by Emily Shore
“Looks like this is our spot.” Sky leans over and kisses the side of my head, coaxing heat into my skin. The fine mist covers his hair. I love it when his waves fall all around his shoulders, damp like that. “Handled yourself pretty well back there.” Then, Sky’s fingers pause from tracing my shoulder. “I want to be there for you, always, but I—”
“Shut up, of course you’ll always be here.” I lean back into him again, distrustful of any gap of air between us.
“What makes you so sure? I saw you with him last night.”
“You’re not as smart as you think you are.” I shove him.
Sky straightens, raising himself, nostrils flaring. “Smart enough to see he’s clipped your wings.”
Balling my hands into fists, I confront him head-on, my voice raising an octave, “What would you know anyway? You spy on me whenever you can, but you don’t bother sticking around to hear anything important.”
“I couldn’t stick around.”
When he leans closer, eyes almost bruising mine, I can’t help but pause, confused.
“Why?”
I have to hold back the smile wanting to lift the corners of my mouth when his hands cup the air on each side of my head, fingers curved like they want to squeeze me like a grape. Exasperated, he grunts and groans. Flares once more. One more second passes before Sky suddenly reaches down, grabs a heavy stone at the base of the rock wall, and launches it against the other side. It thunks loudly enough to drown out the noise of the falls for two seconds.
He slumps back down next to me.
“Feel better?” I ask, bending at the waist.
“No.”
I nudge him a little. “Want to throw it again?”
“What I want is to find your parents—to get you out of this damn birdhouse.”
“And then what?”
He angles his head up at me. “What do you mean?”
“What happens after? We just go back to the way we used to be?” My voice is dubious.
Sky doesn’t answer, but that’s when I notice the blood creeping into his cheeks.
“Are you blushing?” I lift my brows. “You are!”
Sky raises a finger in warning. “Don’t. Listen—” He pauses and drags a hand through his hair, groaning a little. “You’re sixteen.”
“That’s middle-aged for girls nowadays.”
“Not to your parents. And not to me. In any case, it won’t matter.”
“Why?”
Sky flares again. “Damn it, Serenity! What do you take me for? After all these years—” Pausing, he raises his hand to explain. “I couldn’t stay. Your exhibits are bad enough. I could see where everything was going. Couldn’t watch you with him like that. Knew it’d be too hard for me to keep my eyes in check.”
Sighing, I reassure him, “Nothing happened. He kept his eyes closed the whole time like I asked.”
“Got to give him points for his control.”
Silence.
I bite my lower lip as I work out what to say next, then settle on a question. “How long would you wait?”
“As long as you want.”
I wait a few moments before meeting his eyes, “Thank you for telling me.”
“Will it make a difference?”
“It makes a difference to me.” I settle closer to him without telling him about my bargain with Luc.
He leans over. Without saying a word, he cups the side of my head and urges it to his shoulder. I breathe in the familiar scent of him, wondering if all of him smells like this. If all of him feels like this. If it’s possible to be closer than we ever have been.
“It’s us, Sky,” I tell him. “It’s always been us.”
Once more, his mouth tangles with mine. Hungry as a winter sun, Sky demands everything from me. His hands crowd my waist before he tugs on my hips, pulling me closer until I’m under him and he brings his full force down on me. Nothing but gold chains between us. Unchanging. Melt the gold down, grind it into dust, but it always stays the same, value never deteriorating. Leaning over, Sky kisses the peak of my shoulder, lips warm on the tattoo’s cold silver. I don’t shiver once. I’m a vessel to his flames. Lightning in a bottle knitting around his fire.
“Serenity.” Sky stares at me like I’m a stag he’s hunting. “I’ve held back from telling you everything. But I need you to listen here.” He thumbs the side of my forehead. “Not here.” He touches my chest where my heart beats. “Do you understand?” I nod, but it’s not enough for him. “Swear it to me.”
“I swear.”
Searching me, he studies my eyes before pursing his lips and nodding. He takes my hand in his. “I know where Blackbird is…because I’m the one who took her.”
Sky rises to stand. He produces a piece of paper from his pocket, then hands it to me. “She left this for you.”
I unfold the note, ravenous to read her words.
We’re going to the Sanctuary. I can’t believe it! I’ve never known if it was a ghost story the Temple used to frighten children or if it was the Promised Land. I’m hoping for something in between. Kyle is getting us out. I won’t apologize for leaving so soon or not saying goodbye. I hate goodbyes. It’s better this way. You’ll have to learn to look out for yourself. I can’t watch your back anymore. I’ve got someone else to protect now.
I’m glad Blackbird doesn’t know Sky’s real name. That he’s used Kyle just like I used Alice.
“That child belongs to her.” Sky jerks a thumb to the note. “Seems like she should get to keep it, don’t you think?”
I go to Sky, sealing my lips against his. It catches him off guard, but his strong arms wind around me, pressing me close. It’s a hungry, mournful embrace—as though we’re making up for all the time we will soon no longer have. Maybe our time is running out.
If we can’t escape, I’m going to have to find a way to separate sex and love—which means breaking my own promise. Like my mother, I’ll play the part. I’m already sewing the Swan into myself. I’m becoming what he wants me to be because I can bear it.
My mother can’t bear another whip’s lash. Her old wounds cannot be reopened without causing irreparable damage.
For my parents, I will become wholly Swan.
23
F i R e a n d W a T e r
Upon returning to my room—Sky trailing behind me all the way—I catch the smear of black under my arm, realizing there is still a speckle of paint from Dove’s handiwork earlier.
I wander into the bathroom to wash it away, then stare at myself in the far mirror. I’m too focused on my skin and washing away the paint to remember Blackbird’s words.
Too focused to see the mirror off to my left opening, caving in on itself, and delivering the three Birds who have come for me.
It happens so fast I don’t even get to scream.
They swoop down on me, fingernails pecking at my skin. They stuff my mouth with a rag so I can’t speak. They will need more than that. Three girls are no match for me. They seem to recognize it when, instead of spitting out the rag, I bite down on it farther and peer at their necks, recognizing them from their colors, from their shapes—Cardinal, Parrot, and Robin.
Their six hands drag me from the bathroom and through the mirror.
“Oh, you’re doing it all wrong!”
I whip my head around to see a familiar face that belongs to an equally familiar voice, but at the same time, one of the girls sprays my face with something. When the misty particles hit my nose, the chemical commands my body to sag and to bow. My mind floats somewhere in between reality and passing out. Not lucid enough to tell where they’re taking me but enough to hear the recognizable voice say something else:
“If you want something done right…” she warbles.
My head bobbles back when the three girls pick me up, carry me past the mirror, and shut it behind them while the ringleader leads them away.
All I can see is her hair, but it’s all I need. I would know those ends of exalted purple anywhe
re.
Peacock.
Down, down, down they take me. My head topples forward so I can see nothing but stone steps, and I wonder what part of the Aviary this is. And how long before my implant raises an alarm due to my blood pressure spiking or heart rate accelerating?
Their voices sound like chiming bells in my ears. Peacock’s is a kettledrum. What has she given me?
When they drop me, the dizziness clears, and my brazen hands get ready. I grab for the first thing I can find—their ankles. I bite down on the skin there, grin when I hear their Bird cries. I feel my nails tearing holes in their dresses. Finally, they pin me down and tie my hands behind my back with leather cord.
“Where are your pretty Swan wings now?” Peacock leers at me, eyes thinned to pin-width. In one hand, she holds a torch. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
One of the girls behind me propels my head back with a thrust. When she does, I spit straight into Peacock’s face.
She flicks the spit off with her finger, growls. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that. When this is over, you’ll be licking my feet, Swan.”
I take in my surroundings. I’m in a circular stone room filled with Birds, about ten in all. Pigeon, Bluebird, and even Gull—shivering alone in the corner of the room, her nightmares still seeming to haunt her.
All around me, the sweet, sickening smell of incense curls in the air. As though purposely arranged in a sacrificial circle are torches, lit by blazing fire.
Peacock jerks her head to the girls in the corner of the room. “Bring the oil!”
Two girls advance toward me, beaming and pompous. Both carry two large pitchers.
“Dump it on her!” orders Peacock.
The girls oblige without hesitation.
The oil temporarily blinds me, marinating my hair, covering my shoulders. The thick, lazy liquid meanders into even the most forbidden places of my skin, rolling down my breasts, my underwear, between my fingers.
Peacock orders Cardinal to tug my head back so she can shine the torchlight on my face.
“So tiny.” Peacock blows on the fire so it crackles a spark near my face. “Like a little bunting. How can you be the Swan? You’re just a tiny white bunting with big breasts.”
Oil oozes down the sides of my face, and I spit some of it out and force a laugh, “Jealous, peahen?
Peacock glares at me before commanding the other girls. “Light the oil around the circle.”
One of them, Parrot, hesitates. “Maybe we shouldn’t. I mean, maybe she’s had enough. If Owl catches you—”
Peacock marches right up to Parrot. Slaps her hard on the cheek. “Shut your trap and do as you’re told! I’m a High Bird; I can arrange you to have nothing but old men as clients for the next month. Light. The. Oil.”
Shrinking away, Parrot moves to pick up the torch. Feebly, she lowers it to the ground, dipping the torch to the oil.
All at once, the fire rears up, yielding to the oil. It becomes a flaming circle, camping me in, rising to the height of my ankles.
Peacock dumps a little more oil just beyond the edges of the first circle so the fire inches closer to me. “Why don’t you dance for me, Swan? Shake those pretty little feathers.”
I fold my arms across my chest and shake my oil-logged hair, causing sparks to fly when the drops hit the flames.
“Careful now.” Peacock waggles a finger. “Wouldn’t want to get those pretty tail feathers burned, now would we? Where’s all your precious water now?”
“That’s your mistake! I am so much more than water, Peacock. I am fire and ice, water and electricity.”
“Then, go through it,” she dares me.
I laugh. “I’m not afraid of you. But I’m not stupid either.”
All the other girls in the room start to glance at each other, and Peacock seems to realize that she needs to save face, so she pours more oil on the fire.
The flames gnash their teeth at me, only inches away. I can feel their warmth. I imagine for a moment what I would look like when it’s all over. Like a black star exploded and left white cinders in its wake.
“You’re the first one who got a moving exhibit. So, move!” Peacock says. She upends the container of oil, but there are only a couple of drops left.
The fire spreads.
“If the fire doesn’t take you, the comas will. Just like Flamingo. Just like Finch. You don’t deserve to be here. He just scraped you off the street. But I was born here. Just like my mother before me.”
Fire is a fitting death for me, I suppose. Impetuous, passionate, feral.
Before I can even make sense of it all, Nightingale storms into the room, carrying two buckets of something. She dumps them over the fire, white powder raining like ash. All that is left of Peacock’s smoldering circle is smoke and exhaust.
For the first time, I see Peacock shrink before someone else. Nightingale is regal. Other girls scramble toward each other in the wake of her crusading eyes.
She takes Peacock’s hair in her fists, forcing the other Bird to her knees. Tears form in Peacock’s eyes, and she whimpers.
Nightingale narrows her eyes at Peacock. “And while you’ve been wasting everybody’s time here, Finch was dying up there.”
Every single girl in the room, including Peacock, flinches.
I bow my head, heartbroken.
Because all I can think about is the little girl rusted away. And the last callous words I spoke to her.
Nightingale takes me back up the stairs after the rest of the girls have fled. Like terrified chicks, they flittered away at the news of another dead Bird. No wonder Luc didn’t come for me. With his first ever hatchling dead…maybe he even turned off his interface. And Sky wouldn’t have known anything was amiss.
“I’m going to stay with you for now,” Nightingale says as she closes the mirror behind us.
Every inch of me smells like oil. I skid across the floor to turn on the shower as soon as I can, allowing the water to pour over me, even with the dress still on.
“Why did you do it?” I ask Nightingale, who is still in the bathroom.
She pays no attention to me. Her eyes are on her own reflection in the mirror, on the black dress she wears like fleshy sinew on her illustrious curves.
“I remember my first hazing,” she says. “Before you, I was the one who showed the most promise.”
Not once does she turn to look at me. Not even when I peel off the dress, rinse myself, yank the shower handle to the off position, and grab a towel to wipe my body dry.
“People came from miles away just to hear me sing. My exhibit was nothing like yours. Other than you, no one has ever become part of her exhibit.”
Her eyes finally stray to mine in the mirror as I comb through my curls.
“They locked me in the Music Room when Owl was gone. The Music Room is spectacular, especially for someone with a gift like mine. I could see symphonies on the walls, all these ribbons and lights playing again and again. They dance when one sings. Anyway, after they locked me in there, they turned the music to blaring. And then, they turned it up louder. And louder. And…how can a Nightingale sing if she can’t hear?” Nightingale stands up straight, staring dead-eyed into her reflection. “Owl found me there. The next day, I had a brand-new set of eardrums. It was like he resurrected me.”
Nightingale tips her head to me. “Peacock couldn’t get inside your head. Is there anything you’re afraid of, Serenity?”
I narrow my brows. “How do you know my name?”
“You don’t always see me. But I’m there.” Nightingale turns slowly, feet skimming across the floor, which is slippery from oil.
“You’re the one who pushed me down the stairs that first night.”
Nightingale doesn’t deny it. “And you took me with you. Then, you pushed yourself off the same stairs when Finch was going to be whipped.”
With hands clutched at the edges of my towel, I back up against the shower. “Is that why you—”
&n
bsp; “Changed my mind? Yes. It took some time, but yes. I couldn’t hate you anymore, even though I tried. How do you feel?”
“I’m baking,” I sarcastically joke about Peacock’s flames, and I flutter a hand in front of my face.
Suddenly, the two of us are laughing. Real laughter, seasoned with understanding.
“You weren’t afraid of them for a second, were you? Or the fire?”
I shrug. “Don’t tell anyone.” I cup one of my hands by my mouth like I’m telling her a stolen secret. “But my body’s made of more water than normal people. Fire just won’t catch.”
“My voice can’t even compare to what you do in your exhibit, you know,” she says.
Stunned, I am grateful for the hard-won compliment. “Your song. My water. What’s the difference?”
“Mine can be destroyed.” Nightingale faces me, dark eyes bearing down, slaughtering me. “Mine will fade. You may have to find your gift, but you never can and never will lose it.”
“What’s your name?”
Nightingale looks up, a hint of a smile peeking through, but it fades when she glances at the floor. “She doesn’t exist anymore. Just a scared, weak girl growing up in an orphanage who took a job in the Glass District to get away from the constant abuse she was in.” She shrugs and presses her hands together, squares her shoulders. “Turns out, it’s just the same there. But at least I got paid for it. If I was going to get raped anyway, I might as well get some money out of it.”
Paid rape, I reflect. I wonder how many similar stories are out there. Mine is rare. Most girls are not like me. They’re not getting kidnapped and dumped into the Glass District. Like Luc said, I’ve never had the grooming. Most girls do. Girls who feel like they have no other choice. Homeless girls, runaways, girls living from house to house like dominoes slow-falling, girls born in the Glass District and owned before birth…
How many of those same girls ended up here?
Suddenly, there’s a realization that I don’t have one of those stories. And I’m overwhelmed by relief…and guilt.
