The threat of a flesh-eating insect being inside of him must have spurred the Resurrectionist into action, for early the next morning, someone rang the front bell frantically. Trinket, still in her nightgown, answered the door to find an urchin girl with a note for Booker. As he read it over, his eyes lit up, and Trinket knew the Resurrectionist had been successful in making arrangements with Benedict.

"This is it," Booker said, passing the note to her.

The shaky handwriting was difficult to read. She wondered if that was due to the Resurrectionist's terror at the prospect of being eaten alive from the inside out or if it was an effect of the strange drugs he bought from Emma.

Tomorrow at the witching hour, where hope meets its end, the secrets of the dead will be revealed.

Another riddle. "Do you know what it means?" she asked Booker as she followed him into the parlour.

He paced the room, his hands fidgeting as he smiled to himself. "Where Hope Road and Vale End meet at three in the morning. He's really not that clever with his wordplay, so let's hope no one intercepted the message."

Glancing back at the note, she couldn't help but feel a tad insulted, as she had been unable to decode the words herself. But Booker hardly paid attention to her as he adjusted a mirror on the wall.

"So what's the plan?" she asked, pulling her dressing gown tighter and sitting on the settee.

"We meet him in the specified place—armed, of course, should something go wrong—and find out if this peculiar client of his is indeed the man we've been searching for."

"Benedict."

Nudging a small clock atop the mantle, Booker smiled. "Yes. Benedict."

He turned on his heel and hurried over to the settee to sit down beside her. Every inch of him was glowing with excitement, like he was about to jump out of his skin. He reminded Trinket of a little boy who had been promised a lifetime of candy. The innocence seemed inappropriate to the occasion he was so looking forward to, but she couldn't resist smiling at his enthusiasm.

"It's been so many years since I've seen him," he said, drumming his fingers against his leg. "I wonder what he's been up to all this time."

"Besides experimenting on wolves and dead bodies?"

"What happened to Goodfellow? How long did he study under him? Did Goodfellow know about his experiments? I mean, I know that he was aware of Benedict's interest in pushing the boundaries, considering how he discovered his talents. But did he assist Benedict in his work? And how long has he been in Tinkerfall? Did he come because he heard of my reputation here?"

The way he spoke was like a young man who was about to meet his hero. Again, Trinket considered all the years Booker had spent working to impress this friend of his. The years he had spent trying to surpass him. Who was this man who had such a brilliant doctor so enthralled? What kind of person could impress the great Booker Larkin?
She was both eager and terrified to find out.

"So we meet on the corner of Hope and Vale," she said, turning her attention back to the cryptic note. "Should we bring Daphne with us? She's quite handy with a kitchen knife."

Booker shook his head. "No, it would seem suspicious for three of us to be there. And it would make us more noticeable by those who might be following us. In fact—"

His eyes turned to her, and he hesitated. There it was again. That look. A shadow of fear and panic that replaced his typical overconfidence and infuriating nonchalance. Something he saw in her made him afraid. So afraid that he couldn't even form words to express how he felt.

"What?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

Wetting his lips, he opened his mouth to speak but hesitated again. Finally, after a long pause, he shook his head and leaned back on the settee. "Nothing. It's nothing. Yes, the two of us should do well enough. Daphne can wait here in case someone tries to break in while we're out."

"Why would someone try to break in?"

He shrugged. "Who knows how the Mice think."

Trinket glanced at the clock. It was a little past four. It seemed useless to return to bed at this point. Sighing, she closed her eyes and thought about the hours that lay ahead. She thought about everything that could go wrong, all the ways they could be killed and tortured, all the ways they could be betrayed. Even if things went as planned, what would that mean for the future? If Booker reunited with this friend of his, what would happen next? Would they join forces to work on ungodly experiments together? Would Booker go back to being Benedict's assistant? No, Booker would never be content being an assistant again, not when he had worked so hard to surpass his friend-rival.

But with his partner restored to him, what use would he have for her? A mentally ill asylum escapee with no background in any sort of science? A housemaid who could hardly perform her duties properly?

What would become of her?

As she wallowed in these selfish thoughts, gentle fingers wrapped around her arm. She turned to find Booker gripping her elbow. He glanced up at her, his gaze soft. Swallowing, he leaned in. Her entire body was on fire as she watched his cognac eyes draw nearer until he was so close his nose nearly brushed against hers.

"Would you think less of me if I were to tell you that I'm somewhat nervous about this meeting?" he asked.

The vulnerability in his expression brought a smile to her face. "No, I wouldn't."

Sighing, he leaned back again. "I'm worried that it won't be what I've been imagining."

She forced her body to relax. "And how have you been imagining it?"

"At night, of course. All epic tales are better at night."

He flashed a crooked grin, and she let out a soft laugh.

"I don't know. I don't have a specific scene in mind. Mostly just that when we meet, it will be as if nothing has changed. As if it hasn't been five years since we've seen each other. And yet, at the same time, I hope much has changed. I hope he sees me as a worthy opponent. I hope that when he sees me, he tells me I played his game magnificently. That he had a hard time keeping me on my toes." He gave a rueful smile. "That he's impressed by my accomplishments."

"And then you both will ride off into the sunset and become partners in scientific crime?"

He laughed softly, but his expression was still troubled. "What if I no longer interest him? Now that he's been exposed to the medical world and has expanded his own abilities, what if I look ordinary to him?"

"I can't imagine anyone seeing you as ordinary, Booker."

He shook his head slowly as he stared up at the ceiling. "What if all this work was for nothing?"

"How could it be for nothing? Look at all you've accomplished. You've given so many people another chance at life. You've helped keep their secrets, you've salvaged their jobs, you've saved their lives. If your friend can't see how amazing that is, then I have to question his apparent genius."

A smile crept across his face, and he turned to her. The amusement in his eyes faded as he gazed at her for longer than seemed necessary. His hand was still loosely gripping her arm, but it tightened as his attention wandered back and forth between her eyes and her lips.

"I suppose it also led me to you. And if I've accomplished nothing in my life, at least there's that." He hesitated and then smiled. "And honestly, that might be the best thing that's happened to me."

The tenderness in his gaze and the feel of his thumb gently traveling up and down her arm sent waves of pleasure through her body. But it quickly dissolved into fear as his words and Scales' played through her head. And then those horrible memories from her past began to creep in.

You're not capable of love.

You don't deserve it.

Monster.

Murderer.

A heavy weight settled in her chest. No. Not now. She couldn't lose her senses now. Not when there was so much at stake. Not when Booker's goal was just within reach.

Pulling her arm away from his pleasant touch, she held her dressing gown closed and cleared her throat. A flicker of disappointment flashed in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant as he straightened up.

"I should go get dressed," she said as she rose to her feet. "There's cleaning to do before we go out to meet bodysnatchers and mad scientists."

Booker forced a smile. "Of course. I'm sorry to have kept you."

Returning the smile, she retreated up the stairs, pushing aside the flurry of emotions in her chest. There wasn't time for this sort of nonsense.

Nonsense?

Pathetic.

You can't even admit it.

Lying to everyone.

Even yourself.

She gritted her teeth. Later. She would think about it later.

Something moved on the banister as she reached the top of the stairs. She froze and turned to meet the gaze of a tiny squirrel. Its whiskers twitched twice before it leapt from its perch and extended two flaps of skin on either side of its body, gliding down the stairs.

You're doomed.

Doomed, doomed, doomed.

With a deep breath, she continued on her way to her room.

~

Trinket kept herself occupied with cleaning while Booker sequestered himself in the laboratory. Though she dusted and polished everything she could get her hands on, she found it difficult to concentrate as her hallucinations persisted in pestering her. The squirrel was only the beginning. Swarms of bees and flies buzzed about her head, and rats skittered through the hallways, making her trip over her own feet. Daphne seemed concerned by her behavior, but Trinket assured it was merely from a lack of sleep. Whether she believed her or not, Trinket did not know, but Daphne didn't question her further.

She had to hold it together. She couldn't let her condition interfere with the meeting that was quickly approaching. If Booker noticed her distracted behavior, he would insist that she remain at home so she would not complicate things. But that would mean he would go alone, and she didn't feel comfortable with that. Something told her he would end up dead if he went by himself. So even if she was being plagued by invisible animals and disembodied voices, she was determined to hide her distress long enough to get through the night.

Booker reappeared upstairs for dinner. They ate in the dining room for a change. Daphne had made a delicious stew, and Trinket found that the mix of spices and the rich flavors of the vegetables helped to put her weary mind at ease.

"So do those capes work?" Booker asked Daphne.

She nodded and smiled cheerily.

"She blended in quite well with the crowds," Trinket said as she took another spoonful of stew, ignoring the beetles crawling across the table. "No one seemed wise to her portiums."

"Excellent. Now you won't be cooped up in this stuffy old house."

Daphne shook her head and gave a wave. She then cocked her head towards the kitchen door and motioned to the food on the table.

"Ah, sorry, didn't catch that," Booker said, looking to Trinket for an explanation.

"I think she's inquiring about food shopping."

"Ah, yes. I suspect the cupboards are a tad bare. Trinket and I have been a bit busy with other concerns as of late. Well, seeing as you are the expert here when it comes to cooking, I'd be happy to leave that duty to you. If you so wish."

Nodding happily, Daphne turned to Trinket and raised her eyebrows.

"I can show you where the different shops are," she offered. "But you seem to have good instincts. I doubt you'll have much trouble."

Giving a nod of affirmation, Daphne returned to her stew.

"Splendid," Booker said as he faced Trinket. "This will leave my lovely assistant with more time to spare for me and my work."

He flashed her a smile. She tried to return the gesture, but the question that had been in her mind since that morning still troubled her. What would happen to her once Booker and Benedict were back together? Would he really need her anymore?

When they were finished with dinner, Trinket and Daphne cleaned up in the kitchen. As Trinket carried the dirty dishes into the scullery, she heard someone call out her name. She turned to see Booker hovering in the doorway.

"Can I have a word?" he said.

She looked down at the plates in her hands, but before she could ask him to wait until she was finished, Daphne took them from her and disappeared into the scullery. Wiping her hands on her smock, Trinket slowly made her way to Booker as the sound of running water filled the room behind her.

"Are you all right?" Booker asked as she stopped in front of him.

Her eyes flickered to the movement of a spider climbing up the doorpost where he was leaning, and he followed her gaze. His confused expression confirmed that it was another hallucination.

"Yes, just the typical trouble," she said. "It's nothing to be concerned about."

"Is that why you were acting so strange earlier?"
"Earlier as in at dinner? Or earlier as in back in the parlour before the sun rose?"

"Both, I suppose. You seem as if something is on your mind."

The doubts about her place in his life bubbled forth once more, but she pushed them back down. She refused to be ruled by such fears. Even if he did cast her off, she would find a way to survive. She had managed to cope for years with her illness mostly on her own. If it came down to it, she could do it again. Or die, if it came to that. She didn't need to rely on Booker to find her way in the world. Or find her way out of it.

Still, the thought of a future without him stung her heart.

"I'm just tired," she said, schooling her expression into indifference. "It has been a rather exciting few days filled with threats and corpses and flesh-eating beetles. I believe it's all taken a bit of a toll on me."

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead, and his touch nearly caused her calm facade to crumble. "Will you be all right for tonight?"

"Yes." She hesitated. "As long as you still want me there."

He smiled softly. "Of course. I always need my sharp eyes with me. Not to mention your morality to keep me from committing any cardinal sins."

He raised his eyebrows, and she smiled at his teasing. "Then I'll be there. Hallucinations or not."

Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, he turned back to the hallway and made for the laboratory. She watched him go for a moment before returning to the scullery, desperately trying to ignore her pounding heart.

~

She hardly slept for her nerves. By the time her eyes closed, it was time to get ready for their meeting. With trembling hands, she donned one of her dresses—the deep blue one in hopes that it would help her blend in with the night. She plaited her blonde hair and pinned it up securely. As she gazed at herself in the mirror, she saw shadows playing upon the reflected wall behind her. They jumped and tumbled in such a way that they seemed to be living. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed them away, but they would not comply. They were still frolicking as she exited the room and made her way downstairs.

Booker was waiting for her by the front door, already in his coat and hat. The weather was warming up considerably, but the nights remained chilly, so she slid into her own coat, which he held out for her. Checking to be sure her faux perfume was tucked into her pocket, she turned to Booker. He inhaled a deep breath and attempted to contain his smile.

"Ready?" he asked.

Her gaze wavered as she took in his excitement. His fingers were restless, and a playful fire danced behind his warm eyes. His enthusiasm was contagious. Even though she dreaded what horrible things could possibly happen in the next hour, she readily linked her arm with his and smiled up at him.

"Lead the way, Mr. Larkin."