The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(56)

“Maybe you’d be kind enough to let them know that?” Kirby asked. “I reckon you’ll talk to your girl before I can get anywhere near either of them. Dalton’s bad news, and he’ll take them down with him if he can.”

Griffin looked him dead in the eye. “What are you after Dalton for?”

The marshal finished his coffee. “He got my wife’s brother in a heap of trouble. And he’s responsible for the death of a good friend. There’s a list of crimes as long as my arm that no one’s ever been able to pin on him. If I can catch him in the act here, I can petition to have him transported back to San Francisco to stand trial.”

“If we help you catch him, will you turn a blind eye to Jasper’s and Finley’s involvement?”

“As far as I’m concerned, they’re working to bring Dalton down, same as me.”

Griffin nodded. “I suspect Dalton will be at the Olympia Theatre tomorrow night. I’ll let you know when I know for certain. From now on, you’ll know what we know.”

“Likewise. You’ll be sure to let Renn know that I have no intention of punishing that poor girl any more than she’s already been punished? I just want to clear his name.”

“I will.” And he’d ask Jasper why this man would go through so much trouble for him, as well.

“Well, then, I best take my leave.” The older man picked up his battered Stetson from the table and set it on his head. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Griffin rose stiffly to his feet and walked him to the door. Kirby gave him his direction. His hotel had a telegraph machine and telephones, but Griffin wanted to avoid any means that might be overheard by curious ears or seen by prying eyes. It was agreed that he would send a messenger or come himself, if at all possible.

Once the door shut, leaving him and Sam alone once more, only then did Griffin sag against the wall.

“You’ve overdone it,” Sam chastised, helping him to the bed. “Stubborn fool.”

“Look who’s talking,” Griffin shot back. “I think I need some more of Em’s vile Organite tea, Samuel.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam was at the phone, asking someone from the kitchen to bring up hot water.

“What would I do without all of you to take care of me?” Griffin asked—perhaps a little harsher than he ought. Right now he felt like the weak link in the chain that was their group. Yes, he could fight, but not like Finley or Sam, and he couldn’t heal like them. Emily was so much smarter than he was, and Jasper so fast he was almost untouchable. Sure, he could summon the Aether as energy, but one good cosh to the head would stop that. He was entirely too vulnerable, and he hated it.

Sam glanced at him. “Feeling sorry for yourself, are you? I suppose you’re allowed. I mean, look at how bloody awful your life is.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” Griffin retorted as he eased out of his coat and boots. The simple action caused a fine layer of sweat to bead on his brow. He was as weak as a child.

“And wallowing doesn’t look good on you. You feel feeble. I understand that. But if you want that to change, then change it. For pity’s sake, just stop whining about it.”

Griffin arched a brow. “Is that experience speaking?”

Sam scowled. “You know it is, you great arse. You think you’re helpless—Emily and I couldn’t even see what attacked you. How do you think that felt?” As he spoke, he casually took Griff by the arms and moved him up the bed so that he reclined on a mountain of pillows. Sometimes it wasn’t bad to have friends that were much stronger than he was.

“A little helpless, I suppose,” Griffin allowed, suddenly sheepish.

“That’s right.” A knock sounded at the door. “There’s the water for your tea. You stay in bed, understand?”

Griffin nodded, fighting a grin. Sam was such a mother hen. He was also very nosy at times. Griffin was surprised his friend had not asked him if anything had happened between himself and Finley the other night. He and Emily must be beside themselves with curiosity. The two of them were convinced he was in love with Finley and she with him.

He didn’t know if he was—and he’d never dare guess at her feelings. He had to admit to himself that it had been nice to wake up and see her face. To know she’d dropped everything else to be—literally—by his side.

Take that, Dandy, he thought smugly.

Sam brewed him a cup of Emily’s tea and a cup of Earl Grey for himself. Then he took a pack of cards from the desk and held them up. “Want to play something?”

“May as well,” Griffin replied. It wasn’t as though he was in the proper condition to do anything else at the moment. Once Emily returned from Tesla’s, then they could fill her in on Kirby’s visit and discuss where to go from here.

“So,” Sam began as he dealt the cards. Griffin took a sip of the awful tea. “What happened between you and Finley last night?”

By late that evening, Griffin felt more like himself. He had drunk several cups of Emily’s tea and had gotten Finley’s telegraph that the Olympia Theatre was indeed their destination for the following night and that Dalton had forged invitations to a gala at the Museum of Science and Invention. There hadn’t been anything in the pamphlet Sam found about the museum, but that hadn’t listed much information in the way of events.