The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next time Trinket roused, it was the front bell that pulled her from a deep and relatively peaceful sleep. It woke Booker, too, and as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he smiled up at her. She was still lying in his arms, and now that her state of mind had settled a bit more, her stomach fluttered at the scandalous position in which they found themselves.

"Good morning," Booker said, his voice slightly scratchy in a way that made her heart race. "Are you feeling better?"

Her own voice wouldn't work, so she simply nodded in response.

He let out a heavy sigh and reached up to stroke her hair. "Good. I was so worried."

The feel of his fingers brushing against her scalp was both comforting and maddening. She closed her eyes, soaking in his touch, his smell, the warmth of his body pressed against hers-

The bell rang again, more frantically this time. Trinket opened her eyes and met Booker's gaze. He gave a reluctant smile and nodded towards the doorway. "Should probably answer that. Could be someone bleeding to death on the doorstep."

"Right, of course," she said, moving so he could sit up.

Rising to his feet with a small groan, he offered his hand and helped her up as well. He slipped his arm around her waist, and they headed into the foyer where the bell was ringing for a third time. Upon opening the door, they found Vernice standing before them. She glanced about nervously, her dark hair scattered over her eyes and partially obscuring the long scar on her face.

"Vernice? Is all well?" Booker asked. "It's awful early for a friendly visit."

"I wanted to get here before people started milling about," the girl said. She again glanced at her surroundings before leaning in and whispering, "I think I have something that may be of interest to you."

Booker's eyes widened, his grip on Trinket's waist tightening. "A corpse?" he breathed.

The girl nodded. "And I'd like if you got rid of it before Granny wakes up and sees it lying by the front door."

Swallowing down his excitement, he nodded. "Of course, of course. We'll be right there."

He beckoned her inside and into the parlour before racing upstairs. Trinket glanced at Vernice and then followed after him. She caught up just as he was about to slip into his room. He stopped short and turned to face her, brushing back her hair as he took hold of her hand.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, his gaze wandering up and down her person, as if searching for a sign she was unwell. "If you're still . . . ah . . . you know . . . I could go alone. Or I can stay here with you."

The reluctance in his voice was obvious. Trinket smiled and patted his cheek. "I'd never ask you to miss the chance to catch a corpse. I'm fine. Let me change, and I'll help you drag it home."

A bright smile broke over his face, and he kissed her head. "I fall in love with you more every day."

He turned back to his room and disappeared inside. Trinket made her way into her own bedroom, though she was hesitant to enter alone. She could feel those ghostly claws wrapping around her ankle and the abject terror as she tried to kill what wasn't alive to begin with. The memory was so vivid she nearly expected to see the monster hiding beneath her bed.

But upon slipping inside, all she found was a room in shambles. The pillows were everywhere but where they should be-one by the window, one by the door, even one atop the wardrobe. Her blankets were tangled into a twisted mess, hanging from the mattress that still had the hairpins stabbed into it. And there were matches scattered across the floor. How much worse would things look if Booker hadn't interrupted her when he did?