The Girl in the Steel Corset

abomination. It took all of Griffin’s resolve to stop her instead of going after Emily himself.

“Be ready,” he whispered close to Finley’s ear. “Just in case.”

She nodded.

“I’m going to power it up,” Emily told them. “Stand clear, just in case. If anything happens, do not attack until I say so. I need a little time to make contact.”

Griffin personally thought it too great a risk, but it was one he would take himself and therefore he didn’t try to dissuade her. He merely stood there, silent and terrified as his wee Irish lass reached up and stuck a notched brass rod into the ignition port on the automaton’s front. Every metal laborer in the city had a similar port. It was to prevent accidental power outages or ignitions, but still simple enough that a machine could be shut down quickly if necessary.

Emily turned the rod. The notches made sharp clicking sounds as they found the tumblers and moved them into the proper position. There was a hollow sounding clunk, followed almost immediately by a whirring noise and the rotation of gears. The engine began to hum, preparing to run startup procedures. The automaton shuddered as the power source—made from the ore Griffin’s grandfather had discovered—worked its magic, followed by a noise that sounded like the whoosh of a heavy bellows.

The creature was coming to life.

Emily stood before it, the top of her head not even reaching three-quarters of the thing’s height. Her hands looked tiny against its scarred and dirty front panel—her left had a smear of something black across the back of it.

From where he stood, Griffin could watch her as she closed her eyes, face set with determination. However she “spoke” to the metal, it wasn’t with sound. If the thing were alive, he’d say it was telepathy. As it was, he had no word to describe it.

The automaton rumbled steadily, not making any movement whatsoever. Still, Griffin didn’t relax and neither did Finley. He was prepared to bring the entire house down on it if he had to.

Emily’s face paled with concentration, her freckles standing out against her skin. Her forehead creased, and her mouth tightened as she continued to press her hands against the metal, as though she possessed the strength to hold it at bay. How long this went on, Griffin wasn’t sure, but suddenly he noticed that Emily was trembling—and that it wasn’t simply the machine’s vibrations running through her.

“Em?” He took a step forward. Finley glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t move. The two of them waited, holding their breath.

Locks of thick, twisted red hair fell forward as her head bowed. That moaning sound—was it from her or the machine? He couldn’t be certain. He took another step. “Emily?”

He saw the blood at the same time Finley did. It ran from Emily’s nose and down her face to drip on her dirty apron and the floor. Drops of it splattered on the floorboards between her boots.

Emily’s knees began to buckle. Her hands left moisture prints on the grimy brass as they slid down the panel.

“Shut it down,” Griffin commanded, launching forward. Finley leaped into action, as well. It was she who caught Emily as she collapsed. Griffin grabbed the ignition rod just as the automaton began to raise its one arm— parts of the other having been used to reconstruct Sam’s. The whirring and rumbling whined and choked to a stop. The arm fell with a loud clunk and then everything went silent.

Chapter 15

“Don’t move,” Finley ordered as Emily shifted in her arms. They were on the floor of the lab—her kneeling with the smaller girl’s torso propped up on her legs. She used a hand kerchief to wipe the blood from Emily’s pale face before folding the linen into a square and using it to staunch the bright red trickling from her nose.

Bright blue-green eyes locked with hers. She could see that Emily was in pain, but there was something else—triumph.

“It spoke to me,” she whispered.

“You can tell us what it said later,” Finley told her. “Right now you just rest for a moment.” Nothing was so important that it couldn’t wait. The sight of Emily hurt had struck something deep inside her. She cared about this girl. She was the closest to a friend she’d had in such a long time, and the idea of losing that friendship terrified her.

Behind them, Finley heard the vault door creak on its hinges. She stiffened, heart hammering in her chest. Was it the machine? Then she heard the loud click of the lock followed by the turning of a wheel. Griffin had closed the vault. She closed her eyes and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Her comfort, however, was short-lived. Just as she was about to help Emily to her feet, the door to the laboratory burst open and in stomped Sam, tails of his dark gray coat whipping out behind him. He looked around the room, and when his gaze fell on her, his eyes turned even blacker than usual.

“What the hell did you do to her?” he demanded, coming at her like a bull at a red flag.

Instinct told Finley to pass Emily to Griffin, so she did. Griffin glared at Sam, opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Emily. “It’s only a nosebleed,” she told the large boy. “I talked to the digger, Sam.”

Sam’s head turned to look at her, shock written plainly on his features. “You what?”

“I put my hands on the digger and it spoke to me.” Emily wiped at her nose with the stained handkerchief. “I thought maybe it would tell me about The Machinist so Finley wouldn’t have to ask Dandy—”

“You started up that thing,” Sam cut her off as he jabbed a finger in Finley’s direction. “For her?”

Finley mentally shook her head. Emily hadn’t quite recovered from her ordeal, or she would have known better than to say anything about having “talked” to the blasted metal for Finley’s benefit. She knew how much Sam thought of Emily, even if neither of them knew it themselves.

Sam came at her. She barely had time to brace herself, barely time to register that part of her wanted this seemingly unavoidable violence.

“It could have killed her,” Sam raged, coming to stand in front of her, a bull ready to charge. “She wouldn’t let me die, but she risked her life for you. You are not worth her life. You’re not worth her blood.”

It happened so fast then, she barely had time to realize what was happening. Big, strong—terribly strong— hands gripped her, lifted her and threw her. Finley flew through the air, dimly aware of Griffin’s shout and Emily’s cry. She hit the wall with a force that would have seriously injured a normal person. She crashed to the bench and then the floor, taking a pile of debris with her that included part of a velocycle frame, a clock and an assortment of tools.

Oh, God, that hurt. Her lungs struggled to draw breath as she lay on her belly on the floor, gasping for breath and choking on dust. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Blood stained her skin; she had bitten her tongue when she struck the wall.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, assessing the damage done. The others were still far away, up by the vault. Griffin and Emily were yelling at Sam, alternating between trying to reason with him and berating him. Griffin tried to hold the goliath of a young man back, but Finley knew even Griffin couldn’t keep him for long.

Sam Morgan wanted a fight, and he wanted it with her. There was no one in that room who could stop him, and she was the only one who came anywhere near being a match for him. Unless Griffin did whatever it was he did, there was no alternative but to give him that fight. She knew this with both sides of herself, so in the interest of self-preservation, she let the change happen. It didn’t take much—violence always made the transition easy. This one was a little different in the fact that it hadn’t taken over already. Normally she would have already lost control rather than be given the choice.

Energy raced through her, giving her strength where there had been weakness, numbness where there had been pain and anger where there had been fear. When she rose to her feet it was with a smile and she beckoned Sam with the taunting crook of a finger.

“There it is,” Sam said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’s the real monster.” His face ferocious, the tall, muscled young man charged at her. Finley stood her ground and let him come. Just as he was