all the metal in his own body.
Leon looked surprised. “My dear sir, this work of art was my choice.”
His tankard hit the table with more force than intended. “Why the devil would you choose to be partially metal when that’s what took your hand in the first place?” There were other options—wood and wax for two.
Leon flexed the shiny appendage. Sam watched, entranced as the jointed fingers gracefully opened and closed. “I chose it because I made it. There’s not an artificial limb anywhere that can compare to this one. I can do everything a whole man can do—perhaps more, because I can do work so fine and intricate it would make your eyes cross.”
But Sam hardly heard him. “You built it.” Emily would find this man fascinating.
“Yes. I told you it was my choice.”
“Wish I’d had a choice,” Sam grumbled into his ale.
Leon frowned, leaning across the table. “What do you mean?”
Sam met his gaze. There was nothing but sincerity and confusion there. He made up his mind right then that Leon was someone he could trust—someone who just might relate to what he was going through. Who might understand.
“I mean, I wasn’t given a choice when an automaton tore my arm off. It was replaced with metal.”
The older man’s perplexed gaze immediately dropped to Sam’s hands. “But…but you are flesh!”
Sam took another drink, smiling for the first time all day. “It’s a long story.”
Leon signaled for the waitress again before turning and leaning his forearms on the table. “My friend, I have all night.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Griffin glanced up from his desk. He’d been sitting there for hours, and Emily was a welcome intrusion. Now he needn’t go looking for her. He smiled as he looked at her, noticing she was paler than usual. “Come talk, then.”
He left the desk as his friend came deeper into the room. He’d been poring over Thomas Sheppard’s notes—which he’d found in his father’s safe there in the study—trying to better understand Finley and how to help her. But Sheppard had been all about isolating parts of man’s personality, rather than bringing them together. He did have some research on rehabilitating the criminal and the insane, but Griff wasn’t about to try these methods on Finley.
At least he knew now what it was his father gave him to experiment with—the ore and a sample of Organites. He just couldn’t quite figure out how these things could have brought about the changes Sheppard mentioned. The answer was so close he could taste it, and it vexed him to the point where he was ready to break something.
“Have you found something in the automatons?” Griff asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat down on the sofa.
Emily shook her head. “Not yet.” She cast a nervous glance around the room, as though making certain they were alone. “That’s not why I’m here, lad.”
“Is it Sam?” It wasn’t like his friend to stay gone this long—though he had to be angry knowing what Griff had allowed Emily to do.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Emily shook her head. It was obvious she felt Sam’s absence, as well—and that she felt just as responsible as Griffin did for it. “No. It’s not about Sam. It’s about me.”
Griffin’s eyebrows shot up. Emily rarely talked about herself or her past. He wasn’t certain he was ready to hear whatever it was she was about to share. “What is it?”
“I’ve noticed lately I’ve been goin’ through some peculiar…changes.”
Oh, lord. Had no one ever talked to her about these things? Her mother? “What sort of changes?”
Her fingers tangled together in her lap. She had black beneath her nails from working in her laboratory. “Remember when you told me about how you first learned about your abilities?”
He nodded. “I told you about the first ghost I saw.”
“Three months ago, you told me you sometimes felt as though the Aether might swallow you whole if you let it.”
Griff closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have told her that. “I believe I said I thought my talents were increasing.”
She scooted closer, perching on the edge of her seat. “I think… I reckon something’s happening to me, lad. Something strange.”
Caught between curiosity, concern and irritation, Griffin frowned. “What is it, Em?”
“It might be better if I showed you.”
“Show me then.”
The girl got up from where she sat and hesitantly walked over to the phonograph in the corner. Instead of operating by setting a needle into a flat disc, Emily had moderated it to work with