Free The Girl In The Clockwork Collar by Kady Cross Page B

and coat on a chair before dropping onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling. He had only just started ruminating on a way out of this mess when he heard the key turn in the lock.
    Mei.
    She came into the room in a bright blue silk dressing gown, carrying a medium-size polished oak box, which appeared to be heavy. Jasper got up and took the burden from her.
    “Set it on the desk,” she instructed, and he did, noticing that it wasn’t really a box at all, but some kind of auditory device. Set into one side of it was a brass funnel—like one would find on a Victrola.
    “What is this contraption?” he asked.
    Mei smiled as she opened the lid, revealing a panel of knobs and switches and a place to insert punch cards. “Dalton calls it a portable phonograph. It runs on a power cell made in England.” Jasper didn’t tell her Griffin’s grandfather had discovered the ore that made the power cell possible. It was a modern marvel, but a good part of the world still depended on, or preferred, gaslight or even candles and lamps.
    “Where did it come from?” he asked.
    “I believe Dalton stole it from someone named Edison.”
    “Thomas Edison?” Jasper asked, dumbfounded.
    Mei nodded. “That’s it.”
    Was the machine Jasper had hidden something of Edison’s, as well? If so, no wonder Dalton wanted it back. It could be a terrible thing—after all, Edison was the man who had electrocuted animals to prove electricity could also be used to execute criminals.
    She flicked a switch, adjusted two of the knobs and then inserted a punch card. Music wafted from the funnel, clear and sweet. Mei adjusted the volume so that the music would only be heard in that room and then took him by the hand with a gentle smile.
    “Come,” she said. “Talk to me.”
    They lay down on the bed, where they could be comfortable. Jasper held her in his arms, against his chest, and breathed in the sweet, flowery scent of her. In that moment, he could forget just what a dang mess he’d made of things.
    “You really didn’t know those girls tonight?” she asked.
    He hesitated. He wanted to tell her who the girls were, that he had friends who would do their best to help Mei and him, but if she didn’t know, then she wouldn’t have to lie to Dalton. She wouldn’t be in danger.
    “No,” he said. “I don’t know them. That one with the black in her hair sure is tough, though, ain’t she?”
    “Very,” she replied, clearly impressed. “And she knows Eastern fighting techniques.”
    “They’re becoming all the rage in London now,” he responded. She’d sounded slightly suspicious. “Especially among the suffragettes.”
    “Warrior women,” she mused with a smile. “I like that. I … noticed you looking at the red-haired girl. Do you think she’s pretty?”
    Asking if Miss Emily was pretty was sort of like asking if the sun was warm. She brightened any room she was in, as fresh and light as Mei was dark and exotic. There was no way he could compare the two of them, and that’s what she was asking him to do. What she really wanted to know was if he thought Emily was prettier than her.
    “She’s all right.” He squeezed her against his chest. “She’s not you, though.” That was the most diplomatic reply he could think of.
    Clearly it worked, because Mei smiled and cuddled against him. When she lifted her face for a kiss, Jasper paused again. A soft ticking noise captured his attention—it was coming from her. “That collar. Does it hurt?”
    Mei raised slender fingers to the clockwork device around her neck. “It’s a little tight when Dalton winds it, but I’ve gotten so accustomed to it, I barely notice anymore.”
    “So he doesn’t tighten it to punish you?”
    “He did in the beginning—when I tried to escape. That’s how I know that it actually works. I don’t know how, but he knows when I try to leave. But tonight, at the fight, I was fine.”
    Jasper’s jaw clenched. He could kill Dalton. “It probably