The Vampire of Tinkerfall (Elysium #3)

Chapter Twelve

 "Gin!" Trinket called out.

The urchin slipped through the crowd of onlookers and hurried to her side. "Whoa. The vampire?" she asked when she caught a glimpse of the shopgirl's arm.

"That blonde girl. The one who ran off. Please find her. I think she went towards the Clocktower. But be careful. Don't get too close. And don't let her bite you."

"On it."

Gin spun on her heel and dashed off into the street.

Ripping a length of fabric from the hem of her petticoat, Trinket turned back to the shopgirl and tied it around her injured arm. "Come on, I'll help you up," she said as she slipped an arm around her waist and eased her to her feet. "I'll take you to a doctor. We need to treat that wound immediately."

Tears were streaming down the shopgirl's cheeks, and she looked up at Trinket, her lower lip trembling. "Am I going to turn into one?" she whispered.

Trinket furrowed her brow. "One of what?"

"A vampire."

She spoke the word in a horrified whisper, and those still crowding about stepped back as soon as she uttered it. As Trinket took in their terror-filled faces, she began to understand Booker's frustration.

"No, you won't. I promise," she said to the shopgirl. "Now come on, we need to get you to Mr. Larkin."

The onlookers retreated to a safe distance, their eyes following Trinket as she led the shopgirl out the door. But she hardly registered their stares. Her mind was racing. Clearly, the blonde girl was real and not a figment of her imagination. But was she who Trinket thought she was? It seemed impossible. Though since having met Booker, she was beginning to realize that the impossible was far more possible than she had once assumed.

They reached the house in record time, and after several clumsy attempts at unlocking the front door, Trinket stumbled her way into the foyer while keeping a firm grip on the shopgirl. Daphne peeked out of the kitchen, and upon seeing the blood trailing down the young girl's arm, she rushed over to help.

"Where is Mr. Larkin?" Trinket asked as Daphne took hold of the injured girl.

She pointed to the stairs, and Trinket wasted no time dashing up the steps to fetch him. She found him in the library, head in his hands as his eyes moved across the pages of the open book laid out in front of him.

"Booker," she called from the doorway, somewhat breathless from having rushed home.

He looked up at her in surprise. "Wha—"

"There's been another attack. At the general store."

Rising from his seat, he closed the book and hurried towards her. "Who was it? Are they alive? Did you see who did it?"

"The victim is downstairs. She's bleeding badly."

Grabbing hold of her arm, he rushed out the door and down the stairs. Daphne had escorted the shopgirl into the parlour and was examining her wound with a careful eye. She graciously moved aside when Booker entered, allowing him to take over.

"Exactly like the first," he muttered as he kneeled before the settee and looked over the injured limb.

"Sir, please don't let me become like her," the shopgirl pleaded, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

"Oh, trust me, becoming like her is not what you need to be worried about," Booker said, his gaze still on her bloody arm.

"Bedside manner," Trinket mumbled.