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Chapter Thirty-Four

 With the ape-like man grinning down at them, it was as if they had been transported back to Elysium. Trinket could hear the fire crackling while she and Tory stood over a large cast-iron pot in the grimy old kitchen, mixing ingredients for the gruel they ate day in and day out, all while a bored orderly watched over them.

The Ape Man.

Squeeze.

Her vision blurred for a moment as her two worlds blended together, her past and present, until she couldn't remember where she was. Was she in Elysium? Was she trapped within those feverish walls, surrounded by drugs and electricity and half-dead girls?

The Ape Man was here. And Tory. Maybe she had never escaped in the first place. Maybe it had all been a dream. And now this brutish orderly was here to drag her back to reality.

You can never escape.

This is where you belong.

Monster.

Demon.

Killer.

A dull crunch interrupted the voices. She looked down. Shards of broken glass peeked out from beneath her boots. Properly fitting boots. Boots she hadn't worn since coming to Elysium.

She twisted the fabric of her skirt around her fingers anxiously. Satin. Not itchy cotton like she was used to. No, this was silky, fine satin.

Her mind reeling, she took in the brick walls surrounding her. They seemed distant and foggy, as if they weren't real. But as the cool night air chilled her skin, she felt herself settle back into reality.

She returned her attention to the man in front of her. He wasn't the Ape Man. He was Squeeze. Not that that was much of a consolation.

Her eyes darted to Tory who was staring up at the Mouse. Her lip twitched, allowing Trinket to catch a glimpse of the metal fangs in her mouth.

This wasn't Tory. This was the vampire that had been terrorizing the city.

This was not Elysium.

This was Tinkerfall.

This was her home.

Swallowing hard, she met Squeeze's vicious stare. Home or not, this wasn't an ideal situation to be in. But she was used to less-than-ideal situations at this point in her life.

"Must be my lucky day to find you both together," Squeeze said, cracking his meaty knuckles as he took one large step towards them.

Trinket and Tory fell back, their former argument forgotten in the face of this new threat.

A scowl twisted the thug's expression. "It's cuz of you two that I got sacked from the asylum. They called me all sorts of words I don't remember. Big words. And I'm pretty sure they all meant 'stupid.' I don't like being called stupid."

"If the shoe fits," mumbled Tory.

Trinket stifled a gasp as she widened her eyes at her brazen friend.

Squeeze bared his teeth and leaned forward. "What was that?" he growled.

Tugging at Tory's arm to keep her from repeating the insult, Trinket cleared her throat. "But Mr. Squeeze, I thought you were happy being part of the Mice? Of what worth was your former job compared to what you have now?"

Sneering, he cracked his neck and moved towards them again. "You talk real fancy for a crazy girl," he said. "Must be hanging around that doctor too much."

The two girls backed away, but they didn't get far before they hit the wall.

"Now that Scales is gone, we got no use for you," Squeeze said. "Which means I don't have to worry 'bout keeping you alive. And that makes things more fun."

With her heart pounding in her throat, Trinket dug through her pocket, searching for the faux perfume.

Oh, no.

She'd dropped it. During her last encounter with Squeeze.

It was gone.

She was completely unarmed.

Squeeze cracked his knuckles again, his vicious smile growing with every step. She wracked her brain, trying to think of some way to get out of this alive. But nothing came to her, and Squeeze's lumbering form drew closer and closer.

There was no getting out of this one.

This was the end.

There really was no escaping Elysium.

It would always come back to find her.

But then Tory lunged at him. Teeth bared, she grabbed his leg, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Too shocked to shake her off, he watched as she sank her metal fangs into his flesh. It was only then that he reacted. Releasing an animalistic howl, he kicked her away. Tory was thrown into the brick wall, hitting it with a sickening crack. She groaned and clutched her head.

Squeeze stooped down and rolled up his trouser leg to find two puncture marks, blood trickling from each one and seeping into his boot. Fear flashed through his eyes. But as he tore them away from his injured leg and focused on Tory, that fear was replaced by pure, unadulterated rage.

"You filthy whore," he growled. "I'll tear your bloody head off."

Tory was still struggling to stand when he grabbed for her throat. She managed to stumble out of his reach, but it only bought her a few seconds. Trinket took that precious time to search for some way to help. Her eyes passed over the debris surrounding them until they caught on the piece of crate Tory had thrown at her earlier. Without wasting another moment, she seized it and turned back to Squeeze who was snarling at Tory as she vainly tried to keep him from reaching her neck.

Swinging with all her might, Trinket aimed for the back of the man's head. The wooden plank collided with his skull, and he gave a grunt as he tripped forward. His hand flew to his head, and he whipped around to face her. But she swung the piece of wood again, hitting him across the cheek. The unexpected force sent him tumbling into the wall, his skull smashing against the brick. The blow knocked him unconscious. His head lolled to the side as blood trickled down his neck.

She dropped the piece of wood and gazed at Squeeze's limp body in disbelief. Breathing heavily, she turned her eyes to Tory who was staring in amazement at the felled Mouse. When she sensed Trinket's gaze, her eyes snapped to her, regaining their former paranoia.

"Tory—"

Before Trinket could even try to calm her friend down, Tory pushed her aside and made a mad dash for the street. Trinket let out a hiss of pain as her elbow collided with the brick wall. She moved to go after Tory, but the girl had disappeared without a trace.

Rubbing her arm, Trinket glanced about the alley, at a loss as to what to do. She stepped out into the street and made sure no one was nearby. When she was certain the coast was clear, she ran for home.

Once she reached the house, she slipped back inside without a sound and hurried upstairs to her room. Locking the door behind her, she released a long breath and collapsed face-first onto the bed.

What had she been thinking? Dashing out into the dead of night when she knew full well that Scales was seething somewhere out in the city, waiting to get his revenge? When had she become so impulsive and reckless? And what good had it done? Tory no longer trusted her. She thought she was out to get her like the rest of the world. Now what chance did Trinket have of convincing her to let Booker help? She had failed miserably and nearly gotten herself killed in the process.

What would she do now?

What was the next step?

How could she fix this?

You ruined it.

All of it.

It's all over.

You're doomed.

"You're not helping," she hissed, hiding her head beneath one of her pillows.

~

She must have drifted off while trying to think of a way to regain Tory's trust, and she woke with a start from a nightmare of drowning in a large pot of gruel set over a fire. As she sat up in bed, still fully clothed and her hair a tangled mess, only one thought was in her head:

She needed to tell Booker.

Not even bothering to check the time, she threw open her bedroom door and marched across the hall to his room. Knocking lightly so as not to disturb Gin or Daphne, she waited for a response. When there was none, she tried again. And when still she received no reply, she called out softly to him.

"Booker? Booker, are you awake?"

Nothing. Taking a breath, she turned the knob and pushed the door open just enough to peek her head inside. The room was empty, the bed still made. No sign of Booker.

Pulling her head back out, she decided to try the library. Perhaps he had gotten a sudden idea about the vampire and needed to do some research?

But, no, the library was empty as well, the only open books being ones that he had left on the table during a previous study session.

As she raced downstairs to try the only other place he could be, doubt began to creep into her heart. Maybe she should attempt to talk to Tory one last time. After all, if she went to Booker now, it would only solidify Tory's suspicions about her. Perhaps she should wait a few more days to see if the opportunity would arise to approach her friend once more.

If you tell him, he'll hate you.

You'll ruin everything.

She shook her head, gripping the doorknob as she stood in front of the laboratory door. No. She had to do this. Now. In fact, she should have done it a while ago. She needed help. She couldn't do this on her own. Some tasks required teamwork. And this was most certainly one of those tasks.

Still, her heart pounded so hard she could scarcely hear her own footsteps as she made her way down the laboratory stairs.

Booker was sitting at his desk, and when she entered, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Trinket. What are you doing down here?" he asked, glancing at his pocket watch. "At so late an hour?"

She stopped in front of him and took another deep breath. He gazed at her curiously as she gathered up her courage and forced her anxious thoughts aside. "I know who the vampire is."

His attention immediately caught, he rose to his feet. "You do? How did you find out? When?"

"I've known for a while now."

He furrowed his brow. "How long?"

She thought for a moment, trying to remember when this had all started. "The day the shopgirl died. When I followed Theo, I ran into the vampire. And I recognized her."

"Who is she? Someone we know?"

"Someone I know. Someone . . . someone from my past."

His eyes widened. "Your past. As in—"

"From Elysium. We were in Elysium together. Her name is Tory. Or maybe it's actually Victoria like she told Theo. But I called her Tory."

Running a hand through his hair, Booker looked about the room, his eyes darting back and forth. He was practically glowing with excitement. She could see the gears turning in his head as he connected every piece he could, hoping it would finally lead him to Benedict.

"I've talked to her," she added.

He turned his attention back to her. "You have?"

She nodded.

"What did you find out?" he asked, his fingers fidgeting as he tried to stand still.

"That someone matching Benedict's description came to Elysium and asked if she would be willing to be his patient in an experiment. He offered her a way to defend herself, and since she has a tendency towards delusions and paranoia, she jumped at the opportunity."

"Does she remember where he took her?"

"No, she was put under for most of the trip and the surgery. When she finally woke up, she was in a room at the Clocktower."

Running his fingers through his hair again, Booker took to pacing about the room, his nervous energy searching for a way to be spent. "I wonder if Elysium has a record of his visit?" he mumbled to himself. He shook his head as he turned to take another lap about the room. "No, no, he wouldn't be so careless as to give his real name. And I doubt the asylum would be foolish enough to keep a paper trail of their illegal business deals. Still, maybe I could bribe or blackmail someone there into giving me what information they have."

He stopped by the operating table and turned to face her. Every muscle in her body went rigid, and her stomach twisted into an anxious knot as the excitement and curiosity in his eyes were replaced with concern.

There it is.

The fear.

He'll never look at you the same way.

"Trinket, why didn't you tell me this sooner?" he asked softly.

Swallowing down the thick knot in her throat, she averted her eyes. "I was trying to win her trust. If I told you, she would've become suspicious of me."

"But we could have found a way to get around that. You and I make a great team. You know we could've found a solution."

Her heart ached at the tender way he called them a team, and she swallowed again. "It was just such a shock to see her. And you don't understand how paranoid she is. I was so afraid of scaring her away."

Of scaring him away.

You're scaring him away.

You're going to lose him.

His footsteps padded towards her, but she kept her eyes turned aside, afraid to meet what she was sure was a gentle gaze. "Trinket, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice very near and very soft.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. "I was afraid," she whispered.

"Afraid? What—"

"Of telling you! I was afraid of telling you and having you meet someone from my past and finding out who I really am and where I come from and what I'm capable of."

There. She'd said it. Her true fear. Her fear of losing him.

He's lost.

He'll hate you now.

She lifted her face to him and found a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Trinket, I already know where you come from and what you're capable of. I have the scars on my arm to prove it."

You'll give him worse scars than that.

It's what you do best.

They were right. If only he knew what worse atrocities she could commit. That she had committed. That she could easily commit again.

Murderer, murderer, murdererrrrr.

Turning her eyes downward, she whispered, "But I was afraid that if you actually met someone who knew me back then, it would suddenly become real. You'd realize that I truly am insane and dangerous. You'd see where I had come from. And knowing that would change how you feel about me."

He grasped her shoulders tightly, and his touch sent a delightful shiver through her body. She looked up and found his cognac eyes gazing intensely into her own. "Trinket, nothing could change how I feel about you."

Swallowing her tears, she tried to take a breath. "You have no idea—"

He tightened his hold on her. "Yes, I do, and I don't care. I don't care if you spent a year in an asylum or if you were friends with paranoid, delusional girls. I don't care why your family sent you away or about the things you did when you were in Elysium. I don't care that you hear voices or see spiders and rats and imaginary people or have manic episodes of terror. None of that will ever change the way I feel about you."

Her chest was tight with unspent emotions, and she was sure that if she gazed into his intoxicating eyes a second longer, she would lose her mind. Or what was left of it to lose.

Loosening his grip slightly, he took a breath and inclined his head. "Ever since you came into my life, nothing has been the same. You've completely disrupted this lonely little world of science that I've created."

Letting out a short laugh, she turned her gaze away. "I do tend to be a nuisance."

He craned his neck to catch her eyes again. "No, not a nuisance. You've been an influence. A major influence. And while there have certainly been times when I've been a bit annoyed by your voice of reason and your morals, I don't regret having you here. And I never will."

She gave a soft smile, and he returned it. After a moment, though, it faded into something more serious. His eyes wandered back and forth over her face, as though he were searching for something. Her heart beat wildly, and she swallowed down the butterflies fluttering up from her stomach. How was it possible for his gaze to have such an effect on her?

"You are the most important person who has ever come into my life," he said at last, his voice low and tentative. "I don't ever want to lose you."

Her breath hitched as he spoke the words. His eyes had finally settled on hers, and she found that she couldn't look away. Electricity traveled through her body, racing through her veins and bones and making it nearly impossible to think rationally.

There was a reason she couldn't have this. There was a very good reason why she couldn't have a future and why she couldn't hope that the warmth in Booker's eyes was the same warmth that had been growing within her own heart all of these months.

There was a reason. But she didn't want to remember it.

You ungrateful worm.

Forgetting your sins?

Monster.

At the voices' prodding, an image flashed through her head.

Merrill.

Curled up on the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

Blood that she had spilt.

Blood that, while no longer visible on her hands, would stain her life forever.

Booker could very well know the same fate as Merrill.

Because she was dangerous.

She was a killer.

She was undeserving of love or life or hope.

And yet, even with all of this playing through her mind, she could not stop herself from whispering, "You'll never lose me, Booker."

He was the first to move.

His fingers slid from her shoulders to her jawline, cupping her face in his hands, every touch setting off tiny sparks beneath her skin. And when he stepped closer, she did, too, her body drawn to his like there was some magnetic force pulling them together. Her palms rested against his chest, and his muscles tensed at the sudden contact.

Their eyes met, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of fear behind his earnest gaze. But it disappeared as soon as they closed the short distance between their bodies.

Something burst in her mind as their lips met. Every reservation, every haunting memory, every future anxiety vanished. Her senses were filled with Booker and Booker alone.

The feeling of his fingers tangled in her hair as he drew her closer.

The faint scent of oil and chemicals that lingered on his clothes.

The way he tasted of bitter tea and strawberry jam.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Completely absorbed in each other, they bumped into workbenches and tables as they stumbled about the room, their bodies unable to get close enough to satisfy their desire. It was only when her back hit a wall that they remained in one spot, and even then, their lips refused to be still.

She needed more. More of this. More of him. More of everything.

Good Lord, she hoped this moment would never end.

Somehow, through the heavy breathing and blissful fog, she heard a bell from upstairs. She opened her eyes and laid her hands on Booker's chest to stop him from catching her lips again. "The door," she panted, surprised by how difficult it was to catch her breath.

He shook his head. "Ignore it," he said, leaning in towards her.

She moaned softly against his mouth but managed to pull away before she lost herself in ecstasy again. "It could be about Tory."

Resting his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes and whispered, "I'm not nearly as interested in the vampire as I am in this moment."

She smiled as he gently kissed her cheek, then her neck, sending her insides into delicious tremors. But before they could pick up where they had left off, a knock came from the laboratory door.

"Booker," she objected as his fingers pulled at the fabric of her neckline so that his lips could brush her clavicle. "Booker, it could be important."

The knocking became more frantic and insistent, and he dropped his head onto her shoulder and groaned. "Fine, but if it's a patient, I can't promise my work will be up to snuff. I think I might get so distracted that I'll chop off the wrong arm," he said as he pulled away and moved towards the stairs.

"Which is why you have a lovely assistant to help you," she said, following him up the steps.

He cast her a smile before unlocking the door. When he pushed it open, they found Daphne standing before them, her eyes wide with panic. She was holding someone in her arms, someone beaten, bleeding, and gasping for breath.

Gin.

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