The Girl With the Iron Touch Page 8

  “Just so you know, Griffin cares about you, too. He wouldn’t… He’s not the kind of bloke that takes advantage. He has the most honor of anyone I know.”

  Did he realize, she wondered, that sometimes a girl didn’t want honorable? That sometimes a girl wanted to be thoroughly kissed and swept off her feet? That sometimes girls wanted the same thing boys did? Had the same desires and needs? Probably not, because Sam Morgan was the kind of fellow who would lie down and die for the girl he loved but did not know how to actually voice his feelings.

  So Finley merely nodded. “Thanks.” It really didn’t matter—not at that moment. Her feelings for Griffin and his feelings for her were the least of her concerns. Even his strange affliction came second to finding Emily. Nothing mattered more than bringing her best friend home again.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 7

  “Are you broken?”

  Emily turned her head toward the voice. Low and throaty, it was unfamiliar to her yet somehow comforting. She opened her eyes and found the automaton girl watching her. Well, she opened one eye; the other one took a little convincing, as it was on the battered side of her face.

  The spider punched like a champion pugilist, wanker. Now her face hurt. At least her head felt better. “No. I don’t think I’m broken, at least not in any way that can’t be fixed.” She lay back against the pillows—they had brought her back to her “cell” to wake up. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m called Endeavor 312.” The girl—Emily couldn’t think of her as a thing—moved closer, crouched on the floor by her bed. “You are the mother.”

  She frowned. “No, I’m not.”

  In return, 312 cocked her head, perplexed. “Yes, you are. Your genetic material is inside my own. You speak to metal, understand it. You are our mother.”

  “My genetic material…” Damnation. The warehouse where they’d taken on the Machinist. All of them would have left bits of themselves behind—blood, skin, hair. All the organites needed was a little piece of a person to copy their cellular structure. No wonder 312 looked so familiar—she was made up from bits of her, Finley, Jasper, Sam and Griffin. Not only was she a sentient machine on the verge of becoming almost completely human, there was a very good chance she might exhibit one, if not all, of their talents. She might even develop some of her own.

  And she was at the whim of that awful spider creature. That was almost as disconcerting and frightening as the fact that the Machinist was not only alive but close by. He had to be in deplorable condition to require such treatment. Could he communicate with them at all? Of course they would protect him, try to save him. If she was their “mother,” because she could speak to them then Leonardo Garibaldi was their father, because he had literally given them life by using the organite power source to power their logic engines.

  That was a thought that made her want to be physically ill, and it wasn’t all because of the concussion. This…girl could prove to be the most dangerous and powerful creature in Europe, perhaps the world, and she was at the control of a madman. Or, at least at the control of a madman’s creations.

  Brilliant.

  “Are you supposed to guard me?” she asked. “Make sure I don’t try to escape or anything?”

  Endeavor 312—a horrid name—tilted her head to one side, so like Griffin often did. “Why would you want to leave? You have a design. You share in our purpose.”

  Whenever anyone began talking about purpose, design, fate, destiny—all that rubbish—Emily immediately began looking for an out. Life was not preordained. Life was not “God’s plan.” She knew this because no god, no matter Catholic, Protestant or any other denomination, would ever, ever, plan for her to have been raped and suffer as she had.

  But, despite that, she kept a calm facade—not too difficult when you were simply trying to keep from puking your guts up. “What purpose would that be?”

  The girl watched her warily. She had no eyelashes around her left eye, which was the same color as Finley’s, and one ear was slightly smaller than the other. The organites hadn’t finished fleshing her out.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  Emily put on a sweet smile. “Oh, but you can tell me. I am the mother after all.” When the girl didn’t immediately respond, she tried another tactic. “I think you should have a proper name.”

  Amber eyes brightened. That “naked” lid was so odd. “Really?”

  “Of course. Every girl has to have a name. You are a girl, aren’t you?”

  “Almost.” Her childlike earnestness made Emily’s heart pinch. “They tell me my systems are now at ninety-five percent human.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have a machine name anymore. What would you like to be called?”

  “Emily?” She suggested, expression hopeful.

  Emily chuckled despite the danger of her circumstances. “You don’t want my name, you want your own. Why don’t you think about it?”

  “I will.” A pause. “You are a very nice person. I’ve only met one other person. He was very handsome.”

  “Long dark hair, dark eyes?”

  The girl reached out and grabbed Emily’s arm. “You know him?”

  She could have broken the bone, but her grip was surprisingly gentle. “I do. He told me about you. His name is Jack Dandy.”

  “Jack Dandy.” The name was wrapped in such a sigh it bordered on ridiculous. “See, you are part of the plan. Jack Dandy was supposed to see me so that we might find you.”

  With a portion of 312’s genetic material made up from Emily’s own, Emily had no doubt that this extraordinary creature could have found her regardless of Dandy’s involvement. She didn’t say that, however.

  “If all of this has been part of a grand design, then don’t you think it would be all right for you to tell me how I fit into the plan?”

  The girl had a brain—or at least part of one. Without an examination that would require cutting through the scalp and removing a section of the metal that made up her skull, there was no way to tell just how formed that organ was. Regardless, she was not stupid. She might, however, be just naive enough to be manipulated. Taking advantage of someone was wrong, but Emily would make an exception in this case.

  The Machinist was alive. She had to repeat it silently to herself just so she’d believe it. She had to get word to Griffin. Had to get home to her friends so they could prepare, take action.

  Did Sam miss her? How could she have told him she loved him? Why had Jasper shown up at that moment?

  “…listening.”

  Emily’s head jerked up. “Hmm? I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  The girl—thinking of her as a machine felt wrong — scowled petulantly. “I said you weren’t listening to me.”

  “No, I’m afraid I wasn’t. Sorry. My face really hurts, and I’m hungry.”

  “I can find you food. I don’t know what to do about your head. What does hurt mean?”

  “It means it feels really bad. Painful.”

  “Oh, pain.” Gorgeous eyes widened. Good Lord, she had eyelashes now on her left eye. They weren’t as long and thick as the ones on her right eye, but they would be. Incredible. In the course of this brief conversation, she had become visibly more human. She would be fascinating to study. “I do not know how to cure pain.”

  If only she had some of her organites Emily would be able to heal herself with a little salve. The “wee beasties”—as she called the organites—were in her blood and would heal her on their own, but it would take a little longer than applying them directly to the wound. Still, she’d be all right soon enough.

  Provided no other bad-tempered machines decided to slap her.

  “I’ll be fine. Tell me again what you were saying. I promise to listen this time.”

  Although 312 looked dubious, she complied. “I said that Her Majesty had come up with a plan that will return our father to us so that he may lead us as was intended.”

  Her Majesty? Prickles of ice for
med in her veins. “That’s the Queen Victoria automaton, isn’t it?”

  “Automatons do not think. Do not feel. Automatons are machines. Her Majesty is not a machine.” She sounded—and scowled—like Sam.

  “Part of her is,” Emily reminded her. “Just like part of you is machine.”

  The girl lashed out. Emily ducked to avoid yet another head injury, but she grabbed the very, very strong hand that swung just millimeters from her face. Every part of her had but one agenda—self-preservation. Emily’s determination to not only survive, but to triumph was like a fire raging inside her, so it was no surprise when her talent screamed to the surface.

  And the part of this nameless girl that was still machine answered the call. Her logic engine hadn’t taken over completely just yet. There was still a good part of her that was far from human, never mind her “systems” being almost one hundred percent such. Before she could react, Emily had forced her to calm down.

  “Get out of my head,” 312 demanded, jaw tight. That was another part of her that was like Finley, who hated it when Cordelia tried to do a “reading” on her.

  Emily continued to hold on. Soon she would be forced to let go, but for now she could make her point. “I’m not in your head. I’m in your logic engine. Humans don’t have logic engines, only machines do.”

  And suddenly it made sense why Sam was so obsessed with the thought of no longer being human—because humans didn’t have mechanical hearts, though some had metal grafted to their bones, or artificial limbs. The only difference was that Sam’s arm was not just metal, but also flesh and blood and muscle, and his mechanical heart had been taken over by the organites so that there was real human tissue there.

  One good jerk, and Emily was empty-handed. A sharp stinging filled her palm, and she looked down to see blood seep out of a shallow tear. Blast.

  On the floor a few feet away, 312 sat, legs splayed. Her trousers were old and shabby and ripped at the knee, and her shirt was two sizes too big. Had they dressed her in someone’s castoffs? She might dress shabbily, but she looked like a warrior priestess, ready to rip Emily’s head from her shoulders.

  “I’m not a machine.”

  Emily shrugged. “You’re not human, either. Not yet, otherwise my touch wouldn’t have worked on you.”

  For a split second, she thought the girl might take another swing at her, and Emily poised to duck, but no strike came. The girl lowered her arm. She looked as though she had just eaten something bad. Did she even eat yet?

  “Then that’s my destiny, to become human. It makes sense. I would have to become human to complete my path.”

  Again the mention of destiny—not good. “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m to help you save the Master.” She seemed to have forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to tell. This was not a surprise to Emily. The transfer of metal, gears, cogs and Aether to flesh, blood and muscle was not easy. Things were taken over, given new jobs, or destroyed if necessary. A logic engine did not function in the same manner as a human brain, though it did possess a memory. As the thing in her skull became more of a brain and less of an engine she would lose more and more memories of being a machine.

  “You’re going to insert part of his brain into the logic engine of my physical form. You will do this or we will put all of his brain into you.”

  Emily wasn’t about to die for the Machinist. She wasn’t going to allow anyone to die for him; nor was she going to allow him to live. She didn’t know what to do about this machine that was rapidly evolving into a real girl, but she knew exactly what to do about Leonardo Garibaldi.

  All she had to do was destroy his brain. All she had to do was commit murder.

  Discovering what the cat “saw” was more difficult than Finley imagined it would be. First, they took the cat to the library, and then they had to wait a few moments for Griffin and Jasper to find them. Then, Griffin had to make adjustments to the cat because of the damage it had sustained protecting Emily. Griffin was somewhat mechanically minded, but not like Emily, so it took longer than it normally would have. His weakened state dragged it out even more.

  Their group didn’t function all that well if one of them was missing, Finley realized. She didn’t say it aloud, because it didn’t need to be said. The blokes were thinking the same thing, she was sure of it.

  While Griffin tinkered, Finley went to the closest wall of leather-bound books and reached up for a pull-cord dangling from a bar just above her head. She tugged on the satiny rope and drew out a wide length of silk from the bar above. This screen was the canvas upon which they would watch what the cat projected. Then, she moved chairs around so that they could sit and watch.

  It wasn’t hard work by any stretch of the imagination, but it gave her something to do other than stare at Griffin and wonder if he regretted the interruption of their earlier encounter as much as she did.

  And was he as relieved by it as she was? She wanted him more than anything else. Wanted his heart and his trust so badly her chest ached with it. That kind of emotion and neediness frightened her. What if they tried to have a relationship and it failed? What if she wasn’t good enough for him? One voice in her head said they had absolutely zero chance of having any kind of future, while another whispered that Griffin was a duke and he could do whatever he wanted. If he wanted her then they could make it work.

  But she knew that men of his station often became bored with women, and had mistresses as well as a wife—not that she wanted to be Griffin’s wife. She didn’t want to be anyone’s wife, not at that moment. She was of marriageable age, but there were a lot of things she wanted to do and see before she became some man’s property and baby-making machine.

  Not like that was necessarily going to happen. She’d either have to marry someone like herself, or someone she could trust with her secret. And then they would have to discuss children. She could pass on her abilities to a child, as could the father. That was a lot of responsibility.

  So was protecting the Empire, and she didn’t do that all by herself.

  She turned her head to look at Griffin. He was the finest fellow she had ever laid eyes on. He was so beautiful it sometimes hurt to look at him. He was talking to Sam, but she didn’t care what he was saying—she just wanted to admire him.

  Sam brought the cat over beside her and set it down. Finley’s gaze caught Griffin’s. He stared at her for a moment—a long, breathtaking moment—before offering her a small, intimate smile. Her stomach fluttered.

  “You reckon the cat saw the weasels who took Miss Emmy?” Jasper asked her.

  Reluctantly, Finley turned away from Griffin’s warm gaze. “I hope so. It would be helpful to have an image or face for the search.”

  “Why would anyone take her?” Sam asked. “Why Emily?”

  “Why not?” Finley countered. “She’s as useful as any of us.”

  He glared at her. “I know that, but would any of us have done, or did they target her especially?”

  “I can’t image a girl like her having enemies,” Jasper said, halting the escalation of their conversation into a full-on fight. “The rest of us, sure, but Miss Emmy’s a sweet girl, and a good person.”

  There was no offense in his voice, and Finley didn’t take any. He was right—Emily was the best of all of them, and there was no reason for anyone to hurt her.

  Unless it was to hurt one, or all, of them.

  “We’ll find her,” Griffin assured them in his typical fashion. It wasn’t just the bravado that came with being rich and titled—it was determination. He’d taken them to New York to help Jasper, and he wouldn’t rest until they found Emily. “We’ll find who took her.”

  “And rip them apart,” Sam vowed. He rubbed his knuckles—knuckles that were metal beneath the skin. Finley agreed with him but didn’t say it. She didn’t need to—they were all thinking it. Emily meant so much to each of them, they would indeed kill for her.

  Sam turned down the lamps, darkening the room and they e
ach took a seat in front of the silk screen. Griffin positioned the cat just so and engaged its power cell. It purred to life, eyes lighting up. He adjusted the eye settings so that there would be one image on the screen—basically the right and left eyes overlapping— and flipped a series of small switches inside the control panel on the cat’s side. Light hit the screen flickering and crackling. Then, an image appeared.

  It was the greenhouse. Emily puttered about at her bench. Finley swallowed at the sight of her, smiling and happy. Emily looked up. There was someone else there. The figure drew closer.

  “Is that…” Jasper blinked. “Is that the queen?”

  Finley froze, saw Griffin and Sam stiffen. It was Queen Victoria, although not the real monarch. “Damnation,” Sam murmured.

  The Queen Victoria automaton. Finley thought they’d seen the last of her when she’d popped her head off like the cork in a champagne bottle. They thought her destroyed. Obviously, they were wrong. What else had they been wrong about?

  Another automaton came into view. This one was built like a man, but that was the end of his resemblance to humanity. It was made of brass, tarnished and dull. Its joints moved, but it had the stiff grace of a machine. It turned its blank face toward the cat. It had two sensors for eyes and a slit for a mouth. It had no expression whatsoever, but Finley could sense its intent.

  The brass man moved toward Emily. Finley held her breath, even though she knew what came next. They could only watch as their friend roused only to be struck hard on the head by the brass man’s hand. Finley cringed. Poor Emily—she never saw it coming.

  They watched as their friend was taken away by the disturbing-looking old woman, her head bent at a curious angle, and then the form of the brass man blotted out the rest of the room just seconds before the entire scene went black. That was it.

  It was enough. Enough to ignite real fear in Finley’s chest. “Do you think…”

  “We have to assume,” Griffin said as he powered down the cat. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers.

  “Garibaldi’s alive?” Sam’s brows actually lifted momentarily. “Isn’t that a stretch? How could he have survived that building collapse?”