The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Eight

With great reservation, Trinket rose early the next morning to prepare for her encounter with Emma. As she braided her hair in front of the standing mirror, she recalled her last conversation with the tea shop owner. The woman had made it very clear she was not interested in any further business with her or Booker. Knowing this, Trinket was ready for a less-than-welcoming reception.

"Lord, Booker, the things you convince me to do," she muttered to her reflection as she ran a hand down the bodice of her light blue dress.

Making her way downstairs, she headed to the kitchen for a quick cup of tea in hopes it might steady her nerves. Not that she was necessarily afraid of Emma. She'd faced down thugs and vampires and wolves and venomous snakes; a petite tea shop girl wasn't a terrible threat. But Trinket had been fond of Emma at one time, and she regretted that things ended as they did. To walk in and attempt friendliness again when she knew what the result would be was a tad nerve-wracking.

"Is Mr. Larkin up?" Trinket asked Daphne who was busy kneading dough at the kitchen table.

Daphne shrugged, blowing a dark curl out of her eyes.

"Probably already out searching for more frogs."

Glancing over her shoulder, Daphne paused her kneading and raised an eyebrow.

Waving away her questioning expression, Trinket set a strainer over a cup and added some tea leaves. "Long story. Long and rather disgusting."

She fetched the kettle, which was boiled and ready. As she poured the water, Daphne looked her up and down and gave a teasing smirk. Trinket furrowed her brow, and in response, Daphne jutted out her hip and struck a ridiculous pose while fluttering her lashes.

Still slightly confused, Trinket laughed nervously. "What are you getting on about?"

Dropping her pantomime, Daphne gestured to her, staring pointedly at her dress.

"Oh, this." Trinket glanced down at her outfit. It was one of her finer dresses, and she didn't often wear it for fear of ruining it on an unplanned excursion with Booker. "I'm off on an errand for Mr. Larkin this morning, and I thought making myself look as presentable and trustworthy as possible might help."

Nodding slowly, Daphne returned to the dough.

Thankful she didn't push for more of an explanation, Trinket took a long sip of her tea. "I hope to be home in time to help with the housecleaning, so please don't finish everything without me," she went on.

Daphne rolled her eyes and waved her away.

"You're ridiculous, Daphne. I will be back to help. As the one who hired you, listen to me when I say: Do. Not. Finish. All. The work. Without me."

Wrinkling her nose, Daphne turned to her and clapped her flour-covered hands, letting off a cloud of powder. Stepping aside to keep it from clinging to her attire, Trinket swallowed down the rest of her tea at a speed that would greatly impress Booker and raised a finger at Daphne as she inched towards the door.

"At least leave the dishes for me," she said, ducking into the hallway as Daphne sent a small ball of dough hurtling in her direction.

Sunshine streamed into the house as Trinket opened the front door. It was a beautiful, warm day, and if it weren't for the task at hand, she'd be thrilled at the prospect of spending some time outdoors. With a short sigh, she locked the door behind her and headed off towards the city center.

There was already a good-sized crowd milling about, and while some were still gossiping about the dead body, the hype had died down considerably. Luckily, it seemed no one had become privy to the frog found on Emma's door. The fewer people who knew about it, the less chance there was of someone troublesome getting involved.