by Kady Cross
If he ever got his hands on a gun.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, rising to his feet as she closed the door.
“That Finley girl,” she replied tightly. Her face was flushed, and her eyes looked as though she had been crying.
“She’s back?” Relief swept over Jasper. He’d been so worried when he heard that Finley had just up and taken off after a “little redhead pikey” had shown up. Dalton’s man hadn’t much liked being roughed up by a girl and had made a comment as to what he was going to do to Finley if he ever saw her again. Dalton fired him on the spot.
Reno Dalton was a lot of things, but he was a might protective of what he thought of as “his,” and Finley was a valuable possession, as far as he was concerned.
But for Finley to just up and leave—for Emily to come for her—something bad had to have happened. Something to either Sam or Griffin.
“Yes, she’s back.” Dark eyes snapped with anger. “You don’t have to sound so pleased about it.”
Her tone made his brows rise. “I’m not pleased,” he lied. “I’m surprised. I figured she skipped out.”
“I hoped she had.”
“Why don’t you like her?” He was genuinely confused. He had liked Finley the moment he met her, and that was when she had been almost two separate people.
“I don’t trust her,” Mei said, lips settling into that little pout he found so cute. “She came out of nowhere, and Dalton took her in without question, even though she’s English and the duke of whatever was asking questions about you.”
Her astuteness made a frisson of discomfort run down his spine. “Dalton did ask questions. I told him she wasn’t in league with the duke. She’s not his class.”
“Neither are you,” she reminded him sharply. “He associated with you.”
He wasn’t sure why, but her words stung a bit. “Because English society treated me like some kind of strange being. You know they sometimes display people like animals in a zoo.” It was true, but it was nothing that wasn’t done in America, as well. Griffin, however, had never treated him like that. “Miss Finley doesn’t strike me as the type to allow herself to be treated as such.”
Dark eyes lifted to meet his. He had never seen her like this before. It was as though she was bitter. His Mei had never been bitter. “You like her.” It was an accusation, not a question.
“She’s all right. I got her into a brawl in Five Points, and she never complained.” That was true. “Dalton likes her, too, so I’m not sure what that says about her character.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you jealous?” He couldn’t stop the grin that spread incredulously across his lips.
Mei shrugged. “She’d never be a victim with a collar around her neck.”
Jasper placed his hands on her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. “You’re not a victim.”
She sniffed. “I feel like one. First Dalton and his collar, and then that girl threatened to throw me out the window.”
“What?” Jasper frowned. “Finley threatened you?”
Her dark eyelashes glistened with tears. “She grabbed me by the hair and held me out the window. She said the fall would break my legs, and then I’d probably die when the collar choked me.”
He didn’t know Finley well, but it sounded like something she might do. He didn’t think she’d ever really kill anyone, but why would she say such a thing to Mei?
What had Mei said to her? a little voice in his head asked. He pushed the suspicion away. He’d talk to Finley about it later.
“Probably for the best if you just stay away from her,” he suggested. “Soon this will be over, and Dalton will let both of us go.”
Her gaze swept up to meet his. “Are you sure of that?”
“He’s a scoundrel and a thief, but I’ve never known him to be a liar.”
Silence grew between them, but when she stepped close, he took her into his arms and rested his cheek on her soft hair as she placed hers against his chest.
“Jasper, you care about me, don’t you?”
He closed his eyes. “You know I do.” Once, she had been his sun and his moon. She wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him.
“Then promise me you won’t do anything foolish like try to double-cross Dalton. Just get him the rest of his stupid machine and let him do whatever he’s going to do.”
“I will.” It was a promise he didn’t think he’d be able to keep—not the part about letting Dalton go off and have his fun. “Tomorrow night, I go for the last piece.”
“At the theater. He’s making us all go, you know.”
He nodded. “I know.” Probably so they could all witness what Dalton would see as his triumph and Jasper’s defeat. He wouldn’t be surprised if Dalton put a bullet between his eyes afterward. That stuff he’d said to Mei about Dalton not being a liar wasn’t exactly true, which he supposed made him just as much a liar lately, since untruths had been coming out of his mouth with ease.
Mei’s arms tightened around his waist. “I can’t wait until he releases me from this collar, and we can be together again. We can go back to San Francisco.”
“We could,” he remarked—another lie. He could never return to San Francisco while he was wanted for murder there.
“We could go anywhere,” he added. This was something they could discuss later. First they had to survive the next couple of days. If they were still alive the morning after Dalton got his machine put together, there just might be hope for the two of them.
And that was as far into the future as he would let himself look.
It was late afternoon before Griffin finally felt well enough to leave his bed. The Organites were doing their work—not as fast as he would like, but it was better than dead. By tomorrow evening, he should be as good as new. Just in time to go to whatever theater Reno Dalton would be at.
He had gotten Finley’s telegraph message earlier, while lying abed, sipping the Organite tea Emily made him. She was convinced it would help his insides heal faster. For a moment he had hesitated, wondering if it was the Organites and their effect on human evolution that had made him encounter that thing in the Aether. But it seemed too much of a stretch and didn’t make enough sense for the theory to stick.
More than likely it was the machine itself that had caused the dark energy. It might have conjured a malevolent spirit. That would explain the mysterious threat the other machine had “written.” He would advise Mr. Tesla to destroy the blasted thing.
Gingerly, he eased off the bed. For a moment he considered calling Sam for help, but he was not an invalid. He might not be as physically strong as Sam or Finley, but he was not weak.
Still, he could have used the help at that moment. His arms and chest were bandaged, so he bathed as well
as he could and managed to wash his hair.
He was in front of the wardrobe with a towel around his waist when the door to his room opened. Startled and practically naked, Griffin hid himself behind the open armoire.
It was only Sam.
“Don’t you ever knock?” he demanded, feeling like a girl for having hid his state of undress.
Sam scowled at him, but that was nothing new. Sam scowled at everyone. “I knocked a while ago. You didn’t answer. I was worried.”
“I was in the shower.”
“So I can see.” Sam’s dark gaze raked disapprovingly over him. “You need to eat more.”
Griffin glanced down. “I don’t look that bad.” All right, so maybe a couple of his ribs were beginning to show and his abdominal muscles were sharply defined, but he had always been lean.
“You haven’t taken proper care of yourself since that night at the warehouse.”
He had almost died that night, too. This was a habit he did not want to continue.
“You’re right. Do me a favor and call down to the kitchen, will you? Ask them to bring something up. Order something for yourself if you like.”
A rare smile curved his friend
’s lips. “As if I wouldn’t do that, anyway.”
Sam called down using the telephone on the desk. After that, he assisted Griffin in getting dressed, despite Griffin’s protests that he was quite capable.
“Finley mentioned something interesting last night,” the larger boy began, while Griffin buttoned his shirt. “She said that she’d spotted a man outside the Astor-Prynn residence the other night who Dalton identified as Whip Kirby. She thought he might have been watching Dalton’s place, as well.”
Griffin frowned. “He must be waiting to catch them in the act.”
“The act of what?” Sam asked. “We still have no idea what Dalton’s up to.”
“Except that it has to do with a strange machine and the Museum of Science and Invention.”
Sam’s expression was wry. “That still doesn’t tell us much.”
“Maybe we should check the schedule of events for the museum. Maybe that will give us an idea of what Dalton’s up to.”
“I’ll ask downstairs if they have a listing of events.”
Griffin ran a hand through his hair. “It’s worth a look.”
Then conversation turned to Finley—a topic Griffin was surprised by. Sam hadn’t liked Finley when she first showed up; Sam didn’t like most people in general. But it seemed as though the two of them were slowly, very slowly, becoming tolerant of one another, if not friends.
“She refused to leave your side all bloody night,” Sam remarked with something that sounded like respect.
“She’s a good friend,” Griffin replied.
His old friend stared at him in amused disgust. “Griff, I’m your friend, and even I wasn’t about to sit here and watch you heal.”
Griffin looked away, annoyed by the sudden heat in his cheeks. “Yes, well, she was a much prettier sight to wake up to than your ugly head.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve been told my eyes are like a night sky” came the mock-indignant reply.
From there, the conversation spiraled into a bout of goodnatured insults. Griffin was much more comfortable with that than discussing Finley and how she’d stayed with him. He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that himself, and most of that was because he didn’t know how she felt.
Perhaps it would be better not to think of it at all.
When the food arrived, it seemed to Griffin that Sam had ordered everything on the menu. Regardless, the two of them managed to eat it all. In fact, they had just polished off two slices of thick, flaky-crust apple pie when the phone rang. It was the majordomo from the reception desk downstairs. He was terribly sorry to bother His Grace, but there was a Whip Kirby waiting upon him in the lobby. Would he care to come down, or should the gentleman be sent away? Griffin replied that he would be there directly, thanked the man and hung up.
“Whip Kirby wants to see me,” he informed Sam. “He’s downstairs now.”
“What the devil does he want?” Sam demanded, scowl back in place.
“I don’t know, but perhaps he has information about Jasper or Dalton. I’m going to meet with him.”
“You sure you’re up to that?”
Griffin nodded as he rose from the chair. “I feel much more myself, now that I’ve bathed and eaten. I’m certain I can give Mr. Kirby a few moments of my time.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No thank you. I need you here in case Finley comes by or sends another message. Is Emily still at Tesla’s?”
Sam’s brows clenched. “Yes. Finds him bloody fascinating, she does.”
Griffin offered a supportive smile. “It would be the same if you met the author of some of those dime novels you like so much. She respects his mind, Sam. And he’s impressed by hers—that’s all. He’s old enough to be her father.”
Thankfully, Sam did not remind him of how many society marriages joined an older man with a much younger lady. “You’re right. I just hoped with Renn out of the picture that we might spend some time together.”
“You could always pick her up and cart her off,” Griffin suggested with a grin. “If that doesn’t get her attention, nothing will.”
Sam seemed to consider this a viable plan. He helped Griffin into his coat and was left pondering aloud the possibility of perhaps having an entire pie sent up.
Griffin took the lift down to the foyer, his dislike of small spaces raising its head just enough to make his heart beat faster. If it weren’t for the lad operating the bloody thing, he’d probably break out in a sweat. His fear was always calmed by having another person with him.
He adjusted his coat sleeves as he stepped out into the blessedly large entry area and spotted Kirby standing not far away. He started toward the older man.
“Your Grace! How delightful to see you again!”
Griffin stifled a groan as he recognized who had stopped him. He turned to the petite blonde with a forced smile. “Miss Astor-Prynn. Good afternoon. I trust this afternoon finds you well?”
She rolled her bright blue eyes. “You would not believe the day I’ve had, Your Grace. First my maid—” she jerked her head toward the timid-looking little thing standing a few feet behind her “—ruined my favorite hair ribbons, and then Cook served the most dreadful luncheon, and my dressmaker had to cancel my appointment, because she was bitten by a spider and is under the weather. I swear, it is impossible to find good help these days.”
Sweet Hades. Could she honestly be this shallow? Yes, he could see it in her face; she could. “My sympathies. I hate to be rude, but I must ask you to excuse me. I am on my way to meet someone.”
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. The pressure didn’t hurt, but made his wounds itch uncomfortably. She wore a large-brimmed hat decorated with ostrich plumes, and when she leaned in closer to him, the feathers almost brushed his face. He had to blow on them to keep them away.
“I do hope you’re feeling better after that unfortunate ... altercation the other night. Why, you don’t even have a bruise!”
Of course he didn’t—the Organites made certain of that. “Yes, well, like I said to the police, I’m fairly certain the girl used chloroform or something similar. She couldn’t have knocked me out otherwise.” Thank God the authorities had agreed with him. That was easier to understand than the fact that Finley was extraordinary—not that he could have told them that, anyway.
“I am very glad to see that you survived the ordeal unscathed. My shoulder still aches where the awful creature ran into me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps you should see a doctor.” Perhaps she could do that right now and leave him alone. He was in no mood to flirt and be charming; he wasn’t very skilled at it even on a good day.
The girl waved a dismissive hand. She was a pretty little thing, but something about her got under his skin and annoyed him—like a tick. “It’s nothing serious, and it won’t stop me from attending the theater tomorrow night. Will you be there, Your Grace?”
“Which theater is that?”
She laughed, as if she thought he was trying to be funny. “Why, the Olympia, of course! It’s the only one with a production worth seeing at the moment.”
Could that be the theater where Finley and Dalton would be? It seemed a little too coincidental not to be. “Is that so? I may have to attend, then. I’ve heard the theater in New York is tremendous.”
She shrugged. “Though nothing like the London stage, I’m sure. After all, you have Lillie Langtry.”
“I believe she’s moved to this side of the pond,” he replied with the one bit of information he knew about the aging actress. Kirby still stood by the wall, watching them. He redoubled his efforts to extricate himself. “Miss Astor-Prynn, will you excuse me? I’m supposed to meet someone, and he’s waiting for me.”
The blonde smiled prettily. “Of course. I hope to see you tomorrow evening.” Then she offered her hand, and he was forced to take it in his own and kiss the air above her knuckles. It would have been rude of him not to.
He said
goodbye and turned toward his next visitor with a sigh of relief. He felt as though he had just been pulled out of the path of a runaway carriage.
Whip Kirby watched as he approached. Once they were within a few feet of each other, the lawman tipped his hat. “Your Grace, thank you for seeing me without a prior appointment.”
“Of course. Shall we find somewhere a little more private to talk?”
They found a small seating area not far away, which wasn’t currently in use. Griffin made himself as comfortable as he could, but his torso was still a little tender. Having one’s chest perforated would do that.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Kirby said, leaning forward so that his forearms rested on his knees. “Have you had any contact with Jasper Renn?”
Griffin arched a brow. “Who?”
“Come now, Your Grace, don’t play games. I saw you at the Tombs, and I know Renn was seen in your company in London. Your presence in New York is no more a coincidence than mine. Plus, you’ve been asking around ’bout Dalton just as much as I have.”
“If you know this, then you also know that I’m not about to tell you anything that might endanger my friend, or myself.”
The lawman tipped his chair back. “You assume I’m interested in harming the boy.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m interested in justice.” Kirby’s eyes were flat—entirely empty of emotion. “I won’t let some well-meaning English dandy stand in my way. I’ll ask again—have you made contact with Renn?”
Griffin could lie, but there was something in the old man’s tone that confused him—a hint of desperation. Could it be that they were on the same side?
“I haven’t been in direct contact, no.”
The older man smiled, causing lines to fan out around his eyes. “So that English girl running with Dalton’s gang is yours. I wondered about her. You know about Dalton, too, right?”
If Finley belonged to anyone it was herself. He was tempted to tell the marshal that. Instead, he nodded. “I do.”
“Then you know what kind of trouble your friend is in.”
“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. Kirby?” Griffin was still sore and more than a little cranky, so he was done with this conversation.