into my dress instead, staining it a dark gray.
Suddenly, the black becomes a plague on my skin. I want to scurry out of the dress. Get every last bit of paint off.
My arms and legs are bare. Next, I rip my hair out of the vine-like braids and let the strands cover my face as I sink to the damp ground. Dirt smothers the backs of my legs and dress, and I grind my fingers into it, feel the mud sinking beneath my nails. It reminds me of Sky’s eyes in the Aviary. Too muddy, too dark. Like the mud, Sky is the only one who can get under my skin and manage to stay there.
My filthy hands rise to grip my forehead. The falls pant, spraying the right side of my body, mingling with the dirt until mud starts rolling down the sides of my arms and legs, splattering my dress in murky droplets. On my left side, his body sucks up the air and replaces it with his warmth just before he wraps an arm around my shoulder.
