Miss her a little? God, was she daft? He was going to miss her more than a little.
No, he wasn’t. He leaped to his feet and practically ran to the door. He wasn’t going to miss her at all.
He was going to find her and bring her home.
* * *
When Griffin woke up, Garibaldi was blessedly gone, leaving him alone with his pain.
His eyes adjusted to the dim light—he had half expected the villain to leave him under searing lights to further torture him—as his ears opened to what sounds permeated the walls of his prison. He heard the in and out of his own breath, the soft whirls and clicks of the machines tethered to him, to this realm, preventing him from going home, and...music. It was Liszt if he wasn’t mistaken. Either his captor had an orchestra installed in his home or he had some superior recordings.
Music was good. He wouldn’t be heard above it if he screamed, but it meant that he wasn’t alone, that this was actually Garibaldi’s main base. Homes were more vulnerable than warehouses and prisons. Houses had more nooks and crannies and places a body could hide, even houses in the Aether. If he could get out of this damn bed he could find some sort of advantage, he just knew it.
He wished his parents were here, but the fact that they weren’t meant that they had either moved on to some other realm, or Garibaldi had managed to conceal him from them. There was no way they’d allow him to remain in the clutches of the man responsible for their deaths.
His limbs felt like lead, but instead of trying to move his entire body, he concentrated on just his right hand. It took almost all of his strength, but he managed to flex his fingers and rotate his wrist. Bloody hell, just that simple movement broke a sweat along his hairline. He’d take it for what it was—a victory. Griffin took all that strength and focused it on his left hand, putting it through the same exercise. It left him exhausted, but satisfied.
He could move. He wasn’t entirely helpless. He drew a deep breath and turned inside himself. In his mind he followed the path inside his body to the place where his power sat. It was all through him, but he felt it most in an area the size of a tea saucer, just between his navel and breastbone. It was into that sphere that he burrowed and breathed. He let the image of Finley fill his mind—his talisman, his reason.
His everything. She drove him to distraction, could make him laugh one second and throw his hands up in exasperation the next. She knew just how to tease him, how to engage his temper and his wit. She inspired the most tender of feelings as easily as the most passionate. Just the touch of her hand could make him tremble inside. That was the spot where he lingered now—the place where his power and Finley collided.
His soul.
Warmth filled him, cleansed him. Calm rolled down from his head to his toes, centering in that sphere in his chest until it began to swell, pushing outward against his ribs. There was nothing but Finley and a tiny spark of Aether that gave him more hope than it ought.
A little hope had been known to win more battles than the most fearsome of armies, and right now that hope was all he had.
“Do I know you?”
Griffin’s eyes snapped open. At the foot of his bed stood a man—one who looked strangely familiar. There was something about his eyes...
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Do you?”
The man frowned. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, and he was obviously a citizen of the Aether. Judging from the style of his clothes he’d been dead at least fifteen years or so. “I think I must. How else could I enter this place that I’ve never been able to enter before?”
This was interesting. “You’ve tried to infiltrate this house before?”
Looking around the room, the man nodded. “Ever since Garibaldi crossed the threshold to this place I’ve tried unsuccessfully to gain entrance. What are you doing here? It’s obvious you’re not of this realm.”
“No, I am very much alive. For the time being, at any rate. Do you think you might be able to release me?”
His visitor moved toward him. He reached out for the shackle that bound Griffin’s right foot, but the moment his fingers touched it, a flash like an exploding lightbulb filled the room, blinding the both of them. Griffin swore as color danced behind his eyelids.
“Reckon that answers that question,” the man grumbled, shaking his injured hand. “Good lord, lad. What did you do to deserve his wrath?”
“Foiled too many of his plans,” Griffin replied honestly. “And held him accountable for his crimes.”
The man’s eyes—a pale shade of brown—narrowed. “What’s your name, son?”
For a second, he thought against telling the truth. This man could be friend or foe, but there was only one way to find out—to trust him.
“Griffin King.”
“King?” The man reacted as though struck. “Greythorne’s boy?”
At the use of his title, Griffin started. So, they weren’t strangers, then. “Yes. And you are?”
“Thomas Sheppard. I was a friend of your father’s.”
Griffin stared at him, disbelief coursing through his veins. “You’re Finley’s father.”
* * *
Finley woke screaming. The bruising pressure of the girls’ fingers lingered on her skin. The smell of Lord Felix’s breath was hot in her face, the gore from eyeless faces sticky on her fingers. She lashed out, flailing arms and legs, fingers like claws as she struggled to free herself. Can’t breathe. Can’t see.
“Finley!” Someone shouted. “Stop! Sam, I need you!”
Suddenly, a great weight settled on her, pinning her limbs. There was a clicking sound and cool air rushed across her face.
“Be still,” murmured a deep voice that rumbled through her ribs. “You’re safe. Be still.”
She knew that voice. More importantly, she trusted it. Sight and clarity returned. Sam loomed over her—held her down. Good lord he was heavy!
“Get off,” she growled, lungs struggling beneath his weight.
She didn’t have to make the demand twice. Sam jumped off her as though she were a hot coal. “Are you all right?” he asked, a flush of pink in his cheeks.
“I’m fine,” she shot back. Normally she’d tease him for blushing just because he touched a girl that wasn’t Emily, but she couldn’t do it. Her nerves were raw, jumpy and pinging. She needed to punch something. She wanted to vomit. Fear tightened her body, refused to let go just yet. Lord Felix was going to be the subject of her nightmares again, the piece of dirt.
Sam held up one broad hand, palm out toward her. He didn’t have to say a word—she knew what it was for. She pulled her fist back and then shot it forward, right into his open palm. She felt it all the way up to her shoulder, and it was good. The blow actually knocked him back a couple of feet. “Good shot.” Then he offered her the same hand. She took it and let him help her into a sitting position.
Emily stood a few feet away, clutching the helmet of the suit to her chest. Her knuckles and face were white, tiny freckles stood out on her cheeks. Finley looked back at Sam. “Was it bad? Did I hurt anyone?”
He shook his head. “You didn’t make a sound, not until Em woke you up.”
“Then how...?” She turned her head and saw that they had company. Beside Jasper and Wildcat—who also looked alarmed—was Silverus Ipsley, the medium Griffin had befriended. The poor gingery fellow looked as though he might puke up his guts at any second.
“Miss Emily asked Ipsley to monitor you in the Aether, just in case you ran into any trouble,” Jasper informed her. His green eyes were full of concern. “Which it appears you did.”
“It was Lord Felix,” she admitted with a shrug. She wasn’t going to volunteer anything else.
“We know,” Emily replied, voice hoarse. “He told us what he saw.”
For a second, she
was tempted to backhand the medium, but then she met his gaze and all anger—all humiliation—faded. He had only been trying to help, and he’d been shoved straight into a little bit of hell that should have been hers alone. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
He nodded, head wobbling as though his neck was made of Indian rubber. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Ever. I knew there could be bad things in the Aether, but that was...extreme. Did they hurt you?”
Finley shook her head. “No.” That was all she intended to say on the subject. They could ask her questions later, and maybe she’d tell them what Ipsley hadn’t revealed. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them anything. The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn’t think about it right then. Couldn’t think about it until they’d found and rescued Griffin, because the fear it had made her feel could cripple her if she allowed it to.
She turned to Emily. “Thanks for pulling me out, Em.”
Her friend only nodded, as though she’d lost her voice, or couldn’t trust herself to use it.
“All right, then, put me back in.”
They all looked at her as though she’d lost her bloody mind. Maybe she had, but it hardly mattered.
“No,” Emily said—in that tone of hers that she sometimes used with Sam and the other boys. It was the tone that meant “my word is law.”
Their gazes locked. Finley thought she heard Sam swear. She and Emily had never really butted heads before. “Yes.”
The little redhead drew herself up to her full height, which still wasn’t intimidating. Although, she did have a lot of dangerous-looking tools lying about. “He could have killed you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Because we pulled you out.”
“And you can pull me out again.” She turned to Ipsley. “You fine with that?”
He didn’t look fine at all, but he nodded. “If it will save His Grace, of course.”
Finley didn’t feel at all smug when she returned her attention to Emily. “Put me back in.”
Two angry splotches of red appeared on Emily’s cheeks. Her temper was up. That was fine—Finley’s was on the rise, as well. “I’m not arguing, Em. You can put me back in, or I’ll go slit my wrists. Either way, I’m going into the Aether.” Of course, she wouldn’t really slit her wrists, that would just be stupid. She probably wouldn’t even find Griffin before she died, and if she was a ghost she might be able to reach him, but how would she get him back into the living world?
“Stubborn,” Emily bit out. “Foolish, hardheaded...” The rest was lost because she’d launched into Irish—or what Finley assumed was her native Gaelic—and because the telephone on the near wall rang sharply twice, which was an indication that the call was coming from inside the house.
Jasper answered it. “’Lo? Mrs. D, darlin’. What can I do you for?...Uh-huh....Uh-huh....Send him on down.” He thanked her and hung up. “Dandy’s here. He’s coming down.”
Finley could have knocked him into the middle of next week. “We don’t have time for visitors, Renn.” She used his last name intentionally to let him know she was annoyed.
He wasn’t the least bit cowed. “We have time for Jack.”
Normally she’d agree with him. “Griffin is trapped in there—with The Machinist—and every damn second we spend doing nothing is another second he suffers!”
A heavy hand came down on her shoulder. It was Sam. “Em needs to make some repairs before you can go back in.”
“Is that true?” she demanded of Emily.
Her friend nodded, looking much less aggravated. “The suit sustained some damage in the struggle when we pulled you out. Plus, I want to make certain we’re not caught off guard like that again. It will only take about an hour.”
“An hour here is nothing in the Aether,” Sam reminded her.
Frowning, Finley nodded. She didn’t like not getting her own way. She disliked it even more than she despised being wrong. Having both of these apply to a single situation was embarrassing. It was her fault the suit had been damaged, and now Griffin would pay the price of being in Garibaldi’s clutches a little longer.
The lift engine whirred to life, driving the cage upward to collect its passenger. A few moments later, it came back down and Jack stepped out.
Finley stared at him. She’d never seen Jack looking any less than perfectly together, but his coat was buttoned wrong, and his long hair was a mess. He was without a hat and without his customary walking stick that concealed a razor-sharp sword.
He looked around the room and appeared disappointed. “Where’s his lordship?”
Finley folded her arms over her chest to keep her heart from breaking. “Griffin’s...gone.” She frowned. Frowning prevented bawling.
Jack’s dark gaze locked with hers. Was that suspicion she saw reflected back at her? “Seems to be goin’ round as of late.” He glanced at the others. “Don’t suppose ’e ’ad poppet wiv ’im?”
“Mila?” Emily stepped forward. “No. What’s happened, Jack?”
“I come ’ome and found ’er run off. Figured she’d find her way ’ere.”
“She hasn’t,” Emily replied. “Did she give you any reason for leaving?”
He shrugged. “Said she wanted to see some of the world. Didn’t want to be a bo’ver to the rest of us. To me.”
To Finley’s surprise, Emily smiled. She would have expected the little redhead to go off like a steaming kettle with worry. “She’s growing up.”
Jack looked at her as though she was mad. “What the devil ’as that got to do wiv it? Not very mature of ’er to just run off like that.”
Emily arched a brow, hand on her hip. “What did you do to make her run off?”
Jack Dandy actually flushed. It was snowing in hell.
Sam stepped forward, fists clenched. “If you touched her...”
One touch on the arm from Emily stopped him. “He didn’t hurt her, lad.” Her bright gaze remained on Jack. “If I know our girl at all, I’m willing to bet she ran off to make him look at her as a person and not a child, or a machine.”
Jack’s flush turned to a scowl in a blink. “I know she’s not a child, and I know she’s not a bloody machine. I know exactly what she is.”
“She’s obviously infatuated with you,” Emily supplied. “She wants you to see her as a woman. The question I want to ask is, what are you going to do about it?”
His expression darkened. “I’m going to bring her home. The rest is none of your damn business.”
Everyone but Jack seemed to notice that he had dropped his cockney accent.
“She may not want to go home. She obviously felt she needed to leave.”
For a moment Finley wondered if Emily would also poke a bear with a stick. Provoking Jack had never struck her as a good idea.
“I want to make sure she’s safe,” Jack replied, his jaw tight. “I would like your help finding her.”
“We can’t,” Finley blurted. Jack looked as though she had punched him. He was her friend, and he had been there for her every time she asked and even when she hadn’t. “Jack, Griffin’s been trapped in the Aether. By The Machinist.”
Normally he would have sworn or made some sort of witty comment to break the tension, but he only nodded. A prickle of unease tingled at the base of Finley’s spine. Was Jack in love with Mila? She was happy for him, of course, especially if the girl felt the same way but...
She was jealous. Since their first meeting she had been Jack’s favorite girl. His favorite person. She didn’t feel that way about him, but she loved him so dearly as a friend. He was like her brother, her twin soul. She didn’t want to lose him.
Then she ought to be a better friend. “I can help while Emily fixes the suit.” She began climbing out of it so her friend could get to work.
Jack shook his head. “No. You need to focus on your duke.” There was no judgment in his tone, but she felt like dirt regardless. “I’ll find her.”
Jasper and Wildcat stepped forward. “We’ll help you,” Jasper said. “We ain’t much needed here, and Cat’s a right talented tracker.”
Jack smiled, and Finley could have kissed the pair of them.
“Take your telegraphs,” Emily reminded them. “Keep us updated and we’ll do the same.”
Finley handed the suit to Sam and moved to catch up the three of them before they left. “Jack.”
He stopped and turned. Jasper and Wildcat continued to the lift and waited there. Finley was grateful for the privacy. “You know if it was anyone but Griffin I’d help you.”
He nodded. “And if it weren’t for Mila I’d be helping you.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “I’d like to have a go at The Machinist myself.”
“I’ll hit him especially hard a few times, just for you.”
Their gazes locked, and even though they didn’t speak, Finley felt as though they understood each other better than they ever had. This was the dividing line between love and friendship. She and Jack shared a deep bond, but they each had someone who would always come first, and both accepted that.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later, Fin.”
She knew at that moment that he would never call her Treasure again. And oddly enough, it didn’t make her the least bit sad.
Chapter Seven
The boardinghouse was located in the area of Garrick and King Streets. Mila had absolutely no difficulty finding it at all, though it took her nearly three hours to get there. There was so much to do in London! So many amazing sights and delicious foods. She bought a rose from a flower seller and tucked it in her hair. One pub smelled so good she had to go in and order a meat pie—delicious. And she had ale for the first time. She wasn’t mad for it, but it would do. Jack had brought her to this area before, but only to the theater, which she’d loved, but she enjoyed the everyday life even more.