When Trinket woke, Booker was still asleep on the bed beside her. The tears on his cheeks had finally dried, and his breathing was slow and even. It was good to see him resting. He probably hadn't slept a wink all night. This short respite from his self-condemnation had taken hours of coaxing on her part, and he only truly relaxed when she gave in and lied down with him. Apparently those hours had taken their toll, as she didn't even remember closing her eyes.

The light that had been shining through the windows when she'd first entered the room was gone now. So was the blood. That was a relief. The bleeding walls were more than she could bear, what with the image of Gin's dead body still ingrained in her head. The memory of the urchin's final breath played over and over and over in her mind.

Gone.

She was gone.

Forever.

There was no bringing her back.

The tears started to form in her eyes once again, and she could feel herself unraveling.

No. No, she had to keep it together.

For Booker.

Taking a deep breath, she fixed her attention on him.

His face was still pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She ran a hand over his tangled hair, and her touch seemed to reach him even in sleep. Tightening his grip on her waist, he pulled her closer. Her heartbeat quickened momentarily, but then she gazed down at him sadly. Would he ever be the same again? Losing Gin had broken his heart. He was a shattered man, and she wasn't certain she could put him back together.

She gently trailed her fingers along his temple. Still, she knew better than anyone that it was possible to go on as a damaged human being.

No one is as damaged as you.

You could never fix him.

You'll only hurt him.

She bit back a curse. Not wanting the voices to rile her up and disturb Booker, she slowly untangled herself from his arms in an attempt to let him rest in peace. But as soon as she rose from the bed, she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her.

"Don't go."

Booker grabbed her wrist, his grip desperate. She turned to find that same desperation in his haunted eyes. She offered him a sad smile and sat down again. "You need to rest," she said as she brushed back his hair.

He closed his eyes at her touch. "There is no rest without you by my side."

The sorrowful, tender way in which he spoke the words pulled at her heartstrings, and she gave up any pretense of arguing and laid back down beside him. Relief washed over his face, and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close so that they were practically nose to nose.

"I'm guessing this is all rather improper," he said, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

"Most of what we do would be considered rather improper. I don't see how this could do much more harm to our reputations."

He laughed softly. "Have I corrupted you so thoroughly?" he said, tracing her jawline with his fingers.

His touch sent shivers of delight through her body, but the pleasure she experienced was quickly overshadowed by guilt. Gin was dead. This was no time to be romancing her employer. "I should really get to work," she said.

"I seriously couldn't care less about the state of my house."

"Booker—"

He cupped her cheek and gazed into her eyes. Her stomach fluttered, and her head spun in a dizzy fog. What was it about eye contact with him that made her feel so inebriated? "Distract me, Trinket. Please. I can't bear to think about the reality that awaits me outside that door."

Swallowing down the guilt that was still clawing at her throat, she leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against his. He closed his eyes as a small shudder ran through his body. Lacing her fingers with his, she kissed him again, even more gently this time. A trembling sigh escaped his lips.

"You can't run away from this, Booker," she whispered.

He nodded. "I know." Opening his eyes again, he gave her a strained smile. "Will you promise to stay by my side?"

Squeezing his hand, she whispered, "I told you already, Mr. Larkin. I'm not going anywhere."

Letting out a long breath, he caught her lips and slipped his hands into her hair. "Thank you," he whispered against her mouth.

~

After a few more gentle kisses and whispered words of comfort, Trinket eventually convinced Booker to leave his room for a cup of tea. Daphne was downstairs preparing a stew, and when they entered the kitchen, her shoulders sagged with relief. She quickly got to work making tea for them both. Booker accepted a cup from her with a grateful smile, and she affectionately kissed his cheek before returning to the stove.

"Is everyone going to treat me like I'm made of glass now?" he grumbled as he and Trinket sat themselves down in the parlour.

Inconspicuously tucking Gin's hat under the settee, Trinket took hold of his arm and gave it a gentle pat. "You just lost someone you love. You're allowed to show a little weakness."

"Weakness—"

"Will get you killed, I know. But no one here is trying to kill you. Well, except for that time in the kitchen. That was not a malicious attack, though, I swear."

He cracked a smile.

"You can be vulnerable with us," she went on. "Neither Daphne nor I will judge you for it."

Placing his teacup on the table, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. "With all due respect to Daphne, I'm really only comfortable showing my vulnerabilities to you."

"Daphne has seen you half-naked. I think she's well-acquainted with your vulnerabilities."

Chuckling softly, he leaned his head against hers. "Leave it to you."

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Leave it to you to make me laugh when all I want to do is cry."

What kind of monster would make jokes at a time like this?

Guilt gnawed at her gut. "Forgive me. I shouldn't be so disrespectful to Gin. I—"

Booker turned her face to him and caught her lips, cutting her off. Every inch of her body buzzed with excitement and desire.

Monster, monster, monster.

When he pulled away, there was a glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Gin would rather I laugh than cry. You're merely doing what she would do if she were here," he said.

He smiled softly, but even so, a single tear slid down his cheek. Brushing it from his chin before it could fall, she drew him into a tight embrace. And for the second time that day, she found him crying in her arms as she tried desperately to hold him together.

"You're a godsend," he whispered into her ear.

"I'm your assistant, Mr. Larkin."

Pulling back slightly, he met her eyes. "You are so much more than an assistant."

She nodded and wiped the tears from his wet cheeks. "You're right. I'm your friend. And your partner. And we'll get through this together."

His grip on her tightened. "I pray I never lose you. There's no telling what will become of me if I do."

Taking a deep breath, he released her and reached for his tea again. His words echoed in her head, and as she hooked her arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder, she whispered, "Not even tea and crumpets could tempt me away from you, Mr. Larkin."

A smile tugged at his lips as he took another sip of tea. "Leave it to you."

~

The days passed in a blur and yet seemed to drag on for ages. It was as though nothing had changed, while at the same time nothing would ever be the same again. Trinket went about her daily routine of cleaning and cooking with Daphne, but in between her household duties, she sat with Booker in his room or in the parlour, doing all she could to distract him from his sorrow. She hated to leave him alone for long, fearing the dark place his mind might go if he was allowed to dwell on Gin's death.

As for her own sanity, it wasn't long before her hallucinations began to taunt her again. The very day after burying Gin, the front bell suddenly rang in the excited, insistent way it always did when the young urchin had news. But when Trinket rushed to the door, she found nothing but an empty and lonely street. The scene repeated itself several times before she gave up on answering the door and left the task to Daphne and her more reliable mind.

Laughter echoed down the hallways as she cleaned, light-hearted and teasing, just like Gin's. It made her heart skip hopefully, and she had to remind herself that it was all in her head, a cruel joke that her broken psyche was playing on her. But even with these reminders, the laughter continued to haunt her throughout the house, reminding her of all she had lost.

Perhaps the worst of it all were the crows. Not just any crows. Mechanical ones. Their metal wings creaked and clicked as they flew about her room, cawing in a grating, rusty manner, keeping her up all night long. They would be waiting for her on the banister, pecking at her dress as she descended the stairs. And they followed her into the parlour, staring at her with their rivet eyes, bringing back the memory of Booker's broken heart when he saw the shattered remains of the toy he had made for his beloved informant. It was only this image that kept her from trying to destroy the mechanical figments of her imagination.

For some strange reason, the crows and the laughter did not harass her in the laboratory. Perhaps it was because the memories down there were haunting enough without hallucinations. The room was still torn apart from Booker's breakdown. Shards of glass and broken prosthetics littered the floor. And every so often, a flesh-eating beetle would scurry across her path, separated from its brethren. While seeking refuge from her twisted psyche, she cleaned, sweeping up the shattered jars and collecting as many of the beetles as she could find.

After several days of hard work, the laboratory was restored to its former glory. Except for the operating table. Her eyes turned to it, finding that it held a whole new sort of terror for her now. She kept picturing Gin lying on its metal surface, beaten, broken, and desperately fighting for her life. And then that moment when she took her last breath. Her lifeless eyes, her still body, her—

She shook her head to rid herself of the image. That was not how she wanted to remember her dear friend. No, in her mind, Gin would always be the feisty, vivacious little girl who had come into her life with a skeptical glare and a sassy remark. It was that Gin that would be forever ingrained in her memory.

Heaving a sigh, she took one last look around the room before heading back up to the main part of the house. As she closed the door, Booker appeared by the stairs, rounding the corner on his way down the hallway. When he saw her emerging from the laboratory, he froze, his eyes widening slightly as they focused on the door.

"Booker? Are you all right?" she asked, approaching him warily.

Snapping out of his daze, he nodded and fidgeted with the lapels of his jacket. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just heading into the kitchen for a cup of tea."

He brushed past her, refusing to look at the laboratory door. Trinket worried her lip for a bit before chasing after him.

"Booker?"

The kettle was already on the stove, and he was digging through the dresser. She stood beside him and laid a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed as he gripped a jar of black tea.

"Are you going to avoid it forever?" she asked, leaning her chin on his shoulder.

He gave a stiff shrug. "Maybe."

"Booker—"

"We could move," he said, turning to her with a somewhat wild expression.

She furrowed her brow. "Move?"

"Sure. You, me, and Daphne. We'll pick up and start anew elsewhere. Maybe even move to the South. Or the East, since you're so fond of their tea."

"Booker—"

"I'd avoid the sweet beans, though. Nasty stuff."

"We can't just move."

"Why not?"

Grasping his shoulders, she met his gaze. "You've worked so hard to create all of this. How can you abandon it? And what about Benedict? And the game? Are you really going to leave all of that behind?"

He took a trembling breath. "It hurts too much. I don't think I can live with this sort of pain."

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "You don't have to bear it alone."

He gave a wry smile. "I'm the one who should carry this burden. It's my fault, after all."

His words hit far too close to home, sending her mind reeling.

All your fault.

Your burden to bear.

Yours alone.

All your fault, all your fault, all your fault!

Swallowing hard, she pushed the voices aside. They were right. She was the last person to lecture someone on the subject. But this wasn't about her. It was about Booker.

Taking hold of his hands, she gave them a gentle squeeze. "You've made mistakes. I won't deny that. But don't condemn yourself. Learn from them. You know that Gin would never have blamed you for what happened. And neither do I. Don't let this define you."

His expression softened, and he pulled her close, placing a kiss atop her head. "Do you offer yourself the same kindness?" he whispered.

The words nearly stopped her heart. She froze and slowly looked up at him. His eyes were glistening as he gazed down at her with more love than she deserved. And for a second, she almost thought she should tell him. Confess everything and hope that he would forgive her. Have faith that he loved her enough to overlook her sins.

Who could overlook your sins?

Maybe Booker could. Maybe he'd understand.

Maybe he'd still love her.

But then the bell rang. Both of their expressions fell, as if thinking the same thing. But no, it couldn't be her. It would never be her again. If not her, though, who could it be?

They hurried into the hallway in time to see Theo stumble through the door. She was clutching her arm and gasping for breath as Daphne helped to steady her.

"Theo?" Trinket said as she and Booker approached.

Swallowing hard, she took a step towards them. "She bit me. Victoria bit me."

Without wasting a moment, Trinket tore a strip of fabric from her petticoat and handed it to Booker who had grabbed a pen that was lying on the table in the parlour. He took Theo's arm and found the wound. Two bite marks, exactly the same as the others. Except for the strange metal piece that appeared to be embedded into the punctured flesh. But there wasn't time to linger on it. Booker tied a tourniquet above the wounds and twisted it until the blood flow all but ceased.

"What should we do?" Trinket asked, remembering the fates of the other two victims they had tried to help.

His eyes darted back to Theo who was still gasping for breath as she watched them carefully. Hesitating, he cleared his throat and stole a worried glance at Trinket before addressing Theo. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid the only chance we have of saving your life is to remove the arm."

Her face blanched, and she pulled away. "Remove my arm?"

Booker nodded. "Yes. The venom that's been injected into you will spread to the rest of your body if we don't. The tourniquet should slow the process, but not for long."

Theo swallowed and glanced down at her arm. "So if you cut off my arm, I'll live?"

Again, he hesitated. "Venom is a tricky thing. There are all sorts of remedies out there, but there's been very little success with them. I feel that removing the arm is your best chance for survival. However, as our knowledge of snakebites and venom is limited, I can give you no true guarantee."

The terror in Theo's wide eyes was obvious. She looked from her arm to Booker to her arm and then back to Booker. Taking a long, shaky breath, she set her jaw and gave a curt nod.

"There's really only one choice, then, isn't there?" she said.

Booker raised his eyebrows. "So you want to do it?"

She nodded. "Yes. Take it off."

"All right, then." He licked his lips anxiously. "Then let's get you down to . . . down to the laboratory."

Theo held her head up high as she allowed Booker to lead her towards the laboratory door. Trinket watched carefully as he motioned for the injured girl to go downstairs, though he himself hesitated to follow.

"Booker," she said, coming up beside him.

He turned to her, his eyes wandering back and forth as he swallowed hard. "She wouldn't want me to give up, right?"

Nodding, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed tight. "Right."

"You'll be there with me?"

She smiled. "Not even vampires and wolves could drag me away."

Returning her smile with a tentative one of his own, he took the first step into the stairwell, his fingers still desperately clinging to hers.

Theo was looking about the laboratory in both awe and horror as she took in the various oddities that Trinket had managed to salvage. But when her gaze fell upon the operating table and its leather straps, her hands began to shake and her face paled.

"I don't know what you've heard about me," Booker said as he and Trinket joined her by the table, "but I should let you know that while you will be losing an arm, I can offer to replace it."

"With what?" asked Theo, nervously glancing at a severed hand floating in a jar.

Booker approached one of the workbenches and paused. He furrowed his brow as he took in the orderly state of the room. His gaze settled on Trinket. A soft smile spread over his face, and he turned back to the drawer. He dug inside and retrieved one of the mechanical arms that had not been destroyed during his breakdown.

"This will function just like a real arm," he said, as he held it out to Theo.

She stared at it for a moment and then reached out to touch it. At the feel of its cold, metal digits, she pulled back, clutching her chest and raising her eyes to Booker.

"If you're not sure," he went on, taking in the girl's terrified expression, "I can always attach it later on down the road. For now, we can—"

"No."

Her immediate response seemed to take him by surprise. "'No' what?"

"No, we should do it now."

"Are you certain? You don't want some time to—"

"I'm sure."

Raising an eyebrow, he shrugged and placed the arm atop the workbench. "All right, then," he said as he clapped his hands together. "Let's get started."

Theo climbed onto the table, and Trinket gently applied the restraints before fetching the ether. As she pressed the cloth over Theo's mouth and nose, she glanced back at Booker who was washing up at the sink. His shoulders were tense and his movements rigid as he dried his hands and gathered his tools. Her gaze returned to Theo who had already drifted off into unconsciousness. Was Booker going to be able to do this? Was it too soon?

"All right," Booker breathed, as he wheeled over a table with his tools set out on top. "Everything is sterilized, the patient is restrained. Let's get right into it."

He reached for the amputation knife, but his hand froze inches from the handle. His eyes darted back to the operating table, and Trinket knew he wasn't seeing Theo lying there. The panic in his gaze betrayed his fragile state of mind.

"Booker," she said softly, laying a hand on his arm.

"You're still here, right?" he said, his voice barely a whisper.

She picked up the knife and handed it to him. "I'm still here."

A muscle in his cheek twitched as he stared at the blade for a long moment. Finally, he took hold of it and turned to the unconscious girl lying on the operating table.

It was good to see Booker back at his work. Despite the pain he was clearly experiencing, he managed to focus on the task at hand. Theo's arm was swiftly removed and set aside for later examination. Then, with the precision and concentration Trinket had come to admire, he carefully attached the mechanical prosthetic. It was just as beautiful as his other creations, and when he was finished, it sat like a flesh and bone arm.

Heaving a sigh, he examined his work with a critical eye. "It's perfect," Trinket said as she stood beside him.

He nodded, gathering up his tools and retreating to the sink. She followed him and watched as he ran the bloody knives and saws under the water, his gaze distant and his movements mechanical. Her heart ached to see him in such a state, but rather than fill the silence with useless words, she lit a candle and ran the clean tools through the flame before setting them back in his bag.

"It was hard," he said at last, staring down at the forceps in his hands as he scrubbed the gore off of them.

She picked up the clean bone saw. "You did great, though."

"I kept picturing her on that table. Broken and bleeding and . . ." He trailed off and swallowed down a sob. Taking a deep breath, he regained his composure. "I finally had to shut my mind off. I had to refuse to think about her and push it all away."

Placing the forceps on the counter, he turned the water off and leaned over the sink. His head hung low as he sucked in his lips and closed his eyes.

"It felt like betrayal," he said.

She passed the forceps through the flame and put them in the bag with the other tools before snapping it shut. She wrapped her arms around Booker's waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I feel like I don't deserve this," he whispered. "I don't deserve you. I don't deserve to be happy. I don't deserve to keep living. Not when I'm the reason she's dead."

Oh, how she understood those feelings. "That would break her heart."

"Her heart is already broken. She's dead."

"You know what I mean. Gin adored you, and she would never want you to give up. Give up your art, give up this game, give up your life. It would break her heart, and you know it."

He let out a long breath. "Why are you always right?"

"You must be rubbing off on me."

A low moan came from the operating table. Exchanging a glance, they hurried back to Theo. Undoing the straps, Trinket helped her to sit up slowly, and as the girl's gaze began to focus, she noticed her new arm.

"It might take a little while for you to get used to it," Booker said. "But it's fully functional."

She lifted the mechanical limb and marveled at it as she moved the fingers. "Oh, my," she whispered.

"Are you all right?" Trinket asked, waiting for her to scream or cry as so many others had after their surgeries.

Theo's lips parted, and Trinket prepared herself for the worst. But rather than fall apart, the young girl clamped her mouth shut and lowered her arm. She peered up at Booker and gave him a smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Larkin," she said. "I owe you my life."

Waving away her thanks, he took hold of her mechanical arm and looked it over. "So, how did this happen?"

"Another victim was found," she explained. "A terrible brute of a man."

Trinket's eyes widened. "Are you certain it was Victoria who killed him?"

Theo nodded. "There was blood coming out of every part of him, just like the others."

Good. It hadn't been the blow to the head that killed him. Letting out a relieved breath, Trinket ignored the inquisitive look Booker was casting her.

"I think he must have been one of the Dead Mice, or at least a friend," Theo went on. "Some of the members I've seen at the Clocktower were standing about, and they were furious. They were saying they'd put an end to this whether Scales liked it or not, and then they went running off."

"Seems Scales still holds some power over their ranks," Booker mumbled.

"I panicked. I thought of all the horrible things they might do to Victoria if they found her. So I went looking for her. After hours of scouring the streets, I found her trying to break into one of the abandoned buildings over on Baker Street. I begged her to come with me, to let you help her, to let you fix her. But she got this crazy look in her eyes and ran, and when I tried to stop her, she bit me."

"Do you know where she went? Any idea at all?"

"I was so afraid of what would happen to me that I came straight here. I'm sorry."

Booker shook his head. "No, it's not your fault. You tried your best. I'm sure we'll find her, eventually. Whether she'll be dead or alive, though, is anyone's guess."

A thick silence settled over the room. Trinket's chest ached at the thought of Tory meeting her end at the hands of those merciless thugs. True, she was a danger to the city, but that didn't mean she deserved to be tortured to death.

Like Gin.

No one deserved that. Except for maybe Scales himself.

"Anyhow," Booker said, helping Theo down from the operating table, "let me give you instructions on your new arm. You can stay here if you'd like, to be sure you heal properly."

"Oh, no, it's fine. I can come back. I wouldn't want to put you out. Besides, what if Victoria comes to her senses and tries to find me at home? I should be there just in case."

Raising his eyebrows skeptically, Booker glanced at Trinket as he led Theo upstairs. "Of course. I understand completely."

Trinket leaned her elbows against the operating table as Booker and Theo disappeared. She buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

Squeeze. The Ape Man. He was dead.

She felt like a terrible person for being so relieved. And even worse, she'd played a part in his death. She and Tory. They'd killed the man who had assisted in making their lives a living hell.

She really was a killer.

Killer, killer, killer, killer.

"Well, at least now, with that mechanical arm, Theo will be easier to pick out of a crowd," Booker said as he came back down the stairs. His eyes focused on Trinket. "So I wonder which Mouse it was? You don't—"

"Squeeze," she said, lifting her head.

He drew his brows together. "How can you—"

"I was there. When Tory bit him. It was the same night as Gin. I thought I saw Tory outside, so I went after her without thinking. Squeeze found us and attacked us and then—"

She sighed and turned to Booker who was staring at her incredulously. "You went out?" he said. "Right after Scales had been ousted from the Mice?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

He leaned against the operating table. "Good Lord."

She took a step towards him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, I'm not upset with you. I'm just realizing how much more I could have lost that night." He ran his hands down his face and gave her a tight smile. "Never mind all of that, though. So Squeeze is dead. You must be relieved."

She straightened up and sat on the edge of the table beside him. "Shamefully, yes. It turns out he was more interested in getting back at me than you originally thought. After seeing me and Tory together, he remembered who we were. He was determined to make us pay for costing him his job at Elysium."

Booker put an arm around her. "Well, I'll say without shame that I'm glad he's gone. Now if only we could get rid of Scales. I'd feel no guilt in rejoicing over his bloody and brutal death."

"This was nothing compared to what I have in store."

The ex-Mouse's ominous words echoed in her head, sending a chill through her veins. But she kept it to herself. Telling Booker now would only work him up more. He needed time to recover before he went chasing after Mice again.

"So did you notice that metal piece in Theo's arm?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Oh, right." Booker pushed himself away from the table and went to the container in which she had placed the severed arm. "I wanted to take a closer look at it, but time was of the essence."

He brought the limb over to the operating table and fetched the forceps from his bag. The mysterious bit of metal winked up at them in the light of the gaslamps. Leaning in close, he grasped it with the forceps and gently pulled it out of the flesh until it came out with a sickly squelch. He held it up for them both to see. Though blood-stained and tarnished, it was clear what it was.

A metal fang.

"How did it break off?" she asked.

Booker shrugged. "Wear and tear, perhaps? I can't say for sure."

With the forceps and fang still in hand, he went to his desk and pulled out his goggles with the magnifying lenses attached to them. Slipping them on, he brought the metal tooth close to his face. He gazed at it in silence for a moment and then fetched a small needle from his bag. Poking and prodding at the fang, he let out a low hum.

"What is it?" she asked, taking a step closer.

"Well, there's a tiny opening at the tip here," he said, tapping the pointed end of the fang with the needle. "And I'm assuming that's how the venom comes out and is injected into the victim. But if the hole is always open like this, the venom would leak through and empty the supply. There has to be another part that's gone missing."

Something clicked in Trinket's head. "If the fang is broken off, doesn't that mean the venom is now exposed and seeping into Tory's system?"

He lowered the forceps and frowned. "Yes, I suppose that would make sense."

"And could that possibly kill her?"

"No, venom isn't deadly when ingested. It could only harm her if she has any cuts in her mouth." He paused and turned his eyes to her. "Like a gaping hole where a metal fang once was."

She grasped his arm and stared up at him pleadingly. "We need to find her before it's too late."

Pushing the goggles on top of his head, he furrowed his brow and released a sigh. "I'll fetch a pistol. Make sure you have your faux perfume on you," he said as he dropped the fang into a small metal dish and rummaged through his desk drawers.

She winced. "Actually, I lost it."

He glanced up at her. "Lost it?"

"Yes. During a previous altercation with Squeeze."

"Previous altercation? How many have there been?"

She shrugged, and he heaved another sigh. Pulling a pistol from his desk, he checked it for bullets. "I'll make you a new one," he said, snapping the chamber shut and pressing the gun into her hands. "In the meantime, take this."

Just the feel of the cold metal against her palm made her sick. "We are planning to bring her back alive, right?" she asked.

"That's the goal. But I think you and I are both realistic enough to know that may not be possible," he said, grabbing another pistol from the desk and tucking it into his back pocket. "At the very least, we know there will be Mice out there searching for her, maybe even an ex-Mouse. We need to be prepared."

She gazed down at the weapon in her hand, turning it over as she thought about her scared, possibly dying, friend. "Right. Realistic. I understand."

Booker joined her and offered a comforting smile as he grasped her shoulders. "But we're going to hope for the best. Right?"

She forced a smile. Hope. It had always seemed so foolish, so wrong for her to subscribe to anything like hope. But what else could she do?

Nodding, she let out a long breath. "Right."

Releasing her shoulders, Booker offered her his arm. "Come, my dear. We have a vampire to catch."