Finley exchanged glances with Sam, who seemed as bewildered as she. Emily, however, had an odd look on her face, as though she knew exactly what Griffin meant. It was obvious neither of them planned to share at that moment, because Griffin pulled out his portable telegraph to send for the authorities, and Emily began sorting through the automatons and gathering what information she could by “reading” them.

At that moment there was too much that needed to be addressed. Let Griffin and Emily have their secrets.

For now.

The authorities were contacted. Scotland Yard arrived almost twenty minutes later with their team of automaton-removal specialists in tow. They took everything—even the train cars. They had their own engine to pull the cars and the “sleeping” docker.

Griffin hadn’t explained what he meant when he said it wasn’t going to be all right. After contacting the Yard he began directing everyone else to collect anything important that shouldn’t fall into police hands— such as dangerous gadgets. He also got rid of the saw that had cut Emily. Explaining how it was crushed beyond anything humanly possible was not something he wanted to do, he said. Then, they discussed what they were going to tell the Yard.

Now that it was over, Emily unwrapped her arm and cleaned the wound with Listerine. It was already healing, thanks to the organites she’d put on it, working in tandem with those already in her system.

Sam helped her rebandage her arm. He’d washed his hands with the Listerine and already the shallow cuts had faded to little more than scars. He healed so incredibly fast now.

She glanced at the body on the floor. Finley had covered it with a sheet from the surgical cot. The fact that his body couldn’t repair itself, even in a vat of organites spoke to just how damaged Garibaldi’s physical form had been. Basically he’d been dead, save for his brain. All energy went into keeping his brain and heart functioning just enough to keep him “fresh.”

After the Yard arrived and they all gave the agreed upon version of what had transpired, they went home. They went to the library, their usual meeting place. Finley poured them each a drink from one of the crystal bottles in the cabinet. It didn’t taste all that nice, but it made Emily feel wonderfully warm inside. She could sleep for three days. In fact, she intended to do just that.

Griffin sat on the corner of the desk. Finley perched not far away on the rolling ladder. He turned his gaze to Mila, who was sitting on the carpet at Jack’s feet, playing with one of the estate dogs. He looked at the girl as though he was in awe of her. Emily couldn’t blame him. No one would ever know she hadn’t been born human.

“Mila, we need to discuss what’s going to happen to you now that you’re free.”

Her head came up, a horrified expression on her face. “What do you mean?”

Jack’s hand came down on her shoulder. “Easy, Poppet. What ’is dukeness is askin’ is what do you want to be now that the world is your oyster?”

She blinked. “The world is an oyster? That makes no sense at all.”

They all chuckled—a welcome release.

“Let’s start with where you’re going to live,” Griffin suggested. “You are welcome to stay with us here at King House if you wish.”

Where else would she go? Emily wondered. It wasn’t as though the poor thing had family. In fact, they were the closest she had to anything like that.

Mila looked at each of them. “I’m very thankful for all that you’ve done for me. Without you I wouldn’t even know there was a me! You saved me from being a puppet, and helped me become human. You taught me about respect and friendship, trust and strength. I’m honored to carry a little piece of you all inside me.”

“’Cept for me,” Jack corrected, glancing at Emily. “I want it known that none of my bits have ever been inside you.”

It was an awful, ribald joke, but they all laughed at it regardless, even Mila, who Emily was fairly certain didn’t get it.

The girl turned to Jack. “Can I live with you?”

Dandy froze, glass partway to his mouth. “I fink there’s somethin’ wrong with your bells and whistles, luv. No one wants to live in Whitechapel when they could live in Mayfair.”

“You do,” she replied, which immediately intrigued Emily. Jack Dandy was like a big human puzzle that she’d love to solve just for sheer nosiness.

He looked around the room, as though pleading for someone to step in and rescue him. “You don’t want to live wiv me. You’re safer ’ere.”

“Maybe not,” Griffin interjected. “Over the past few months we’ve attracted attention from the authorities, rookeries, outlaws, even Buckingham Palace. I’m not sure Mila would be safer here, at least not for the time being.”

“But—” Emily protested.

Mila turned to her. “You can still study me, Em. If you want. You all have been very good to me, and I want to know you better, but I feel comfortable at Jack’s.” She glanced at the sinisterly handsome crime lord. “Besides, I think he could use a little protection.”

More laughter—most of it from Dandy himself. “You fink so, do you? All right then, Poppet. You can come ’ome wiv me. I’ve never ’ad a little sister. It might be nice.”

Emily could have boxed his ears. Did he not realize the girl had a crush on him? Of course, he didn’t—he was male, after all. Lads were historically oblivious to these matters, even when they were sitting at their feet with a crestfallen expression on their pretty faces.

Jack finished his drink and rose. “Fanks for the ’ospitality, but I can no longer stand the sight of all you gorgeous people. I’m off to where I belong. Poppet?”

Mila rose to her feet. Even dirty and dressed atrociously, she was a pretty thing. Dandy looked her up and down. “Tomorrow we get you some proper clothes.” He glanced at Finley. “You’ll ’elp won’t you, Treasure?” Leaning her head against the side of the ladder, Finley nodded. “I would love to. Em, too.”

“Of course.” Jack sauntered over to Emily and took her hand in his. He pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles. “Glad you made it home safely, Little Ginger.”

“Thanks, laddie.”

Shortly after Jack and Mila departed, Mrs. Dodsworth came in to announce there was a visitor to see Griffin.

“It’s barely seven in the morning,” Griffin remarked. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Isley, Your Grace.”

Some of the color put into Griffin’s cheeks by the whiskey faded. That, Emily thought, was not a good sign. “Send him in.”

A few moments later, the tall lanky young man entered the room. He had slight bruising under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well. He would fit right in with the lot of them.

“Your Grace, I apologize for the intrusion—”

“I thought we agreed that you would call me Griffin.” Standing, Griffin went to the young man, who couldn’t be much older than he was, and extended his hand. “Come in. Would you like anything? Coffee perhaps?”

Isley accepted the handshake but briefly. “No, thank you. I’m on my way out of town. I’m conducting a séance in Bath next week.”

Ah, yes. He was the medium. Emily had read about him in the papers. It made sense that someone like Griffin, who could traffic in the land of the dead, would have such a friend.

“If you stopped here so early on such a morning, it must be important, so I will dispense with the niceties and give you leave to say whatever you wish.” Sometimes, Griffin sounded so posh and important. She forgot that as a duke he held one of the highest titles in the land. There were only a few of them in Britain.

“I come bearing a strange message,” the young man confided, turning the brim of his hat in his hands. “I received it just a few hours ago.”

As if pulled by invisible strings, they all sat up a little straighter. It had only been a few hours since the Machinist had died in front of their eyes. Surely this wasn’t a coincidence.

“Was it from a man named Garibaldi?” Griffin asked, expression grim.

Isley shrugged. “He did not give me his name, though I got the impression the two of you knew each other quite well. He was quite swarthy—Italian, perhaps.”

Griffin’s jaw clenched. “It was Garibaldi. He died earlier this morning.”

“I wish I could say I was sorry to hear that, but the friendship I feel for you makes that impossible.”

“You might as well just tell me what he said, Isley. I assure you I am quite prepared.”

Isley swallowed. “He said, ‘Tell Greythorne he cannot wear that disruptor forever. I will see him again soon.”

Emily gasped. She couldn’t help it, even though she’d suspected something like this might happen. Sam reached out and covered one of her hands with his much larger one. He was so very warm, and she tucked her fingers around his.

But Griffin’s expression didn’t change. He wasn’t surprised by the news at all. Had he suspected something like this would happen? Yes, of course, he had. Now it made sense why he hadn’t wanted to kill Garibaldi. Why he had tried to save him. Death would only give the Machinist a stronger presence in the Aether.

She turned her head to meet Sam’s gaze. People didn’t give Sam much credit as far as intelligence went. They had a hard time seeing past his strength and frown, but Sam was far from dumb. Sometimes she thought he understood people a lot better than she did. He squeezed her hand.

“Was that all he said?” Griffin asked.

Isley nodded. His gaze strayed to Jasper for a moment before returning to Griffin. “That was the extent of his message, though he warned me that if I didn’t deliver it immediately he would make certain I didn’t sleep for a full week.”

“You did the right thing.” Griffin clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Griffin walked the medium out and, when he returned, looked each and every one of them in the eye. “I know you’re all worried. I am, too. But we have beaten Garibaldi twice, and we will again. Now, I’m exhausted and I’m going to go to bed.” With that, he turned on his heel and left the room. Finley followed not long after.

Wildcat and Jasper made their escape as well, saying that they were going to rest before getting back to whatever intrigue they’d been up to. That left just Emily and Sam in the room.

“I wouldn’t change it,” he blurted when she turned to him. “I’d still rip open that tank to save you.”

“Oh.” What else could she say to that? He’d basically just told her he put her above his best friend. “Sam, you don’t have—” Whatever else she had been about to say was cut off when he grabbed her by the upper arms and kissed her.

Samuel Morgan was an exceptional kisser. When he released her she was a little dizzy and as limp as a sleepy kitten. “What was that for?”

He smiled at her. Really smiled. And oh, Mary and Joseph, it was like the sun appearing after a yearlong thunderstorm. Tears filled her eyes. There he was, her beautiful Sam. Her hands came up to his face, as though she could hold that smile in place forever.

“I love you, too,” he said. “My heart might be metal, but it’s yours, Em. It’s always been and always will be yours.”

The tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s about time you admitted to it, you great daft article.”

He smiled again, and then she kissed him, and for a while the world was exactly as it should be. Tomorrow—even later that day—could wait for a while. Kissing Sam for all she was worth could not.

* * *

“I don’t want to talk about Garibaldi,” Griffin said as soon as he entered his bedroom, Finley on his heels.

“Fine.” It really wasn’t, but she would not jump down his throat about it. She closed the door.

He turned around, fingers paused in untying his cravat. “Really?”

“Yes.”

His lips lifted on one side. “Liar.”

“That, too.”

He tugged the length of linen from around his neck. “Fin, I’m tired. I just want to sleep. Can we do this later?”

“Do what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is you have in mind.”

“You have no idea what I have in mind. If I did, you might want to do it right now after all.”

His eyes widened a fraction, then brightened. “You didn’t follow me up here to take me to task?”

“No, not really. I do want to talk about Garibaldi, but the tosser can wait. We’ve already talked about him enough.” She pointed at the little metal box he still had. “Will that really keep him away?”

Griffin set the disruptor on the dresser. “From me, yes. I’ll have Emily and Jasper help me make larger ones for the house and grounds. It will keep him away, along with any other ghosts he decides to send after me.”

“Good. That will buy us some time until we figure out what to do about him.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about him?” His tone was teasing, but there was a slight edge to it.

She went to him and wrapped her arms around his torso. She hugged him tight, holding him against her, trying to commit the feel of him to memory.

“Are you jealous of Mila?” he asked after a few moments.

That broke the spell. Finley lifted her head. “Why would I be jealous of Mila? Because she’s going to live with Jack?”

He nodded and she rolled her eyes. “Griffin, I had my chance to live with Jack. I chose you. This is a conversation we should stop having, as well, you know. I don’t want Jack that way. He’s my friend, and that’s all.”