The Aviary

by Emily Shore

  “I did everything you told me to, Mummy.”

  Slack-jawed, I gape.

  Dove’s perceptive eyes gobble up my surprised expression, and I realize she’s come to recognize all of them. All this time, she’s spent so much time learning who I am.

  “The serpent…” I start. “But you said your daughter—”

  “The best lies are hidden in the truth,” Dove says, running her fingers through Mockingbird’s hair. “There was a serpent, and he did want to bite my daughter, but I ripped out his fangs before he could.

  “Remember how I told you I was close to becoming the Swan? There were others before Luc who searched for you. The search for the Swan was passed down from generation to generation by Aviary directors. Mockingbird was hatched here. And when she was born, I resolved she would become the true Swan, even though the Temple wanted her. They were going to take her from me.” She gazes down at Mockingbird, settling a hand on her daughter’s head.

  “But you killed the Temple man,” Mockingbird says with pride in her voice. “You took your two hands and squeezed all the life out of his—”

  “Yes, dear, Mummy’s talking now,” Dove murmurs before continuing. “I set fire to his car, making it appear the baby was destroyed with him. Then, I left Mockingbird right on Luc’s doorstep. Well…” She pauses with a smile, tucking a few strands of Mockingbird’s hair behind her ear. “I left her on the doorstep of his house, as it was then. His lakeside retreat. He was only a boy, but you should’ve seen the first time he held her. He treasured her so. He kissed her. And I knew I would always be able to watch over my little Mock. Now, she’ll finally have the chance to spread her wings.”

  I grimace at the two of them. “She’s already spread them. Several times.”

  “Do you know how many clients Mockingbird has had?” Dove steps toward me, her voice laced with sweetness. “She has what we call repeat clients. Her numbers are few, so what are a few poisoned clients who can’t testify?”

  Mockingbird raises her hands. Flicks them in the air. “Magic hands. Right, Mummy?”

  “Yes, love. Magic hands. The clients won’t even feel the effects of the poison until they are outside Aviary borders. And client records are so easy to disappear.

  “Can you imagine what I felt? When Luc gave Mockingbird her name when she turned sixteen?” Malice spears Dove’s eyes, and I now understand the abhorrence she feels toward him. “After all those years I spent trying to persuade him that she was the Swan without telling him the truth about us? I tried so hard, Serenity. But he never saw her. Tell me…did he ever show you the needle marks on his skin?”

  I stand up then, remembering how he’d said it was the worst thing he’d ever done.

  “I was a healer before this,” Dove says. “And I wanted him to die slow. I wanted him to feel the pain I felt seeing my daughter every day without being able to hold her or reach out to touch her.” Dove frames the sides of Mockingbird’s face. “We had to pretend all the time. I had to pretend my daughter was not my own. If Luc ever found out she was mine, there would’ve been no chance for her to become the Swan.

  “I tried to give him an overdose a few times during his visits, but he’d built up such a high tolerance for Bliss that it never took. I think it helped numb his pain after every kill. But when I saw my Mockingbird visit him in the infirmary for the first time, and I saw the way she coveted him, I knew I couldn’t let him die. So I stopped injecting him, and he recovered. The drug left his body. He returned with Nightingale later, and was appointed director.”

  “You underestimate him,” I tell her, remembering the sound of Luc’s gun burrowing bullets into bone and burning graphicker flesh and blood.

  “Luc is sweet,” Dove coos. “He’s always watched over his Birds. But when he found his Swan, he got a little too distracted. Soon, he’ll have one less Bird to watch.”

  I take an active stance, ready to fight or run. “Why, Mockingbird? By tomorrow, I’ll be in the Temple.”

  Dove cuts her eyes at her daughter, opening her hand. “Give me the knife, Mockingbird. It’s time.”

  I roll back on my heels, prepared to run. “What’s the point of this, Dove? Luc knows who Mockingbird is. He’ll never make her the Swan, not even if I’m dead.”

  “Don’t you see?” Dove inches toward me. “Your death will be the culmination. Your death will destroy him. He will be an empty shell without you. And who do you think will comfort him?” Her smile is affectionate when she beams back at her daughter.

  Mockingbird grins, licking her lips as she watches her mother come toward me.

  “Of course, he won’t realize it. Bliss is so versatile. So simple to prepare in food or tea. He hasn’t ingested any in such a long time. I will dress her up. I will prepare her just as I’ve prepared you. Why do you think I requested you? It was a safe way to monitor you—to learn more about you. The viper I painted on your back was the signal to Mockingbird that all was going according to plan. And that plan is turning her into the Swan. In his grief, he’ll imagine it’s you. And it will be just what I need to blackmail him. Luc’s ultimate rule will be broken, and when the Family finds out he’s using again, his control will be lost.”

  Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest. “He won’t grieve me, Dove. I’m just another Bird. An investment. You just dressed me prettier than most. In the end, it was still just a game. He played his part, and I played mine. I’m just a piece, and he played me to the Temple.”

  Tilting her neck back, Dove laughs. I could reach out and touch her laughter. It’s a tangible thing.

  “Silly, silly, silly girl!” Dove focuses on me once again. “The Temple did not win your auction. Luc did.”

  I feel my chest seize. “What are you talking about?”

  Dove advances toward me again. This time, she roams the area around my body, her words chirruping into my skin. “The Temple was no match for what Luc did. Do you know what that foolish man did? He auctioned off the Aviary.”

  The words could pitch my body to the ground. That means he chose my freedom. Not my parents.

  “Unbeknownst to his father, Luc has invested his personal funds into Aviary stock. He owned the majority of shares without his father’s knowledge. And he auctioned every single one off—for you. Congratulations, Serenity. Luc owns you. Pity he won’t get a chance to tell you himself.”

  Dove faces me, raising the knife. “And Director Force now owns the Aviary. He may keep Luc as director or replace him. Even if that occurs, Luc’s last recommendation will hold weight. There will be a new Swan—my little Mockingbird.”

  Before she can bring the knife down, Mockingbird interrupts.

  “Mummy?”

  Annoyance flashing across her face, Dove turns toward her daughter. “Mummy’s trying to kill the one last thing that stands in your way.

  “Did he really give up the Aviary for her?”

  “Yes, Mockingbird.” She turns back to me, aiming her words. “The auction was a very private affair. All the girls were supposed to be on lockdown. But Mockingbird is not the only one who can spill secrets. I arranged for the auction to have an audience…well, its result to have an audience. Amazing how violent those girls can be when they hear the Temple now controls the Aviary. So much more competitive. But there will be one less Bird to worry about soon.”

  32

  S e r e N i t y’s S t O r y

  “Mummy?”

  Mockingbird interrupts one more time, stepping forward to join her mother’s side while I scrutinize them for a gap. With the lake on my left, there’s only one way I can escape. I’ll have to jump over Gull’s body to do it.

  “I’m never going to be the Swan,” Mockingbird says in a pouty whine.

  “I’m giving you the Swan right now,” Dove retorts in a sharp voice.

  “But I won’t be his Swan. I’ll never be his Swan.”

  Dove appraises her daughter. “Give him time. He’ll have no choice. His Swan will be dead. And you will go to
him tonight.”

  I may be small, but there’s enough wildness in my body for me to barrel into Mockingbird, smash her to the ground, and leap over her and back onto the path.

  “You can’t fly from me, Serenity!” Dove’s voice echoes behind me, but I scramble over the bridge, past the waterfall.

  Sky is nowhere nearby. For a moment, I’m glad. But I won’t leave him behind. I head for the museum. Reaching the closest entrance, I find it bolted tight. The security system must be back online. The only person who can secure or override the system in an emergency is Luc.

  I have to push thoughts of him aside. He and Sky can’t help me now.

  Only the present matters, and Dove’s soothing, murderous voice skewers the air behind me as I press my body against the wall, scuttling into the shadows.

  The glass sculpture garden is my nearest hope. I flee to it, remembering the glass Sky and I broke together. It’s the closest thing to a weapon I have, and the darkness ravages the garden, lights all turned off due to the lockdown. Dove knows these paths better than me, so it doesn’t take her long to catch up, but I slide behind a nearby statue framed by bushes to avoid her notice.

  “Serenity,” she pants, then catches her breath before speaking my name one more time. “You gave me your name first; do you remember?”

  She sways around the glass sculptures, checking each one, scanning the darkness for me. I manage to duck behind a few different birdlike sculptures, their glass wings shading me.

  “You can’t hide from me. Come out, child.”

  My feet brush some pebbles. Dove spins around at the sound, but I throw my body against a wide tree, hoping she doesn’t see me.

  “If you come out now, I’ll make it quick. I’ve waited too many years for this. You never belonged to this life. You never belonged to this world. Just like you told Gull—your land is an island no one can ever sail to.”

  Dove strays around the shape of one more glass sculpture. She’s close enough, but still a good few steps away. Hiding like this won’t work for much longer. Nor will running. My best hope is to take her by surprise.

  I pray she won’t turn around right before I barrel into her.

  Dove twirls, but too late. My terror makes me fast, and my petite body is quiet and light, but it’s enough to knock her to the ground.

  She doesn’t drop the knife, but she doesn’t have to. From the sound of her scream, I know my plan has worked. I just don’t realize how well until I spring back into a crouch, waiting for Dove to flick her knife up again, but she doesn’t move.

  She coughs a wet cough. When I hear the clatter of the knife, I kneel to examine her. Blood drips down one side of her arm like a ribbon. Drops glitter on cut glass and pavement, and she chokes.

  “Out of my way!” Mockingbird screeches. She hurls me aside, so she can stare into her mother’s eyes. “Mum? Mummy!” She reaches her just in time to see Dove draw her final breath.

  Dove dies smiling at the daughter she could always watch but never know.

  Mockingbird screams. Shrill and agonizing, like a banshee.

  “I didn’t mean to kill her, Mockingbird. I’m sorry,” I say honestly. I’d only meant to incapacitate her.

  Mockingbird doesn’t even spare me a glance before she grabs a large shard of glass, tainted by her mother’s blood. She turns on her heel, sweeping around with the shard’s keen end pointed at me. Better than any blade, its frosted edge is a smile ready to slaughter.

  She lunges at me. Evading her for one moment, I jerk to the side, but Mockingbird wasn’t lying. Her hands are magic, and they vault across my skin so quickly I can’t even hope to blink.

  I wince, grabbing for my shoulder where she cut it. Beneath the torn sleeve of my white dress, there is a tiny line of blood soiling it, redder than a wine puddle.

  Mockingbird pauses to admire her work, canting her head to the side before she grins and snaps toward me again, the shard aimed lower this time. I double over from the pain, raising my hand to cradle the bloodied stripe on my chest. It’s deep.

  I can feel blood pooling in my fingers.

  Mockingbird swings her body around in a circle, her laughter riotous in the air.

  She clutches the shard in two hands as she dances to her own song. “I always wanted to see a Swan bleed, see a Swan bleed, see a—”

  On her next twirl, I lunge for her shoulders, forcing her to the ground, trying desperately to pin her arms, but they are moving too fast. The shard cuts me again.

  Pain slices through me, and I grab my side until the tips of my fingers drown in my blood.

  First, all I can see is the dark sky above me. And then, nothing but Mockingbird’s face, the twist of broken feathers that is her smile, her words pecking at me, and the slow hum of the shard sailing just above my chest where my heart beats.

  “See a Swan heart,” Mockingbird whispers in my ear.

  “Mockingbird!”

  The voice startles us both, but Mockingbird drops the glass shard and flutters away into the darkness. It’s not the voice I want.

  Luc leans over. Cups my face. Heartache steeps his expression, but I know better than to be duped by it. He’s manipulated me ever since the moment I first laid eyes on him. Just as he slides his arms underneath my body to raise me, I reach for the shard of glass, get my fingers around it. He doesn’t see. Only draws me closer.

  Without hesitating for a moment, I aim for Luc’s chest and slice. Shocked by my action, he leaps back. Adrenaline pumps through me as I slice again, but I’m having trouble focusing. My eyes turn bleary. I blink a couple of times, more surprised to find Luc not fighting back. He doesn’t thwart my attempts whatsoever. Just stands there, one hand clutching his chest, with the other held up in a pleading attempt to prevent me from attacking him farther.

  Not to be unsettled by this new and most likely desperate ploy, I raise the shard again, gripping it so tightly I feel the edges cutting into my skin. “Let me go!”

  “Serenity, please listen to me.”

  “You lied to me! You gave me your word!” I thrust the shard at him, and he steps back. Something wet oozes down the front of my chest. Losing blood from Mockingbird’s claws. I start tripping over my words, blinking again as my vision dims. “Supposed to free my parents. My mother—”

  Holding up his hands, he steps forward. “Your freedom is more important!”

  I lunge, slashing at his arm, gratified by the fabric ripping his keen suit and the thin line of blood there. “Move! Take me to the gate!”

  “Security’s branching out from the back of the Aviary.”

  “Then, we’ll go out the front. We’ll take the shortcut through the garden path to the main gate.”

  Luc opens his mouth to speak, but I interrupt him.

  “Now!”

  He obeys, and I follow his steps, keeping my eyes on the ground because anything else will turn my vision into spinning tops. While pressing a hand against my chest to stem the blood there, I can’t help the smug smile from teasing the corners of my mouth. I’m walking right out the front door. Part of me wonders if this is what it feels like to be drunk. As we cross the garden bridge, I sway a little, almost pitching forward. Only one thing doesn’t change—the glass in my hand. The pain stinging my palm there keeps me going. That and the adrenaline.

  After about a half mile past Luc’s bathhouse and through a gap in the trees, I can see the main gate. Not even the sight of the laser barriers will deter me now. In spite of my body’s protests, craving just one moment of rest, I grab the back of Luc’s jacket and pull him closer, then press the glass weapon into the base of his spine.

  “Open it.”

  The moments I wait for him to connect to his interface are excruciating. The blood on my chest has slowed but not stopped, and the white dress blushes from the fluid staining it. After another moment or two, the gate finally splits apart like bird wings spreading, waiting for me to fly from this coop.

  I march right past Luc and the gate without
a care in the world. No more plans. No more plots. No more waiting. I’m ready to leave the Aviary even if it means I fall to my knees once I’m outside. It’s no surprise to feel Luc’s familiar body heat just behind me when I do, but I barely notice when I hear the rumble of a vehicle behind us. It doesn’t slow, the spotlights flooding us. Glancing back, I shield my face from the beams just as the limo careens to a halt right in front of us.

  Out of the car swoops the one man I will always trust in this life or any other.

  “Care for a lift?” Sky motions to the limo until he realizes what’s going on, then he practically leaps for me. “Serenity, what—”

  “Later,” Luc interrupts. “Get her into the car.”

  Immediately, Sky sets to work. Putting pressure on my wounds, easing me onto the luxury leather, and then searching around for something.

  All my adrenaline is depleted now. Pain slams into me. Some star is exploding, dying in my skin, leaving branding meteors in its wake. I can feel the gash, the mutilated skin. It feels like I’ve lost a river of blood.

  “What the hell happened?” Nightingale’s voice echoes somewhere across from me. “Will she be okay?”

  “You stole Force’s limo.” Luc sounds shocked, but almost approving.

  “Hacked it, yes. Daddy is furious. Overheard him planning to take her by force. Figured nabbing his transportation would be a good idea. Get this thing moving, Luc.”

  Something registers in my mind. A name I can’t quite pinpoint. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name. He’s just the Vampire. He takes blood. And I’ve lost too much already.

  “Guys, I think she’s slipping into unconsciousness,” Nightingale warns. “You have to keep her awake!”

  Sky slaps at my face, a staccato rhythm in his fingers. Then he grabs hold of my neck to keep my head from rolling. “Ser, Ser, look at me!” He demands my attention, but I don’t have the energy to give it.

  Luc’s hand replaces his on my chest. I want to blush, but I doubt I have enough blood to rush to my cheeks.