If they survived it. Her confidence wasn’t what it ought to be. In fact, she hadn’t much at all. She had hope, and a lot of it. She even had prayers and wishes. Whether or not any of it would help remained to be seen. There was one thing she knew for certain; she wasn’t leaving the Aether without Griffin, and if that meant her own death she was prepared to do it.
Of course, she neglected to mention that to Emily, or anyone else. Finley was at peace with it, though. She knew the odds were against them, especially with the shape Griffin was in. He hadn’t said anything, but Emily had told her enough, and she’d seen him for herself—Griffin was dying. The truth of it brought a hot, prickling sensation to the back of her eyes, but she blinked it away while biting the inside of her cheek. No tears. Not yet.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost time for the séance. Ipsley and his friends would be arriving soon. He would once again be her anchor to this world while also being a conduit of strength for her in the Aether, drawing energy from the others. Hopefully they would be strong enough to summon and hold Garibaldi. The Machinist would know they hoped to trap him and he’d be ready, but if they could distract him just enough...
She slipped on her favorite boots—the ones she’d worn when she first took on Lord Felix—and laced them before heading downstairs. She wore her steel corset, as well. The hand-fashioned steel plates were small and allowed her ease of movement. These things were her armor; they made her feel invincible, and she was going to need all the help she could get.
It had been decided that the séance would be held in the ballroom since it was the largest room in the house outside of the cellar laboratory, and it was the room with the least amount of furniture or devices Garibaldi could use against them should his spirit manifest. All of the household automatons had been disabled and locked away for the evening, as well. The servants had been given the night off so that there was no chance of any of them getting injured in the fray.
The doorbell rang as Finley made her way to the ballroom. Wildcat ran past her and leaped over the banister, landing in a crouch on the floor below before springing up and bounding to the door. When she opened it, Ipsley and two more of his spiritualist friends stood on the step.
They were really going to do this. Finley had to stop to catch her breath—she’d blame it on the corset if anyone asked. She was scared—so much so that her palms were damp. She clenched her hands into fists as she strode into the ballroom.
The room was usually used for sparring and training, but tonight there was a round table in the center of the marble floor, with chairs around it, and the Tesla suit was set up on a table that was partially upright a few feet away.
Finley stopped. Was that a second suit next to the first? She walked closer. It was.
“I’m going with you,” Sam said from behind her.
She turned and looked up into his dark eyes. “The hell you are.”
He sighed. “Right, let’s do this quickly. I’m Griffin’s oldest friend, I’m strong enough to back you up and if anyone is going to be there when Garibaldi gets his arse kicked, it’s me. It’s not up for discussion, so just accept it.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue, and he was right on every point. “When did Emily have time to build a second suit?”
“She’s been working on it ever since we got back from New York. You’re not surprised, are you?”
A small smile tickled Finley’s lips. “No, of course not. She’d have to build one herself just so she could figure out how it works. Has it been tested?”
He nodded, jaw tight. “The little fool tested it herself earlier today.”
“What?” Finley could slap her friend for being so foolish.
“Exactly,” Sam commiserated. He glanced toward the door. “Looks like everyone’s here.”
Finley followed his gaze as the others came into the room. Jack and Mila were among them.
It was foolish, but the sight of Jack brought those tears perilously close to the surface again. This was proof of their friendship, and how much he thought of all of them. He looked so happy with his hand on Mila’s back, and the way the girl looked at him...it was almost embarrassing to witness, but oddly adorable at the same time. Adorable was not a word that fit Jack Dandy, but there it was.
As if hearing her thoughts, Jack turned his head and met her gaze. He grinned that self-assured grin of his that never failed to make her believe that everything would work out as it ought.
Emily clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming. Let’s get started.” A woman of few words was Em.
“Do you know the plan?” Finley asked Sam, nodding at the table as the others took their seats around it.
He shrugged. “Not much. Emily seems to think it’s better if we just concentrate on our parts.”
“She would.”
Sam’s expression was equal parts sheepish and defensive. “They’re going to try to call Garibaldi and hold his spirit while you and I beat him senseless and get Griffin out of the Aether.”
It was almost too simple. “Then what?”
“Then they’re going to try to send him on to wherever people like him go.”
Hell was too good for the bastard. “Then let’s die, Samuel.”
Each of them climbed into a suit—Sam’s was obviously the newer and larger of the two—and made all the adjustments they could on their own. Seconds later, Emily was with them, taking care of the rest.
“You be careful,” she told Sam with a firm kiss on the mouth. Her voice trembled just a little, and Finley wanted to climb out of her suit and hug her. “I’ll take care of him, Em.”
“See that you do.” There was just enough gravity to her tone that Finley knew she’d be in trouble if anything happened to Sam.
Someone dimmed the light in the room as Finley’s helmet settled and was latched into place. Within minutes she felt that now-familiar chill settle over her, and then let herself drift away into darkness.
She became aware just outside of the house she recognized as the one her father had created in the Aether. Obviously he had good safeguards in place because she had focused on arriving inside the house, but Sam’s accompanying her changed that.
“How do we get in?” Sam stood beside her—even taller and broader than in life. Obviously there was no deficiency in his confidence.
There wasn’t any visible door, but Finley knew what to do. She walked up to the house and put her hand on the stone wall. “Papa? It’s me. I brought Sam Morgan with me.” The house was an extension of her father in the Aether, it made sense to her that it would recognize her, and it did. A door shimmered into existence beneath her palm, and then swung open.
“Showboat,” Sam teased as they crossed the threshold.
They entered into the parlor—the only part of the house Finley had ever seen. Maybe that was all there was—not like her father had to eat or sleep. Thomas Sheppard rose from his seat at the piano where he had been playing. He immediately came over and hugged her before offering his hand to Sam. “I knew your father. He was a good man.”
“The best,” Sam agreed. Finley had never heard him say much about his parents but then, until recently, she’d never heard Sam say much of anything.
“Fin.”
She turned in the direction of Griffin’s voice. He was on the sofa, a quilt pulled around him. And from what she could see there was absolutely no color left in him except his eyes and his hair. The shock of it was like a kick to the throat. Garibaldi had drained him, and now he just had to sit and wait while Griffin literally starved to death. In the living world he’d have more time, but time was not the same here. It moved faster in some ways and slower in others.
“Griffin.” She wasn’t going to let him see how much the sight of him upset her. Instead, she went to him and knelt beside t
he sofa so that she could touch him and kiss him—hold him. Because it might be the last time she got to do any of it.
And then Ipsley and his two friends—a black man and an old woman—arrived, wispy but visible. They stood in a close circle, holding hands, glowing with eerie silver light. Either her father had let them in, or the same rules didn’t apply to spiritualists.
“We’re going to begin trying to summon Garibaldi,” Ipsley explained. “Once he is here we will bind and hold him within the ring of the table.” It was so faint Finley could barely see it, but there was the actual table from the ballroom, with everyone around it holding hands. It was like a reflection in a window.
Her father’s face was grim. “We’re ready for him.”
No, they really weren’t, Finley thought. Griffin certainly wasn’t, but it wasn’t as though they had a choice in the matter. She squeezed Griffin’s hand as the spiritualists began to call The Machinist.
“Finley,” he said. “There’s something I want to tell you...”
“Don’t,” she said, not caring that it might be cruel. “I’m one sweet word away from hysteria, Griffin King. Don’t you dare send me over the edge. Whatever you have to say to me can wait until we get home.” Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke.
He managed a wan smile. He was already so ghostlike. “Fair enough.”
She gave a stiff nod, then turned her head. Just looking at him was too painful. She watched as the walls around them thinned, and became more transparent. What the devil?
“Your father is letting down his defenses,” Griffin explained, his voice a hoarse rasp. “He’s making it easy for Garibaldi.”
Finley’s attention went to her father. He looked grim but determined. If anyone could help them it was him. He’d been in the Aether for years. He knew it better than Garibaldi. He was smarter than Garibaldi.
Suddenly, a gale blew through the house—long, ragged tendrils of black smoke that Finley recognized as Garibaldi’s Aether demons—his pets. They screamed around the room, whirling and diving like vultures in the middle of a fit. They skimmed around the humans, nipping and biting. Sam didn’t waste any time, he punched one and then slammed two others together. They exploded into ash and fell away. One came rushing at Griffin, but Finley put herself in its path, and when it was within striking distance, she punched it hard. Ash rained down on her, sticking to her hair and clothes. Ugh.
“Finley!” She looked up just in time to see her father toss her a sword. She caught it with one hand. Sam had a cricket bat, and was using it to make short work of the demons. Finley jumped to her feet as two more streamed toward them. The sword swung and sliced through one, then she pivoted quickly, as though she were dancing, and brought the blade down and across another—the tip of the sword cut the air just inches above Griffin’s head. He coughed on the ash.
No sooner had they dispatched of the wisps then the very foundation of the house began to shudder and shake as though something was trying to rip it right out of the ground. Crystal toppled from shelves, books crashed to the floor. The piano rattled a discordant tune. Windows began to crack.
“Enough with the theatrics, Leonardo!” Thomas shouted. “You’re not impressing anyone, boy.”
It seemed strange, this young man referring to Garibaldi as “boy” but in life she supposed her father might have been the elder of the two. Amazingly, the house stopped shaking and went completely still. Too still.
Garibaldi appeared—hovering above the spiritualists as if he was a puppet on strings. Finley knew better than to believe that was indeed true.
The Italian grinned. “What is this? A séance. For me? How very pathetic.” He looked around the room, his glinting gaze falling on Sam. “Ah, my dear boy. It is so good to see you again. I have a special surprise for you.”
The house shook again, but this time in measured beats. It took Finley a second to realize they were footsteps, and then it was too late. The huge automaton beast tore through the wall of the house, reducing it to rubble. Sam stared at it in horror.
“Damnation,” Griffin wheezed, and Finley knew without asking that the machine was a monstrous version of the one that had killed Sam before she ever became part of the group. Emily had put him back together, brought him back to life, but Sam was terrified of anything metal.
Sword still in hand, Finley went to stand beside Sam. “I’m with you.”
Her father came up on Sam’s left. “As am I.”
Garibaldi laughed. “Destroy them!” His arrogant glee reminded her of Lord Felix with his girls. He’d been so sure they’d do as he commanded, not realizing how much they hated him. This machine probably didn’t hate Garibaldi, but that didn’t make it anymore impervious to harm. In the end, it was just a construct of Garibaldi’s mind and will. It wasn’t real metal—not really.
It still packed a mean punch—as she found out when she attacked it. It swept her aside as if she were nothing more powerful than a kitten. That made her angry. She spat blood from her mouth and attacked again. This time she went for the neck of the huge digger automaton while her father used a mace to knock out one of its legs. Sam hoisted his cricket bat and gave a mighty roar—the kind she imagined Celtic warriors made in battle. He charged at the digger without hesitation. Finley couldn’t resist a glance at Garibaldi—he looked surprised. So much so that he actually struggled against the spiritual bonds that held him. She smiled as she leaped onto the machine’s back and drove her sword into its neck.
Sam cracked the front panel with one swing, almost knocking Finley to the ground. It must be his rage that made him so strong here. Whatever it was, it worked beautifully. Two more bone-jarring swings and he’d opened a hole in the metal’s chest cavity. He reached in as Finley worked her blade back and forth, slowly decapitating the beast. Sparks flew and gears ground to a halt as Sam yanked out the logic engine and central gearbox and threw them on the ground. Finley slid down the machine’s back and jumped down.
“No!” Garibaldi shouted as his creation toppled.
Sam flashed him a grin. “Yes, you miserable bastard.”
Finley grinned, as well. For one second it looked as though they had a chance. Then Garibaldi turned his attention to her. His eyes began to glow a pale blue as he brought up his hands. Energy arced between his palms, like a tiny lightning storm, swirling and coalescing into a ball of deadly Aetheric energy.
Then he threw it at her.
Finley braced herself for a blow that never struck. Stunned, she watched as the ball of energy flew past her and landed in Griffin’s hand where it crackled and hummed. He was terrible and beautiful, illuminated by that light, but saving her had cost him. He had no color now except for his eyes, which were bluish-gray naturally. Still, Finley could tell that they weren’t a ghostly hue. It wouldn’t be long before they were.
He hurled the ball back at Garibaldi, who raised his hand and smashed the ball of energy before it even came close to hitting him. “Sloppy, Your Grace.”
Finley turned to Sam. “We have to get Griffin out of here.”
Sam nodded. “Ipsley, time to finish this.”
The medium nodded and the silver glow around him and his friends intensified. Garibaldi squirmed above them. “What are you doing?”
Sam walked up and cracked him across the back with his cricket bat. “Retribution.” The Machinist screamed, spine bowing as Sam hit him again.
Finley ran to the sofa and grabbed Griffin, hauling him to his feet and holding him up with an arm around his waist. She pulled his arm across her shoulders. “Emily’s going to wake me up and I’m going to take you out of here. Do you think you can leave? Has his hold on you lessened?”
“Fin. Stop.”
She didn’t listen. She dragged him toward her father. “Give him another blast from your shield so he has the strength to leave.”
Thoma
s Sheppard’s gaze was sad. “I don’t have any energy to give him.”
She pointed at Garibaldi. “Drain some.”
“Using his life force will only bind him all the more to Griffin.”
Tears filled Finley’s eyes as Griffin’s weight settled more heavily on her shoulders. She was losing him. “No. There has to be a way. You have to be able to do something.”
Her father hoisted the shield, and shoved his arms through the straps on the back. “I can at least try to help weaken Garibaldi, but the rest is up to Griffin.”
“Finley.”
Still she ignored him. “Good. Do it.” She dragged him toward Ipsley. The medium knew to tell Emily to wake her on her signal.
“Fin, I’m not strong enough to make it back.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “Don’t you dare say that Griffin.” Suddenly all of his weight came down on her. “Griffin?”
He was unconscious, and with his eyes closed there wasn’t a single part of him that had any color.
Griffin was dead.
* * *
Death felt exactly like Griffin knew it would—peaceful and serene. Any moment he expected to feel warmth on his face and in his heart. He would hear his mother telling him to wake up and let go.
His mother?
He snapped to attention. He felt awake, but he knew he really wasn’t. This was one more level of the Aether, or maybe a place between the Aether and whatever lay beyond death. He wasn’t certain. What he did know was that it was ivory and white, and that he was standing in the middle of it, and so was his mother.
“What?” he asked.
She gave him that look she’d always used to give him when he didn’t listen to her. He could see the love in her blue eyes even though she was exasperated with him. She looked younger than he remembered, and unlike the Aether she was in full glorious color from her auburn hair to her purple gown, right down to the toes of her crimson shoes. Thankfully he hadn’t inherited her fashion sense.
“I said you have to let go.”
“I did. Didn’t I?” He looked around. “I am dead, right?”