The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Ten

They left the whispering crowd and made their way down the street, though Trinket wasn't certain where they were headed. Booker was silent and determined as he turned them down Baker Street. To her surprise, they stopped in front of the coffeehouse. She gave him an odd look as he held the door open for her.

"I thought you were a tea drinker?" she said.

"We're not here for the food and drink, my dear," he said as he ushered her inside. "Although they do serve tea if we were so inclined."

She hadn't been in the coffeehouse before. Booker preferred the Clocktower, and she herself had no reason to even think of entering the establishment. It was certainly nicer than the alehouse. Shabby and worn but lacking the smells of vomit and the poor quality ale the Clocktower offered. Instead, there was a rich, warm scent permeating the air, adding to the cozy feel of the atmosphere. Groups of mostly young men gathered at the tables, conversing enthusiastically over cups of coffee and pretty pastries.

"Why you'd ever choose the Clocktower over this place is beyond me," Trinket said as Booker led her further inside.

Scoffing, Booker shook his head. "Coffeehouses are renowned for being hubs of communication and information, but only if you're interested in typical news. It's mostly politics and philosophy. Nothing of interest to me. Besides, it's not quite as nice as you might think. As the day wears on, this place doubles as a brothel of sorts."

Trinket knit her brows together, sweeping her gaze over the finely dressed young men once more. "A brothel? Really?"

"Let's just say the servers don't only serve coffee. It's a lot more discreet than hiring a night flower. Believe it or not, some people actually care about discretion around here. Not many, but some. However, the servers are not who we're interested in today."

They headed towards a table in the back that was occupied by a single woman. She glanced up at them as they approached, a sly smile on her face. "Good day, Mr. Larkin. Please, have a seat," she said, her voice rough and deep.

As Booker pulled out a chair for Trinket, she made a brief examination of the woman. There was nothing all that extraordinary about her. Middle-aged, presumably. Fair-skinned. Light brown hair with gray streaks scattered throughout that was piled atop her head in a somewhat messy but dignified bun. Her black-and-red checkered dress was well-tailored and modest, but her fingerless black lace gloves and blood-red lips added an air of seduction and mystery to her appearance.

"You're looking well, Ms. Langtry," Booker said as he settled into a chair beside Trinket.

"I had a few rather good weeks of business recently," the woman replied, still sporting a smile. "That vampire really had the city in an uproar. Was she one of your creations?"

"Not a vampire, and not mine."

"That's right. Your creations are more works of art than horror, aren't they?"

As she spoke, Ms. Langtry drummed her fingers against the table, three of which were made of metal and gears.

"Are you here for a little insight?" she asked, pulling out a deck of worn cards. "Perhaps some financial guidance? Or maybe a bit of romantic advice?"

The woman's eyes settled on Trinket, and her smile grew.

"Ms. Langtry, you know very well my opinion of your work," Booker said, raising an eyebrow.

"I do, which is why I'm surprised you've sought me out."

"Really? I would think someone with your talents would know exactly why I'm here."

The woman's easy smile didn't falter at Booker's mocking tone. "The spirits are temperamental beings, Mr. Larkin, much like yourself. I cannot command them any more than you can command the laws of nature."