“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 Griffin 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.

It was the last thing Finley heard before she died.

Chapter Five

“You have a most impressive tolerance for pain.”

Griffin gritted his teeth at Garibaldi’s mockery. Behind the “compliment” was the certainty that the bastard would crush that tolerance, push him to the point of begging for mercy.

He would not beg. Even if he thought it would matter, he wouldn’t do it. Begging would only give his enemy pleasure. He’d die before he let Garibaldi know just how effective a torturer he was.

Blood dripped from beneath his fingernails. The Machinist hadn’t ripped them off—yet—but he’d stuck needles underneath and pried skin from nail. He had burned him, cut him. He’d dripped water in his face until Griffin thought he might scream. The worst was the device used to drain the Aether from him. It felt like claws in his brain, scraping and digging. He didn’t know if it was tears or blood trickling from his eyes.

Garibaldi’s face loomed over him. He’d made himself look younger in death—a man in his prime rather than the broken shell that had slumbered in that large glass canister guarded by machines. A sly smile curved the man’s lips—a slash of mirth in his rugged face. “Your friends. Do you think they worry about you? Do you think Samuel is worried?”

The man had an unnatural interest in Sam. It made a kind of twisted sense—Sam was part human and part machine, something The Machinist held in great fascination. He’d been playing God long before his dark path crossed Griffin’s.

“What about Finley?” Garibaldi pressed when he got no reaction. “I’m sure she must be very worried. Is she a crier, your girl? Her mother was always a bit of a limp rag, but her father could be a very hard man when he wanted. Never showed any emotion. Only time I ever saw genuine feeling in his face was when he was dying. Your father was the same way.”

Griffin ground his teeth. He’d probably wear them down to bloody stumps before Garibaldi killed him. Would the torture stop there, or would the monster continue after he passed? Would he spend eternity strapped to the table, impotent and helpless? His body ached from all that had been done to it since his capture, but he knew his soul would suffer even more.

So, no. He would not spend eternity on that table. He’d find a way out of this. Death might be his only option. At least with death he could slip free of his mortal shell. He’d be stronger then, in this place. If only he’d spent more time testing his powers rather than controlling them. If only he was as certain of his abilities as was the bastard trying to scramble his brain.

“It won’t take her long to find someone else,” Garibaldi told him, hovering above the head of the bed. He flipped a switch and Griffin stifled a cry. It was like hundreds of bees swarming about in his head—stinging and battering their wings against the inside of his brain—trying to burrow through his skull. “It didn’t take her mother long to get over her father. Then again, there’s not much choice for the women, is there? They must have a man to look after them.”

He’d tell Garibaldi to shut the hell up if he thought he still had the capacity for speech, but if he dared open his mouth, Griffin knew all that would come out would be guttural, animal sounds.

“I’m going to wait until she finds a new man before I kill her,” whispered The Machinist in his ear, his Italian accent giving the words drama. “I will wait until she’s happy, so that when I reunite the two of you, you will have her with you for all eternity knowing she loves another.”

It was beyond cruel—and more torturous than anything else the man could have done to him. Griffin could handle anything Garibaldi threw at him, but not Finley. If she found someone who could make her happy, he’d be fine with that—more than fine—but to take that away from her... Garibaldi would ruin her life, as well, just to get to Griffin.

Griffin forced his eyes open, even as wetness leaked out. Red blurred the edges of his vision. It was blood, then. He stared up at his enemy and set his jaw. “Go to hell,” he growled.

Garibaldi chuckled. “Of course, dear boy. But I’m taking you with me.”

Then everything went black.

* * *

Jack wasn’t just stupid—he thought she was, too. It was the only way Mila could explain why he’d say those things to her. He dismissed her feelings, and then suggested she talk to Finley about “womanly” things. That was a lie...no, that wasn’t the right word. Joke—that’s what it was. Jack didn’t see her as a woman, he saw her as a pet.

But when he said he’d never see her as he saw his doxies, that she wasn’t like those girls...well, she knew there was only one thing she could do.

Leave.

That part of her that was still fairly analytical knew it was ridiculous—running away because her feelings were hurt—but that other part of her, the one that was still new, and all girl, couldn’t spend another moment under his roof, knowing he would never feel the same way about her that she did about him. It was simply too painful. She told herself that she wouldn’t repeatedly smash her fingers with a brick, so why should she continue to watch Jack with his girls, knowing she was never going to be one of them.

No, not one of them. She wanted to be the one. The pain was knowing that Jack wasn’t going to let that happen. He didn’t see her as a real girl, and he never would. He saw her as a child, or worse—as a thing—and that she could not bear.

There was this emotion she’d begun to experience a lot as of late—it was the one called pride. Like most things, her understanding of it that day was better than it had been the day before. What a surprise to discover that she’d had an abundance of it long before she knew what to call it! But she did have it, and Jack...Jack had ground his boot heel into it when he’d basically accused her of not knowing her own mind. If there was one thing Mila knew it was her own mind. It might not always know her, but she was always well aware of it. Maybe other girls said things they didn’t mean and pretended they weren’t as smart as they were, but Mila didn’t understand the motivation behind such behavior, unless it was to make the males of the species feel smarter.

So maybe this stupidity Jack exhibited extended to all men. Was it a flaw in their biological composition? Or was it an evolutionary mutation permitted to persist by the fact that women had looked after them for centuries, such that the need to think lapsed behind the need to procreate? It was a sound thesis—one she might have to explore in greater detail. If she could prove that right, then she could blame Jack and not herself.

Maybe he just didn’t find her pretty or interesting. Maybe it wasn’t him, but herself that was the problem.

Oh, but she wasn’t ready to think on that. Right now, she planned to explore London in greater detail. Eventually, she planned to find her way to Griffin’s door and ask if she might stay for a bit, at least until the rest fell into place, but not right away, because that was the first place Jack would look for her—not because he knew her so terribly well, but because King House was home to the only people she’d even begin to call her friends. It wasn’t that Jack denied her the benefit of society, it was the fact that he had no friends himself. He had people he did business with, people he had a grudge against and people who wanted to use him, but no friends.

Except for her. Without her he’d be all alone again.

Mila paused in the middle of her packing and glanced toward the door. Maybe... No. Setting her jaw, she stuffed a pair of bloomers into the valise. Jack Dandy had managed to look after himself for years before prying open the lid to her crate. He’d do just fine when she was gone again. In fact, he’d probably be glad to be rid of her, and return to some semblance of normalcy. No more telling people she was his ward. No more hiding her, or explaining her presence to his “women friends.” Once he’d told a girl wearing too much rouge and not enough dress that Mila was his cousin from Yorkshire. They looked absolutely nothing alike, but the girl had believed it. Jack was good at lying, but perhaps he’d enjoy a break from it with her gone. No doubt his repair bills would be a lot shorter and less expensive without her around to break things.