The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

 Trinket woke with a start as someone placed a cup and saucer on the table. She lifted her head, and the newspaper she had fallen asleep on stayed stuck to her cheek. Peeling it off, she blinked through her blurry vision and found Booker returning to his chair. There was a smile on his lips as he tried not to look at her.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice hoarse as she attempted to straighten her hair, most of which had come loose from its braid.

"Five."

"In the morning?"

He nodded.

"Have you been awake all this time?"

"I took a quick nap at some point after you dozed off." His eyes flickered to her face. "Ah, you have a little something—"

He scratched at his own cheek before pointing to hers. She drew her brows together, and he laughed under his breath as he fished out his pocket watch and handed it to her. Popping open the door, she glanced at her ghostly reflection in the glass. It appeared that some of the inked words on the newspaper had transferred onto her cheek.

Wetting her palm with her tongue, she scrubbed at the marks vigorously while Booker snickered at her efforts. She eventually gave up and tossed the watch at him, grimacing when he caught it expertly with one hand.

"Did you find anything?" she asked, picking up the cup he had placed before her and immediately regretting the sip of bitter tea.

"No, unless it's on your face."

She slid the newspaper over to him. "The words are still there."

He set the paper in front of himself and quickly skimmed through the pages she had yet to examine. "I highly doubt there'll be anything."

"So this was all useless? We lost sleep for nothing?"

"I didn't lose much more sleep than I usually do. And it wasn't for nothing. Research is often sifting through useless information to unearth that one golden tidbit."

Despite the offending taste, she took another sip of tea in an effort to wake herself up. "Did the townsfolk say what sort of accent Ignatius had? Perhaps if we knew his country of origin, we'd have better luck finding him."

"No, no one in Broadfall seems to realize there's a world beyond their quaint town."

That sounded about right. "Ignatius isn't exactly a foreign name, is it? Could it be one he adopted to find work?"

Booker glanced up from the paper. "That is a possibility I hadn't considered. But you're right, it doesn't make sense for a man with a thick accent to hold a common name. Hm, maybe I need to return to Broadfall and do a little more investigating."

Her stomach dropped. She couldn't go with him to Broadfall. Even if he insisted that he needed her assistance. Or charmed her with complimentary words about her keen observational skills. No. She couldn't risk it. She couldn't bear it.

Broooooooadfaaaaaalllll.

"Eh, I really don't want to, though," Booker said as he swung his feet up onto the table and leaned back in his chair. "Wretched town. Filled with self-important idiots."

Her muscles relaxed. "How will we find out more about Ignatius, then?"

He shrugged. "I'll question the traveling merchants. I'm sure some of them pass through Broadfall."

"What will you do in the meantime?"

His chair slammed back down onto all four legs as he removed his feet from the table. "Would you be interested in attending a card game?"