The Girl in the Steel Corset
Page 30
The awful truth of what he was saying finally sunk into Finley’s bewildered mind. The Machinist had stolen the queen’s brush, and other personal items, as well, probably. He had pieces of her, and he had Organites. And there had been caliper marks on the wax Victoria, along with those empty eye sockets.
Her gaze swung to Griffin, and she saw the truth in his expression. Her heart stopped dead in her chest. Emily’s announcement solidified her fears. “He’s going to replace Queen Victoria with an automaton twin.”
Chapter 18
An automaton Victoria.
The idea was almost too preposterous to entertain, but much too awful to ignore. There were all manner of nefarious schemes The Machinist—Leonardo Garibaldi—could get up to with a mechanical matriarch. Griffin didn’t even want to try to think of them all.
If their theory was correct—and he and Emily were seldom wrong when they agreed with one another— Garibaldi was either building or had almost completed the most lifelike automaton the world had ever seen. Metal with a flesh suit and an Organite-augmented logic engine that would allow the machine to actually think. A sentient creature—or as sentient as Garibaldi allowed it to become. One that didn’t just look like the queen from a distance, but one that would be an exact physical replica. Garibaldi would have entry anywhere and everywhere, including many of the upcoming jubilee celebrations.
“Garibaldi has to be stopped,” he said. “Regardless of his intent, we cannot have a Victoria doppelganger loose in London, or anywhere else.”
“Do you reckon Garibaldi would have done it if Victoria hadn’t been so harsh to begin with?” Sam asked. The others turned surprised gazes on him, and he held up his hands. “It was just a question.”
“Regardless of his intentions to begin with, they’re no good now,” Griffin informed his friend. “Let’s not forget that he could very well be a murderer, as well. It was because of him that the digger attacked you and those workers. And he may be the person responsible for my parents’ death, and the deaths of many of their colleagues.”
Sam looked away, his jaw tight. Griffin regretted having to bring up the digger, but there could be no sympathy for The Machinist. Not now, not ever.
“Aunt Cordelia,” he said. “We need to alert Buckingham Palace right away. Since my latest visit was unorthodox to say the least, may I trust you to inform Her Majesty of this unfortunate situation?”
His aunt nodded, silver chains jingling softly. “I shall go directly.”
He turned to Emily next. “Em, I need you to equip us for any possibility. Find something to take down an automaton quickly and effectively.”
Ginger eyebrows shot up. “You’re not askin’ for much, are you, lad?”
“We have to assume the worst,” he replied grimly. “Garibaldi is obviously mad. There’s no telling what he might do, treason could be the very least of it.”
“What about me?” Jasper demanded. “Now that I’m involved in this mess, you don’t expect me to just sit around, do ya? Or Miss Finley and Sam?”
As usual, Griffin found Jasper’s allegiance to a country that wasn’t even his humbling. “Practice,” he said. “Train. I need you ready and able to control your abilities, new or otherwise.” He knew Jasper was amazingly fast, he had seen it for himself. He had also been treated with Emily’s Organite salve, enhancing that speed. “All we have on our side otherwise is the element of surprise. Emily’s created some amazing weapons. She’ll outfit you and you can practice with them.”
The cowboy nodded sharply. “Will do.”
Griffin turned his head. “Finley, Garibaldi knows of you. He knew your father. It stands to reason that he has some idea what you’re capable of—it’s imperative you learn to control yourself. I want you to work on the meditations I taught you. Later today, we’ll work on it together.”
He turned his head again. “Sam, you’re our secret weapon. Garibaldi might know you’re strong, but there’s no way he can know how close to invincible you are. I need you rested, fully healed and ready to fight.”
It was odd, but Griffin thought his friend’s face paled. Was that guilt he saw in the larger fellow’s dark eyes? Sam nodded. “I will be.” It had to be paranoia, but Griffin was certain there was an extra edge to the words.
“I’m going to find out what I can about Garibaldi through the Aether,” he confided. “I’ll update you all later.”
His companions recognized the dismissal and followed one another out of the room. Only Sam seemed to hesitate on the threshold, but Griffin ignored it—for now. He had more important things to worry about.
Left alone in the study, Griffin closed the door and immediately set to work. He removed his fine dark gray wool coat and cravat as he sipped a potion he had concocted a while back. It contained a small amount of laudanum to help relax him and lower his natural defenses so that the Aether could come more easily. He had become so good at keeping it out that sometimes it didn’t always come when he tried to access it.
He didn’t like to take the potion, as laudanum was derived from opium poppies—something Aether addicts were often also addicted to. It made the veil so much thinner, easier to traverse. The drug was every bit as dangerous, if not more so, than the energy it called forth.
He unbuttoned his collar and lay down on the rug in front of the fire. The warmth relaxed him and he tried to release the maelstrom of thoughts flying about his head, but there was one thing he held on to—his rage. It was deep within him, so cold he doubted his friends had even noticed it, but it was there. Festering.
He tried to let it go as he opened himself to the Aether. Warm energy rushed at him, but he held it at bay with more ease than he ever had before. He controlled how much of it filled him, and when he opened his eyes, it was as though he was within two worlds at the same time. He saw the real world as it was, and then another, secret layer on top. He was in the spirit realm, part of the Aetheric plane that didn’t so much require control as it did concentration. He stood up.
He didn’t have to do anything but wait and think of his parents. A few moments later they were there, standing before him, looking just as he remembered them before their deaths. His father, tall and strong with eyes exactly like Griffin’s and long sideburns barely touched with gray. His mother, small and slender with thick auburn hair, green eyes and rosy cheeks. They looked so young, but they hadn’t changed. Griffin was only getting older.
His mother smiled at him, even though her eyes were serious. “You shouldn’t be here, dearest. It’s not good for you to travel in the spirit realm.”
“I won’t stay long,” he assured them. “I promise.” Bloody hell, but it was good to see them. After they had died, he would come and visit them too often and for too long. He hadn’t been able to let them go, and they had seemed so real to him. Finally he realized that he was keeping them from doing what they needed to do in the afterlife. It hadn’t been easy, but he let them go. This was the first time he contacted them since.
Now, it was so strange to see them almost as bright and vibrant as they had been. But not quite. They weren’t flesh and blood. Perhaps he noticed this because his grief for them, while still sharp, had eased somewhat.
“What is it you need, son?” his father asked. “You would not be here were it not of great importance.”
“I want to know about Leonardo Garibaldi,” he told them. “I believe he was responsible for your deaths. And I think he’s using Organites to build an automaton doppelganger of the queen.”
As he expected, his parents were shocked. Garibaldi had been their friend.
“Leonardo never forgave Victoria for commanding the Organites stay hidden,” Helena remarked absently.
Edward looked at her. “And he never forgave you for marrying me.”
This was news to Griffin. “And now he’s directed that anger at the queen—and at me.” The Machinist might have used him only to get to the Organites, but Griffin took it personally.
His father nodded. “Be careful, Griffin. Leonardo isn’t mad, he’s driven by righteousness. He truly believes he’s doing the right thing. Those kinds of foes are always the most dangerous. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him.”
“If you need to, remind him of me,” Helena suggested, a determined set to her jaw. “If he hurts you, I will haunt him to the ends of the earth.”
Griffin started. He’d never heard his mother use such a tone before. Her words sent a chill down his spine because he knew she would keep that promise and drive Leonardo stark raving mad.
“Can you help me find him?” he asked.
His father shook his spectral head. “You know we can’t, son. There are rules about spirits interfering in the world of the living.”
“In this case I’d break them,” his mother surprised him by saying. “But even so, we could only show you where Leonardo lived during our life, not now. Even the dead have their limitations. For us to locate him he would have to reach out…” She stopped, frowning.
“What is it?” Griffin demanded. A strange sensation assaulted him—like a finger of ice sliding down his back.
His parents shared a glance. “Do you feel that?” his mother asked.
Edward King nodded. “A summons.”
“What sort of summons?” Griffin’s gaze ricocheted between the two of them. “Why does it feel as though we are being watched?”
Ghostly eyes turned toward him, so real and yet so intangible. “Because we are. We are being summoned, as though to a séance. Whoever it is, they have something that was personal to each of us, and they’re focusing on it to call us to them.”
His mother’s gaze was worried. “But not away from you. Griffin, you must go. You cannot be with us when—” But it was too late. The environment around Griffin changed, swirling mist replaced his study and he felt dizzy. There was nothing to hold on to as he felt himself torn away from the safety and grounding of his own home. It was all he could do to remain standing as his head swam and the mists finally began to clear, revealing a small, dark parlor.
A man sat in a wingback chair, one leg slung casually over the other. In his hand, he held an earring. Griffin recognized it instantly as belonging to his mother. She had been wearing the pair when they died. He knew this because when he saw their bodies she wore only one, the mate believed to be lost in the crash. The only way this man could have it was if he had been there. The realization that this was Leonardo Garibaldi—his parents’ murderer—should have filled him with rage, but all he felt was cold inside. Dead.
Garibaldi leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed in meditation. He wore some kind of strange contraption on his head—a ring of metal with prongs that seemed to dig into his skull. Small gears clicked and whirred, causing the ring to slowly undulate, pressing into different areas of the man’s scalp in a careful, measured pattern. It was very similar to those used in Aether dens to summon spirits. Garibaldi had summoned his mother. Griffin and his father were there only because they had been with her at the time.
He watched as a shadow rose over Garibaldi’s body—a ghost. It was the man’s Aetheric self. It was a strong projection—indicating that Aether travel was not new to the villain. Unease settled in Griffin’s stomach, though he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Garibaldi knew all about him, and all about his friends. He would be prepared for whatever assault any of them had to offer.
His only pleasure was seeing the surprise on Garibaldi’s spectral face. He hadn’t expected to get the whole family.
“Would you look at this,” he commented in accented English, swarthy face breaking into a smile. “The King clan. My dear boy, you’ve grown since I last saw you.”
Griffin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but before he could open his mouth, his mother spoke. “What do you want, Leonardo?”
The Italian’s expression changed as he turned to look at Griffin’s mother—it softened. “I wanted to see you, Helena. I hoped we could talk.”
Her face was hard. “Whatever could you and I have to discuss? You killed me. You killed my husband and now you endanger my son. I want nothing to do with you.”
A pale hand reached out and touched her cheek. She flinched and Garibaldi recoiled as though struck. “You were not supposed to die, Helena. Never you. You always supported me and my research. I had hoped to help you recover from the loss of your husband, and perhaps take his place.”
Helena paled, the translucent flesh of her cheeks going noticeably white. “I never would have married you.” As if to further prove her point, she took a step back toward her husband. Garibaldi reached out and grabbed her by the arm. His ghostly fingers held fast as she tried to pull away.
Griffin’s father moved forward. “Unhand her, you scoundrel.”
Garibaldi held up his hand—it was metal and glowed with runes etched into its surface. There was a flash of 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.
Her gaze swung to Griffin, and she saw the truth in his expression. Her heart stopped dead in her chest. Emily’s announcement solidified her fears. “He’s going to replace Queen Victoria with an automaton twin.”
Chapter 18
An automaton Victoria.
The idea was almost too preposterous to entertain, but much too awful to ignore. There were all manner of nefarious schemes The Machinist—Leonardo Garibaldi—could get up to with a mechanical matriarch. Griffin didn’t even want to try to think of them all.
If their theory was correct—and he and Emily were seldom wrong when they agreed with one another— Garibaldi was either building or had almost completed the most lifelike automaton the world had ever seen. Metal with a flesh suit and an Organite-augmented logic engine that would allow the machine to actually think. A sentient creature—or as sentient as Garibaldi allowed it to become. One that didn’t just look like the queen from a distance, but one that would be an exact physical replica. Garibaldi would have entry anywhere and everywhere, including many of the upcoming jubilee celebrations.
“Garibaldi has to be stopped,” he said. “Regardless of his intent, we cannot have a Victoria doppelganger loose in London, or anywhere else.”
“Do you reckon Garibaldi would have done it if Victoria hadn’t been so harsh to begin with?” Sam asked. The others turned surprised gazes on him, and he held up his hands. “It was just a question.”
“Regardless of his intentions to begin with, they’re no good now,” Griffin informed his friend. “Let’s not forget that he could very well be a murderer, as well. It was because of him that the digger attacked you and those workers. And he may be the person responsible for my parents’ death, and the deaths of many of their colleagues.”
Sam looked away, his jaw tight. Griffin regretted having to bring up the digger, but there could be no sympathy for The Machinist. Not now, not ever.
“Aunt Cordelia,” he said. “We need to alert Buckingham Palace right away. Since my latest visit was unorthodox to say the least, may I trust you to inform Her Majesty of this unfortunate situation?”
His aunt nodded, silver chains jingling softly. “I shall go directly.”
He turned to Emily next. “Em, I need you to equip us for any possibility. Find something to take down an automaton quickly and effectively.”
Ginger eyebrows shot up. “You’re not askin’ for much, are you, lad?”
“We have to assume the worst,” he replied grimly. “Garibaldi is obviously mad. There’s no telling what he might do, treason could be the very least of it.”
“What about me?” Jasper demanded. “Now that I’m involved in this mess, you don’t expect me to just sit around, do ya? Or Miss Finley and Sam?”
As usual, Griffin found Jasper’s allegiance to a country that wasn’t even his humbling. “Practice,” he said. “Train. I need you ready and able to control your abilities, new or otherwise.” He knew Jasper was amazingly fast, he had seen it for himself. He had also been treated with Emily’s Organite salve, enhancing that speed. “All we have on our side otherwise is the element of surprise. Emily’s created some amazing weapons. She’ll outfit you and you can practice with them.”
The cowboy nodded sharply. “Will do.”
Griffin turned his head. “Finley, Garibaldi knows of you. He knew your father. It stands to reason that he has some idea what you’re capable of—it’s imperative you learn to control yourself. I want you to work on the meditations I taught you. Later today, we’ll work on it together.”
He turned his head again. “Sam, you’re our secret weapon. Garibaldi might know you’re strong, but there’s no way he can know how close to invincible you are. I need you rested, fully healed and ready to fight.”
It was odd, but Griffin thought his friend’s face paled. Was that guilt he saw in the larger fellow’s dark eyes? Sam nodded. “I will be.” It had to be paranoia, but Griffin was certain there was an extra edge to the words.
“I’m going to find out what I can about Garibaldi through the Aether,” he confided. “I’ll update you all later.”
His companions recognized the dismissal and followed one another out of the room. Only Sam seemed to hesitate on the threshold, but Griffin ignored it—for now. He had more important things to worry about.
Left alone in the study, Griffin closed the door and immediately set to work. He removed his fine dark gray wool coat and cravat as he sipped a potion he had concocted a while back. It contained a small amount of laudanum to help relax him and lower his natural defenses so that the Aether could come more easily. He had become so good at keeping it out that sometimes it didn’t always come when he tried to access it.
He didn’t like to take the potion, as laudanum was derived from opium poppies—something Aether addicts were often also addicted to. It made the veil so much thinner, easier to traverse. The drug was every bit as dangerous, if not more so, than the energy it called forth.
He unbuttoned his collar and lay down on the rug in front of the fire. The warmth relaxed him and he tried to release the maelstrom of thoughts flying about his head, but there was one thing he held on to—his rage. It was deep within him, so cold he doubted his friends had even noticed it, but it was there. Festering.
He tried to let it go as he opened himself to the Aether. Warm energy rushed at him, but he held it at bay with more ease than he ever had before. He controlled how much of it filled him, and when he opened his eyes, it was as though he was within two worlds at the same time. He saw the real world as it was, and then another, secret layer on top. He was in the spirit realm, part of the Aetheric plane that didn’t so much require control as it did concentration. He stood up.
He didn’t have to do anything but wait and think of his parents. A few moments later they were there, standing before him, looking just as he remembered them before their deaths. His father, tall and strong with eyes exactly like Griffin’s and long sideburns barely touched with gray. His mother, small and slender with thick auburn hair, green eyes and rosy cheeks. They looked so young, but they hadn’t changed. Griffin was only getting older.
His mother smiled at him, even though her eyes were serious. “You shouldn’t be here, dearest. It’s not good for you to travel in the spirit realm.”
“I won’t stay long,” he assured them. “I promise.” Bloody hell, but it was good to see them. After they had died, he would come and visit them too often and for too long. He hadn’t been able to let them go, and they had seemed so real to him. Finally he realized that he was keeping them from doing what they needed to do in the afterlife. It hadn’t been easy, but he let them go. This was the first time he contacted them since.
Now, it was so strange to see them almost as bright and vibrant as they had been. But not quite. They weren’t flesh and blood. Perhaps he noticed this because his grief for them, while still sharp, had eased somewhat.
“What is it you need, son?” his father asked. “You would not be here were it not of great importance.”
“I want to know about Leonardo Garibaldi,” he told them. “I believe he was responsible for your deaths. And I think he’s using Organites to build an automaton doppelganger of the queen.”
As he expected, his parents were shocked. Garibaldi had been their friend.
“Leonardo never forgave Victoria for commanding the Organites stay hidden,” Helena remarked absently.
Edward looked at her. “And he never forgave you for marrying me.”
This was news to Griffin. “And now he’s directed that anger at the queen—and at me.” The Machinist might have used him only to get to the Organites, but Griffin took it personally.
His father nodded. “Be careful, Griffin. Leonardo isn’t mad, he’s driven by righteousness. He truly believes he’s doing the right thing. Those kinds of foes are always the most dangerous. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him.”
“If you need to, remind him of me,” Helena suggested, a determined set to her jaw. “If he hurts you, I will haunt him to the ends of the earth.”
Griffin started. He’d never heard his mother use such a tone before. Her words sent a chill down his spine because he knew she would keep that promise and drive Leonardo stark raving mad.
“Can you help me find him?” he asked.
His father shook his spectral head. “You know we can’t, son. There are rules about spirits interfering in the world of the living.”
“In this case I’d break them,” his mother surprised him by saying. “But even so, we could only show you where Leonardo lived during our life, not now. Even the dead have their limitations. For us to locate him he would have to reach out…” She stopped, frowning.
“What is it?” Griffin demanded. A strange sensation assaulted him—like a finger of ice sliding down his back.
His parents shared a glance. “Do you feel that?” his mother asked.
Edward King nodded. “A summons.”
“What sort of summons?” Griffin’s gaze ricocheted between the two of them. “Why does it feel as though we are being watched?”
Ghostly eyes turned toward him, so real and yet so intangible. “Because we are. We are being summoned, as though to a séance. Whoever it is, they have something that was personal to each of us, and they’re focusing on it to call us to them.”
His mother’s gaze was worried. “But not away from you. Griffin, you must go. You cannot be with us when—” But it was too late. The environment around Griffin changed, swirling mist replaced his study and he felt dizzy. There was nothing to hold on to as he felt himself torn away from the safety and grounding of his own home. It was all he could do to remain standing as his head swam and the mists finally began to clear, revealing a small, dark parlor.
A man sat in a wingback chair, one leg slung casually over the other. In his hand, he held an earring. Griffin recognized it instantly as belonging to his mother. She had been wearing the pair when they died. He knew this because when he saw their bodies she wore only one, the mate believed to be lost in the crash. The only way this man could have it was if he had been there. The realization that this was Leonardo Garibaldi—his parents’ murderer—should have filled him with rage, but all he felt was cold inside. Dead.
Garibaldi leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed in meditation. He wore some kind of strange contraption on his head—a ring of metal with prongs that seemed to dig into his skull. Small gears clicked and whirred, causing the ring to slowly undulate, pressing into different areas of the man’s scalp in a careful, measured pattern. It was very similar to those used in Aether dens to summon spirits. Garibaldi had summoned his mother. Griffin and his father were there only because they had been with her at the time.
He watched as a shadow rose over Garibaldi’s body—a ghost. It was the man’s Aetheric self. It was a strong projection—indicating that Aether travel was not new to the villain. Unease settled in Griffin’s stomach, though he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Garibaldi knew all about him, and all about his friends. He would be prepared for whatever assault any of them had to offer.
His only pleasure was seeing the surprise on Garibaldi’s spectral face. He hadn’t expected to get the whole family.
“Would you look at this,” he commented in accented English, swarthy face breaking into a smile. “The King clan. My dear boy, you’ve grown since I last saw you.”
Griffin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but before he could open his mouth, his mother spoke. “What do you want, Leonardo?”
The Italian’s expression changed as he turned to look at Griffin’s mother—it softened. “I wanted to see you, Helena. I hoped we could talk.”
Her face was hard. “Whatever could you and I have to discuss? You killed me. You killed my husband and now you endanger my son. I want nothing to do with you.”
A pale hand reached out and touched her cheek. She flinched and Garibaldi recoiled as though struck. “You were not supposed to die, Helena. Never you. You always supported me and my research. I had hoped to help you recover from the loss of your husband, and perhaps take his place.”
Helena paled, the translucent flesh of her cheeks going noticeably white. “I never would have married you.” As if to further prove her point, she took a step back toward her husband. Garibaldi reached out and grabbed her by the arm. His ghostly fingers held fast as she tried to pull away.
Griffin’s father moved forward. “Unhand her, you scoundrel.”
Garibaldi held up his hand—it was metal and glowed with runes etched into its surface. There was a flash of 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.
