The moment Gina’s arm looped through hers, and Henrietta took her other, Mila knew what it was to have friends. To belong. She would do anything to protect these girls and that feeling.

“I wish I knew what they were saying,” Marissa whispered. “They sound angry.”

Mila glanced at her. “She’s saying that he has no romance in his soul, that he’s an embarrassment to Frenchmen everywhere and ought to be ashamed of himself for that abysmal performance.”

The girls all stared at her. “You understand French?”

Right, that wasn’t normal either. But these girls didn’t know she had begun life as a highly complex machine with a enhanced logic engine capable of infinite learning. “Yes,” she said. “And he just told her that she’s heartless because his routines are nothing but a study in passion.”

Beside her the twins sighed. Gina snorted. It was that rude noise that interrupted the fierce exchange going on just a few feet away. Elsie turned around and stared at them. “Oy, what do you lot want?”

Mila’s brows shot up. It was hard to believe that such flawless French could be followed by such a typical cockney accent. Then again, Jack could speak Latin. He would do that sometimes around the house. He said it was to keep both of their minds sharp.

“This is Mila, Elsie,” Gina said. “Mr. Anders just hired her.”

“To be wot?”

“The World’s Strongest Girl,” said Millie.

“Woman,” corrected her sister.

Elsie ignored them. “’Ow strong are ya?”

“Strong,” Mila replied with a shrug. She had no idea if there was a limit to her strength—it had never been tested.

Georges picked up a large pair of iron manacles and tossed them at her. She caught them easily—which seemed to surprise the giant. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“Put ’em on,” Elsie instructed. “Then try to break free.”

“That seems like a waste of time.” Mila grabbed the thick links of chain in either hand and pulled until the iron snapped apart. Easy. She tossed the ruined restraints back to Georges. “A ruin of good chain, too. Anything else?”

“Mon Dieu,” said Georges. “Elle est fantastique!” He then brought her a large steel bar—solid—and made a motion that she should try to bend it.

Mila bent the bar in half. She liked the way it felt in her hands, all that metal helpless against her will.

Georges grabbed her head in his huge hands and kissed her soundly on either cheek, laughing and praising her in his native tongue. He called her magnificent, beautiful—a gift from God even.

“Now, that’s wot I’m talkin’ about!” Elsie enthused and clapped Georges on the hip—she only came up to just above his waist. “Give this girl an act, Georgie boy! Meanwhile, come wiv me, girlie. We’ve got to get you outfitted. You start tonight.”

Her friends cheered and hugged Mila, who grinned happily and allowed herself to be pulled into the wardrobe area to try on costumes.

Jack had said the world could be dangerous. He never said just how wonderful it could be, as well!

* * *

Finley watched Griffin as he slept. There was little else for her to do.

That was wrong. She could hunt down Lord Felix, but he wasn’t worth leaving Griffin’s side. Wasn’t worth leaving her father, even though he’d tried to talk her into doing just that. Truth be told, she was a little afraid of facing Felix and his girls again. There wasn’t much in the world that frightened her, but those girls did. She didn’t want to end up one of them.

She glanced at the stranger with the familiar face. Her father. She didn’t know what to call him—Papa seemed to personal. She didn’t even know how to talk to him. She loved him by virtue of who he was, but he was a total stranger. He didn’t seem to know what to do with her either.

“How much longer do you have before you’re forced to wake up?” he asked.

“No idea,” she replied honestly. “Soon, probably.” She wasn’t worried. Emily would make certain she did what she was supposed to. She was just going to sit here and guard Griffin while he regained his strength.

“He means a lot to you.”

She didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“His father was a good man. I was honored to call him a friend.” He stretched out his legs from the chair where he sat, across from her own. Griffin was between them on a settee. “You know, it’s odd that you and Griffin found one another again. You played together as children.”

That made her look up. Her astonished gaze met his twinkling one. “We did?”

He nodded. “The former duke and duchess, God rest their souls, used to invite your mother and me over from time to time. They didn’t care one wit that we weren’t of the same social circles. They believed in playing with children, and spending time with them. They would ask us to bring you with us so that Griffin could play with another child. Sometimes his steward would bring his son, as well.”

Good lord, she and Griffin and Sam used to play together? She would have been very young—three at the most. “I wish I could remember it.” And then, before she lost her nerve, “I wish I could remember you.”

“Yes, well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. He looked so young. Far too young to be the father of a girl almost seventeen, but then, he was frozen for all eternity as the father of a toddler. A man who probably intended to have more children. A man who should have been given the chance to have more children—normal children.

“It’s all right,” she said when he didn’t seem to know what to say.

“Finley Jayne Sheppard, had I known I had passed my affliction onto you, I would have tried harder to be a better man and a better father. But I...I thought you and your mother would be better off without me, so I fell for Garibaldi’s trickery and died when I should have fought. I should have fought for you. I should have killed Leonardo when I had the chance. Instead, I gave up and I am so very sorry for that.”

What could she say to that? She couldn’t say it didn’t matter because it did. She couldn’t say it was all right, because it wasn’t. “I wish you had been around to teach me how to handle my other self.”

“Yes. I wish that, as well.”

“But he taught me.” She gestured at Griffin. “He helped me when I thought no one could. He believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.”

Her father smiled. “You love him.”

“Yes.” There was no shame in admitting it. No fear. “I do. What am I supposed to do?”

“Help him when no one else can. Believe in him when he doesn’t believe in himself.”

She scowled. It was callous to throw those words back at her in such a blasé tone. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’d never mock you.” In fact, he seemed offended by the accusation. “Griffin King is quite possibly the most powerful Aethermancer on the planet. If he cannot defeat Garibaldi, no one can. What he needs from you is strength and support.”

“I don’t know how.” If she cried she was going to slam her head into the wall for being such a sissy.

Her father reached across the tea table and took her hand. “My dear girl, you braved death itself for him. You already know how.”

Yes, she supposed she did. She closed her fingers around his. Helplessness wasn’t an emotion she experienced very often, but it almost always attached itself to a situation that involved people she loved. Her feelings for Griffin made this time even worse. “Thank you.”

He smiled, amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “I am so very proud of you, and so thankful for the opportunity to tell you.”

Oh, damn. There came the tears. Her father rose out of his chair and came around to kneel before her, gathering her into his arms. Finley wrapped her own arms around his neck and hung on for all she was worth. She was hugging her father. Her real father. Silas Crane, her stepfather, was a good and wonderful man, but this man was part of her. This man, flawed as he was, was the one who set her on the path that brought her to the best friends she’d ever had. To Griffin, who had helped her realize her potential and start becoming the person she wanted to be.

This man had died because he thought it would make the world better for her. If that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.

He held her until her tears dried—it didn’t take that long. Then he ran a hand over her hair, kissed her forehead, stood up and left the room. Finley watched him go until she realized why he had left.

Griffin was awake.

Finley went to him and placed her hands on either side of his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw scratch her palms. His eyes were brighter now, the kind of blue that a summer sky sometimes aspired to.

“I dreamed about you,” he murmured with a slow smile.

She pressed her lips to his, kissing him as though she hadn’t kissed him in weeks, as though the fate of the world depended upon a thorough kissing. He didn’t seem to mind. He kissed her back, fingers curving over the back of her neck as though he was afraid she might try to break the kiss before he was ready. Silly boy.

Eventually, they had to breathe, and they had to speak.

“You have to wake up,” he told her. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I will.”

“I mean it, Fin. I can’t lose you.”

Her heart swelled—not just because of his words, but because she knew he intended to make it through this. He intended to make it back to the world of the living, and whatever Griffin set his mind to he achieved.

“Emily will no doubt pull me out very soon. My father’s going to keep you here while I’m gone so you can get your strength back.”

“And then we take on Garibaldi.”