The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Five

Booker was still sulking downstairs when Trinket returned home. Worried that he could be falling into a dark place, she went straight to the kitchen and brewed him an extra strong cup of tea. Even as she descended the stairs, he remained hunched over his writing desk, working on something mechanical. Placing the cup and saucer on a nearby workbench, she turned to him and loudly cleared her throat.

He jumped and nearly fell out of his chair. Trying to hide her amusement at his bewildered expression, she waited patiently as he scooped his project into one of the desk drawers. "I didn't hear you come down," he said, avoiding her gaze, almost as if he were embarrassed.

"No, you didn't. Neither this time nor earlier."

Closing the drawer, he rose to his feet and approached her. "Earlier?"

She nodded. "Yes, I came down to borrow some opium."

His eyebrows shot up. "You borrowed opium?"

"I hope you don't mind."

"No, no, whatever you need. I just thought you were completely opposed to the idea."

Clenching her jaw, she shook her head firmly. "No. Not for me. Never for me." She would not allow drugs to control her again. She'd had enough of that in Elysium.

"Oh, right, sorry," Booker amended, taking up the cup of tea and sipping it anxiously. "So, if not for you, who was it for?"

Trinket toyed with a stray gear on the workbench. "To bribe Grace into helping me."

"Ah, that makes much more sense. What sort of help did you need?"

"I wanted to see if perhaps nine fifty-seven was an address in the suburbs. I know the numbers can often go a lot higher in those neighborhoods."

Booker pursed his lips together as he considered the possibility. "Hmm, not a bad hypothesis. So what'd you find?"

That mysterious man with the dark glasses flashed through her head, but she pushed the image aside. There was no sense in getting Booker's hopes up when the stranger could very well have been a figment of her broken mind.

"Nothing," she responded. "The numbers do go up rather high but not into the nine-hundreds."

"It was worth a try, though. Good thinking."

As he took another sip of tea, Trinket examined him carefully. The tension in his body seemed to have disappeared, but there was something about his eyes that was off. They were still distant and haunted. Scales had really riled him up.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, leaning against the workbench beside him.

Gazing down at his tea, he let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry I acted out like that. I should've been more restrained."

"You had every reason, Booker. He was mocking you. Cruelly mocking you."

"Doesn't mean I should've reacted. It was stupid and foolish."

She rested her head against his shoulder. "You are often stupid and foolish, but I think in this case you were just being human."

"I don't have the luxury of being human. There's too much at stake."

The tension returned to his body, and Trinket knew she had to change the subject. "I'm still worried about Daphne."

He shifted slightly and turned to face her. "You mean about her cold?"

"Yes. She's stubborn. I think she might need more than tea. Maybe you should look her over to be safe."

Nodding, he drained the remnants of his tea and set the cup down on the workbench. "Grab me a candle and matches, will you?" he asked, fetching his medical bag from the writing desk.