The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,40
willing to try trusting him. He’d been genuinely upset to learn that his father had been involved with her father’s downfall. Maybe he felt as though he owed it to her to do what he could to keep her from suffering the same fate.
Dressed, she put her hair up in two messy buns on either side of her head. She squinted and leaned toward the cheval glass. Was that a streak of black in her hair? It was. It began right at the roots and continued down a bit before stopping abruptly. It was as though someone had started to paint this one-inch-wide section of her hair and then thought the better of it. Curious. It looked somewhat nice, she thought, but it would look better if it went all the way to the ends of her nondescript locks.
Finley left her room and hurried down the stairs to the great hall. It was there that she met up with Emily, who was carrying a small metal tray with what looked like medical instruments on it. The smaller girl looked tired and worried, her eyes rimmed with red. Finley slowed her steps.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Emily glanced up, as though she hadn’t even noticed Finley’s approach. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you. I was just coming to see you.”
Finley arched a brow as the Irish girl fell silent with a small frown, obviously distracted.
“What did you want to see me about?” she asked, noticing that what she thought was a headband was really a pair of strange goggles with interposing lenses on tiny brass arms.
Ropey red hair swung as Emily’s head shook. “Lord, I’m a dunderhead this morning. I need a wee bit of your blood. Griffin wants me to do some tests, see if I can’t figure out what’s going on with these abilities we all seem to have.”
“What’s wrong with you?” It didn’t come out as Finley intended. She didn’t mean to make it sound like Emily had a disease or something. She was just surprised that they had something in common. So surprised that she wasn’t even alarmed that Emily wanted her blood.
Pale cheeks turned light pink. “I can talk to machines.”
“Do they…talk…back?” It was all she could think to ask.
Emily actually laughed. “Not with words, no. But I can sometimes tell what’s wrong with them, how to fix them.”
“How very extraordinary.” Finley smiled. “Much more useful than tossing footmen through doorways.”
“I don’t know about that,” Emily replied. “I’ve often wished I could toss a particular fellow around.”
“Sam. He’s what’s got you so distracted, isn’t he?” Too late she realized it was really none of her business.
Emily blushed again, but she nodded. “Yes. He’s been spending as much time as possible away from here lately.”
Away from her—that was what she didn’t say and didn’t have to. Emily was as easy to read as an open book.
“He’ll come ’round,” Finley assured her, even though she had no way of knowing for certain. “You just wait. I wager he’ll be home tonight.”
Emily didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t look quite so down in the mouth anymore, either. “Perhaps. I suppose it’s out of my control, so I shouldn’t worry about it.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be concerned for a friend.”
The red-haired girl smiled at her then, and Finley was struck by how pretty she was when she was happy. “Thank you, Finley. It’s properly pleasant to have another lass in the house. The lads are lovely, but they’re rubbish at trying to make one feel less morose.”
Warmth filled Finley from the inside out. So this was what it was like to have a friend.
“I really should get a sample of your blood,” Emily remarked. “Then you can go on and have your breakfast. I’m sure I’m keeping you.”
Finley protested that she wasn’t doing any such thing, and they went to one of the parlors regardless, where Emily swabbed the crook of her elbow with a strong smelling liquid and then expertly pierced the flesh with a sharp needle. A few seconds later and she was done, placing a bandage on the spot and wrapping it in place. She could have told the little redhead not to bother—her blood clotted fairly quickly—but she liked having the company a little longer.
“I wonder if my blood looks like everyone else’s,” Finley thought aloud. “Or if it looks as different as I feel.”
“Everyone’s pretty much the same under the skin,” the other girl replied, putting her needle away. “Except for Sam, of course.”