replied, making a dig of his own. “Perhaps I’m angry because we’re supposed to work together, and you went behind my back.” He should have known she was up to something. She probably did this just to rub his face in it.
She shrugged. “You would have tried to stop me.” She didn’t say a word about the kind of company she preferred, which stuck the thorn in Griff ’s pride just a little further.
“You’re bloody right I would have!” He squeezed the mechanical owl so hard the beak cut into his palm. “And then you could have persuaded me to your side. You could have made me see that your plan was our best option.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But you didn’t trust me, and you came up with your plan just to spite me, and
Finley stared at him, eyes wide, mouth wide. “Griffin—”
He cut her off. “I had to sit there—helpless—and watch as you took beating after beating tonight, and I couldn’t show any emotion. I couldn’t cheer when you won or show my fear when you got hurt. I couldn’t do anything.”
Bloody hell, he was not used to feeling helpless.
“You didn’t need to do anything!” She threw her hands in the air. “The rest of us are capable people, Griffin. You’re not the only one who can take charge of a situation.”
She was right, but it was his crew and he felt responsible for them. He set the little brass owl—warm from his hands— on the polished top of the dresser. “Reno Dalton is not Jack Dandy, Finley. He’ll kill you if he suspects you’re playing him. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
Finley nodded curtly. “If it will help Jasper.”
“All right, then.” He kept his opinions tucked inside. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like to hear the rest of your plan tomorrow morning when we’re all together. That way, there will be no more surprises, and we’ll all know our parts.”
She said something, but Griffin wasn’t listening. He was suddenly so exhausted that all he wanted was his bed. There was no point in discussing this further. Finley wanted to help Jasper, and he couldn’t fault her for that. He might not like how she went about it, but she’d gotten closer to Dalton than he had. If he was jealous of how she looked at Dalton, that was his problem alone. He would either trust her not to get involved with the criminal or he would not. It was entirely possible that Dalton would win her over and she would fully give in to her darker nature.
He met her gaze steadily—unemotionally. “I stood by you when you were questioned about Lord Felix’s murder. I’ve done everything I can to help you, and in return you—” He stopped and shook his head. “This isn’t about me. Either you want to be part of this team, or you don’t. That’s your decision.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve given me a lot of ultimatums recently, Your Grace.”
“Not ultimatums, choices. You’re no longer two sides of a whole, Finley. You are one person—singular. That means choosing who you want to be—
“Let me guess,” she began bitterly. “If I decide to be part of the group, that means I have to tell you everything I do.”
“Of course not. If you decide to stay, it means you don’t run off on your own. It means you have respect for the people who have accepted you as a friend. I saw how you looked at Dalton—how he looked at you. You’re attracted to the danger he offers.”
A smirk twisted her lips. “Is this the part where you remind me of how ‘dangerous’ you can be?”
She was mocking him. Mocking
The lights flashed—not just in this room but also in the buildings visible through the window. The little owl began to hop around the dresser. The portable telegraph machine in his pocket began to hum, as did the one on Finley’s nightstand. And somewhere in the building a boiler fired up—he could hear the echo of it in the pipes.
“Griffin.”
The bulb in the lamp beside the bed blew, throwing glass everywhere. Finley cried out. “Griffin!”
It took all of his strength, but somehow he managed to regain control. The lights returned to normal. The little owl and the telegraphs quieted.
Finley stared at him as though she didn’t recognize him— as though he frightened her.
Pivoting on his heel, he tore open the door and stepped into the hall. The door to Emily’s room opened, and she stuck her head out. “The cat just powered up all by itself. Any idea ... Oh, dear God.”
Griffin glanced at her. He could only imagine how he appeared to her—sweat dripping down his brow, eyes wide and crazed. No doubt he was pale. Lord, it felt as though electricity danced between his fingers—in his head.
“Get in here, lad,” she commanded.
Griffin heard the urgency in her voice and followed her into the room. She grabbed his hand, but he jerked back. His control was too fragile. If she touched him, the Aether would rush through his fingers into hers. He couldn’t risk hurting her.
She led him out onto the balcony, the cat clinking behind them. Outside, the summer air was warm but carried a lovely breeze, which helped cool Griffin’s fevered head. Still, he had to fight to remain in control as he watched Emily flick switches and push buttons inside the cat’s control panel. Suddenly, the metal panther began to shudder, click and whirl. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes as the automaton began to reshape itself. The legs disappeared, as did the tail. A long vertical rod extended from the inside, opening to resemble a double row of long fan blades—a propeller.
When it was done, the cat had completely metamorphosed into something Griffin couldn’t identify.
“It’s my Icarus construct,” Emily explained, guiding him toward the thing that had two belts lying loose on its top. “A flying machine.”
“This can’t be safe,” Griffin remarked as she made him straddle the thing, then sit so she could quickly fasten one of the belts around him.
He thought he heard her mutter, “We’re about to find out,” but he prayed that wasn’t true as she climbed on in front and fastened the other belt around her hips. She pulled goggles over her eyes. “Hang on, lad!”
The propeller above his head began to whirl and sputter. Griffin wrapped his hands around the post for support—and to let a little of his power crawl along the metal. If he could make things power on, then it stood to reason he could give them a boost, as well. Maybe the slight drain would keep him from losing control too quickly.
The propeller whirled so fast it seemed one singular piece. The machine lifted off the balcony and lurched forward.
Griffin glanced down as his feet dangled over empty night air. The lights of Manhattan Island twinkled around them— below them. The wind whipped through his hair and brought water to his eyes, so that soon, it was difficult to see anything at all. He would have to get Emily to take him out again when he could actually enjoy the sensation of flying.
The wind cooled a short while later as they flew over water. Bedloe’s Island was where they were headed— the place where the Statue of Liberty stood.
Emily flew them as close to the torch as she could. “You’re going to have to jump,” she shouted. “Grab the light and let go!”
Griffin unbuckled the belt and let himself slip to the terrace below—the rim of the lit torch. It was so bright it was almost blinding, intensifying the growing ache behind his eyes. He didn’t know why Emily hadn’t taken him to the water below. Perhaps she thought he might drown. He was only glad to be so far away from people.
He waited until the sound of the propeller faded away— Emily knew to get as far away as she could—before placing his hand on the base of the light that made the torch appear to burn. All of his focus went into that torch and its bulb.
And then he let go of all the energy inside him. The release made him throw back his head and scream. For a second, he would have sworn that he saw light come out of his own mouth as he channeled everything into the torch and outward. It always flowed outward, unable to be contained.
Then there was a huge flash, and everything went black.
The next morning, Finley opened her eyes after a fitful night. She’d gotten—at best—four hours sleep. The rest of the time had been spent thinking of Griffin, the awful things they’d said to each other, the fact that she had
