The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

 Things returned to normal by the next morning. Booker was back to his confident self, obsessing over the corpses and tinkering down in his laboratory. Trinket began to wonder if the previous night had even happened. But that look in his eyes and his trembling hands were ingrained in her memory. Her image of him was changed forever. Despite all of his brilliance and boastfulness, he was human and had weaknesses like everyone else.

However, their definition of "normal" was again disrupted only three days later. It was the middle of the night, and Trinket was woken abruptly by a loud ringing. It took her a moment to realize it was the front door. She threw on her dressing gown and lit a candle before hurrying down the stairs. Booker was coming up from the laboratory, his jacket and vest missing and his shirt unbuttoned at the top. They met in the hallway, and she looked him up and down, her cheeks burning at the sight of his partially exposed chest.

"Were you sleeping down there?" she asked, pulling her attention away from his chest and focusing instead on his mussed hair.

"A quick nap," he said, blinking through bleary eyes.

The bell was still ringing, distracting her from the strange flutter in her stomach. She and Booker both turned to answer the door, finding Gin standing there in the dark, a big smile on her face.

"Boy, do I have something for you," she said.

That's when they noticed there was someone else with her. A woman. And though it was hard to see any details of her person, it was clear she was breathing heavily as she leaned against the brick façade of the house.

Booker and Trinket took hold of her arms and helped her inside. Gin closed and locked the door as they eased the woman onto the settee. Trinket rushed over to the fireplace to stoke the coals and start the flames up. When she returned to the others, Booker was already inspecting their new acquaintance, his eyes wide with wonder and his fingers twitching with excitement. Turning to the woman, Trinket swept her gaze over her, taking in her thick, tight curls, her dark skin, and her—gills?

No, it couldn't be. And yet, that's what the slits on the sides of her neck looked like, gaping open with every labored breath she took.

"Impossible," Trinket muttered.

"Not for him," Booker said, his eyes fixed on the fishlike organs still gasping for air.

"I was sleeping in one of the abandoned buildings down in St. Spittel when I suddenly heard a crash," Gin explained. "I got up and found her stumbling around in the street, knocking over crates and tripping over garbage. Looked like she was drunk. Then I saw those things on her neck and thought she might be something you'd be interested in, so I grabbed her and brought her here."

"You did good, Gin," Booker said, bringing his fingers to his lips and gazing at the woman as if she were the greatest gift in the world. "You did so very good."

Gin beamed at his praise, her cheeks coloring slightly.

"Hurry, let's get her downstairs," Booker said.

Trinket again grasped the woman's arm as he took the other, and together they led her to the laboratory. Gin followed them but stopped in the doorway. "I'll let myself out," she said. "But if you need any more help, I'll stay nearby."

"Thank you, Gin," Booker said as he struggled to get the woman down the stairs. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Barely able to hide her grin, Gin closed the laboratory door and left the three of them alone.

Once they got the woman downstairs, they lifted her onto the operating table. Booker rushed to his workbench and pulled out a number of tools while Trinket examined their patient. Aside from the gills, she was battered and bruised. There were fresh stitches all over her face and body, and she was drenched in sweat. Her eyes were distant and disconnected as she gazed up at the ceiling, her chapped lips parting with each breath. Trinket laid a hand on her head; she was running a high fever. Looking at the gills on her neck, she found that the skin on which they had been stitched was red and puss-filled.