Sneak Peak of a New Elysium Series
Because I'm unable to let go of the things I love, I've decided to start a new Elysium series. It's probably gonna take some time since I'm writing it while also redrafting the original series, but because I love everyone on here so much, I wanted to share the first chapter. It's incredibly rough; I didn't even run it through Grammarly or Pro Writing Aid. But I just was dying to show it to you guys. Hope you enjoy it!
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Blood. So much blood. Trailing from the front door all the way through the foyer.
Trinket gripped the banister as she clutched her dressing gown, her eyes fixed on the gory scene before her. Was it real? Or another hallucination?
The scent of iron drifted up to her nose, making her stomach twist and her mind reel.
You did it.
You did it again.
Monster.
Killer.
Worthless scum!
She shushed the voices and gave her head a quick shake before glancing down at her hands. Clean. Not a trace of blood on them.
Relief flooded her chest, but it was short-lived as she returned her attention to the foyer. It had to be a hallucination. Why would there be a trail of blood in her house?
What a stupid question.
For once she was apt to agree with the voices. Being married to a doctor who dabbled in mad science meant often having to deal with large amounts of blood and bodily fluids, as well as dismembered body parts. But she was usually right beside Booker when he treated his patients. She was his partner, his assistant. Why would he exclude her this time?
A pit sank in her gut.
Unless Booker was the one bleeding to death.
The panic rushed back in, and she hurried down the stairs. She followed the blood down the hallway and stopped before the open laboratory door. The trail continued downstairs.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage as images of Booker battered and beaten flashed through her head. Memories of that night she'd almost lost him to Scales surfaced, and she nearly lost her breath. No. No, it couldn't be Scales. Scales was dead. She was there when Daphne shot him. She'd seen his body. She'd seen the bullet wound in his head.
Scales couldn't hurt Booker.
But the former leader of the Dead Mice gang was not the only one who had reason to harm Booker. As much as she loved and admired him, he had a tendency to make more enemies than friends with his arrogance and penchant for trouble.
Taking a deep breath, she raced down the stone steps, hoping she wasn't too late.
Dead, dead, dead, dead, dea—
She let out a relieved sigh when she reached the laboratory and found Booker standing at the operating table, alive and unharmed. Leaning against the cold, stone wall, she laid a hand against her chest, willing her pulse to slow.
He was alive.
Thank goodness he was alive.
Glancing up, he flashed her a grin, his intoxicating cognac eyes dancing in the light. "Ah, my dear. Perfect timing. Come see this."
She pushed herself away from the wall, fixing a disapproving glare on him. "Mr. Larkin, may I remind you that you're married to a girl who hallucinates on a regular basis? I'd appreciate being warned next time you leave trails of blood in the house."
He seemed confused for a moment and then winced. "Oh, right. Sorry about that. I'll clean it up later. Come over here. You have to see this."
Now that the panic and indignation had faded away, she finally paid attention to what Booker had been so intently examining before she interrupted.
A body.
No surprise there. It certainly wasn't the first body she'd seen splayed out on the operating table, and it surely wouldn't be the last. This time it was a man, older than Booker, perhaps in his early thirties. He was unshaven and poorly dressed, most likely a laborer from the slums. His palms were calloused, his hair matted and oily. Frankly, he resembled most of the population in the sleazy little city of Tinkerfall. Or he did. Based on the gaping wound in his throat and the amount of blood still pouring out of it, the unfortunate fellow was already dead.
"Where did you find him?" Trinket asked Booker.
"St. Spittel. I was out for a walk and tumbled upon him."
"Why were you out walking in the middle of the night?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"You could have woken me."
He flashed her wicked smile. "Oh? And how would you have assisted me with my predicament, my dear?"
She rolled her eyes and playfully elbowed him in the side. "Is he dead?" she asked, referring to the man on the table.
"Well, if he wasn't dead before I found him, he certainly is now."
"What do you mean?"
"I think he lost his esophagus somewhere along the way home."
"Lord, Booker. What were you thinking just stealing a body like that? What if the police follow the trail of blood and find you down here with a corpse?"
"I'm a passionate doctor. I saw a man bleeding on the street and in need of help, so I brought him here. My heart is absolutely breaking that I was unable to save him."
"Yes, I'm sure the police will really believe that."
"We'll deal with that later. Take a look at his throat."
Putting aside Booker's reckless behavior, she took a closer look at the dead man's neck. It looked like something had torn it to pieces. "Do you think he was attacked by some animal? A stray dog maybe?"
"That's what I thought at first, but then I noticed this."
He gestured to the bruising on the sides and back of the neck. Dark purple lines, very similar to the shape of fingers, wrapped around the man's throat. As if he had been choked.
She furrowed her brow. "Did someone choke him into unconsciousness and then leave him on the street before the dog got to him?"
"That would be the logical explanation, wouldn't it?"
"But you wouldn't waste your time on something ordinary and logical."
He grinned. "You know me so well."
Looking closer at the bruising, Trinket noticed something else. Puncture wounds at the very back of the man's neck. As though he'd been stabbed. But it looked too round and wide to be from a knife. It was almost as if it were from . . . claws?
A mixture of dread and exhilaration ran through her veins as she examined the corpse further. Deep gashes sliced through the sides of the neck, alongside the bruising, ending where the man's throat had once been.
This was not done by a human. Or an animal.
It wasn't done by anything that existed in nature.
Meeting Booker's gaze, she raised her eyebrows at the excitement dancing in his eyes. "This seems unnervingly familiar," she said.
His lips twisted into a crooked grin. "Indeed it does." He leaned against the operating table, gazing done at the mutilated corpse before him. "So, my dear, what do you say? Are you up for another adventure?"
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