“Going somewhere, dear?” There was an edge of alarm in her voice. Of course she was surprised. Other than the odd outing with Jack, Mila had never left the house unaccompanied before.

Say no, whispered a voice in her head. Ask for some cake and tea, and then go back upstairs where it’s safe and familiar. “I’m leaving.”

The woman’s eyes widened as color...drained from her face. “When should I tell Mr. Dandy you’ll return?”

Mila forced a smile. “I don’t expect to return, Mrs. Brooks. You may tell him that.”

“But...I don’t understand, child.” The woman wrung her hands. “Has he been cruel to you? Has he done you ill?”

“He hasn’t hurt me—not intentionally.” How did she explain when she didn’t quite understand herself? “He doesn’t see me—not as I am.”

Mrs. Brooks nodded as though she understood. In fact, a small smile curved her thin lips as her posture visibly relaxed. “Ah. And you hope your leaving will give him a little perspective, is that it?”

“Perspective,” Mila repeated, impressed. “That’s a very good word, Mrs. Brooks.”

“Thank you, my dear. Is there anyplace I should send the mister if he gains perspective quickly?”

“I... No,” she confessed. “I’m not sure where it is I’m going.”

The woman with drew a pencil and paper from her apron and wrote upon it. “My sister owns a boardinghouse for young ladies near Covent Garden. This is the direction. Can you read, child?”

“Yes.” It came out a little defensive. And then, with a little too much pride she added, “Five different languages.” She didn’t know how she knew them, she just did. Unfortunately, she only knew the words that she had already seen. It was as though she had a built-in translator engine, so that as soon as she learned a word in English, she learned it in her other languages.

“Plenty of jobs open to young ladies who know languages. You could become a governess.” Mrs. Brooks offered her the paper with the address written on it. “There are also those who would take advantage. You will be careful, won’t you?”

The concern in the housekeeper’s face made Mila’s throat tight. “I will, thank you.” She tucked the paper into her pocket. “Please don’t tell him where I’ve gone. Unless...unless he seems to miss me very terribly.”

There was a name for the expression Mrs. Brooks wore. It was...sympathy. “Of course. You be a good girl and go straight to that address so I don’t have to worry about you out there all alone, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right.” Her tone held an edge of acceptance, as though she believed she could have stopped her if she wanted. Silly, sweet woman. “Take care of yourself. Keep your head up and your eyes open.”

Maybe the woman was right to feel sorry for her, Mila thought as she walked out of the house, into the late-afternoon drizzle. She turned her collar up against the damp and cold and started walking in the direction of Covent Garden. Jack had taken her twice to the theater there, so she knew the way.

Mrs. Brooks obviously believed Jack would look for her. Would miss her. Maybe he would. Maybe he’d be glad to find her gone. Glad to wash his hands of her. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about Jack. Jack wasn’t her entire world, or rather he oughtn’t be. No, it wasn’t about Jack at all. It was about her. About finding out who she was, about being something more than a bit of metal wrapped in a flesh suit once intended to house a madman’s brain.

It was about relying on herself rather than the charity of others. It was about being the girl she wanted to be.

And if Jack Dandy didn’t miss her, then she was better off without him.

* * *

Death was not what Finley thought it would be.

First of all, there was a decided lack of angels, heavenly choirs and bright light. In fact, the Aether was fairly gray—as if everything wore a layer of ash. It wasn’t depressing, but rather ethereal-looking. It was like walking through a dream, complete with mist swirling about her feet.

She’d never been here in a proper manner before. Always she’d been connected to Griffin somehow—even if it was simply being in the same room. Those times she’d been aware of the real world lurking beyond the veil, but not this time. No layers, just the Aether, and it was as real as the living world.

One moment she’d been in Em’s lab, and now she was standing on a cobblestone path that wound through a forest dappled with silvery sunlight. Or maybe it was moonlight; it was difficult to tell. Regardless, it was beautiful and peaceful, so she wasn’t the least bit afraid. Most people didn’t get the opportunity to discover the secrets of this place while they were still alive. It was somewhat mollifying to realize that the realm of the dead was a welcoming place, rather than a frightening one.

But Garibaldi didn’t know she was there yet. There’d be plenty of time for fear once he did, she reckoned. Griffin wasn’t the only one he enjoyed hurting, and she had no doubt he’d love to play with her, as well. The knowledge of that did not deter her. Let The Machinist come. If he was after her then he couldn’t be torturing Griffin, so she’d take him on anytime. Unfortunately, she needed to do more than think about the bounder in order to find him. She clenched her jaw and took a step forward. She had no idea how long it was going to take to find Griffin and no idea how much time the Tesla suit would give her.

The suit hadn’t made the trip with her, which was odd. A warm breeze drifted across her face as she walked. It was like a pleasant summer evening in the Aether, not at all cold as she’d thought it would be. She was perfectly comfortable in her boots, stockings, dress and corset. Death was supposed to be cold, wasn’t it? Garibaldi deserved someplace cold and dark. Unforgiving and bleak.

As she walked, she caught glimpses through the trees—of what appeared to be little houses with lights on inside. People moved about in front of open windows, some dancing, some laughing or running. Some simply stared out at the forest. What were they looking at, or for? She couldn’t tell—she couldn’t see their eyes, or even much of their shadowed faces.

She came around a turn in the path. A lone bird sang mournfully from the forest. There were no houses visible here—just the narrow road surrounded by dense, lush trees. A girl in a long white dress sat on a low stone wall weeping, face in her hands. Her bare feet were dirty and rested on the nest of moss covering much of the wall.

“Are you all right?” Finley asked, then felt stupid. It was obvious the girl was not all right. She shouldn’t have stopped to ask. She had to find Griffin.

The girl lifted her head at the exact second that Finley realized something wasn’t right. Those weren’t tears running through her fingers, it was blood—blood that leaked from the raw, gaping holes where her eyes had once been.

“Bugger me!” Finley cried, jerking back when bloody hands reached out to her.

“You don’t belong here, Finley Jayne,” the girl crooned. “Go back to the breathing world, little mouse, before the big bad wolf comes calling.”

Finley scowled at her. She didn’t like being frightened, and she liked the things that frightened her even less. “I’m not afraid of Garibaldi, and I’m not afraid of you.”

Now it was the girl who frowned. Her dark brows pulled low over the glistening pits of her eye sockets. A trickle of blood dribbled by the corner of her mouth— there were stitches sticking out of her lips, like jagged little whips. “I don’t know who Garibaldi is, but I know who the wolf is, and he wants you.” She glanced over her shoulder. Could she actually see even though her eyes were gone? “He’s coming. Run, mousey, run.”

Her heart pounded in agitation, not fear. That was what Finley told herself. “Let him come.” But she moved onward. She wasn’t afraid to meet this “wolf,” but she wasn’t about to stand around and wait for him to show up, not when Griffin’s life hung in the balance.

As she walked away, she heard the dead girl behind her chanting, “Run. Run. Run. Run.” It was so very tempting to do just that, but she’d rather be boiled alive than admit fear. Still, she quickened her step just a bit. Bit of a creeper, that girl. The memory of those missing eyes was going to haunt her sleep for a long time.

If she made it out of the Aether alive, that was.

The cobblestone path eventually led to a curved, moss-covered stone bridge that crossed a glossy river. Water as clear and bright as polished diamond danced over rocks that looked as though they were chunks of chiseled obsidian. Finley stepped onto the bridge and didn’t pause to look over the side into the water. She didn’t want to know what was in it.

She didn’t even know if she was going in the right direction, but there was only the one path. How was she ever going to find Griffin in this place? How could she have been so foolish to think that it would be relatively easy? She hadn’t expected to step in and find him right away, but she’d grossly underestimated the size of the place. It was the land of the dead after all—a place made of energy. There was no limit to its size, was there?

Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned. What if...what if she never found him? What if he was lost to them forever? There were so many things she wanted to tell him, so many things she wanted to hear him say to her. There were still so many things about his life that she didn’t know—silly stories about his childhood with Sam, or going away to school. She wanted to know more about his parents. She wanted to know what it was that he saw in her that made him want to be with her instead of any other girl in London.