The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,54

night forever,” Emily said with a hopeful smile.

Finley thanked her—and hugged her again—and then it was time for her to go downstairs and wait for Jack. She slipped a hooded black cloak over her shoulders and fastened it at the throat, then she left.

When she reached the great hall she was brought up short by the sight of the devil himself. Standing before her was a tall, lean man in head-to-toe black. Glossy dark hair curled about his shoulders and a black mask covered most of his pale face, leaving only his full mouth and dark eyes visible. The top of the mask came up on either side to curve into horns, and a long, barbed tail peeked out from beneath the back of his long coat.

Emily gasped at the sight. The devil grinned, revealing bright white teeth, and bowed formally from the waist.

“Hello, Treasure. Care to introduce me to your friend?”

Pick-a-Dilly Circus was housed in a great domed building near Covent Garden. Colorful banners ran from a pinnacle on the roof to various points along the edge of the building before trailing to an end down the wall. From the street, one could hear music over the busy din of evening traffic and clamoring crowds.

The grounds were filled with those merrymakers who hadn’t the fare or inclination to go inside. Inside was where most of the aristocrats would be, so they could avail themselves of all entertainments. Outside there would be small amusements, but food and drink were available to all as were the music and dancing.

Griffin peered from the cutout eyes of his mask—the eyes and nose of a lion—as his carriage approached the chaos. He shouldn’t have come. Drunken revelry held no appeal to him for the simple reason that drinking or opiates often made it difficult for him to control his abilities. Therefore he had to remain sober—and being sober made being around people who weren’t all the more tedious.

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