by Kady Cross
“They’re becoming all the rage in London now,” he responded. She’d sounded slightly suspicious. “Especially among the suffragettes.”
“Warrior women,” she mused with a smile. “I like that. I ... noticed you looking at the red-haired girl. Do you think she’s pretty?”
Asking if Miss Emily was pretty was sort of like asking if the sun was warm. She brightened any room she was in, as fresh and light as Mei was dark and exotic. There was no way he could compare the two of them, and that’s what she was asking him to do. What she really wanted to know was if he thought Emily was prettier than her.
“She’s all right.” He squeezed her against his chest. “She’s not you, though.” That was the most diplomatic reply he could think of.
Clearly it worked, because Mei smiled and cuddled against him. When she lifted her face for a kiss, Jasper paused again. A soft ticking noise captured his attention—it was coming from her. “That collar. Does it hurt?”
Mei raised slender fingers to the clockwork device around her neck. “It’s a little tight when Dalton winds it, but I’ve gotten so accustomed to it, I barely notice anymore.”
“So he doesn’t tighten it to punish you?”
“He did in the beginning—when I tried to escape. That’s how I know that it actually works. I don’t know how, but he knows when I try to leave. But tonight, at the fight, I was fine.”
Jasper’s jaw clenched. He could kill Dalton. “It probably transmits through the Aether.” He didn’t know much about the “energy” but he had seen machines that could harness the power—it was like they could work without wires or connections. Mei had been fine, because she’d been close to Dalton. “It’s a big risk you’re taking, sneaking in here to see me like this.” If Dalton found her not in her room, he might tighten the collar just to remind her of her place.
She stroked his cheek with her delicate fingers, eyes sparkling up at him. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“What if Dalton finds out?” He couldn’t stand it if she got into any more trouble because of him.
Mei inched closer, bringing her face to his. “I don’t care,” she whispered, resolute.
The second her lips touched his, all of Jasper’s misgivings evaporated, and he realized that—at that precise moment— he didn’t care about Dalton, either.
Chapter 5
Griffin knew the exact moment Finley returned to the hotel. He knew because he was waiting for her in her room. He sat in a chair playing with a little clockwork owl he had bought for her earlier that day—thinking it might help make up for being such a git to her the other night. When wound up, it turned its head, blinked its big eyes and fluttered its delicate brass wings.
Perhaps it would be petulant of him, but he was tempted to crush it beneath his boot.
He was so angry at her. She could have gotten herself seriously hurt. She could have gotten herself killed.
He had lost his parents. He’d almost lost Sam. He would not lose her. Emotion seethed inside him, churning his insides until it felt as though all of his organs had been displaced. Unfortunately, heightened emotion tended to trigger a defense response from his abilities, which was never good.
Griffin was connected to the Aether, which, simply put, was energy. It came from all living matter and made up the realm of the dead. Most people went their entire lives without ever touching it. Some people could harness it to speak to the dead, see ghosts. Griffin could literally cross over into it. He could wield it as power, but sometimes, if he wasn’t careful, the Aether used him. He had runic tattoos, similar to the ones he’d given Finley, that helped him focus and channel his power, but there was only so much symbols could do. Even those made from Organite ink.
That raw power closed around him, thinning the veil between this world and the next, filling him with restless energy. He had to calm down before it was too late.
Slowly, he drew a deep breath and exhaled it. Then again. In his hand, the little owl fluttered, going through its repertoire of motions as he allowed bits of Aetheric energy to flow into it.
Never before had anyone inspired such turbulence within him. Finley Jayne had been trouble from the night he literally ran into her, and yet, he could not bring himself to let her go. He wanted to trust her as deeply as he wanted her to trust him, but at this rate, they would never get there.
When he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, he stilled—and so did the owl. He focused his attention on the door; for a moment, he thought the heavy wood bowed ever so slightly on its hinges, pulling toward him.
Another breath. In. Out. Calm.
The moment she crossed the threshold, his heart punched his ribs as though it was fighting for life—so hard it was painful. Her black-streaked, honey-colored hair was a mess, tendrils escaping from sticks she used to secure the thick knot on the back of her head. Her knuckles and corset sported rusty smears—dried blood. Her pretty face hosted similar blooms of color along with violent-looking bruises, which smeared across her skin.
Smeared?
Griffin’s eyes narrowed. Not bruises—not anymore. The smears were from cosmetics, no doubt employed to keep Dalton from noticing that she had healed faster than she should. To be honest, he would think her healing abilities would only serve to make her more attractive to the criminal. Should he mention that or simply be grateful she hadn’t been eager to give away all her secrets?
Emily was with her, laughing at something Finley said as they entered the room. It was Emily who first noticed him, laughter dying as she saw him. Whatever she saw when her gaze locked with his made the cute little redhead blanch.
“Evening, lad,” she said, voice slightly strained.
Griffin rose to his feet—it was what a gentleman did when ladies entered the room. “Good evening, Em. Finley.”
Finley didn’t pale when she met his gaze, although it would be hard to tell with the amount of dried blood and cosmetics on her face. Her chin came up defiantly, however. She expected a fight. He wasn’t surprised, as a fight was exactly what he suspected she wanted. She’d taken and delivered over an hour’s worth of violence during the fights that night and still had a little steel left in her spine.
He had told her he wouldn’t fight for her affection, but that had been a lie. He would fight. Only, he hadn’t thought that she would be his opponent.
“I’m really tired,” Emily announced out of the blue. “I think I’ll trundle myself off to bed. Good night!” She was gone before either Griffin or Finley could respond, the door clicking shut behind her.
The air seemed to thicken now that just the two of them were left in the room. The temperature seemed higher, as well, as though their mutual anger set the water in the radiator to boil.
Finley crossed her arms over her chest and stood with legs braced, as though ready for battle. Griffin kept his own hands at his sides, the thumb of his left stroking the owl.
“You put Emily at risk tonight,” he accused, because he couldn’t think of how to put his feelings into words. He was too afraid of making an idiot of himself. It was better to be harsh than vulnerable.
A deep scowl furrowed between her arched brows. “I didn’t make her come along. You ever try to talk her out of something once she’s made up her mind? Besides, she can take care of herself. You and Sam treat her like a china doll rather than a capable female.”
Perhaps he and Sam were guilty of behaving too protectively toward Emily, but it was how they had both been raised to treat women—even ones as capable as Emily and Finley. He tried to remember that they could fend for themselves quite nicely, and most of the time he succeeded, but his natural tendency was to play the gentleman.
“Is that what this was about?” he asked in a deceptively calm tone. “To prove just how capable you and Em are?”
Bright amber eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What are you really angry about? That I entered the fight or that someone other than you came up with a plan that worked? Dalton wants to meet wit
h me.”
Her words stung like a slap, and Griffin winced accordingly. Is that what she thought of him? “You may have noticed I came up with a similar plan, which you would have known, had you talked to me.”
She snorted. “Dalton’d see through you and Sam in a second. You’re too fine. Too good.”
“Perhaps I’m concerned about the fact that you have developed a penchant for unsavory company,” he replied, making a dig of his own. “Perhaps I’m angry because we’re supposed to work together, and you went behind my back.” He should have known she was up to something. She probably did this just to rub his face in it.
She shrugged. “You would have tried to stop me.” She didn’t say a word about the kind of company she preferred, which stuck the thorn in Griff ’s pride just a little further.
“You’re bloody right I would have!” He squeezed the mechanical owl so hard the beak cut into his palm. “And then you could have persuaded me to your side. You could have made me see that your plan was our best option.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But you didn’t trust me, and you came up with your plan just to spite me, and that is what makes me so damn angry.”
Finley stared at him, eyes wide, mouth wide. “Griffin—”
He cut her off. “I had to sit there—helpless—and watch as you took beating after beating tonight, and I couldn’t show any emotion. I couldn’t cheer when you won or show my fear when you got hurt. I couldn’t do anything.”
Bloody hell, he was not used to feeling helpless.
“You didn’t need to do anything!” She threw her hands in the air. “The rest of us are capable people, Griffin. You’re not the only one who can take charge of a situation.”
She was right, but it was his crew and he felt responsible for them. He set the little brass owl—warm from his hands— on the polished top of the dresser. “Reno Dalton is not Jack Dandy, Finley. He’ll kill you if he suspects you’re playing him. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
Finley nodded curtly. “If it will help Jasper.”
“All right, then.” He kept his opinions tucked inside. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like to hear the rest of your plan tomorrow morning when we’re all together. That way, there will be no more surprises, and we’ll all know our parts.”
She said something, but Griffin wasn’t listening. He was suddenly so exhausted that all he wanted was his bed. There was no point in discussing this further. Finley wanted to help Jasper, and he couldn’t fault her for that. He might not like how she went about it, but she’d gotten closer to Dalton than he had. If he was jealous of how she looked at Dalton, that was his problem alone. He would either trust her not to get involved with the criminal or he would not. It was entirely possible that Dalton would win her over and she would fully give in to her darker nature.
He met her gaze steadily—unemotionally. “I stood by you when you were questioned about Lord Felix’s murder. I’ve done everything I can to help you, and in return you—” He stopped and shook his head. “This isn’t about me. Either you want to be part of this team, or you don’t. That’s your decision.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve given me a lot of ultimatums recently, Your Grace.”
“Not ultimatums, choices. You’re no longer two sides of a whole, Finley. You are one person—singular. That means choosing who you want to be—where you want to be.”
“Let me guess,” she began bitterly. “If I decide to be part of the group, that means I have to tell you everything I do.”
“Of course not. If you decide to stay, it means you don’t run off on your own. It means you have respect for the people who have accepted you as a friend. I saw how you looked at Dalton—how he looked at you. You’re attracted to the danger he offers.”
A smirk twisted her lips. “Is this the part where you remind me of how ‘dangerous’ you can be?”
She was mocking him. Mocking him. Deep inside his chest it felt as though someone flicked a switch—or punched a hole.
The lights flashed—not just in this room but also in the buildings visible through the window. The little owl began to hop around the dresser. The portable telegraph machine in his pocket began to hum, as did the one on Finley’s nightstand. And somewhere in the building a boiler fired up—he could hear the echo of it in the pipes.
“Griffin.”
The bulb in the lamp beside the bed blew, throwing glass everywhere. Finley cried out. “Griffin!”
It took all of his strength, but somehow he managed to regain control. The lights returned to normal. The little owl and the telegraphs quieted.
Finley stared at him as though she didn’t recognize him— as though he frightened her.
Pivoting on his heel, he tore open the door and stepped into the hall. The door to Emily’s room opened, and she stuck her head out. “The cat just powered up all by itself. Any idea ... Oh, dear God.”
Griffin glanced at her. He could only imagine how he appeared to her—sweat dripping down his brow, eyes wide and crazed. No doubt he was pale. Lord, it felt as though electricity danced between his fingers—in his head.
“Get in here, lad,” she commanded.
Griffin heard the urgency in her voice and followed her into the room. She grabbed his hand, but he jerked back. His control was too fragile. If she touched him, the Aether would rush through his fingers into hers. He couldn’t risk hurting her.
She led him out onto the balcony, the cat clinking behind them. Outside, the summer air was warm but carried a lovely breeze, which helped cool Griffin’s fevered head. Still, he had to fight to remain in control as he watched Emily flick switches and push buttons inside the cat’s control panel. Suddenly, the metal panther began to shudder, click and whirl. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes as the automaton began to reshape itself. The legs disappeared, as did the tail. A long vertical rod extended from the inside, opening to resemble a double row of long fan blades—a propeller.
When it was done, the cat had completely metamorphosed into something Griffin couldn’t identify.
“It’s my Icarus construct,” Emily explained, guiding him toward the thing that had two belts lying loose on its top. “A flying machine.”
“This can’t be safe,” Griffin remarked as she made him straddle the thing, then sit so she could quickly fasten one of the belts around him.
He thought he heard her mutter, “We’re about to find out,” but he prayed that wasn’t true as she climbed on in front and fastened the other belt around her hips. She pulled goggles over her eyes. “Hang on, lad!”
The propeller above his head began to whirl and sputter. Griffin wrapped his hands around the post for support—and to let a little of his power crawl along the metal. If he could make things power on, then it stood to reason he could give them a boost, as well. Maybe the slight drain would keep him from losing control too quickly.
The propeller whirled so fast it seemed one singular piece. The machine lifted off the balcony and lurched forward.
Griffin glanced down as his feet dangled over empty night air. The lights of Manhattan Island twinkled around them— below them. The wind whipped through his hair and brought water to his eyes, so that soon, it was difficult to see anything at all. He would have to get Emily to take him out again when he could actually enjoy the sensation of flying.
The wind cooled a short while later as they flew over water. Bedloe’s Island was where they were headed—the place where the Statue of Liberty stood.
Emily flew them as close to the torch as she could. “You’re going to have to jump,” she shouted. “Grab the light and let go!”
Griffin unbuckled the belt and let himself slip to the terrace below—the rim of the lit torch. It was so bright it was almost blinding, intensifying the growing ache behind his eyes. He didn’t know why Emily hadn’t taken him to the water below. Perhaps she thought he might drown. He was only glad to be so far away from people.
He waited until the sound of the propeller faded away
— Emily knew to get as far away as she could—before placing his hand on the base of the light that made the torch appear to burn. All of his focus went into that torch and its bulb.
And then he let go of all the energy inside him. The release made him throw back his head and scream. For a second, he would have sworn that he saw light come out of his own mouth as he channeled everything into the torch and outward. It always flowed outward, unable to be contained.
Then there was a huge flash, and everything went black.
The next morning, Finley opened her eyes after a fitful night. She’d gotten—at best—four hours sleep. The rest of the time had been spent thinking of Griffin, the awful things they’d said to each other, the fact that she had pushed him so far his power flared.
She shouldn’t have mocked him. She hadn’t meant to, though she wasn’t quite certain what it was she had meant to do.
Looking back at the weeks she’d spent with her new friends, there had been several shameful times when she had acted alone. She had snuck off to visit Jack Dandy—which led to a strange, flirtatious friendship. One night, she disappeared and had no recollection of where she had been. Lord Felix, the son of her former employer, died that night. Even she couldn’t say with certainty that she hadn’t killed him. Fortunately, her name had been cleared. Later, she chased after Sam without alerting anyone else, and the two of them had ended up in a battle with an automaton, which could have killed them both.
Worse, she had contrived to join last night’s fights to spite Griffin. To prove to him she could do it. And why? Just because he made her angry and happy and nervous, all at the same time. Never mind that her plan had worked, she should have shared it with the entire group, instead of just Emily. She had put the other girl at risk. She had put them both at risk.
Before, she could have blamed this sort of behavior on her darker half, but that was no longer the case. Griffin had helped her begin to unite her two sides, and now she was no longer one or the other, but both. Now it was up to her to decide what sort of person she wanted to be.
