The Girl in the Clockwork Collar

  “You do that,” she replied, but he was already gone. Frantically, she placed her fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. She didn’t breathe until she found it—weak but steady. He was still alive.

  Finley dropped her head, squeezed her eyes shut and began to silently do what some might call praying. She called it begging.

  * * *

  It was dark when Griffin opened his eyes. It had to be late at night, because there was hardly a sound from the streets outside. He didn’t know how he’d gotten back to the hotel, but he assumed that Sam and Emily had brought him after he passed out.

  His head ached, and it felt like needles piercing his chest when he drew a deep breath, but other than that, he felt whole and healthy. Not bad, considering he’d been certain Death had finally come to collect him a few hours earlier.

  He shifted between the sheets, tugging them up over his chest. It wasn’t until his efforts met with resistance that he realized there was someone else on the bed with him. He only had to draw breath—not so painful this time—to know that it was Finley. She smelled like freshly baked cookies.

  He turned toward her as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. She lay on top of the quilt, her boots still on. There was a bloodstain on her white shirt. Hers? Or someone else’s? And her hair had slipped from its usual perch on the back of her head and now lay over her shoulder.

  When they first arrived in New York, he had made a comment about where else she could sleep. She should have slapped him for being such an arse, but she hadn’t. And now here she was, asleep beside him.

  He reached out to touch her, but his hand was bandaged. He remembered burning it on the machine and how the black tendrils had cut into his skin. What was that thing? What was it doing in the Aether? These questions ran unanswered through his mind as he slowly peeled the gauze away. His hand was tender, but already, it was well on its way to healed. By morning, he would be back to normal. If not for the Organites, which his grandfather had discovered years ago along with the Ganite, he’d most likely be dead.

  He touched the tips of his fingers to Finley’s face. Her cheek was soft and warm. Her thick eyelashes fluttered and opened, and when her gaze settled on him, she smiled.

  “You’re still alive,” she whispered. The relief and joy in her voice made his battered chest tight. She had been afraid for him.

  “So it seems,” he replied. “How long have you been here?”

  Finley glanced away. Her sudden shyness seemed strange and out of character. “Since this afternoon.”

  “You stayed here the whole time?” He was touched but surprised. “What about Dalton and Jasper?”

  “They’ll wait. Neither one of them is going anywhere.”

  “But Jasper—”

  “Isn’t as high on my priority list as you are” came her sharp reply. “You let me worry about the Americans, all right?”

  Griffin blinked. “You’re angry.”

  Her gaze locked with his. In the moonlight, her eyes were eerily bright—almost like a cat’s. “You’re bloody right I’m angry. You could have been killed today. You read my head about how I go running off and all that rubbish, but you always have to be the big hero.”

  She was really angry. “I had to do something. If the machine had blown up, it would have killed all of us—and a lot of other people, too.”

  “I know Sam offered to smash it.”

  “Emily wouldn’t let him,” he argued.

  “You wouldn’t have let him do it, either, even though he would have been the best choice. You just had to be the one to save the day. What is wrong with you?”

  Now he was getting angry. “Forgive me for wanting to prevent people from dying.”

  “That’s not it, and you know it. Of course you wouldn’t want people to die—none of us would—but why do you always have to risk your life for other people? You daft git.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk, Miss ‘I’ll risk getting beaten to death to infiltrate a gang.’”

  She glared at him. “You said it was a good plan.”

  Griffin glared back. “Sometimes good plans are also stupid plans.”

  “You’re stupid.”

  “Not as stupid as you.”

  Silence fell between them as they stared each other down. Griffin wasn’t certain which of them broke first, and it didn’t matter. It was only a matter of seconds before they were both laughing at their childishness. Every chuckle was like a kick to the chest, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Finally they both quieted.

  Finley wiped at her eyes. “We’re a bloody fine pair, aren’t we?”

  “We are.” And he meant it—more than he would ever admit. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  She opened her mouth and hesitated. For a moment, he thought she might deny it. “You should be. I’m sorry for being such a cow about it.”

  He grinned. “You should be.”

  A brief smiled curved her lips but faded when she took his hand—the unbandaged one—in her own. “Promise me you’ll be careful from now on. We can’t lose you.”

  Griffin noticed that she said we rather than I. There was something in her expression that made him ask, “What aren’t you telling me?”

  She shook her head, but he pressed forward. “Finley, tell me.”

  “Emily made me promise not to tell you until she was certain you were better.”

  “I am better, and Emily’s not here. Tell me.”

  Finley glanced down at his chest, which Griffin then remembered was naked. Embarrassed, he pulled the blankets up. She raised her gaze, and though it was too dark to tell, he was certain she was blushing.

  “Emily showed me the paper from the ghost machine.”

  The ghost machine? “The Aetheric transference device? You mean the writing actually made sense? I assumed it was nothing more than scribbles.”

  She laughed—but it was humorless. “No, it wrote coherently, if not cryptically.”

  “So tell me. What did it write?”

  Her gaze locked with his, and she gripped his fingers tightly with her own. “It said, ‘I’m coming for you, Griffin King.’”

  Chapter 10

  Finley didn’t want to leave Griffin the following morning, especially not after Emily showed her what the ghost machine had written. There could be no doubt that it was a threat against Griffin. Except he was the only one of them who knew anything about the Aether, and all he could tell them was that the energy flowing around Tesla’s device had been dark and that it had somehow managed to injure him. He had no idea what it meant, or how such a thing had come about. One thing was for certain—nothing like this had ever happened to him before.

  How was she supposed to fight something she couldn’t see or even touch?

  More to the point, how was she to help him when she had to return to play Dalton’s lackey?

  She was in a fine and terrible mood when she walked into the foyer of Dalton’s house wearing the same garments she had been in when she left. The heels of her boots clicked on the polished floor as she stomped toward the stairs. She needed a bath and a change of clothes and something to hit.

  “Where the sweet hell have you been?” Dalton’s voice echoed in the open hall.

  Finley’s fingers clenched into tight fists, her nails dug into her palms. The pain kept her in control, because Dalton’s face looked like a perfect target. “None of your business,” she replied.

  “It is too my business,” he replied with a scowl as he strode toward her, looking sinisterly handsome in his dark gray suit. “You work for me.”

  “Not that I’ve seen one cent,” she retorted—as though money mattered. “And I might work for you, but you don’t own me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your loyalty is to me.”

  Finley scoffed. She wasn’t certain if she was looking for a fight or to get herself kicked to the curb. “I’m just hired muscle to you, so don’t preach to me about trust and loyalty, Dalton.”

  He shook his head, dark hair
waving about his face, and folded his arms across his chest. “Ain’t you full of gumption this morning? Someday you’re going to talk back to someone who doesn’t find it half as charming as I do, Miss Finley. Then you’re going to be in trouble.”

  He was right, and she despised him for it. She could take care of herself and most threats that came her way, but someday her temper was going to get her into a situation she couldn’t simply smash her way out of.

  “I don’t have many friends,” she admitted, “but one of the few I do needed my help, and I went. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it was an emergency, and to be honest, you were the last thing on my mind.”

  It wasn’t difficult to meet his gaze because what she told him was the truth. He watched her for a moment. Blokes had looked at her in similar ways before. In fact, Lord Felix had worn a similar look right before she kicked him in the forehead. She knew she should be afraid of him—was stupid not to be—but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel any fear. He just annoyed her. Finally he nodded. “I admire a person with a sense of loyalty. I have no objection to you having outside interests, but when you’re with me, I want to be your top priority.”

  Griffin was her top priority. “Fair enough,” she lied. “I’d like to go clean up, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Sure. You’ll want to get that gown I gave you ready to wear. Tomorrow night, we’re going to the theater. Apparently you and Jasper have work to do there.”

  The final piece of the machine was in a theater? Tricky, but at least she wouldn’t have to fight anyone for it—or rather, she assumed she wouldn’t. “That won’t take me all day. Is there anything else that needs to be done?”

  He waved a hand in the air. “Nothing you need to be concerned with. The boys will take care of it.”

  Finley didn’t argue. The free time would give her the chance to poke about a bit—see if she could find out just what Dalton was up to. What she really needed to do was get word to Griffin that they were going after the final piece, and where. That only gave them a little over twenty-four hours to figure out what the machine was and what Dalton planned to do with it.

  She just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Finley took her leave of Dalton and jogged upstairs to the room she had been given. It was nice—nothing like the one she had at Griffin’s, though. Once the door was closed behind her, she withdrew her pocket telegraph from a secret pouch sewn inside her corset. Quickly, she sent a message to Griffin, saying that they were going to the theater the next night and that she would provide more details when she had them. She didn’t want him pushing himself to be there, but he had to make plans.

  She wasn’t going to try to fix this on her own, no matter how much she wanted to. Leaving Griffin out would only make things worse, of that she was certain.

  As water filled the tub in the bathroom she shared with Mei, Finley gathered up her soaps and creams and the silk kimono Griffin had bought her when she first came to his house. She hugged the garment to her chest, as though it was her only link to him.

  She had been so relieved last night when she opened her eyes and found Griffin watching her. She’d never been so happy in her entire life.

  Since she’d met him, she’d bounced back and forth between wanting to be with him and wanting to run away. She told herself they couldn’t be together while secretly hoping that they could. Yesterday she’d almost lost him, and now she couldn’t think of anything that mattered more than being with him. Worry about what people would think or say was stupid under those circumstances.

  Now she just had to figure out what to do about it. When they got back to London, they’d figure it out.

  And that was all the thought she’d give it for today—her head was too tired. She turned the taps on the tub, undressed and slipped into the hot water with a sigh.

  She must have dozed off, because by the time she came to her senses, the water had cooled and she resembled a prune from shoulders to toes. She jumped up, sloshing water over the sides, pulled the plug and set about drying off.

  When she returned to her room with her bundle of dirty clothes, she found Mei sitting on her bed. The girl looked like a porcelain doll in her high-necked violet gown, her thick hair piled on top of her head. For a prisoner, she was sure kept in fancy clothes.

  Good thing she’d taken her telegraph machine into the bathroom with her and now had it in the pocket of her kimono. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Mei glanced up from the book in her hands. Finley recognized it as her copy of Pride and Prejudice—the book she was reading for the sixth time. “Waiting for you,” the girl replied. Her English was excellent, touched by just the faintest Chinese accent. “I thought maybe you had drowned in there.”

  Finley arched a brow at her tone. Wishful thinking, perhaps? “Your concern humbles me.” She said it with just enough sarcasm to let Mei know that if she wanted to get bitchy, she was more than happy to reciprocate.

  Lips tightening, Mei rose from the bed and gracefully approached—as though her feet didn’t touch the floor. She was so dainty and graceful, but Finley knew better than to lower her guard. This tiny little girl was just as much a threat to her as Dalton was, though Finley wasn’t certain why.

  “I don’t know why you are here,” Mei said slowly. “I don’t know why he likes you, but I want you to know that I was here first.”

  Feeling the urge to kick the bee’s nest, Finley smirked. “Is this the part where you tell me to stay away from your man because you’re afraid I’ll take Jasper away from you?”

  Incredibly full lips curved into a smug smile. “Jasper adores me.”

  “Really?” Finley tossed the bundle of clothes into a hamper in the corner. “Because it seems to me that if he loved you that much, he would have taken you to England with him instead of leaving you behind.”

  The slap came so fast, Finley barely saw it. She felt it, though—all the way through her skull. Fire blossomed in her cheek before the sharp sting had even begun to fade. She drew back her fist but caught herself just in time. As much as she wanted to retaliate, it wouldn’t look good for a girl her size—with her strength—to hit a little thing like Mei. Also, Jasper wouldn’t like it.

  She touched her cheek. “Just so you know, if you ever do that again, I’m going to make you swallow your own teeth.”

  Mei smiled mockingly. “You will do no such thing. You don’t want to upset either Dalton or Jasper.”

  Finley poked her in the neck—right where the clockwork collar curved around her throat. “If Dalton thought you were that valuable, he wouldn’t have given you that lovely bit of frippery.”

  The other girl shoved her hand away with a gasp. Her own hands went to her throat, clawing at the high neck of her dress. Finley watched in confusion. What the devil ... The collar. She had set off the collar, and now Mei was slowly being strangled by it.

  She grabbed the smaller girl by the shoulders, holding her upright as her knees sagged. “How do I stop it?” she demanded, fighting the urge to shake her. “How do I turn the bloody thing off?”

  Suddenly, Mei stood upright and shrugged off Finley’s grip with a tinkling laugh. Finley froze. Mei had only been pretending to suffocate. “You are not as tough as you boast, Miss Bennet.”

  Finley felt both cold and hot at the same time. She hadn’t wanted to be responsible for Mei’s death, but now ...

  She seized the smaller girl by the twist of hair on the back of her head and pulled.

  “Ow!” Mei cried. Her hands clutched at Finley’s, nails digging in. “Let me go! What are you doing?”

  Finley didn’t ignore the pain—she let it fuel her anger—as she dragged her captive toward the window. “I’m going to toss you out the bloody window and see if your collar tightens then. The fall might break your legs. You’d have a hard time getting back inside with your legs broken, wouldn’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll save you—eventually.”

  Mei struggled all the harder. Blood ran dow
n Finley’s hand to trickle down her arm and drip to the floor, but she did not let go. She opened the window with her free hand and tossed Mei across the sill so she was half in, half out.

  The girl started screaming. Passersby looked up to see what all the commotion was about. A woman cried out, and a young man laughed, making a joke about how girls fought.

  When Finley was done with Mei, that little cretin was next.

  “I’m sorry!” Mei cried. “Let me in. Please!”

  While publicly humiliating the girl went a long way to soothing Finley’s anger, the apology was far more effective. She yanked Mei back over the sill and slammed the window shut. Only then did she finally release her hold on Mei’s hair.

  The Chinese girl glared at her as she rubbed her scalp. Her face was red with rage, but there wasn’t a tear to be seen, except for the usual watering that came with having one’s hair pulled.

  “You’ll pay for that,” she promised, her voice low and even.

  Finley smiled at her. “Do your worst, sweetheart.”

  Mei shot her another filthy look before sweeping from the room like an arrogant queen. Finley watched her go with a vaguely amused smile, though she knew better than to entirely dismiss the threat. She and Mei were officially enemies now, and the worst thing she could do was underestimate the girl.

  Never underestimate a girl, she reminded herself as she washed the blood from her arm in the basin.

  What did Jasper see in the awful little thing? It couldn’t be her personality.

  Whatever it was, she didn’t much care. She just made a mental note not to leave her back open anytime Mei was around. The girl was liable to stick a knife in it.

  Jasper was sitting in the parlor, whittling an elephant out of a small block of wood, when Mei came in. Dalton might have “given” him his freedom, but Jasper didn’t trust it, and he didn’t like leaving Mei alone with the scoundrel any more than he had to.

  When he saw the expression on Mei’s pretty face, his first thought was that Dalton had dared to touch or harm her in some way. He’d put a bullet right between the criminal’s eyes if that was the case.