Two days went by without incident. No bodies, no threats from Scales. The city continued on with its normal routine, completely unaware of the momentous event that had occurred with Viper's death. No one knew the leader of the Dead Mice was gone.

No one knew the danger they were in.

Trinket and Booker struck a bit of luck in their search for Viper's successor. Madison knew straight away who it was.

"Short fella, wears his hair in a long braid. Goes by the name Hiss," he'd explained. "Viper chose him only just a week or two ago. Guess Hiss has got a temper to match his height. Thinks he's pretty tough, too. Always picking fights. Awful loud when he's drunk. And he's got a real taste for well-endowed night flowers."

He sounded very much like one of the men they had run into when chasing down Tory. Trinket remembered his behavior then: getting in everyone's face, talking back, acting as though he were in charge and yet a true coward when it came to unknown danger, like a potential vampire.

Scales could kill him with a single look.

Booker somehow managed to not completely lose his mind while waiting for something to happen. He occupied himself in the library and the laboratory, studying everything he could find on frogs and tinkering away downstairs. He made appearances for meals and never objected to Trinket's company.

Trinket, however, found herself unable to sit still. Scales' numerous threats haunted her thoughts, playing over and over again. The image of Viper's dead body was scorched into her memory, those bleeding numbers mocking her. Outwardly, her hallucinations manifested as swarms of flies that followed her wherever she went. Blood trickled down the wallpaper, congealing into odd shapes she soon recognized as corpses.

It was more than she could take.

Grabbing her shawl, she rushed outside into the warm, fresh air. She breathed deeply and took large steps down the road, hoping she could outrun the voices that were chanting the same word over and over again:

Death.

Death.

Death.

"Enough!" she hissed as she clutched her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

In her panicked frustration, she crashed into a passerby. Her eyes flew open, and she grabbed at a nearby lamppost to steady herself. When she had collected her senses, the person she'd walked into addressed her.

"Miss Trinket. How fortuitous that I should bump into you," said a rough yet very feminine voice.

Trinket lifted her gaze and found Ms. Langtry standing before her. A cold pit of dread settled in her gut as the horrific scene she'd witnessed at the Clocktower when last speaking with the woman played through her head.

The dead dove.

Her bloodstained hands.

And Merrill's voice singing that same old song.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself back into the present moment and gave Ms. Langtry a tight smile. "Ms. Langtry. How nice to see you. Please forgive my clumsiness. I'm afraid I was quite distracted."

"Yes, I could tell. I'm sorry to have interrupted you. But as I said, I think it may have been good fortune that brought us together again. I've been thinking about you."

Trinket fell back a step, her nerves wound into tight, frayed knots. "Have you?"

"Yes, I feel dreadful about the way things ended the last time we met. I fear I may have overstepped my place, and I wanted to apologize to you."

A glimmer of relief allowed Trinket to breathe a little easier. "No, it's fine. I was under a lot of stress that day, what with the dead body and the news about Scales coming to you. I'm sorry for leaving like I did."

Ms. Langtry tilted her head to the side and gazed at her thoughtfully. "I'd think working for Mr. Larkin would indeed be a stressful job. Aside from his manner of work, he strikes me as a man of a fitful nature."

Trinket pulled her shawl closer, fidgeting with the fringe. "He's really not all that bad. In fact, compared to when I first met him, he's almost a different person."

"I agree. My interactions with him have been brief, seeing as he holds little respect for my occupation. But I can tell there's been a change." There was a glint in her eye. "Because of you."

Mrs. Portch's sentiments echoed in Trinket's mind. Had she really had such an effect on Booker?

"It's a mutually beneficial relationship," Trinket said. "Perhaps I have influenced Mr. Larkin to some degree, but he's encouraged a change in my own person as well."

Ms. Langtry smiled sweetly. "I'm happy you two have found each other, then. It seems you're both better people for it."

"Miss Trinket!"

They both turned to find Madison rushing through the market, holding onto his flattened top hat as he dodged shoppers and wagons. When he reached them, he bent over and leaned against his knees to catch his breath.

"Madison, is all well?" Trinket asked, stooping forward to check on the young boy.

He stood up straight and opened his mouth to speak. When he noticed Ms. Langtry, he clamped it shut again. His eyes went wide as he stared up at her. "You're that fortune-teller."

She smiled softly and gave a humble nod. "Indeed, I am, young sir."

"You know her?" Trinket asked.

Nodding slowly, Madison continued to gaze at the woman in awe. "Yes, ma'am. Me and Gin were saving up money so we could have our fortunes read."

Ms. Langtry chuckled, but Trinket furrowed her brow. "Gin actually believed in such things?"

He tore his eyes from the fortune-teller and turned to Trinket with a shrug. "She seemed like she didn't trust it, but I could tell by the way her eyes lit up when we talked about it that she was excited to try. We mostly wanted to find out about my parents."

"About who they are?"

"No. I just wanted to talk to them again."

Trinket's heart sank. "I'm so sorry, Madison."

He shrugged again, turning his eyes downward. "They died a long time ago. I suppose now I'd be more eager to hear from Gin."

There was a tight quiver in his voice that nearly pulled a sob out of Trinket's chest. Madison had known Gin far longer than she had. What sort of pain and loneliness must he be experiencing without her? Knowing her own grief, she couldn't imagine what this little boy was going through, this child who'd had only Gin in his life.

"I mean, if she did talk to me, she'd probably yell at me for wasting my money on something so silly," the urchin went on, trying to laugh through the obvious knot in his throat.

Ms. Langtry, who'd been listening to the boy with a grief-stricken expression, reached out her hand to gently touch his shoulder. "My child, let me—"

Without thinking about what she was doing, Trinket pulled Madison away, putting a protective arm around his shoulders. "Madison, were you here to tell me something?" she asked, shooting Ms. Langtry a sharp look.

The woman drew back her hand, seeming almost surprised by Trinket's reaction.

"Oh, yeah," Madison said, shaking his head and returning to his normal demeanor. "I have some news for you and Mr. Larkin."

"Excellent. Why don't you come back to the house with me so you can tell him in person?"

She steered the boy away from the fortune-teller and proceeded back towards home.

Ms. Langtry grabbed hold of her arm. "Miss Trinket, please—"

Spinning around, Trinket glared at her with such force the woman staggered back. "Do not offer that poor boy false hope and lies," she whispered.

Ms. Langtry recovered from her shock and gathered herself up to her full height. "And how do you know it's false?"

In all honesty, she didn't. But maybe all the time she'd spent with Booker had made her suspicious of those professing otherworldly powers. Or maybe deep down, she really did think it was a farce. If that were the case, though, why had she been so afraid of what the woman might reveal about her back at the Clocktower?

Whatever the explanation, she didn't want to chance Madison getting hurt after he'd already been through such loss. "All I know is you make money off of the grief and fear of others. I can't say I put much faith in such a person," she said.

"And your doctor makes money off of the pain and suffering of others. We all must survive, Miss Trinket."

"Mr. Larkin offers genuine help."

"And I offer comfort."

"Real or imagined?"

Pursing her lips together, Ms. Langtry looked Trinket up and down, all warmth and gentleness gone from her expression. "I may have misjudged you, Miss Trinket."

"Funny, I imagine your spirits would have prevented that. Good day, Ms. Langtry."

Trinket turned away and continued on home with Madison, keeping the boy close to her, as if protecting him from any others who might try to hurt or use him. He didn't object, although she noticed him throwing her odd glances as they hurried down the street.

"Is it good news?" Trinket asked as she unlocked the door and held it open for Madison.

"I don't know that it's good or bad, but it's definitely news," he said.

"I'm sure any news will make Mr. Larkin happy. Please, make yourself comfortable in the parlour over there."

As the boy hesitantly wandered into the parlour, Trinket made her way downstairs. Booker was hunched over his writing desk again, and when she cleared her throat, he jumped so hard he nearly knocked the chair over.

"Madison is here with news," she said.

Rising to his feet, Booker followed her up the stairs. "Good or bad?" he asked as she led him into the hallway.

"He says it's just news. I think you'll have to be the judge of how good or bad it is."

The young boy was waiting nervously on the settee, but when they entered, he leapt to his feet, fidgeting with his threadbare jacket.

"Sit, sit, my boy," Booker said, waving him back to the settee as he took a seat in the armchair.

Trinket went to position herself behind him, but he surprised her by taking her hand and keeping her by his side. He looked up at her with a soft smile and put an arm around her waist. Unsure of what to do, she perched herself on the arm of the chair and rested her hands against his arm.

"So, my good sir," Booker said, smiling at the young urchin, "what news do you have for me?"

"It's about Hiss. Word is he up and left."

Booker frowned. "He left the Dead Mice?"

"Left the whole dang city. Just disappeared. Reckon he probably hopped a train outta here."

Apparently the cowardly man wasn't as stupid as he appeared. Had Scales threatened him? Or was his presence enough of a threat to send Hiss running?

"So that leaves the Mice without a leader," Trinket said.

"For now," Booker said, expressionless as he stared down at the carpet.

His grip on her waist, which had loosened momentarily, suddenly grew tight as he glanced up at her. He forced a smile and then turned back to Madison.

"Well, that is quite some news," he said. "How many people know?"

"Doesn't seem like a lot," the urchin said. "I've been listening in on the Mice down at the Clocktower. It's how I found out about Hiss being made the new leader."

"How do the remaining Mice feel about his sudden disappearance?"

"Some of them weren't surprised. Some were confused. A few seemed kinda scared."

The gang was indeed splintered in its loyalties. Scales had really done a number on them when he was ousted. Did Viper realize what an asset his right-hand man had been? Or had he been so full of himself that he thought he could maintain order without him?

"I'm sure we'll be learning more as the days wear along," Booker said. "I thank you for the update, Madison. Your help is greatly appreciated."

He rose to his feet and reached into his pocket, likely looking for money with which to pay the urchin. But Madison got up and shook his head. "No worries, Mr. Larkin. I'm glad to do it, free of charge. It's what Gin would've wanted."

Booker swallowed and held out the handful of coins in his palm. "But I paid Gin for her services, too."

"And she always gave the money to the other urchins. She didn't want your money, Mr. Larkin. She just wanted to take care of you. And I plan on picking up where she left off. In her memory. And maybe if she's watching us, it'll make her smile. I liked it when she smiled."

A muscle twitched in Booker's cheek. He closed his hand over the coins and nodded. "Yes, so did I," he said softly.

Heading into the hallway, Madison said, "I should get going, though. Got jobs to plan and pockets to pick. If I find out anything else, I'll let you know right away."

"Let me see you out, Madison," Trinket offered, following after him.

Once the urchin was scampering back out into the street and the door was securely locked, Trinket returned to Booker who was leaning against the mantelpiece, gazing into the fire. She carefully joined him, watching his face for a clue as to how he was feeling. But it was as unreadable as the codes Ms. Langtry had tried to decipher from the numbered corpses.

"How do you think Scales is going to go about this?" she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between him and the fire.

"I don't know," he replied, his voice even and emotionless. "But I'm sure it won't leave a doubt in anyone's mind about who's in charge."

Pushing away from the mantelpiece, he laid a hand on her shoulder and pressed a light kiss to her head before making his way into the hallway. She listened as the laboratory door opened and closed, almost able to hear his footsteps descending the stairs.

When he was gone, she turned back to the fireplace. Staring into the flames, she considered what it meant now that the Dead Mice were leaderless. Though Scales technically had no reason to be appointed as the new leader, she knew he'd find a way. After all, he was the one who had orchestrated everything. There was no chance he'd let this opportunity go to waste. And as the leader, he would have access to many willing and vicious thugs ready to be sent out to do his bidding. Which made him a much greater threat in the race to uncover the meaning behind the numbered corpses.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending sparks up into the chimney.

No. Not a log.

An arm.

A blackened and charred arm. With two missing fingers. Fingers that had somehow slipped through the grate and were now lying at her feet.

Closing her eyes against the vision, Trinket turned away and escaped into the kitchen. Still, the scent of burning flesh lingered in her nose and haunted her senses as she threw herself into scrubbing pots and pans in the scullery.