The Girl in the Steel Corset (22 page)

Lowering the mirror, she gaped at Griffin, who grinned at her with a smug I-told-you-so expression on his face.

“Looks like the runes are working already.”

That night Finley found it impossible to go to sleep. The runes on her back still tingled, though not with the same intensity as before. Her skin felt sensitive, as though someone had rubbed that part of her back with a scouring pad. The black was still in her hair, and her blood was still humming, though now she felt energized rather than anxious.

She was perched on the balustrade of the small balcony off her bedroom, balanced like a bird on the plaster rail no wider than her hand. It was amazing. Before she would have been afraid to take such a precarious position, but now… Now she had faith she wouldn’t fall, and if she did, she would be able to catch herself.

She didn’t fool herself into thinking that Griffin and his tattoos had fixed her, but they were certainly doing something—perhaps opening her up to merging both sides of herself, easing the process. That frightened her as much as she wanted it.

When the two halves of her finally and completely merged, would one still have dominance? Would she even be aware of it? Would she be such a different person she wouldn’t recognize herself? All valid fears that kept her awake this night. But even though she was afraid, in her heart she knew this was the right thing to do.

So she breathed the night into her lungs, savoring the cool air. London didn’t always smell as pretty as it did right then—like roses, damp earth and jasmine with just the faintest tint of coal, steam and metal. Around her she could hear the sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones, the whirl of a dirigible in the distant sky, its headlamps like stars, the odd whinny of a horse—though why people insisted on using horses for transport when there were steam carriages, she couldn’t fathom. Poor horses.

She could also hear music coming from a nearby estate.
The plaintive strains of a violin tugged at her heart. That’s where Griffin ought to be, instead of trying to save the country, or what have you. He should be dancing with some insipid debutante who didn’t need tattoos to be normal—who couldn’t toss men around like dolls.

It was uncharitable of her to think such a way about him after he’d been so good to her, but she needed a reminder that they were from two separate worlds. It would be easier that way, and maybe put an end to this schoolgirl crush she seemed to have developed upon him.

She was thinking of the pale blue-gray of his eyes when she heard a sound to her right. She turned her head, amazed at how well her astounding vision picked out a figure on another balcony almost all the way down to the other end of the house. From the size of it, she’d say it was Sam. And when it vaulted over the side of the rail, she
knew
it was Sam. No one else but she could jump from this height and not injure themselves.

Leaning forward, she watched as he sprinted toward the stables. Where was he off to now? He’d been acting stranger than usual all day—distracted. It had started right around the time they’d had their meeting with Cordelia. She’d thought it odd after all Sam had been through and the injury he received that he seemed to pity The Machinist somewhat. He’d actually defended the villain, hadn’t he? Why was that?

Her mind told her to stay put, but instinct told her to
follow, and she let instinct guide her. The alternative was to sit on this bloody balcony until the sun came up.

Instead of taking the time to climb down the wall, she went over the side of the balustrade. Stealthily, she lowered herself hand over hand down one of the carved pillars until she could go no farther. Then she dropped to the grass below. Silently, she followed, careful to keep a discreet distance between them.

At the stables, she flattened herself against the wall as Sam pushed his velocycle outside. He didn’t notice her—he was too intent on a quiet escape. Once he was far enough down the drive, she slipped into the stables, to the section where the cycles were kept and took the one she’d come to think of as hers. She pushed it outside, following Sam’s lead.

At the road, Sam pushed the cycle a little farther before swinging a long leg over the seat and starting the engine. Finley let him get a bit of a head start before starting her own and following after him. The traffic grew thicker as she drove, past a mansion that was obviously hosting a party given all the carriages about. Sam probably wouldn’t notice he was being followed, but just to be certain, she let a small, sleek steam-phaeton get in front of her. She could track him by scent and sound so long as he didn’t get too far ahead. Thank God he didn’t seem to share her heightened senses or he’d know she was shadowing him.

She followed him to an address in Covent Garden—nothing too posh, but not squalor, either. It looked like a
normal, middle-class home. So what the devil was Sam doing knocking on the front door at this hour of the night? No one respectable was awake; Sam, herself and the entire aristocracy were proof of that.

Finley parked her velocycle down the street in the shadows where Sam wouldn’t notice it, and watched as the door to the house opened. Sam spoke to the person and then crossed the threshold. She couldn’t see who his host was, but as soon as the door shut, she hurried toward the house—and the nearest lit-up window. It was conveniently open, as well, so she could hear the conversation that had already started within.

“You used me,” Sam said in a voice that shook with anger and disappointment.

“Did I?” asked a strangely accented male voice. “How so?”

“To get to the Duke of Greythorne. To get information about us.”

Finley frowned. What the devil? Slowly, she rose up on her toes to peer in the window. Sam stood in the center of the room, towering over his companion. A man whose left hand was made of bright, shiny metal. She recognized the hand, and his face. Sam was talking to Leonardo Garibaldi— The Machinist.

“Son of a wench,” she whispered. How had the big dolt gotten himself into such a mess? It was obvious from his
expression that he had been lied to and betrayed by The Machinist.

“And good information it was,” Garibaldi replied. Finley guessed his accent must be Italian. “You were a very generous source, my friend.”

“I’m not going to let you get away with it,” Sam vowed, jaw clenched. “I’m taking you to Scotland Yard.”

The older man smiled sadly. “No, you’re not. You underestimate me, my friend. But then you make a habit of underestimating people. It is why I like you so much. But now, like everything else, our friendship, sadly, must die. I am sorry, Samuel. Not just for betraying you, but for leaving you with my wonderful toy, which I brought here for just such an occasion.”

Finley’s eyes widened as the door to the room was flung open, revealing a metal man approximately seven and a half feet tall. Its head was like a chromium skull, with lidless eyes and metal teeth set in a lifelike grimace. It moved into the room with a graceful gait, articulated limbs moving smoothly.

It was amazing. It was terrible. And it was headed right for Sam.

Garibaldi chose that moment to make his escape. “Forgive me, my friend,” he said to Sam as he fled to the door, and then out.

The front door slammed. Finley saw Garibaldi flee toward a steam carriage waiting on the street. He jumped
inside and the carriage began to roar away. She stepped back from the window, and ran after it, determined to catch The Machinist.

But the sound of metal hitting metal stopped her. From where she stood, she could just barely see inside the house, but what she saw was the metal man as it hit Sam in the face, knocking the large fellow into the wall. Plaster rained down. Finley swore, her gaze flitting from Sam to the disappearing carriage. She could go after Garibaldi and capture him, or she could help Sam. If she helped Sam, Garibaldi would get away and she would have to admit to letting that happen to Griffin.

But if she went after Garibaldi, there was a very good chance this brutal automaton would kill Sam—the one who thought her a villain. The one who had almost strangled her. The big lad was nigh on invincible against a human opponent, but metal didn’t tire. Metal didn’t give up. Metal would rip his lungs out.

Finley sighed. There really wasn’t a choice, was there?

She hoped Griffin wasn’t too disappointed—and that the metal didn’t kill Sam and her both—as she ran full tilt toward the house and leaped through the open window.

How could he have been so stupid?

Facing the automaton with its metal grin and lidless eyes, Sam was certain he would never make it out of that house alive. And even if he did, he wasn’t certain he’d deserve it.

He’d thought Leon—Leonardo—was his friend. He’d basically given their enemy every bit of information he might want to know about Griffin and Finley and the others. Griff’s secret weapon indeed—he’d sold them all down the river.

And now he was going to die for it. Maybe his friends would forgive him then.

He watched the machine warily, waiting for it to strike again so he could counter and dodge. Blood from the last blow lingered on his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something come sailing through the open window. At first he thought it was an animal, judging from the sound
it made, but when it rolled to its feet not far from where he stood, he saw that it wasn’t an animal at all. It was Finley.

The last person he ever expected to come to his aid. Or was she there to make sure the automaton finished its task?

But the metal man seemed as surprised to see her as Sam was. It stopped midstep and turned its torso toward her, studying the new arrival.

“Oy, scrap for brains!” Finley’s voice rang out.

Sam glanced at her, not completely surprised to see that she was talking to him. “Need some help?” she asked.

The automaton turned its head, as though interested in Sam’s reply. “Are you offering?” he countered.

She rolled her tawny-colored eyes. “Yes, genius.”

She was as surly as he was. For a second, he almost liked Finley Jayne. “Then help would be appreciated, thank you.”

Apparently picking up on the fact that it now had two opponents, the automaton made a strange whirring noise mixed with subtle clicks.

“What’s it doing?” Finley asked as she moved closer to him.

Sam had been around Emily long enough to know what those sounds meant, but usually it was a person’s tinkering that made it happen. “It’s adapting,” he replied hoarsely. “It’s changing its programming to account for both of us.”

Finley’s lips parted in a silent gasp. Sam’s jaw tightened.
A bloody metal monster that could think for itself. Fear squirmed in his belly.

A panel on the thing’s back opened, and two smaller, metal arms unbent from the cabinet inside. The head spun around on its jointed neck. A panel on the skull opened, as well, and a new face emerged, identical to the one on the other side. Now it could watch and fight from both sides.

“Bugger,” Finley muttered, wide-eyed.

Sam couldn’t agree more. “I can’t see the shut-down mechanism,” he ordered. “There has to be one. If you can’t find it, rip apart any wires you can find.”

“And electrocute myself?” she demanded, incredulous.

“You’ll survive,” he reminded her, and launched himself at the metal man. He thought he heard her swear before she followed after him.

Sam kicked the automaton’s front panel, denting the polished metal. It buckled, making a place for him to fit his hand, but before he could reach inside, he was knocked across the room by a backhand that broke his jaw. Head spinning, he shook off the injury and jumped to his feet in time to see Finley, who had been hanging by her feet around the creature’s neck, pry the panel open and reach for the wires inside. The automaton peeled her off its front like a dirty shirt and discarded her in much the same manner. She flew through the air and struck the wall just above the mantel.

Sam caught her before she fell to the ground. She shook
her head, as well. She was bleeding from the head, but he couldn’t see where.

“One of us is going to have to keep it busy while the other disables it,” she said.

Sam nodded. “I’ll distract it. You get the wires.”

She glanced at him. “Are you sure?”

No. The only thing he was sure of was that his stomach jumped to his throat every time the metal turned its awful eyes in his direction. And he was fairly certain one if not both of them would die if they didn’t shut this thing down soon. So he would take the beating and swallow his own fear to make that happen.

“I’m sure,” he told her between clenched teeth. If he was going to die, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

They charged together.

That was when the automaton changed again. It began making an awful grinding noise as its joints popped and lengthened. Its shoulders broadened, pushed open by metal gears. Within in moments it grew another foot and widened by at least two. The shields on its hands shifted, pulling back, so small spikes—like the tips of nails—slid out from its knuckles. A good hit with one of those could take out a human eye with little difficulty.

This time Finley and Sam swore together.

“We could run, you know,” Finley suggested.

Sam glanced at her, not finding the suggestion cowardly.
It was the smart choice. “How much would you like to wager that it will follow us?”

As though understanding his words, the metal man nodded and pointed one long, gleaming finger at Sam.

“Oh, my God,” Finley breathed. It understood. The automaton understood, and it was advancing on them again.

“Get out of here,” Sam told her, making a decision as he backed up, trying to put himself between Finley and the machine. “Leave me to this. Once it’s killed me, it will leave. No one else has to get hurt. This is my fault.”

“Reckon you folks could use some help.”

Both Sam and Finley turned their heads to see Jasper sitting on the windowsill. He swung his other leg over the sill into the room. He pulled a fancy-looking pistol from the holster on his hip as Emily and Griffin burst through the door.

“Don’t shoot it in the engine!” Emily cried as Jasper took aim. “We need it intact to find Garibaldi.”

At the sound of her voice, the automaton turned on the new arrivals. Griffin jumped in front of Emily and the metal man picked him up in two of his hands, pinning Griffin’s upper arms to his sides.

“Griffin!” Finley cried. She moved to attack the automaton, but Sam stopped her. “Wait. Griff’s got a plan.”

“How do you know?” she demanded.

Sam and Jasper both looked at her with bemused expres
sions. “Griff’s always got a plan,” Jasper informed her, as though it was absolute fact.

Sure enough, Griffin was able to move his arms just enough that he could raise his hands and clutch the metal arms that held him. He closed his eyes and it seemed to Sam that his friend began to glow ever so slightly. It was like he could see Griffin’s power building within him.

The automaton began to tremble. The fingers on the hands holding Griffin opened and closed sporadically. The other set of limbs moved around from behind as the metal adapted once more. The hands on these arms joined the others, pinning Griffin even harder. Sam could hear his friend’s groan. Griffin wasn’t like him or Finley—he was much more breakable.

“Jasper!” Emily cried. “Aim for its right foot!”

Jasper’s arm was a blur. One second he was holding the pistol and the next he’d fired at the automaton, but what hit the machine wasn’t a bullet, it was like a small ray of energy that rippled through the air. Finley rushed in as the leg of the thing began to tremble and buckle. It freed another arm to swing at her, but she was quick enough that the metal bashed the floor instead of her, tearing through the boards like tissue paper. She leaped through the air onto the thing’s shoulders, clawing at its eyes to destroy its optical receptors.

“Now, Em!” Griffin shouted.

Emily rushed in, her objective the control panel visible on the creature’s open front. She was going to shut it down.

Sensing what was about to happen, the automaton released one of its arms from holding Griffin and swung it down toward the little redhead. Jasper moved faster than possible, and Sam moved faster than he ever had before. The cowboy got there first, but the machine swatted him aside like a fly. Its fist drove into the floor, splintering the boards further. The floor wasn’t going to hold up under much more.

It was in that second that Sam realized Jasper had honorable feelings for Emily. Jasper should have shot the arm instead of running in, but he hadn’t thought straight and he’d have the bruises to prove it if they lived through this.

Sam reached Emily just in time, putting himself between the metal and her. He seized the weakened gleaming hand with both of his own and drove it backward with a fierce shout. Gears and joints popped and snapped. A bolt flew up and struck him in the cheek just below his eye, hitting with enough force that he saw stars, but he did not let go, twisting, pushing and pulling until he had severed the mechanical hand at the wrist. He dropped it to the floor, his own hands bleeding from the struggle.

Sam turned to see if Emily was all right. She stood with her fingers on the thing’s control panel, staring at him. “Sam!”

He turned around just in time to grab hold of the handless arm arching toward him. It lifted him off the floor and swung him backward toward the stone fireplace, where a handful of coals smoldered.

Sam braced himself for the impact, but it still wasn’t enough. There was no way to prepare oneself for being driven through a brick wall with the ease of a finger poking through butter. The bricks shattered against his back and skull, flying outward as he was propelled into the chimney and then down toward the hearth.

Heat surrounded him. He was in the fireplace and the arm of the automaton—now strangely still—had him pinned to the coals, which blossomed into flames as they tasted his clothing.

He pushed at the arm as he kicked at the remaining brick. He had to get out or he was going to go up in flames like a Guy Fawkes effigy.

Suddenly, strong hands grabbed him. It was Finley. He shoved the arm up, clearing enough space that with her help he was able to get out of the fire. He swatted at the flames on his clothes—and then he noticed that the automaton had fallen. Emily had managed to power it down.

Only, she had done it when the machine was in the middle of flinging Sam into the fireplace, so when the hulk fell, it came down on her and Griffin. It splintered the floor around it, creating a dangerous and perilous crater.

Griffin and Emily were in that crater.

Sam barely had time to register the pain from the burns he’d suffered. There was such cold in his soul he couldn’t feel them anyway. Wounds healed. He would not recover from the loss of his best friend and his—whatever Emily was—so easily. He glared at Finley for saving him when she should have saved Griffin and Emily first, but then he realized she needed his help. As strong as Finley was, she wouldn’t be able to lift the metal and pull Emily and Griffin out, as well.

“I’ll lift it,” he informed her, already bending down to get his shoulder under the huge metal chest. He searched for secure footing, as the floor beneath him was cracked. He looked at Jasper, who was bleeding from the nose and holding his ribs but looked otherwise sound, then at Finley. “The two of you get them out.”

Sam pushed with his legs, slowly straightening them as he lifted the metal man off the two most important people in his life. The broken floor groaned and shuddered in response. His mechanical heart pounded in his chest as he said a silent prayer—even though he wasn’t much for praying—that Griff and Em would both be all right.

There was a wide chasm in the floor that led to the cellar beneath. In the light, Sam could barely make out the pile of debris below them—metal, dust and wood. If either Emily or Griffin fell onto that, they would be severely injured—if they weren’t already.

As he lifted, Emily’s unconscious form shifted, rolling
closer to the huge hole. Sam’s heart stopped altogether. If he had to, he’d jump with her, to put himself between her and the death below.

But Jasper moved with that bloody impossible speed of his and saved Sam from having to choose Emily over Griffin.

It was no shock that Finley dove in to pull Griffin from the metal arms that still embraced him, or that Jasper had whisked Emily out from beneath the wreckage. Sam bore the crushing weight on his back—was it his imagination or was it getting lighter?—until everyone was free of the machine, then he began to slowly work on getting himself out from under it without it falling on him. He wasn’t all that surprised when Finley appeared before him, taking some of the burden from him on her own shoulders so he could get free. Sam grabbed her hand and hauled her with him as he dove from beneath the machine. It crashed to the floor once more, the top half of it tearing through the wood like paper.

Chest rising with every heavy breath, Sam turned to the others. Griffin was already sitting up, rubbing the back of his head and coughing. He didn’t seem too badly hurt, but it was Jasper who caught Sam’s attention. The cowboy looked at the three of them with an expression of pale terror.

“She needs a doctor,” he said.

Sam glanced down at sweet Emily, cradled in Jasper’s arms.

That’s when he saw the blood.

A few hours later, Finley, Griffin, Jasper and Sam sat in the study, each with a small glass of whiskey in their hands. If ever there had been an excuse to have a drink, it was now.

They all looked like they had been to Hades and back. Despite that Sam’s injuries had healed completely and Finley’s almost as much, they were both dirty and peppered with blood. Sam’s trousers and coat had burn marks on them and were covered in soot. Both Griffin and Jasper were bruised and moving stiffly. Jasper’s nose was swollen and taped—broken. Griffin had a cracked rib and his upper arms were already purple with hand-shaped bruises. Griffin had done what he could for all of them with the Organite salve, but the rest was up to time.

“Did the doctor say when Emily would be better?” Finley asked Griffin, barely able to look at him. His face was still bruised from being hit by Sam and now his left eye was swollen shut from the altercation with The Machinist’s pet. The Organites would heal the eye, of course, and help with the swelling, but it took longer for the salve to permeate unbroken skin.

Griffin shook his head and took a drink from his glass. “She woke up while he was examining her and she was in a lot of pain so he gave her something to help her sleep. He said that was what she needed right now—give her time to heal.”