"This place is a mess," Trinket said, stepping over the many books and papers scattered about the parlour as she made her way back to the settee with two cups of tea.

She sat beside Booker who was flipping through his old medical book. "That's what happens when you fall asleep in the middle of an important study session," he replied, his eyes not leaving the pages.

Frowning at him, she placed the teacup on the open book. "The study session didn't even last an hour before we fell asleep."

With a slightly irritated groan, he picked up the cup and put the book aside. "Yes, well, it was a rather taxing night. Both physically and emotionally."

His eyes darted to her bandaged arm, squinting in a wince as he sipped his tea.

"I apologize again for causing you so much distress," Trinket said, sitting back on the settee and letting out a frustrated sigh. "But I panicked when I found out you'd been hauled into the station. And not on false charges you made up yourself. How was I supposed to know body snatching wasn't that serious of an offense?"

Grabbing one of the books from the table, he held it up to her. The title made it clear it was a collection of laws and other legal nonsense. "Which is why you need to brush up on criminal justice," he said, waving the volume around to emphasize his point. "When breaking the law, it's good to know what will get you hanged and what will just make you a social pariah."

"You really do have a book on every subject in that library of yours, don't you?"

"Yes, but none that will help me figure out where the next body will show up."

He set the law book down and again took up his medical book, turning through the pages at an alarming speed.

"There wouldn't be anything about the locations in there," Trinket said. "He gave you that book before he even knew you'd moved to Tinkerfall."

"But maybe there's a clue or a pattern as to where the next map piece will be. And perhaps with that, we can figure out the next location."

She furrowed her brow. "Has there been a connection to the locations and the body parts used so far?"

Slamming the book shut, Booker sank into the settee and let out a groan as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, there doesn't seem to be. And on top of it all, we have a map that's missing its midsection. It's practically useless."

"But at least we have more street names. Look."

Setting down her teacup, she slipped her hand into Booker's waistcoat pocket and pulled out the map fragments he'd sewn together. They were in two pieces, the middle missing. The last three sections they'd found at the cemetery named four new streets.

"See?" she said as she cuddled up beside him, hoping to distract him with either their progress or her proximity. "Pembroke Road, Brewer Lane—I can't read this bit through the thread."

"Cole Street," Booker said, plucking the papers from her hands. "I've read it over more times than I can count. All we know is he's leading us to the very neighborhood in which we live."

"Meaning he's nearby."

"Then why haven't we seen him? With your sharp eyes and my cleverness, we should've at least caught a glimpse of him."

A slight twinge of guilt pinched her stomach as she thought about the man she was certain had been Benedict in the suburbs. "We'll find him, Booker," she said, squeezing his arm. "We will."

He gave her a tired smile. "I'm sorry I'm being so petulant. Lack of sleep."

She leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. "I'm used to your petulance, Mr. Larkin."

Before she could move away, he pulled her closer, catching her lips again, this time much longer and much deeper. She found herself gripping his shirt to keep grounded.

A light knock sounded at the door, interrupting the pleasant moment. With a groan, Booker dropped his head and mumbled, "Why every single time?"

Chuckling softly, Trinket rose to her feet and headed into the hallway. Daphne, her hands covered in flour, was just pulling open the door when Trinket reached the foyer. Jewkes was standing on the steps, fidgeting with the police hat in his hands. His eyes went immediately to Trinket, and he released a long breath, his shoulders sagging as he slumped against the doorjamb.

"Thank heavens you're all right," he muttered, raking a hand through his salt and pepper hair.

"Constable, you look like you haven't slept in days," Trinket said, taking in the dark bags under his bloodshot eyes.

"Well, between the guilt over hurting my family and then worrying over you lot, I reckon I haven't had a good night's sleep in a few weeks."

Daphne motioned with her hands, as though holding a cup, and then raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Can we offer you a cup of tea?" Trinket translated for Jewkes.

He shook his head and gave Daphne a polite smile. "I just got off my shift, so I should be heading home. Thank you, though."

With a short nod and a sympathetic smile, Daphne wiped her hands on her apron as she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Jewkes set his gaze on Trinket. "I wanted to be sure you were all right, Miss Trinket." He hesitated and then leaned forward. "I have to ask. What happened last night? Was that all true? I mean, about your . . ."

As he trailed off, he subtly tapped his head and raised his eyebrows.

Trinket gave a strained smile and nodded. "I am unwell, sir. I have been for a long time."

The concern in his eyes grew deeper. "Has Larkin been able to help?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "In the only way a person can. By loving and supporting me. And not forcing any treatments on me that would take away what peace of mind and humanity I have left."

His brows knit together in an almost pained expression, but before he could speak another word, Booker appeared by Trinket's side. The officer's attention drifted away from her and focused on him. Though the warm regard mostly disappeared from his face, Trinket couldn't help but notice there seemed to be a little less resentment than usual as he met Booker's eyes.

"You didn't get sacked for helping us, did you, Jewkes?" Booker asked

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Jewkes retorted.

"Actually, it'd be a pity to see you go. I quite enjoy our reluctant relationship." Wrinkling his nose slightly, Booker tapped just beside his eye and said, "I am a bit concerned about that, though. Get into a scuffle with the moron bearing that obnoxious mustache?"

Jewkes' gaze flickered to Trinket for a moment, and she drew a breath, wondering if the officer would admit the truth to Booker. But in the same fashion she'd come to expect from the two of them, the officer simply lifted his lip in a snarl and gave a grunt.

"Not here to discuss my personal life, Larkin," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a dirty scalpel. "Just wanted to return this to you."

Booker cursed under his breath as he took the tool. "No one saw it, did they?"

"No. I went back to the cemetery before my shift ended to make sure no evidence was left behind. Aside from the mess you made of the bodies—which I might add the gravekeeper was not too happy about—there was nothing that would point to you as the culprit."

"Well, thank you. I do appreciate your discretion." Booker glanced down at Trinket. He swallowed and turned his attention back to Jewkes. "I hope I can trust that your discretion will extend to other matters as well?"

Again, the officer's expression softened as he gave Trinket a sad smile. "You have my word. Both of you."

"And your men?"

"They're not my men, but I think I have enough of their respect to keep things quiet. Can't guarantee something might not slip, though."

"It's fine, Constable," Trinket said, reaching out and taking the officer's hand. "I thank you for your efforts, though."

She gave it a squeeze, and he inclined his head. "Well, I'd best be off. Take care. Both of you."

As he turned away, Trinket closed the door and set the lock. Booker tucked the scalpel into his pocket and let out a sigh. "How much more trouble am I going to get you into?" he said as he leaned against the wall.

"Plenty, I'm sure. To be fair, though, I get you into almost as much trouble."

"Oh, really? Since you've met me, you've been attacked by wolves. And thugs. And vampires. You've also abandoned polite society and taken your sewing skills to gruesome heights."

Laughing, Trinket wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him. "Polite society would never have had me, Booker, and you know it. Besides, my sewing has improved greatly since being employed by you. You act as though I have no control over my choices and actions."

"So you're saying before meeting me you would have willingly stuck your hands into brain matter to retrieve a blasted map leading to a scientist almost as mad as myself?" He pulled her a little closer. "By the way, did I mention how much I appreciate you doing that?"

"Yes. More than once."

"Well, I'm saying it again. I'd all but forgotten about that last body when I thought you'd been taken into custody."

"Thank goodness one of us had the presence of mind to pick someone's brain."

This coaxed a smile out of him. "I love you so much."

He leaned in, and just as his lips were about to brush against her own, the front bell went off. Muttering a string of curses, he pulled the door open a little harder than was necessary, and the cloaked figure standing on the doorstep nearly tripped down the stairs in surprise.

Booker grabbed their hand and steadied them. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to . . ."

He trailed off as his attention wandered to the gloved hand he was holding. Brow furrowed, he carefully felt each finger and joint. His eyes suddenly dark and troubled, he pulled the person inside.

"Madame Spenlow, what happened to your hand?" he asked as he locked the door.

The mysterious figure lowered their hood, revealing the beautiful gentlewoman Trinket had met shortly after becoming Booker's assistant. Her eyes were filled with panic and shame. As she averted her gaze, she cradled her right arm.

"Another accident," she whispered.

Booker bit his lip and took the woman's hand again, removing the magenta glove that covered it. Trinket breathed in sharply when she saw the mess that had been Madame Spenlow's mechanical prosthetic. The fingers were crushed and bent, and a large crack spanned across the palm.

"I take it the same sort of accident?" Booker asked, wincing as he discovered even more damage done to his creation as he turned it over.

She nodded quickly, keeping her gaze away from the ruined hand. "Is there any way you can fix it?"

"Yes, though it's going to require some time to rebuild the parts. Why don't you head into the parlour while I fetch my tools? I need to take a few measurements."

The lady nodded again and hurried into the parlour, gingerly tucking her hand out of sight.

Trinket stayed in the hallway, watching as the poor woman sat on the settee, not even noticing the mess around her for the fear and humiliation she was experiencing. There was no doubt it had been Madame Spenlow's husband who'd injured her. How could someone treat his wife in such a manner? To have no regard for her well-being? To think only of his own pleasure?

It occurred to Trinket how easily she could have ended up in a similar situation. If her parents hadn't sent her away, would she have been married off to a cruel, selfish man like Madame Spenlow's husband? A man who would use her weaknesses against her? Who would manipulate and control her until she was nothing more than a frightened shell of a woman?

The thought sent a chill through her veins.

As she swallowed down a thick lump in her throat, the laboratory door creaked open. Booker approached, bag in hand, and heaved a sigh. "I'll just take some measurements and then—"

Without letting him finish, Trinket grabbed his lapels and drew him into an intense kiss. He seemed unsure of what to do at first, and before he could react, she pulled away. Still holding onto his jacket, she gave a half-smile.

"Have I mentioned how much I love and appreciate you?" she said softly.

Smiling uncertainly, Booker raised his eyebrows.

Tightening her grip on him, she moved closer. "Even with all your faults and concerning quirks, you are an exceptional man. I am so grateful for the way you treat me."

He still seemed confused, but then understanding dawned in his eyes. Glancing quickly at Madame Spenlow, he looked back to Trinket and ran a gentle hand over her hair. His gaze was warm and soft as he whispered, "I would never—never—do that to you, Trinket."

She nodded and smiled, closing her eyes as she soaked in his touch. "I know. It's one of the many reasons I love you."

Opening her eyes again, she found him gazing at her so tenderly it made her heart flutter. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips before heading into the parlour. Trinket watched him from the doorway, fully appreciating how lucky she was to have him in her life. How different things could have been if she hadn't met him that night in the alley.

She prayed she'd never have to know a life without him by her side.