The Girl in the Steel Corset (Steampunk Chronicles #1)(9)
And yet…when she was in the midst of madness, it didn’t feel like madness at all. It felt right, like that awful part of her was as natural as breathing. But it could not be natural. It was something dark and wrong and—evil.
Was there anything that could save her? Anything short of death that could stop it from happening again? Felix had deserved the wallop she gave him, but the young man with the striking blue eyes and the thick red-brown hair, he didn’t deserve what she might have done to him when she leaped over the giant one to get to him.
She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, not really. Something had drawn her to him, and when she looked up into those amazing eyes, doing him harm had been the last thing on her mind. She had actually wondered what it might be like to kiss him.
It had to have been some kind of sorcery. What else could it have been? He had drained all of the fight out of her without lifting a hand. One glance had filled her with such peace and lethargy that all she had wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Which she had.
Had he—or any of them—done something to her while she slept? She couldn’t tell, as she was still somewhat tender from the tussle with Lord Felix. She didn’t want to believe the pretty gentleman capable of such violence, but she had learned the hard way that pretty gentlemen were often the worst of the lot.
But now what? She couldn’t stay here forever, and she had no idea if she could trust these people. It was obvious the others didn’t want her around. What if they turned her over to the police? Or worse, what if “Rich Boy” was a friend of Lord Felix?
A knock at the door made her heart jump. The knob turned and the door opened before she could call for whoever it was to enter.
The redheaded girl walked in. Her bright, ropey hair was pinned haphazardly on the back of her head, with thick coils hanging around her pretty face. She wore trousers tucked into high black boots, a white shirt and a tight leather vest. It had become fashionable for young women of independent thought to emulate the masculine fashion, but Finley hadn’t the nerve to do it herself. She much preferred the “Oriental” look that had come over from China. She hadn’t the nerve to copy that, either.
The girl glanced at her with large, intense blue eyes as she entered the room. Finley’s fingers went to her forehead where she’d been injured. The skin there was soft and smooth, not even a lump or slightest scab, even though she remembered tearing at it the night before. In fact, her cheek and lip felt better, as well. But then, she’d always been a fast healer.
“You…fixed me.” She couldn’t keep the awe from her voice.
The young woman’s expression was puzzled as she dipped a cloth in the washbasin on the stand near the dresser. Of course she would be expecting Finley to act as beastly as she had last night. “Yes. I did. I’m glad you left it alone this time.”
Finley smiled, hoping she looked friendly rather than demented. This girl was no threat to her and so that dark part of her was peaceful. “Thank you.”
“I’ve brought you breakfast.” She gestured to the doorway, where the large young man with longish black hair and rugged features stood holding a tray. Her dark self raised its head, but didn’t make a fuss. “And I would like to examine you, if that’s all right.”
So young and a doctor? It was impossible, of course, but that didn’t mean the Irish girl didn’t have a proper knowledge of medicine. After all, she had healed her wound. “Of course. Thank you for breakfast.”
“I’ll clean you up and we can talk while you eat.”
Finley’s smile was stronger now. She kept her attention focused on the girl while watching her companion from the corner of her eye. “I’d like that.” She felt something of a kinship with this girl. Girls didn’t normally like her, and young men tended to like her in ways she didn’t want. She didn’t understand why because it wasn’t as though she was uncommonly beautiful or anything.
The girl didn’t look like she was convinced of her sincerity, but she came closer all the same. “If you try to hurt me, he’ll stop you. Understand?”
The smile melted from Finley’s lips and slipped down her throat to form a hard knot. She nodded, not daring to glance at the grim-looking young man.
She sat still while her companion wiped her forehead and face, trying not to notice how much blood stained the cloth, turning it rusty. She was given another warm, wet length of linen to wash her hands. They were stained, as well.
Finley swallowed. “I must apologize for my behavior last night. I was not myself.”
“No?” A high, red brow arched against the girl’s pale forehead as she took both cloths away. “Who were you, then? A Changeling perhaps?” She had a beautiful, lyrical Irish accent.
“I’m not sure,” Finley replied with a frown, watching her walk away. Was she teasing her, or did she honestly believe she might be a Faerie trying to pass as human?
The girl dropped the soiled cloths back into the basin, turned and walked to the dresser. She rummaged through a small leather kit and pulled out something that looked like a perfume bottle. “I’m going to give you another treatment, just to make sure you continue to heal. I promise it won’t annoy you like it did last night. You can eat, as well.”
Finley blushed, unable to contain a rush of humiliation. “Of course.” She pushed herself up farther on the pillows to be more accommodating and so she would be able to eat. The movement apparently startled the girl because she jerked back and dropped the bottle. It landed on the floor with a loud thump.