light from his palm that zipped across the space to engulf the former duke. The glow overcame him and then collapsed into nothing but a pinpoint, leaving an empty space where Griffin’s father had been.
A gasp tore from his mother’s lips. Garibaldi shushed her. “Hush, my dear. He’s not destroyed, merely exiled from this place.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Griffin told him quietly as a familiar sensation began swirling in his chest.
Garibaldi turned that strange hand toward him. In his other, he held an object that sent a chill right down to Griff’s feet. A spirit box. Such things were rare—prisons for spirits. The ghost’s essence could be captured and bound to the box—and whoever owned it—forever.
The bastard was going to imprison his mother, bind her to that box and keep her as his.
“I see you recognize what this is.” Garibaldi held up the box and waggled it mockingly. “You also know I have power here. Power I intend to use. Now, be a good boy or I’ll use it on you.”
Griffin laughed, warmth rushing through his Aetheric self. Unlike Garibaldi, he was bound to his body even in this realm. He wasn’t a spirit, and no one—
The villain had him and he knew it. A slow smile curved the man’s lips. “Now that we understand one another, you’ll run along if you ever want to see your mother again. If not, when I wake up, I start with your friends. Want to wager on whether or not I can pull their spirits from their bodies?”
He didn’t think such a thing was possible, but no, he didn’t want to wager the lives of his friends on it. He didn’t want to lose his mother, either—not to this monster. She belonged in Heaven—the spirit realm—with his father.
The thought of his father brought Griffin’s anger to the foreground. How dare Garibaldi involve his parents —hadn’t he done enough to them? And how dare the man meet Griffin in this place and make threats?
He couldn’t rush him, because he’d use the box on his mother. He couldn’t use his own abilities against him, because his mother might get caught in the cross fire.
Glancing at Garibaldi’s body in the chair, an idea occurred to him. He turned on the villain with a smile. “Have you an effect on the tangible world in this form, sir?”
Garibaldi scowled. “Of course not.” Only against other spirits did Aether travelers have form. But Griffin was not an ordinary traveler.
“I do,” he said. And to prove his point, he moved—teleported, for lack of better term—to the chair and wrapped his hand around Garibaldi’s throat. The spirit of the man caught his breath, his metal hand going to his throat.
Griffin looked at his mother as he squeezed harder. “Go.”
She shot him a worried glance, but didn’t argue. She simply disappeared, set free by Garibaldi’s loss of concentration.
It would be a lie if Griffin were to say he wasn’t tempted to end this then and there, but he was not a murderer. He would not make himself into the very thing he was so tempted to destroy at that moment. That didn’t stop him from holding on just a little bit longer. Garibaldi’s face began to turn blue as his spirit waned and sputtered.
A little reluctantly, Griffin let go. While the man sputtered for breath, Griffin reached down and grabbed his mother’s earring from the hand made of flesh rather than metal. For now at least, Garibaldi would have no power over his parents.
His actions cost him, however. As Garibaldi’s shocked body pulled his spirit back to it, his Aetheric self raised the metal hand and blasted Griffin with the same energy it had used on his father. Griffin’s fingers curled around the earring just as he was sucked back into his own body in his own house.
He bolted upright on the floor of his study, the warm gold in his palm digging into his flesh. He had saved his mother, but for how long? He still had no idea where Garibaldi was hiding or of his plans for his automaton. He was exactly where he had started.
Perhaps not exactly. He knew now that Garibaldi had power in the Aether, and he would be better prepared for that the next time around. He also knew that his mother was the villain’s weak spot. He’d use that if he had to. Regardless, he would make certain he knew more about Garibaldi than the man even knew about himself. The next time they met he’d destroy that Aether oscillatory transference device he wore around his villainous head.
And he would make certain Garibaldi could never hurt his parents, or threaten his friends ever again. Even if it killed him.
When Finley met Griffin in his study early that evening before dinner, she took one look at him and gasped in dismay. “What happened to you?”
He smiled wearily at her. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin had a slight grayish cast to it. “Headache,” he explained. “Spent a little too much time in the Aether earlier and now I pay the price.”
She sat down on the sofa next to him. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done this before.”
She wanted to believe him, but he looked so ill. “You did something you shouldn’t have, didn’t you?”
Another tired smile. “Let’s just say I pushed the boundaries of Aetheric etiquette, and leave it at that. I didn’t send for you so we could discuss how much sense I may or may not possess.” He gestured to the table in front of them.
A small pot of ink sat on a stained but laundered square of linen. With it were a few other items that made it look as though Griffin was about to write a letter. But there was one thing that did not fit.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a wicked-looking needle-on-a-pistol contraption.
“That’s a tattoo needle,” he replied, taking the stopper out of the ink. “Em made it for me. I’m going to tattoo you.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re not.”
He smiled. Oh, so her fear amused him, did it? “It won’t hurt much at all. Look, I’ve got some.” He pulled aside the collar of his shirt to show her part of a celtic knot on his chest with strange symbols around it. The ink on his flesh had a slight blue cast to it, no longer fresh and black. “I did those myself. I’ve some on my back, as well, that one of Pick-a-Dilly’s tattooed performers was kind enough to transfer for me.”
For a moment she thought to remind him that showing off his naked skin to a young woman was highly improper, but then another part of her told her to keep her mouth shut and enjoy the view, so that was what she did. This other part of her was also keenly interested in this tattooing business, so she moved closer for a better look.
“Why did you decorate yourself this way?”
“A couple are personal, but the rest come from my father’s research—and my own. The runes help me control and focus my abilities, plus keep my mind and soul sharp.”
“Why do you want to do it to me?”
“I want to give you a couple of runes,” he told her, swabbing the needle with a medicinal smelling liquid that she remembered from Emily’s laboratory. “Nothing frightening or terrible. Just something to help the two sides of you finally merge and awaken your awareness.”
She watched him warily. “That sounds like more than a couple.”
Another smile, this one warm and reassuring. He would make a fantastic confidence artist. “It won’t take long and I’ll make it as painless as possible. I’m good at this.”
Judging from the ones she’d seen of his, she knew that. “Fine. And I’m not afraid of it hurting. I’m not some silly girl.”
He just kept smiling. “No. I’d never call you a silly girl.” His smile faded. “Can I trust you?”
A tiny fissure of alarm tingled at the base of Finley’s spine. “You can.” She would never betray him, no matter what he told her.
He glanced away, fingers absently toying with the instruments on the tray. “I went into the Aether to talk to my parents.”
Her eyes widened. “You can do that?” How amazing! He could commune with the dead. She couldn’t help
