fabric over her head and shoulders and then tugging it into place as Finley slipped her arms through the little feather sleeves that sat low on her shoulders. Then, small nimble fingers quickly hooked the frogs to close the back of the bodice.
“I was right—you do look like a princess.”
Standing in front of the mirror, Finley smoothed her palms over the snug bodice and downy skirt. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Try the mask.” Emily handed her the feathery accessory.
It was black, with the same sheen as the gown, trimmed with peacock-green like the bodice and framed with more feathers. It came down over her cheeks to form points and the nose cover protruded slightly and came to a rounded point, so that it looked something like a tiny beak. She tied the ribbons around her head, hiding the bow beneath her hair.
Emily’s mouth hung open. “Stay right there,” she instructed, before running out of the room. Finley did as she was told, and a few minutes later, the girl was back with a camera and stand. Quickly, she set the stand on the carpet, adjusted the accordion-like camera and pointed it at Finley.
“Smile!”
Finley did and was rewarded with a bright flash that left stars dancing before her eyes. She shook her head as Emily babbled about something having to do with emulsion, light-sensitive something or other and special paper. When the colors cleared, she looked down to see Emily holding a photograph under her face—it was of a beautiful bird lady. Oh! It was
Emily was truly a genius. Somehow she’d invented a way to develop photographs almost instantly. A way to make Finley look at herself and see not a monster, but something…lovely. It brought tears to her eyes, but she held them back. As much as she liked Emily, she wasn’t ready to let the girl see her cry. Not yet.
“So you can remember this night forever,” Emily said with a hopeful smile.
Finley thanked her—and hugged her again—and then it was time for her to go downstairs and wait for Jack. She slipped a hooded black cloak over her shoulders and fastened it at the throat, then she left.
When she reached the great hall she was brought up short by the sight of the devil himself. Standing before her was a tall, lean man in head-to-toe black. Glossy dark hair curled about his shoulders and a black mask covered most of his pale face, leaving only his full mouth and dark eyes visible. The top of the mask came up on either side to curve into horns, and a long, barbed tail peeked out from beneath the back of his long coat.
Emily gasped at the sight. The devil grinned, revealing bright white teeth, and bowed formally from the waist.
“Hello, Treasure. Care to introduce me to your friend?”
Pick-a-Dilly Circus was housed in a great domed building near Covent Garden. Colorful banners ran from a pinnacle on the roof to various points along the edge of the building before trailing to an end down the wall. From the street, one could hear music over the busy din of evening traffic and clamoring crowds.
The grounds were filled with those merrymakers who hadn’t the fare or inclination to go inside. Inside was where most of the aristocrats would be, so they could avail themselves of all entertainments. Outside there would be small amusements, but food and drink were available to all as were the music and dancing.
Griffin peered from the cutout eyes of his mask—the eyes and nose of a lion—as his carriage approached the chaos. He shouldn’t have come. Drunken revelry held no appeal to him for the simple reason that drinking or opiates often made it difficult for him to control his abilities. Therefore he had to remain sober—and being sober made being around people who weren’t all the more tedious.
He opened the compartment in the wall beside him and spoke into the voice-amplifying device secured there. “Stop here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
A few moments later, he ambled up the front steps of the circus, long coat billowing slightly behind him. He’d find out what he could about The Machinist and perhaps track down his American acquaintance Jasper Renn, and then he’d leave. He would not stand about all evening like a fool, watching Finley with that scoundrel Dandy. It would be far too tempting to lay Dandy out flat.
Inside the main building, the theater of the circus was closed off by a round wall that circled the entire ring. Between that wall and the outer structure was a wide corridor that housed various vendors selling ale and punch, toasted nuts and other savory snacks. There were also several stands selling souvenirs of the circus and its performers.
It was this corridor he stuck to for the first quarter hour. He purchased a mug of cider from one of the vendors and planted himself by the south entrance to the main tent. That was where he was to meet Renn, right about…now.
“Howdy, stranger.”
Griffin smiled. Punctual as ever. He turned and watched as a young man dressed like an American cowboy, right down to the dusty boots and spurs, approached. He had a black demi-mask covering the upper half of his face.
“Howdy, yourself.” The decidedly Western greeting sounded awkward in his English accent.
They shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulder. They made the necessary niceties for a moment before Griffin got down to business.
“The Machinist,” he said softly. “What have you heard?”
Renn removed his hat and scratched his head. “There are some folks who reckon that Machinist fella’s just playin’ with these small-time jobs and random attacks, working his way up to something bigger.” He plopped the Stetson back into place.
Griffin considered that theory then shook his head. “If he’s working his way up, perhaps the incidents aren’t as ‘small’ and random as one might think. Perhaps he’s simply experimenting at perfecting his technique.”
“Which is?”
“Deuced if I know. Building a metal assassin? Or perhaps an automaton he can control from a distance to commit crimes for him?”
Renn whistled. “You’re right. None of that sounds small-time at all.”
No, they certainly did not. “I need your help, Jasper,” Griffin spoke, using Renn’s Christian name as a show of friendship. “The Machinist is responsible for a friend of mine having been seriously injured. If he’s up to something even more dangerous, I want to stop him. And quickly.”
The cowboy gave a curt nod. “Understood. I’ll do what I can. I’ll come by the day after tomorrow and I’ll give you all the information I can find.”
Griffin almost sagged in relief. “Thank you.” Renn wasn’t noble-born, but he had honor. His more “common” status, however, allowed him to travel within circles of moral ambiguity that Griffin could not. Griffin could never pass himself off as anything other than what he was, but a genuine American cowboy was an instant celebrity in London—exotic and strange, and not bound by the same rules.
He was just about to say goodbye and head home again when two identically clad ladies approached them. He recognized the amazing cherry-red of their chin-length hair immediately. They were the Cardinal Twins— trapeze performers with the circus. Tonight they wore porcelain-like masks painted with features almost exactly like their own—oddly disconcerting to look upon—and matching crystal-adorned corsets and bloomers with long, white ostrich-feather trains.
“Hello, gents,” they chorused in perfect unison. “Care to accompany us inside? It’s much more entertaining than out here.”
Griffin could hardly refuse when one of them held out her hand. He had been raised to be a gentleman, and gentlemen did not give ladies the cut. He offered her his arm, which she took in a supple yet strong hold. Her mask was smiling, but if the real lips beneath mirrored her painted ones, he had no idea.
He led the way with his escort, parting the heavy red drapes that served as door to the inner sanctum. In here there was lively music and people dancing as performers moved through the crowd. There would be a grand spectacle later—one that no doubt featured the Cardinal Sisters.
As soon as they were inside, Griffin was struck by how warm it was, crowded and humid with perspiration. Still, the music stirred him and the excitement of the crowd filled the air—and the Aether—with a buoyant energy even he could not discount.
Something drew his gaze. A young woman in a splendid feathered costume that made her look like the most
