Moving quickly, she saw Blade’s coat and holster slung carelessly over the back of a chair in the washroom from when he’d cleaned up, and stole them and his knife. The pair of pistols were larger than she was used to, the rounds built to contain a mix of chemical that would explode on impact. Not the sort of weapon used indiscriminately, these were designed to kill. A firebolt could take half a man’s torso apart.

Perfect.

It was a tense minute as she made her way back down to the kitchens and checked for Esme. No sign of her, but voices broke out upstairs and she recognized Blade’s distinctive cockney. If he found his coat and pistols missing…

Time to move.

Slipping through the door, she nodded to a pair of prostitutes who were organizing bandages. Esme’s voice rang out across the courtyard as she directed a lad to help split firewood. Tugging her cap down over her eyes—and distinctive hair—Mina turned the other way.

Fighting could be heard in the east, where Morioch directed his forces. Mina turned deeper into the rookery instead. She’d have to take the long way and then circle back around toward the Ivory Tower once she was free of Whitechapel.

Her nerves were buzzing. Being so far from the City left her feeling slightly powerless. Anything could have happened to Alexa in the meantime. That moment when the queen had blankly agreed to Barrons’s execution—that wasn’t the Alexandra she knew.

Mina needed to get back, to find out what was wrong with her friend and protect her if need be. If the queen gave up when they were so close…

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

Even if she left Barrons behind to face the consequences himself?

“Focus,” she whispered to herself, ducking between barrels and into the shadows. Barrons had no meaning in this. The queen was her concern. Not a man she was only just coming to understand, to know.

And what if Blade and Barrons were the allies she and the queen had been so desperately searching for? What if this was the moment in which fate shifted, if she dared throw her cause in with them?

Blood and damnation. She couldn’t afford to falter. They’d made no mention of who they wanted to see in power once this attempt was made—and if it succeeded. And every moment she hesitated was one in which the queen might succumb to her ever-growing despair.

Her decision was made. Alexandra needed her.

Pausing in an alley, Mina peered around the corner. Laundry lines were strung between houses but bare of washing. An almost eerie silence echoed in this section of the rookery, darkness sitting heavily in the streets. Empty of life and laughter and the whisper of human heartbeats. Blade had no doubt commanded every able body for the wall.

She could see it in the distance. This section was only lightly manned, with most of Blade’s forces directed toward the threat of Morioch. Hardly difficult to slip up and over without being seen, if one was a blue blood.

A little prickle of unease swept over her skin and she paused.

Nothing moved. No harsh breath or whispered words, but she couldn’t fight the sensation that somebody was nearby.

Metal rasped on the cobbled streets. A steady click-click-click noise. What the devil was that?

Sneaking a glance, she saw a tiny shadow bobbing its way out into the streets. It marched with deliberate movements, its metal arms swinging at its sides and its feet making the tinny noise she could hear. A clockwork soldier? A toy?

The wind blew her way, carrying with it the scent of smoke…and something else. Something she was quite familiar with, thanks to her work with the humanists.

TNT.

Highly explosive.

Her gaze narrowed on that marching clockwork. Its body was full and round, large enough to carry a charge sufficient to destroy a house.

Bloody hell. Morioch was in charge of provisional warfare; he always had been. While she and the rest of the councilors had directed their attentions elsewhere—to building the city and trade contacts—Morioch had been directly involved in working with the spitfires and metaljacket legions.

And why else would he be sitting outside the rookery, throwing a few metaljackets at the walls here and there, almost as if testing its defenses? Morioch wasn’t a cautious man by nature—a planner, certainly—but when it came to an attack, he was deliberate and effective. A shark with a contingency for everything.

He wasn’t wary of Blade. He was simply waiting for another type of assault to succeed, one that would destroy the very heart of the rookery.

The little clockwork soldier ticked on, heading straight for the Warren. The metaljackets were directed by radio frequency, their handlers forced to remain within two hundred feet of their assigned automatons at all times. If the clockwork soldier worked on the same principles, then the handler had to be somewhere near.

She couldn’t risk touching the clockwork in case it exploded, but the handler… Oh yes. The handler was a different matter entirely.

* * *

“That was easier than expected,” Leo said, staring at the shattered formation below as he wiped blood from his forehead. A stray bullet had clipped him as he climbed the wall.

Rip clapped hands with him, jerking him into a rough embrace. “Good work. Like puttin’ ’em in a mincer.” His hard green gaze raked the streets. “Though I wonder why he’d keep most of ’is forces back.”

“Because ’e’s plannin’ summat.” Blade’s voice came directly out of the darkness behind them.

Both men turned. Blade pushed away from the top of the ladder, wearing lightly plated body armor and an expression that warned others to tread lightly.

“How is she?” Leo demanded, his heart in his throat. “And the baby?”

Blade gave him a tight little smile. “I’ve a daughter. Emmaline Grace Rachinger.”

Rip laughed and clasped Blade’s hand, drawing him in for a meaty slap against the back. “Bloody ’ell. Wait ’til the lads get word o’ that. They’ll be linin’ up from ’ere to the city when she’s sixteen…”

“Anyone touches ’er and he’s a dead man.” Blade saw the expression on Leo’s face and the smile slipped off his own. “She’s fine. They ’ad to cut the baby out o’ ’er.” A faint expression of respect crossed his face. “Your duchess’s idea, actually. Then ’ealed ’er up with me blood. Mrs. Parsons thinks she’ll be right as rain. She ain’t never seen a wound ’eal like that before.”