Three days passed while Booker tried to come up with some solution to the corpse in his laboratory. No other bodies showed up, nor did the Mice leave any more body parts on their doorstep. Trinket told him about them scouring the city center as well as Scales' threatening words. He seemed a tad ruffled, but his unease did not slow down his hunt for the creator of these abominations. And while he did show a bit of interest in the man with the dirty fingernails, his obsession with the dead woman downstairs kept him from digging deeper into who he could be.

Trinket was in the kitchen, flipping through a recipe book and trying to decide if she should even bother attempting to make a meal. Just as she had settled on a quick dinner of bread and cheese, Booker entered the room. He had changed his clothes and looked ready to go out.

"Shall we sup at the Clocktower?" he said.

"Looking for livelier company than you've had as of late?"

He chuckled. "Yes, it's been rather dead around here, hasn't it? So, what do you say?"

Rising from her seat, she replaced the recipe book in the dresser and removed her smock. "I'll go change."

She hurried up to her room and donned one of her nicer dresses, setting aside her work garb and straightening up her messy blonde braid. As she made her way down to the foyer, Booker was already in his coat and waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He helped her with her own coat and then held his arm out to her, which she took as they headed out into the night.

The air was brisk enough to make her want to huddle up indoors by a nice fire, but Booker walked with a spring in his step. He almost looked like he might start whistling a jaunty tune.

"You're in an awfully good mood tonight," she said. "Have you figured out new accommodations for our guest?"

A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "You could say that."

"Is she already gone?"

"No, not yet, but she should be on her way by the end of the night."

"And you just thought you'd celebrate prematurely?"

"Yes, and why shouldn't I? We've made quite a bit of progress."

"We've also made quite a few enemies."

He scoffed. "That only means we're getting closer to our goal. Come on, I'm famished."

The Clocktower was rowdy as ever, but the warmth inside was a welcome change from the chill outside. They settled in at a table by a window, and a serving girl brought them some cold meats, cheese, and bread.

Trinket watched Booker as he took a bite of bread and looked about the room. "So are you going to tell me what your plan is?" she asked, nibbling on a piece of cheese.

Turning back to her, he raised his eyebrows. "What plan?"

Sipping her tea, she glanced at the drunk servants two tables down. "For our guest. I'm guessing it's something brilliant."

Her sarcasm was not lost on him. "More brilliant than you know, but I'm sure you expected no less from me," he said with a grin.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Let's just enjoy our dinner without talk of work."

She traced the rim of her teacup. "What else is there besides work?"

He shrugged. "We could discuss our personal lives."

She cocked an eyebrow. "What personal lives? My life is cleaning your house and helping you preserve wolf skulls. And as far as I can tell, your life revolves around your work."

"I've told you a little bit about my past. We could discuss that."

"Your past?"

Another shrug. "Or yours?"

Go ahead, tell him.

Tell him what you did.

Tell him who you hurt.

Tell him everything.

Her muscles tensed, and she gripped her cup so hard she feared it would shatter. "I thought we had an agreement."

His mouth twitched, but he nodded his head. "Right. I'm sorry." After a brief pause, he leaned forward. "I just feel like we hardly know each other beyond chasing wolves and administering ether."

She squinted at him. Why this sudden interest in her past? "Did something happen while you were in Kineworth? Did someone mention me?"

He shook his head, looking slightly sheepish. "No, but I did venture into Elysium."

Her spine stiffened, and memories ran through her mind of the cold yet humid halls of Elysium Asylum. Cackling laughter filled her head, and shadows flitted in and out of her vision.

"Why would you do that?" she whispered, a tremble in her voice. "Why would you want to go there? Were you trying to find information about me?"

The idea of him meddling in her past terrified her. If he found out what kind of person she really was, what she had done—she shuddered to think of what might happen. While he was a man of questionable morals, she couldn't help but worry that even he would be disgusted with her and throw her out on the street. And then what would she do? If someone like Booker Larkin didn't want her around, what chance did she have with the rest of the world?

Should have ended it all when you had the chance.

You're nothing but a worthless piece of garbage.

Scum.

Clearing his throat, Booker picked at the cloth napkin by his plate. "No, I just wondered about you."

She tried to push the voices and shadows out of her consciousness. "What about me?"

He sighed as he met her eyes. "I wondered about how much of the you I know now is a product of the horrible place where you spent a year of your life. It made me curious about the girl you were before."

Swallowing down the panic that was clawing at her throat, she tried to maintain a calm exterior. "Trust me, she was no one of consequence." She took another sip of tea in an attempt to ease her nerves. "Why do you care anyway? I'm only your employee."

Hurt flashed across his face. Or so she thought. It was so quick, she couldn't be certain. "At this point, I think we're a little more than employee and employer," he said.

She placed her cup back on its saucer. "Really? I thought you had no friends, aside from this rival of yours."

"Yes, well, I think you're the closest I've had to a friend since him."

She blinked in surprise. That almost sounded like a compliment. "I think you're doing Gin an injustice by leaving her out as a friend."

"No, I wouldn't classify Gin as a friend. She's—"

"An informant."

"Yes, but she's more than that. I appreciate her greatly. It's as if—"

"She's your daughter? Or little sister?"

He made a face at her, but she wouldn't buy it. The way he looked at Gin and watched over her—he had affection for the girl, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"She cares for you very much," Trinket said as she took a bite of bread. "She'd cross the world and back if you asked her to."

"I wouldn't request such a silly thing from her. I respect her more than that."

"And I think that's half the reason she admires you so."

He leaned in a bit. "How did we change the subject from you to Gin?"

Biting her lip, she tried to think of a way to give him some sort of answer without revealing anything damning. "The girl I was in the past was frightened and ashamed. She was determined to be like everyone else, to blend into the background and make her family happy. She was no one you would ever have given a second glance."

"Perhaps if you had come at me with a knife."

Her shoulders twitched, and the voices hissed unintelligible things in her ears. Even if he meant it as a joke, his words cut her to the core. The terrifying memory of that monstrous creature and bloodstained hands played through her mind.

The sound of wood scraping against the floor.

The high-pitched whistle of the teapot.

Growling.

And then that cry.

That awful, horrible, far-too-familiar cry . . .

She forced the pain and fear down, returning to the present with Booker. "Trust me, the girl I am now is far more interesting. And I think I have you to thank for that."

Booker shook his head. "No, you were already interesting by the time we met. I just managed to corrupt you."

His words made her think of what he had said a few days ago. "You said something about me corrupting you before. What did you mean by that?"

His face dropped slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Simply that you often influence me to show more mercy and humanity than I would typically be inclined to display."

A smile tugged at her mouth. "Oh, yes, I can see how that would be a terrible thing."

Picking up his cup, he gave her a soft smile. "You'd be surprised, my dear."

~

It was late by the time they left the alehouse. Booker insisted on ordering meat pies as well as some tarts despite Trinket's objection that she could not eat another bite. When they finally stepped outside, she glanced up at the clock above the establishment's sign. It was well past midnight.

"Really, you call me a corrupting influence, but you're the one who has me out at all hours of the night," she mumbled as she leaned into him in an attempt to shield herself from the bitter wind.

Putting his arm around her and pulling her close, he took a deep breath. "Come now, don't you find these brisk winter nights invigorating? Makes you want to chase down wolves. Or corpses. Which do you prefer?"

"I'd say corpses simply because it involves less running, but handling dead bodies is not an activity I can say I enjoy."

He laughed and gave her shoulder a squeeze. She appreciated his extra warmth, and she couldn't deny that having his arm wrapped around her was comforting. Even though he put her in all sorts of danger, she always felt safe with him.

Safe and oddly excited.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "But I'll do whatever you ask of me."

"You promise?" he asked, his voice soft and serious.

She opened her eyes and glanced up at him. The intensity of his expression took her by surprise.

Before she could respond, a shrill whistle pierced the air. They turned to see four police officers coming towards them, their attention fixed on Booker.

Grabbing hold of her shoulders, he spun her around to face him. "Go," he said.

"But what—"

He slipped his hand into the pocket of her coat. "Go, now."

She obeyed and stumbled into the shadows. When she was a safe distance away, she turned to watch the scene. Booker lifted his hands in surrender, and the officers grabbed hold of him. He did not resist as they cuffed him and roughly led him to the police station.

Trinket felt helpless as she watched him disappear into the night. What had happened? Why had they taken him? Had they found evidence against him with regard to the murders? Did they know he had stolen that corpse?

She remembered his hand in her pocket, and she quickly fished out a crumpled piece of paper that had not been there earlier. Smoothing it out, she read it anxiously.

Find Gin and get rid of it while they're distracted.

Her brow furrowed as she read it over again. It was only after she mouthed the words for a third time that it dawned on her.

Taking a deep breath, she stuffed the note back into her pocket and ran to St. Spittel.