The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter One

Trinket stared into the sink of dirty dishes as she absentmindedly scrubbed a grease-encrusted pan. The methodical movement only encouraged her mind to wander, and the further it wandered, the more her scrubbing slowed.

A thousand thoughts raced through her head. Thoughts of the last few weeks in which a vampire terrorized the citizens of Tinkerfall. Thoughts of the dark and haunting year she'd spent in Elysium Asylum. Thoughts of all the loved ones she'd lost—some at the hands of man-made monsters, some at the hands of heartless thugs.

And one lost to her own blood-stained hands.

Her disconnected gaze returned to the water in which her traitorous hands were submerged. Thick, warm water. Dark water. So dark it was almost red. Furrowing her brow, she lifted her hands and was struck by the sharp, metallic scent of iron.

Blood.

Panic clawed at her chest, trying to drag her down into a dark spiral of fear and delusion. But she wouldn't let it. Her broken mind would not gain mastery over her. These emotions warring inside of her would not win.

Gripping the edge of the sink, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths. The aroma of blood flooded her senses until she could almost taste it on her tongue. So much blood. So much death. It surrounded her. Plagued her. Tempted her.

And then familiar arms slipped around her waist, pulling her from her episode and back into reality. They drew her into a gentle embrace, and the combined scent of machine oil and chemicals quickly replaced the phantom blood that had been threatening to drown her. She took a moment to drink in the comforting yet strangely new sensation that filled her veins and spread to every inch of her body before opening her eyes and returning fully to the real world.

"Lord," Booker groaned as he propped his chin against her shoulder, his breath tickling her ear in a most delightful manner, "I nearly forgot what it was like to be in the company of living things."

Trinket smiled despite herself. She quickly schooled her expression into cool indifference as she turned to face the eccentric doctor. "I take it you're finished playing with your frog friend?"

His hands still on her waist, Booker gave a crooked grin and moved a little closer. "If by 'finished playing' you mean 'removed every organ, muscle, vein, and nerve,' then yes, I have finished. In fact, I'm not sure anyone would believe it had once been a frog if they were to see it now."

"And? Did you find any clues?"

He shook his head and fingered a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. "I don't think it's a clue. It's simply a declaration of the final round of the game. A reminder of how this all started."

She raised an eyebrow. "And it started with frogs?"

A soft smile played on his lips as he leaned towards her. "Well, frogs and cats, to be more precise."

He kissed her gently, and even with the dark thoughts still tugging at her mind, she found that his skin against her own felt safe. Like home. Like a future.

Could she be so fortunate?

Pulling away, Booker let out a long breath and rested his forehead against her own. "I am famished," he said, opening his eyes and smiling down at her. "Please tell me Daphne has something delectable planned for dinner."

"I'm afraid Daphne has come down with a cold," Trinket replied.

He furrowed his brow. "A cold?"

Nodding, she turned back to the sink and continued to scrub the dirty pan. "Yes, since last night. I tried to get her to stay in bed today, but you know how she is. I did manage to convince her to turn in early, though."