The Girl In The Clockwork Collar (30 page)

“Of course,” Griffin answered. “We’ll leave you, but I hope you will indulge us if we check in on you later?”

Tesla nodded and then slowly made his way from the room. Griffin and Emily gathered up their things and left the hotel. He wished he had a greatcoat to put on to cover his ruined jacket, but he did not.

“What happened?” Emily demanded once they were outside. “Did that thing come back?”

Griffin lifted his hand to run it through his hair and stopped. He rubbed the back of his neck instead. “Yes. It seemed bigger this time, and, Em … I’m fairly certain it was sentient.”

Emily swore softly. “Saints preserve us. You have no idea what it is?”

He shook his head as he hailed a cab. “A malignant spirit, perhaps.”

“A haunting?” She looked at him with huge eyes. She was a bit superstitious about such things.

“Could be.” He turned to her as a cab pulled over for them. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I hope to never again. Whatever it is, it’s bloody dangerous.”

“Well, I hope Mr. Tesla never encounters it again.” She held up a small mechanical component. “I stole this from his suit.”

“Smart decision,” he said, opening the cab door for her to climb in. “Maybe it will keep him from doing any more Aetheric experiments.” He didn’t tell her his theory—his fear. Tesla wasn’t the entity’s targeted prey. Tesla wasn’t the one who had gotten a threatening letter.

He
was.

When Finley asked Emily what had happened to Griffin’s clothing during their visit with Tesla, she got the story in vivid detail—to the point where her throat went dry at the thought of Griffin running into that Aether …
monster
again. She still hadn’t recovered from how badly he’d been hurt the last time.

Emily, however, seemed totally oblivious to her distress as she perused the selection of ready-to-wear gowns the little shop they were in had to offer. “The fool was more concerned about his waistcoat than he was about anything else.”

Part of Finley thought perhaps Emily was trying to make her feel better. Another part thought she might be telling the truth, as well. “Well, he and I have done a good job at losing our clothes here in New York.”

Laughing blue eyes locked with hers over the display. “Oh, is that so? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Blushing, Finley made a face at her. “You know what I mean. So does he have any idea what the thing is?” She shouldn’t have to ask Emily for this information, but Griffin hadn’t volunteered it when she’d asked back at the hotel. He probably had some absurd notion that he was protecting her by not telling her. Maybe he thought she’d worry. Of course she was going to worry about him, the lunatic.

“Not really, but the prevailing theory is that it might be an angry ghost tethered to Tesla’s rooms or the hotel in general. Provided Tesla doesn’t go into the Aether again, everything should be fine—including Griff.”

A sigh broke free from Finley’s lips. That was the best news she’d heard in a while.

Emily held up a golden-colored gown. “What do you think of this one?”

“Perfect,” Finley replied. “You’ll look gorgeous. Sam will slip in his own drool.”

The smaller girl’s nose wrinkled. “That’s an attractive picture to put in a girl’s head.”

Laughing, Finley found a gown for herself—it was a rich purple-colored silk. “I think this is one of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen.”

“Perfect choice,” Emily agreed. “What else do you need to get?”

Their gowns chosen, they then went about finding a few items for Finley, to do her until she could get the clothes she had at the hotel laundered. Right now, she was wearing more of Griffin’s things but with one of her own corsets to add a feminine touch. No doubt he would be glad when she stopped wearing his clothes, given that he had lost some of his, as well.

They didn’t talk about Dalton or any of their plans as they shopped. Both of them were too paranoid to talk in public— plus they knew better. One never knew who might be listening. So instead they talked a little about Sam and Griffin and a little about poor Jasper, for whom both of their hearts ached.

Finally their shopping done, they stood patiently while seamstresses pinned them in each garment for alterations. The shop was equipped with sewing automatons, and many of their selections would be ready the next morning, if not this evening.

“Please, send the bill to the Duke of Greythorne care of the Waldorf-Astoria,” Finley instructed the shopgirl.

“Don’t you dare,” Miss Astor-Prynn interjected before Finley could tell her that she could also have the clothing delivered to the same address. “This girl is a scam artist.”

The skin of Finley’s neck and cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Everyone was looking at her, perhaps finding this nasty baggage’s words easy to believe. “You don’t know me at all,” she said in a calm, even voice. “You don’t know Griffin, either.”

The other girl bristled. “You brazen slattern, calling him by his Christian name! Of all the arrogance. I don’t know how you managed to escape arrest, but you won’t be so fortunate next time.”

Finley turned to Emily, whose face was beet-red, and whispered, “If I punched her in the mouth, do you think she’d shut up?”

Emily smiled, but it was obvious she was furious on Finley’s behalf.

“I’m sorry,” the shopgirl said sincerely, “but I’m afraid given Miss Astor-Prynn’s accusations, I’m going to need proof that you are in the duke’s traveling party.”

Finley’s narrow gaze went back to the righteous slag responsible for this. To think that she had thought this was the kind of girl Griffin would prefer to her. No one could prefer this nasty bag of bones.

The door opened behind her, the little bell tinkling, but Finley ignored it. She took a step closer to the girl who, at the moment, was making her life difficult. “What do you think he’s going to do? Propose? Take you back to England? He’s eighteen. No gentleman ever gets married so young.”

“Lengthy engagements aren’t unheard of,” Miss AstorPrynn argued. A cruel smile twisted her lips. “What do you think will happen when he tires of you and your—” she raked Finley with a blatantly insulting gaze “—talents?”

“I cannot imagine that ever happening” came a voice from behind them.

Finley’s fingers uncurled, releasing the fist she’d been about to drive into the witch’s face. She noted how the blood drained from that once smug face before turning her own toward her savior.

“Your Grace,” she said happily. “I’m so glad you’re here. Miss Astor-Prynn has doubts as to whether or not Emily and I are part of your entourage. Would you kindly disabuse her of such thoughts so that we can return to the hotel with our purchases?”

Griffin’s teeth flashed as he grinned. Obviously he found her overly sweet and proper tone amusing. “I would be delighted, Miss Jayne.” He shot a particularly cold glance at Miss Astor-Prynn before addressing the girl at the counter. “Please have the ladies’ items delivered to the Waldorf.” He handed her a crisp bill for her “trouble.”

The girl scurried to do just as he asked, stammering apologies as she moved.

Griffin’s smile faded as he regarded Finley’s nemesis once more. “Miss Astor-Prynn, I wish you every happiness in your life. I believe you do not have many of them. But I can honestly and without regret inform you that, even if I were inclined to marry at my age, you would be the absolute
last
girl I would think of spending the rest of my days with. Good day.” He bowed and then took Emily and Finley on either of his arms. “Shall we, ladies?”

If she were a better person, Finley would have kept her gaze fixed on the exit ahead of them. Instead, she gave in to temptation and craned her neck to peer back over her shoulder at Miss Astor-Prynn, whose face was as hard as marble and just as white, save for two angry red splotches on her cheeks.

Finley smiled and waved.

“Stop that,” Griffin commanded under his breath as they reached the door, but there was no anger in his words, only a sparkle in his gray-blue eyes.

Finley’s smile softened into a more sincere expression. “Thank you. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t arrived.”

“I do,” Emily volunteered. “We would have been asked to leave, and you would have knocked that cow’s teeth down her throat. I rather like to think she would have choked on them.”

Griffin and Finley laughed. “The two of you are the most bloodthirsty wenches I’ve ever met.”

“Do you like it?” Finley asked, squeezing his arm before releasing it.

He turned to her, his eyes bright. Was it just the reflection of the sun that gave them such warmth or something from within?

“I love it,” he said. The sudden deepening of his voice caused a wild fluttering in her stomach. It wasn’t so much what he said that thrilled her, but how he said it—and what was left unsaid, as well.

She couldn’t think of a bloody thing to say in reply.

Still smiling, Griffin held open the door of the hired cab for Emily and her to climb inside. Finley had just gotten herself situated when he plopped down beside her. His leg rested against hers, warm and solid.

When he took her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze, she didn’t try to pull away. For a moment, as she and Griffin stared into each other’s eyes, smiling, it seemed as though everything was right and perfect with the world.

But Finley had the sinking sensation that the feeling wasn’t going to last.

Wildcat was absolutely the last person Jasper expected to see that evening. Not just because he thought their business concluded, but because his room was several stories up and she was smiling at him from the other side of his window.

Cat’s smile had frightened more than one man senseless— girls with fangs tended to be somewhat intimidating. Jasper wasn’t quite certain what she was, but his time with her had convinced him she was more than merely human. She wasn’t called Wildcat just because of her attitude.

More curious than afraid, Jasper crossed the carpet of the room Griffin had secured for him and opened the window. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Cat hanging off the side of the building without the aid of rope. Her claws could dig into the brick, and she was strong enough to support her weight with her fingers and toes.

They had enjoyed quite a bit of adventure during his brief time in New York City, given his speed and her talents.

“Evening, Cat.”

Her smile grew. “Jasper. May I come in?”

He stood back so that she could slink through the window into the room. She was all muscled grace as she slipped one arm over the sill and then the other, bracing her palms on either side of the frame as she leaned back and swung both legs inside. Her knees bent toward the floor as her torso appeared, then her head. Then she rose to her feet in one fluid motion.

Jasper gave her a quick nod. “That’s quite the display.”

She shrugged, lilac eyes taking in the opulence of the room. “Nice place.”

“It’ll do,” he replied drily. “What brings you here, Cat?” He wasn’t trying to be rude, but he knew the gang leader wasn’t there on a social call.

Gnawing on the side of her thumb, she plunked herself down on the bed and reclined there, braced back on her elbows, as if it was her own. “There’s a strange rumor going round Five Points.”

When she didn’t immediately elaborate, Jasper raised a brow. “So far, I don’t know what that has to do with me.”

She crossed her feet at the ankles. The soles of her boots were dusty but not dirty enough that he worried for the quilt. “The rumor is that there’s to be a riot tomorrow night. All the gangs. Word is that the cops are going to hit the area full force to contain the participants.”

Jasper stared at her. He knew that Wildcat’s grandfather, a freed slave, had been shot and killed during a riot back in the ’60s. She had to be thinking about that right now. Had to be worried or maybe even frightened.

“You want to stay here?” he asked. “There’s not a lot of room, but you’re welcome to stay until it all blows over.”

She bolted upright, sitting so that her legs hung over the side and her elbows rested on her knees. “There ain’t no riot, Jasper. None of the gangs know anything about it, even though they’re supposed to be involved.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Someone started the rumor to make sure all the police are going to be in Five Points instead of someplace else.”

Frowning, Jasper crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulders against the wall. The Historical Society event was tomorrow night. That couldn’t be a coincidence; he knew better than that. “Would that someone happen to be Reno Dalton?”

Wildcat inclined her head, a slow smile taking over her lips. “Seems to be. I had to do an awful lot of digging to find that out, otherwise I would have been here sooner. That scalawag has something planned, and he’s putting my people at risk over it.”

Anger glittered in her unusual eyes. Wildcat might run with a rough bunch—might be the leader of a rough bunch— but she cared about her people and tried to make certain they had the best lives possible given the poverty of the Five Points neighborhood.

“We think he’s got a job planned, Cat. I reckon he wants to make sure the law isn’t around to interfere.”

Her pretty face hardened. “People are going to die tomorrow night, Jasper. The cops will shoot first and ‘express their remorse’ later. Remorse can’t raise the dead.”

There was nothing Jasper could do about that. Even if he went to the police, they wouldn’t believe him, and there was a very good chance they had a wanted poster with his face on it. However, Whip might be able to do something.

“I’ll see what I can do, Cat. Meanwhile, tell your people to stay inside, avoid the normal fighting grounds and not to travel in packs—anything that could be mistaken for aggressive activity.”

Wildcat swore, then sat there, her lips tight. “I guess that’s all I can ask for.”

“I wish I could do more.”

Her gaze locked with his. “You can get that trash out of my town.”

“I plan to. In chains.”

That put a smile on her face—full of fangs. “You do that, and I’ll give you that six-shooter you were always trying to talk me into giving you.”