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The Steampunk Chronicles (in reading sequence)

THE STRANGE CASE OF FINLEY JAYNE

(ebook prequel)

THE GIRL IN THE STEEL CORSET

THE GIRL IN THE CLOCKWORK COLLAR

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The Girl with the Iron Touch
Kady Cross

www.miraink.co.uk

For Jess Lanigan, who has hand-sold this series, talked it up to anyone who will listen and makes me feel like a superstar. Thank you for your incredible enthusiasm and for reminding me what it feels like when the future is full of nothing but promise. You break my heart, girl, and I love you to bits.

For TS, probably the sweetest—and tallest—editor I’ve ever had. Thank you for getting behind this series, and thank you to everyone at my publisher (Natashya, Lisa, Mary) for being so fabulous to work with.

For Miriam, my agent and my friend who believes in me no matter what. You rock, my dear.

This book is also for Steve, because he lets me sing when we play Rockband, never blinks when I dye my hair or asks me, ‘Are you really going out in that?’ A long time ago I made a wish and then you came true. Thanks, babe.

Chapter 1

London, Autumn, 1897

A giant tentacle slapped the front of the submersible, driving the small craft backward in the water. A crack no wider than a hair split across the view screen as suckers the size of dinner plates pulled free.

“Mary and Joseph,” Emily O’Brien muttered as murky water from the Thames began to seep in through that crack. A sound like breaking ice followed as pressure from the outside pushed against the glass, demanding to get inside like a rowdy drunkard at a tavern door.

“Goin’ up!” she yelled. “The control room’s been breached!” She shoved hard on the guiding lever, forcing the vehicle to rise quickly.

The crack grew.

Emily held her breath.

The glass popped—another crack shot downward.

She should have covered the glass with a protective metal grid.

Water spilled onto the control panel. Sparks flew. Emily pulled her goggles down over her eyes and shoved against the lever, as though she could make the craft move faster with sheer force of will.

Well, actually she could probably do just that.

Water ran onto her boots. The glass was a spiderweb of cracks. Any second the entire thing would burst inward, cutting her to ribbons before she drowned.

Her jaw set stubbornly. Fear was for the weak. “This is not my day to die!” She tore off her gloves and set her bare hands against the sub’s control panel. She took a deep breath, ignored the tiny trickles of icy water that ran beneath her palms and commanded the craft to rise. The mechanized workings of the craft recognized the order and jumped to do her bidding.

The sub shot upward so quickly she lost her footing, landing hard on the wet floor. Daylight flooded the cabin as the glass shattered. Daylight, not water.

“Emily!” cried a voice in her ear. “Em!”

“I’m all right,” she replied. Later she’d smile over the worry in Sam’s voice. With the amount of time she’d spent worrying over him, it was nice to have the tables turned.

Her enjoyment was brief. She rose up on her hands and knees only to slip on the wet metal beneath her boots. Pain exploded in her chest as she hit the metal floor. A tentacle as thick as her waist whipped the air where her head had been not two seconds earlier as she rolled to her back. Suckers attached to the ceiling and pulled. The submersible’s nose pitched down, cold, pungent water spilling inside the jagged hole left by the shattered glass.

Emily grabbed hold of the foot of the ladder to keep from tumbling through that hole. Her chest hurt from the fall, and from her heart pounding against her ribs. Were they broken or just bruised? Would one pierce her lung?

It wouldn’t matter if the beastie pulling her under the water succeeded in killing and probably devouring her. She’d take her chances on a punctured lung.

Cold, dirty water sloshed over the tops of her boots and soaked through her woolen trousers as she pulled herself to her knees. Clinging to the ladder, she rose to her feet and began to climb. Her sodden clothes and sloshing boots worked against her, keeping her movements slow and awkward.

She turned the wheel on the ceiling hatch, arms straining as she pushed against it. The Thames rushed into the craft over the jagged opening in the front of the craft. She had but seconds before it was completely pulled under. A tentacle brushed her leg. She shuddered, heart racing. Emily put all of her strength into opening the hatch, ignoring the burning in her chest and arms.

The lock disengaged with a thunk. She pushed the hatch open and scampered up the ladder as the tentacle reached for her once more. The rubbery flesh looped around her boot, but she yanked her leg up before it closed around her leg like a vice. She climbed onto the top of the submersible and slammed the hatch on the slick, gray appendage, amputating the tip. It slid away, leaving a bloody trail.

A roar escaped from the water. Emily looked up in time to see the Kraken rise out of the river. And though it had been a long time since she’d been to church, or even believed in God, she crossed herself.

“Emily!”

It was Sam. He stood on the dock, the helmet off his underwater suit, a look of absolute terror on his rugged face. It was that look that decided her fate. She was not going to let him see her die. He might be physically the strongest person in the world, but inside he was as soft as a puppy.

And she loved him for it.

So Emily ran. The submersible shook as another tentacle hit—the Kraken was coming for her. She almost slipped but kept moving. Her fingers fumbled at her belt, pulled the gun strapped there free of its holster. She aimed it at a point just above Sam’s head—the building behind him—and pulled the trigger.

A thin rope with a claw attachment on the end shot from the gun and latched on to the wooden building. Emily wrapped both hands around the pistol and pulled the trigger again. She was yanked off her feet just as a massive tentacle came smashing down on the top of the submersible, driving it completely underwater. She sailed through the air like she’d been shot from a cannon—right into Sam’s arms.

He reached up and grabbed the taut line and pulled, yanking the claw free from the building so it could retract without pulling Emily any farther. Behind her, the monstrous sea beast thrashed in the Thames, sending waves as big as fishing boats crashing onto the dock.

Her shoulders hurt from being jerked like a fish on a hook. Sam’s chest was warm and broad. I could stay here all day, Emily thought. She glanced up into intense eyes almost as dark as his hair. “Thanks, lad.”

He didn’t speak. He just held her. Her heart thumped. Was he going to kiss her? Because she would like that, very much, even if she did have the faint whiff of chamber pot about her from the river.

A sound like the igniting of a gas lamp—a hiss and pop—broke through the air, destroying the moment. What the devil…?

Both Emily and Sam turned to see Griffin, the Duke of Greythorne, in wet shirt and trousers, kneeling on the deck as though he’d been struck by more than just a foul-smelling wave.

“Bloody hell,” Sam whispered.

Emily followed his gaze. Her jaw dropped. Bloody hell, indeed.

The Kraken hovered just above the surface of the Thames, trapped in a watery bubble of bluish light. It waved its tentacles but remained held. The thing was as big as several carriages stacked together, and yet it reminded her of the glass globes her mother used to admire—the ones that were filled with water and particles of white substance that looked like snow when shook. Only this globe held the largest sea creature she had ever seen, and made it seem as ineffectual as a delicate crystal novelty.

Finley Jayne, Emily’s good friend and fellow member of Griffin’s little group, ran forward to help him, yanking off the helmet of her underwater suit. Finley was a pretty girl—honey-colored hair with a streak of black in the front, and amber eyes. It was no secret she and Griffin had feelings for each other, though they’d continued dancing around them since returning from America a few months ago.

“I’m worried about him,” Sam said as he released Emily.

She tried to hide her disappointment. “Griffin? Me, too. He looks so tired.”

Together they approached the other couple. Jasper joined them. He was a blond, green-eyed American with more charm than sense and the ability to move faster than humanly possible. Like the rest of them, he wore a diving suit. He, Sam and Finley had tried to secure cables from Emily’s craft to the Kraken, so they could capture it, but the monster had proved too wily. Griffin had remained on the dock to use his own abilities to assist.

He’d ended up capturing the bloody thing all by himself. His power was increasing—a fact that was as frightening as it was awesome.

Finley helped Griffin to his feet. His reddish hair was a damp mess and his gray-blue eyes were heavy. “Aetheric containment field,” he told them. “It will hold it until the Royal Society gets here.”

His friends exchanged glances. To have conjured such a huge amount of energy from the Aether and directed it so precisely was a remarkable feat. Griffin had been honing his skills like mad as of late, though he didn’t care to explain why. That had everyone worried, because previously Griffin had said he was reluctant to give too much of himself to the Aether for fear it would consume him.

Emily worried it had begun to do just that.

“Tarnation,” Jasper murmured, his attention turning to the thing in the Aether bubble. “A real live Kraken. I always thought the stories were just make believe.”

So had Emily, though there’d been sailors about Ireland who’d told stories of seeing the giant octopuses on their travels. Kraken were monstrous creatures that could destroy a ship and devour its crew in as little as thirty minutes. Those who had seen one up close didn’t often live to tell about it, which explained why they were believed to be more myth than fact.

The Kraken they’d caught was a small one if the accounts were to be taken as truth. It was said that a mature Kraken could make a frigate look like a toy. Those large ones could overpower and snap the large ship like dry tinder.

If this was a young one, she hoped its mama didn’t come looking for it. It thrashed against its prison like a child in the middle of a tantrum, but Griffin’s power held fast. He refused to allow Finley to support him, and wavered slightly as he stood on the dock, palefaced.

Emily glanced back at the Kraken and at the energy that encased it. She shivered, and not just because of her damp clothes. Griffin’s power scared her at times; there seemed to be no rules or boundaries to it. The Aether was not only the spirit realm, but was made up of pure life-energy. Everything, living and dead, was part of it, fed it.

And as much as it fed Griffin, it also fed off him.

“You all right, Miss Emmy?” Jasper asked. While their plan had been for the underwater team to secure the Kraken, and keep it from attacking the dock, Emily had been charged with the task of trying to drive the thing to breach for capture. If that failed, the plan had been to try to force the thing out to sea once more.

“Right as rain, lad,” she replied. “Though I’m a wee bit concerned about the submersible. I don’t think there’ll be any saving her.”

The cowboy smiled. “Better to replace a ship than you, darlin’.” He winked and then walked toward a group of people who had just arrived in a large vehicle pulled by several automaton horses. The back of the vehicle was a huge metal tank.

“Looks like the Royal Society has arrived,” Sam announced. He hadn’t even bristled when Jasper flirted with her. While this was a good sign, showing that he trusted her and was secure in their relationship, a little jealousy wouldn’t have been unwelcome. She was becoming one of those foolish girls who wanted to be the center of the universe.

“That tank’s not very big.” She frowned. “It will fit, but just barely.”

He shrugged his incredibly broad shoulders. “It should hold until they get to the aquarium. It won’t be our problem regardless.”

He had a point. And perhaps it was for the best if the beast had limited movement for those giant tentacles could crush a man to death with the ease of snapping a twig.

To say the society people were amazed would be an understatement. They stared openly—not just at the Kraken but at the containment bubble, as well.

The Royal Society was scientifically driven, of course they’d be enthralled by what Griffin had conjured. Griffin didn’t look the least bit concerned—another disturbing fact. He had always stressed the need for secrecy, knowing full well that society would either fear them or exploit them for what they could do.

The Society’s driver backed the vehicle as close to the edge of the dock as was safe. Two men scampered up iron ladders bolted to the side of the tank to turn matching wheels. A loud clang—almost like that of a church bell too close to your head—sounded as the lid of the tank flipped open.

“How the devil do we get it into the tank?” One of the lady members asked.

A group of spectators had gathered round. Emily wasn’t the least bit surprised. There seemed to be nothing Londoners liked better than a scenario in which someone might get maimed or—if the onlookers were very fortunate—killed. Unfortunately, a crowd made the chance of an accident all too great.

“Maybe I can tip the carriage over the edge of the dock,” Sam suggested. “It would make driving the thing into the tank easier.”

Griffin shook his head at Sam and straightened his spine. He even waved Finley off as she tried to offer him support. Emily’s chest tightened. She’d known Griffin quite a while now, and she knew that stubborn expression on his face. What was he about?

The bubble containing the Kraken began to float toward the society’s vehicle. The crowd gasped in unison.

“Bloody hell!” someone gasped.

Sam scowled. “Now he’s just showing off.”

Emily stared as the water-filled Aether field slid down into the tank as carefully and precisely as though gently placed there by a giant, invisible hand rather than the force of Griffin’s will. The men on the tank slammed the top down as the bubble burst and water splashed over the side.

One of the men from the society turned to Emily and Sam, his eyes wide. “What did that?” His mustache twitched.

“It’s a new scientific advancement for the navy,” Emily lied, jaw clenched. “A device meant to save sinking ships or drowning men. It’s still being tested.”

“Brilliant,” the man replied, looking slightly dazed. “Simply brilliant. Who built it? I would very much like to ask the fellow to speak at one of our gatherings.”

Blast. “I cannot tell you that, sir. Only His Grace has that information, and you know how close he likes to hold such things.” And she was going to kick His Grace’s backside for such a blatant display of his abilities.

The man nodded and set off toward Griffin, who looked as though he might fall down at any moment. He swiped at his nose with a handkerchief, then shoved the linen in his pocket, but not before Emily saw the blood on it.

Damn fool. He wouldn’t learn his limits until his brain slid out his nostrils.

“You reckon sending him after Griff was a good idea?” Sam asked.

Emily scowled at him. “Let him tell his own lies. He wants to show off in public, that’s his business. He can ruddy well figure out how to explain it.” Maybe that wasn’t fair of her, but she was worried about him, afraid for him, and that often manifested as annoyance in her.

Thankfully people would believe that a machine could do such things. These days folks lapped up science like it was fresh cream and they were a hungry kitten. No, machines they could forgive for doing fantastic things. People, on the other hand, were a different kettle of fish.

People like the five of them—people who weren’t “normal”—scared the rest of the world. She’d read Mary Shelley’s book about the monster, Mr. Stevenson’s book about Jekyll and Hyde (said to have been based on Finley’s own father), Stoker’s vampire novel…none of them ended well for the character who wasn’t simply “human.” None of them—herself and her friends—were monsters, but she didn’t want to try arguing that point against a pitchfork and torch-carrying mob. To them there’d be little difference between herself and the Kraken.

Griffin’s little stunt called attention to them, just as Sam would have done if he’d moved that tank with his remarkable strength. A mob would be the least of their worries if people found out about them. Better the wrong end of a pitchfork than in a cage being poked and prodded, or in a freak show. Griffin’s power as a duke would help them, but she’d had to put it to the test.

The Royal Society packed up and left and the crowd dispersed, having realized that there was nothing more to see. Sam went to Griffin’s side and, after a few seconds, Emily followed after him. It would be stupid for her to remain apart when the rest of the group stood together. Petty, as well.

Finley turned to her as she approached. She looked bulky in her underwater suit, but she grabbed Emily up in a fierce hug. Good thing she was already wet and chilled.

“Are you all right?”

Emily nodded. “I’ll have a few bruises later, but nothing my wee beasties can’t fix. You?”

Finley shrugged. “As right as I’ll ever be. At least we got it.” The subtle shift in her voice said more than words ever could. We hadn’t gotten anything. Griffin was responsible for the thing’s capture. If she gave herself any credit it would be that she drove it to the surface so he could seize it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Emily suggested. “Griffin’s not looking so good.”

Griffin turned to shoot her an indignant glance. “Will the lot of you stop fussing over me like I was an invalid? I’m perfectly—” His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed to the rough wooden planks.

“Griffin!” Finley was the first to reach him, even though Sam was closer. She gave his pale cheek a light slap. “Griff?”

“Jasper,” Emily commanded, watching blood trickle from Griffin’s nose at an alarming rate. “Get the carriage.”

Chapter 2

“Has he said anything to you?” Finley asked Sam when they were back at King House in Mayfair. Griffin was in his room, asleep. He’d regained consciousness on the way home and insisted he was fine, he just needed to rest.

No one really believed that. But, this was his house. He was the Duke of Greythorne, and his power over the Aether had been known to topple buildings. His power had also been unpredictable as of late, so no one wanted to push him. Not because they were afraid of what he might do to them—Griffin was their friend—but because they were afraid of what he might do to himself. There was something wrong, and he wasn’t sharing it with his most trusted friends.

Sam shook his head. The four of them—Finley, Sam, Emily and Jasper—were gathered in the red parlor having sandwiches and little cakes for tea. “He’ll tell us if he wants us to know.”

“That’s the problem,” Finley shot back, in no mood for his brusque tone or ever-present scowl. She was hungry and she’d tied her corset a little too tightly. “He doesn’t want us to know. Which means he thinks we’ll worry. Which means whatever’s wrong with him is something we should worry about.”

“Blokes are different than girls,” Sam informed her—still scowling. “We don’t need to talk about every little thing. You don’t hear me whining when I break a nail.”

Finley’s own brows pulled together. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

“Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?” Sam asked sweetly. He seemed to take great pleasure in riling her. “Or are you afraid Griff might say something to me he might not tell you? If he had, I wouldn’t betray his trust by telling everyone.”

Finley’s shoulders straightened. She could kick him in the throat. That would remove the smug smile from his face. How did he manage to get under her skin and know what she was thinking sometimes? It wasn’t like Sam was all that bright, which meant she was completely obvious in her feelings. She’d have to change that.

But she was the one who’d cradled Griffin’s head on the ride home, and the one whose clothing was stained with his blood.

“No,” she agreed. “You’re a good little lapdog.”

His humor disappeared, replaced by a scowl darker than his usual. A muscle flexed in his jaw. Finley’s fingers curled into fists, her muscles tightening. If he wanted a fight she’d bloody well give him one….

“Oh, will you two please give it a rest? Just for a wee while?” Emily looked from one to the other like a school matron ready to apply a leather strap to both their backsides. “Regardless of what Griffin does or does not wish to share with us, there’s no denying something is very wrong. He is not himself. As his friends it’s our job to help him, not fight among ourselves over which of us knows more secrets or can better keep them.”

Sam at least look chastised, though Finley imagined that had more to do with the fact that censure had come from Emily rather than a true sense of remorse.

“He’s been getting worse since we returned from New York,” Finley said, and the others nodded in agreement, except for Jasper, who was looking out the window at the lawn beyond.

“It started the night Mei died,” the American said quietly, turning his head toward them. His handsome face wore no expression. This was the first Finley had heard him speak of that night in Manhattan when Griffin had used his abilities to prevent a group of criminals from escaping capture.

One of the criminals had his hand crushed. The other—Mei, a girl Jasper once loved—was killed. She glanced at Emily. The red-haired girl’s freckles stood out on her pale cheeks, her aqua eyes wide with sorrow. Sam looked down at his teacup. The delicate china was tiny in his large hands. Finley’s shoulders sagged. She was on her own, it seemed.

“You’re right,” she told Jasper. “It did start that night. Griffin hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened. It might…be helpful if he knew you had.”

Jasper nodded, his gaze drifting back to the window. It had started to rain since they’d returned to King House, where Jasper now lived with the rest of them. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

Silence fell around them, uncomfortable and thick. Finley took a sip of tea. It was hot and fragrant, replacing the last of the stench from the Thames that persisted in her nostrils even though she’d bathed and changed her clothes. She had put on a purple blouse and black frilly skirt that Griffin liked, but he wasn’t even going to see her in it.

No one spoke. It wasn’t like them to be this quiet, but it had become more and more commonplace since their return from America. They had saved Jasper from outlaw Reno Dalton, but at what price? The wretched thought refused to leave her alone.

And Griffin, who swore he trusted her, who knew so many of her secrets, wouldn’t tell her what he was going through. She felt as though he was trying to push her away, even though he seemed to enjoy being with her, especially when kissing was involved.

The sound of the doorbell made her jump. She giggled giddily—foolishly—at the relief that came with it. Finally, a diversion! The others looked to be just as pleased as she was.

When the door to the parlor opened, Finley rose to her feet to greet their guest. It was the sort of behavior expected from the lady of the house, and while Griffin had never formally called her such, he hadn’t told her she wasn’t, either. It was just one more confusing aspect of their relationship. His aunt Cordelia was off on some sort of adventure of her own, and no one else seemed to want the responsibility of dealing with servants and such. As someone who used to be a servant, Finley knew how life below stairs worked.

Mrs. Dodsworth, the housekeeper, appeared in the door frame. “Mr. Dandy to see you, miss,” she said. Only the slight tilt of her nose as she looked down it revealed what she thought of receiving such a notorious guest.

Jack? A diversion, indeed! Outside this house, she had very few friends, but Jack Dandy was a favorite, if for no other reason than he always knew how to cheer her up and often catered to her vanity. Finley grinned. “Show him in, please.”

The older woman nodded, clearly not pleased, and left.

“Dandy?” Sam was full-on scowling now. “What the hell does that scoundrel want?”

Finley returned his dark expression with one of her own. “You shouldn’t use words you can’t spell, mutton head.”

He rose to his feet, towering over her. Good grief, had he actually grown? “You shouldn’t invite people into a house that is not yours.”

She climbed onto the low tea table, moving the tea service with her foot, so that they were almost nose to nose. “This is as much my home as it is yours, mandroid.” The two of them had tangled before—Finley still had nightmares about how she had almost killed him—but that didn’t stop her from curling her hands into fists. I dare you, she thought as she glared at the dark-eyed boy. Take a swing.

A hand on her belly—just above the bottom edge of her corset—prevented her from getting any further into Sam’s face. The opposite hand pushed against his torso. Emily stood between them, small and determined.

A rose between two thorns. The wry thought almost made her smile, but then she saw the expression on the smaller girl’s face and she thought better of it.

“Get down from there,” Emily commanded, her Irish brogue thickened by annoyance. “And you, Sam Morgan, sit down, you great, foolish article! Do the two of ye have absolutely no idea of how to behave as proper? You’re worse than two dogs growling over the same bone.”

Shame tugged at Finley’s conscience, but she didn’t immediately step down. She waited for Sam to move first.

“You’ll be waitin’ a long time if you fink she’ll give in first, mate,” came a familiar voice from the door.

Finley didn’t have to look. She’d only ever met one person who spoke so atrociously and eloquently at the same time. “Jack!” She jumped down from the table and ran to him, boots thudding on the carpet.

He looked the same—impeccably dressed in head-to-toe black, hair falling in waves around the points of his lapels. His complexion was as fair as his hair was dark, making him incredibly striking—a fact of which he was well aware. He picked her up as she threw her arms around him, his own closing around her, strong and warm.

“It’s so good to see you!” It was true. She hadn’t seen him in weeks.

He gave her a squeeze before setting her back on her feet. “A right lovely sight are you as well, Treasure. Glad to see your sojourn to the colonies done you no lasting ’arm.” His dark eyes surveyed the room. “Where’s ’is pompousness? I’ve come to speak with ’im.”

Not just to see her then, Finley thought—a little glumly, were she honest. When she first met Jack she had been drawn to him, but not in the way he had wanted. Still, a girl liked attention now and then, didn’t she? Especially when the bloke she wanted was keeping secrets.

“His Grace is indisposed,” Sam informed him, stepping forward. His scowl had deepened. How was that even possible? “Next time make an appointment.”

Jack was a couple of inches shorter than Sam and at least two to three stone lighter, but didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, he looked amused. He tapped the end of his walking stick on the floor. “Don’t get your drawers all knotted up, Goliath. If I wants to court trouble I never ’ave to leave Whitechapel. I’ve come into possession of some information the likes of which I believe would interest Monsieur le duc.”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Finley suggested, gesturing for him to sit. Emily had pulled Sam aside and was talking at him animatedly, pointing a finger at him and frowning. Sam looked suitably chastised. “Would you like tea?”

Jack turned the full force of his intense gaze on her. It was as though he could see right down into her soul. Instinctively, she laid a palm over her brown leather corset, as though her flesh and bone might offer some protection against the feeling that she had done something wrong.

“Mistress of the ’ouse are you, Treasure? Can’t say as that I’m surprised.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Oh, good Lord, she was blushing! Blast him for embarrassing her. She raised her chin. “I’m not mistress of anything. I was just being polite.”

He held her gaze—longer than was proper. It wasn’t what he’d said that bothered her, but rather that he’d said it in front of the others. What she felt for Griffin was…private. Calling attention to it was very un-English of him.

And made her very aware that perhaps Jack’s feelings for her were still much deeper than friendship.

“My mistake,” Jack conceded, his voice soft. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d dropped that awful affectation of his in front of her. Doubtful that the others even heard him, especially Sam and Emily, who were having their own conversation, er…argument.

“Have a seat,” she said, and rang the bell for a fresh pot and another cup.

Finley didn’t speak to him while they waited for the tea, but her silence wasn’t because she didn’t know what to say—it was because Jack had gone straight to Jasper, leaving her standing by herself. Her hearing was exceptional, but she couldn’t eavesdrop on Sam and Emily and his conversation with the cowboy.