“No,” Mei retorted. “But I can’t touch them, and he can’t hear me.”
Finley threw herself at Griffin’s attackers. If she was dead, she didn’t have much time before she stayed that way, maybe Griffin, too.
Her hands stung as she seized one of the wisps. Blood welled up around the black, trickling down her wrist. Little buggers hurt.
Griffin’s face was bloody, his neck and hands, too. His body glowed with his power, but the wisps didn’t seem to care; in fact, they seemed to feed on it. The more he fought the more delicious they found him.
Bloody little demons. “Griffin, stop struggling!”
He didn’t hear her. His power was building, the light around him increasing its halo. It brightened, pulsed…
“Oh, bugger.” Finley threw her arms up in front of her face just in time. The light coming off Griffin exploded into a kaleidoscope of color, raining down tiny iridescent snowflakes that were hot to the touch.
The wisps backed off. There were fewer of them now. Finley watched in horror as they grew in size, claws and fangs elongating. The blast had only made them stronger. They drew themselves up, preparing to attack.
Right. That was enough of that nonsense. She didn’t care what they did to her, but they would not take Griffin.
She stepped in front of him and smiled gently at his ravaged face.
“Fin,” he whispered, eyes widening. “Don’t.”
“I’ve got this,” she promised. “I need you to bring me back, Griffin. Don’t let me die, all right?”
He nodded. It was the oddest thing, because in the Aether he retained the same form he had in the mortal realm. Finley watched him through the veil as he moved to where her body sprawled on the floor.
“You just going to stand there?” she asked Mei.
The girl shrugged. “I told you I cannot touch them. Whatever keeps me here also keeps me from interfering. Now stop talking and fight.”
She was right, of course, though Finley bristled at the words. The wisps, done with waiting, surged after Griffin, but Finley stepped into their path. Drawing back her fist, she sent it forward as if her muscles were coiled springs. Her knuckles connected with the wisp as hard as she could punch.
It was like hitting a brick wall. They might look as insubstantial as clouds, but the little demons were much, much more, which was a good thing in this case. The one she hit flew backward and broke apart, evaporating into nothing.
Another came at her and she hit it, as well. Then another, and another…
“Finley.”
Another.
“Finley.”
Only two more left…now one.
“Finley!” She glanced over her shoulder. It was Griffin. He was poised above her body, pushing on her chest. In the Aether, she could feel his hands pulling at her. Whatever he was doing, it was something to force her into her body. It was to save her life.
She turned her attention back to the last of the demons. It was bigger than the rest, and as she prepared to ram her bruised and bloodied knuckles into it, the swirling darkness took shape, morphing into a face.
The Machinist.
Finley’s lips curled into a sneer. “I’m going to enjoy smashing you to bits.”
The coal-dust mouth opened. “Not today, my dear,” it rumbled. And then, before she could even react, Garibaldi’s shadowy self launched itself at Mei. He caught her in monstrous claws that sprang from hands that hadn’t been there two seconds ago. She screamed and was swallowed into the darkness as it collapsed on itself, disappearing completely.
Finley could only stare after it.
“Finley!” It was Griffin again. This time, there was real fear in his voice. At first she’d thought about staying in this place, but she couldn’t—not with him waiting for her on the other side. She had no idea how to get back into her body, but she knew she had to figure it out and fast, or the decision to stay or leave would be made for her.
“Griffin.” She stared at him helplessly.
For a split second terror sparked in his eyes. He held out his hand; his fingers pierced the veil as they reached for her. Finley entwined her fingers with his, relief washing over her. He was as real in this world as he was in the living. Of course he was.
Their gazes locked. She trusted that his abilities could take her back to the world of the living. She smiled as he pulled her closer to her body. Her vision blurred as she passed through the mist, fading to serene darkness….
She lurched upright with a strangled gasp, back arching as breath forced itself into her lungs. Coming alive wasn’t nearly as pleasant as dying had been.
“It’s all right,” a soothing voice said near her ear. “You’re safe.”
Gasping, but breathing, she turned her head. Griffin’s face was just inches from hers. He was bloody, but gorgeous all the same. His fingers were still wrapped around hers, warm and strong. He held her hand as though he’d never let it go. She could lean into him, let him put his arms around her. She wanted to press her mouth against his and not stop until they both suffocated. She wanted to take him to the carpet and…
“Fin?”
She lifted her gaze. Griffin’s was bright and focused so exactly on her that she knew he harbored similar thoughts. His fingers tightened around hers. She felt herself tilting toward him, as he moved toward her.
“Ahem.”
Finley started. Damnation, she’d forgotten about Jasper. Slowly, she and Griffin turned their flushed faces toward their friend. He looked anxious.
“What the devil just happened?” he demanded. “After Mei faded, all I saw was Finley pass out and then Griffin’s face was getting cut up.”
Griffin withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the blood from his face. His coat was shredded but seemed to have protected him from the worst of the attack. “It was Mei,” he said. “Mei and Garibaldi.”
Jasper paled.
“Mei was trying to help,” Finley told him. “If not for her I wouldn’t have been able to get into the Aether to assist Griffin. She couldn’t do it.” She glanced at Griffin. “She said she was being controlled—by Garibaldi. He seems to control the wisps, as well.”
“Wisps?” Jasper asked. “Like what you saw at Tesla’s?”
Griffin nodded, grimacing at the amount of blood on the square of white linen in his hands. “I’ve come to think of them as Aether demons. They are malevolent by nature.”
Jasper snorted. “You don’t say. Why could Finley see them and not me?”
“That I don’t know.” He tossed the bloody cloth onto a small table. “They seem to be able to conceal or reveal themselves at will.”
“Garibaldi’s will,” Finley corrected. “I saw his face. He spoke. And he took Mei.”
Jasper’s jaw flexed. “The bastard’s controlling her.”
Finley opened her mouth and closed it so fast her teeth clacked together. It wasn’t her place to point out to Jasper that Mei had betrayed him and that he shouldn’t make her a victim just because she apologized before she died. Saying she was sorry didn’t change anything.
Finley was sorry that she had kicked Sam in the chest so hard she’d almost killed him, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d done it, and that she’d done it on purpose. She hadn’t given any thought to how badly she might injure him. All she cared about was defending herself against his assault because he had seemed ready to kill her.
Mei hadn’t cared who she hurt, either.
“Seems to me if we find Garibaldi and end him for certain, all of our problems will disappear—including Mei’s servitude to the bastard.” The cowboy looked at the two of them as though he thought they might argue. “We’ll destroy his metal and bring Emily home.”
“As soon as we have an idea of where she is, we will go and bring her home.” Griffin’s expression hardened. “I will take care of Garibaldi, and this time I’ll make certain he doesn’t come back.”
Finley’s heart skipped a beat. He was very i
mpressive when he was out for blood. Speaking of which…
“Come on,” she said, taking him by the hand. “Let’s get those cuts attended to. I’m not as experienced a doctor as Em, but I reckon I can do a good enough job.”
He smiled at her—a subtle lopsided tilt of his mouth that filled her stomach with the fluttering wings of a thousand butterflies. His thumb brushed the back of her battered knuckles.
She swallowed. A fellow shouldn’t be allowed to make a girl feel so…vulnerable. He patted Jasper on the shoulder as they walked past. “I’ll make sure she gets peace, Jas. I promise.”
Jasper seemed to realize that Griffin needed to do this as much for himself as for Jasper, or even Mei. He needed to atone, whether or not it was necessary.
Griffin might need to make amends, but it was Finley’s job to make sure Garibaldi didn’t kill him before he got the chance. His life was in her hands, and she was going to keep a very, very tight grip on it.
Mila’s capacity for learning was amazing and frightening at the same time. Emily hypothesized that a very small part of the girl’s brain still functioned as a logic engine, absorbing and processing information at a remarkable rate.
This was their second reading lesson, if it could be called such. Every once in a while Mila would stumble over a word, or inquire as to its meaning. She’d been programmed for language, so once her internal workings began to understand the data being taken in, it wasn’t long before she began to work out meaning, pronunciation and application.
She was going to be a highly intelligent person; that much was clear.
Emily lay on the cot with her eyes closed, listening to the girl read. It wasn’t as though she had anything else to do. She’d given that awful Victoria automaton her list of supplies and was waiting for them to arrive. Short of looking for something to poke a hole in the Machinist’s tank, she didn’t know what else she could accomplish. And it wasn’t as though she could “do” anything when Mila was not only watching but practically locked in the room with her.
That was wrong. There was something she could do. Something she should have thought of before this. Obviously she wasn’t as smart as she liked to think!
“I’m going to miss listening to you read.”
Mila stopped reading and raised her head. It was probably just imagination at this point, but Emily fancied she could hear gears grinding. “Are you going away?”
“I’m hoping to eventually go home, but you’ll be gone before me.”
The girl frowned. The expression must have been new to her because her brow immediately relaxed, then furrowed again. She touched her fingers to her forehead, feeling the ridges. “Where am I going?”
Was it possible she didn’t know? “I shouldn’t have said anything. Pretend I didn’t.” Emily held her breath and waited.
The frown deepened. “I cannot pretend—that would be a lie. Tell me.”
She might look like a normal girl—almost—but the important thing Emily had to remember was that Mila was still very much a machine in a few very pivotal ways. Or perhaps the better way to describe it was that she had a childlike naïveté about her. Having no wish to be on the receiving end of the sort of violence her incredibly strong limbs were capable of inflicting, Emily released her breath and hoped telling the truth didn’t come back to slap her in the face.
“You know that you are to be the vessel for the Master.” Calling Garibaldi by such a lofty title made her want to vomit.
“Yes. Her Majesty tells me it’s a great honor.”
Of course, the decaying, twisted form of flesh and metal would say that. “I reckon it is, but you won’t be the same once that happens.”
Mila’s held tilted like an inquisitive puppy’s. “I won’t look the same?”
“You won’t be the same. You will no longer exist.” Oh, dear, perhaps this hadn’t been such a brilliant idea.
The girl fell silent for a moment. “In the book, Pinocchio’s nose grows whenever he tells a lie.”
“Yes.” This was a rather radical change of subject. “Your nose hasn’t grown at all.”
Emily couldn’t help but smile. “My nose doesn’t grow when I tell a lie. Only Pinocchio’s does that.”
“Then how do I know you’re not lying? Her Majesty told me you might lie to me. She said I oughtn’t trust you.” And then, “What is trust? I know the definition of the word, but not the emotion.”
Yes, what a wonderful kettle of fish she’d jumped into! Emily sighed. “Right. When I tell you something, such as you are very pretty, do you believe me?”
“I don’t know. Am I pretty?”
“Yes, you are. Very much so.”
Mila preened. “Thank you.”
“That’s trust.”
Skepticism glinted in her eyes—both now fully framed by long, thick lashes. “Telling me I’m pretty?”
“No. You believing me when I tell you that.”
“I have no reason not to believe you.”
“That means you trust me—at least to an extent.” She was good at this teaching business!
Mila pondered this for a moment. What Emily would give to study how much of that process was actual brain activity versus logic engine computation! “Then trust is believing what someone tells you without any reason other than want.”
“Sort of. I trust you not to hurt me. You trusted me to help you learn to read.”
The girl nodded slowly. “I do not hurt you because I don’t want to. I feel you are no threat to me. I think…I think I care for you. At least somewhat.”
“Oh. Thank you. I like you, as well.” And she did, even though it was probably a very bad idea. She rather felt like an older sister, and since she herself had only brothers, and was the youngest, she liked the unfamiliar feeling.
I can’t let them put his brain in her. I can’t let them ruin her. Emily knew her past played a large part in this sudden need to protect. Mila was sweet and innocent, and she was going to be used in a horrible fashion and then tossed away.
She knew what that felt like, to be used and tossed away like a broken doll.
But could she allow Mila to continue to evolve? To exist? If she did, the girl would be her responsibility, possibly for the rest of her life.
That just might be something she could live with.
“If the Master’s brain is put in my head then he will become me?”
Emily nodded. “His consciousness will live inside your body, yes. His logic engine, if that makes it easier for you to understand.”
“It does. I will look the same, but the way I process and assimilate information will be different.” She paused. “I will no longer experience controlling my limbs or learning to read.”
“Yes.”
Wide eyes narrowed. “You look sad. When the transfer happens we will no longer be friends, will we?”
Emily shook her head, her throat tight. Lord, she was soft. Give her a lost kitten or stray automaton and she melted like warm butter. “No. Your master is my enemy.”
This seemed to come as a surprise. “You don’t want to put his brain in my head, do you?”
“I most certainly do not.”
“If I understand the concept of life correctly, and the ways that humans can be destroyed, removing my brain will kill me. Death means you are gone forever, yes?”
Mary and Joseph, she was on the verge of tears. “Yes.”
With the book still opened across her lap, Mila leaned forward, as though about to share a great secret. Her gaze remained fastened on Emily, who didn’t care if the girl saw her wipe a spot of wet from her lashes. “I think I trust you not to kill me, Emily.”
Emily’s eyes widened—yanked open by shock. “You do?”
“I think…I think you are my Geppetto. Are you not? Though, a mother rather than a father.”
Oh, blast it all! Tears trickled down Emily’s cheeks and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. She hadn’t wanted to feel for this poor creature, and now here she w
as after a few days with her, bawling like a fool.
“You’re leaking.” Mila left her perch on a stack of books and came to kneel in front of the cot. She dabbed at Emily’s cheeks with her sleeve. Poor thing obviously meant well, but Emily would be amazed if she didn’t bruise from the force of the dabbing.
Emily sniffed. “I’m fine.” And she was, until a pair of dangerously strong arms closed around her in a tentative and gentle grip. She found herself leaning into the embrace, her own arms going around Mila’s back. She squeezed her eyes tight, fighting the tears until her head began to ache. Finally, the urge to cry eased and she opened her lids. She glanced up and saw a small, familiar shape on the ceiling. It was a mechanical spider.
It was her mechanical spider. Griffin must have sent it looking for her. It would transmit her exact location through the Aether back to King House. Her friends would come for her soon.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” she whispered, hugging the girl tight, and feeling only the softness of flesh rather than the unyielding strength of metal. “No one’s ever going to hurt you.”
And that promise extended not only to the Machinist and his “Victoria,” but to the whole world. Anyone who tried to hurt this dear creature was going to be very, very sorry.
Chapter 12
“You don’t have to look after me. I’m quite capable,” Griffin protested as Finley cleaned the wounds on his face.
She paused from cleaning one particularly nasty cut along his left cheekbone. “Am I hurting you?” Lord, she had such a hard time meeting his gaze; she was afraid of what he might see in her eyes—the fear when she hadn’t known how to help him, the sick feeling thinking that he might be seriously injured, the anger at him for playing martyr and keeping the “haunting” to himself for so long. Most of all, she was afraid he’d see that she was prepared to kill Garibaldi with her bare hands for him.
She’d do it and not even blink. That scared her. Not that she’d kill someone—she’d faced that prospect before—but that she’d do it for him without a thought.