by Kady Cross
Tesla crossed his legs. “And like that stone, will you also explode if you absorb too much?”
Unbidden, thoughts of blowing all the water out of the pool in London and the destruction of The Machinist’s lair flashed in Griffin’s mind. “I assume so.”
“So when you release the Aether, I assume it has to go somewhere. What happens then?”
If it were anyone else asking these questions, Griffin would tell them it was personal. He was normally suspicious of curious people, often assuming that they would inevitably want something from him if they knew too much about his abilities. Once, when he was a child, an old friend of his grandfather’s had wanted to use him to contact his dead wife. Griffin had done so out of kindness, but then the old man kept coming back, slipping further and further away from his life, until communications with a ghost was all he had. When his father told the old man that Griffin would no longer work as a medium for him, the old man had gone mad and had to be escorted from the estate. He died shortly thereafter—by his own hand.
Griffin took a sip of tea and pushed the past to where it belonged. “I find water to be the best receptacle, though it has the unfortunate tendency to render everything rather damp.”
“What if you were to direct it into a structure?”
He cleared his throat, uncertain if he should reveal more. “I would most likely raze it to the ground.”
Tesla’s eyes were bright, his face lit with excitement. “Aetheric oscillation,” he said in a slightly reverent tone, moustache twitching. “You inspired me, Your Grace. I have recently begun work on a machine that I believe will absorb Aetheric energy much like you and then expel that same energy.”
“To what end?” Griffin asked. “I could see it being used to replace the treacherous practices now in place for blasting out railway lines or in building demolition, perhaps.”
“Or in war,” Tesla added. “Imagine if an army marched on New York, one could Aetherically destroy the Brooklyn Bridge to prevent penetration of Manhattan Island, but without the risk to life or other property that comes with explosives.”
War? Griffin didn’t like that idea at all.
“Entire cities might be toppled,” Tesla went on. “But that’s not the manner in which I would use such a creation, no. Imagine being able to peel back the earth’s crust like one peels an orange. Only wonder at what discoveries await there!”
For the first time since meeting the man, Griffin wondered if Tesla wasn’t a little mad. Certainly he was brilliant, and with brilliance there was often a certain detachment from the rest of the world, but wondering at building something that could destroy the earth, just because you wanted to see if you could build it, well, that was just asking for trouble.
And for that matter alone, Griffin did not tell the man that the Aether was an organic energy, and while small amounts could be harnessed by machines, even manipulated—such as with Tesla’s device that could have brought down the building and worse—the amount needed to topple an entire city or split the earth’s crust could only be absorbed, and therefore unleashed, by organic material.
Basically, that to the best of his knowledge, he was the only being or thing on the planet capable of such destruction— and even then, taking in that much Aether would undoubtedly kill him.
No, he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he raised his teacup in salute. “I wish you the best of luck with that, sir.” Meanwhile, he knew in the back of his mind that if Tesla ever did succeed in creating such a machine, he would personally hunt it down and destroy it.
“Now,” he said, after taking a drink of tea, “I assume that we need to get close to this machine of yours to stop it.”
“No, not necessarily.” Tesla smoothed the fingers of his left hand over his moustache. “The device was designed to be operated up close or at a distance. Your criminal will not need to have it on his person to use it.”
Griffin clenched his jaw. Nothing had been easy during this trip. Not a bloody thing. And why was Tesla smiling at him? Did the man not realize they were shagged?
“What’s so amusing, sir?” He ignored the sharp look Emily shot him for speaking so hotly to the inventor.
Tesla chuckled. “Because it should be obvious to you, Your Grace. You do not need to touch the device to stop it. You are one with the Aether. All you must do is locate its signal on the Aetheric plane and use your incredible talent to render it inert.”
Had he said what Griffin thought he said? Griffin couldn’t help but chuckle. In fact, they all did.
Finally something he could control.
Since Whip Kirby wasn’t affiliated with the New York City police, he didn’t take Finley to the Tombs, but rather to the set of rooms he’d rented from a bounty-hunter associate, complete with holding cells in the cellar and on the ground floor. The ground floor ones obviously being for the less dangerous captures.
At the moment, Finley wasn’t locked up on either floor. She sat at the table with Whip, enjoying a cup of coffee and a hot breakfast of griddle cakes and sausage. She had spent the night on a cot in the small spare bedroom, and she’d been grateful for it, sleeping far later than she should have. Once she realized Kirby meant her no harm, it had been easy to relax. They had stayed up fairly late, talking. She had tried to contact Griffin, but her P.T. was still a bit dodgy, and she didn’t know if the message made it to him.
“You don’t think I’ll run away?” she had asked when he showed her to the guest room.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. For an old man, he wasn’t bad looking. He had to be at least thirty. “Don’t matter much to me if you stay or leave. But it might be more convincing if you let Dalton come looking for you.”
She made a scoffing noise. “He won’t come for me.”
“I think you underestimate yourself. Dalton considers you his. He sent men to London to fetch Jasper. He’ll come for you.”
Finley didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “Do you really want to clear Jasper’s name?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Why?” she asked as she sat down on the bed.
Kirby leaned against the door frame and folded his arms over his chest. “Because I married his sister six months ago and I promised her I’d find the real murderer.”
Her jaw dropped. “Does Jasper know you’re family?”
The toe of one of his scuffed boots rubbed against the threshold. “Nope. He doesn’t know he’s going to be an uncle soon, either. My wife hopes he’ll be able to come visit us after the baby’s born.”
Finley’s throat was surprisingly tight. “I see.” If she had doubted him before, she didn’t anymore.
He gave her something to wear to bed and then retired to his own room. Finley wondered if he spent the night listening to see if she’d leave.
And now here she was, sitting at his table, eating the food he cooked. The man made a delicious breakfast.
A knock on the door made them both freeze. Finley had her cup halfway to her mouth as her gaze locked with Whip’s.
“Last cell on the right,” the older man commanded, not waiting to see if she obeyed before drawing his gun and pushing back his chair.
Finley raced to the other side of the building where the cells were. She had to go through a heavy door, which would be locked if there were prisoners in residence. There were only four cells on the ground floor; all were empty and clean, awaiting another occupant.
She ducked into the last cell on the right of the corridor and closed the bars behind her. Then she sat down on the cot—which was nowhere near as comfortable as the one she had slept on—and waited, heart in her throat. Was it Dalton? She was worried for Mr. Kirby. Or was it Griffin? Would he be ashamed of her? Or was it the police, coming to take her to a real jail?
What did it say about her that she almost wished it was the police?
By the time Griff and the others managed to get away from Tesla, it was late morning. Kirby welcomed them into his lodgings/jail with a warm but exp
ectant smile—as if he’d been waiting for them.
Griffin didn’t waste any time. “Where is she?” Kirby smiled at them and arched a brow when Sam had to duck his head to come through the door. Sam wore his customary scowl—only a little darker at the moment.
“She’s not in shackles, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He jerked his head toward a heavy door. “She’s down there. I had her take to a cell until we knew who our company was.”
Emily gestured back the way they’d come. “You need a scope on that door—something so you can peer through and see who’s come calling.”
The lawman nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll pass that suggestion on to my friend who owns this place.” Then to Griffin, who was grinding his teeth in impatience, “C’mon, I’ll take you to Miss Finley.”
It was about bloody time. Griffin only nodded in response and followed the older man through the heavy door. Emily and Sam came, as well. They walked down a hall flanked by empty cells, but they’d only gone as far as the second when he spotted her.
She was wearing the gown she had worn the night before, and it was badly wrinkled. Her long honey-blond hair hung in a tangled mess around her shoulders, the black stripe a dark contrast. Her eyes were huge as her gaze locked with his. She looked almost as though she expected him to be angry with her.
He was—or rather he had been. He’d made himself furious, thinking about all the things that might have happened. It was either be angry or terrified, so he’d chosen the former. However, now he didn’t seem capable of feeling anything other than relief at the sight of her—and a sharp happiness, which felt like a pinch in his chest.
“Finley!” Emily squealed and bounded over to the bars. She reached through when Finley approached and grabbed the other girl’s hands.
Finley blinked rapidly—trying not to cry, Griffin realized. “Em. It’s so good to see you. You too, Sam.”
Sam grinned, softening his features. “You look good behind bars.”
She laughed at that, but her smile faded when she turned to Griffin. “You lot shouldn’t be here. Dalton might be watching.”
“Hang Dalton,” Griffin replied. He couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I ... We had to make certain you were all right. What’s this all about, Kirby?”
The lawman shrugged. “Figured if it seemed like I had arrested her, they wouldn’t call for the cops. I might not be the best of hosts, but this is a damn sight better than the Tombs.”
The thought of Finley being in that place was enough to turn Griffin’s stomach. It would be easy to blame himself for this, but he wasn’t going to go there. Finley had known what she was doing, and he wouldn’t have been able to keep her from it. If he was going to blame anyone, he’d blame Dalton.
“You’re right,” he agreed, nodding. “Thank you for looking after her.”
Kirby pulled a ring of keys from his belt. “Why don’t I let her out, and the five of us have some coffee and eats while we compare information? I’m hoping you’ve figured out what Dalton’s up to.”
“A little,” Griffin allowed. He watched as Kirby unlocked the cell door so Finley could come out. He was barely aware of his feet moving until he stood right in front of her.
No turning back now, he thought, and he hugged her. In front of three witnesses—two of whom were bound to tease him mercilessly for this—he pulled her close and rested his cheek against her hair. He could have stayed like that forever, but he let her go after a second or two. Her hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms. She didn’t seem to want to let go of him, either.
They returned to the main area of the apartments and sat down at the table. Kirby took away the cold remains of Finley’s meal with the promise to make more. “Sorry, folks, but breakfast’s all I know how to cook.”
“I never turn down bacon,” Sam allowed.
Emily rolled her eyes at him. “You never turn down anything edible.”
Griffin glanced at Finley with a grin. She smiled back. Sam and Emily’s banter was always good for defusing an awkward moment. He didn’t like it when things were awkward between Finley and himself, but they couldn’t seem to help themselves.
As Kirby cooked, he revealed his surprising family connection to the Renns. No wonder he wanted to clear Jasper’s name. His sister—and the rest of the family—must be beside themselves with worry. If the marshal had revealed this earlier, it would have kept them from doubting him.
In turn, Griffin related what they had discovered from Tesla in regards to the mysterious machine.
“Isn’t that a bit of a coincidence?” Finley asked, speaking for the first time since leaving the cell. She glanced at Griffin, then Emily. “That it just happened to be built by a man you know?”
Emily’s pink lips curved slightly. “I prefer to think of it as my sweet Irish luck, my friend. It might seem odd, but Tesla and Edison are the two minds behind the most amazing inventions in this country. Dalton must have heard of the machine and what it was supposed to do—why else steal it? At least now we know what it does.”
“Mmm,” Griffin agreed as he took a drink of Kirby’s excellent coffee. “But still no closer to knowing what he intends to do with it.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Kirby asked. “There’s not a vault or train—anything—that he can’t simply walk right into whenever he pleases.”
“Dalton thinks of himself as special,” Griffin replied. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to simply rob a place because he can. There’s no challenge in that. He wants attention, but he also wants respect. No, he’ll go after high-profile victims— the kinds of robberies that anyone else would be foolish to attempt.”
Finley nodded. “Griff ’s right. Dalton’s vain. He’ll want to cause a fuss, right off the mark.”
“And what better place to do that than in New York City?” Whip flipped the eggs frying on the stove and turned to Griffin. “You’ve been something of a celebrity since your arrival. Do you know of any highfalutin shindigs coming up?”
“Dalton stole plans to the Museum of Science and Invention, but from what I’ve heard, there’s nothing that would be of value to a man like him on display there.”
Whip’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t that where they’re displaying that rare diamond that’s come to town? It’s an odd color or something. That Astor-Prynn gent’s in charge.”
Griffin froze. He had received an invitation to the event, but he hadn’t opened it, because attending would mean spending more time with Lydia. If he had opened it, he would have seen the location. Even though he’d been told about the viewing, he’d never been told where it was.
It was enough to make him want to smack himself in the forehead for being so ruddy stupid.
“Dalton must be planning to steal the diamond,” Finley said. “It’s flashy, plus he’ll have a very upscale audience. It’s the kind of thing that would make him famous.”
“It would at that,” Whip agreed. “And if he’s got a machine that allows him to walk through walls, he can get in right easy.”
“Not just that,” Emily added before Griffin could. “He could reach right into any display or locked box he wanted.”
Anticipation stirred in Griffin’s belly, just as it always did when he was close to capturing a criminal. But it wasn’t just for that. Once Dalton was gone, Finley would come back.
He really wanted her back.
Kirby began setting plates of bacon and eggs and fried potatoes in front of them, and they ate while they discussed Dalton and his plans. Finley told them about the barbaric collar the outlaw made Mei wear and how he used Jasper’s feelings for the girl to manipulate him.
Sam shook his shaggy dark head. “There’s always a girl.”
Emily nudged him hard with her elbow, but the big lad hardly seemed to notice. In truth, he used the fact that her arm was busy to steal a forkful of golden-brown potatoes from her plate.
His joke led Griffin to reveal to Finley what Kirby had told them about the murder Jasper had been accu
sed of committing. What surprised him was that she knew all about it— Jasper had told her.
“Mei and I can’t stand each other,” she admitted, “but I don’t blame her for plugging that fellow full of holes. I’d have done the same myself.” A shadow seemed to pass over her face, and Griffin wondered if she was thinking about what she had done to the son of her last employer when the young man attacked her.
“Me, too,” Emily agreed.
Sam’s scowl returned. “You’d have to do it before I ripped his arms off.”
Griffin winced. It was one thing to hear someone make such an overly exaggerated comment and another to know they could actually do it.
A knock on the door put an end to the conversation, and they all snapped to attention.
Quickly, Kirby gathered up their plates and piled them in the sink. “In the back, all of you.”
“You think it’s Dalton?” Griffin asked, holding the heavy door open for the others.
The marshal met his gaze with his flinty stare. “I’m expecting him.”
Griffin only nodded and followed his friends down the hall. It would be better to have the element of surprise against Dalton. He wouldn’t expect Griffin to have come for Finley.
The girls stepped into the cell Finley had been in earlier, while Sam stood just in the entrance of it and Griffin out in the hall. He didn’t want to risk the door closing and shutting them all in. They’d be easy targets then.
His gaze slipped to the wall of the cell behind Finley. What the—? He shook his head.
“What?” Sam demanded, glancing over his shoulder.
“The wall. I thought it moved.” As soon as he spoke, the strange phenomenon happened again, only this time he was certain of it. The wall rippled.
“Bugger,” Griff muttered.
Dalton had arrived.
As if by magic, a figure literally stepped right through that back wall. It was a huge man Griffin recognized as one of Dalton’s men. Right behind him came another, then Jasper, then Dalton.
In the other part of the building, there was a commotion, and before Griffin could yell for Kirby, the door burst open and Whip came running in. Past him, Griffin could see a man lying on the floor. Obviously Dalton had sent a distraction for the marshal while he used Tesla’s device on the building’s outer wall.