The Girl with the Windup Heart
Page 29

“Finley,” he said. “There’s something I want to tell you...”
“Don’t,” she said, not caring that it might be cruel. “I’m one sweet word away from hysteria, Griffin King. Don’t you dare send me over the edge. Whatever you have to say to me can wait until we get home.” Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke.
He managed a wan smile. He was already so ghostlike. “Fair enough.”
She gave a stiff nod, then turned her head. Just looking at him was too painful. She watched as the walls around them thinned, and became more transparent. What the devil?
“Your father is letting down his defenses,” Griffin explained, his voice a hoarse rasp. “He’s making it easy for Garibaldi.”
Finley’s attention went to her father. He looked grim but determined. If anyone could help them it was him. He’d been in the Aether for years. He knew it better than Garibaldi. He was smarter than Garibaldi.
Suddenly, a gale blew through the house—long, ragged tendrils of black smoke that Finley recognized as Garibaldi’s Aether demons—his pets. They screamed around the room, whirling and diving like vultures in the middle of a fit. They skimmed around the humans, nipping and biting. Sam didn’t waste any time, he punched one and then slammed two others together. They exploded into ash and fell away. One came rushing at Griffin, but Finley put herself in its path, and when it was within striking distance, she punched it hard. Ash rained down on her, sticking to her hair and clothes. Ugh.
“Finley!” She looked up just in time to see her father toss her a sword. She caught it with one hand. Sam had a cricket bat, and was using it to make short work of the demons. Finley jumped to her feet as two more streamed toward them. The sword swung and sliced through one, then she pivoted quickly, as though she were dancing, and brought the blade down and across another—the tip of the sword cut the air just inches above Griffin’s head. He coughed on the ash.
No sooner had they dispatched of the wisps then the very foundation of the house began to shudder and shake as though something was trying to rip it right out of the ground. Crystal toppled from shelves, books crashed to the floor. The piano rattled a discordant tune. Windows began to crack.
“Enough with the theatrics, Leonardo!” Thomas shouted. “You’re not impressing anyone, boy.”
It seemed strange, this young man referring to Garibaldi as “boy” but in life she supposed her father might have been the elder of the two. Amazingly, the house stopped shaking and went completely still. Too still.
Garibaldi appeared—hovering above the spiritualists as if he was a puppet on strings. Finley knew better than to believe that was indeed true.
The Italian grinned. “What is this? A séance. For me? How very pathetic.” He looked around the room, his glinting gaze falling on Sam. “Ah, my dear boy. It is so good to see you again. I have a special surprise for you.”
The house shook again, but this time in measured beats. It took Finley a second to realize they were footsteps, and then it was too late. The huge automaton beast tore through the wall of the house, reducing it to rubble. Sam stared at it in horror.
“Damnation,” Griffin wheezed, and Finley knew without asking that the machine was a monstrous version of the one that had killed Sam before she ever became part of the group. Emily had put him back together, brought him back to life, but Sam was terrified of anything metal.
Sword still in hand, Finley went to stand beside Sam. “I’m with you.”
Her father came up on Sam’s left. “As am I.”
Garibaldi laughed. “Destroy them!” His arrogant glee reminded her of Lord Felix with his girls. He’d been so sure they’d do as he commanded, not realizing how much they hated him. This machine probably didn’t hate Garibaldi, but that didn’t make it anymore impervious to harm. In the end, it was just a construct of Garibaldi’s mind and will. It wasn’t real metal—not really.
It still packed a mean punch—as she found out when she attacked it. It swept her aside as if she were nothing more powerful than a kitten. That made her angry. She spat blood from her mouth and attacked again. This time she went for the neck of the huge digger automaton while her father used a mace to knock out one of its legs. Sam hoisted his cricket bat and gave a mighty roar—the kind she imagined Celtic warriors made in battle. He charged at the digger without hesitation. Finley couldn’t resist a glance at Garibaldi—he looked surprised. So much so that he actually struggled against the spiritual bonds that held him. She smiled as she leaped onto the machine’s back and drove her sword into its neck.
Sam cracked the front panel with one swing, almost knocking Finley to the ground. It must be his rage that made him so strong here. Whatever it was, it worked beautifully. Two more bone-jarring swings and he’d opened a hole in the metal’s chest cavity. He reached in as Finley worked her blade back and forth, slowly decapitating the beast. Sparks flew and gears ground to a halt as Sam yanked out the logic engine and central gearbox and threw them on the ground. Finley slid down the machine’s back and jumped down.
“No!” Garibaldi shouted as his creation toppled.
Sam flashed him a grin. “Yes, you miserable bastard.”
Finley grinned, as well. For one second it looked as though they had a chance. Then Garibaldi turned his attention to her. His eyes began to glow a pale blue as he brought up his hands. Energy arced between his palms, like a tiny lightning storm, swirling and coalescing into a ball of deadly Aetheric energy.
Then he threw it at her.
Finley braced herself for a blow that never struck. Stunned, she watched as the ball of energy flew past her and landed in Griffin’s hand where it crackled and hummed. He was terrible and beautiful, illuminated by that light, but saving her had cost him. He had no color now except for his eyes, which were bluish-gray naturally. Still, Finley could tell that they weren’t a ghostly hue. It wouldn’t be long before they were.
He hurled the ball back at Garibaldi, who raised his hand and smashed the ball of energy before it even came close to hitting him. “Sloppy, Your Grace.”
Finley turned to Sam. “We have to get Griffin out of here.”
Sam nodded. “Ipsley, time to finish this.”
The medium nodded and the silver glow around him and his friends intensified. Garibaldi squirmed above them. “What are you doing?”
Sam walked up and cracked him across the back with his cricket bat. “Retribution.” The Machinist screamed, spine bowing as Sam hit him again.
Finley ran to the sofa and grabbed Griffin, hauling him to his feet and holding him up with an arm around his waist. She pulled his arm across her shoulders. “Emily’s going to wake me up and I’m going to take you out of here. Do you think you can leave? Has his hold on you lessened?”
“Fin. Stop.”
She didn’t listen. She dragged him toward her father. “Give him another blast from your shield so he has the strength to leave.”
Thomas Sheppard’s gaze was sad. “I don’t have any energy to give him.”
She pointed at Garibaldi. “Drain some.”
“Using his life force will only bind him all the more to Griffin.”
Tears filled Finley’s eyes as Griffin’s weight settled more heavily on her shoulders. She was losing him. “No. There has to be a way. You have to be able to do something.”
Her father hoisted the shield, and shoved his arms through the straps on the back. “I can at least try to help weaken Garibaldi, but the rest is up to Griffin.”
“Finley.”
Still she ignored him. “Good. Do it.” She dragged him toward Ipsley. The medium knew to tell Emily to wake her on her signal.
“Fin, I’m not strong enough to make it back.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “Don’t you dare say that Griffin.” Suddenly all of his weight came down on her. “Griffin?”
He was unconscious, and with his eyes closed there wasn’t a single part of him that had any color.
Griffin was dead.
* * *
Death felt exactly like Griffin knew it would—peaceful and serene. Any moment he expected to feel warmth on his face and in his heart. He would hear his mother telling him to wake up and let go.
His mother?
He snapped to attention. He felt awake, but he knew he really wasn’t. This was one more level of the Aether, or maybe a place between the Aether and whatever lay beyond death. He wasn’t certain. What he did know was that it was ivory and white, and that he was standing in the middle of it, and so was his mother.
“What?” he asked.
She gave him that look she’d always used to give him when he didn’t listen to her. He could see the love in her blue eyes even though she was exasperated with him. She looked younger than he remembered, and unlike the Aether she was in full glorious color from her auburn hair to her purple gown, right down to the toes of her crimson shoes. Thankfully he hadn’t inherited her fashion sense.
“I said you have to let go.”
“I did. Didn’t I?” He looked around. “I am dead, right?”
“Not quite,” she replied in a clipped tone. “But you soon will be if you don’t listen to me, young man. You must let go. It’s the only way to stop Garibaldi and save your friends.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Suddenly, she was right in front of him, just inches away. He hadn’t even seen her move. She placed a long, slender hand on the center of his chest. “Yes, you do. You’ve always known. It’s the thing you’ve feared most ever since you first encountered the Aether.”
Griffin shuddered as understanding dawned. She meant that he had to let go of his control. Ever since he’d first learned about the Aether and what it was to him, he’d been certain that if he lost control of the Aether it would destroy him. Not only that, but that he might have the power to destroy possibly all of London if he let the Aether in.
“What you’re asking of me is suicide,” he said. “Not just that, but you’re telling me to kill my friends.”
She smiled patiently at him. “Send them home, Griffin. You don’t need them here to draw strength from them. They risked their lives for you. The least you can do for them is fight to live.” Her smile faded. “If you don’t do this—if you don’t let go of that fear and give in to your power—Leonardo will kill them, and he won’t be quick or kind about it. And he won’t stop with your friends. He’ll destroy the living world, Griffin, and make himself King of the Dead. He won’t stop until he is a god.”
The awful truth of her words sank deep into his bones. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
His mother lifted her hand to his cheek and patted it. “I know you can. You can do anything you set your mind to. You just have to let go.”
So she kept saying. “All right.”
Her smile was dazzling. “So, wake up.”
Griffin opened his eyes to find Finley hovering over him sobbing. It was heart-wrenching.
“Fin.”
The sobs stopped. Her big honey-colored eyes widened as they focused wetly on his face. “Griffin? You’re alive?”
“For the time being.”
“Thank God.” This was said by Sheppard, who stood over the pair of them.
Griffin looked at Finley. “I saw my mother.”
She raised her brows. “You did?”
He nodded. “She told me what I need to do. Help me to my feet.”
His darling girl picked him up as though he weighed next to nothing. At one time it would have embarrassed him, now he was grateful for her strength. A quick glance confirmed that Garibaldi was still held by the spiritualists, but they looked as though their ability to hold him was weakening. Sam still beat on him with the bat, but the injuries weren’t lasting. The Machinist simply had too much power—power he had taken from Griffin.
“You have to leave,” he told Finley. “Get Ipsley to tell Emily to wake you and Sam up.”
She shook her head. The front of her shirt, right down to the edge of her steel corset was wet with tears. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“You have to.”
“No.”
He swore, and pulled away from her. It took every ounce of strength he had to stand on his own two feet. “Listen to me. I have a plan.” It wasn’t much of one, but it was all he had. “You can’t be here when I use the Aether against Garibaldi. It could kill you.”
“What about you?”
He had no bloody idea. “I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t look convinced. “No. There has to be another way.”
Good God, but she was the most stubborn of females. She was going to force his hand.
Griffin staggered away from her, toward the spiritualists and Garibaldi. “Sam, stop.” His friend did. He was much more rational than Finley, Griffin thought. “Ipsley, let Garibaldi go.”
“Griffin!” Finley cried.
He glanced at her. “Trust me.” And then, “Ipsley, when I tell you to, I want you to tell Emily to wake Sam and Finley up. You do that and then you and your friends get out of here, all right?”
“Don’t do it!” Finley commanded.
Griffin kept his gaze focused on Ipsley. “All right?”
The gingery young man nodded. He was little more than transparent in this realm, a fact that Griffin would like to study under different circumstances. “Good. Now, let Garibaldi go.”
“Griff, are you mad?” Sam demanded.