“How did you understand them if you—” she started, and then she remembered that day, the strange brush of Jacob’s thumb against Hawkins’s throat before he Slid her into the bathroom. That’s right. Jacob could make people understand any language. Which meant they had planned to eavesdrop all along… all without telling her.
“Please believe me, none of this matters,” Iris said, pushing past Jinn, pleading her case. “I’m me! My mind, my body, my soul, my will. It’s mine. Please believe me! I don’t want to kill anyone!”
“But… but you already have,” Jacob reminded her quietly. He sounded hollow. Lost.
“Tell me it isn’t true, Iris!” Cherice said, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. She stepped forward, but Hawkins pulled her back protectively. He was protecting Cherice from her. “Come on, just… This is all a joke, right? Right?”
Iris’s lips snapped shut. She looked to Rin, but the girl said nothing. In any case, the sight of her only reminded Iris that she’d been a murderer long before the Crystal Palace.
But five years of experiments and decades of dormancy had taken her memories from her. She wasn’t the same person. She was Iris. She was who she was. Wasn’t that enough?
But then, who was to say she wouldn’t turn and begin her massacres anew? Who was to say she wouldn’t find a reason, like that day Anne died at Gorton Zoo?
None of them were safe. They knew it too. Whatever denial existed between them had evaporated, leaving nothing but the cold hard truth. Those among the Fanciful Freaks who once looked at her with smiles and laughter now saw her as the enemy. Iris knew right then and there.
The final round would still be a fight to the death.
And since she couldn’t die…
“Look, none of our hands are exactly clean,” Bately said as he waved the one he still had. “There are a few murderers among our lot, I presume. But as for me, my personal philosophy’s rather clear: survive by any means necessary. Ask them.” He flicked his head toward Hawkins, who sent him a withering look, but said nothing. “They’re well aware of how far I’ll go to keep living. So, uh, do me a favor, won’t you?” He pulled a gun out from the back of his britches. “Walk a bit forward, will you, love? It’ll make it a lot easier to shoot you.”
His voice echoed throughout her body. Her mind felt blown with a sudden case of vertigo, but it passed quickly, and soon her lips stretched into a wide, willing grin.
“But of course, Mr. Bately,” she said, and walked forward as he’d commanded.
“Bately!” Jacob cried.
“You bloody bastard, wait!” Cherice growled.
A bang. The first bullet pierced her left thigh. She cried out in pain, and yet somehow she had to keep going. She knew it was Bately’s silver tongue compelling her. She tried to shake off his influence, but she happily limped along, waiting for another bullet to burst through her flesh.
It was Rin who saved her from further pain, taking her sword of white crystal out from her chest. Flipping it around with expert grace, she stabbed Bately through his rib cage. Blood gushed from his open mouth as he gaped in shock. There was no pity from the other contestants. But Iris could see the same determination to live in their eyes. Whether they believed in her words or not, there was only one way to ensure their own safety.
“Damn it.” Cherice wiped away her tears. “Damn it all to bloody hell! I don’t want to do this, Iris, but I also don’t want to die!” Her cards flew toward Iris, sharp as knives, and Henry dashed forward, rolling two of his marbles on the ground. Iris dove to the ground to avoid Cherice’s attack, sliding back when she noticed Henry’s marbles sparking like firecrackers. By the time they finally exploded, Iris had jumped out of the way, but the force propelled her forward. She landed hard on the ground with a shuddering gasp.
Fire burst from Jinn’s mouth as Hawkins dashed out through the smoke from Henry’s blast, coming straight for her.
“Sorry, Iris. This isn’t personal,” said Hawkins as he ran.
And yet it felt so very personal. She remembered the way they’d laughed together as they dressed Jinn and Max for their infiltration mission.
Just as she blinked away the tears threatening her focus, he stopped in front of her. “After Chadwick died, I made a promise that I would always protect those I love, no matter the cost.” He grabbed her. “And no matter the foe.”
Iris was frozen, looking at the apology written across his delicate, rosy face.
“Iris!” Jinn cried, noticing too late what Hawkins was doing. As Jinn began dashing toward her, as Hawkins’s black hole opened behind her, Iris sucked in a breath.
And blinked.
“Max!” she cried, having been pushed to the side by the teammate who’d just appeared in front of her. “Max!” she cried again, louder, when she saw him.
Because when Hawkins had moved to shove Iris into the black hole, he’d shoved Max in her place. Hawkins grabbed at Max to try to stop him from falling, but he lost his balance and tumbled toward that hole with him. To where, Iris couldn’t fathom. But Hawkins had planned to get rid of her forever. That much was clear.
“Iris.” As Max fell, he gave her one last smile. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
And they disappeared into the black void.
“Max!” Iris screeched, only for Jacob’s and Cherice’s screams to join hers.
“Hawkins!” Jacob was beside himself. “Max!” He dropped to his knees, holding his hair. “Oh God, oh God, what have we done?”
Cherice was still wailing, and soon the little thief’s cards were targeting Iris again. Jinn’s fire burned some to a crisp, and Rin’s sword cut down the rest that Iris couldn’t dodge. Iris hadn’t even seen the girl running forward.
“Give him back!” Cherice shrieked, her eyes wide with horror. “Give Max back!”
“Isoke!” Rin cried. “Come!”
“Why?” Iris rasped as her body went nearly limp. “What does it matter anymore?”
Without warning, Rin slapped her out of her stupor. “It matters,” she said. “To me.”
Rin took her wrist as Jinn sprayed the room with more fire, blocking the others from following as the three escaped Cerberus. Up a long, winding stretch of wooden stairs to the lobby, then out of the club, where they found themselves in the courtyard. She remembered once upon a time when she’d had her first real conversation with Rin here, the hardened warrior letting down her defenses to show the kind girl underneath. Iris silently thanked her. But their battle was not over. An ax flew at Iris’s head and was blocked by Rin’s sword.
Jacques. “Are you the coming devil meant to end all mankind?” The rosary dangled in his left hand, the crucifix bobbing up and down with each heavy step he took toward her, Gram slithering behind him.
“If there’s any devil on this earth, it’s you.” Jinn stepped toward them, his chest heaving as he stared at the ghoulish Gram, blood dripping from the man’s mouth. “I do recognize you. From the fair. I thought I was going mad, but…” Jinn’s voice broke. He shook his head, his whole body lurching. “You were the one I saw as a child. It was you standing over my father’s body that day next to the fires. You who dragged him away as he screamed for me!”
Jinn’s horrible revelation hit Iris so hard she clutched at her chest, feeling her crystal heart beating through her blouse. It couldn’t be. But Jinn had never looked so desperate, so terrified, so filled with rage and despair as he did now, staring at the vampire before them.
“Why? You two are assassins, aren’t you? Why did you target my father?”
“I know not of this,” confessed Jacques. But Gram said nothing.
“I’m talking to you!” He pointed at Gram. “You’re the one I remember there. What…,” Jinn tried again. “What did you do to him?” His voice broke.
Jacques shut his eyes and turned his face away in penance. But Gram still didn’t answer.
“Refik Ibrahim!” Jinn burst, unable to control his rage. The name of his father. The
name of the man whose disappearance had cast him into a world of strife and loneliness. “What did you do with him?”
It was then that Gram opened his bloody mouth. “I never remember the names of my meals.”
Jinn’s arms dangled at his sides, his breaths growing progressively faster. And then, suddenly, Iris’s partner was howling and charging for Gram, spraying fire everywhere.
“Jinn!” Iris tried to run for him, but Rin’s rough hand gripped her wrist to hold her back. “What are you doing?” Iris’s frenzied mind was blank of everything but the fact that Jinn would face off against these monsters alone. That he couldn’t possibly survive. That she needed to save him. “Rin, let me go!”
“Isoke, it’s your life they’re after. We have to leave.”
Rin attempted to drag her off, but Iris fought back, tugging wildly.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Iris’s screech tore at her throat as Jinn’s fire burned everywhere, everything. In that moment, she remembered the days they’d laughed together. The days they’d practiced their routines, both dripping sweat. Those precious moments when he’d tossed her up in the air from their tightrope. Jinn had been wrong. Iris didn’t always have her eyes closed while she was up in the sky. Sometimes she gazed at him from up in the air… watching him smile.
“This place is dangerous.”
“Are you still taking me to the king, then?”
Rin hesitated, shifting on her feet, staring unfocused at the sword in her hands.
“Well, are you?” Iris barked.
“I…” Rin stopped. “It’s already been arranged.” But she didn’t sound like her confident self. She sounded apologetic. Unsure. “I’m sure your Jinn would have wanted this too.”
“How could you know what Jinn wants?” Iris bellowed, and with a giant burst of energy, she pushed Rin aside and tackled Jinn to the ground, knocking him out. Iris hadn’t the time to wipe the tears from his face.
“We’re leaving,” she said, her Fon suddenly perfect. “Jinn and me. And we’re not going to your king. You have two choices, Olarinde: come with us, or get out of our way. If you try to stop us, I’ll burn you alive.”
Jinn’s thick barricade of fire wouldn’t keep Gram and Jacques back forever. But it didn’t take Rin long to see what she’d been yearning to see since she’d arrived in Europe. Isoke. The one called Child of the Moon Goddess.
She Who Does Not Fall.
Rin’s eyes brimmed with the utmost awe and respect. She bowed her head. “We go tonight.”
Lifting Jinn’s body over her shoulder, Rin motioned for Iris to follow her.
Iris turned around one last time to look at Club Uriel, collapsing under the ravages of burning flames, and taking her once friends still in Cerberus with it.
Everyone… I’m sorry…
Iris held back her tears as the three of them escaped into the night.
A YOUNG MAN THINKING II
APACK OF ICE IN ONE hand. A queen in the other. Adam Temple held the former against his forehead but considered the latter with interest.
The letter he’d just been sent by Cortez, delivered by one of his servants, lay unopened on the living room table next to his chessboard. In front of the window, Fool watched him carefully through his harlequin mask.
“You won’t open it, Lord Temple?”
“There’s no need,” Adam responded, setting the sack of ice back down on the table. “I already know what it says.”
Club Uriel was no more. It had burned down just a few hours ago, everyone inside murdered. They were still looking for survivors. The Committee was to call an emergency meeting to address what had happened. But Adam already had some idea.
“Iris,” he whispered, the name sweet and terrible on his tongue.
“Let me look for her, Lord Temple,” Fool offered dutifully. “If I move quickly enough, I’m confident I can find her by sunrise.”
But Adam shook his head. Night still ruled the sky. Somewhere underneath the stars, she was running. Running from herself. From her destiny. From her duty. From his deepest wish.
“She’s been through enough. Leave her be for now. I’ll let you know when it’s time to start tracking her. Just make sure you keep this a secret from the other Fools. They’re not loyal to me like you are. And I don’t want the Committee to chase down Iris.” Adam considered the black chess piece in his hand. “I’ll be the one to do that.”
But not before finding a way to deal with Bosch. The bastard had found his father’s journal somehow. That meant there was a high possibility he knew John Temple was still alive. Why Bosch was moving on his own and how much he knew about Iris, Adam didn’t know. But Bosch’s treachery was exceeded only by his own greed. He wouldn’t so easily share the most valuable information in the journal with the other Enlighteners.
Well, Adam couldn’t be sure of that. The one thing he did know, however, was that he’d have to deal with this mess sooner rather than later. What would each member of the Committee do if they knew Iris was the coming apocalypse? Kill her? Or use her as a weapon to help them conquer the New World and whoever—or whatever—may be there awaiting them? There were too many possibilities. Dealing with Bosch and Uma would be the first step in keeping the Committee away from Iris, and it would keep Adam quite occupied.
Which was most likely why Iris had told him in the first place. Clever girl.
Fool swept off his top hat and bowed deeply. In the next moment, he was gone, the window curtains billowing in the wind.
Iris was quite right. Adam was a beast. He was well aware of that. But this was a world that created beasts. It was only fitting that a beast would help to end it.
Poverty and lies. Empire and hatred. Sickness and greed. The grief of the weak conquered and enslaved by the “enlightened.” Injustice. Torture. Pain.
One day, she would realize it. With destruction came creation. From death came birth. The world that he believed in was the world that she would create. And whether she accepted him or not, he would help her create it. There was no doubt in his mind that he was brought into this wicked world and made to suffer for that reason—and that reason alone.
Now that Iris knew who she was, the true game would soon begin.
“You’ll embrace me soon enough, Iris,” he said. “On the day that you reach your limit, once you too become sick of this world, then you’ll know. Then you’ll come to me.”
Adam placed the queen back into her coveted spot and smiled.
THE NEXT STAGE
November 15, 1884
On the other side of the world…
FABLES WAS NOT HIS LAST name. And when people asked for his first, he told them “Tom.” It was a good enough lie. And Fables had been lying since the day he was born.
His birth was a lie. His father was not his father, and his mother was not who his father thought she was. Her light brown skin helped her pass in Kansas. He’d fallen in love with her at first sight. He didn’t know that Fables’s mother had fled Missouri to Kansas seeking freedom. It shouldn’t have mattered. But to that green-eyed son of a mayor, it was a blight when he found out. Worse still was when he realized his wife had had their first son by another man. His mother mysteriously disappeared after that.
Or maybe that was a lie too. Fables spent his childhood concocting story after story as to why his father hated him until stories couldn’t sustain him anymore. Soon, he fled too. Maybe fleeing was in his blood. He liked to imagine it was. He liked to imagine many things as he wandered the dusty cities begging for food and a place to rest his head.
A tall, skinny boy of eighteen. Lanky limbs. Slightly crooked teeth. Curly brown hair and brown eyes like his mother. Square jaw like his father. And quite handsome, he liked to think. If it weren’t for his looks and the lonely men and women he kept company on occasion, he would have starved to death by now. Though he had other skills. Beyond his gift of storytelling, his mother had given him one more thing.
“Play another song!”
�
��Yeah, go on, boy. Play. Play!”
“What do you wanna hear?” Fables called out into the rowdy saloon, though he doubted they heard him. Drunken cowboys and seedy gamblers grabbed women by their chests and swung them around onto bar stools—or was it seedy cowboys and drunken gamblers? A fight had broken out behind him. People were yelling. Someone threw a man across the bar, causing the bartender to swear and jump back as he crashed into murky glasses, booze bottles, and plates of food. Just the usual day.
Sighing, Fables turned back toward his piano, stroking his prickly chin. He should play a song. Any song. As long as he was entertaining someone, he was making money. As long as he was making money, he could do the one thing that would make his father furious: survive another day.
“What do you wanna hear?” He tried again. An older woman wrapped her arm around his neck, bent down low, and whispered into his ear. “Ah, okay.”
He played “Turkey in the Straw.” The light tune seemed to enliven the saloon. People were stomping their feet, hooting, dancing, singing along. He played again and again until abruptly, his fingers came to a full stop against the piano keys.
“Hey, why’d you stop?” said a grizzly, black-bearded man at the table nearest him.
But Fables didn’t hear him. He’d played the song so many times, the notes had started to blend together until it became meaningless background noise. Just like the people here. Just like what his life had become. A mayor’s grandson, scraping for food, getting by. Surviving another day. He’d traded fine clothes for the torn pants and dilapidated shirt he wore now. A far cry from the manor he’d once lived in just miles from here.
“How did I get here?” Fables ran his fingers into his curly hair.
“Hey!” Black Beard slammed his chips on the table. “I said, why’d you stop playing?”
“Because I felt like it, you ugly bastard.”
Fables never could keep his tongue in check.
The table toppled over as the bearded gambler jumped to his feet. Fables didn’t know what was happening until the bottle of beer had collided with the back of his head with a smash. The sound of laughter harmonized with the searing pain as he felt himself being picked up by many hands and thrown out the front door onto the dusty ground.
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