“Shut your mouth!” This time it was Jinn, gripping Iris by the arms from behind as she swayed unsteadily on her feet.
“Yes,” Iris whispered darkly, her head dangling forward as she attempted to steady herself. “I didn’t come here to chat.” Clenching her fist, she nodded to Jinn and Max. “Do it.”
The ropes came off. Jinn reached inside his vest and pulled out two of the blades he’d been hiding and tossed one to Max. As Jinn pointed his at Uma’s jugular, Lucille, clearly excited, let herself fall whimsically into Max’s arms as his hostage. After all, if they had an in with James at the Crystal Palace, they couldn’t let themselves waste it.
“Give me John Temple’s journal now, and we’ll be on our way,” Iris demanded as Max and Jinn held their blades close to their hostages’ throats.
The men behind her raised their guns, but Uma only looked impatient at most as she raised her hand to calm them. “Come now, there’s no need for all that. I have what you want just as much as you have what I want.”
“And what’s that?” Iris asked.
“The truth of who you really are.”
Iris’s lips quivered for just a second.
“Outside this room and behind the iron doors is the Grand Chamber. There lies the Helios—or at least, the version of it we’ve constructed through the pieces found in Lake Victoria.” Even with Jinn’s blade to her throat, Uma waved Temple’s journal. “And if I’ve decoded these words correctly, then we might not even need the Moon Skeleton, because you, Miss Iris, may be the key to waking up that sleeping machine. Well, part of you, anyway.”
Iris didn’t like the alarming glee in her eyes—the look of a mad scientist. “Which part?” Iris asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Uma smiled. “Why, your crystal heart, of course.”
THE QUICKENING
WHAT?” ADAM’S TEACUP FELL FROM his hands and shattered on the ground.
One of the Committee’s spies bowed their heads as they confronted him in his living room. “Your champions, my lord. They’ve infiltrated the Basement. We didn’t realize it until we saw her there shouting the secret code words.”
The Enlightened shall never die. But how did Iris know? Someone on the Committee must have talked. And there was only one person with a loose enough tongue.
The other spy seemed reluctant to add his next detail. “I’m not quite sure what their objective is, but they’re pretending to have donated themselves to the Crown’s experiments—”
“What?”
The men cowered as Adam glared at them, though he didn’t even see them at all. He saw Iris locked up in that dreadful hellhole surrounded by cadavers and the stench of sorrow.
“Ready the carriage,” he told them as he strode out of the room and started up the steps.
They knew he didn’t like asking twice. Or once. “Yes, Lord Temple!”
Adam was already on the second floor of his home by the time he heard the front door close.
It was hard lifting his arms with the bandages he’d wrapped around his chest. Madame Bellerose’s torture still smarted. Regardless, he slipped on his gray vest and black jacket, tightening the tie around his neck. His hair was still a mess. He could see it mocking him in the mirror. His own sapphire eyes mocked louder. Eyes of worry. Fear. Fear for a being more powerful than what the human mind should have been able to imagine.
Death? The stench of sorrow? But isn’t the real Iris used to such a thing?
It was true. From the first time he’d learned about her from the research that the Temple household kept under lock and key, he knew to expect nothing but power from Iris. The research had prepared him. The Bible had prepared him. That divine being did not need him to run to her rescue. But meeting her at the amphitheater that fateful day had flipped everything upside down. Seeing her worry, her pain. Seeing her fear and determination grow as she continued her journey toward discovering her holy purpose. He wasn’t running to save his father’s Iris.
He was running to save his Iris.
Yes, she was his, and no one else’s. Given to him by God as solace for the deranged life he’d lived. His purpose for living. And soon, she would be his purpose for dying.
If Iris was in the Basement at this time, she’d undoubtedly run into Malakar. That woman wouldn’t be able to resist. She’d force Iris to remember. She’d find a way. And when she did, what would become of Iris? Would she be ready for those horrific memories to return?
But it was always going to come to this sooner or later. He straightened his jacket. She was always going to learn. It was a matter of time. Perhaps the time was now.
He simply had to make sure he was there to guide her when she did. To shield her identity from prying eyes. To give her protection and shelter once she awakened.
And to make sure she didn’t end the night killing everyone in the vicinity.
“It’s not time to make enemies yet, Iris,” Adam said as he left his room and descended the staircase. His one solace was that she wasn’t alone. She had her circus partner. And Maximo. Yes, that boy was by her side, exactly where Adam had positioned him. As long as Adam had his sister as a card to play, Maximo would still do as he wished. As always.
Adam climbed into the carriage. “Quickly!” he commanded. “There’s no time to lose!”
The horses’ hooves dashed against the pavement as the carriage took off into the night.
44
CRYSTAL, MISS IRIS. WHITE CRYSTAL. According to this journal, your heart is made of it.”
In Iris’s mind, Uma’s words repeated in a vicious cycle as she, Max, and Jinn followed her to the cast-iron gates that separated the Factory from the Grand Chamber. Lucille had been held back by one of the factory workers. Apparently, James had worked in the Research Chamber, and it was now up to Lucille to fumble her way through whatever tasks they needed “James” to work on while Uma slid open the gates.
With Max and Jinn close beside her, Iris entered the chamber as if in a dream. Round and vast, bigger than all the other chambers. Iris felt like a fly lost in the heavens. Grand. The peak of a keyhole just as Benini had described. Marble floors. Windowless walls. A high ceiling suspended on cast-iron rods, domed like the Roman Pantheon.
Lining the walls were machines of different sizes, some up to Iris’s knee, others larger than an average-sized human. They were covered in burlap sheets. Cases like treasure chests were arranged in rows. Weapons, perhaps. But no greater treasure existed than the one inside Iris’s own chest.
It felt like flesh and blood, beat like flesh and blood. But Iris remembered the night she was shot in the chest in the Crystal Palace. The bullet had shattered against her heart.
“The white crystal…” Iris found her voice as Max and Jinn watched over her, concerned. “Is it the source of our powers? Us Fanciful Freaks.”
Uma’s laughter echoed in the rafters. “Is that what you’re calling yourselves? Well, I suppose you have to call yourselves something.” Uma had taken her pipe with her before leaving the room and now sucked in a hearty inhale, exhaling it steadily through her nose. “What do you know about the South Kensington explosion?”
“Investigations ruled the official cause to be some kind of gas leak,” Jinn answered for her. “But we know that was clearly a lie.”
Uma tapped her brass pipe with a finger. “The Moon Skeleton,” she said. “It’s partly made of white crystal. It’s exactly as it sounds—a skeleton key. But it’s not pure white crystal. It’s been heated, cooled, and processed with other strange materials through an elaborate refining system I’ve never seen before. The kind of engineering John Temple describes in his journal…” Uma shook her head. “Those are specific scientific techniques that are simply not of any current civilization on earth.”
Max’s chuckle was as fearful as it was incredulous. “What are you saying? That this key was made by bloody Lilliputians or something?” When Jinn looked at him, he added, “What? I’m an avid reader, I’ll have you know.”
“At this point that guess is as good as any,” said Uma. “But one thing is for sure. It was created by a civilization that existed long ago. Long before us.”
Another iron gate lay several feet into the chamber. Uma stood in front of it, considering the brass design: sun and moons, connected by a never-ending vine. A string of fate, perhaps.
“On that day of the fair, the previous heads of the Basement were ready to showcase the machine they’d pulled out of Lake Victoria in order to signal to the world that the British Empire had made advanced strides in technology never before seen in mankind. Progress!” Uma yelled suddenly, and whipped around with her arms outstretched, her sari fluttering about her. “Progress,” she repeated, quieter. “Well, if it’s in the name of progress, all is fair, right?” She took another puff of her pipe. “Of course, if I’d been there, I would have told them not to rush to show off a technological advancement when you’re not even sure what it does. They thought it was just an energy source. As it was, I was not there. And when they tried to activate the Helios without using the Moon Skeleton, which was still in Temple’s possession at the time, a rather… unexpected reaction occurred.”
“Unexpected reaction…,” Iris whispered. “The explosion.”
“Well, the Crown aren’t quitters. The explosion wasn’t an ‘explosion’ in the traditional sense. More vaguely, it was a large emission of energy that left the Helios intact. So the Crown continued their experiments. They still think it’s an energy source. Well, it is. But more than that, it’s a door. A door to other worlds.” Uma’s eyes sparkled as she said it. “Another frontier for mankind to explore—and conquer.”
Uma slid open the gate.
“I present to you, the Helios,” said Uma with a bow.
That a steel cage was still separating them from such a small machine made Iris wonder just how dangerous it really was. It reminded Iris of a snow globe but stretched up to her knees. Blue glass framed by bronze and iron outer frames. And at the top of its dome, a keyhole.
The Moon Skeleton is the key used to operate the Helios. The Helios is the device that will open the door.
Max ran a hand through his curly hair. “Looks made in a craft shop.”
A door to other worlds…
“Unbelievers.” Uma narrowed her eyes. “The Moon Skeleton, according to Temple’s research, moderates and controls solar energy within what is called the Solar Furnace, a chamber within the Helios made partially of processed white crystal. We’re not sure how, but its presence allows the Helios to channel untold amounts of energy to carry out its operation. That day at the fair, without the Moon Skeleton as a stabilizer, operating the machine caused a terrible reaction; the Solar Furnace released a wave of energy the likes of which we’ve never before seen. Thus far we haven’t come up with a suitable name—”
“Anima,” Iris whispered, approaching the machine in a dreamlike trance. “It is called anima.” As if she’d heard these terms in another life.
Uma watched her thoughtfully. “Anima, you say. Hmm…” She smoked her pipe. “Ani-matter, perhaps? Well, who cares about the name just yet? As for why it transformed some and not others…” She shook her head. “Well, that’s why we continue our research, isn’t it? After the incident in South Kensington, the Crown continued its studies here. But what do you think, Miss Iris? You seem rather taken with the machine.”
“Iris!” Jinn ran up to her, but when he gripped her arm, she shrugged him off, almost violently. No more waiting.
“We’ve been testing other pieces of white crystal to stabilize the machine—carefully, of course, to avoid another explosion. But nothing ever worked. Not powerful enough. The mysterious civilization that made this machine must have known too, which is why they always refined the crystal with other metals and materials, some of which we have not yet invented. But I wonder… The crystal allegedly inside your body.” Uma’s smoke seeped into Iris’s nostrils. “How powerful is it?”
Feeling John Temple through Adam’s coin. What did Jacob call it? Psychometry. Sensing the flow of life. Piercing pasts and presents. Her ability…
Iris already knew what she had to do.
Iris turned to Uma, the rise and fall of her chest quickening with each breath.
“Don’t be afraid, Iris,” Uma said. “Embrace where the Helios takes you.”
“Iris,” Jinn whispered. “Don’t.” He was afraid. Her partner. Her Jinn. She touched his face gently. She gazed at Max too and nodded. Both of them were scared for her, but she had to do this. She was tired of wondering. She’d spent ten years doing it. Ten years of fearing an uncertain future borne from an unknowable past. Enough was enough.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no going back,” she told them, and touched the machine with both hands. The Helios lit up with white light.
“Iris!” Max and Jinn called at the same time, for the moment she’d grabbed it, her body froze. The heat of the white light enveloped her, seeping out of her open mouth, her blank eyes.
Max’s and Jinn’s desperate cries were so far away. She could feel them attempting to pull her away from it. The strong arms around her waist were Jinn’s. She knew the size of his hands, the texture of his palms.
The Helios shook and sparkled with white lights that burst across the room like shooting stars.
And then the scene changed.
There was no dome. No machine. No Jinn and Max. Only a society crumbling. Towers as high as the sun collapsing. Flying ships bursting into flames. Men and women in white robes running for their lives, burning to ashes. Burning. Burning from the cataclysm that had struck them, wiping them away like Noah’s flood. This was dozens of millions of years ago. Iris remembered the cries of terror and woe as she stood in the center of Wotan’s garden, a beautiful flowery oasis, the last in all the earth after its people had destroyed the rest with their industry. Nothing was left behind, but it was of no consequence. All would be reborn that should be reborn.
The scene changed to a mechanical paradise. The Zabachian Empire. Several million years ago. A place of soot and ash that blocked the skies, a world where no life was allowed to live but inside black fortresses littering each continent. Only those of wealth wore gas masks and were able to breathe the air. Flowers the size of elephants whimpered out poisonous gas. Mutated monstrosities from experiments gone wrong. Once again, humans had made a mess of the world, and once again, it had to be destroyed.
Then there was the Naacal. They’d worshipped the sun. The signs of the sun and its shadow were drawn all over their religious texts and ancient tablets. In their arrogance, they had used technology smaller than the eye to allow a chosen, privileged few to grow wings. Classes within classes. Blood, pain, and slavery of the weak. It was the kind of hubris that needed to be stopped. Their wings burned to ashes on judgment day in a rain of blood and terror.
Iris felt disembodied. The woman she was staring at in her memories looked like her, but it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be—not those cold eyes. She trembled terribly as another apocalyptic scene bled into darkness. And then she saw herself, inside a crater within the fertile ground, naked and fully grown. She was created inside the earth. To announce her arrival, the ground had quaked and split apart, caving in around her. She climbed out of the cavern using roots and bits of rock, finally finding her footing in the middle of a forest. The white dust she’d left in her wake sparkled slightly in the ground, barely noticeable to the eye. But when she opened her palm, there was a chunk of white rock in her hand. And soon, the sun faded to dark.
Yes, Iris remembered. This was her latest rebirth. This was why the sun had died.
The Day of Darkness, a voice inside her whispered.
She had been called again. But first, as always, she was to observe humanity without judgement to understand why they needed to die.
A Dahomey raid near a Yoruba village. The time she’d spent with the locals had come to a violent close. She was now a captive of King Ghezo. His warrior. And under hi
s reign she was to fight intruders and rivals and kidnap others into service for the king. Iris saw herself in a sleeveless, plain blue-striped dress with a black belt and shorts down to her knees. Inside her red clay household, underneath the pointed thatched roof, she finally finished attaching the string she’d weaved to the white crystal and placed it around her neck. A trinket to remind her of her purpose lest she become too involved with mankind, too lost in their politics and day-to-day curiosities.
Isoke: She Who Does Not Fall.
The scene shifted, stars shooting in her eyes. She saw herself bloodied and enraged in Gorton Zoo. Thanks to the cruelty of an English schoolboy, Anne lay dead on the ground, but Iris had made sure she would not go alone. She now knew. She now felt it: the reason why she’d been called to serve judgment. And she would fulfill her purpose.
Ashes. Dead bodies. And her own bloodied hands. Iris remembered Agnus Marlow crying next to her in the human exhibit turned graveyard. And then she remembered looking right into the eyes—black beady eyes—of a young man with the tamed blond hair of a gentleman. With his family reduced to ashes at his feet, he pointed at Iris as policemen shot at her.
Too many memories were flooding into her at once. Cambridge University. The experiments that lasted five years. Five years of barbiturates and other drugs they used to keep her mind dulled and confused. Five years of torture once they realized the creature before them couldn’t die. And through it all was the blond man with beady black eyes, young and brilliant, taking the lead in the Crown’s research. The man she hated most in this world.
The Bones of Ruin Page 45
