The Aviary Page 4

  I want to harm him. When I snap my teeth at one of the hands on my cheek, he’s quicker and seizes my hair, thrusting my head back. “I’ll harness that spirit of yours. Today, I’ll let you taste your worst fears. A visit to the Isolation Room will be an appropriate lesson.”

  He circles my wrists with his hands again, but I don’t stop fighting. I will never stop. My worst weakness is my own physical fragility—a far cry from my spirit. I curse how strong Luc is when he drags me through the exit door. I don’t like the sound of this Isolation Room.

  Luc has no problem controlling me the entire way down the long hall and to an elevator. Only one other person has ever handled me like this, but that was when we were little, and Luc is far different from Sky. The elevator propels us downward. My anxiety increases with each floor.

  Luc reaches out to cup my chin. “Remember, I have other methods of restriction. But after your visit here, I hope they will not be necessary.”

  He loosens his grip on me at the same time the elevator doors open. After shoving me into a pitch-black room, he grins, slow and steady. “I will see you at dinner, Trinity.” The doors begin to slide together. I leap for them, heart in my throat, but my hands only connect with cold metal.

  There’s an electric hum beneath my feet, and the darkness around me lights up with a freckling of stars. Then, as my eyes begin to adjust, I’m able to make out a row of glass cages filled with half-naked girls. Men view them from a glass walkway.

  All at once, I understand the beastly horror that awaits me here…

  The Isolation Room is a virtual-reality fear enhancer.

  5

  The Isolation Room

  An endless row of glass cages displays dozens of girls before the crowd. Once, after I turned thirteen, my father brought me to a Glass District. But the Isolation Room is learning. Its artificial intelligence needles its way into my brain, so it can parade my fears into the open. Desperate, I begin to run, doing my best to prevent myself from thinking, from betraying anything else. But when I raise my head, it’s too late. The glass cage boxes me in like the rest of the girls, a glittery Glass District prisoner wearing nothing but transparent lingerie made from plastic.

  I close my eyes, willing the image away. When I open them again, it’s worse.

  A hall of mirrors in a nightclub.

  The mirrors reflect nothing but the deadened eyes of many girls. Spectral pupils gaze back at me, naked necks arched, mouths ravaging necks, skin starved for touches that will never satisfy. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Jerking away, I stumble until the images around me change and I connect with a moving walkway. A spinning walkway.

  A carousel.

  The Isolation Room dances on the edges of my basest fear, seeming to understand how I see my mother’s face in each girl who is anchored to a carousel pole. They mimic the horses men pay to ride. Music—intoxicating medleys from band organs—bombards my ears as the girls wince from the flicks of riding crops.

  Frozen just like them, I’m lost in a whirlwind of skin painted like porcelain. Men clap their hands from the stands. Others toss clinking coins onto the carousel. A sick ode to showgirls in history. Mouths suck in aroused inhales. No girl can survive like this for long. Mom once told me most of them did drugs just so they could cope. The desperate ones used them to escape the only way they could—by overdosing.

  Finally, total black.

  I don’t remember starting to cry, but I can feel the hot tears on my face. My heart thuds fast as fevered drumbeats. Relief engulfs me until I realize I’ve been fooled.

  Lying on the floor, I raise my head to see a room I don’t recognize. A window appears before me, and I realize I am in the tallest building, peering at the skyline. No other skyscraper dares soar higher than the Temple. I stare at my hands painted white with silver speckles. At my naked skin, my breasts bound by ropes. A diamond-encrusted bridle imprisons my face and neck. A horn planted in the center of my forehead. I am in the Penthouse. Delicate earthquakes erupt in my fingers, causing my hands to tremble as I struggle to my knees just as I hear footsteps behind me.

  No, don’t think. Wish it away. Will it away. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you.

  But his hot breath already feasts on my neck as he leans in to murmur just one word…

  “Unicorn.”

  Air escapes my lungs. In the same moment, light pierces the room, growing brighter and brighter as I try to stand, but my legs are too shaky. Like I’m standing on quicksand. One more moment passes before everything once again turns black.

  6

  F a M i l y B r A t

  “Sky!” I come to, crying for my… I don’t know what one would title him. Closer than a friend—even closer than a brother—he’s always remained the one constant in my life. The one by my side when my parents would leave.

  “Hush now. You’re waking up just fine.” It sounds like something my mother would say, but the voice is not hers.

  The windfall of snowy strands sweeping the woman’s neck is my first anchor to reality. There’s a hint of creaminess to the strands, nothing silvery like mine.

  “Who are you?” I ask. To me, her identity matters.

  “I am a ghost of Birds past, and I am your mentor. My name is Dove.”

  “But you’re…” My words hinge on the edge of insulting her.

  Dove rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Shocking, isn’t it? Time makes fools of us all. And the Immortal Treatment was not invented in my Bird era.”

  Sitting up, I feel silkworm sheets encasing me as I finally start to get my bearings. But my compass is busted, and I don’t know how to get home to Sky. This isn’t a nightmare. The sorrow inside my chest and the ache in my throat are all too real.

  “Director Owl assigned me as your mentor, and I am happy to take on the task. Of course, if you want me to leave—”

  She starts to stand, but I grab her hand. Having another feminine presence in my room comforts me, especially when she appears to be the same age as my mother. “No, please stay.” She’s not as gentle as my mother, but she’s not as guarded, either. Dove acts like she has nothing to hide. No secrets to keep. After a deep breath, I ask her where she came from.

  She helps me get settled. “Some of us are born in this Aviary. For us, it is our home. For others, it is more.” Traces of memory seem to curl into her words.

  She turns to me with pearl-drop eyes, pale as her hair but with a hint of silver I almost don’t catch. “I would rather hear about you. We need to discuss your place here.”

  “There is no place here for me.”

  Dove stands up, then sweeps toward one of the windows. Her white dress falls in layered wisps, plumage-like, to the floor, sliced in thin cuts along the sides to display just a glimpse of skin. Her tone is gentle as she feebly tries to make me understand. “I know you see this place as a prison, but Owl is your protector, not your jailer. I don’t know much about you yet, but judging from your hands and your body, you cannot begin to fathom what scars a place like this can leave on you.”

  Dove smooths her hair to the side, turning around so I can see the jagged black line dirtying the back of her neck. “I received this more than a decade ago from another working Bird. Ostrich’s handiwork. She came at me with a knife.” She releases her hair, but I notice a tattoo on the other side of her neck: a tiny white dove. “Before he was even a director, Owl found me and stitched me up himself. He saved my life. And now, Ostrich and I are both caretakers. Nightingale will be your lethal enemy here.”

  Crossing my arms, I look away, choosing to ignore the name. “It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

  “Can you really be so naïve? If you’d stayed in the Glass District, your modesty, your dignity, your virtue would’ve been ripped from you just like that. A Breakable in no time flat. The Aviary is a dream by comparison.”

  “So, I should be thankful for the Isolation Room?”

  “In order to survive this place, you cannot clin
g so closely to your old self.”

  “It’s the only way I know how to survive.”

  Dove reaches out to touch my cheek, but I reject it. She sighs. “This is your reality now. For most of these girls, this place is the best life has to offer. Some have been groomed for this since birth.”

  As Luc said, I have no grooming.

  I don’t want a new life. I am Serenity. Not some Bird. Not a body to be used. My mother was born inside the Temple, and she lost herself in the Penthouse.

  “You are so different from them,” Dove remarks, angling her head in curiosity. “I was…like you. When Owl asked if I would become your mentor, I said yes because you remind me of how I was long ago. And my daughter…”

  Her daughter.

  “Was she born here?” I ask, but Dove doesn’t explain.

  Her confession surprises me. In these times, the birth rate is low thanks to all the narcotics and chemicals pumped into girls. More miscarriages and stillbirths occur than healthy births.

  Since she doesn’t answer, I pose another question. “How did you survive?”

  “I wised up. I became careful, and I am quiet.”

  “I’ve never been very…quiet.” Or careful, for that matter.

  “Some girls depend on the guards. Some offer them favors in return for protection.”

  My stomach churns at the word favors, but I keep quiet as Dove continues, “It’s not something I’d advise in your case. You will have high-ranking clientele, and certain restrictions will be required to set you apart.”

  I want to bite the pillow. Let the feathers clog up my mouth at the thought of a client.

  “I cannot protect you in this place,” Dove goes on. “And you will need protection.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what you will become. He wants to announce it himself,” she says, answering the question steeping in my mind. “Owl will give you his protection until your first client. Until then, play your right cards when it comes to your competition. From the broken mirror, I can tell you don’t scare easily, but is your body strong enough for this place?”

  It’s a fair question. My will certainly is.

  Dove takes me by the hand, “Come now, I will prepare you for dinner. I want to be your friend if you’ll let me. But if you refuse, other hands will prepare you until you are trained. If I had the chance, I would go back and listen to my mentor, but I didn’t. That night is burned into my memory forever. Those hands…” Her slight shudder tells me that no matter how long ago it was, it’s still fresh in her mind.

  I want to tell her that I’m not afraid of the hands, but the truth is something she can read in my eyes, so I slip out of the bed and stand before her. Despite her speech, I will hold onto my own reality for now. I won’t shed myself like a cicada. Won’t become a ghost to whatever creation Luc deems for me. But I will also go to dinner of my own will. The Isolation Room has cooled the lightning just enough. Tonight, I will stand at Luc’s side and let him name me however he wishes.

  “Serenity.” With my head raised high, I announce, “My name is Serenity.”

  Dove doesn’t respond. She only nods like she understands what I’m doing when I give my true name to her before saying, “We don’t have time to waste.”

  I allow her to lead me to the mirror, then strip out of my clothes just as she asks, but I must take my time—the first time I’ve undressed for anyone. She even gives me a white towel to tuck around myself, though it leaves much of my legs, arms, and upper chest bare. Meanwhile, she taps the mirror a few times until a digital screen appears, but this one is different. It flashes once. A body scanner. In less than a minute, my body is projected on the screen with my designated costume, makeup, and hair for the evening. There are multiple options, but Dove doesn’t ask me if I want to select a different one. Not that I should care… Lips tightening, I square my shoulders. I do not care.

  After seating me in front of the mirrors, Dove paints the skin of my arms in elaborate white feather designs. The paint has no incandescence or gloss, but when she’s finished, she attaches pearls onto random spots on my arms and even my hands. I decide not to look in the mirror yet.

  “We only do this for first introductions—and exhibits, of course.”

  “Why a human? Why not automatic? Like NAILS?” I refer to the abbreviation for the technological invention Neuro Applicator for Individual’s Live Structure. A fancy long name for the upgraded 3D body-art printer. It began as a simple process for painting nails before it was expanded.

  “Temple tech,” Dove clarifies, moving to my neck. “We are equipped with the facial ones, but Owl prefers to maintain a supply of mentors who are practiced in this art to interact with the present Birds.”

  More grooming, I think snidely, because getting used to people touching your body is a requirement.

  “My skill as a painter manifested at an early age.” Dove continues, sliding the brush over my skin. “Everyone has a skill that can be used to satisfy the needs of our clients. My painter’s hands impressed my clients, but I enjoy this more.”

  I wince, trying not to picture her client time, while Dove grows quiet in her work. Despite the paint she applies over my tattoo, the feather still glows through. Again, I feel the overwhelming urge to cup my hand over it, to scratch my nails across it, but the luminescent ink will never come off. The implant beneath it is wired into my nerves.

  Next, Dove brings the dress I am to wear. White, of course. The corset and off-the-shoulder sleeves are made of cobwebby lace. Strung loosely together, it is held by delicate stitches. At my waist, hundreds of white feathers overlay each other into a great skirt that sweeps the floor.

  When I face the three-way mirror, Dove stands behind me to admire her handiwork.

  Tears fill my eyes. Undone by the gown, I raise a pearled hand to my face and to the skin that seems so alien revealed this way. It’s not supposed to be this bare. “I’ve never felt so…”

  “Exposed,” Dove finishes. “I felt that way at first. But I learned to appreciate it. Beauty is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Even if it’s exploited?”

  She cups my shoulders. “Tonight, you are just a girl going to dinner. Put all other thoughts out of your mind. This is your beauty to hold and to own. If you feel beautiful, what else matters?”

  I don’t need all this to know I’m beautiful, but since the Immortal Treatment intensified my hair and softened my skin, these clothes make everything…astonishing. Sky’s always reminded me how dangerous my beauty is in this world, but it’s the first time I’ve seen that come to life. All at once, I feel powerful and vulnerable.

  Peering at Dove in the mirror, I bite down on my lower lip. “I’ve tried to cover myself all my life…”

  She places her hands on my arms. “If it helps, Serenity, consider all the other girls on the outside who would scavenge for just a few of these feathers.” Images from the Glass District play in my mind, and I nod. Every memory of those shriveled girls with their mouths ever silent but eyes screaming like lost banshees warning of District deaths became pieces of the armor I’ve donned for years. Armor that has shrunk from wandering eyes, resisted any advance, restrained any unwanted touch, and refused even the thought of intimacy with a man.

  Somehow, I must reinforce that armor. No chinks allowed.

  I can’t break away from the mirage inside the mirror. “I don’t know who she is.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It is the girl inside who matters. She knows who she wants to be. She can be the one from the past, from the future, or she can be both at the same time.”

  I don’t ask Dove how I can be the last person. Dove still bears her Aviary name. She still uses her skills from her days of working with clients. Has she learned how to blend both lives together? Could she teach me what my mother never mastered? If I carry any of my mother inside me, will I become a ghost to some Bird?

  Dove pins portions of my renegade hair to the back of my skull with pearls. Picking
up a miniature set of white wings, she pins them onto the edge of my head so they accent my silvery, dripping curls until there is more Bird than girl.

  “Who am I?” I ask once she finishes. “I have to know. Am I an egret? Or an albatross?” I close my eyes. Picture the great white flying bird I found in a book once.

  That’s when I realize Dove is gone. My breath battles through the labyrinth of my lungs; his fingers roll across my neck instead. He leans over so his mouth can frost across my curls. So his nose can inhale my scent.

  Luc’s hands depart from my neck, leaving in their wake a silver chain with a silver charm—a white bird, tiny diamond-encrusted eyes with a long, graceful neck. Curved.

  I recognize the bird before the director speaks the words. But his whisper still chills the blood beneath my skin when he addresses me. “You are my Swan.”

  Conflict stirs the water inside me when it comes to Luc. To say I am attracted to him would be a grievous understatement. Something about the way his fingers nibble the skin of my neck and how he speaks, not to mention the way he is dressed. A long-sleeved white shirt with a collar and simple white pants accentuate his becoming facial features all the more. I am drawn to the blue kingdom of his eyes, the dark underworld of his brows, and the ever-present upward curve of his mouth.

  Sometimes, the body wants what the mind does not. Fortunately, my mind is stronger.

  “You are devastating,” he breathes.

  He turns me toward him, touches once again the swan charm at the hollow of my throat, and draws my arm into his. Perhaps I can muster up every part of my strength and push him down the staircase, but between the threat of the Isolation Room and Luc’s tantalizing demeanor, I err on the side of caution. Maybe this fascination stems from him playing the hero; maybe he’s already brainwashing me. I wonder if Director Force ever tantalized my mother.

  Luc leads me through the halls, then down the grand staircase to the ballroom dining hall where the rest of the Birds flutter in yet another massive glass cage. Hawks watch them from behind the great bird-shaped table—security guards, men wearing black eye masks to sequester their identity.