Kady Cross - The Girl in the Clockwork Collar

“Is Tesla all right?” he demanded as he turned toward Emily.

“Quite,” the older man replied. He was sitting up now, and had removed his mask and hood. He looked tired and shaky. “Thanks to you, Your Grace.”

Griffin didn’t bother to remind him that he wouldn’t have gone into the Aether were it not for his curiosity about Griffin’s abilities. Still, Tesla was a grown man and knew his own mind.

“You should rest,” Griffin told him. “And perhaps avoid Aether exploration from here on. That’s the second time I’ve encountered that thing, and both times have been here, with you.”

Tesla nodded. “I’ve seen what you see, and that’s enough.” Emily shot Griff a dubious glance at the inventor’s statement but did not voice her doubts. “Do you need assistance with anything, sir?”

“No, no.” The man rose to his feet, wavered slightly and then seemed to find his legs. “Please excuse my poor manners, but I believe I need to lie down. Will you excuse me?”

“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?”