He stepped back to let her enter. “Apologies, pet. I was ’avin’ a bit of an issue with me cravat.”
She glanced at his throat as she crossed the threshold. “You’re not wearing a cravat.”
“Issue solved.” He closed the door and flicked the lock. “Drink?”
“Of course.” She removed her coat and handed it to him to hang up on the stand by the door. “Gin if you have it.”
Vile stuff. “Got a little bit of ev’ryfing.” At least his gin was top quality—not that Darla would know, or care. “Do come in.”
Her skirts swished as she entered the parlor. Jack immediately went to the bar to pour their drinks. She didn’t sit down, but glanced around, as though expecting to find someone hiding under a piece of furniture. She knew about Mila, but the two of them had never met. That was how he intended to keep it.
“’Ere you go, pet.” He handed her a glass.
“Thanks.” She took a sip. “I didn’t know you like music.”
“I like a lot of things.” Perhaps he should have turned the cylinder player off, but this way there was less chance of hearing Mila thumping about in her room.
“Are we going to dance?” she asked with a saucy smile as she took another drink.
Jack grinned in return. “No,” he informed her as he slipped an arm about her waist. “That’s not what I had in mind at all.”
Chapter Two
When they arrived at Peabody’s, the house was already on fire, with Peabody and his daughter inside.
Finley took a moment to collect herself. She was angry...and hurt and mad at herself for it. She oughtn’t be angry at Griffin for helping people—it was one of the things she adored about him, but it would be nice to have a bit of a break from the intrigue. A little extended time together—alone—would be nice. She loved her friends, but they were always around.
Sam kicked the door in so they could enter. The trail of smoke led them to a small parlor near the back of the dark, but well-appointed house. Peabody had money but he wasn’t loose with it, judging from the economy, but quality of decor. Sam kicked in that door, as well. Jasper rushed in, nothing more than a blur as he rushed to create a vacuum around the flames, stifling the fire that had already consumed draperies and a sofa.
Mr. Peabody lay gasping on the floor, a cloud of smoke hanging over him that rose toward the high ceiling. His daughter stood over him. The skirts of her beautiful gown were singed. Her dark hair was a mess, and her eyes and hands glowed like coals in a furnace. Finley could feel the heat coming off her.
“Greythorne,” she snarled.
Finley wasn’t surprised that the woman knew Griffin. Sometimes she forgot he was a duke, but this wasn’t one of those times—not when he stood there, staring down his nose at “Lady Ash” as though she was little more than dirt beneath his shoe. “It’s over, Lady Grantfarthen. The killing stops here.”
The older woman—she was perhaps in her midtwenties—smiled. “No, Your Grace. It does not.” And with that pronouncement, her right hand ignited into a ball of fantastic blue flame.
“Get him out of here,” Griffin instructed to Emily and Sam, gesturing at Peabody.
Lady Ash drew back her arm to throw her fire, but Wildcat dived into her, taking her to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, Finley saw Sam scoop the old man off the floor and head outside. That was when she leaped into action to help Cat. Both of Lady Ash’s hands were burning now, along with her eyes. Finley didn’t think, she simply grabbed the pitcher from the small washing pedestal—obviously Peabody liked to be able to scrub the ink from his hands—and tipped it onto the woman.
She actually sizzled.
Swearing and sputtering, the woman struggled beneath Cat, who straddled her, trying to trap those flailing arms with her knees. As Finley bent to help—Lady Ash grabbed for the pistol strapped to Cat’s thigh. It happened so fast that Finley barely had time to shout at Cat to move. But it wasn’t Cat she should have worried about. The pistol discharged at the same second Jasper pulled his own. That was the exact same second that Peabody’s home security automatons burst into the room, their own weapons engaged.
Being shot hurt. It hurt a lot.
Finley cried out as Lady Ash’s bullet tore through her upper chest and exploded out her back. She staggered under the impact. The second bullet—from one of the automatons—drove her to her knees in breathless silence.
“Finley!” It was Griffin. She could hear the terror in his voice. He must really care about her to be so afraid for her. Stupid that would be what she thought about at a time like this.
Not going to die. She clung to that thought as she struggled to breathe. Punctured lung? Blood soaked her shirt, ran down her front and back in hot little rivers. Both bullets went through. Good. At least Emily wouldn’t have to go hunting for them inside her. At least her body wouldn’t try to heal around them.
She just had to heal before the wounds killed her. As she fell forward onto her hands, she prayed for the abundance of Organites in her system to get to work. It seemed the reconstructing process of her body had intensified as of late. Now was not a time to regress.
Lifting her head, she sought out each of her friends who were involved in the fight. The scene before her played out like one of those moving pictures—one frame at a time. Emily was back and using her ability to communicate with machines to make one of the large automatons fighting them dismantle itself. Sam took another down with his incredible strength. Jasper used his amazing speed to grab Lady Ash and bind her limbs. He’d shot her in the arm.
She tasted copper as her gaze turned to Griffin. Finley opened her mouth, but only blood came out. Griffin wasn’t watching her. He was watching Lady Ash and he...he was glowing.
Griffin’s power was the ability to harness the Aether—the energy expelled by all living creatures, and the realm of the dead. It was a terrible power, one that he fought to control every time he used it. A power that had brought so much pain upon himself—and his friends—as of late. It was power he rarely directed at a person, and now he directed it at Lady Ash.
She’d made short work of Jasper’s restraints, burning through them like they were spider silk. Even with soot and blood on her she was beautiful. She looked like a china doll, not the destructive witch she’d proved herself to be. Finley watched as flame ignited in Lady Ash’s palm and slowly licked its way up her arm, until her entire body was engulfed. The flame didn’t harm her, dancing just above her skin. She watched in horror as the flame took on the form of a long whip in her hand.
The automaton that had shot her stomped toward Finley, pulling a large sword seemingly out of his very back as he walked. The floor between them trembled with every step. She’d be worried if those holes in her body were already starting to close themselves. Finley took two tiny capsules from her pocket, broke them open and jammed one into each entry wound, wincing as her ripped flesh protested. Organites in their pure form immediately set her insides tingling as they worked their magic. They were little beasties from the very cradle of life itself, responsible for the evolution of life. Putting them into her body might take her abilities up another notch and she didn’t bloody care.
She forced herself to her feet. She wasn’t bleeding quite so heavily now, couldn’t feel the gurgling in her chest. She was going to live.
Too bad she couldn’t say the same about the automaton. She punched her fist—with the brass knuckles Emily had fashioned for her—through the creature’s chest, smashing its logic engine and dropping it in its tracks.
Lady Ash screamed—a ragged, eardrum-piercing sound that brought them all to a standstill. All but Griffin, that was. He was the one responsible for the