The Vampire of Tinkerfall (Elysium #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

 Gin was not happy when Booker told her he wanted her to stay at the house for the next few days. She complained about all the gossip she'd miss out on and how everyone would think she'd gone soft and that she wasn't some child who needed to be coddled. Eventually, though, with the promise of a little extra bacon, she was persuaded to stay.

Trinket was relieved to know that the urchin would be safe under their roof, but there was still a sense of dread weighing on her chest. While Booker believed he was smarter than Scales, she was sure the ex-Mouse would find a way to exact his revenge. Something told her he was just as dangerous on his own as he was with the gang. And now fueled by rage and vengeance, perhaps he was even more dangerous.

Though still slightly irritated about being cooped up indoors, Gin followed Daphne around and helped her with the cleaning and other various chores. Trinket busied herself with preparing one of the guest rooms for her, trying her best to occupy her anxious mind. But there were a dozen thoughts competing for her attention, and frankly, she wasn't all that eager to concentrate on any of them.

Where was Tory?

How would Scales get his revenge?

Who would be the next vampire victim?

When would Booker find out about her sordid past?

"Everything will be all right," she muttered to herself as she straightened the blankets on the bed in Gin's room.

She repeated Booker's reassurance over and over, but no matter how many times she spoke the words, she couldn't seem to convince herself of their truth.

~

For dinner that night, they dined on a thick pea soup and fresh bread that Daphne had made that day. Although Gin was still putting on that she was sour about being housebound, she could not hide the delight in her expression at that first spoonful of soup.

"Daphne's a wonderful cook, isn't she?" Booker said.

Gin took another spoonful and nodded. "Much better than the green stuff at the Clocktower."

Trinket raised her eyebrows. "Yes, indigestion seems to always be on the menu there. Not exactly my taste, but someone here can't get enough."

She turned an accusing eye to Booker who feigned offense. "Are you speaking ill of my beloved alehouse? I'll have you know I have very fond memories there."

"Of the food?"

"In spite of the food, actually. And honestly, after spending hours attaching a mechanical arm to a patient in one of the tiny, dirty rooms there—without an assistant, I might add—any sustenance was welcome. Even the slop served up at the Clocktower."

"Well, aren't you happy to have a reliable, albeit saucy, assistant, then?"

Booker smiled. "Oh, you have no idea how happy, my dear."

Daphne looked between them with a knowing grin before clearing her throat and offering them more bread. Trinket accepted a piece for herself and handed another to Gin.

"The Clocktower is where we met," Gin said as she slathered butter on her slice.

"Indeed it is," Booker replied with a warm smile as he sipped his tea. "I believe you told me I was going to get myself killed."

She took a big bite of the bread. "You still might."

"And then you tried to get payment out of me for information about how I was going to die."

"Hey, a girl has to make a living, right?"

"I'm very thankful for that meeting. I gained a reliable informant that day." His eyes softened as they rested on the urchin. "And a dear friend."