Sam caught her before she fell to the ground. She shook her head, as well. She was bleeding from the head, but he couldn’t see where.

“One of us is going to have to keep it busy while the other disables it,” she said.

Sam nodded. “I’ll distract it. You get the wires.”

She glanced at him. “Are you sure?”

No. The only thing he was sure of was that his stomach jumped to his throat every time the metal turned its awful eyes in his direction. And he was fairly certain one if not both of them would die if they didn’t shut this thing down soon. So he would take the beating and swallow his own fear to make that happen.

“I’m sure,” he told her between clenched teeth. If he was going to die, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

They charged together.

That was when the automaton changed again. It began making an awful grinding noise as its joints popped and lengthened. Its shoulders broadened, pushed open by metal gears. Within in moments it grew another foot and widened by at least two. The shields on its hands shifted, pulling back, so small spikes—like the tips of nails—slid out from its knuckles. A good hit with one of those could take out a human eye with little difficulty.

This time Finley and Sam swore together.

“We could run, you know,” Finley suggested.

Sam glanced at her, not finding the suggestion cowardly. It was the smart choice. “How much would you like to wager that it will follow us?”

As though understanding his words, the metal man nodded and pointed one long, gleaming finger at Sam.

“Oh, my God,” Finley breathed. It understood. The automaton understood, and it was advancing on them again.

“Get out of here,” Sam told her, making a decision as he backed up, trying to put himself between Finley and the machine. “Leave me to this. Once it’s killed me, it will leave. No one else has to get hurt. This is my fault.”

“Reckon you folks could use some help.”

Both Sam and Finley turned their heads to see Jasper sitting on the windowsill. He swung his other leg over the sill into the room. He pulled a fancy-looking pistol from the holster on his hip as Emily and Griffin burst through the door.

“Don’t shoot it in the engine!” Emily cried as Jasper took aim. “We need it intact to find Garibaldi.”

At the sound of her voice, the automaton turned on the new arrivals. Griffin jumped in front of Emily and the metal man picked him up in two of his hands, pinning Griffin’s upper arms to his sides.

“Griffin!” Finley cried. She moved to attack the automaton, but Sam stopped her. “Wait. Griff’s got a plan.”

“How do you know?” she demanded.

Sam and Jasper both looked at her with bemused expressions. “Griff’s always got a plan,” Jasper informed her, as though it was absolute fact.

Sure enough, Griffin was able to move his arms just enough that he could raise his hands and clutch the metal arms that held him. He closed his eyes and it seemed to Sam that his friend began to glow ever so slightly. It was like he could see Griffin’s power building within him.

The automaton began to tremble. The fingers on the hands holding Griffin opened and closed sporadically. The other set of limbs moved around from behind as the metal adapted once more. The hands on these arms joined the others, pinning Griffin even harder. Sam could hear his friend’s groan. Griffin wasn’t like him or Finley—he was much more breakable.

“Jasper!” Emily cried. “Aim for its right foot!”

Jasper’s arm was a blur. One second he was holding the pistol and the next he’d fired at the automaton, but what hit the machine wasn’t a bullet, it was like a small ray of energy that rippled through the air. Finley rushed in as the leg of the thing began to tremble and buckle. It freed another arm to swing at her, but she was quick enough that the metal bashed the floor instead of her, tearing through the boards like tissue paper. She leaped through the air onto the thing’s shoulders, clawing at its eyes to destroy its optical receptors.

“Now, Em!” Griffin shouted.

Emily rushed in, her objective the control panel visible on the creature’s open front. She was going to shut it down.

Sensing what was about to happen, the automaton released one of its arms from holding Griffin and swung it down toward the little redhead. Jasper moved faster than possible, and Sam moved faster than he ever had before. The cowboy got there first, but the machine swatted him aside like a fly. Its fist drove into the floor, splintering the boards further. The floor wasn’t going to hold up under much more.

It was in that second that Sam realized Jasper had honorable feelings for Emily. Jasper should have shot the arm instead of running in, but he hadn’t thought straight and he’d have the bruises to prove it if they lived through this.

Sam reached Emily just in time, putting himself between the metal and her. He seized the weakened gleaming hand with both of his own and drove it backward with a fierce shout. Gears and joints popped and snapped. A bolt flew up and struck him in the cheek just below his eye, hitting with enough force that he saw stars, but he did not let go, twisting, pushing and pulling until he had severed the mechanical hand at the wrist. He dropped it to the floor, his own hands bleeding from the struggle.

Sam turned to see if Emily was all right. She stood with her fingers on the thing’s control panel, staring at him. “Sam!”

He turned around just in time to grab hold of the handless arm arching toward him. It lifted him off the floor and swung him backward toward the stone fireplace, where a handful of coals smoldered.

Sam braced himself for the impact, but it still wasn’t enough. There was no way to prepare oneself for being driven through a brick wall with the ease of a finger poking through butter. The bricks shattered against his back and skull, flying outward as he was propelled into the chimney and then down toward the hearth.

Heat surrounded him. He was in the fireplace and the arm of the automaton—now strangely still—had him pinned to the coals, which blossomed into flames as they tasted his clothing.

He pushed at the arm as he kicked at the remaining brick. He had to get out or he was going to go up in flames like a Guy Fawkes effigy.

Suddenly, strong hands grabbed him. It was Finley. He shoved the arm up, clearing enough space that with her help he was able to get out of the fire. He swatted at the flames on his clothes—and then he noticed that the automaton had fallen. Emily had managed to power it down.

Only, she had done it when the machine was in the middle of flinging Sam into the fireplace, so when the hulk fell, it came down on her and Griffin. It splintered the floor around it, creating a dangerous and perilous crater.

Griffin and Emily were in that crater.

Sam barely had time to register the pain from the burns he’d suffered. There was such cold in his soul he couldn’t feel them anyway. Wounds healed. He would not recover from the loss of his best friend and his—whatever Emily was—so easily. He glared at Finley for saving him when she should have saved Griffin and Emily first, but then he realized she needed his help. As strong as Finley was, she wouldn’t be able to lift the metal and pull Emily and Griffin out, as well.

“I’ll lift it,” he informed her, already bending down to get his shoulder under the huge metal chest. He searched for secure footing, as the floor beneath him was cracked. He looked at Jasper, who was bleeding from the nose and holding his ribs but looked otherwise sound, then at Finley. “The two of you get them out.”

Sam pushed with his legs, slowly straightening them as he lifted the metal man off the two most important people in his life. The broken floor groaned and shuddered in response. His mechanical heart pounded in his chest as he said a silent prayer—even though he wasn’t much for praying—that Griff and Em would both be all right.

There was a wide chasm in the floor that led to the cellar beneath. In the light, Sam could barely make out the pile of debris below them—metal, dust and wood. If either Emily or Griffin fell onto that, they would be severely injured—if they weren’t already.

As he lifted, Emily’s unconscious form shifted, rolling closer to the huge hole. Sam’s heart stopped altogether. If he had to, he’d jump with her, to put himself between her and the death below.

But Jasper moved with that bloody impossible speed of his and saved Sam from having to choose Emily over Griffin.

It was no shock that Finley dove in to pull Griffin from the metal arms that still embraced him, or that Jasper had whisked Emily out from beneath the wreckage. Sam bore the crushing weight on his back—was it his imagination or was it getting lighter?—until everyone was free of the machine, then he began to slowly work on getting himself out from under it without it falling on him. He wasn’t all that surprised when Finley appeared before him, taking some of the burden from him on her own shoulders so he could get free. Sam grabbed her hand and hauled her with him as he dove from beneath the machine. It crashed to the floor once more, the top half of it tearing through the wood like paper.

Chest rising with every heavy breath, Sam turned to the others. Griffin was already sitting up, rubbing the back of his head and coughing. He didn’t seem too badly hurt, but it was Jasper who caught Sam’s attention. The cowboy looked at the three of them with an expression of pale terror.

“She needs a doctor,” he said.

Sam glanced down at sweet Emily, cradled in Jasper’s arms.

That’s when he saw the blood.

A few hours later, Finley, Griffin, Jasper and Sam sat in the study, each with a small glass of whiskey in their hands. If ever there had been an excuse to have a drink, it was now.

They all looked like they had been to Hades and back. Despite that Sam’s injuries had healed completely and Finley’s almost as much, they were both dirty and peppered with blood. Sam’s trousers and coat had burn marks on them and were covered in soot. Both Griffin and Jasper were bruised and moving stiffly. Jasper’s nose was swollen and taped—broken. Griffin had a cracked rib and his upper arms were already purple with hand-shaped bruises. Griffin had done what he could for all of them with the Organite salve, but the rest was up to time.

“Did the doctor say when Emily would be better?” Finley asked Griffin, barely able to look at him. His face was still bruised from being hit by Sam and now his left eye was swollen shut from the altercation with The Machinist’s pet. The Organites would heal the eye, of course, and help with the swelling, but it took longer for the salve to permeate unbroken skin.

Griffin shook his head and took a drink from his glass. “She woke up while he was examining her and she was in a lot of pain so he gave her something to help her sleep. He said that was what she needed right now—give her time to heal.”

There had been a collective sigh of relief from the four of them when they were told that, while Emily was hurt, only her left clavicle was broken. There were no internal injuries, but she would be sore and bruised for some time. That’s what happened when a twenty-nine stone automaton fell on you. Of course, they had to tell the surgeon a different story. Finley couldn’t remember the lie Griffin had handed the man.

Sam rubbed a dirty hand over his eyes. “This is all my fault.”

“Sure appears that way,” Jasper remarked casually, watching him carefully. “You aligned yourself with the wrong fella and there were consequences. Now, you can wallow in it, or you can pull that thick head of yours out of your posterior and help us figure out how to fix things.”

Finley smiled ruefully and took the attention off Sam. “I should have gone after Garibaldi. If I’d had any idea that the rest of you would be there to help Sam, I would have done things differently.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Griffin told her. “Don’t ever apologize for choosing to help someone over chasing down the villain. What you did was more important than running after Garibaldi. And, Sam, Jasper’s right. There’s no possible benefit on dwelling on what you couldn’t have foreseen. You were manipulated. We will find the bounder.”

“He spends a lot of time at the Spotted Dog pub,” Sam said. “That’s where I met him. They knew his name.” Then he frowned. “But he’s too smart to return there now. How did you know where Finley and I were?”

Finley turned to look at Griffin, interested in the answer, as well. Griffin smiled. “There’s a tracking device on the velocycles. We saw that you both were missing, and together. We, ah…thought there might be trouble, so we followed the signal.”

For a moment, Finley thought this little revelation of suspicion—toward both her and Sam—might be the last straw, but the large fellow simply drained his glass and set it down on the coffee table. “Thank you,” he said. Then he turned his head to look at Finley who sat next to him on the sofa. “And thank you.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Griffin topped up Sam’s glass from the whiskey bottle before raising his own. “A toast. To Finley, who officially became one of us tonight, whether she likes it or not.”

The other boys raised their glasses, as well. “To Finley,” they echoed.

Blushing, Finley smiled and raised her own glass.

“I don’t know about you lads, but I like having a strong woman around,” Griffin said with surprising good humor considering the man who had killed his parents still eluded them. “You don’t have to worry about carrying everything for her, or her delicate constitution.”

Finley frowned slightly. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

Griffin smiled. “It is.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and just when Finley felt her cheeks begin to warm under his appreciative gaze, Jasper slapped his hands on his thighs and rose to his feet. “Time for me to head out. Thank y’all for this evening’s entertainment.”