The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(39)

As much as she dreaded meeting the bat held in Wildcat’s hands, Finley had to admit it was difficult not to like the girl. She had an easy yet dangerous air to her that felt oddly comforting, perhaps because, Finley suspected, they were very similar.

“He’s sorry,” Finley piped up. “He’s so very, very sorry. Can I have a bat, too?”

Wildcat smiled and tossed hers aside. It hit the dirt with a solid thwonk, which Finley felt in her teeth. Getting hit with such a weapon would not tickle.

“How’s that?” the girl asked.

Finley shrugged, noticing that Wildcat had wickedlooking metal claws on one hand that were more than a match for her brass knuckles. “Fair enough.”

The fight began almost immediately, without any dancing about. Finley took on Wildcat and anyone else she could between blows. Jasper was able to use his speed and agility against the others, who—fortunately for him—were simply “normal” humans. Wildcat, on the other hand, was decidedly more than normal. She was fast, vicious and had those blasted claws—no doubt these factors contributed to her apt nickname.

Blood ran down Finley’s cheek from a particularly nasty swipe. It stung and burned, but she ignored it as best she could, consoling herself with the fact that her opponent was also bloody.

Strike. Dodge. Reel. Swipe. Kick. Stagger. It was almost like a bizarre dance they had going on between the two of them, and neither was about to surrender. But they both knew neither of them was going to win anytime soon. And Jasper swayed on his feet. Even though he could still move faster than his opponents, he simply had too many to avoid.

Finley grabbed Wildcat by the throat and shoved her up against the side of the house—a nearby window shuddered. Wildcat’s own hand came up and seized Finley’s neck. They faced each other with opposite hands poised to strike.

“This been enough of a fight for you?” Wildcat asked, a touch of Irish in her voice, which Finley hadn’t noticed before.

Finley didn’t lower her hand. “It was your idea.”

The other girl smiled, and Finley thought she caught a glimpse of fang. “I made a promise, and I had to keep it. Point of pride, you know. Tell you the truth, I’d rather just give him the thing and send you both on your way.”

Since Finley wanted that also, she lowered her striking hand. Wildcat lowered hers, as well, and once that was done, they released one another.

Finley turned to find Jasper on the ground, face bloody but not too badly battered. Half a dozen of Wildcat’s followers were also down, and the rest all wore signs of battle as they panted from exertion. At least Jasper had managed to tire them out.

Before Finley could help him up, Wildcat offered him her hand and easily drew him to his feet.

“Come inside, cowboy. Clean yourself up.” She cast a glance at Finley. “You, too.”

Shrugging, Finley followed Jasper inside.

The interior of the house was as surprising as Wildcat herself. It wasn’t much, but it was neat and clean. It was obvious that someone had put effort into making the place feel like a home. The furniture was worn but comfortable, serviceable. Photographs and paintings hung on the walls in chipped frames, and frayed rugs covered the bare-board floors. The air smelled of wood smoke and cinnamon—a strangely pleasant scent.

Jasper seated himself at the table, so Finley did, as well. One of the girls brought them a bowl of water and cloths to clean their faces while Wildcat disappeared from the room. When she returned, Finley had just wiped the last of the blood from Jasper’s face.

“Keep on with this kind of behavior, and you won’t be so pretty anymore,” she warned him with a teasing grin.

One side of his mouth quirked—the other side was cut and stayed still. “I’ve heard ladies like rugged men.”

“Ladies like intelligent men,” Wildcat interjected, setting a small dusty crate on the table in front of him. “Something which you are not, San Francisco. Here’s what you came for.”

Jasper stared at the box. He didn’t attempt to open it to check the contents, so it was obvious that either he trusted Wildcat or knew better than to challenge her integrity.

“Thank you,” he said.

The girl shook her head. “No thanks necessary. Just make sure whatever that thing is, it never finds its way back into my neighborhood again. Same goes for you. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Finley noticed that he hadn’t agreed to her terms, but then again, the chances of the crate coming back here were slim. Dalton struck her as an ambitious bloke—he would set his sights on something bigger and more … well, just more … than this part of the world.

Now that they had the piece, there was no need to hang about—not that they had been invited. They needed to get back to Dalton, give him the thing. Finley wondered how Little Hank had fared while waiting for them. Would it have hurt the lummox to help them out in the fight? So what if Jasper had told him to stay put? Then again, he probably still wouldn’t have come to their aid—he didn’t like either one of them, and the feeling was mutual.

Jasper took the crate, said his farewells to Wildcat, who gave him a hard smile, and walked out the door. Finley followed close behind, but before she could step outside, Wildcat grabbed her by the arm. Finley immediately tensed, expecting the girl to continue their earlier match. Instead, Wildcat stepped close to whisper in her ear.