“Mine to give, and certainly not yours to know,” Iris finished.
But her defiance only intrigued Benini further. He stroked his chin. “Feisty. Her contempt is as luxurious as a plundered jewel from her motherland. She has my esteemed approval.”
He tipped his glass and hiccupped. Even while drunk, a patronizing sense of superiority wafted from him like the potent cologne he wore.
“Is he one of your friends?” Iris asked Adam. “From your little club on Pall Mall Street?”
Benini’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh, you’ve told her about Club Uriel? Then that means… Adam, this woman wouldn’t be one of your champions, would she?”
“That’s not yet been determined.” Adam finally managed to push him away.
“Why? Did you ask her?” Benini laughed. “Oh, Adam, ever such a polite, accommodating boy. Even as the newest member of the Committee, you should have known by now that we Enlighteners don’t ask. We take. For example—”
Enlighteners? Iris was busy trying to work out what he’d said when the bell for the next match rang to wild applause. Benini pointed to the young man who had just jumped into the ring to face the dreaded Barber.
“Since you’re here, I gather you’ve heard of him too, haven’t you, Adam?” he said with a gluttonous smile. “We may have to draw straws for this little star.”
That “star” was fit, but still far too lean to be a match for the seven-foot steel giant that stood before him. His bare chest, a light, gold-hued brown, was impeccably carved, though scarred, his tight trousers revealing a shaped physique to match his round features—eyes and nose—that gave him the distinct character of a newborn pup. His brown hair curled over his forehead, covering half his ears. But it was his reckless, lopsided grin in the face of certain defeat that seemed to draw swoons from the crowd among the shouts for blood.
“Now entering the ring, the young, the mischievous, your favorite cocky lad hailing all the way from El Salvador, Jiffy the Blink!”
The young man basked in the crowd’s roars, pumping his fists in the air for a little too long. While he was showboating, the Barber landed his first punch right in his stomach.
Iris’s hands flew to her mouth as “Jiffy” was launched back and hit the solid stone ground.
“Whoops?” He sat up with a wince and shook the dust out of his curly hair. Once he was back on his feet, he pumped his fists in the air again, egging on the crowd.
“A bit theatrical, isn’t he? That rascal.” Benini sipped his wine. “He’d make a great addition to my team.”
“He’d need someone to rein in his more reckless impulses, not encourage them,” Adam answered him before giving Iris a sidelong look. “Besides, I found him first.”
What are they talking about? Iris thought incredulously just as the crowd erupted again. The Barber had landed quite the combination on Jiffy. Two more punches to the stomach, one to the chest. Soon the young man was lying flat on his back inches away from where Iris stood, coughing out blood, yet laughing as if suddenly delighted by the rats scurrying across the rafters.
“Hold on,” said Jiffy the Blink. “Now, hold on just a bloody minute!”
For one second, it was a silent Adam who’d caught his gaze. And held it. But then he saw Iris. He saw her and stood up immediately. Overcome with an odd sort of youthful bliss, he stumbled to his feet and approached the barrier separating the two of them. Iris would have taken a step back, but there were too many people behind her.
“You,” he said to her, amazed. “You’re lovelier than I could have ever imagined.” He flashed a helpless, dreamlike grin. “Marry me.”
“What?”
A punch from the Barber had his blood spattering in the air and his body slamming against the wall so savagely that this time Iris did jump back, much to the dismay of the man behind her.
After spitting out his blood, Jiffy continued as if he hadn’t just been nearly knocked senseless, “Or I could take you out to dinner tonight? No, tomorrow night! How about it? You’re not the tavern type of girl, are you? You don’t look—”
Another punch. The crowd collectively gasped as Jiffy stumbled back.
“Wait, hold on—” Jiffy wiped his bloody mouth and lifted up a finger. “Just a second.”
“What in the…” Iris was baffled as the Barber approached Jiffy, towering over the young man standing in front of him, his Goliath-like feet shaking the ground with each heavy step.
But the real surprise came when she blinked.
And suddenly the Barber was stumbling from a punch Jiffy had given him right between his shoulder blades.
Wait.
Jiffy was now behind him?
“How…?” Iris couldn’t remember seeing him move.
Adam nudged Iris and flicked his head toward the young man now bouncing on his feet. “And now, my dear Iris,” Adam said, rubbing his chin with a finger, “now begins the show.”
Jiffy the Blink lived up to his name. The excitable young man, now seemingly tired of letting himself be brutalized, landed punch after punch, except neither the Barber nor Iris could see where those punches were coming from. He zipped around the man so fast he seemed to disappear and reappear at will.
“Disappear…,” Iris whispered as a dangerous thought entered her mind.
“His real name is Maximo Morales,” said Adam. “To my knowledge, he’s been fighting in this establishment for one year trying to earn money. Do you know what’s made him successful?” Adam pointed at the young man. “Watch him carefully.”
Iris did. At the Barber’s next punch, though Maximo had his back to him, he managed to suddenly catch the man’s forearm with both hands. The force pushed the younger man back, rubble flying every which way from beneath his sliding shoes. He was relying on more than just his agility and prowess.
“He’s not disappearing,” Iris said slowly. “Is he?”
“No.” Adam folded his arms. “It’s not space he’s bending.” He looked at her. “But time.”
“Time…” Once Iris stretched herself beyond the limits of her own imagination—an imagination that thus far could view only herself as the center of the supernatural—it was a concept she could accept. If he were really vanishing, then he wouldn’t have been able to anticipate the Barber’s moves so perfectly. He was watching them as if, for him, they were happening in slow motion.
“Many here believe he’s simply light on his feet,” said Benini, swirling his drink.
“I suppose that’s why they call him ‘Jiffy,’ ” Adam answered, smirking at the name.
“Let me see if I can get a better view. Adam, my boy.” Benini slapped him hard on the shoulder. And to Iris: “Until next time, my lady.”
With a slight bow of his head, he disappeared among the crowd.
“He’s slowing down time,” Iris whispered, her eyes still on the fighter.
“Not time itself, I imagine,” Adam said. “Certainly not his own, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to move as such.”
Iris understood. “He’s slowing down our time? Or rather, our sense of time?” Her hand trembled upon her chest. “He can do that?”
“I wanted you to see this with your own eyes, Iris.” Adam watched the fight move along at the pace Jiffy dictated. “I wanted you to see that you’re not alone.”
What were they? A different class of humanity? Or were they human at all? Iris so desperately wanted to speak to this boy. She wanted to ask him what he knew about people like them… the Fanciful Freaks, according to that penny blood. It didn’t matter what they were called. What mattered was that Iris’s world was slowly opening to wonders beyond herself.
“But why is he being so reckless?” So flagrantly flaunting his power in front of so many people. The mere idea of revealing her ability to others had always terrified her.
“Why not be reckless?” Adam faced her. “If you could use such a power, why wouldn’t you?” Passion smoldered behind his eyes, turning him a little reckless himself. He too
k her hand and drew it away from her chest, holding it instead against his. “You have wondrous gifts too, Iris. What I hope for, dearly, is that you’ll use them to the fullest.”
Recklessness sounded enticing. But as Jiffy walloped the Barber, she noticed that his movements had begun slowing down, his breaths becoming more labored with each punch. Just what was he doing to himself? Iris marveled at the revelation of this young man. Just one more piece to a greater mystery. There was still so much she didn’t understand.
But Adam did.
“That second task you wanted from me,” she started without being able to take her gaze off the ring. “What is it?”
Adam shut his eyes as if to prepare himself. “Before I tell you, let me give you a bit of information as a sign of the trust I hope you’ll come to have in me,” he said. “A crucial key to your past can be found at the British Museum.”
A key to her past? Iris whipped around. “Is that really true?”
“I’ve already arranged for the British Museum to be opened for you past its scheduled hours. One of my… assistants will be there to let you inside. If you choose to go, you must meet him in the courtyard of the museum after nightfall. The anthropological collection for the Department of Africa, Oceania and the Americas is where you’ll find what you’re looking for. And Iris,” he said with a sudden tenderness that made her heart skip, “I need to warn you. What you see there might shock you. It might even hurt you.”
Iris noticed his worry. Genuine worry. For her. Just what would she find there?
“And yet, without going, without seeing the truth with your own eyes, you’ll never be able to understand yourself. That is what I want for you. I hope after you go, you’ll open yourself up to me a little…” He drew her closer. “And then I will reveal the second task I must ask of you.”
She was close enough to him now that she could feel his breath caressing her face. Iris swallowed, steadying the quickened pace of her heart, and pulled away and turned from him. That was when she saw that the man with the drooping jowls was still watching her. Only this time, he wasn’t alone. Two much taller men in green bowlers stood next to him, smoking cigars with their arms folded, taking turns jerking their heads toward her.
Iris recognized them. She’d once seen them in Coolie’s trailer in Manchester discussing his debts. These had to be the men demanding his money or his fingers.
Or something else he could offer instead?
With curt nods to each other, they began pressing forward. Iris gasped, her chest aching from the influx of panic.
“They’re here.” Iris gulped in terrified breaths.
“They?” Adam raised his eyebrows.
“Coolie’s debt collectors. They’re after me!” She grabbed his jacket. “Did they follow us? Did they follow you?”
Adam’s expression turned dark. “I assure you, I made certain we wouldn’t be.”
Iris wasn’t convinced. “Was this a trap all along?”
But Adam’s surprise and anger were real. He looked over her shoulder to find the threat, but Iris didn’t have time to formulate any kind of plan. She could see the tops of their colorful hats moving fast through the thick crowd, too thick for her to make a clean getaway.
Iris wasn’t about to allow herself to be captured by the likes of them. And so she decided on the only plan of action she could think of in her state of panic.
Hiking her skirt up, she considered taking out Adam’s revolver, but there were too many people in her way and no guarantee she would get a clear shot without hurting a bystander. So instead, she jumped onto the ledge of the wall and leaped into the ring.
Had she not been in such a heavy dress, she would have landed cleanly. Instead, she landed facedown in the dirt. Gasps from the crowd. The fighters abruptly stopped. She lifted her head and smirked. Ever the performer. All eyes were on her.
“Get outta the ring, wench!”
“Who’s that? Where’d she come from?”
She was too good of a performer to be used to the sound of a crowd booing her. A little irked, she clumsily dragged her skirt up and stumbled to her feet, looking up just in time to see the Barber launching his bloody knuckles at her, his fist aimed squarely for her head.
Her scream didn’t have the chance to leave her throat before Jiffy, who’d been several feet behind him, caught his arm in a flash and shoved him away with all his strength. The crowd went wild. This was certainly the entertainment they’d paid for.
“Fifty on the African!”
“Put me down for forty-five!”
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Jiffy grabbed both her shoulders tightly with his bruised hands. For the first time since Iris had laid eyes on him, he looked deathly serious. “What are you doing in here? Are you insane? It’s dangerous!”
“Help me,” Iris said as she tried to catch her breath from the shock. “They’re after me!”
Jiffy—no, his name was Maximo—searched the vicious crowd in the smoke-filled din. “Who’s after you?” he asked, watching the Barber from the corner of his eye. “Oi, I said who?”
A scream pierced the air, and soon many others followed. The crowd scattered, cigars falling from lips, beer bottles shattering on the ground. The man with the sagging jowls had just exploded with a burst of electrical current, his clothes reduced to ash while his bare body remained unharmed. Iris watched the ensuing chaos unfold in horror as the realization of who he was dawned on her: the Exploding Man.
The two men had already jumped into the ring. One tried to leap on her, but Iris ducked his swing, kicking him back against the wall. Maximo’s rough grip yanked her behind him as he gave the other man a swift uppercut that knocked the green hat clear off his head.
“Who the hell are they?” Maximo shouted, stretching out his arm to guard her.
“The bookies who my former boss at the circus owed money to, and now I think they’re after me as his payment instead,” Iris answered plainly from behind him.
“Oh.” Maximo nodded with a shrug. “Okay, then.”
But the Barber was not at all impressed. “You lot are gettin’ in the way of my pay!” After hitting the wall behind him with his fist, he growled and launched forward at the very same moment one of Coolie’s bookies drew a gun from underneath his vest and aimed it at Maximo. All the while, the Exploding Man drew near. This was not good.
Maximo turned to her. “Remember to breathe,” he said quickly, his brown eyes sparkling with both urgency and a hint of mischief.
“Wha—”
Iris blinked, her breath hitched, and suddenly she was in Maximo’s arms. He carried her like a princess over the threshold, except this dark and dingy castle quaked in utter pandemonium. They were now by the betting board, overturned and long since abandoned.
“Mr. Morales…” Iris scrutinized his tired body. “Are you okay?”
Maximo was breathing heavily, sweat dripping off his dark brow. “Me? Oh, I’m fine,” he answered with as much cheer as he could muster. He seemed to enjoy carrying her, even in his present state. “It’s fine, just a bit tired. It’s Max, by the way. Oh, and don’t worry, I’m not breathing heavy like this because you’re heavy. Well, your dress is a little—”
“Watch out!” Iris cried, pointing behind him as a group of terrified gamblers barreled toward them, caring nothing about their safety.
“Breathe,” Max reminded her, and in another blink, they were up the second flight of stairs. When Iris noticed that Max’s legs were shaking, she knew her earlier hypothesis was right. He wasn’t disappearing, he was moving, just on a different temporal plane. But it was taking its toll on him. Iris hadn’t the time to tell him to stop before they were already at the door, then, with one more blink, outside.
Max dropped Iris and collapsed in the alleyway, clutching his heart.
“You still with me?” Iris lifted him up into a sitting position.
“I’m fine, Iris.”
A second passed. Max’s exhausted smile sudd
enly disappeared.
“How did you know my name?” Iris asked slowly.
The question caught him off guard, or at least she thought it had for a split second. “Heard you and that fellow talking,” Max answered with a cheerful grin so innocent it disarmed her immediately, much to her dismay. She wasn’t sure how it was possible he’d heard her and Adam speak in that noisy dungeon. But who knew? Many things that felt impossible were seemingly possible these days, like the power Max had used to do so much for her when he didn’t have to.
He shrugged, his ridiculous grin still on his face. “So… you want to escape?”
Indeed, his power had enabled them to beat the crowds now fighting for space up the narrow, rickety stairs. They still had a chance.
“I know a place,” Iris said.
“I know several. But I’ll let you lead. I’m not in any shape to.” He looked at her, his expression sparkling with admiration. “And you seem like the leading type.”
Iris fought back her rising blush and helped Max toward the cobbled street. That is, until a horse-driven cart filled with hay pulled up in front of them, blocking their path to the street. The driver jumped off, wasting no time pulling out his gun.
This time Max couldn’t protect her. Iris shouted in pain as the bullet went through her shoulder. She dropped to the ground, taking Max with her. The man who’d shot her was young, or maybe it was just his arrogance that had given him that energy. Tall and very thin with a shaved brown head and a jaundiced pallor that matched his crooked teeth. Raising his navy newsboy cap up to get a better look at the two of them, he twirled the gun in his hands.
“Coolie said you wouldn’t die even if I shot you in the head,” he said. “What do you say, should we test that theory, lady? Oh, and by the way, Maxey boy: Jacob and Hawkins say hi.”
Max lifted his head just as the pandemonium from the club grew louder. “B-Bately?”
“Whoops, no time.” Bately must have heard the crowd too. He put his gun away.
But Iris wasn’t finished. She could feel the bullet moving back through the flesh it’d just pierced, trying to find its way out of her body. With a shaky hand, she reached for Adam’s revolver still hidden in her skirt.
The Bones of Ruin Page 11