The Girl With the Windup Heart

by Kady Cross

  “It doesn’t matter what I like. What matters is what’s right.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand. You liked it. I liked it. How can that not be right?”

  He swore to himself. How could he make her understand when she hated all the bollocks about rules and expectations? “You’re right, you don’t understand, and I don’t know how to make you. I just can’t.”

  “You could with your doxy.”

  “You’re not like her.” No, she certainly wasn’t. “You’re not the same as those girls.” She had the world laid out before her. He could make sure she had an education, employment if she wanted. And when the time came, he’d pay all the right people to make certain she found her way into good society and caught the eye of a man who might someday deserve her.

  Mila nodded. “No, I’m not. It’s all right, Jack. I understand. I’m sorry about your shirt.”

  His shirt? He didn’t care about his shirt. He had other shirts. He cared about her. “It’s all right, poppet. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, with all these changes that have been happening in the past weeks.” She’d gone from machine to human—a miracle in itself. She couldn’t possibly understand it all. “I know very little about womanly...things. I’ll ask Finley to talk to you about...how these things work.” He had to assume that by now Treasure’s relationship with His pain-in-the-arse Grace had progressed to a certain level. Not long ago that would have made him jealous enough to drink. Now he hoped for it. Hoped that Finley would know how to make Mila understand that he respected her too much to use her.

  Something sparked in her eyes but quickly disappeared. “I wouldn’t want to bother her.”

  “It would be no bother.” Besides, Treasure owed him a favor or two. “I’m going to let you rest now. We’ll talk about this more later, all right?” Truth was he was a top-notch coward, running away from the situation because he had no bloody idea what to do or say. His gut told him one thing and his conscience told him another. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted it very badly.

  She just watched him with those big sad eyes. “Goodbye, Jack.”

  “It’s not really goodbye, poppet. We’ll see each other at dinner.”

  Mila nodded. “Right.”

  Jack walked over to her and kissed her forehead. “It’s all going to be fine.” And it would be. He’d do everything in his power to make certain she had the best life she could ever have. She was not going to be tossed aside like he had been. He would care for and protect her until the world wasn’t such a danger to her.

  Only then would he let her go.

  * * *

  A trip to the library was not what Finley had in mind when she followed Sam from the cellar laboratory. It was not the sort of room that invited violence.

  “Is this a new form of fighting?” she asked, glancing around the familiar room. She remembered when she’d first come there, Griffin smiling down at her from the balcony that ran along each wall. That day she’d thought him the finest thing she’d ever seen.

  Floor to ceiling was shelf after shelf of books, and the ceiling was very, very high. Griffin had more books than her stepfather’s shop, and he was a bookseller! Large, multipaned windows provided ample reading light during daylight hours, and gave the room an almost churchlike feel. Of course, that might just be her imagination, having grown up believing that knowledge gleaned through reading was close to godliness. “Are we going to throw books at each other?” Of course, she was joking. She’d never risk harming a book by throwing it at Sam’s thick skull.

  “Funny,” he replied dryly. “I wouldn’t do that to a book.”

  Finley blinked. Sometimes she and Sam were uncomfortably alike. “I didn’t know you read.”

  He shot her a sour glance. “Emily helps me with the big words.”

  Heat flooded her face. Sometimes she deliberately needled Sam, poked at him like a slumbering bear, but it was never her intent to offend him. Not really. “I mean, I didn’t think you enjoyed books.”

  He shrugged before making his way to one of the shelves. “Depends on the book. Em likes to read, and she likes it when we can talk about a story. I like making her happy, so I read. Jane Austen’s not exactly my cuppa, but that Dickens bloke is all right enough. No more Shakespeare, though. Not even for her. That’s just rhyming nonsense to me.”

  She couldn’t help but grin—and it was all right because he wasn’t looking. “The things we do for love, what?”

  Sam pulled a leather-bound book from a shelf by his head, his expression droll. “Like risking your own death? That’s mad.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk. If the suit fit you, you and I would be duking it out to see who got to go after him.”

  He paused, then turned to face her, certainty etched into his rugged features. His dark gaze was blunt and clear. “No, we wouldn’t.”

  Right. Because, if it was Emily who was missing, she wouldn’t even try to stop him from going after her. In fact, when Emily was kidnapped, Finley had known Sam had to take the lead on bringing her home. She hadn’t dreamed of getting in his way, even though Em was her best friend and she was worried sick about her. She played her own part, but let Sam do what he felt was best.

  The big lad’s understanding of this made her turn her gaze away, to the shelves of books before them. She didn’t like that her feelings for Griffin were so transparent. It didn’t matter that they shared a bedroom, feelings were so personal. Private. Love made a person terribly vulnerable, and vulnerability was a state Finley despised. That he understood this made her want to punch him, and then perhaps give him a hug for being more of a dear than he had any right. “Why did you bring me here, Sam?”

  He grabbed another book from a higher shelf—one she would have required a step stool to reach—and took them to the large desk at the front of the room. “These are books on the Aether.”

  Finley was skeptical. “The Aether was only discovered a decade ago, give or take. Those books look ancient.” Really, one of them looked about ready to fall apart from its bindings.

  “This one is,” he replied, pushing the less battered one toward her. “The other was written a century ago by a husband and wife who interviewed people who died and came back to life. Griff and I used to play with it as kids, that’s why it’s in such a state. Boys aren’t taught to be gentle.”

  She didn’t care what boys were taught. Girls were lucky if they were taught to read. “I don’t want to read about people who resisted going into the light, or saw God or all their ancestors. I want to save Griffin, and you’re wasting my time.” So much for him being a dear.

  “Remember when you told me I was smarter than I looked?”

  She might have done that more than once. It certainly sounded like something she might say. “Yes.”

  “Well, you’re dumber than you look. The Aether is where the dead go on the first leg of their journey. This book details what those people who came back experienced there. The Aetheric dimension is one of energy, and there are a lot of strange and dangerous things there for people who don’t belong.”

  He was right: she was dumb. She should have thought of that—she’d seen enough bizarre things from the Aether to know better. “Like people whose souls are still attached to their bodies.”

  Sam nodded. “This is what you’re going to be doing until Emily sends for you. When you go in there, you’re going to be as prepared as you can be. I want both you and Griff back safely.”

  A lump settled in her throat, but she covered it with humor. “Aw, Sam. You must really like me.”

  One of his dark brows arched, but his black eyes sparkled. “Not usually, but I do care about you, so don’t get permanently killed in there, all right?”

  Finley blinked. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came o
ut.

  Sam laughed. “I wish I had a photograph of the look on your face right now.”

  She shook her head. “Just wasn’t expecting such a declaration, Samson.”

  “You have a habit of calling me by Biblical names. Do you find me legendary?”

  “In your own mind.” Real annoyance poked at the edges of her mind. “All right, crack open those books. Griffin’s waiting.”

  He did as she commanded, and together they skimmed through the narratives until they found the meat of each account.

  “This one talks about the Aether demons,” she announced, full of surprise. “I thought Garibaldi made those.”

  “Wraiths have been around for a long time,” Sam informed her, turning a page.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I started reading these books when we got back from New York, more so after we tangled with Garibaldi last time. The demons are nasty things—all hate and anger—ranging in size from small spheres to man-size.”

  The ones they’d already faced hadn’t been that big, but they did a lot of damage. They had cut Griffin up pretty badly. What kind of damage would something bigger do? They could be cutting him right now. Flaying him. Tearing him apart.

  Fear gripped Finley hard, crushed her lungs and stopped her heart. God, she couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to be too late, aren’t I? Garibaldi’s probably already killed him.”

  Sam looked at her with an expression that offered no hope, no sympathy, but neither was it morose. “He’ll be hurt, but you’ll find him. The bastard’s not going to kill him quickly.”

  His words were as effective as a dagger to the gut and just as painful. He was right. The Machinist would torture Griffin patiently—he was too caught up in his desire for revenge to rush things now. He’d want to make Griffin suffer. In a way that was good, because they had time to find him alive, but who knew what sort of shape he’d be in when she found him. It wasn’t just his spirit in the Aether, it was his physical self, and every injury would show. Would scar.

  A large hand settled over hers and squeezed. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until that moment. “Griffin is the strongest person I know—stronger than you or me. You will find him, and the two of you will send Garibaldi to hell, where he belongs.” Finley’s gaze lifted to his. There was an awful lot of determination in the black depths of Sam’s eyes. “I mean it. You’re going to destroy him, you understand me? And you’re going to do that for me.”

  Out of all of them Sam had the most personal vendetta against The Machinist. The man had manipulated him, kidnapped the girl he loved and now had his best friend. The man was also responsible for the automaton that had ripped Sam apart. Maybe they weren’t really friends, but they were family now, and Finley would get revenge for Sam.

  “I will,” she promised.

  He squeezed her hand before letting go, and they went back to the books. It was difficult to concentrate when she kept waiting for Emily to come for her, but Finley did the best she could. She needed to learn as much about the Aether as she could.

  “Someone should send for Ipsley,” she said, the thought suddenly occurring to her. Ipsley was a new friend of Griffin’s and a medium. He was able to communicate with ghosts, so it stood to reason he could communicate with anyone in the Aether. “He might be able to reach out to Griffin, and even if he can’t, I might be able to talk through him.”

  Sam immediately picked up the handset for the telephone that sat on the desk and tapped out a number. Griffin had had the private telephone installed just a month earlier. It was a new design by Bell that eliminated the need for an operator, and connected Aetherically to the local switchboard, opening a line on its own. Fantastic little thing, but expensive. Finley couldn’t believe how much it cost to have them installed throughout the house—more money than her stepfather made in a year.

  Sometimes Griffin’s wealth frightened her. Many young men would suspect someone of her background of sniffing around after his money, but Griffin never did that. Another example of how well he knew her—if she wanted money she could think of a dozen ways she could easily make a fortune, and most of them were legal.

  She half listened as Sam spoke to Ipsley, and took from his half of the conversation that the medium was all too happy to help. Sam hadn’t given him details, but he had mentioned that Griffin was in trouble. Ipsley was a good enough friend that he only needed to hear that to come running.

  Finley was reading about the sorts of creatures she might encounter in the Aether when the library door opened and Jasper walked in. His green eyes were solemn. “Everything’s ready for you, Miss Finley.”

  It didn’t matter how many times she asked him not to call her miss he always went back to it. It usually sounded so very charming in his American drawl, but this time it sat like a weight around her shoulders.

  Sam stood at the same time she did. Finley placed her hand on his forearm—it was hard as a rock beneath her fingers, and it wasn’t completely because of the metal framework Emily had used during the reconstructive surgery she’d performed on him. The bloke was as solid as a brick privy. “Sam, just in case, I want to say...thanks.” That was all she could manage without getting too choked up.

  “Save it for later,” came his gruff reply. Finley wondered what he would have said had Jasper not been there. The two men were getting on better than they had, but they still weren’t best of friends. Maybe they would never be terribly close, but they each had a job to play within their little group, and each of them performed his job very well.

  “I’ll bring Ipsley down as soon as he arrives,” Sam promised. “You tell Em that he’s coming. He should be here soon.”

  Finley nodded and then joined Jasper, who walked her to the lift.

  “I feel like I’m headed for the gallows,” she joked—lamely—as the gate closed.

  “I reckon you’d be a simpleton not to feel that way,” her friend replied. “Ain’t no pleasure in contemplating a body’s mortality.”

  “But I’m not dying for good.” Saying it out loud, it sounded so completely absurd. Challenging death, trespassing in that domain was not something anyone should take lightly.

  Jasper chuckled. “No, you are not. I do wish you’d let me go instead.”

  “I’ve had more experience with the Aether.”

  “Yeah, but if Mei’s still around, I could probably get her to help.”

  There was something in his voice—regret?—that broke her heart. “Mei’s moved on, Jas. I haven’t seen her since she helped me get Griffin away before.” The girl’s ghost had been manipulated by his family’s nemesis, Garibaldi, into doing his dirty work, and it had been easy because of Griffin’s regret for having caused her death when they were in New York. Mei had been an unfortunate victim of Griffin’s powers.

  The cowboy looked straight ahead. A lock of sandy hair fell over his brow. “Then I s’pose that’s the end of that.”

  “Is it?” He had loved Mei once. The girl had died in his arms. Was there ever an “end” to that sort of thing?

  He turned his head to shoot her a wry glance as the lift jerked to a stop. “Got me a future to look forward to—there’s no sense in living in the past.”

  “Sound advice. Is Cat your future, do you think?”

  He smiled that crooked smile that charmed practically everyone he met. “Indeed she is.”

  Emily and Wildcat waited for them by what appeared to be a modified dental chair. It was bloody terrifying, whatever it was. It had clamps and tubes, needles and valves. There were restraints for her arms and feet and a framework to keep her head in place as she reclined.

  Finley’s courage wavered a bit. She couldn’t get cold feet now, not with Griffin depending on her. Everyone was depending on her. She was the only one of them who had seen the Aether, let alone been sucked into it. When G
riffin helped merged her two selves, a bond had formed between them. Everytime she brushed against the veil between the dimensions it got a little stronger. She would be able to find Griffin because of that bond. She would find him, save him and bring him home. And she would see Leonardo Garibaldi destroyed forever.

  Emily must have seen the doubt in her expression. “You all right, lass?”

  She nodded. “The Machinist has enough of a head start on us. I don’t want to give him any more. Ipsley is coming to lend his assistance. Help me into the suit.”

  Jasper held the heavy canvas-and-wire-mesh suit as Finley stepped into it. It was an odd-looking thing, with dials and switches, valves and hoses attached. There was a headpiece, as well, with a glass front so her face could be seen. Emily put a small glove designed to monitor heart rate and body temperature on Finley’s left hand. Once in the suit, her friends helped her into the dentist chair and began attaching the various loose bits together.

  It was a good thing she didn’t suffer from a fear of small spaces, or she’d have a fit. It was like being inside a snow globe.

  “In a few seconds you’ll begin to feel sleepy,” came Emily’s voice via a small amplifier near her ear. The disambiguation suit was equipped with communication devices that went both ways—an addition Emily had made to it just in case the wearer ever got into trouble or needed instruction. She certainly had put a lot of work into the bloody thing given that she’d proclaimed it too dangerous for use. “Are you ready?”

  Finley nodded and drew a deep breath. Emily flicked a few switches and adjusted a couple of dials on a control panel just a few feet away. As the machinery connected to the suit engaged, a slight hum began inside the helmet. She could feel a low vibration in her limbs. Then a hissing sound as the sleeping agent was released and the cooling system started. Cool air surrounded her as Finley’s eyelids drooped. She forced herself to take deep breaths so the process would be that much quicker.

  “May God hold ye in the palm of his hand, Finley Jayne,” Emily whispered in her ear.