The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 The threat of a flesh-eating insect being inside of him must have spurred the Resurrectionist into action, for early the next morning, someone rang the front bell frantically. Trinket, still in her nightgown, answered the door to find an urchin girl with a note for Booker. As he read it over, his eyes lit up, and Trinket knew the Resurrectionist had been successful in making arrangements with Benedict.

"This is it," Booker said, passing the note to her.

The shaky handwriting was difficult to read. She wondered if that was due to the Resurrectionist's terror at the prospect of being eaten alive from the inside out or if it was an effect of the strange drugs he bought from Emma.

Tomorrow at the witching hour, where hope meets its end, the secrets of the dead will be revealed.

Another riddle. "Do you know what it means?" she asked Booker as she followed him into the parlour.

He paced the room, his hands fidgeting as he smiled to himself. "Where Hope Road and Vale End meet at three in the morning. He's really not that clever with his wordplay, so let's hope no one intercepted the message."

Glancing back at the note, she couldn't help but feel a tad insulted, as she had been unable to decode the words herself. But Booker hardly paid attention to her as he adjusted a mirror on the wall.

"So what's the plan?" she asked, pulling her dressing gown tighter and sitting on the settee.

"We meet him in the specified place—armed, of course, should something go wrong—and find out if this peculiar client of his is indeed the man we've been searching for."

"Benedict."

Nudging a small clock atop the mantle, Booker smiled. "Yes. Benedict."

He turned on his heel and hurried over to the settee to sit down beside her. Every inch of him was glowing with excitement, like he was about to jump out of his skin. He reminded Trinket of a little boy who had been promised a lifetime of candy. The innocence seemed inappropriate to the occasion he was so looking forward to, but she couldn't resist smiling at his enthusiasm.

"It's been so many years since I've seen him," he said, drumming his fingers against his leg. "I wonder what he's been up to all this time."

"Besides experimenting on wolves and dead bodies?"

"What happened to Goodfellow? How long did he study under him? Did Goodfellow know about his experiments? I mean, I know that he was aware of Benedict's interest in pushing the boundaries, considering how he discovered his talents. But did he assist Benedict in his work? And how long has he been in Tinkerfall? Did he come because he heard of my reputation here?"

The way he spoke was like a young man who was about to meet his hero. Again, Trinket considered all the years Booker had spent working to impress this friend of his. The years he had spent trying to surpass him. Who was this man who had such a brilliant doctor so enthralled? What kind of person could impress the great Booker Larkin?
She was both eager and terrified to find out.

"So we meet on the corner of Hope and Vale," she said, turning her attention back to the cryptic note. "Should we bring Daphne with us? She's quite handy with a kitchen knife."

Booker shook his head. "No, it would seem suspicious for three of us to be there. And it would make us more noticeable by those who might be following us. In fact—"

His eyes turned to her, and he hesitated. There it was again. That look. A shadow of fear and panic that replaced his typical overconfidence and infuriating nonchalance. Something he saw in her made him afraid. So afraid that he couldn't even form words to express how he felt.