by Kady Cross
When it came down to it, Finley trusted Jack—perhaps not with her virtue, but certainly with Griffin’s life. Jack was smart enough to know having a duke in his debt could only be a good thing.
She helped, holding Griffin as Jack removed the blade, keeping pressure on the wound as it bled. He used the Listerine from Emily’s bag to clean the wound, which eased Finley’s mind greatly. If he knew to do what Emily would, then he must indeed know what he was doing. His stitches were small, quick and perfect.
Afterward, Jack gathered up the bloodstained linens. “Stay as long as you like,” he told her. “I’ll be ’eading out soon. Business and all that.”
Finley didn’t want to know, but she went to the tall, lanky young man and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him. “Thank you,” she said, tears leaking out of her eyes. “Thank you so much.”
A gentle and hesitant hand came down on her back. “Don’t cry, Treasure. You’ll get me all wet and then I’ll melt. I’m made of sugar, don’t you know.”
She laughed at that and released him, swiping at her eyes with the backs of her wrists—the only parts of her hands that weren’t bloodstained. “I forgot,” she said.
Jack smiled crookedly at her, his dark eyes bright with something she didn’t want to identify. “I’m thinking that’s going to be a five-course dinner,” he informed her. “It could take the better part of the evening.”
Finley nodded, feeling so much better she didn’t care that he was extorting more time out of her. It was worth it. “Sounds fair,” she replied.
With that, Jack tipped an imaginary hat to her and left the room. Once he was gone, Finley took the atomizer of Organites from Emily’s bag, peeled back the bandage on Griffin’s side and applied a generous amount of the earthy smelling spray to Griffin’s wound. She even made herself pull at the sides of the wound so some could trickle between the stitches and raw flesh.
Now, all she could do was wait. She pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed over him and sat down on the edge of the mattress to watch him. The bruises on his face were finally beginning to fade, leaving a faint greenish-yellow cast to his skin.
Picking up his left hand, she held it in hers, ignoring the blood under her fingernails. It was his blood. She tried to concentrate solely on him, not on the horror of the evening, or the relief of knowing it was over. She didn’t want to picture that horrifying automaton Queen Victoria bleeding, or how she’d felt as though the world had ended when she saw Griffin with the blade sticking out of him.
He had brought an entire building down with his power. He’d buried the automaton queen and all her minions. He’d undoubtedly killed and buried Leonardo Garibaldi, as well. Though, no one in their right mind would call it murder.
Then again, no one would ever know the truth of what had happened there. It would be months, even years before they discovered what was left of The Machinist and his plans underneath the warehouse floor.
Why had Garibaldi done it? Just because Victoria hadn’t thought the world should know about the Organites? Because Griffin’s parents—and her father—had agreed? Or was it for revenge because those three people continued their work with Organites while he could not? Maybe it was because of his lost hand. Or, perhaps it was all of the above. Garibaldi had obviously gone mad a long time ago. Who knew his true reasoning?
She was glad it was done, and now their lives didn’t have to revolve around solving this mystery or stopping the villain. Right now all that mattered was Emily and Griffin being all right. Everything else was just frosting on the cake.
She just hoped Jack was right and that Griffin would heal. Because she didn’t know what she would do if the only person who ever demanded her complete trust, and offered his in return, died.
It was Sam who thought to send word to Cordelia that they had defeated Garibaldi. He didn’t tell her about Griffin’s injury or where they were, the former because he didn’t want to worry her and the latter because, despite the fact that he was nothing more than a common criminal, Jack Dandy had taken them in and helped them when they most needed it. A good turn was a good turn as far as Sam was concerned.
He was sitting at Emily’s bedside, trying to stay awake by reading one of the dime novels he loved so much about cowboys in the American West. Odd that he found that culture so amazing yet could cheerfully strangle Jasper, though the cowboy had proven himself a friend, as well.
His eyelids were beginning to droop. He was so bloody tired. Now that the battle was over he felt as though he could sleep for a week. All he needed was to know that Emily and Griffin were fine, then he could sleep.
“Sam?”
His eyes snapped up and he pitched forward in his chair, suddenly very much awake.
“Em.” She looked like an angel against the stark white sheets, though it was doubtful an angel would ever step foot in Jack Dandy’s house. Her ropey hair was spread out around her, and her eyes as bright as jewels gazed up at him, clear and free of pain.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like an elephant stepped on me,” she replied with a smile. “It’s not so bad, but my head…” She frowned. “My head feels so strange.”
He inched forward on the chair. “Do you need me to call for a surgeon?”
She shook her head, stopping him from getting up by grasping his hand in hers. “I don’t need a surgeon.”
“How do you know?”
She lifted her gaze to his. “I just…know. Sam, I think interacting with the Victoria automaton’s advanced engine might have changed me, made me think faster—better.”
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I couldn’t keep up with you before. You’re not going to want to talk to me at all if you’re even smarter now.”
She smiled at him, and squeezed his hand. “I think that’s one of the nicest and dumbest things you’ve ever said to me. Of course I want to talk to you. There’s no one I’d rather talk to than you, Sam.”
It was like someone lit a candle inside him, a small flickering flame that warmed him from the inside out. “Not even Griffin?”
“Especially not him. Faith, he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”
They chuckled over that and she looked around the room, realizing that they were not at home. “Where are we?”
“You’ll never believe it.” He leaned forward to whisper, “Finley brought us to Jack Dandy’s.”
And then Sam heard a voice in his ear, “I can hear you, you big dolt.” It was Finley, and of course she could hear him, she had the ears of…well, he didn’t know what. And he could hear her because he still had his earpiece in.
“Stop listening,” he hissed, and pulled the little metal device from his ear. He would have crushed it had Emily not made it.
“How’s Griffin?” Emily asked, still smiling over his exchange with Finley. “Did he defeat Garibaldi?”
Sam swallowed. “He did, but Garibaldi stabbed him. It was pretty bad. Dandy and Finley fixed him up. She remembered to use your ‘beasties’ on him, as well—not in front of Dandy, though.”
Emily pushed herself up against the pillows. “How bad?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s still out. He brought the whole building down, Em. I wish you could have seen it. He brought it down like it was made of toothpicks, or sand.”
“I would have liked to see that.” Her brow puckered. “Was Garibaldi inside?”
Sam nodded.
“Good.” Her face took on a tight expression. “I never thought I’d ever say that there was a person who the world would be better off without, but The Machinist’s one of ’em. Though, if I know Griffin, he’s bound to carry some guilt for it.”
Before Sam could agree with her, there was a knock against the open door frame. Sam turned to see Jasper standing on the threshold. Of course he would show up, just as he was about to tell Emily how glad he was that she was unhurt, that he didn’t know what he would do without her.
“Miss Emily, you are a si
ght for sore eyes,” he told her, and tipped his cowboy hat. “I’m glad to see you awake.”
“Thank you, Jasper. It does me good to see you upright and looking none the worse for wear, as well.”
Sam frowned. “Did you want something, Renn, or are you just going to stand there all night?” Emily pinched him—hard. He flashed a glance at her, she did not look impressed.
Jasper shrugged. “Just thought y’all might like to know that Griffin’s awake.” Then he turned on his heel and left.
“You’re so mean to him,” Emily scolded lightly.
Sam made a face, but he didn’t say anything. He especially did not apologize. “You want to go see Griff?”
She nodded and he stood and helped her out of bed. She had all her clothes on so she didn’t need to stop for anything. They walked down the hall to the other bedroom where Finley and Jasper sat on the side of the bed and Griffin lay against the pillows, pale but awake.
“It’s good to see you all,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I thought I might not ever have that pleasure again. Even your ugly mug looks pretty to me, Sam.”
Sam grinned. “Who do you think lugged you out of there, Your Grace?”
“Thank you.” Griffin was serious this time. “All of you. Thank you for helping me fight, and thank you for saving my life.”
“It’s what you’d do for us,” Jasper reminded him.
“It’s enough that you’re alive,” Finley told him. Sam noticed that the girl was holding Griffin’s hand in her own and his friend didn’t seem to mind.
“Yes,” Griff agreed. “I hear I have Mr. Dandy to thank for that. Is he here?”
Finley told him that Dandy had left some time ago, but that he’d told them to stay for as long as they needed. Griffin seemed oddly relieved that their host was missing, Sam thought. Kind of like how he felt whenever Jasper Renn wasn’t around. Jealousy, that’s what it was. He never would have thought Griffin capable of such emotion, not when he was born to a position in life that meant he could pretty much have whatever he wanted.
Although, the human heart didn’t come with a price on it.
Two days later, a fully recovered Griffin came down to breakfast to find his friends and aunt gathering. Cordelia poured him a cup of coffee, fluttering over him like a mother hen. She even tried to fix him a plate of food, but he convinced her he could get his own. When he found out whomever it was who told her how badly he’d been hurt, he’d string them up by their toes.
“I just received a note from the Director,” Cordelia told them all once they settled down to eat. “They’ve searched the warehouse. Twenty automatons were accounted for, but Garibaldi and the remains of the Victoria automaton were missing.”
Griffin froze, a knot of dread forming in his chest. “You mean, Garibaldi may still be alive?” He hadn’t wanted to kill him because that would give him better access to the Aether, but hearing the villain might still be alive chilled him.
“It’s unlikely,” Cordelia replied in one of her more soothing tones. “The Director believes Garibaldi had an accomplice, who went into the wreckage shortly after the collapse and got both man and machine out of there. I suspect one of his automatons was still operational and pulled Garibaldi’s body from the building. There’s no way he could have survived what you did to the building, Griffin.”
Griffin shook his head. “Without a body, no one can say for certain The Machinist is dead.” He might come back.
Obviously Cordelia sensed his unease because he soon heard her voice in his head, “Garibaldi is gone, Griffin. He could never have survived what you did to that place You must believe me.”
He smiled at her to show that he did. Of course he believed her. It was just that he’d feel so much better if they had proof. If he could go to the funeral and see Garibaldi in the casket with his own two eyes.
He’d gotten justice for his parents, but it didn’t feel as satisfying as he thought it would, and not just because Garibaldi was missing, but because no matter what he did, he couldn’t bring his parents back. As wealthy and powerful as he was, he was still as helpless as any man.
“And,” Cordelia began, smiling around the table at them as she interrupted his maudlin thoughts, “Her Majesty would like for you all to come to tea at the palace next Wednesday so she can personally thank each and every one of you for sabotaging The Machinist’s plot to replace and possibly kill her.”
“Are we certain that’s what he wanted to do?” Griffin asked. He wasn’t as flabbergasted by the queen’s invitation as the others. “Kill her?”
His aunt nodded. “My friend found bits of notes amongst the papers and blueprints in the warehouse—all of which are on your desk, by the way—that seem to indicate Garibaldi’s plan was to kill the real Victoria and replace her with his metal doppelganger. With his machine in place, he would effectively rule the country, and his revenge for what he considered his monarch’s betrayal would be complete. He had plans to take away the Devonshire mines from Greythorne and make them his own.”
“All of this for the Organites,” Griffin muttered. “So many dead for those strange little creatures.” He would have liked to see Garibaldi just try to take his home away.
“Her Majesty was right to want them kept secret.” Finley turned to him. “Look what they did to Garibaldi.”
“Well, he’s gone now,” Sam said, slathering a thick slice of toast with jam. “And I say good riddance.”
Griffin raised his coffee cup. “Hear, hear.” When everyone went back to talking amongst themselves, he directed his attention at Finley. “Would you care to take a walk with me later? I thought we might go to Hyde Park.” Where they had first met, though he didn’t say that aloud. He also pretended not to notice that everyone at the table was listening with interest, waiting to hear Finley’s reply.
She smiled. “I’d like that. Jasper’s going to teach me more kung fu later, and Emily and I have plans to discuss Da Vinci, but I’m free around two.”
He grinned. Most girls he knew would cancel those other things to conform to his whim, not tell him to wait. He liked it. “Two it is.” He then glanced at Jasper, who had become something of a regular fixture around his house as of late. In fact, they hadn’t continued that conversation Jasper began in his study before Finley interrupted.
They were just finishing up breakfast when a knock sounded upon the front door. A few moments later, Mrs. Dodsworth bustled in, four rough-looking men behind her.
“I told them to wait, Your Grace, but they refused!”
Griffin calmly rose to his feet. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
One of the men stepped forward and tipped his hat. “Morning, Your Grace. Sorry to barge in on you like this, but my associates and I are here to arrest Jasper Renn and take him New York City.”
A collective gasp of surprise rose from those around the table.
“What?” Griffin scowled at the man. “On what charges?”
“Murder,” the man replied, his gaze darting from Griffin to Jasper and back again. He offered Griffin a folded and tattered piece of brownish paper. “We don’t want no trouble.”
Griffin opened the paper. It was a Wanted poster, and on it was a good likeness of Jasper, along with the promise of a $5000 reward for whoever brought him in. It looked official.
“America’s laws aren’t law here,” he told the man, thrusting the poster into his hand. “Please leave.”
The man hitched up his gun belt. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not leaving without Renn.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” Finley said, rising to her feet. Sam and Emily stood, as well.
The man laughed and pulled a gun from the holster around his hips. “I got six bullets right here that say we’re taking the boy with us and you’re gonna let us.”
Since the night at the warehouse, the Aether came readily to Griffin—almost too readily. It didn’t overwhelm him as it had when he was younger, but it always seemed to be there, jus
t waiting for his call. Right now he was going to call it to knock this yokel on his dirty arse.
“I’ll go.”
All heads turned. Jasper stood and faced the men with an expression Griffin could only term resigned. It was that expression that told him that this was what Jasper had wanted to talk about. He was in trouble and Griffin had been too caught up in his own affairs to see that.
“Griff, don’t do anything.” Jasper moved toward the Americans, eyeing them with an unflinching gaze. “I’ll go willingly, just put the gun away.”
The man hesitated for a moment, then relented. “Get the cuffs on him.”
Griffin couldn’t allow his friend to be taken from his house like a criminal, but Jasper shot him a look that told him to stay out of it. It was also a look of remorse. Rather than endanger his friends, he was going to allow these ruffians to take him back to America where he’d stand trial—if he lived that long—for murder.
Griffin swallowed, hard. It was difficult for him not to try to take control of this situation, not to order the men out of his house. Very, very difficult to allow Jasper to make his own decisions. Even the others didn’t want that. Finley was one of the more vocal as they clapped irons around Jasper’s wrists.
“You can’t let them do this!” Finley cried at him.
Griffin looked at her. “It’s Jasper’s choice, not ours.”
Voices rose again, arguing with him, but it was Jasper’s that cut through the cacophony. “Stop!”
They all looked at him.
“Y’all have been real good to me—the best friends I’ve ever had—but a man can outrun his past only for so long before he’s got to pay for his sins.” His gaze locked with Griffin’s. “Thank you…for everything. Goodbye.” The last was addressed to all of them, though the cowboy’s gaze lingered just an extra half second on Emily, who had tears in her big eyes. Finley, too. Even Cordelia looked saddened.
Griff inclined his head. “Goodbye, Jas.”
