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face white with horror.
    Jack’s attention drifted back to the contents of the crate.
    At first glance it was difficult to tell what it was. Metal covered part of it. It was dirty, and looked as though it had been in this crate for a very long time. That thought disgusted him. It was cruel and barbaric.
    It made a noise, but no words came out—just groaning. It was probably his imagination but it sounded like “Help me.”
    “What is it?” Toby demanded.
    “A girl. Somewhat.”
    It was an image he would carry with him for the rest of his life. It... She stared up at him with one eye—the other was either destroyed or was still being made. Her face was half flesh, half metal, as was the rest of her. He could see her internal organs through the gaps in her metal ribs where tissue had yet to knit itself together.
    She wasn’t human, but she wasn’t entirely machine either. How was such a creature even possible? And why, when he looked at her, did she remind him of Finley? Finley was beautiful. This was not. Still, his heart kicked hard inside his chest when he looked at her.
    Fingers that were metal bone covered with scraps of flesh reached for him, grabbing his hand before he could jerk it away. Jack braced himself, prepared to be disgusted. Instead, her skin was warm, the exposed metal cool and smooth. Her grip was tight—any tighter and she’d break his hand.
    She made that noise again—the one that sounded like a plea for help.
    “That’s it,” Toby said. “I’m leaving.”
    Every moment spent staring at the poor creature was another moment closer to being caught or something going wrong. Jack managed to pull his fingers free. He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t do anything.
    He shut the lid.
    * * *
    He was at a party at Piccadilly Circus—a masked event much like the one he’d taken Finley to some time ago. He was dressed in head-to-toe black, wearing a raven mask that covered the top portion of his face.
    On a nearby stage, a woman danced with fire as though she was made of it herself. On another, a man swallowed swords, and on one more, a man and woman bent themselves into contortions that shouldn’t be possible. They made it look like a beautiful ballet, intimate. Every moment was slow and controlled.
    Music swelled, bodies moved and swayed. Heat rose as colors blurred.
    Then he saw her. She stood apart from the crowd—she had no choice. There was no hope that a girl such as her could ever be part of a crowd. She was tall and slender, with curves in all the right places. She was dressed in a gown that started out black at the bottom but gave way to shades of red, orange and gold as it rose up around her. It draped and clung—provocative but still somehow demure. Her fair skin glowed. Exposed shoulders gave way to a long neck and firm jaw. Her lips were full beneath a mask that looked as though it was made of pure flame. Her hair—a riot of rich copper curls—only added to the image of her as a creature of fire. Her mask was similar to his—birdlike.
    When she turned her head to meet his gaze, Jack’s heart slammed to a hard stop. A phoenix. That’s what she was—a gorgeous mythical creature rising from the ashes. Her eyes were amber, molten and questioning, like Finley’s, but not Finley’s.
    He moved toward her, unable to stop his feet. Normally he let young ladies come to him and saved his pursuit for older women who wouldn’t expect more than what he was willing to give, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
    When he reached her, he held out his hand to her. She took it, her long fingers soft and strong in his. He led her onto the dance floor, where couples twirled around them. His hand pressed against the small of her back as her fingers slid up to his shoulder. Jack shivered despite the heat in the room.
    God, she was like looking at the sun after too many dark nights. She smelled of amber, of warmth and sweetness. It made him a little dizzy and he didn’t care. He liked it, even