Booker hurried through the muddy streets of the city center, heading towards the apartment building where Trinket had seen the girl she believed was connected to the vampire. The crazed look of determination in his eyes truly worried her, but there was no stopping him when he was in such a state. All she could do was hope that they found this girl sooner rather than later.

"Do you recall what she looked like?" Booker asked as the apartment building came into sight.

"I do, but honestly, there was nothing outstanding about her. She was completely ordinary."

"Anything. Anything at all to identify her."

She thought for a moment. "She had ash-colored hair. And was small, though not unusually small. I'd recognize her if I saw her, but I can't give a helpful description."

They arrived in front of the apartment building and stood before the door as shoppers and cabs trudged through the street behind them. It was an old, worn door, the number on it faded and practically unreadable.

"How many rooms do you think there are?" Trinket asked.

Booker shrugged. "Three floors, five or six to each, so maybe upwards of eighteen?"

"Not too many. We could just knock on each one."

He pushed the door open with some effort. The hinge creaked in protest, the door only opening halfway. They slipped inside and closed it behind them.

"Start at the beginning?" she asked.

"No, the top. That way, if we irritate someone enough that they give chase, no one down below will be aware of our intrusion, making it less likely that they will impede our escape."

She shook her head disapprovingly as they climbed the rotted staircase. "I don't know if I should be impressed or concerned."

"Both is good."

Upon reaching the third floor, Booker approached the door furthest from the stairs and gave a hearty knock. A tearful wail came from the other side, accompanied by cursing and heavy footsteps. The door was thrown open by an angry middle-aged woman with dark bags under her eyes and a crying baby in her arms.

"What?" the woman barked.

Booker fell back a step and blinked. "Ah, so sorry for the intrusion, madam, but we were looking for someone. A young girl, actually."

Giving a sharp laugh, the woman replied, "I haven't been young in quite a few years, little mister. Now, if you don't mind, I have a colicky young'un to deal with."

Not even waiting for a response, she slammed the door in their faces.

"Well, we're off to a good start," Trinket mumbled.

The overworked mother was the only person they found on the third floor, although they did hear some incomprehensible slurring behind another door, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. The second floor turned out to be a bit more successful. They met a foreigner who couldn't understand a word they were saying but kept offering to have them inside. They politely declined the invitation and moved on to a room with at least eight people inside. The group was rather jumpy and not much for conversation. When asked about a young girl with ash-colored hair, they just kept shaking their heads until Booker gave up and tried the next door.

"I have to say, I think we're doing very well," Trinket said. "No death threats as of yet."

"Always look on the bright side, right?" Booker said, knocking on the door in front of them.

A muffled curse, followed by slow, shuffling footsteps. Someone fiddled with the lock, swearing loudly until the door creaked open. A large man stood before them, bald and grimy. His eyes were blurry, as though he had just woken up, and by the smell of his breath as he heaved a heavy sigh, he had likely been in an alcohol-induced sleep.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, scratching the side of his head.

His bald head.

Which was tattooed with the image of a snake.

Trinket held back a gasp. This was the same man who had approached her that night with Grace. A man that even the bold and brazen night flower had been afraid of.

Trinket shrank back, hoping he didn't recognize her.

"So sorry to disturb you, my good sir," Booker said with a polite smile. "But we're looking for someone. A young girl whom we believe lives in this particular building."

The large man picked at his teeth as he leaned against the doorpost. "I dunno anything about the folks around this place. Don't live here."

There was movement in the room behind him. Trinket spied a half-dressed woman pulling on her skirt and then sitting down on an unmade bed to lace her boots.

"Ah, terribly sorry to disrupt you, then," Booker said as he turned to leave.

"Wait a second there," said the man, pointing at Trinket. "Don't I know her?"

Booker's gaze flickered to her anxiously. "I'm sure you don't. She doesn't get out much."

"No, no, I do. She's that flower who has the clap. Better watch yourself there, man. Might end up with more than you paid for."

"I thank you for the warning," Booker said, steering Trinket away from the room and down the stairs, casting her a confused look.

Once they were safely outside, Trinket glanced behind to be sure they hadn't been followed. The tattooed man was nowhere to be seen. She let out a long breath and slumped against Booker's shoulder.

"So how exactly did you two meet?" he asked with a crooked grin. "And why does he think you're a night flower?"

"That night I went to investigate the vampire on my own, I got propositioned by a few unruly men.

The humor in Booker's face disappeared. "You what?"

"It's fine, really. Grace saved me. But that fellow back there was one of the men. And from the way Grace spoke of him, I don't think he's someone to be messed with."

Booker's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. "Ah. I see. Well, then."

She tilted her head and watched him glance about the street anxiously. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking back at the apartment. "I don't think he's going to follow us, you know."

Sighing, he turned his attention to her. "No. No, I know. It's fine. It's fine. It's—"

He stopped and knit his brows together as he stared at something beyond her. She followed his gaze and noticed a familiar face storming down the road.

Scales.

He was mumbling to himself, gripping his walking stick so hard it looked like he might break it in half.

Trinket and Booker stumbled over to an alley, slipping inside and flattening themselves against the brick wall. They peered out at the road just as Scales arrived at the apartment building where they had been standing only seconds before. Without any decorum, he kicked at the door, forcing it to open all the way and splintering the doorjamb in the process. He disappeared inside, muttering under his breath and squeezing his hands into fists.

"Luck must be on our side," Booker said, his eyes glued to the apartment.

"This is where his men found me the other night," Trinket said. "Do you think he knows about the girl?"

"Maybe."

"Should we go before he sees us?"

"Let's stick around a little longer."

"Booker, you know better than to bait him."

"I'm not baiting him. I'm stalking him. Much different."

She pressed her lips together. "It's just as bad as far as I'm concerned."

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm only watching. Nothing more. At least not today. Don't worry."

There was something unsettling about his rapt attention. Scales was another one of Booker's dangerous obsessions. Though it was not as friendly as his fixation with Benedict, he seemed to have as much of an interest in Scales as he did in his old friend. And unfortunately, Scales was just as intrigued by him. She worried that this mutual obsession would end in disaster.

After a while, Scales reappeared, the man with the tattoo by his side. The tattooed man had a dumb smile on his face as he buckled his trousers. Scales looked as though he may literally spit nails.

"C'mon, you're so uptight," the tattooed man said. "Maybe if you indulged in a bit of flesh yourself, you might not be such a stick in the mud."

"You know I have no use for such carnal activities," Scales said, a strange tenseness in his voice.

His companion placed a bowler hat on his head, partially covering the snake tattoo. "Not back in the day. Whatever happened to that skirt you were bedding all those years ago? Annie? Esther? Charity?"

There was a flash of pain in Scales' eyes, but he quickly covered it up with a scowl. "Doesn't matter. What's important right now is that we have a meeting to attend, and the one who called the meeting is late."

The tattooed man furrowed his brow. "I called a meeting?"

"I did it on your behalf to save you the trouble."

Letting out a boisterous laugh, the tattooed man whacked Scales on the back. "See, this is why I have you, Scales. We make a great team."

Scales cringed and shoved his companion forward. "Keep your voice down. The police are everywhere after that last death."

"Right, the vampire girl. You find anything more on her?"

"Working on it."

Their voices trailed off as they got farther away. Trinket could see that curious glint in Booker's eyes. He wanted to follow them. Though she was afraid of what might happen if they were spotted, she tightened her grip on his arm and pulled him across the street where a small crowd had gathered around an accordion player ahead of Scales and his companion. Stationing themselves by a lamppost and trying to appear fascinated by the music, they both strained to hear the continuation of the Mice's conversation.

"—Wolf would've been handy. But I still don't see why those dead bodies were so important," said the tattooed man.

"They were, trust me," Scales said.

"We can make plenty of our own dead bodies."

"Not like this man can."

"Oh, yes, this elusive mad scientist of yours. Don't we already have one of those in this city?"

Scales scoffed. "Something like that. Anyhow, I told you, if we can find the man behind these abominations, the Mice will be the most feared gang in all of Bellford. We'll be unstoppable."

"I think we're already pretty unstoppable."

"So imagine what we'll be with these monsters at our beck and call. You'll have more whores and ale than you'll know what to do with."

With another obnoxious laugh, the tattooed man gave Scales one last whack on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. "I like how you think, my friend. All right, let's find this madman."

"Glad to have your approval," Scales said through gritted teeth.

They turned down a corner, taking their conversation with them. But Booker seemed satisfied this time. He glanced down at Trinket and raised his eyebrows. "Hungry?" he asked.

~

Everyone in the Clocktower was talking about the latest vampire victim. Their hushed whispers made the alehouse eerily quiet. But Booker didn't seem to notice. He was too interested in the scene that had just transpired outside the apartment building.

"Viper couldn't be that stupid," he said after a serving girl had delivered their tea. "To actually wear a snake on his head? It couldn't be him."

"But you don't really know anything about Viper, right?" Trinket asked, taking a sip of her tea and frowning. It was little more than murky water. "So how do you know he's smart?"

He drummed his fingers against the table, staring off into the distance. "Well, he's smart enough to stay out of sight and let his minions do the dirty work. It keeps him from being recognized, making it harder for the police to track him down. So why would someone that clever be stupid enough to brand himself with a snake?"

"Maybe he thinks it's so obvious that no one would believe it was him?"

"Maybe," he said, resting his chin in his palm only to immediately grip the table and lean in towards her. "But the way he was talking. He sounded like a blithering idiot."

"Are you genuinely disappointed that the leader of the Dead Mice might be less intelligent than you thought he was?"

Sinking back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. "No. Well, maybe a little. I just don't understand. How could the Dead Mice continue to be the most feared and influential gang for miles around with a moron like him at the helm? That couldn't have been Viper."

She furrowed her brow. "Don't you think it was strange the way Scales was acting? I've never seen him so subdued before. I don't think he would defer to another person unless it was Viper."

Booker let out a sigh and leaned his elbows against the table as he tangled his fingers in his hair. "You're right. Scales would not bow to anyone unless he had to. And the only person above Scales is Viper. That man had to be Viper."

Shaking her head, Trinket absentmindedly took another sip of tea and wrinkled her nose at the stomach-churning brew. "He didn't seem too pleased to be answering to him, did he? I thought he might turn around and bite the man's head off at any second."

"Yes, well, I can't imagine a scenario in which Scales would be comfortable with taking orders from someone else. Even Viper."

"How did he end up as the second-in-command, then? He's certainly clever and violent enough to be the leader."

Shrugging, Booker ran a finger around the rim of his cup. "Gang semantics. I don't know all the details, but I believe the successor of the leader is usually chosen by the leader himself, at least with the Mice. So maybe Scales joined after Viper was appointed. Or maybe he got on the former leader's bad side."

She recalled the look of pure hatred on Scales' face as he spoke with Viper. "Or maybe Viper managed to steal the position from him?"

"That could be possible, as well. It would explain their strained relationship."

"I wonder if Grace knows anything about Viper."

"Grace?"

"She seemed to know him rather well. I think he might be a regular customer of hers. Perhaps we should pay your favorite night flower a visit."

Booker grimaced but nodded nonetheless. "It wouldn't hurt. Well, it might hurt me, but I think it would be worthwhile."

Unable to contain a teasing smile, she rose to her feet and pulled him from his seat. "I'll protect you from the big, mean night flower, Mr. Larkin," she said as she patted his arm and led him towards the door.

"I am not afraid of her. I'm afraid of hurting her."

"I don't know, you seem pretty intimidated whenever she's around."

"All right, all right, fine. She scares me a little. Happy?"

Chuckling to herself, she shrugged. "I don't know that I'm happy, but I am amused."

~

Grace looked like death warmed over when she answered the door. Her eyes barely lit up when she saw Booker. "Come in, come in," she said, motioning for them to follow her into her apartment.

Trinket could sense Booker's hesitation as he entered the dingy room. Grace closed the door and coughed into her hand, pulling her robe closed. "Under the weather, Grace?" he asked.

"The door downstairs was swollen shut last night, leaving me out in the rain for hours," she explained as she shuffled towards a small vanity by the window and sat down on a moth-eaten chair. "By the time I got inside, I was soaked to the bone. I woke up this morning with a knife in my throat."

Booker furrowed his brow as he released Trinket's arm and approached the night flower. He laid the back of his hand on her forehead and raised his eyebrows. "You're burning up," he said. He moved his hands down to her throat and gently massaged it. "And your glands are enlarged."

Another cough wracked Grace's body, but she still managed a weak smile. "Sure know how to sweet talk the ladies."

"You need medical attention."

She waved him away and turned to the mirror on the vanity. "I can't afford medical attention right now," she said, pinching her cheeks and attempting to fix her hair. "As it is, I need to get out and work so I can make this week's rent."

"Grace, you do me enough favors that I'd be more than willing to give you free treatment. Come on, let's go back to my place."

A playful smile tugged at the night flower's lips as she raised an eyebrow at him. "Ooh, right to business. Sure your little maid won't get jealous?"

Booker rolled his eyes and took hold of her arm. "Come on, before this turns into something worse," he said, pulling her to her feet.

Trinket opened the door and followed after him as he helped Grace down the stairs. The night flower really must have been unwell, as she did not even try to steal a kiss or let her hands wander while she clung to his arm. Every step seemed to be a struggle, and it wasn't long before tremors seized her body. Trinket pulled her shawl off and draped it over Grace's shoulders. She was surprised when the night flower glanced back and gave a weak nod.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

When they reached the house, Trinket unlocked the door and held it open for Booker and Grace. As she shut and locked it, Booker brought the night flower into the parlour and eased her onto the settee.

"I'll be right back," he told her as he returned to the hallway.

"I'll be eagerly awaiting your return," Grace said, her voice hoarse.

Trinket followed him to the laboratory door. "I'm sure the sight of you escorting a half-dressed night flower through the streets will stir up some excitement."

"Yes, well, I do so love giving the city something to gossip about," he said as he unlocked the door. "I need to grab my bag. Would you mind keeping her company?"

"Of course."

He disappeared down the stairs, and she turned to the parlour. Grace was hacking up a lung again, but as Trinket approached, she pulled the shawl off her shoulders and handed it back.

"It was much appreciated," she said.

Placing the shawl over the back of the armchair, Trinket went to the fireplace to stoke the flames. "I'm sorry if it's a little cold in here. We had a bit of an incident last night and are still trying to clean up the house."

"Is that why you and Booker were at my door? You need information concerning this incident?"

"No, not about that particular incident."

"But you do need information."

Trinket turned back to her and nodded. "Yes, we do."

Grace gave a throaty laugh. "Like always. Well, at least I can be of some use."

Daphne appeared in the doorway and looked between Grace and Trinket before giving Trinket a questioning look.

"She's caught a cold," Trinket explained.

Raising her eyebrows and nodding, Daphne disappeared into the hallway again.

"Still can't get over those things on her neck," Grace said, staring at the spot where Daphne had just been.

"Her portiums?" Trinket asked.

Grace turned to her. "Is that what he calls them? Is he going to patent and sell them?"

"I don't think he's all that interested in making money from his inventions. He has more interest in simply creating them."

Drawing her robe closed, Grace muttered, "Must be nice to not have to worry about income."

"All right, sorry for the wait," Booker said as he came back to the parlour. "The place is a bit of a mess and it took me a moment to find what I needed."

"Your maid isn't keeping up with her work?" Grace asked, pasting on a coy smile. "What are you paying her for, Booker?"

He kneeled before her. "Oh, looks like you're already doing better. Open your mouth, please."

She obeyed, and he smeared a light green gel onto her tongue. The night flower gagged and shook her head as he replaced the jar in his bag and pulled out another.

"That was not what I was hoping for," she said with a grimace.

"It will help with the cough, trust me," Booker said as he dipped his fingers into the jar of strong-smelling oil. "And this will help with your fever."

He coated her head and neck with the oil while Grace eyed him suspiciously. "You're not prepping me to cut out my lungs and replace them with rubber bladders, are you?"

He chuckled as he capped the jar and placed it on the table before fetching a rag from his bag. "No, but that's not a bad idea," he said, wiping the oil from his hands. "I might have to look into that."

Finished with Grace's treatment, he sat beside her on the settee and raised his eyebrows. She raised one in return. "All right, so what do you want from me?" she asked.

"Information."

"Surprise, surprise."

"I think you may have a client in whom I am interested."

"Really? Because I personally find most of my clients rather dull."

"He's a large, bald man with a tattoo of a snake winding down the left side of his head."

"Ah, him." Grace's eyes turned to Trinket, a sly smile on her lips. "Let me guess, your little maid told you about her run-in with him and now you have to beat his brains in to stake out your territory?"

Booker's eyes darted to Trinket. He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet shyly. Trinket's cheeks flushed at his reaction.

"No, that's not it," he said. 'I just have some suspicions concerning him, and I'd like to investigate further."

Daphne entered with a teacup, which she pushed into Grace's hands. The night flower sniffed at it and drew back with a rather sour look on her face. However, Daphne took hold of her hands and pushed the cup towards her once more, grabbing her own throat and giving a scratchy cough. Though still clearly suspicious, Grace did as Daphne instructed and sipped at the tea. She smacked her lips a few times, appearing uncertain of how she felt about the taste.

Again, Booker cleared his throat. "Please, Grace. Anything you know."

Taking another sip of the tea upon Daphne's insistence, Grace turned to him. "You have awfully bossy help."

"Grace, the man with the tattoo."

"Right, right. Well, I'm afraid I don't know much. I try to keep a professional distance from my clients unless you ask me to do otherwise. However, in this case, I'm not sure even euphoria could compel me to dig deeper into this fellow's personal life."

"Why is that?"

"If his lovemaking is any indication, I'm quite certain he would rip my head off upon finding out I've been nosing into his business."

Trinket flinched. "Is he really that violent?" she asked.

Grace shrugged. "Many of my clients are a bit on the rough side, mostly when they're especially excited. But this fellow is different. He seems to take particular pleasure in causing pain. I mean, he pays well enough, so I put up with it. Still, I don't think he'd react well to me digging up dirt on him."

Booker glanced at Trinket. This man had to be Viper. Such cruelty and violence could only come from a Mouse.

"Why are you so interested?" Grace asked, forcing herself to take a sip of tea.

"As I said, I have a hunch about him," Booker said.

"Watch those hunches of yours, Booker. They could lead to something worse than bruises around your neck," she said, fingering the faded purple marks around her clavicle. She took another sip of tea and gave a thoughtful hum. "This actually isn't too bad once you get past the vinegar."

"Perhaps you should stay here for the rest of the day. Maybe spend the night," Booker suggested.

Grace raised an eyebrow and licked her lips. "Is that an invitation?" she asked before erupting into a coughing fit.

Rising to his feet, he moved over to the armchair, keeping a safe distance between himself and Grace. "More like doctor's orders."

Wiping her mouth with the lace trim of her robe, Grace replied, "Well, you do still owe me a tour of your bedroom."

"I was thinking one of the guest rooms, actually. So you can rest and get over this cold."

She shook her head. "I think I would prefer to go home. The comforts of familiarity, you know? But thank you. I do appreciate your concern," she said, attempting to lift herself off the settee.

Trinket rushed to her side as she stumbled, and though the night flower seemed irritated by her assistance, she did not resist. "I'll help her get home," Trinket said to Booker.

"I should come with you," he said.

Despite her weakened state, Grace managed a teasing smile as she wrapped her arms around Trinket. "What? Afraid I'll steal her away from you? Not exactly my type, but since you won't warm my bed—"

"All right, you're clearly delirious," Trinket said, forcing Grace to loosen her grip. "Come on, let's get you home. I'll be back shortly, Mr. Larkin."

Grace gave Booker another sly smile before they left. However, her playful air slipped away as soon as the door closed behind them, and she leaned heavily on Trinket as they walked down the street.

"You know, it wouldn't have been any trouble for you to stay," Trinket said.

Shaking her head, Grace coughed into her shoulder. "I'll be fine. This certainly isn't the first cold I've had. I just need a shot of whiskey and a few good hours of sleep."

They continued on in silence for a spell.

"Thank you, though."

Trinket's attention returned to Grace whose concentration was fixed on the road ahead. "For?" she asked.

"Your generosity."

"It isn't really my generosity. After all, it's Mr. Larkin's house."

Grace gave a short laugh. "Booker's never been quite this generous. I think most of the thanks belong to you."

Trinket eyed her for a moment. "Do you hate me?"

"'Hate' is a very strong word, reserved mostly for mushrooms and cats. I'd say you're a few pegs up from them." She cast her a glance. "I'm not entirely fond of you, but I don't hate you."

"Why don't you like me?"

Grace raised an eyebrow at her. "Isn't it because I'm a jealous, catty harlot?"

Trinket cleared her throat as she turned her eyes to the ground. "I'd like to think I earned your ire by my own merits and not because of who I work for."

A smile tugged at Grace's lips. "Well, when you talk like that, it makes it difficult to loathe you. No, I don't dislike you because of Booker. I simply find your manner irritating."

"Irritating? How?"

"You're so calm and collected. It's hard to get any sort of rise out of you. I pride myself on making people uncomfortable, and with you, it's nearly impossible. I don't like that."

"Why do you want to make people uncomfortable?"

"Defense mechanism, I suppose? When you live most of your life underneath others, you tend to want to raise yourself up in whatever way you can. Seeing as my profession makes so many uncomfortable as it is, I simply build upon that."

Trinket smiled. "You're a very interesting person, Grace."

They had arrived at the apartment building. Grace removed herself from Trinket's grip and hobbled over to the door. "Well, I have to keep folks entertained and coming back for more, or else I'm out of a job."

"Are you sure I can't help you the rest of the way?"

"I think I can manage a few stairs. Once I get into bed, I'll take a little bit of euphoria and drift off into a blissful sleep. Tomorrow I'll be good as new."

Trinket frowned at the mention of "euphoria," and the reaction was not lost on Grace.

"Don't judge me for how I cope with the life I've been handed," she said, raising her chin.

Trinket shook her head. "I merely wish you a speedy recovery."

"Best go take care of that doctor of yours. Heaven knows he needs someone to keep him out of trouble," Grace said as she pulled the door open and disappeared inside.