The Girl in the Clockwork Collar

The bell chimed. They had reached their floor.

And just in time, too, because he had started to lean toward her.

The operator opened the sliding doors and bid them good-night. Griffin slipped him a tip for his trouble and was gifted with a grin and doffed hat in return.

After divvying up the keys, each of them went to their room so that their belongings could be taken inside. Griff peeled more notes from his money clip and pressed them into the eager hands of the boys who had brought their luggage.

His room was spacious and as luxurious as he expected, with a plush carpet, large, comfortable-looking bed and heavily draped windows, which afforded a spectacular view of 5th Avenue. He went to one of those windows and gazed out. New York looked like someone had captured the stars and dragged them down to Earth.

It was late, and he wanted to be up early so they could visit the jail and talk to Jasper—or talk to someone about Jasper. He would do whatever he could to help his friend, even buy his freedom, if necessary. There was no way he was going to allow Jasper to hang for a crime Griffin was certain he didn’t commit.

It was that worry hanging over him that kept him standing rather than undressing for bed as he ought. Instead he gave in to his restlessness and turned on his heel. Unpacking would wait.

Griffin closed the door behind him and quickly crossed the corridor to knock on the one opposite. He raked a hand through his hair as he waited, then he heard the sharp clunk of the bolt and the heavy wood opened.

“You should have asked who it was,” he cautioned. “I could have been anyone.”

Finley smiled as she pulled the door fully open. She looked as tired as he felt. Still, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. “I knew it was you. I heard you leave your room.”

Of course she had; she had that bloody sensitive hearing of hers. She was more than capable of defending herself, too. He just worried about her. She was far too reckless and confident at times. It would kill him to see her get hurt.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as she stepped back to allow him inside. It was set up much like his own, only with a different view, as her windows overlooked 34th Street.

“I thought maybe you might be interested in taking a walk,” he said, glancing around the room. She had already opened her luggage and begun unpacking. It was a little disconcerting, seeing her underthings, even though they were stacked in an open drawer. He looked away. “Those are lovely flowers.”

Finley glanced at the bouquet of cream tea roses on the dresser. “They were here when I came in. I assumed they were part of the décor.”

“I don’t have any in my room.” He took a closer look. “There’s a card.” He plucked the folded card stock from the blooms and offered it to her.

Frowning, Finley took it. “Perhaps it will tell us who they belong to.” But as soon as she opened the card, Griffin knew the answer. She looked surprised, pleased and perturbed, all at once.

“They’re from Dandy, aren’t they?” He didn’t really need her to respond. Who else would send her flowers? Not him, obviously.

She nodded, clearly bewildered. “How did he even know where to find me?”

Griffin shrugged and tried to look as though he didn’t care. “It would be easy to ascertain that we had left and for where. Then all he had to do was contact hotels.”

“Still, I don’t know why he’d bother wasting the time.”

“Don’t you?” Griff studied her face closely. “Surely you know he has feelings for you.”

Finley blushed. “We’re friends.”

As he ran one of his fingers along the petal of a rose, Griffin’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Perhaps you ought to enlighten Mr. Dandy as to that.”

“Do you believe I’ve led him on?”

He choked on a bark of laughter. “You spent the night at his house. Could you blame him for making assumptions?”

Hands fisted on her hips, Finley glared at him. “And I live with you. What assumptions have you made, Your High and Mightiness?”

He should have stayed in his room. “None. I know better then to assume anything where you are concerned.”

Instead of placating her, it only made her frown deepen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Griffin shrugged. He couldn’t win. “Nothing, Finley. It means nothing. I’m sorry I bothered you. Good night.”

He moved to the exit and had just wrapped his hand around the brass knob when a hand slapped flat against the door. He turned the knob and pulled, but the door refused to budge—she was that strong.

Slowly, Griffin turned his head toward her, his temper and his power rising. The runes tattooed on his neck and shoulders to help him focus his abilities warmed and tingled. Only Finley had the ability to get under his skin like this. She made him think and act like an idiot. “Don’t make me blow this thing off its hinges,” he said, voice low.

Her eyes sparkled with disbelief, taunting him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Not like I can’t afford to replace it.”

“Where would you expect me to sleep in the meanwhile?”

“I’m sure I can think of someplace.” Yes, he could. As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back. Heat crept up his cheeks.

Finley’s lips parted on a soft gasp, and he noted with some pleasure that her cheeks darkened, as well. He also noticed that she did not immediately drop her hand from the door.

Her other hand, however, came up to touch his face. Her fingers were cool against his cheek. It took all of his strength, but he wrapped his hand around hers and pulled it away. “I care about you, Fin. More than I should probably admit, but I’m not going to share you or fight for your affection.” Then—because he couldn’t help himself—he kissed her fingers.

“Good night, Finley.” He opened the door and stepped over the threshold. When the door clicked shut behind him, Griffin tried not to be too disappointed that she hadn’t tried to stop him.

* * *

It was a good thing Dalton’s men had taken his guns, because Jasper would have shot the rat between his eyes without much of a thought—he was that angry. Angry and helpless.

He was still angry hours later, standing alone at one of the windows in his “cell.” It was well past midnight, but if he went to bed, he’d only stare at the ceiling.

Of all the secrets and weapons his former friend could have used against him, why did it have to be Mei? He knew why—because Dalton knew Mei was the best weapon to use against him, his guarantee that Jasper wouldn’t try to escape.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and breathed deep through his nose, but it didn’t make him any less angry. He hadn’t seen Mei since he left San Francisco a year ago. He’d left to protect her. And he had hidden Dalton’s blasted stolen contraption not only to ensure his own life, but to keep Dalton from becoming an even snakier rascal.

He should have known better than to leave her alone.

If he had just washed his hands of the situation, let Dalton have his contraption before escaping to England, he wouldn’t be in this mess and Mei would still be safe. He should have taken her with him. But she hadn’t wanted to leave.

When he thought of all the things that could have happened to her in Dalton’s clutches…

The sound of a key in a lock brought his head up. Slowly, he turned as the hinges creaked and the door eased open.

He expected to see Little Hank, his knuckles wrapped to deliver another beating, but the person who entered was more than a foot shorter than the thug.

“Mei.” To say he was surprised to see her was an understatement. “How… What are you doing here?”

She set a finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet as she closed the door. She was dressed as she had been earlier that evening, and the Western style seemed odd on her, even though the fabric was Chinese. He was so used to seeing her in more traditional clothing. When they were shut in, she locked the door once more from the inside. Gracefully, she moved toward him, her hair shining in the lamplight. “I had to come see you,” she explained.

“How did you escape your quarters to get the key?”

“The key is on a hook outside the door.” Delicate hands went to the collar around her throat but didn’t quite touch it. “This is my prison. I can move about the house however I wish, but if I try to leave, it tightens.”

Jasper reached out to touch it. “Can’t you just take it off?”

She stepped back, avoiding his hand. “Don’t. If anyone else touches it, it sets off the tightening mechanism. It will strangle me, and you will have to ring for Dalton. I do not want him to know I am here.”

Damn Dalton. Jasper’s jaw tightened. “How long has he had you?”

“Only a few months. He found me in Chinatown. I had gone back to the house.”

By “the house,” she meant Ms. Cameron’s. Donaldina Cameron had been helping girls and women brought over from China for more than twenty years. A lot of the females were sold into domestic slavery or prostitution once they arrived in the city, as they were illegal immigrants. Jasper had worked for Ms. Cameron as a rescuer and, on occasion, a protector. That’s how he had first met Mei—when he rescued her from being sold to a merchant.

The same merchant for whose death he was wanted.

Dalton hadn’t liked that Jasper helped the house. He thought Jasper should talk Mei into convincing some of the girls to work for him instead. He referred to it as “diversifying his business practices.” Jasper had never been above helping relieve a few richies of a little pocket change—he had to eat—but he drew the line at profiting from another’s pain.

“He went to Ms. Donaldina’s?” That was ballsy, even for Dalton.

Mei shook her head, her poker-straight hair sliding about her shoulders. “I was trying to rescue another girl. He found me.”

Jasper’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Did he hurt you?” He’d kill Dalton with his bare hands if he had to.

Dark eyes widened as Mei gazed at him. “No. He didn’t want me for…that. He only took me because he knew he could use me to get to you.”

And he had been right.

“He put that collar on you to keep both of us in line.”

She nodded. “Yes.” And then, “It’s good to see you, Jasper.”

Despite his frustration and anger, Jasper smiled. “It’s good to see you, too.”

She turned away, but not before shooting him a glance that was as coy as it was shy. Mei stood at the dresser and ran her fingers over his old, battered hat. The Brits called it his “cowboy” hat, but he had never worked with cattle in his entire life, though he had once slept in a train car full of them. Like big dogs, only they stank worse than any hound ever could.

“Did you miss me at all?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied with a frown. It wasn’t the sort of question a fella felt comfortable answering. “Did you miss me?”

Mei tossed a satisfied smile over her shoulder at him before gliding to the bed and leaning against one of the tall posters. “I knew you’d ask.”

“You asked first,” he reminded her with a shrug. “Figured since I was being honest, maybe you would, too.”

“Still as prickly as you always were about your feelings. Yes, I missed you. I missed you very much, Jasper Renn. You left me all alone.”

There was just enough bite to her words to get Jasper’s backbone up. “I left so the law would think I was guilty. I left to protect you.”

“And here we are.” She gestured to the collar around her neck. “Maybe I would have been better protected had you stayed.”

Her accent was thickening. It always did when she was riled up. It used to get to the point where he didn’t understand half of what she was saying, her English would get so bad.

“Mei, you and I both know if I had stayed, they would have hanged me for murder. Is that what you wanted?”

“Of course not!” She glared at him. “How can you ask me such an awful question?”

“Because you’re angry at me for protecting you.” He would not shout, no matter how much he wanted to.

“For all the good it did!” She threw her arms out to her sides. “Look at where we are!”

Jasper drew a deep breath. It wasn’t Mei he was angry at; it was Dalton—and himself. “I’m going to get both of us out of this mess. Promise.”

She actually looked surprised. “Us?” She glanced at him as she moved away from the bed, toward the dresser again. “You are going to get Dalton his device?”

Jasper caught sight of himself in the mirror. His light brown hair stood up in all directions. He raked a hand through the mess but it only made it worse. “Yeah—I’m going to get it for him. What other choice do I have?”

She kept her attention fixed on his hat once more, rather than him. “You could try to escape. Run.”

“And leave you with him?” He made a scoffing sound. “Blossom, you know me better than that.”

The old nickname he’d given her brought color surging to her cheeks.

“You do not owe me anything, Jasper. I do not wish to have the responsibility of your life on my hands.”

“Too bad, ’cause I’ve got yours on mine.”

Her full lips thinned, and then she snatched the shaving mug from the top of the dresser and threw it at him. Suddenly, everything around him slowed as Jasper reached out and snatched the mug from the air.

Gone was her frown, replaced by shock. “You’ve gotten faster.”

“And you’ve gotten crazier,” he replied with a grin. “Come here.”

He set the mug aside as she came toward him. When he opened his arms, she stepped into the embrace, wrapping her arms around him as though she was a human version of the collar she wore.

“Can we do this?” he asked, softly. “The collar…”

Mei shook her head. “As long as you don’t touch it, we are fine. You can touch me.”

Jasper pulled her closer and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger for me,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I can help you escape—tonight.”

He shook his head, his arms tightening around her. Old feelings came rushing back so hard and fast he felt unsteady on his own feet. He had loved her once, and now he knew he had never stopped.

“Don’t talk so loose,” he replied. “I’m not leaving you here. I’ll fix this. Trust me.”

Mei lifted her chin, and Jasper found himself staring into the dark brown of her eyes—so dark they were almost black. He felt like he was drowning. He lowered his head, and when he pressed his lips to hers, suddenly, there was only the two of them in the world. It was as though they’d never said goodbye—as though a murder hadn’t driven them apart.

* * *

The building referred to as “the Tombs” might have been stately were it not so…grimy. It was built in the Grecian style with thick pillars out front and shallow steps leading to the front door. But the structure’s purpose showed itself in the sorry state of the stone and the many criminals who darkened its doors.

“You really think Renn’s in there?” Sam asked from where he stood at Griffin’s left.

Griffin glanced at his friend, who was a few inches taller—and many broader—than he. “We’re only a few days behind him. This is where he should have been brought.”

Sam shrugged. “Unless they hanged him already.”

“Eloquent and succinct as always, Samuel,” Griff commented, making a face.

“What?” Sam’s rugged countenance was all innocence. “I don’t wish it on Renn, but if he is a murderer, there’s a chance they’ve done him already.”

“Let’s hope the American judicial system is as slow as our own and that Jasper is alive and here.”

Sam stuffed his hands in his coat pockets as they climbed the worn steps. “I still don’t understand what you hope to do here. It’s not as though they’re going to hand him over to us just because Your Grace doesn’t like people interfering in what you consider your business.”

“I just want to see him,” Griffin replied, pulling open the door. “I want to hear his side of the story.” He ignored the other remark—partly because Sam didn’t know what he was talking about and partly because the lout was right. Jasper was his friend and someone had taken him. Griffin didn’t like that.

“There’s a chance you won’t like what he says.” There was no censure in Sam’s tone, only caution.

Griff nodded, his jaw tight. “I know.” And that was why he had to see his friend. He had to know the truth before he decided whether to come back one evening and use his abilities to blow a hole through the side of the building to get Jasper out. After what happened during their battle with The Machinist, he was certain he could do it, but only if Jasper was innocent.

And he had no doubt his friends would help—even Finley, whom he hadn’t seen since last night’s fiasco in her room. He supposed he owed her an apology for his behavior, but he wasn’t the least bit sorry for any of it—only that he’d noticed the bloody flowers in the first place. But that wasn’t important right now. He pushed all thoughts of Finley aside and concentrated on the matter at hand: Jasper.

The inside of the jail was no more inviting than the outside—less so. It was doubtful that anyone here would be impressed by his title. There were men in shackles or body bonds—bands that clamped both arms tight to a person’s side so they couldn’t move them. They were accompanied by lawmen, some of whom had automaton companions for extra muscle. Griffin noted that Sam—who had been brutally attacked by a machine—didn’t seem overly bothered for once by the metal men.

Griffin approached the counter and the tired-looking man behind it. “I beg your pardon, but I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

The man raised a gray brow and stared at Griff with tired eyes. “And who would that be, Your Highness, the Queen of Sheba?” Then over his shoulder, “Hey, Ernest. You seen the Queen of Sheba?”

A portly man with thick mutton sideburns chuckled as he turned a wheel on the wall, closing a heavy iron gate beyond the counter. “Not recently, George.”

It took all of Griffin’s will not to roll his eyes. Sam, however, was not so amused. “Watch your tongue, troll. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Sam…” Griffin warned.

George’s expression of wary amusement faded, replaced by a scowl Griffin recognized as the offended pride of a little man with too much power. “No, I don’t know, and I don’t care. But you watch your tongue, mister, or I’ll lock you up.”

Hands curled into fists, Sam took a step forward, violence promised in his posture and expression. Griffin stopped him with a hand on his arm, his gaze directed at the man behind the counter. “Excuse us.” He pulled Sam aside. “What the devil is the matter with you?”

Sam glared at him. “He can’t talk to you like that.”

“My title is worth very little here, Sam. He doesn’t care who I am, and he can speak to me however he likes. You getting angry is just going to make him all the more obnoxious or, worse, get you locked up, as well.”

“I’d like to see the bounder try.” There was a gleam in Sam’s dark eyes that usually meant trouble.

Exasperated, Griffin let go of the larger boy’s arm. “That would be a great plan if we knew for certain Jasper was here—and that he was innocent. But if you want to get arrested, go ahead. I’ll go back to the hotel and explain it all to Emily.”

That took the fight out of Sam’s expression. “Right. We’ll do it your way, then.”

Griffin clapped him on the back. “Good man.” He turned back toward the desk and discovered that his place had been taken by a man in a long duster coat and a hat much like the one Jasper usually wore. The sight of him made Griffin reluctant to make his presence known to the guard once more. He didn’t think cowboys were much more common in New York than they were in London.

Sam stopped, as well, and the two of them shared a glance before turning their attention to the stranger and what he was saying.

“Excuse me, friend, but I wonder if you might be able to give me some information.”

Griffin watched out of the corner of his eye as the cowboy offered George what appeared to be several dollars.

The guard took the money and gave the man a gap-toothed smile as he tucked the bills in his pocket. “Happy to do what I can, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a young fella by the name of Jasper Renn. Is he here?”

Sam and Griff exchanged another look as George flipped through the sheaths of papers in front of him. After what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his head. “Nothing. Nobody by the name Renn here.”

“You’re certain?” Even though Griffin couldn’t see the man’s face, he knew he was frowning. “I heard he was being transported to New York City from London.”

George shrugged. “He wasn’t brought here.”

Griffin swore under his breath. “This is bloody marvelous,” he muttered, turning so the man wouldn’t hear.

“You think maybe he changed his name?” Sam whispered.

Griffin shook his head. “Jasper Renn’s his real name. That’s the one the men who came after him used—the name that was on the poster.” Maybe it was an alias, but it was the name the men would have used to lock him up.

“Then where the devil is he?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I have no bloody idea.”

The cowboy was talking again, so Griffin turned his attention back to him and the helpful George.

A tanned, slightly callused hand thrust a card toward the guard. “Name’s Whip Kirby. I’m a marshal from San Francisco.” His voice was strong, as though he wanted to be heard.

That was where Jasper was from. A marshal. So he was a lawman, then. Had he been sent to pick up Jasper and perhaps take him west? If so, where was Jasper?

“I’m not sure I can offer any further assistance, Marshal.” George’s tone and expression were wary now—as though he thought Kirby might ask a favor.

“Probably not, friend,” the lawman drawled. “But if Renn should happen to show up, perhaps you’d be so kind as to send word to me at this address.” He slid a card across the desk on top of more bills. “I’d be mightily obliged.”

George’s eyes lit up at the prospect of perhaps relieving the marshal of yet more money. “I’ll keep an eye out for him, sir.”

Kirby tipped his hat. “Thank you.” He turned to leave.

“Say,” George said, stopping him. “What’s this Renn done, anyway?”

The lawman paused. “I want to talk to him about a murder that took place a couple years ago in San Francisco.”

Sam’s elbow struck him hard in the ribs, and Griffin had to swallow his pain rather than voice it aloud. He shot his friend a dirty look, to which Sam managed to look passably apologetic.

“Who was killed?” George asked with obvious interest.

“Businessman. Important fella with a family and friends who want his killer brought to justice.” He rocked back on his heels. “While we’re talking, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of a fellow by the name of Reno Dalton?”

George shook his head. “Can’t say that I have. He in cahoots with your guy?”

“Might be,” the marshal replied with a slight smile. He tapped his finger against the card on the desk. “You hear anything about either one of them, you let me know, won’t you? One lawman to another?”

George grinned. “Sure thing, Marshal.”

Kirby turned on his heel. What the still-smiling George couldn’t see was that the tall man’s smile vanished in a blink, replaced by an expression that Griffin could only describe as annoyed distaste.

“He was much more effective with Georgie Porgie than you were,” Sam commented when Kirby was well out of earshot. “You should have offered the git money.”

“I might have,” Griffin informed him with a scowl, “if you hadn’t slipped several notches down the evolutionary ladder with him. Thump your chest for me, and I could sell you to the zoo I’ve heard they’re building in the Bronx.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Griffin didn’t wait for his reply. He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. “Coming?” he called over his shoulder.