He stood like a mountain in that small, cramped room. His size wasn't as noticeable in the wide-open streets of the city center, but here his bald head nearly touched the ceiling. How had he even managed to fit his hulking shoulders through the doorway?

The beast of a man surveyed the crowd with a confused frown. As his gaze swept towards Trinket, she flattened herself against the wall, sinking deeper into the shadows. His eyes went right over her, reaching the end of the room before making another pass. The knife hidden beneath her hat grew heavier, and her fingers twitched, itching to pull it out.

The man who had entered with the Ape Man stepped forward. How different he was from his companion. Though dwarfed by the Ape Man's size, he was likely of average height. Pale in an almost otherworldly way. Dark hair swept back and hidden beneath a black top hat. Well-dressed and well-groomed. He observed the room with a hint of arrogance and humor. Leaning against a lavishly decorated walking stick, he crossed one leg over the other in a manner that suggested he was about to make himself at home right there in the doorway.

The same young man who had led her and Booker into the basement squeezed past the newcomers. He looked irked that the men had entered without his guidance but at the same time seemed too scared to express his indignation. Instead, he disappeared into the throng of people, leaving the two men to appraise the room on their own.

It felt like they stood there for an eternity, but at last, the well-dressed man flicked his gloved fingers in the air and strode into the crowd, the Ape Man trailing close behind.

Trinket released a long breath, her eyes still glued to the pair as they meandered from table to table. She needed to know exactly where they were at all times. It was far too dangerous to let her guard down. The Lipstick Woman might no longer be a concern, but the Ape Man, as slow-witted as he was, remained a threat.

"You all right?"

Kill it!

Panic seized her heart, and without thinking twice, she pulled the knife from her hat and aimed it at the throat of the man who had snuck up behind her. Her muscles relaxed when she found, not the Ape Man or some other fiend determined to drag her back to Elysium, but Booker.

"Good heavens, Booker, you scared the life out of me," she sighed as she lowered the blade.

He chuckled, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. "Glad to know that despite your earlier protestations, you're more than ready to use that."

"I thought you were someone else."

Her gaze flickered to the Ape Man, and her nerves coiled tightly again.

Booker followed her stare and gave a slight grunt. "I feel like I should be offended."

"Is he with the Mice?"

"Gin did mention that the dead woman was a former companion of a new member."

"Who's the other man?"

"Him? You've met him before."

"Have I?"

"Well, not officially, I suppose. He was the one interrogating Wotton. Scales."

A shiver ran through her body. This knowledge gave a different meaning to the man's narrowed eyes and crooked grin. It wasn't just arrogance and elegance—he was as cold-blooded as his name suggested.

"Viper's right-hand man," Booker continued. "Since Viper generally stays out of sight, Scales is the one who handles most of the work in the gang. Heists, murders, public appearances. You could say Viper is the face of the Mice and Scales is the brains."

"How can someone be the face of a gang when they rarely show their face?"

"You and your logic."

She took another look at the thug. His every movement was precise and deliberate. He carried himself with such pomp and importance, one could easily conclude that he was the person in charge.

His eyes turned in her direction, and she quickly averted her gaze. Booker, too, set his attention elsewhere until the vicious man wandered to another part of the room.

"Rather chilling to have a face to go along with the merciless voice," Trinket said.

"I was hoping he'd be here," Booker said, watching as Scales stopped at the card table.

"What are you going to do?"

"I just want to have a nice chat with him. Shoot the breeze. Kill some time."

"You expect a 'nice' chat with him?"

"I want to see if I can get him to trip up in his conversation."

She knew very little about Scales, but even with Booker being as brilliant as he was, she doubted he would succeed in getting this intimidating man to let anything slip. More than likely, Booker would be the one to let something slip. Something important. Something that would put him in danger.

"Please be careful," she said.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to return intact so as to pay your wages." He nodded at the knife still gripped in her hand. "Might want to stash that away so as not to cause a disturbance."

He gave her a wink before diving back into the fray, and she watched with bated breath as he integrated himself into the sea of bodies surrounding the card table where Scales had seated himself.

As a new game started up, she took a moment to reevaluate her surroundings. The carefree, boisterous atmosphere was gone. In its place were fear and anxiety. There was still chatter and noise, but it was hushed and careful, the drinking no longer lighthearted but desperate. She returned her focus to the card table where Scales was eyeing each player with a sinister grin.

What an effect a single man could have on so many people.

He played and won three games, though whether he truly won or not was up for debate. Each player seemed afraid to place a bet and yet equally afraid to back out too early. They stayed in until the end, most of them eventually folding. While nobody appeared keen on remaining in the game, they acted as if they had no choice but to keep throwing their money away. They were trapped, and no one had the courage to leave.

When the third game ended, someone stepped forward to take a player's place. The relieved player practically leapt out of his chair, disappearing into the crowd as the newcomer took his seat.

Trinket's muscles tensed.

Booker.

What was he doing? Did he really want to be trapped in a game of cards with a man who would always win? Booker didn't seem the type to lose willingly. And neither did Scales.

This could only end badly.

Searching the room for the Ape Man, she found him not too far from the table cleaning his nails with a knife as he kept an eye on his boss. Checking that her weapons were securely in place, she summoned all the nerve she had and pushed away from her hiding spot to join the crowd that had gathered to watch another pathetic theft of a card game.

The man acting as dealer doled out the cards, his eyes darting nervously between Booker and Scales. The other two players were just as agitated as they took up their two-card hands. Only Booker and Scales were unperturbed, each grinning at the other with devilish amusement.

The dealer placed five cards facedown in the middle of the table and then hid behind his own hand.

"Fair night for a game of Knocks," Booker said, glancing up at Scales.

"Indeed," Scales replied, not bothering to meet his gaze as he examined his cards. "Haven't seen you at a game for some time."

The player to the dealer's left knocked on the table.

"Well, I've been quite preoccupied as of late."

The next player did the same.

"So I've heard." Scales looked up from his cards and tossed four coins into the center of the table. "Bet four shillings."

The two men who had already played winced, but Booker's smile remained. "Raise five shillings," he said as he threw in his coins. "What have you heard?"

The dealer took his turn. "Call," he said, matching Booker's last bet with reluctance.

"Seems you've taken a keen interest in our Wolf," Scales said as the dealer leaned in to flip the first three cards—a ten of spades, a three of hearts, and an ace of spades.

Booker glanced at the cards before responding. "Your Wolf?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Scales said while the other two players matched the bet of five shillings. "We caught the bloody cur."

Booker raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Did you, now?"

"Raise ten shillings," Scales said.

One of the other players groaned, and Scales shot him a single withering glare. All the color drained from the man's face, and he swallowed hard before focusing on his cards. Satisfied, Scales returned his attention to Booker, who was making a scene out of mulling over his next move.

"That is quite the feat," Booker said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I can't imagine catching it was all that easy. After all, it has killed before."

"And it will kill many times more on our behalf."

"Wow. I am impressed. Really. I wracked my brain trying to figure out some way to catch that blasted thing. And then I disappear with a client for a week, and you lot manage to swoop in and steal the kill. I expected nothing less from the Dead Mice."

Scales smirked. "Nor should you."

"Raise one pound."

Trinket could almost hear the intake of breath from the other players as Booker threw in his coin. Their despair was evident, and they seemed to be contemplating whether it was too soon to bow out.

"Call," the dealer said, his voice strained as he tossed in his money.

How much did these men have in their purses? They were thieves and con-men; they weren't likely to have deep pockets. From the looks on their faces, she doubted they could last another round.

The fourth card was turned. A five of clubs.

"I heard that Wotton's wife was found dead," Booker said as the next player called his bet. "Sliced to bits. Your doing?"

Scales lifted his lip in a smug grin. "Our Wolf did most of the work."

"Did quite a number on her they say. That's one nasty animal."

"You've seen it. Would you want to be on the receiving end of that jaw?"

The next player folded.

"Who says I've seen it?"

"People talk about you just as much as they talk about us, Larkin. I hear that you and your little strumpet have been tracking the beast for days. Had a few run-ins, too. Raise three pounds."

Trinket stiffened when Scales referred to her. She had to fight the urge to flee.

Booker didn't react but instead concentrated on his hand. "It's true. We went to a lot of trouble trying to catch that thing. Raise five pounds."

Trinket's eyes widened as the pile of coins continued to grow.

"Why the interest?" Scales asked.

The dealer folded.

"I'm a man of science and learning, Scales. What sort of madman would I be if I weren't interested in a wolf with a mouth full of metal?"

The final card was turned. A jack of spades.

The next player folded.

It was just Booker and Scales. Their stares were unwavering, as if they were daring each other to make a move, to slip up, to say the wrong thing. The tension was palpable, and Trinket silently prayed Booker wouldn't do anything stupid.

"So how'd you do it?" Booker asked, his voice low.

"Do what?"

"How'd you catch it?"

"A businessman never reveals his secrets, Larkin. Raise ten pounds."

It was as if the entire room drew breath at once. The lanterns and candles flickered, and all went silent. Even the night flowers had paused their work to watch. All eyes were on Booker, waiting to see what he would do. What hand did he have? Did he really think he could beat Scales? Would he dare to rob such a dangerous man of so much money?

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at his cards. Then at Scales. Then back at his cards. "What's your interest in the Wolf?"

"I think you know my interest, Larkin."

"Any idea of where it came from?"

"Why would that concern me?"

"Don't you wonder why it ended up in Tinkerfall of all places?"

"Is your hand really so bad that you're going to stall?"

Booker glanced up again. "How'd you do it, Scales?"

Scales narrowed his eyes and twisted his lips into a wicked grin. "Same way I get all my dogs: with the promise of food and shelter and the threat of my displeasure if they refuse."

It was a long, tense moment of silence as he held Booker's gaze.

Booker looked down at his cards once more. "I can see how that would be effective. And if all else fails, a knife and rope should do the trick."

Trinket just barely saw Scales' grin waver as Booker laid his cards facedown on the table.

"Fold," he announced, pushing his chair away. "It was a pleasure, Scales, but my strumpet and I must be getting home. It's long past our bedtime. Enjoy the rest of your evening. And don't spend all of that in one place."

With a wink and a grin, he turned and found Trinket in the crowd. Taking her arm, he led her towards the exit and left the astonished onlookers behind without a second glance.

Stumbling through the pitch-black entryway, they managed to open the hatch and hurry back into the bitterly cold alleyway. Neither spoke until they had put some distance between themselves and the covert game room.

"He knows you know," Trinket breathed.

"He reacted?"

She nodded. "He'll come after you, won't he?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell."

"Is it possible that he does have the Wolf but hasn't figured out how to get it to kill for him?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it. Whatever the case, we'll find out for sure in the next week or so."

"How do you mean?"

"If bodies start to show up with more wild-looking cuts and fewer marks from bindings, we'll know he's trying to compensate."

"Or we could just find the Wolf ourselves and prove him a liar once and for all."

"I do like the way you think, my dear."

"Booker!"

They stopped and turned to find Gin running towards them, holding her hat against her head to keep it from flying off. Her brown cheeks were tinged with red from the cold night air. Although, as the urchin drew closer, Trinket thought it may have been from the anger blazing in her eyes.

"Did I cause a stir?" Booker asked.

Pulling herself up to her full height, Gin glared at him. "A Royal? You had a Royal and you threw it away?"

"It's bad etiquette to look at a discarded hand, you know."

"Do you know how hard it is to get a hand like that? And you threw it away! What were you thinking?"

He furrowed his brow. "Weren't you the one who was begging me to be careful earlier tonight?"

"Well, yes, I know, but . . . all that money . . . and . . . and that hand . . ."

She deflated, running her hands through her hair and knocking her hat to the ground.

"The money means little to me," Booker said.

Her rage flared back up. "Easy for someone with a steady fortune to say."

His face softened into something slightly apologetic. "I wasn't after money. I was after information."

"Didn't seem like you got much."

"I got enough. I had my eyes watching as I played my hand," he said, nodding at Trinket.

Gin sighed in defeat. "Everyone's talking about that game. There was electricity in the air. It was something else."

Booker chuckled. "Glad I could entertain." His expression suddenly sobered. "So my hand—"

"Don't worry, I mixed the deck while everyone was all crazy about Scales' win. He won't know what you gave up."

He let out a relieved breath. "Excellent."

She cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't want him to think you cower to his power?"

"Oh no, he's well aware that I'll never cave to the likes of him. I'm more concerned with him knowing what I was really after in that game."

Gin shook her head. "You're a strange man, Booker Larkin, fancying something like information over money. You'll go broke living like that."

He gave an artful grin. "To the contrary. Information is how I make my real fortune."