You owe Finley an apology.” Griffin and Cordelia were alone now, having sent Finley to her room for rest—something the poor girl no doubt needed, along with time to process everything they’d learned that day.

Cordelia shot him a sharp look. “For trying to kill me? I think not.”

“For believing that she’d lied about her father,” Griff retorted, closing the study door. “She had no idea of what the man was up to.”

She picked up the chunk of teal ore he used as a paper weight and pretended to study it. “So she claims.”

“Cordelia, not even you are good enough an actress to put forth such a performance.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Finley Jayne is a victim in all of this, not our enemy. If anything, it’s my responsibility to help her.”

“For something that happened before you were born? Rubbish.”

“Why? You were content to blame her on the same criteria.”

His aunt pursed her lips and Griffin knew she couldn’t argue. “Our fathers made a mistake and now Finley’s paying for it. I think she deserves our help, don’t you?”

Cordelia shrugged somewhat sullenly. Times like this reminded Griffin that she wasn’t even ten years his senior.

Griffin sighed and pushed a button on the box atop his desk. “I’m going to have some coffee, during which I’m going to read Father’s notes on Thomas Sheppard. Then, I’m going to sit down with Finley. I can’t image how she feels knowing her father was the inspiration for Jekyll and Hyde.” That had been a tidbit that came out earlier in the afternoon—courtesy of Cordelia, of course.

His aunt set the ore on the desk once more. “Sheppard was careless. There was gossip. Of course he provoked Stevenson’s interest. Finley will do the same if she’s not careful, which she won’t be. She could call undue attention to all of us.”

And by that she meant Griffin most of all. He shook his head. “And that gives you the right to be mean to her?”

His aunt turned to stare at him, as though she could not believe he’d question her. “She pushed me out of her mind, not once but three times. Do you know the number of people who have ever been able to do that? None! Whether or not you want to admit it, that girl’s dangerous—and you treat her like a houseguest!”

“She is a guest.”

“Until she snaps someone’s neck. What if she attacks Emily?”

“She won’t.” If only he felt as certain as he sounded.

“You have no way of knowing that. Mrs. Dodsworth told me how she threw the footman as though he was nothing more than a toy. You put everyone in this house in danger by having her here. I cannot allow it.”

Griff stiffened. He met his aunt’s gaze carefully, fighting to keep his anger under control. “You have no say. It’s my house.”

Cordelia scowled, fists on her hips. “I am your guardian.”

“Do you really want to fight me, Delia? Because I’m certain the family solicitors will side with me.” Of course they would, they knew it was Griff’s fortune that paid their bills, that Cordelia ran things in name only. It was Griff who made estate decisions.

His aunt looked at him as though he’d slapped her. “She’s that important to you?”

He nodded. “She is. I can’t explain why, but I know she belongs here, with the rest of us.”

“She’ll never be able to be part of something while she’s two halves of a broken whole.”

Griff smiled slightly, knowing he’d won without driving too much of a wedge between himself and his aunt. “Then we’ll just have to put her back together.”

Cordelia arched a brow. “We?” But Griff knew she would help him. She always did. Sooner or later, she would see that he was right about Finley.

His coffee arrived—an entire silver pot full, piping hot and smelling like heaven. He poured some into the china cup and added cream and sugar. When it was the perfect color and sweetness, he took a drink. It was good.

Cordelia took her leave—she had plans for tea and had to change first. Griffin sat down at his desk after finding a journal of his father’s marked “Thomas Sheppard.” His father had kept copious notes on all aspects of his life—a habit Griffin did not share.

His father’s notes only backed up what Finley’s mother had told them—that Thomas Sheppard had been conducting experiments with his father on the dark vs. pure side of human nature. Sheppard took to experimenting on himself, unsure of what his potions might do to others. What he’d done had enabled his darker nature to totally obliterate his good, and vice versa. He split himself into two opposite halves. Apparently he tried to stop the experiments once he found out Mary was expecting Finley, but by then it was too late—the metamorphosis was happening on its own without the aid of chemistry. The damage had already been done. Though Sheppard hadn’t known it at the time, he had passed his affliction onto his unborn daughter.

Sadly, Thomas Sheppard was killed shortly before Finley’s first birthday. He’d been overtaken by a seizure away from home, metamorphosing into his dark self. He hurt someone who got in his way and that set the Peelers after him. In his quest to escape, Sheppard had tried to steal a carriage and was shot by the owner. The officers who took the wounded man to Scotland Yard were shocked when he changed from his almost bestial form into that of a soft-spoken scholar. Thomas Sheppard died before the surgeon could attend him.

His father’s notes went on to express a sense of responsibility for Mary Sheppard and her daughter, but the woman disappeared, refusing the duke’s help. There was also regret. Griffin’s father wrote, “If only I had not provided the catalyst for Sheppard’s drastic transformation. It makes me fear for my own family.”

What had his father given Sheppard? Was it the same mysterious “catalyst” as that which had caused both Griffin and Sam to develop their abilities? If so, why hadn’t they been driven mad like Sheppard? Why were they not affected in a similar fashion?

He turned his attention to the final notes on the page. His father was worried about Mary and her child, worried what effects their experiments might have had upon Sheppard’s daughter.

Poor Finley. Not only had she discovered the tragic truth about her father, but she must be terrified that the same fate awaited her.

Despite her violence against Cordelia earlier, he believed it was possible for Finley to control her darker side. In fact, he believed that uniting the two sides of her nature was the only answer. No person was entirely good or entirely evil—one side could not exist without the other. He just had to figure out how to make Finley whole again.

He poured another cup of coffee—his third since sitting down—and rose from his desk. He wanted to research Thomas Sheppard on the Aether engine, as well, but before that he wanted to check in on Finley. He needed to go down into Emily’s laboratory and talk to her about the defective automatons—and about Sam, who was notably absent once again.

He also wanted to contact an acquaintance of his who ran in a different circle than he did. Jasper Renn was an American he’d met late last year. In fact, the cowboy had saved him from having his head coshed in by a band of ruffians intent on robbing a fancy toff. If not for Jasper, Griffin would have been forced to use his abilities in public, and that wouldn’t have been a good thing. Afterward, Griffin had brought Jasper back to the house for a drink and a little of Emily’s medical attention for his wounds. Since then, the two of them enjoyed a mutually beneficial friendship—helping each other out of trouble and occasionally attending a mech-boxing match together.

Jasper spent a lot of time in the gaming hells and clubs around Covent Garden and other east-end establishments. If there was talk about these automatons and their maker on the street, then he would know of it.

Griffin had to get to the bottom of these automaton attacks. He couldn’t ignore them just because Finley Jayne posed such an intriguing problem in such a pretty package.

And she was pretty—even when off her rocker. In that respect, she was every bit as dangerous as Aunt Cordelia seemed to think.

It was a good thing, then, that he enjoyed a little danger now and again.

“You look like a man in need of a drink.”

Sam looked up from his empty tankard. Leon, his friend with the mechanical hand, stood beside his table. “If I have another, I’m likely to fall asleep in a puddle of drool on this table.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Leon asked in his melodic accent—Italian, he’d said he was—as he sat down.

Sam smiled. “It’s a dirty table.”

His companion chuckled. “This is the second time I’ve found you here, my friend. You’re obviously troubled. Perhaps I can help.”

It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to declare that an impossibility—that no one could possibly help him—but then his gaze fell upon Leon’s etched, metal hand.

“Do you ever regret that?”

Leon, who had at this point raised his other hand to signal for a waitress, glanced at the metallic appendage. “What, this? No. It’s not quite as good as the real thing, but you would be surprised at just how much I am able to do because of this marvel of modern science.”

Sam almost snorted, but didn’t. “You don’t mind being part machine then?”

The older man frowned—just as two tankards of ale were set on the table between them by a round-faced, ginger-haired girl. “Of course not. Does it bother you? I can wear a glove.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. Making the man wear a glove just because he couldn’t stand himself seemed stupid. “Don’t do that. It doesn’t bother me.”

Leon smiled. “You are just curious, yes? I get a lot of that. People wanting to know how I came about to have it. You have yet to ask me.”

Sam shrugged. “None of my business. I figure you’ll tell me if you want me to know.”

His companion lifted his tankard to his mouth. His dark eyes shone with something that looked like amusement. “It was an accident. I was working on a burrower automaton and my hand got caught in the gears.”

“A burrower?” Sam’s mouth went dry as he fought back memories of his own experience with a large machine. Diggers were larger as they dug into the earth rather than drilling into it as burrowers did. Still, a burrower could do a lot of damage to a man. “That’s awful.”

Leon inclined his head. “It was, but I survived. Now, I’m more careful when I work on any machine, automaton or no.”

“You still work with them? Aren’t…aren’t you afraid?”

“I was, for a bit, but the automaton did not hurt me on purpose. It was my fault, not the machine’s. I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.”

Sam lifted his tankard to his lips. He was starting to sober up. “Kind of a slap in the face, though, them giving you a metal hand.” He couldn’t help but think of 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 metal punch cards of her design. They wouldn’t “warp” like discs or scratch so easily. And instead of winding it, there was a tiny steam engine built in so it could play for longer periods of time, punch card after punch card.

Emily, looking tiny in her knee-length ruffled trousers, billowy shirt and grungy leather corset, tugged absently on one of the ropes of her bright red hair as she reached a pale hand toward the machine. Griff watched in amazement as the phonograph whirred to life at her touch. Emily closed her eyes, an expression of concentration on her face. The phonograph shuffled through the punch cards until it found a harpsichord piece Griff knew to be one of Emily’s favorites. As the song began to play, the volume increased, as well—all without Emily even turning the key to start the machine’s engine. Technically, the phonograph wasn’t even on.

The music played for a few brief moments, but ended abruptly when Emily removed her hand. She looked at Griff over her shoulder. He couldn’t tell if she was proud or terrified.

“I can tell them what to do,” she said. “Machines. And sometimes, I think I understand them, too.”

“Incredible,” Griffin remarked, awestruck. He had risen to his feet during the amazing demonstration and now leaned against the sofa. He ran a hand through his hair. Words eluded him.

Emily didn’t look so convinced. “What’s wrong with me?”

It hadn’t occurred to Griffin, who’d had “abnormal” abilities from a very young age, that these new talents would scare his friend. He supposed they felt the same way he would if suddenly he wasn’t able to consult the Aether.

“Dormant abilities?” It was a guess at best. Then he thought about it. Hadn’t he noticed changes in himself over the past six months to a year? Subtle changes, but the fact remained that his own powers had increased significantly. To the point where he fought for control at times.

“We’re evolving,” he murmured. He knew it sounded preposterous but what other explanation was there? “I don’t know why or how, but we are.”

“What about Sam?” Emily asked. “Has he mentioned any new abilities?”

“He might not be aware of any changes, or attributes them to his automatonic enhancements. Besides, I don’t think he’d tell any of us right now even if he had.”

“It’s not as though we can ask him,” Emily commented. “He’s off somewhere again.”

Griffin noticed how Emily’s face fell as she spoke. “Em, Sam’s behavior is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. You did what you did to save him and I told you to do it. If he wants to be angry about it, fine, but eventually he has to get his head out of his arse and be thankful he’s alive.”

Emily’s aqua eyes widened at that.

“Right now I’m more concerned as to the catalyst for these changes in us,” Griff went on. “There has to be something causing it, but what? There hasn’t been anything new in our lives.”

“I’ll run some tests,” Emily offered. “Check our water and our food—anything that gets brought into the house and used by all of us. There has to be somethin’. Changes like this don’t happen over a few months, they take years.”

“Hundreds of them,” Griff added. “Evolution is a slow and steady process. This is anything but. If something in this house is responsible for these changes, I know you’ll find it, Em.”

She blushed slightly. “I hope I’m as smart as you seem to think I am.”

“I know it’s a lot.” Griffin ran a hand through his hair. “You already have your hands full with the automatons. You tell me what you need and I’ll make sure you have it.”

Emily thanked him and Griff smiled. “Don’t thank me. You’re going to have me underfoot in the lab for the next couple of days. I want to do some tests on Finley’s blood.” Briefly he filled her in on what they’d discovered earlier that day. He left out the part about Finley threatening Cordelia.

Emily frowned. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that everyone who has had ties with your family is either dead or some sort of meta-human?”

Griffin hadn’t thought of that. He’d always been different, so these things sometimes escaped him when he was too caught up in particulars.

Emily jumped on that thought and took it further. “You and Sam grew up together, and both of you have had your abilities from a young age. Finley’s father made sure she was born with hers, but they didn’t manifest until she entered puberty. I’ve been around for a short time and now I’m changing, too. Lad, I think this has to do with you—rather than something we’ve been exposed to in this house.”

The answer smacked Griffin hard, like a slap to the face. “The Organites. Finley’s father was experimenting with them. Sam and I grew up around them, and you’ve been exposed to them since you first came here.” The answer he’d been searching for finally came. “My father said they were the wellspring of life, and that Sam and I had ‘evolved natural abilities.’ Finley’s father didn’t make himself a monster, the Organites simply evolved aspects of his nature to the highest degree.”

Emily’s eyes were wide with excitement. Griff could almost see the gears of her mind working. “We should test blood from all of us, not just Finley. I can compare it to samples I’ve taken in the past. If the Organites have changed us on a cellular level, I’ll find it.”

Griffin had no doubt that she would. Never had he been so glad that he had chosen her over one of her brothers to work for him as he was right then. Sometimes Emily’s intelligence scared him, while his own lack of perspective was sometimes so narrow he wanted to slap himself. “We’ll start tonight. I’ll send for Finley and you can take a sample from her, as well.”

“She’s not here,” Emily informed him, looking a little uneasy. “I saw her leave about an hour ago.”

“Leave?” She hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t even heard her. That could mean only one thing. Her dark side had taken over. He should have known this might happen given the stress of the day. How could he have been so careless?

“You want me to go look for her?” Emily asked.

Griff shook his head. He wouldn’t dream of letting Emily roam around at this time of night by herself. “You won’t find her if she doesn’t want to be found. No, get what you need to take my blood and your own. I’ll worry about Finley.”

And worry he would. The last time she’d gone out, she’d visited Jack Dandy, according to the quick glimpse Cordelia had seen into Finley’s mind. God only knew what kind of trouble she’d be getting up to tonight. Right now he had more important things to do than chase after her. Too many people were depending upon him.

He just hoped Finley didn’t get hurt. More importantly, he hoped she didn’t hurt anyone else.