have been around for a long time,” Sam informed her, turning a page.
“How do you know that?”
“I started reading these books when we got back from New York, more so after we tangled with Garibaldi last time. The demons are nasty things—all hate and anger—ranging in size from small spheres to man-size.”
The ones they’d already faced hadn’t been that big, but they did a lot of damage. They had cut Griffin up pretty badly. What kind of damage would something bigger do? They could be cutting him right now. Flaying him. Tearing him apart.
Fear gripped Finley hard, crushed her lungs and stopped her heart. God, she couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to be too late, aren’t I? Garibaldi’s probably already killed him.”
Sam looked at her with an expression that offered no hope, no sympathy, but neither was it morose. “He’ll be hurt, but you’ll find him. The bastard’s not going to kill him quickly.”
His words were as effective as a dagger to the gut and just as painful. He was right. The Machinist would torture Griffin patiently—he was too caught up in his desire for revenge to rush things now. He’d want to make Griffin suffer. In a way that was good, because they had time to find him alive, but who knew what sort of shape he’d be in when she found him. It wasn’t just his spirit in the Aether, it was his physical self, and every injury would show. Would scar.
A large hand settled over hers and squeezed. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until that moment. “Griffin is the strongest person I know—stronger than you or me. You will find him, and the two of you will send Garibaldi to hell, where he belongs.” Finley’s gaze lifted to his. There was an awful lot of determination in the black depths of Sam’s eyes. “I mean it. You’re going to destroy him, you understand me? And you’re going to do that for me.”
Out of all of them Sam had the most personal vendetta against The Machinist. The man had manipulated him, kidnapped the girl he loved and now had his best friend. The man was also responsible for the automaton that had ripped Sam apart. Maybe they weren’t really friends, but they were family now, and Finley would get revenge for Sam.
“I will,” she promised.
He squeezed her hand before letting go, and they went back to the books. It was difficult to concentrate when she kept waiting for Emily to come for her, but Finley did the best she could. She needed to learn as much about the Aether as she could.
“Someone should send for Ipsley,” she said, the thought suddenly occurring to her. Ipsley was a new friend of Griffin’s and a medium. He was able to communicate with ghosts, so it stood to reason he could communicate with anyone in the Aether. “He might be able to reach out to Griffin, and even if he can’t, I might be able to talk through him.”
Sam immediately picked up the handset for the telephone that sat on the desk and tapped out a number. Griffin had had the private telephone installed just a month earlier. It was a new design by Bell that eliminated the need for an operator, and connected Aetherically to the local switchboard, opening a line on its own. Fantastic little thing, but expensive. Finley couldn’t believe how much it cost to have them installed throughout the house—more money than her stepfather made in a year.
Sometimes Griffin’s wealth frightened her. Many young men would suspect someone of her background of sniffing around after his money, but Griffin never did that. Another example of how well he knew her—if she wanted money she could think of a dozen ways she could easily make a fortune, and most of them were legal.
She half listened as Sam spoke to Ipsley, and took from his half of the conversation that the medium was all too happy to help. Sam hadn’t given him details, but he had mentioned that Griffin was in trouble. Ipsley was a good enough friend that he only needed to hear that to come running.
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