When it came down to it, Finley trusted Jack—perhaps not with her virtue, but certainly with Griffin’s life. Jack was smart enough to know having a duke in his debt could only be a good thing.
She helped, holding Griffin as Jack removed the blade, keeping pressure on the wound as it bled. He used the Listerine from Emily’s bag to clean the wound, which eased Finley’s mind greatly. If he knew to do what Emily would, then he must indeed know what he was doing. His stitches were small, quick and perfect.
Afterward, Jack gathered up the bloodstained linens. “Stay as long as you like,” he told her. “I’ll be ’eading out soon. Business and all that.”
Finley didn’t want to know, but she went to the tall, lanky young man and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him. “Thank you,” she said, tears leaking out of her eyes. “Thank you so much.”
A gentle and hesitant hand came down on her back. “Don’t cry, Treasure. You’ll get me all wet and then I’ll melt. I’m made of sugar, don’t you know.”
She laughed at that and released him, swiping at her eyes with the backs of her wrists—the only parts of her hands that weren’t bloodstained. “I forgot,” she said.
Jack smiled crookedly at her, his dark eyes bright with something she didn’t want to identify. “I’m thinking that’s going to be a five-course dinner,” he informed her. “It could take the better part of the evening.”
Finley nodded, feeling so much better she didn’t care that he was extorting more time out of her. It was worth it. “Sounds fair,” she replied.
With that, Jack tipped an imaginary hat to her and left the room. Once he was gone, Finley took the atomizer of Organites from Emily’s bag, peeled back the bandage on Griffin’s side and applied a generous amount of the earthy smelling spray to Griffin’s wound. She even made herself pull at the sides of the wound so some could trickle between the stitches and raw flesh.
Now, all she could do was wait. She pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed over him and sat down on the edge of the mattress to watch him. The bruises on his face were finally beginning to fade, leaving a faint greenish-yellow cast to his skin.
Picking up his left hand, she held it in hers, ignoring the blood under her fingernails. It was his blood. She tried to concentrate solely on him, not on the horror of the evening, or the relief of knowing it was over. She didn’t want to picture that horrifying automaton Queen Victoria bleeding, or how she’d felt as though the world had ended when she saw Griffin with the blade sticking out of him.
He had brought an entire building down with his power. He’d buried the automaton queen and all her minions. He’d undoubtedly killed and buried Leonardo Garibaldi, as well. Though, no one in their right mind would call it murder.
Then again, no one would ever know the truth of what had happened there. It would be months, even years before they discovered what was left of The Machinist and his plans underneath the warehouse floor.
Why had Garibaldi done it? Just because Victoria hadn’t thought the world should know about the Organites? Because Griffin’s parents—and her father—had agreed? Or was it for revenge because those three people continued their work with Organites while he could not? Maybe it was because of his lost hand. Or, perhaps it was all of the above. Garibaldi had obviously gone mad a long time ago. Who knew his true reasoning?
She was glad it was done, and now their lives didn’t have to revolve around solving this mystery or stopping the villain. Right now all that mattered was Emily and Griffin being all right. Everything else was just frosting on the cake.
She just hoped Jack was right and that Griffin would heal. Because she didn’t know what she would do if the only person who ever demanded her complete trust, and offered his in return, died.
It was Sam who thought to send word to Cordelia that they had defeated Garibaldi. He didn’t tell her about Griffin’s injury or where they were, the former because he didn’t want to worry her and the latter because, despite the fact that he was nothing more than a common criminal, Jack Dandy had taken them in and helped them when they most needed it. A good turn was a good turn as far as Sam was concerned.
He was sitting at Emily’s bedside, trying to stay awake by reading one of the dime novels he loved so much about cowboys in the American West. Odd that he found that culture so amazing yet could cheerfully strangle Jasper, though the cowboy had proven himself a friend, as well.
His eyelids were beginning to droop. He was so bloody tired. Now that the battle was over he felt as though he could sleep for a week. All he needed was to know that Emily and Griffin were fine, then he could sleep.
“Sam?”
His eyes snapped up and he pitched forward in his chair, suddenly very much awake.
“Em.” She looked like an angel against the stark white sheets, though it was doubtful an angel would ever step foot in Jack Dandy’s house. Her ropey hair was spread out around her, and her eyes as bright as jewels gazed up at him, clear and free of pain.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like an elephant stepped on me,” she replied with a smile. “It’s not so bad, but my head…” She frowned. “My head feels so strange.”
He inched forward on the chair. “Do you need me to call for a surgeon?”
She shook her head, stopping him from getting up by grasping his hand in hers. “I don’t need a surgeon.”
“How do you know?”
She lifted her gaze to his. “I just…know. Sam, I think interacting with the Victoria automaton’s advanced engine might have changed me, made me think faster—better.”
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I couldn’t keep up with you before. You’re not going to want to talk to me at all if you’re even smarter now.”
She smiled at him, and squeezed his hand. “I think that’s one of the nicest and dumbest things you’ve ever said to me. Of course I want to talk to you. There’s no one I’d rather talk to than you, Sam.”
It was like someone lit a candle inside him, a small flickering flame that warmed him from the inside out. “Not even Griffin?”
“Especially not him. Faith, he thinks
They chuckled over that and she looked around the room, realizing that they were not at home. “Where are we?”
“You’ll never believe it.” He leaned forward to whisper, “Finley brought us to Jack Dandy’s.”
And then Sam heard a voice in his ear, “I can hear you, you big dolt.” It was Finley, and of course she could hear him, she had the ears of…well, he didn’t know what. And he could hear her because he still had his earpiece in.
“Stop listening,” he hissed, and pulled the little metal device from his ear. He would have crushed it had Emily not made it.
“How’s Griffin?” Emily asked, still smiling over his exchange with Finley. “Did he defeat Garibaldi?”
Sam swallowed. “He did, but Garibaldi stabbed him. It was pretty bad. Dandy and Finley fixed him up. She remembered to use your ‘beasties’ on him, as well—not in front of Dandy, though.”
Emily pushed herself up against the pillows. “How bad?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s still out. He brought the whole building down, Em. I wish you could have seen it. He brought it down like it was made of toothpicks, or sand.”
“I would have liked to see that.” Her brow puckered. “Was Garibaldi inside?”
Sam nodded.
“Good.” Her face took on a tight expression. “I never thought I’d ever say that there was a person who the world would be better off without, but The Machinist’s one of ’em. Though, if I know Griffin, he’s bound to carry some guilt for it.”
Before Sam could agree with her, there was a knock against the open door frame. Sam turned to see Jasper standing on the threshold. Of course he would show up, just as he was about to tell Emily how glad he was that she was unhurt, that he didn’t know what he would do without her.
“Miss Emily, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he told her, and tipped his cowboy hat. “I’m glad to see you awake.”
“Thank you, Jasper. It does me good to see you upright and looking none the worse for wear, as well.”
Sam frowned. “Did you want something, Renn, or are you just going to stand there all night?” Emily pinched
