The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(23)

She said something, but Griffin wasn’t listening. He was suddenly so exhausted that all he wanted was his bed. There was no point in discussing this further. Finley wanted to help Jasper, and he couldn’t fault her for that. He might not like how she went about it, but she’d gotten closer to Dalton than he had. If he was jealous of how she looked at Dalton, that was his problem alone. He would either trust her not to get involved with the criminal or he would not. It was entirely possible that Dalton would win her over and she would fully give in to her darker nature.

He met her gaze steadily—unemotionally. “I stood by you when you were questioned about Lord Felix’s murder. I’ve done everything I can to help you, and in return you—” He stopped and shook his head. “This isn’t about me. Either you want to be part of this team, or you don’t. That’s your decision.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve given me a lot of ultimatums recently, Your Grace.”

“Not ultimatums, choices. You’re no longer two sides of a whole, Finley. You are one person—singular. That means choosing who you want to be—where you want to be.”

“Let me guess,” she began bitterly. “If I decide to be part of the group, that means I have to tell you everything I do.”

“Of course not. If you decide to stay, it means you don’t run off on your own. It means you have respect for the people who have accepted you as a friend. I saw how you looked at Dalton—how he looked at you. You’re attracted to the danger he offers.”

A smirk twisted her lips. “Is this the part where you remind me of how ‘dangerous’ you can be?”

She was mocking him. Mocking him. Deep inside his chest it felt as though someone flicked a switch—or punched a hole.

The lights flashed—not just in this room but also in the buildings visible through the window. The little owl began to hop around the dresser. The portable telegraph machine in his pocket began to hum, as did the one on Finley’s nightstand. And somewhere in the building a boiler fired up—he could hear the echo of it in the pipes.

“Griffin.”

The bulb in the lamp beside the bed blew, throwing glass everywhere. Finley cried out. “Griffin!”

It took all of his strength, but somehow he managed to regain control. The lights returned to normal. The little owl and the telegraphs quieted.

Finley stared at him as though she didn’t recognize him— as though he frightened her.

Pivoting on his heel, he tore open the door and stepped into the hall. The door to Emily’s room opened, and she stuck her head out. “The cat just powered up all by itself. Any idea … Oh, dear God.”

Griffin glanced at her. He could only imagine how he appeared to her—sweat dripping down his brow, eyes wide and crazed. No doubt he was pale. Lord, it felt as though electricity danced between his fingers—in his head.

“Get in here, lad,” she commanded.

Griffin heard the urgency in her voice and followed her into the room. She grabbed his hand, but he jerked back. His control was too fragile. If she touched him, the Aether would rush through his fingers into hers. He couldn’t risk hurting her.

She led him out onto the balcony, the cat clinking behind them. Outside, the summer air was warm but carried a lovely breeze, which helped cool Griffin’s fevered head. Still, he had to fight to remain in control as he watched Emily flick switches and push buttons inside the cat’s control panel. Suddenly, the metal panther began to shudder, click and whirl. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes as the automaton began to reshape itself. The legs disappeared, as did the tail. A long vertical rod extended from the inside, opening to resemble a double row of long fan blades—a propeller.

When it was done, the cat had completely metamorphosed into something Griffin couldn’t identify.

“It’s my Icarus construct,” Emily explained, guiding him toward the thing that had two belts lying loose on its top. “A flying machine.”

“This can’t be safe,” Griffin remarked as she made him straddle the thing, then sit so she could quickly fasten one of the belts around him.

He thought he heard her mutter, “We’re about to find out,” but he prayed that wasn’t true as she climbed on in front and fastened the other belt around her hips. She pulled goggles over her eyes. “Hang on, lad!”

The propeller above his head began to whirl and sputter. Griffin wrapped his hands around the post for support—and to let a little of his power crawl along the metal. If he could make things power on, then it stood to reason he could give them a boost, as well. Maybe the slight drain would keep him from losing control too quickly.

The propeller whirled so fast it seemed one singular piece. The machine lifted off the balcony and lurched forward.

Griffin glanced down as his feet dangled over empty night air. The lights of Manhattan Island twinkled around them— below them. The wind whipped through his hair and brought water to his eyes, so that soon, it was difficult to see anything at all. He would have to get Emily to take him out again when he could actually enjoy the sensation of flying.

The wind cooled a short while later as they flew over water. Bedloe’s Island was where they were headed—the place where the Statue of Liberty stood.

Emily flew them as close to the torch as she could. “You’re going to have to jump,” she shouted. “Grab the light and let go!”