IT WAS THE SECOND TIME THAT night that Adam’s eyes had been playing tricks on him.
The first was after Lucille, playing the part of Bellerose, had vacated her seat. When she’d returned, she’d seemed… different. Oh, the clothes were the same, the jewelry. But something was off about this new Bellerose, who sat on her throne, her face now covered with a mask. He knew Bellerose’s body intimately enough. This wasn’t the real Bellerose, but was it still Lucille?
“Are you sure you’re not being paranoid, my lord?” asked Fool, his fingers lightly caressing the keys of the grand piano. A costume ball was the perfect place for him to hide.
Adam had every right to be paranoid. Max was already in the crowd, dancing with his orphan friend Cherice, both of them stupidly thinking Adam hadn’t noticed them walk in with a weapon of mass destruction.
That Maximo had brought the other Hiva unfortunately proved which Hiva had been with the street thug that night at the music hall. But after so many minutes of dancing, the crowd had not been reduced to ash. The god was actually dancing. Max seemed to have him on a leash.
Well, Adam had his own dogs. Mary, Henry, and Lucille. That Mary had managed to bring Max here proved their loyalty to him—their fear of him. As long as they continued to do what they were told, he’d be interrogating Maximo soon enough.
“Fool. You remember what to do if it seems my new servants have betrayed me?”
“The little Whittle is in our custody as I speak,” Fool said, nodding. “He remains your card to play, my lord. Mary and Lucille are none the wiser.”
Good. Well, “Bellerose” was still in her seat. Perhaps his eyes hadn’t played tricks on him, then.
But this time…
This time the trick was so cruel, so tantalizing, it had frozen Adam’s very blood in his veins. He saw her for only a moment, in a green velvet cloak fit for Queen Guinevere. The wide hood covered her black braids, her brown skin. But he would know that beautiful face anywhere. There was no mistaking it. Did he dare to dream?
“… Iris?”
His wineglass dropped from his hand and shattered upon the floor as the figure disappeared through the door, her green cloak sweeping behind her.
“My lord,” Fool whispered from his seat at the grand piano, for only he could jolt Adam out of his spell.
With a start, Adam stared out over the ballroom, only to realize that they were all gaping at him now. It didn’t matter. If that really were Iris, then he couldn’t let her get away.
“Excuse me,” he said hastily at the crowd, and offered an apologetic bow before turning his back. “Stay there, Fool,” he whispered in a command to his servant before rushing out of the room.
You couldn’t get into the ballroom without passing through the drawing room, but it was empty. The cloaked woman had moved fast. Which meant he had to move faster.
But no sooner had Adam entered the drawing room did two little bodies tackle him from the front. Two pairs of pale noodle-arms.
“Where are you going, Lord Temple?” asked Faith Sparrow, her mask hitting the floor with her sister’s as they dropped them. Or at least he thought Faith was the one with the red ribbon tied around the bottom of her top hat. Virtue’s was white. Otherwise their gothic black dresses, lined at the bottom with red tulle, were exactly the same.
“Madame Bellerose wouldn’t want you to leave the ball so early,” the other sister said. “Not until the plan is done. Or did you forget?”
“Damn it,” Adam cursed underneath his breath as he pried the girls off him. “Did either of you see a woman in a green cloak?”
They both looked at each other.
Virtue tapped her chin. “I really don’t think so—did you, Faith?”
“I peeked inside the ballroom. There were so many lavish outfits; it looked so fun! Madame Bellerose looks like a princess!”
Adam sighed heavily. Whatever had happened in the Basement had made these girls chattier, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He searched the drawing room. Not everyone was dancing. A few people in costumes mingled by the grand arched windows and whispered by the fireplace. A couple of men admired Van der Ven’s glass case of swords, knives, and all other manner of blades. Van der Ven had always boasted that every weapon he put on display had been used to kill at least three men on the battlefield. He was covetous of his kills as much as he was of his property. He wouldn’t like this rowdy scene.
“Oh, Lord Temple—I think I saw a green cloak disappear through there!” said Virtue, and pointed at the little door that led down the stairs to a labyrinth of cellars. She clung to his tuxedo vest. “Shall we go and look? It would be ever so much fun.”
Adam narrowed his eyes. The girls grinned at him with bloodred smiles and mischievous brown eyes. Bellerose had instructed them to watch him. But what were children if they didn’t play a few games?
“I don’t have time for lies. If you didn’t see her, then just say so.”
Faith and Virtue Sparrow’s expressions darkened.
“Did you say that we are liars?” Virtue said, her voice hollow as her arms dropped to their side. “Ma’am at the orphanage used to say we were liars. She was an awful woman. She would leave us outside in the cold to punish us.”
The temperature of the room suddenly dropped. Adam’s whole body shivered as he hugged himself. No one else in the room seemed bothered. No other mouth but his breathed out chilled mist. And when Faith and Virtue held hands, no one but Adam noticed the room shudder with a sudden blizzard. Snow collected atop the mounted animal heads on the walls, icicles beginning to form down the snouts of the bears, boars, and Siberian tigers. Their wooden frames rattled as the blizzard picked up, the animals howling in pain—or was it the wind?
No, this is their power, Adam reminded himself. Cortez had explained it before. Their snow games were nothing but tricks of the mind. But within their sphere of influence, it felt all too real. His knees began to buckle. His chest felt tight, stinging as if his lungs were being stabbed from the inside. So cold. Was this what Iris had come up against that night outside the British Museum? The magic of the Fanciful Freaks truly was a sight to behold.
Snapping out of his own thoughts, Adam grabbed each of the twins’ bony wrists and separated their hands. The spell broke. Adam was once again in Van der Ven’s home, surrounded by chatting strangers sipping wine who were none the wiser.
“I’m not calling you liars,” Adam explained quickly. “I’m just in a hurry. I’m sorry.”
The twins gave each other secretive looks, as if conversing telepathically about whether they should forgive him.
Adam didn’t have time for this. “You said she went downstairs. Are you sure?”
At this, they looked at him and nodded with amicable grins.
“Fine, then. Shall we?” He bowed and gestured toward the door. As the two girls giggled and raced each other to it, Adam rubbed his brow. Van der Ven could show up at any minute, and when he did, he’d go straight for “Bellerose’s”—Lucille’s—head. Well, Adam didn’t want to lose such a useful chess piece, but if it did come to that, there was nothing he would do to stop it.
It was Iris now who had his attention.
“I’m coming,” he whispered, and followed the twins through the door.
The cellar was labyrinthine indeed, and cold from a draft that trickled through the hallways.
“Over there, over there!” cried Virtue, pointing to her left a yard away. Adam had seen it too: the green velvet robes sweeping the stone floor as it turned a corner.
“After her!” Adam cried as he followed the trail. But Iris was fast. Just when he thought he’d had her, he found himself in another hallway surrounded by red brick. What’s this game you’re playing, Iris? Why won’t you see me?
Or was she testing him?
Iris is dead. Mary’s, Lucille’s, and Henry’s voices taunted him as he turned every corner, just barely missing the swish of her robes’ hem. He wouldn’t believe it. Iris was alive, and he would gladly punish anyone who tried to tell him otherwise.
Finally he came to a dead end, the twins rushing to catch up to him. Green robes flowed down across the stone floor; the woman’s back was to him. Her head was covered by her shimmering hood, and a golden rope was tied around her waist, like those princesses of the medieval age.
A flush of excitement gripped Adam as he wondered if Iris were teasing him. His rational mind told him such a thing was beneath Iris—so uncharacteristic. But the feral side of him pulsed and stiffened at the thought. How badly he wanted to touch her body… the body of a goddess of death.
Do not wait for a slave to save you. You were born of kings, boy. Claim your birthright. We are the gods.
“Don’t be foolish,” Adam whispered, even as his blood stirred. The doctor was mired in the discourse of evolution. To him, even the supernatural was simply another avenue through which to advance human achievement. His desire was only for science. That was why he didn’t understand this higher lust that Adam now felt screaming within his bones: a longing for the divine. For an unearthly justice. For godly retribution.
Adam stretched his hand out to her—and yes, she turned. Slowly. Enticingly. She lowered the hood of her green cloak.
And there she was. Her perfectly sculpted, heart-shaped lips and large eyes. Her round nose and fluttering lashes. More perfect than he could have ever remembered them. His princess of disaster.
She did not speak, not as his dry lips ached and parted, not as he took his first step toward her.
“Iris…” His eyes welled up with tears. “Iris, it’s you…. I’ve been told such terrible things….” Another trembling step forward. His heart pounded furiously against his chest. “I knew you wouldn’t disappear. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”
“I know that woman.” Faith Sparrow’s singing voice dragged Adam out of his delusions and back into reality. “Sister, I know that woman.”
Virtue nodded. “A dark-skinned woman with two men at her side.” She pressed a pale finger to her cheek, tilting her head. “We battled her that moonlit night, did we not? Master Cortez forced us to.”
“Or else he wouldn’t give us any treats.”
“Or else he would lock us up inside the orphanage forever.”
“But sister, we were locked up.” Faith looked at her twin sadly. “In a place worse than the orphanage.”
“After losing our battle to her…”
Adam watched as Virtue’s gaze suddenly became as sharp as one of Van der Ven’s coveted swords. Yes, it was Cortez who’d forced them into that battle outside the British Museum to test them as tournament candidates. But that was the past. This was the present. The future. Humanity’s future depended on this moment. That was of far more importance than whatever grievance these two little devils still clung to. But how could children ever understand?
The moment the two took a step forward, Adam put out a hand to stop them. “Iris is my responsibility. Don’t even think about approaching her.”
Iris had turned to him fully now. Her arms were sheathed in white gloves. Her whole body was shielded inside the drapery of her green robes. He could only see her face, and her face was all he needed. Though he wished she’d speak with him. Even for just a moment. Even just a word…
“Iris was your champion,” Virtue said, her fingers twitching, her head lowered. “You sent her to fight against us that night.” A shadow passed over Virtue’s delicate features. “And when she defeated us, we were sent to that very bad place.”
Faith gripped her chest as her brown eyes lost focus. As if she remembered. The Basement. All the pain they’d endured. How many scientists had Faith and Virtue killed, Adam wondered, before being given their new position by Bellerose?
Faith shook her head with a sorrowful expression. “You and Cortez are both very bad.”
“Iris, stand behind me.” Adam gritted his teeth, preparing a fist. As uncouth as it was, he wasn’t above knocking down a couple of little girls if it meant he could get away cleanly with Iris. These children couldn’t possibly understand. Now that he had Iris, now that he had her—
“God, no wonder Iris couldn’t stand you.”
Adam’s throat closed. His arms lost their strength and dropped to his sides. He’d seen Iris’s lips move. But that wasn’t Iris’s voice. He’d memorized every note, every melody and idiosyncrasy. That wasn’t Iris’s voice at all.
It was—
“Iris” grinned. “Fooled you. Wanker.”
Adam’s eyes widened as chaos threw his heartbeat into turmoil. “Lucille?”
He barely had a moment to process her wicked grin. Faith and Virtue aimed for his shins, ankles, and knees, forcing him to the ground with each kick. And once he was down, “Iris” joined them, kicking him in the face and chest, forcing bile from his stomach out of his mouth.
Lucille grabbed his hair and lifted his head up. Blood dripped from his lips as he struggled to breathe. If Lucille was here, then who was the Bellerose inside the ballroom? He had been tricked.
“You’ll regret this,” he coughed. He hadn’t enough breath, or else he’d ask her if she’d seen Whittle lately.
“Oh no, dear, I’m very sure the only one who’ll be regretting anything is you, especially once Maximo brings Hiva down here to burn you to ashes. I do wish I could watch, but I’m not one for gore. I am, however, always open to a bit of revenge.”
And she kneed him in the face, breaking his nose.
The three women beat him unconscious.