The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Nineteen

"We never finished our conversation from earlier," Trinket said as they made their way through the darkened streets of St. Spittel.

"The one about me undressing dead women?" Booker asked.

"No, the one about the placement of the corpses."

"Oh, right. So are you suggesting the possibility of a stakeout?"

She shrugged. "It's really all we have at this point. If we can at least get our hands on a body, then maybe we'll make some progress."

Booker turned them down an alley that connected to the next street over. "The real question is, will the body be human or amphibian?"

Lifting her skirts to avoid trailing the hems through a large puddle made up of rainwater and what looked like vomit, Trinket graciously accepted Booker's assistance over the disgusting hurdle. "The frogs have to be a clue. They're a connection to your childhood, a piece of history you two share."

"All that we ever did with frogs was slice them open," he said, taking a sharp turn into another alley. He paused before a cellar door and furrowed his brow. "So maybe that's what he's saying? To open up the bodies?"

"But you would've done that anyhow, even without the frogs."

"Then maybe it's some connection to the numbers." Heaving a heavy sigh, he shook his head and tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. "I can't think about it right now. There's too much to deal with. We just have to focus on the game night, and then we can consider the corpses when we get home."

Trinket nodded, and Booker turned back to the cellar. He raised a fist to the old wooden door and hammered out the code for that night: two short knocks, one long, four short. After a moment, the door swung open. A gangly young woman with dark hair tied up in a bundle of tiny braids stood in the doorway, her warm eyes darting between the two of them. When she recognized Booker, her face lit up.

"Good evening, Mr. Larkin," she said, stepping aside to allow them access. "Been a while since we've seen you sniffing around a game night."

Taking Trinket's hand, Booker led her into the dark entryway, testing each step carefully as he went. "Well, I've been rather preoccupied," he said.

The young woman snickered. "I can tell. She's awful pretty, but I bet she's a handful."

Thankfully, the door closed and plunged them into darkness before Trinket could even worry about the color rising in her cheeks. They groped their way down the stairs until they reached another door. As their guide opened it for them, light spilled over her face, illuminating a sly smirk.

"You lovebirds have fun," she said as they stepped inside.

The door shut behind them, and for a third time, Trinket found herself in a den of sin. Gambling, night flowers, alcohol, cigars, fistfights. It was everything and more that would horrify her prim and proper mother. She couldn't imagine what her mother would do if she saw the mechanical limbs and devices sported by many of the players tonight. And what would she think if she knew that the man responsible for such creations was the same man who had won her daughter's heart?

A heavy sadness settled in Trinket's chest. The truth was, her mother didn't think of her. Her father probably didn't, either. And if by some chance they did think of her, it was likely only the horrors she'd committed that came to their minds. Their memory of her was marred by how she'd ruined their quiet little life and left a blemish on the family name. If her mother ever learned she was living free with a man who loved and respected her, she'd call Elysium to have her dragged back to that abominable prison.

And maybe that's what she deserved.

It is.

Taking a deep breath, Trinket tightened her grip on Booker's arm. She wouldn't let that happen. Even if she didn't deserve this life, even if she belonged in a madhouse, this was where she was going to stay. Because Booker wanted her here. And she wanted to be here. It may be selfish, it may be wrong, but it was the decision she'd made.