The implication of that froze Emily on the spot. “An automaton robbed the museum?” Her crystalline blue eyes were wide as they turned to Griff. “Was it The Machinist?”
“It looks that way,” he replied, seeing Sam continue on without them. Recently there had been a few crimes around town seemingly perpetrated by automatons acting against their programming engines, none of them particularly dangerous. Except for one. That one had been enough. It had almost cost them one of their own. The authorities suspected a criminal calling himself The Machinist was behind the incidents.
The thought called to mind a vision of blood and smoke. Of a broken body close to death, held in the clutches of a metal man. Griff remembered leaping onto the machine’s back, tearing open its panel to reach the controls inside. He knew Sam must be reliving a few memories of his own. After all, he had been the one the thing almost killed.
They’d been chasing similar, though less violent, incidents for almost a year. Griffin figured they were looking for a man with superior mechanical knowledge, particularly that of automatons. Thus far, Emily had found nothing in the programming of the two specimens they had to even suggest they’d been tampered with.
The automatons’ power sources were the same as all standard androids—the same compound that powered most of London. Griff was a bit of an expert in this, since the compound was derived from the ore discovered by his grandfather. He owned the patent on it, owned the rights, too. So Griff knew that the small nugget inside each machine was just as it should be.
So how did the villain make the automatons act against their programming?
“We should assume that any mech involved was accompanied by a human master until we know otherwise.” He fought the fear coiling around his heart. Machines that could think for themselves. Surely it was impossible?
Emily was paler than usual, and Griff knew she was thinking of what had happened to Sam, as well. He should comfort her, but he didn’t know how. Give him a problem to solve and he would jump in with both feet, but he didn’t know how to give comfort, and he hated it.
Sam was waiting for them as they entered the library, where they took all their group meetings. As his gaze fell upon his friend, whom he had known for almost the entirety of his life, Griff couldn’t help but feel surprised that anything had ever managed to hurt him. Sam was so strong. He was a little taller than Griff and certainly more powerfully built. His rugged features only added to his intimidating demeanor. He hadn’t always looked so fierce. Less than a year ago, he’d been quick with a grin or a naughty joke.
Six months ago, an automaton had attacked him in the middle of a routine assignment and tore Sam apart. It had been brutal, a shock for them all to see their strongest member taken down like that. It had been Emily who’d saved him. Emily who’d put him back together. And sometimes when he looked at her, Griff suspected Sam had never quite forgiven her for it. In fact, when he looked at her now, the fingers of his right hand—the hand she’d repaired—twitched.
Emily saw it, too. Griff could tell because she quickly looked away, purposefully focusing on anything but Sam.
“We should have taken the girl to the hospital,” Sam muttered, leaning against the corner of a sofa. He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “Bringing her here puts us all at risk. What if she’s a wanted criminal?”
Griff tilted his head. “I don’t think it would have been safe to take her to the hospital, for her or the staff.”
His friend raised a heavy brow, sarcasm written all over his face. “So you decided, ‘hell, why not bring her home with me?’ Well done.”
His doubt irked Griff, who wasn’t accustomed to being questioned. Still, he could understand Sam’s misgivings. “You said so yourself—she was scared of something, or someone,” he replied. “I’m certain that’s the August-Raynes crest on her corset.” It was common now for domestic servants to wear their master’s crests on their clothing, like the livery worn by footmen.
“He’s one of the richest men in England!” Sam’s tone was incredulous. “Are you sure he’s someone you want to cross?”
Griff smiled. “Don’t you read the scandal sheets, Sam? Supposedly I am the richest man in England. Surely that makes me more formidable? Besides, I’ve a notion it’s not the father I’d be crossing.”
“Who, then?”
Griff’s own blue gaze locked with pitch-black. “Remember that girl in Whitechapel last winter? The one who had been raped by her employer and tossed out when he discovered she was pregnant with his child?”
Sam nodded, jaw clenched.
Griff inclined his head. “Lord Felix August-Rayne, his lordship’s youngest. He’s gotten in with the Dandies and seems to have developed a habit of abusing his servants, and anyone else he considers beneath him.”
“Do you …?” Emily paused, face white as she glanced toward the door, as though afraid the girl upstairs could hear. “Do you think he hurt her?”
Griff shot her a sympathetic glance. He didn’t know much about Emily’s past, but guessed that she’d had her share of unpleasantness. She had been quick to accept his offer of employment, as though she couldn’t wait to leave her old life behind. “I don’t know.”
“It’s not safe having her here,” Sam insisted, trying to bash Griff with his will once more. “For her, or for us. We can’t afford to call attention to ourselves. Not with those … things out there.” His voice cracked on things. They all heard it. They all ignored it.
He meant the machines. Most were perfectly harmless, but there was nothing quite as frightening as metal out of control. That was why Griff had the remains of Sam’s mechanical attacker in Emily’s workshop, so they could figure out what had happened to turn an uncomplicated underground railway digger into a murderer. It had attacked five people—only Sam survived.
“What would you have me do, Sam?” Griff ran a hand through the thick mass of his hair. “Toss her out like rubbish?”
Sam’s mouth opened and Griff knew he was going to suggest just that.
Emily jumped in, “You know we can’t keep her for long, lad. She isn’t … one of us.”
Griff’s mouth lifted on one side, a half grin he always got when he thought he was right. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“What does that mean?” Sam scowled. “Why do you have to be so damn cryptic all the time?”
Sam’s frustration was so strong Griff could almost taste it. He’d known the big lad long enough to know when he was spoiling for a fight, and he also knew that, physically, he was no match. Sam was the strongest person in Britain, perhaps the world. But Griffin had his own powers that didn’t require brute strength.
He could become one with the Aether, that mysterious indiscernible force that was everywhere and in everything. It was also the realm of the dead—where ghosts existed. It was like another dimension hidden within the normal world. He didn’t know why, but he could feel it in his veins, and when he called it, the most terrific power came forth to serve him. All that universal energy filled him, making him feel as though he was part of everything and somehow everywhere. Sometimes it scared him. So much so, that he hadn’t confided any of
