Free The Moonstone and Miss Jones by Jillian Stone

yelled as he sprang ahead of the monkish minions. He had not gotten a very good look at this new enemy, but suffice to say it was large and dark, and it was dragging America back toward those nasty dustbins . . .
    “Would somebody please get me down from here!” America dangled precariously above head and was picking up speed.
    Phaeton jogged beneath her. Glancing back he could see the cloaking device was gone and all four swords were upright and glowing. A blast of energy shaped like a comet flew past him and up into the air. The bolt of energy slashed the ties that bound her.
    America cried out as she fell through the air. Phaeton used a bit of potent energy to break her fall and land her softly in his arms. Phaeton smiled. “Hello, love.”
    She opened her eyes and exhaled a sigh of relief, before her brows crashed together. “Why are they picking on me, Phaeton?”
    He knew the answer, but didn’t share it.
    “This way—quickly.” With weapons trained on rooflines, their protectors swept them down the alley into a small brick-paved yard. Phaeton set America down and spun around, searching for the unseen devil that had tried to abduct her.
    They stood in the small court outside 55 Pennyfields and waited for someone to open the black door with the brass numbers. The hooded male with half a machine for a face pounded on the door. They were surrounded by buildings with few windows—just a myriad of colored doors. He steadied America while she straightened petticoats and skirts.
    The enclosed court felt rather desolate this evening. Not a single dragon chaser staggered out of one of the nearby dens. Nothing but the distant crash and clatter of dustbins echoed up the lane. Phaeton raised a brow. “Earlier you mentioned Reapers and Grubbers?”
    “Those are Grubbers,” the cigar-chomping captain grunted. “They’re like dogs. They sniff out energy residue—scraps of fuel in the aether.” Silently, Blood used forked fingers to direct his minions, who spread out and formed a protective circle around them.
    The shaking and banging about of dustbins grew louder. Phaeton dipped his head for a better look at the large wheezing bloke with the clockwork face. “Might try banging on the bloody door again.”
    “Please, come in.” They whirled around en masse. The black painted door was open and a young man stood in the entry. Exotic silver eyes peered over the rim of spectacles tinted with dark glass.
    Phaeton grinned. “Good to see you, Ping.”
    “A joy to see you, as well.” The enigmatic Julian Ping dipped a bow. “And Miss Jones.” Ping’s faintly Oriental appearance contrasted greatly with his dark frock coat and high-pointed collar. The exotic creature nodded to Exeter. “Doctor.”
    Jersey Blood pushed past the strange, unearthly young man and ushered them inside. “Quickly.” The door slammed shut behind them. Without the aid of moonlight, 55 Pennyfields was darker inside than the alley. Phaeton waited for his eyes to adjust, sensing Ping skirted the edges of the small ante room. If memory served, there was a stair that spiraled downward in the middle of the foyer.
    He checked on his lovely companion, whose eyes were large and wide. “I’d give you another smile and a wink,” he murmured, “but I’ve been hellishly cheery all evening.”
    A small indentation formed on her cheek. She pulled him close and whispered in his ear. “Helps to trim the sails now and then.”
    He kissed her behind the ear and waited for the tingle to move through her body into him. Phaeton shivered. Yes, there it was. Mechanical spiders, Gorgon visitations, and attempted abductions aside, America had been wonderfully resilient throughout it all. Just having her near tonight was stimulating. He nuzzled her cheek. “Did you know that a lovely translucent blush colors your nipples just before I kiss them?” His whisper brushed the wispy hairs at her temple. “They peak, ever so slightly in antici—”
    “Gaspar will see