The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(49)

“We could,” he remarked—another lie. He could never return to San Francisco while he was wanted for murder there.

“We could go anywhere,” he added. This was something they could discuss later. First they had to survive the next couple of days. If they were still alive the morning after Dalton got his machine put together, there just might be hope for the two of them.

And that was as far into the future as he would let himself look.

It was late afternoon before Griffin finally felt well enough to leave his bed. The Organites were doing their work—not as fast as he would like, but it was better than dead. By tomorrow evening, he should be as good as new. Just in time to go to whatever theater Reno Dalton would be at.

He had gotten Finley’s telegraph message earlier, while lying abed, sipping the Organite tea Emily made him. She was convinced it would help his insides heal faster. For a moment he had hesitated, wondering if it was the Organites and their effect on human evolution that had made him encounter that thing in the Aether. But it seemed too much of a stretch and didn’t make enough sense for the theory to stick.

More than likely it was the machine itself that had caused the dark energy. It might have conjured a malevolent spirit. That would explain the mysterious threat the other machine had “written.” He would advise Mr. Tesla to destroy the blasted thing.

Gingerly, he eased off the bed. For a moment he considered calling Sam for help, but he was not an invalid. He might not be as physically strong as Sam or Finley, but he was not weak.

Still, he could have used the help at that moment. His arms and chest were bandaged, so he bathed as well

as he could and managed to wash his hair.

He was in front of the wardrobe with a towel around his waist when the door to his room opened. Startled and practically naked, Griffin hid himself behind the open armoire.

It was only Sam.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he demanded, feeling like a girl for having hid his state of undress.

Sam scowled at him, but that was nothing new. Sam scowled at everyone. “I knocked a while ago. You didn’t answer. I was worried.”

“I was in the shower.”

“So I can see.” Sam’s dark gaze raked disapprovingly over him. “You need to eat more.”

Griffin glanced down. “I don’t look that bad.” All right, so maybe a couple of his ribs were beginning to show and his abdominal muscles were sharply defined, but he had always been lean.

“You haven’t taken proper care of yourself since that night at the warehouse.”

He had almost died that night, too. This was a habit he did not want to continue.

“You’re right. Do me a favor and call down to the kitchen, will you? Ask them to bring something up. Order something for yourself if you like.”

A rare smile curved his friend’s lips. “As if I wouldn’t do that, anyway.”

Sam called down using the telephone on the desk. After that, he assisted Griffin in getting dressed, despite Griffin’s protests that he was quite capable.

“Finley mentioned something interesting last night,” the larger boy began, while Griffin buttoned his shirt. “She said that she’d spotted a man outside the Astor-Prynn residence the other night who Dalton identified as Whip Kirby. She thought he might have been watching Dalton’s place, as well.”

Griffin frowned. “He must be waiting to catch them in the act.”

“The act of what?” Sam asked. “We still have no idea what Dalton’s up to.”

“Except that it has to do with a strange machine and the Museum of Science and Invention.”

Sam’s expression was wry. “That still doesn’t tell us much.”

“Maybe we should check the schedule of events for the museum. Maybe that will give us an idea of what Dalton’s up to.”

“I’ll ask downstairs if they have a listing of events.”

Griffin ran a hand through his hair. “It’s worth a look.”

Then conversation turned to Finley—a topic Griffin was surprised by. Sam hadn’t liked Finley when she first showed up; Sam didn’t like most people in general. But it seemed as though the two of them were slowly, very slowly, becoming tolerant of one another, if not friends.

“She refused to leave your side all bloody night,” Sam remarked with something that sounded like respect.

“She’s a good friend,” Griffin replied.

His old friend stared at him in amused disgust. “Griff, I’m your friend, and even I wasn’t about to sit here and watch you heal.”

Griffin looked away, annoyed by the sudden heat in his cheeks. “Yes, well, she was a much prettier sight to wake up to than your ugly head.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been told my eyes are like a night sky” came the mock-indignant reply.

From there, the conversation spiraled into a bout of goodnatured insults. Griffin was much more comfortable with that than discussing Finley and how she’d stayed with him. He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that himself, and most of that was because he didn’t know how she felt.

Perhaps it would be better not to think of it at all.

When the food arrived, it seemed to Griffin that Sam had ordered everything on the menu. Regardless, the two of them managed to eat it all. In fact, they had just polished off two slices of thick, flaky-crust apple pie when the phone rang. It was the majordomo from the reception desk downstairs. He was terribly sorry to bother His Grace, but there was a Whip Kirby waiting upon him in the lobby. Would he care to come down, or should the gentleman be sent away? Griffin replied that he would be there directly, thanked the man and hung up.