He opened the compartment in the wall beside him and spoke into the voice-amplifying device secured there. “Stop here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

A few moments later, he ambled up the front steps of the circus, long coat billowing slightly behind him. He’d find out what he could about The Machinist and perhaps track down his American acquaintance Jasper Renn, and then he’d leave. He would not stand about all evening like a fool, watching Finley with that scoundrel Dandy. It would be far too tempting to lay Dandy out flat.

Inside the main building, the theater of the circus was closed off by a round wall that circled the entire ring. Between that wall and the outer structure was a wide corridor that housed various vendors selling ale and punch, toasted nuts and other savory snacks. There were also several stands selling souvenirs of the circus and its performers.

It was this corridor he stuck to for the first quarter hour. He purchased a mug of cider from one of the vendors and planted himself by the south entrance to the main tent. That was where he was to meet Renn, right about…now.

“Howdy, stranger.”

Griffin smiled. Punctual as ever. He turned and watched as a young man dressed like an American cowboy, right down to the dusty boots and spurs, approached. He had a black demi-mask covering the upper half of his face.

“Howdy, yourself.” The decidedly Western greeting sounded awkward in his English accent.

They shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulder. They made the necessary niceties for a moment before Griffin got down to business.

“The Machinist,” he said softly. “What have you heard?”

Renn removed his hat and scratched his head. “There are some folks who reckon that Machinist fella’s just playin’ with these small-time jobs and random attacks, working his way up to something bigger.” He plopped the Stetson back into place.

Griffin considered that theory then shook his head. “If he’s working his way up, perhaps the incidents aren’t as ‘small’ and random as one might think. Perhaps he’s simply experimenting at perfecting his technique.”

“Which is?”

“Deuced if I know. Building a metal assassin? Or perhaps an automaton he can control from a distance to commit crimes for him?”

Renn whistled. “You’re right. None of that sounds small-time at all.”

No, they certainly did not. “I need your help, Jasper,” Griffin spoke, using Renn’s Christian name as a show of friendship. “The Machinist is responsible for a friend of mine having been seriously injured. If he’s up to something even more dangerous, I want to stop him. And quickly.”

The cowboy gave a curt nod. “Understood. I’ll do what I can. I’ll come by the day after tomorrow and I’ll give you all the information I can find.”

Griffin almost sagged in relief. “Thank you.” Renn wasn’t noble-born, but he had honor. His more “common” status, however, allowed him to travel within circles of moral ambiguity that Griffin could not. Griffin could never pass himself off as anything other than what he was, but a genuine American cowboy was an instant celebrity in London—exotic and strange, and not bound by the same rules.

He was just about to say goodbye and head home again when two identically clad ladies approached them. He recognized the amazing cherry-red of their chin-length hair immediately. They were the Cardinal Twins—trapeze performers with the circus. Tonight they wore porcelain-like masks painted with features almost exactly like their own—oddly disconcerting to look upon—and matching crystal-adorned corsets and bloomers with long, white ostrich-feather trains.

“Hello, gents,” they chorused in perfect unison. “Care to accompany us inside? It’s much more entertaining than out here.”

Griffin could hardly refuse when one of them held out her hand. He had been raised to be a gentleman, and gentlemen did not give ladies the cut. He offered her his arm, which she took in a supple yet strong hold. Her mask was smiling, but if the real lips beneath mirrored her painted ones, he had no idea.

He led the way with his escort, parting the heavy red drapes that served as door to the inner sanctum. In here there was lively music and people dancing as performers moved through the crowd. There would be a grand spectacle later—one that no doubt featured the Cardinal Sisters.

As soon as they were inside, Griffin was struck by how warm it was, crowded and humid with perspiration. Still, the music stirred him and the excitement of the crowd filled the air—and the Aether—with a buoyant energy even he could not discount.

Something drew his gaze. A young woman in a splendid feathered costume that made her look like the most exotic bird. His heart gave one tight thump against his ribs as he recognized her. His senses had found her even when he hadn’t been looking.

Finley. And she was holding on to Jack Dandy like a woman in love.

Chapter 11

What was she doing there? Finley asked herself as she glanced around the crowded circus.

Oh, her escort was charming enough. He was handsome in a sinister kind of way and had such a beguiling way of both murdering and evoking the English language that she found herself fascinated by every word that came out of his mouth. What she couldn’t fathom is why he wanted to bring her, of all people, to such a place.

Of course, it wasn’t really her he wanted, was it? It was her darker self that had piqued Jack Dandy’s interest, and that side was steadily growing stronger the more time she spent under this roof. She felt it clawing at the walls of the imaginary cage she’d built for it deep inside herself. It would love this place—and the company—but she couldn’t let it out. Not completely. She couldn’t remember what happened the last time it took over, and she wasn’t about to risk that again.

“You all right, Treasure?”

She glanced up at the concerned eyes watching her from behind the devil mask and smiled slightly. “A little overwhelmed.”

He nodded. “I understand. Crowds put me in a bit of a right old mess sometimes m’self. Dance then?”

Before she could answer, he had whisked her out onto the dance floor, caught her up in his arms and guided her into a waltz. They were entirely too close for propriety, though not quite close enough to be scandalous. Mr. Dandy obviously knew how to skirt the fringes of polite behavior.

“Might I say how deliciously lovely you look tonight?” he said, close to her ear, voice low enough that she could hear.

Finley shivered. “Thank you. It’s a beautiful costume. You oughtn’t have spent so much. Your generosity humbles me.”

He squeezed her hand. “Don’t you ever be ’umble. You deserve to be treated like a queen. Certainly by better than the likes of me, but I can’t seem to ’elp myself.”

She swallowed hard. “Good lord, you certainly know what to say to a girl, don’t you?”

He laughed at that—a loud, joyous sound that drowned out the music as he tossed his head back. Finley glanced about to see if anyone was staring. Everyone within a mile had to have heard him.

A tall man in a lion mask stood at the edge of the crowd, dressed in black-and-white evening clothes that had obviously been tailored to fit his lean, broad-shouldered frame. As he watched her, the light of the chandeliers overhead caught the red-gold highlights in his brown hair.

Griffin.

Awareness washed over her, like her entire body just woke from a dream. What was he doing here? And who the devil was the scantily-clad harridan hanging off his arm?

An unpleasant taste rose in the back of her mouth, one that brought a petty feeling with it. She had no say whatsoever in Griffin King’s life, and hardly any room to comment on the sort of company he kept, when her own escort was allegedly a criminal overlord. Still, she did not like seeing him with that girl.

And from the tightness of his mouth, she’d wager he didn’t much care for seeing her dancing with Jack.

What would Emily say about all this? Her friend had made her promise to wake her when she returned home and tell her all the details. She had been quite impressed with Jack and his tongue-in-cheek costume, but then again, there weren’t too many young women who wouldn’t be impressed with some aspect of Jack, just like there would be an equal amount enthralled by Griffin.

But she’d wager her last ha’penny that she was the only young woman who found them both equally as fascinating and maddening.

Odd, a few moments ago she wouldn’t have thought the preference was equal. Her other self had risen a little bit closer to the surface when she saw Griffin and the girl with the impossibly red hair.

She tore her gaze away and focused her attention on Jack’s cravat. It was the safest place to look, except that her gaze inevitably traveled up the part of his neck that was bared, then to his jaw and then to his lovely mouth.

He had a slight cleft in his chin. Had she noticed that before? It was a very nice cleft.

“Committing my magnificence to mem’ry, are you, ducks?”

Her lips tilted in a lopsided smile. “Have you always had such a high opinion of yourself, Mr. Dandy?”

His head titled slightly. “I thought you agreed to call me Jack.”

So she had. “Why did you invite me here, Jack? I seem to remember you telling me to run as far away from you as I could.”

He shrugged. “P’rhaps I wanted to see if your will was any stronger than mine. I invited and you came. I think you like me, Treasure.”

She blushed, but something told her not to play demure with him. “I think you like me, sir.”

He pulled her closer. “What fellow with all his faculties wouldn’t?”

What was she supposed to say to that? His words made her warm—too warm—and made her want to search out Griffin in the crowd. Was he watching?

“Looking for your duke?” Dandy’s voice had lost some of its teasing, sounding as though he had to make an effort to sound disinterested.

Finley’s gaze jerked to his and saw what she thought was pain in the dark depths of his eyes. Had she actually hurt him? “Jack, I…”

“Don’t fret, Treasure. I know how the world works.” He whirled her around the floor in so many quick, graceful circles she felt as though she were spinning right off the ground into the air. Then, abruptly he stopped—so suddenly she crashed into him and the only thing keeping her upright were his arms, strong and sure around her.

He looked directly into her eyes as the room seemed to continue to spin around her. “I’ll play the game, Finley Jayne, because I think you are worth it, but I won’t be trifled with. Do you understand? Someday you’re going to have to choose.”

She stared at him, a hollow feeling in her stomach. She understood, but was confused at the same time. Did he believe her a flirt? She opened her mouth to offer some kind of argument, or defend herself, but nothing came out. Jack’s lips curved caustically beneath his mask. The waltz ended and he led her off the floor, silence stretching between them.

“I’m sorry,” Finley said as they stood together.

Jack glanced down at her. “Whatever for, Treasure?”

She winced at the sweetness of his tone. “For whatever it is I’ve done to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? I’m Jack Dandy, love. I’m one of the coldest, darkest bastards in all of London, don’t you know? Nothing hurts me, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

Finley glanced away, feeling like an awful person. As luck would have it, when she raised her gaze, she found herself looking right into Griffin’s eyes.

Griffin told himself to turn away, but he couldn’t. He wanted to go to her and take her away from this, but he had an escort of his own to think of, and the night’s entertainment was about to begin.

Then he felt it, a disturbance in the Aether. It was like a ripple—a shimmer of something tickling the back of his neck, sending a cold shiver down his spine. He looked around and saw a small, spindly automaton with a serving tray heading toward Finley and Dandy. Its movements were jerky but determined, as though it had never moved that way before. It reached for Finley…

“No!” he cried, leaping into action. All thoughts of rudeness and propriety vanished. He pushed through the crowd, fighting the throng to get to her.

But it was too late. The automaton already had her by the throat.

Time seemed to slow. His vision altered, seeing the people and surroundings through the veil of the Aether, auras blazing. Finley’s dual aura flared dark—the color of her other self. Dandy tried to fight the automaton. Jasper had a pistol in hand as he fell into step beside Griffin. The cowboy wouldn’t shoot unless he had to, though—too much margin for error. Someone could get hurt—or worse.

And then Finley seized the spindly metal arm attached to her throat. A normal human would have no hope against such strength, but Finley was not normal. She snapped the arm at the elbow joint and then ripped the offending hand from her neck.

Holding the arm by the hand and wrist, she used it to beat the automaton, driving it savagely into the control panel as people screamed and rushed around her. They were scared gazelles, running for an exit, terrified they would be the machine’s next victim. Meanwhile Finley beat the thing to death, for lack of a better term, with its own arm. It tried to fend her off, but it wasn’t built to sustain damage, only to serve. She snapped off the other arm in a similar fashion and drove both of them into the metal’s “neck,” severing connections, snapping gears.

Griffin and Jasper stopped a few feet away, finally free of the crowd. They could have rushed in, but there was nothing for them to do. Sparks flew from the automaton’s wrecked neck, raining around Finley’s smiling face like little fireworks.