The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

The Broken One (Part I)

One year later

Booker cursed under his breath as he drew his coat tighter, attempting to fend off the bitter cold. What a waste of a night that card game had been. While he'd won more money than he'd lost, he hadn't obtained what had brought him to the game in the first place: information.

Everyone in the city was talking about the Wolf. Stories were passed around at the Clocktower by bored servants and embellished with every telling. Plenty of folks claimed to have seen the creature, entertaining others with flowery descriptions of how terrifying its metal teeth were. Some even swore they'd been attacked. But there hadn't been any evidence behind the rumors. That is until a few days ago. When a body showed up, sliced and hacked to bits as if by a wild animal wielding a knife, the citizens of Tinkerfall realized that they had more than just a good horror story on their hands.

For all the rumors, though, Booker hadn't been able to fish out any new information during that night's card game. He had unfortunately not been present when the mutilated body was found. And considering the victim had been a small child, the police relented and allowed the family to bury the body rather than have it sit in the mortuary for inspection. They wrote it off as an accident, though Booker had to wonder what kind of accident could have sliced a young child up to bits. More than likely, the police believed the Mice were involved and did not want to cause any more trouble by investigating further.

Hoping to find someone who had actually seen the body, Booker had been interrogating everyone he could. Alas, none of the urchins or shopkeepers or night flowers had gotten a look at it. Even the scum who attended the card games had no real input on the matter, though they still flapped their gums with theories on the beast:

A demon summoned from the depths of hellfire.

A pet escaped from a menagerie.

A clever ploy to cover up the heinous crimes of the Dead Mice.

But Booker believed otherwise. This was no supernatural being or household creature or even a made-up story. No, the brilliance and brutality of a wolf with metal teeth echoed the creations of a genius yet slightly mad young man in an orphanage.

Benedict.

It had to be him. He had to be the creator of this monstrous wolf. But why had it shown up in Tinkerfall? Well, to Booker, it seemed obvious: because Tinkerfall was where he resided. Benedict was too clever to not be able to track him down. So if this mutant wolf had suddenly shown up in the little city that Booker called home, it could only mean that Benedict was here, too, and was trying to get his attention.

The thought filled Booker with excitement and a bit of anxiety. Benedict was here. After all these years, Benedict wanted him back in his life. Or at least, that's what he assumed. Why else would he go to all the trouble of releasing such a masterpiece into the city? To wreak havoc? No, Benedict wasn't like the Mice who enjoyed chaos for chaos' sake. He was far more methodical than that. If he had released the Wolf, he'd done it with the intention of announcing his presence to Booker and testing how far he'd come in his studies and pursuits.

And Booker would not let his old friend down. He would make him proud. And then he would prove to him how he had surpassed him in both genius and inventiveness.

But first he had to find the blasted creature.

The snow was coming down in thick flurries, and he had to squint against the white flakes to even see where he was going. As he trudged home, something caught his attention. It was a strange sound, like metal clashing against metal. Stopping in his tracks, he glanced about, trying to find the source of the noise. And then there was a second sound, this one low and guttural, like a dog growling.