“Do you think The Machinist took the figure for its eyes?”

“Possibly—either for his own work or to sell. I’ll send a note ’round to my supplier, ask if he’s heard about anyone trying to sell a pair of Victoria-blue eyes. I would imagine they’d fetch a good price, considering they would have been made to match Her Majesty’s.”

Hand on her hip, Finley gazed at the smaller girl with considerable respect. “You’re a very useful person, Emily O’Brien.”

The Irish girl preened under the praise. “You’re not so shabby yourself. I could never get into a boxing ring with Jasper.”

“Yes, well, I reckon Jasper would have other things in mind if the two of you were in any kind of enclosed space, alone.”

Pink filled Emily’s cheeks. “He just likes to tease me. He doesn’t mean it.”

Finley rolled her eyes. “A girl as intelligent as you cannot possibly be that dense. Has he tried to kiss you?”

“No! Of course not.”

Finley leaned her elbow on the table near the wax Victoria’s shoulder and grinned. “How about Sam, then?”

The blush in the other girl’s cheeks deepened. “Nor him.”

She shook her head. “That’s inexcusable. Two handsome fellows vying for your attention and you haven’t kissed either of them. Of course, were I you, I’d slap that Sam for being such a brute. Kiss Jasper. He’s much more charming.”

“Charming with every girl he meets,” Emily replied none too charitably.

Finley arched a brow. “Jealous?”

She shoved a pale hand against Finley’s shoulder with enough force that Finley’s upper body leaned a little. “What about you? Did you kiss Dandy?”

“No.” She straightened. An image of Jack Dandy’s face filled her mind. “Do you suppose he’d be a good kisser?” Before she would have blamed these thoughts on her darker nature, but now she wasn’t so certain.

“I think he’s had enough experience that he’d be a very fine kisser.” A sly light brightened Emily’s eyes. “What about Griffin?”

Finley feigned ignorance and pretended to notice something of interest on her fingernails. “What of him?”

“Has he kissed you?”

“He has not.” She made a face. “Lord, I’m a charity case to him—a female whose life he feels responsible for. Nothing else.”

Emily didn’t look convinced. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and how you look at him. He’s thought about it. Trust me.”

A tiny smile flittered across Finley’s lips. She leaned closer, just in case the machines could hear her, and confided, “I’ve thought about it, too, but I don’t think it would be an intelligent thing to do—not while he’s trying to help me. It would only complicate things.”

“Then you might as well go back to Dandy.” Emily’s tone was heavy with teasing as she studied the figure’s wax left hand. “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to let you practice on him. Maybe that will make Griffin realize he wants you for himself.”

“No, thank you. I won’t be practicing on anyone. I can’t juggle two admirers like you can.” But even as she spoke, Finley felt a strange confusion in her chest. She liked Griffin, and thought him very handsome, but she also felt something for Jack Dandy. Oh, the two feelings weren’t nearly the same, but they were similar in the fact that she found both of them attractive in their own different ways.

She had no business thinking that way about either of them. It wasn’t proper and it was just plain wrong to be thinking about kissing when obviously there was someone out there trying to ruin her life by making her look like a criminal.

“What are these?” she asked, pointing to the small grooves she had just noticed in the wax on the side of the figure’s face.

Emily frowned. “I don’t see anything.”

It took Finley a moment to realize she wasn’t imagining things, but rather she saw the “queen” the way her darker nature would see her—with preternaturally sharp eyes. “Look closer. There are marks in the wax.”

Still frowning, Emily slipped her goggles over her eyes and covered both lenses with the attached magnifiers. She turned a small knob on the either side, fiddling with both as she bent slightly to study the figure’s face. Still adjusting the knobs, she studied one side of the head, then the other. “They look like caliper marks. Someone was measuring Her Majesty’s face.”

“Could it have been someone at the museum when they made the figure?”

Emily shook her head as she gently searched the rest of the waxwork for more marks. “These figures are made by taking molds and measurements of the actual person whenever possible. The queen would have sat for all those things before they made her likeness. These, I suspect, were made by our thief.”

“Again I ask, why?” Straightening, Finley folded her arms over her chest. “What is this mad bugger up to?”

“I don’t know,” Emily murmured, clearly as baffled as Finley. She lifted her goggles once more. “But he wanted to blame you for it, so maybe we should ask a different question.”

Her gaze locked with the smaller girl’s, Finley could only nod her head in grim agreement. “Who is he? And how does he know me?”

“She’s trouble and no one else can see it.” Sam was in a decidedly petulant mood as he sat sprawled on the sofa in Leon’s apartments in Russell Street. “Scotland Yard came to the house to talk to her about the murder of the son of her former employer, and everyone’s all ‘poor Finley.’” He said the last bit in a falsetto dripping with disgust and mockery.

His older friend came into the small sitting room from the small kitchen area and handed him a cup of coffee. Sam accepted the cup with thanks, wincing as the hot pottery burned his flesh. Leon’s metal hand hadn’t felt the heat, of course, but Sam’s—even the one with metal underneath—did.

He set the mug on the low table in front of him and glanced down at the welt on his palm. It lingered for a moment, stinging and then gradually began to fade until it was little more than a slightly pink itch and then nothing at all.

“That’s quite amazing,” Leon remarked, seating himself in a chair beside the sofa. He looked every inch the gentleman in his immaculate silk waistcoat and brushed wool jacket. “Have you always healed so quickly?”

During one of their conversations, Sam had confided to Leon his strange strength and healing abilities, which had intensified as of late. “Not quite so quickly, no,” he replied. “Usually it took some of Emily’s salve to make wounds heal completely.”

“Ah, yes.” Leon smiled slightly. “The brilliant but Machiavellian Emily. What did she put in this ‘salve’ you speak of?”

Sam hesitated. It was one thing to tell his secrets, but he had sworn to Griffin that he would never divulge the truth about the Organites. “I’m not sure,” he replied, looking down at his hand again so he didn’t have to lie to his friend’s face. “She never told me.”

There was a moment’s silence as Leon took a drink of the hot, strong coffee. Café-espress he called it. “Tell me more about this Finley person. She sounds quite extraordinary—and dangerous.”

“Yes,” Sam agreed wholeheartedly. “Since Griffin took her in, there’s been nothing but trouble. She comes and goes as she wants, consorts with criminals, is suspected of murder, and now… Now she may be involved in a matter Griff is investigating. Even if she’s not to blame, she’s up to her eyes in it. I know it.”

“The stalwart Duke of Greythorne.” This was said with a hint of mockery. “He is just a boy, Samuel. I dare say he’s infatuated with the girl and refuses to see her as anything but perfect.”

Sam grunted, lifting his cup to his mouth. The coffee burned his tongue but tasted good. “He knows she’s not right,” he remarked. “He’s seen what she’s capable of, but he thinks he can fix her.”

“Some people are beyond fixing.” Leon set his cup on the table. “From all you’ve told me, I would think you would not care if the duke were made a fool of after all he’s done to you.” He meant, of course, what Griffin and Emily had done to him. Made him a freak. “You could simply walk away.”

“They’re still my friends,” Sam admitted. “I don’t want to see anyone injure them.”

“My dear boy, if you are concerned with the safety of your friends, you have to do something about this girl.”

Sam’s scowl gave way to an expression of confusion. “Like what?”

Leon shrugged, making the gesture sophisticated as Sam suspected only people from the continent could. “Make them see her for what she truly is. Force her to show her true colors.”

Brow furrowed, Sam thought about it. “How?”

The older man smiled patiently. “There isn’t a devious bone in your body, is there? How very noble. You push her into a corner. You said this…affliction of hers tends to reveal itself when she feels threatened. Threaten her with the truth, make her tip her hand to your friends. Then they will see that you were right all along.”

Sam thought about it. Leon made it sound so simple. “You’re right.”

“Age does have its benefits,” his friend quipped with a smile.

They talked a little while longer about other things, until Leon finished his coffee and announced that he had to call their visit to an unfortunate halt. “I’m afraid I have an engagement, but we will see each other again soon, no?”

Sam rose to his full height, towering over the other man. Despite his superior size and strength he felt young and foolish next to this worldly man who had accepted the metal part of himself with grace and ease. Maybe someday Sam could do the same and not think of his new arm—of his heart—as something alien and wrong, as a betrayal by those he held so dear.

“Of course,” he replied, accepting the handshake. He didn’t even wince when Leon closed his chromium fingers over his, engulfing Sam’s hand in both of his. The metal was warm where it had cradled the coffee cup but cold everywhere else.

“Thank you,” he said as they walked to the door together. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me and offer advice.”

The older man smiled. “I am here whenever you find yourself in need of a friend. I hope you always know that. You are a good man. You’ll do the right thing where your friends are concerned, and they will thank you for it.”

Sam smiled. How long had it been since he’d felt as though someone understood him so well? “Good day, Leon.”

A brief nod of dark hair. “Samuel.”

Sam left the building, clomping down the winding stairs and out into the fading afternoon. He felt happier than he had for some time. He’d return to Mayfair and he’d make the others see what Finley Jayne really was. Then they’d see that he was right and not an idiot. They’d see the truth and Finley would run straight to Jack Dandy where she belonged.

He only hoped he could get rid of her before she hurt someone.

After the museum, Jasper left to talk to some of his own contacts, agreeing to come by later that evening. Griffin returned to the house to find Emily and Finley in the cellar laboratory with the waxwork Victoria. Their eager faces made the ride down to the cellar in that tiny box of a lift almost worthwhile.

“Did you find anything?” they asked almost in unison.

“I did,” he replied, glancing about the room. “Sam still gone?”

Emily nodded, worry plain in her big eyes. She looked like a waif swathed in her goggles and apron. Her clunky boots seemed too large for her feet, the goggles too big for her head. Even the ropes of her bright copper hair seemed out of proportion. Beside her, Finley looked like an Amazon warrior, with her leather corset, short-sleeved shirt and black knickers. The heels of her black leather boots looked sturdy enough to grind a man’s bones to dust.

“What did you discover?” Emily asked.

Griffin turned to her, ashamed to have taken even a moment to admire Finley when he should have been concentrating on the matter at hand. “It was The Machinist. We found his oil. The night watchman got some of it on his wound and it healed him—much faster than it should have. He has Organites, and he puts them in the oil he uses on his automatons.”

Emily’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know how the wee beasties could possibly benefit a joint lubricant, but I’ll run some tests.”

“Wouldn’t you have found the Organites in the other samples?” Finley asked.

Emily shook her head, ropes of hair swinging around her shoulders. “They have to have something to draw energy from in order to live, plus they imitate whatever they’re attached to. The sample would have to be fresh for me to detect them, otherwise they’re dead and look like the very stuff suspending them.”

Griffin wasn’t entirely certain how much of that Finley understood. Hell, he wasn’t even certain he understood and he’d grown up knowing about Organites and how they worked. “Tests sound like a good idea, Em,” he said.

“Come see what we found,” Emily suggested, gesturing to the wax figure.

Griffin was astounded when they pointed out the missing eyes and the supposed caliper marks. “I doubt very much you’ll find those eyes have been sold. I’d say he’s building an automaton.”

“Of Queen Victoria?” Finley’s tone was so incredulous a slight smile curved Griffin’s lips.