It was another two days before a real numbered corpse showed up—a woman found in front of the knacker with the number 627 etched into her head. She was young but looked like she had been very sickly in life. Her cheeks were hollow and her arms and legs so thin they seemed likely to snap in half if jostled the wrong way. And, of course, she had two missing fingers.

Trinket and Booker had been out combing the streets when it was discovered, so they were amongst the first on the scene. A quick examination showed no obvious cause of death. But as Booker moved to open the corpse's top for further investigation, the police appeared and shooed him away.

"Probably for the best," Trinket said as they watched the officers take notes. "You already have a reputation as something of a rake. Imagine what they'd think if you started undressing dead women in broad daylight."

"If they believe I'm interested in a corpse when I reside with a perfectly vibrant and living young woman, they're dafter than I thought," he mumbled. "I just know if they'd let me take a closer look, I could find another clue. Blast it all, I'm a doctor. It shouldn't be this difficult to get my hands on a dead body."

The police finished with their farce of an investigation and lifted the petite woman up to bring her to the station. Her thin, straw-like hair cascaded down her back, revealing what looked to be stitching along her hairline. From this distance, it was hard to be sure. But Trinket had had much experience with stitches as of late, and she was certain that's what she was seeing.

"Booker," she whispered, grabbing his sleeve, not wanting to tear her eyes away for fear she'd find it was just another hallucination. "Do you see that? Around her scalp? Oh! And up behind her ear."

Squinting, he followed her gaze and took a sharp breath. "Is that stitching?"

So it was real. "Do you think it's from when she was alive? Maybe she was injured shortly before she died?"

"Perhaps. Or it could be part of Benedict's game." He clenched his hands into fists and muttered a curse. "These bloody bobbies are going to regret it if they don't let me look at these bodies soon."

With the corpse gone, they turned away and continued on their way as the rest of the crowd dissipated. "Try not to say that too loudly, Booker," Trinket said as she took hold of his arm and smiled at a woman with the figure and hair of a broom who was casting a suspicious glance. "You've already been arrested once. I'd like to not have that repeated."

"I mean, they're going to regret it when Scales gets his fingers into this mess."

"Or someone else's fingers. Do you suppose he'll leave some of Hiss' body parts at our door once he finds him? Maybe his thumbs? Or eyes? Or perhaps he'll be really clever and send us the entire head."

Booker chuckled and shook his own head. "He can do whatever he likes to that body. I just want him to stay away from these bodies."

He jerked his thumb back at the knacker, and as he did, someone shouted his name. Turning to the voice, they were met by a very red-faced knacker. As he stormed over to them in his blood-stained apron and rolled-up sleeves revealing his thin but muscular arms, Trinket realized how very intimidating this man could be. Never mind his apparent strength and unsettling appearance, but the knowledge that he could easily dismember and dispose of a body made his threatening stance all the more unnerving.

"My good sir, how are you today?" Booker asked.

"You well know I never stick my nose in the strange bits and pieces you send my way," the knacker growled, skipping the pleasantries and pointing an accusatory finger at him. "So when you start getting me involved in your dirty goings-on, you can bet I'm not too pleased."

Booker held up his hands and attempted to placate the man. "Sir, I promise you I had nothing to do with this," he said, his voice surprisingly calm and quiet. "And I can almost guarantee you'll have no more trouble."

The knacker jabbed him in the chest, and by the way Booker winced, Trinket guessed the man had more power in his little finger than a lot of men had in their entire bodies. "I'd better not, or else you can be assured I'll be letting the police know about some of your more suspicious contributions."

With one final snarl, he trudged back to his shop, slamming the door behind him.

Booker dusted off his shirt and let out a sigh. "If I don't figure this out soon, I'll lose all of my business connections. I may have to move, and I have no idea where I'll find a town or city as accommodating at Tinkerfall."

As they continued on, a thought occurred to Trinket. "Booker, have you noticed something about all the places these bodies have shown up?"

Booker furrowed his brow and glanced over at her. "They all seem vastly different to me."

"Yes, but they're all businesses you frequent or have frequented in the past. The Clocktower, the Tinker, the knacker."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're right. Which proves Benedict is watching us closely."

"It also means we may know where the next body—or frog—will show up."

His eyes widened, and a small smile played upon his lips. "Which would allow us to get the first look at the body. Perhaps even find out who's leaving them."

Despite the morbidity of the situation, Trinket couldn't help but share Booker's excitement. A rush of adrenaline ran through her, and it was only interrupted when Madison sidled up beside them.

"You two hear about the game night tonight?" he asked.

"Game night?" Booker repeated. "Feels like I haven't been to one of those in ages."

"Perhaps it's Scales' idea of celebrating?" Trinket suggested.

"Could be the case. Either way, it's bound to be informative."

"So you're saying we should go?"

Booker seemed as though he were about to speak, but then paused. His eyes darted to her. He held her gaze for a long moment before letting out a breath and turning back to Madison. "Thank you, my boy," he said with a smile. "I think you can expect to see us there. Any word on where it will be?"

Madison nodded. "I'll send the directions over and the code to get in when I nail it all down."

"Much appreciated."

The young boy gave a salute and ran off to join a small group of urchins gathered by a nearby alley. Trinket and Booker resumed walking, though the conversation from earlier seemed all but forgotten. Booker stared at the road ahead, his jaw set and his grip on Trinket's arm tight.

"You nervous about the game night?" she asked.

Booker steered her away from a rather large puddle. "The old me would have denied it," he said. His gaze flickered to her as he gave a wry smile. "But I see no point in lying to you at this stage in our relationship. You find out everything, anyhow, clever thing that you are."

His glowing praise warmed her while, at the same time, shamed her for all she was hiding from him. The voices echoed Ms. Langtry's ominous words in the Clocktower, and she again began to battle with herself.

She should tell him. She loved him, so she should tell him.

But that was also exactly why she shouldn't tell him. She loved him and didn't want to lose him.

But if she didn't tell him, she could very well lose him.

Lose him to her very own murderous hands.

But Booker was unaware of her internal struggle. "Yes, I am nervous," he went on, "It's no secret Scales is after the same thing we are. And he's made it abundantly clear he will do whatever it takes to beat me. The number on Viper's head left no doubt of that."

Oh. Her. He was worried about her.

"Booker, you know I'm not about to let you walk into that den of snakes alone," she said. Her mouth quirked into a smile. "No pun intended."

He chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around her, giving her a tight squeeze. "Oh, what would I do without my dearest assistant? You can't blame me for being so afraid of losing you. I daresay I'll never find another partner as capable as you."

Except maybe for Benedict.

She swallowed down her fears and offered Booker a smile, leaning into his embrace and patting his chest gently. "They'll have to tear me away from you, Mr. Larkin."

~

Madison showed up with the needed information shortly after they returned home. While Trinket busied herself with chores, anxiously anticipating the night ahead, Booker holed himself up in the laboratory. She assumed he was driving himself insane over theories about what Scales would do to flaunt his newfound position. But as she made her way downstairs at their appointed departure time, she found him in the foyer, completely unfazed and even smiling.

"Beautiful as always, my dear," he said as he brushed a kiss against her knuckles.

"Well, we have to dress to impress these thugs and lowlifes, don't we?"

Her teasing elicited from him a smile that warmed her heart. "With that in mind, I have a gift," he said.

As he reached into his pocket, Trinket raised her eyebrows. "A gift? You seem to be making a tradition of gift-giving on game nights."

"Then why break it now?"

In his hand was a small ring box. For a moment, her heart leapt into her throat. But her sense of reason and logic quickly took over. "Another weapon?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You know me too well, my dear."

Opening the box, he revealed a ring. Trinket leaned forward to get a better look. She was unsure about the type of metal it was made of, but it had an old tarnish to it, as though it were a family heirloom. The center appeared to be a copper-colored heart, while the band looked like silver in the shape of a key. It was charming in its eccentricity, much like the man holding it.

"It's beautiful," she said. "And I'm assuming deadly."

"I wouldn't say 'deadly.'" He removed the ring from the box and pulled open the top of the heart, revealing a hollowed-out center from which a tiny needle protruded. "This contains a serum similar to what I made for the sleeping gun we used on the Wolf, except it is a much more potent formula."

"But it will still only put them to sleep, right? It's not poison?"

"No, not poison at all. Although, in a large dose, I'm sure it could send a person into a more eternal slumber. There's just enough in here to knock out a good-sized thug for an hour or so. All you have to do is open the heart, stab your attacker with the needle, and then press this button here."

He turned the ring to show her the tiny button on the side of the heart.

"That will activate the mechanism inside to depress the syringe and inject the serum."

Smiling brightly, he handed the ring over for her to examine more closely. Raising a skeptical eyebrow, she gave it a once-over and then lifted her gaze to him. "You sure know the way to a girl's heart."

His smile grew as he took the ring from her and carefully slid it onto her finger. "Well, let's just say I presented this gift first in hopes of softening you up for the next one."

Trinket's muscles tensed as he reached into his other pocket and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. Handing it to her, he waited patiently as she slowly unwrapped the parcel.

Hairpins. Ordinary silver hairpins with sapphire jewels on the ends. Except she knew they couldn't be ordinary if Booker was giving them to her. As she suspected, there was more to the hair accessories than first appeared to the eye. The tips were encased in metallic sheaths. When removed, the hairpins proved to be more akin to daggers.

"Booker!" she protested as soon as the sharp blade caught the lamplight.

"I know, I know, you don't want to be armed," he said, taking hold of her wrists. "But Trinket, we can't take any risks. Scales has made it quite obvious he's out for blood. Your blood."

"I could end up using these on someone innocent. I could end up using them on you."

"I'll try not to irritate you, then."

"Booker, you—"

"Trinket, please." The emotion in his voice silenced her, and he moved his hands from her wrists up to her shoulders. "If anything were to ever happen to you, I don't know what I would do. I . . . I can't lose any more people in my life . . ."

She met his eyes, and her heart skipped. The utter desperation and intensity behind them made her want to cry. She wasn't used to seeing him like that. Anxious and vulnerable. He was right; he'd lost too many loved ones. She couldn't be one more number to that body count.

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she slowly pushed the hairpins back into his hands and angled her back to him. Unpinning the miniature top hat he'd gotten her for her very first game night, she set it on the coat rack and glanced back at him from over her shoulder. With a soft smile, he took a step closer and placed a gentle hand on the nape of her neck. Very carefully, he slid one of the hairpieces into her pinned braid. When it was securely in place, he added the second. After testing them to be sure they would not budge, he turned her to face him.

"You make them look lovely," he said. "Would you care to see?"

He waved to a nearby hanging mirror, but she shook her head. "I trust your judgement. After all, aside from the fact that both gifts are meant to be weapons, they're rather exquisite. You have good taste, Mr. Larkin."

Slipping an arm around her waist, Booker opened the door and led her outside. "As is proven by my choice in women."