The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Thirteen

 The air was frigid, but the sun was shining. Trinket shielded her eyes against the bright rays as they reflected off the snow that was now trapped beneath an icy barrier. She made her way down the street and towards the city center, Booker's list tucked away in her pocket. She clutched it anxiously, apprehensive about setting out on her own. Paranoia convinced her that enemies awaited her at every turn. Even in broad daylight, she wasn't so sure her pursuers wouldn't try to abduct her.

"Running errands?"

She stopped short and gasped, but when she turned to find Gin standing beside her, she released a sigh of relief. The urchin's eyes crinkled as she grinned mischievously.

"Yes," Trinket replied. "Booker needs some gears from the Tinker,"

Gin proceeded to walk alongside her. "Ah, is he making some new doo-hickey?"

"In fact, he is."

"What is it? Or is it a secret?"

Trinket hesitated for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure. Everything he does feels secretive, and yet so many people seem to know what he's up to."

"That's how he likes to do things. But he knows what to keep quiet. The important things."

Trinket nodded slowly. Was her condition one of those important things? She certainly hoped so.

"It has to do with the Wolf, doesn't it?" Gin asked.

Raising her eyebrows, Trinket gave a covert smile.

Gin grinned. "When he sets his sights on something, he won't stop till he gets it. I'm sure he's got all kinds of devices planned to help him catch that thing."

"He is very inventive."

"He's more than just inventive. Take a look at this."

Gin retrieved something from her pocket and handed it to Trinket. It was a crow made up of metal and gears, small enough to fit neatly in her palm. Despite it being the color of brass, Trinket could tell it was a crow by the meticulous detail in its shape, metal feathers, and long beak. It was delightfully charming. Someone had obviously put great care into making it.

"Watch," Gin said as she twisted a tiny winder under the bird's tail.

A whirring sound came from within the crow, and its mechanical wings began to flap slowly. A brass propeller extended from out of the bird's back, and as it started to spin, the crow rose out of Trinket's hand and zoomed about in a frenzied flight.

Trinket watched in awe while Gin laughed at the passersby ducking to keep from being struck in the head by the maniacal bird. After a few moments, the buzzing from the propeller sputtered, and the toy's height began to decrease. Gin ran after it and caught it before it hit the ground. Trotting back to Trinket, she showed her the now motionless bird, its propeller returned to its place inside the crow's body.

"Booker made this?" Trinket asked, gently touching the bird's beak.

"Sure did," Gin said. "Not too long after I met him. I've kept it in pretty good shape if I do say so myself."

Why would a brilliant scientist spend time making trinkets and toys? It didn't seem in character for the calculating doctor who worked wonders down in that laboratory. But perhaps he had another side to him, a softer one he was determined to hide behind amputations and grease.

Gin returned the bird to her pocket. "Has he made you anything yet?"

Trinket shook her head as they continued down the street. "No, he hasn't."