Booker didn't speak the entire way home, and as soon as they entered the house, he immediately went downstairs to the laboratory. Trinket stood by the door, clutching the key he'd given her all those months ago when she'd only been his assistant. When he'd shown her how much he trusted her. When all of this had truly begun.

But rather than use it to chase after him, she slipped it back into her pocket and made her way to the kitchen. He needed time. She understood that. Gin's death was still a fresh wound. For both of them, really, but certainly more so for him. Gin had been the first person he'd come to love since starting on this bizarre journey to impress Benedict. She was the only person he'd fully trusted in Tinkerfall. And the fact that his rash actions had played a part in her demise surely hung heavy on his shoulders. That sort of guilt did not easily go away.

Trinket knew that better than anyone.

The kettle was filled with water from earlier, so she lit the stove and went to fetch some tea. After their encounter with Scales, she needed something to settle her nerves. Bypassing Booker's strong black tea, she opted for her slightly less caffeinated green tea.

As she scooped the leaves into the strainer set over her teacup, she considered what the serving girl said about the theories people had concerning the number carved into the corpse's forehead. While Booker believed it too high to be an address, Trinket thought otherwise. From what he'd told her about his childhood, it seemed he'd spent very little time in the suburbs. And, seeing as he found the gentry to be dull compared to the residents of St. Spittel, he likely hadn't given the upper-class section of the city much mind.

But Trinket had grown up in just such a neighborhood, and the memory of it was ingrained in her head. She knew that even in her small hometown of Broadfall, the house numbers on some of the streets were quite high. The suburbs of Tinkerfall were still somewhat of a mystery to her, but there was a chance Booker had overlooked them when considering the meaning behind the number 957.

The kettle went off, and Trinket removed it from the stove, placing it on the cutting board to give it a moment to cool. She leaned against the kitchen table and drummed her fingers against the wood top as she stared at the shadows dancing across the wall. There were whispered voices in her head, and though she couldn't understand what they were saying, the combined effect of them and the imaginary silhouettes brought back the nostalgia of her childhood. She didn't want to go to the suburbs. She hated the memories they stirred up. But at this point, she wanted to find Benedict just as much as Booker did, if only to put an end to his reckless game.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head in an attempt to dispel the voices and poured water over the tea leaves. After letting it steep for a spell, she sipped at the slightly bitter but sweet tea. Booker was in too much of a state to bring along, and Daphne was still recovering from her cold. Besides, Trinket didn't want to leave the agitated scientist alone for fear he'd do something stupid.

If only Gin were here. She'd be the ideal companion with whom to infiltrate the suburbs. Clever and resourceful, she'd surely know the neighborhood like the back of her hand. But just the thought of the deceased urchin squeezed Trinket's heart like a vice, so she quickly moved on to other options as she took another sip of tea.

Who else might be willing to join her in this investigation? Someone who knew the city, perhaps even being familiar with members of the gentry. Someone who could charm their way out of trouble. Someone with skills and talents she herself did not possess.

Trinket froze as a name popped into her head. A smile tugged at her mouth, and she chuckled softly.

Yes, she would be perfect.

~

She found Grace milling about the market, casting alluring smiles at gentlemen when their lady companions weren't looking. It seemed she was taking full advantage of the upper-crust crowd the numbered corpse was attracting to the city center that morning. When she caught Trinket's eye, her coy simper drooped into a rather unbecoming grimace.

"What do you want?" she groaned.

"I was hoping to obtain your assistance for a few hours," Trinket replied.

Grace laughed her throaty laugh as she glanced about the crowd. "You really think I'm going to give up the prospect of an incredibly profitable workday to help a little girl like you?"

"I'll pay you."

The night flower waved her fingers at a particularly handsome young man who shyly stole a glimpse at her. "So will these deep-pocketed gentlemen."

"But I can offer payment they cannot."

Grace paused her flirtations and turned a wary eye to Trinket. Pleased to have caught her attention, Trinket reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch. Holding it out in her palm, she raised an eyebrow, and Grace cautiously took a few steps closer. She plucked it out of Trinket's hand and tugged it open. As she peered inside, her eyes went wide. However, she quickly recovered her nonchalant demeanor as she returned her gaze to Trinket.

"Did Booker send you so as to avoid interacting with the big, bad, scary night flower?" she asked.

In fact, Booker was so wrapped up in his frustration and anger that he hadn't even noticed when Trinket slipped into the laboratory to fetch the opium that was now in Grace's hand. "Mr. Larkin isn't the only one capable of making less-than-scrupulous deals, you know."

A smile pulled at the corner of Grace's mouth, and she tucked the pouch into her bodice while considering Trinket with a discerning eye. "Am I to take it you stole from your beloved employer?"

"'Stole' is such a dirty word. I like to think of it as an investment for him. After all, your assistance will aid him in his latest obsession."

Grace shook her head and chuckled before drawing her shawl over her exposed cleavage and motioning for Trinket to follow as she turned away from the numerous gentlemen lingering about. "Well, well, I'd say you just hired yourself a toffer for the morning."

Trinket let out a relieved breath and quickly fell into step with the night flower. As they wove through the growing crowds and sidestepped large puddles in the middle of the dirt road, she couldn't help but admire how Grace, even when off-duty, continued to give off an intoxicating air that attracted the eyes of every male they passed. Part of her had thought the night flower simply put the act on as a show, but clearly she was a charming and desirable person without trying. If it weren't for her drug habit, she could likely earn a nice living in her profession, especially since she had yet to succumb to the same sorts of diseases her peers had. She'd even managed to retain all her teeth. Grace was certainly a remarkable woman.

"So I take it this new obsession of Booker's has something to do with the body found at the Clocktower last night?" Grace asked, gliding through the sea of people effortlessly.

Trinket struggled to keep up with her pace. "It's really the same obsession. All dead bodies lead to one source. Or at least lately they do."

"I figured as much. So, who do you need me to sleep with this time?"

A blush ran up Trinket's neck, and she ducked her head. "No, nothing like that. I simply needed someone to escort me into the suburbs. And I thought that—"

"Since I service so many of the wealthy men, I'd know my way around the neighborhoods?"

Grace cast a sly smile over her shoulder, and Trinket dipped her head down shamefully. "Ah, well, yes, but I didn't—"

Laughing softly, Grace slowed down so Trinket could catch up. "You aren't wrong. I am rather familiar with the area. But tell me, why are you so interested?"

"Just investigating a hunch."

"A hunch that involves the number on that dead man's forehead?"

Trinket raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Yes, in fact. I've only set foot in the suburbs once before, and considering it was dark and I was chasing after a mutant wolf, I didn't pay much attention to my surroundings."

"So you believe the number on the corpse corresponds to a house number?"

"Maybe? I just wanted to see. I know it's probably a longshot, but—"

"Actually, I think it's very clever. I mean, who would suspect a madman to be living in such wealth and splendor? It would be the perfect hiding place."

That was true. Benedict was a cautious and creative sort of person. It would make sense for him to be residing somewhere no one would think to look. But for the initial clue in this final round of the game to lead directly to him? That seemed too easy. Still, this could be the first step to finding him.

It was very obvious when they'd left the center behind. The road was in better condition, the hedges along the sides were carefully manicured, and there were even bunches of colorful flowers scattered about, brightening up the otherwise dreary spring day. Unfriendly wrought-iron fences surrounded well-kept houses, making it clear uninvited guests were not welcome.

It was just the same. Different houses, different streets, different faces. But still the same. The stuffy atmosphere, the warm yet empty beauty, the unmistakable feeling that outsiders did not belong. It seemed every suburb was the same, no matter what city or town they were in. And perhaps not everyone was so pompous and cold. Henry and Alice hadn't given off the haughty air the folks now passing them on the road did. Of course, those two had had little choice but to be kind and accepting when they'd come to Booker for help. These rich folk had no such obligation, and their judgemental glares made Trinket worry that if they stared long enough, they may learn the many secrets she was keeping from the world. Or maybe that was because this place was so similar to the home where she'd ruined everything. Where she'd destroyed so many lives.

His life.

Merrill's life.

The dark memories resurfaced, but she didn't have time to lose herself in nostalgia. Pushing them back down, she turned her attention to the numbers on the gates of the houses she and Grace passed.

"I'm not certain how high they go," Grace said, unfazed by the dirty looks a pair of lovely young women were giving her. "I usually don't have to know the addresses of my customers. Most of the time they send a cab to fetch me under the cover of night. These upper-class gents aren't nearly as daring as the Clocktower drunks. Far duller, too."

"It could take us all day to search every street," Trinket said, gazing about the neighborhood in a fuzzy daze. Familiar voices were calling out to her, distracting her from her mission. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head before trying to concentrate again. "Perhaps longer."

"Maybe we could ask for some assistance." Grace scanned the street and set her sights on a young man coming from one of the large houses. "Excuse me, sir?"

As she approached him, she strategically moved her shawl aside to put her well-endowed chest on display. The young man nearly tripped over his feet, his eyes drawn to her bodice. To his credit, he quickly snapped his gaze up to her face and gave a quick smile.

"Can I help you ladies?" he asked.

Pasting on her most dazzling smile, Grace leaned forward and batted her lashes. "I'm afraid we're slightly lost. We're off to visit a dear friend, but for the life of me, I can't seem to find my way. Might you give us a clue as to which direction we should go?"

The young man's brow furrowed as though he wasn't quite convinced they'd have any sort of relationship with someone who lived here, but he continued to smile politely. "I'd be glad to help if I can. What's her address?"

Grace placed a demure hand against her chest, drawing the young man's gaze back to her cleavage. "Oh, aren't you the kindest gentleman there is? And easy on the eyes, if I might say so."

She gave him a wink, and the young man's ears turned pink. Clearing his throat, he inclined his head. "You flatter me, miss. Ah, so what was the address?"

"Oh, right, of course. Silly me. I guess I was just so distracted by—" Grace laughed in that alluring way of hers, shyly covering her mouth and averting her gaze. "Oh, never mind, I don't want to make you blush any more than I already have. But let me say, it's not often I can become so flustered over the fit of a man's trousers."

Raising her brows suggestively, she allowed her eyes to flicker to the young man's belt before meeting his gaze again. His pink ears were now bright red, and Trinket had to keep from glaring at the night flower who was delighting in how uncomfortable she was making the poor lad.

"Um, the address?" the young man squeaked as he swallowed hard.

"Right. Down to business, no? Let's see . . ." Tapping a finger against her lips, she put on quite a show of trying to recall an imaginary address. "Oh, dear. Wouldn't you know, I can't remember the street name. It starts with an e. No, no, perhaps it was a bird name of some sort. Or a plant? Lord, this is terrible! Our dear friend is waiting for us. Darling, do you know what it was?"

Grace looked to Trinket. Sucking in her lips, Trinket tried to feign deep thought. "I'm afraid not. Although, I believe the number may have been ninety? No, fifty-seven?"

"Oh, no, no, it was nine hundred and fifty-seven. I'm positive." Grace turned back to the young man and smiled. "Do you know which street would have that address?"

"Ah, I'm not sure there is such an address in these parts," he said. "Although, if there were, I'd guess it would probably be in the Garden Block."

"The Garden Block?"

"Yes, it's a neighborhood off of Gainsborough. Really, it's just a continuation of the street, but the folks there took to the idea of naming different sections of it after flowers. Felt it was more elegant. The numbers continue on where Gainsborough left off, though, so if there's an address that high, it'd be there."

"Oh, you are a godsend, sir. I don't know how we can ever thank you."

The young man, still sporting a polite smile, dipped his head graciously. "I hope you have a pleasant visit with your friend, ladies."

"I'm certain we will, thanks to your assistance."

With sudden, quick steps, Grace closed the distance between herself and the poor gentleman, and he stumbled back, knocking into the fence behind him. With absolutely no subtlety whatsoever, she pulled a card from her bodice and traced his lips with its corner.

"And if you're ever in need of a 'pleasant visit,'" her hands wandered to his lower half, and the young man went rigid as she tucked the card into his belt, "don't hesitate to call on me."

Trinket could only imagine that every inch of the poor fellow's body was as bright red as his face. Even so, as Grace turned away and took Trinket's arm, the gentleman fetched the night flower's calling card from his belt and slipped it safely into his vest pocket.

Eyeing Grace disapprovingly, Trinket asked, "Was that display really necessary?"

"Listen, you tore me away from work. The least you can let me do is advertise. Besides, he was almost as much fun to torment as Booker."

Grace winked at her knowingly, and Trinket held back from reprimanding her further. After all, she had gotten them the information they needed, even if her methods weren't what Trinket would have personally gone with. But then again, that was one of the reasons she'd chosen Grace as her partner in this expedition. She had talents far beyond Trinket's capabilities.

As the Garden Block came into view, it became clear the residents of this section of the city were doing their best to stand out from the rest of the neighborhood. While there'd been a modest display of flowers along Gainsborough Avenue, this particular offshoot of the road burst with color. The well-manicured hedges they'd seen earlier could not compare to the works of art gracing the front yards here. Bushes that had been shaped into elegant dancers and majestic beasts were enhanced by fragrant blossoms scattered throughout the living artwork. Moon vines wound their way around the iron fences and lampposts, bringing a cheerful glow to the man-made structures with their white, trumpet-like blooms. Lovely flower boxes filled with asters and geraniums and primroses could be found under every window in every house. It was certainly a sight to behold, and a far cry from the slums Trinket had come to call her home.

"Well, isn't this disgustingly cheery," Grace said, crossing her arms over her chest and wrinkling her nose.

Trinket recalled Gin's aversion to all things floral and smiled sadly at the memory. "You don't like flowers?"

"I think I feel the same way about flowers as I do about you. I don't hate them, but I find them very irritating."

Chuckling, Trinket scanned the gate numbers as they passed them by. "I suppose there are far worse things to be compared to than flowers."

"Well, so long as they're of the floral persuasion and not the working type." Grace raised an eyebrow at her. "Though I don't know there's much risk of that happening. You're too sweet and pure to be cut from the same cloth as me."

"You seem to have forgotten about the night I was mistaken for a night flower."

"Oh, right." Grace grinned. "That was exceedingly entertaining."

"For you, perhaps."

Grace stopped to observe a rose hanging over the fence of a rather somber looking home. "My last beau used to send me flowers," she said, fingering the crimson petals as she stared at them vacantly. "At the time, I thought it was the most romantic gesture. But it wasn't long before I learned how dangerous it is to get drunk off of meaningless gifts and empty promises."

Trinket clutched her skirts, not certain if she should respond or not. This wasn't the first time Grace had opened up to her, but it felt strange considering the night flower didn't try to hide how annoying she found her.

"That's why I decided to ditch him and find my own way in the world," Grace continued, snapping the bloom off of its stem and twirling it between her fingers. "Better to take care of yourself than wait for someone else to do it."

She brought the flower to her nose and inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed as she seemed to lose herself in a distant memory. It was impossible to tell if it was a pleasant one or a painful one, but after a moment, she opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on Trinket. Shrugging, she tossed the flower over her shoulder and continued down the road.

"I don't think many women would have the strength or courage to do what you did," Trinket said as she followed after her.

"I'm not looking for sympathy, child." The night flower cast her a sidelong glance. "But I daresay you would have the gall to do the same."

Trinket furrowed her brow. "Me? I highly doubt that."

"I don't. As aggravating as you are, you're surprisingly self-sufficient. If you weren't, wouldn't you have left the investigating to Booker rather than take matters into your own hands?"

Trinket opened her mouth to argue against the strange compliment but lost her words when she caught sight of a couple walking towards them. The young man carried a picnic basket while the young lady clung to his arm. The way he gazed down at her as if she were the only being in the world caused a memory to stir.

A memory of a young couple in love.

A memory filled with hope and plans.

And the bloodstained knife that ended it all.

That ended him.

That ended any right she had to be alive.

Die, die, die, die, die, die—

"Trinket!"

Grace's voice snapped her out of the dark spiral she'd been about to fall into. The night flower was eyeing her suspiciously, her gaze darting to the young couple who were now passing them by.

"Do you know them?" Grace asked, her voice hushed and low to keep the couple from hearing.

Trinket watched as the young man and woman continued on down the street, their whispered words and cheerful laughter like daggers in her heart, reminders of everything she'd destroyed. "No," she said. "I've never seen them before in my life."

Though seeming unconvinced, Grace nodded and glanced further up the street. "It looks like the road curves over there." She squinted to read the numbers across the way. "Six eighty-three. I doubt the houses here will hit the nine-hundreds."

"No, I suppose you're right."

Grace looked her up and down. "We should head back. You're paler than usual. I wouldn't want to have to carry you should you faint."

"Trust me," Trinket said as they turned around and followed the young couple at a distance, "when you work for a man who chops off limbs for a living, you quickly get over the urge to faint."

"How's all that going, by the way?"

"Quite well. I've actually learned much more about surgery than I thought I would. I'm getting rather good with sutures."

"That wasn't what I meant, although, I must admit, that's impressive. No, I was referring to your romantic relationship with the good doctor."

A flutter of panic erupted in Trinket's stomach, and she cleared her throat self-consciously as she searched for a response.

Grace laughed and patted her arm warmly, which took Trinket by more surprise than did the night flower prying into her personal life. "You can't think people haven't noticed, child, what with you and him canoodling in the middle of the Clocktower. Besides, there's been a ridiculous amount of sexual tension between you two for months. It was only a matter of time before he took you to bed."

Trinket's heart practically burst from her chest, and she stared at Grace wide-eyed. "I assure you, no one has taken anyone to bed."

Lifting her eyebrows, Grace replied, "Oh? Saving that for the wedding night?"

"Grace!"

"Trinket, you're talking to a woman of the night, please. No need to beat around the bush with me."

"I certainly don't feel there's any—"

Again, Trinket's words escaped her as they passed by a lone figure standing by a fence lined with rows of foxglove. It was a man, tall and slim, his face obscured in the shadow cast by his top hat as he peered down at a pocket watch in his hand. But as soon as they'd gone just a few feet beyond him, he glanced at them, peering over the round, dark-tinted glasses perched on his nose.

Trinket's eyes went wide as something like familiarity stirred in her mind.

Daphne's drawing of the man who'd attached her gills.

Tory's description of the doctor who had taken her from the asylum.

Could this be him? Was this—

She was suddenly pulled aside without decorum, and in an effort not to trip over own feet, she tore her eyes away from the stranger. Grace had a firm hold on her arm, practically dragging her down the street. Desperate not to lose the man she was certain was Benedict, Trinket tried to resist the night flower, but Grace simply tightened her grip and picked up her pace. They rounded the corner without a word and darted across the street. It was only once they reached a small group of women promenading along the road that Grace dared to slow down.

"What was that all about?" Trinket asked, finding herself slightly alarmed by the panicked look in the night flower's normally fearless eyes.

"Didn't you see him?" Grace asked, breathing heavily as she glanced over her shoulder.

Had she recognized Benedict? Was he perhaps a customer of hers? And if so, what had he done to make her react in such a manner?

Turning back to her, Grace let out a breath, her eyelids fluttering slightly. "Scales. He was following us."

A chill seized Trinket's limbs as her body went stiff. "You're sure it was him?" she asked. Could she really have mistaken Scales for Benedict? It seemed unlikely seeing as the thug's vicious grin was branded into her memory. But with a condition like hers, anything was possible.

Grace glanced over her shoulder again. "Trust me, you live here long enough, you know who Scales is. He was keeping a distance, but it was definitely him." The night flower turned her gaze back to Trinket. "You'd better be careful. You seem to have really piqued his interest, and that is never a good thing."

Her eyes still darting about the street in search of the ex-Mouse, Trinket nodded. "I'm well aware of that, but considering my connection to Booker, it was bound to happen." Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on Grace. "We'd best get back, anyhow. I left a rather moody Booker alone with Daphne, and I like her too much to make her deal with his tantrums."

Grace nodded slowly, and the two made their way to the center, ignoring the nasty glares from the promenading women. Trinket couldn't help but glance back in hopes of catching another glimpse of the mysterious stranger with the dark glasses. Had he been real? Or had he been a figment of her imagination? It was difficult to know for sure.

Cursing her unreliable mind, she pulled her gaze away from the beautiful neighborhood that continued to stir up memories of the life she'd left behind and focused on the road ahead. There was no time to waste on a past that was lost to her forever. There was a game to be won and a madman to find.