The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Thirty-Six

 A shadow of a smile flickered across Booker's face. "The door," he said to Trinket under his breath.

Without a word, she went to the front door and made certain it was locked securely. When she returned to the parlour, Booker was casually making his way over to the young man, his hands clasped behind his back.

"My, my, did you get into a fight?" he asked as he circled him slowly.

The Resurrectionist followed his movements, his fingers twitching and his muscles taut. "Something like that. Can you fix it or not?"

"Oh, I can fix most anything," Booker said as he stopped in front of him and leaned in close to inspect his eyes. "The real question is, what are you willing to pay in order to have it fixed?"

Narrowing his eyes, the Resurrectionist took a deep breath. "How much?"

"A price I'm not sure you'll be willing to pay."

"I have money. How much?"

Booker chuckled and paced to the fireplace. "Money is not the aim here, my good sir."

"Then what is it?"

Leaning against the mantelpiece, Booker prodded the burning embers with a fire poker until the iron tip glowed orange. He held it up and inspected it thoughtfully. His eyes still locked on the red-hot tool, he replied, "I barter in information."

The Resurrectionist swallowed hard, his fists trembling as he squeezed them tight. "I have to be able to see to work. I need this fixed."

Plunging the poker back into the flames, Booker shrugged. "And I need information. Really, this shouldn't be so difficult. We both have something the other one needs. All you have to do is agree to my terms."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Terms?"

Again removing the heated poker, Booker made his way over to him. The Resurrectionist leaned away, his eyes fixed to the glowing metal. "I'll be straight with you," Booker said. "You are doing business with a particular gentleman with whom I am eager to reunite. I'm assuming that since you fetch him dead bodies from neighboring towns, you have some means of communicating with him. Am I right?"

While they hadn't actually gotten concrete evidence to prove the truthfulness of Booker's statement, the look of astonishment and fear in the young man's eyes was enough of a confession to convince Trinket.

"Am I right?" Booker repeated, his words hard and clipped.

The Resurrectionist swallowed again. "How do you know about that?" he whispered.

That ever-so-humble smile spread over Booker's face. "Because I'm brilliant. Now, I repeat, do you have a means of communicating with this gentleman?"

As his breathing grew more rapid, the Resurrectionist's swollen eyes darted about the room.

"Time is ticking, my good sir."

Still refusing to respond, he opened and closed his fists as he searched the room from where he stood.

"You know," Booker said as he again examined the fire poker, the tip still bright orange with heat, "instead of fixing your eyes, I could just take them out altogether."

He drew closer, holding the poker up so that it was inches away from the young man's nose. Looking at it cross-eyed, the Resurrectionist's eyes began to water. Whether that was from the effects of the faux perfume or if they were tears of terror, Trinket did not know.

"With as skilled a hand as mine, it would only take a few minutes—seconds, even," Booker continued. "And with a tool like this, all heated up, it would cauterize immediately. No infection, no mess. And then you'd never have to worry about a woman blinding you with a bottle of perfume ever again."