Booker's muscles went stiff the moment Frieda's eyes met his. Trinket instinctively took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He gripped it tightly and let out a short breath before plastering on a smile.

"Frieda," he said. "My apologies. It slipped my mind that you were coming over this morning."

With a ridiculously exaggerated pout, the beautiful woman crossed her arms over her chest. "If I were anyone else, I'd worry that I'm easily forgotten." Her gaze traveled to Trinket, expression growing dark. "But I'm guessing you were just distracted by something unimportant."

"My work is not unimportant, Frieda. We've discussed this before," Booker said.

She turned her attention back to him, the smile returned to her lips. "Yes, well, I forgive you for this little oversight. Anyhow, I believe we have lots of catching up to do."

Without waiting for an invitation, she sauntered into the house, lazily swinging a dark red parasol that perfectly matched her plaid walking dress. She looked about the foyer, admiring every wall hanging and piece of furniture.

"You've done well for yourself, Booker," she said as she stopped in front of a gold-plated mirror. She took a moment to adjust her riding hat, brushing her petite fingers along the red and black feathers and fluffing the tulle that hung down her back. "Putting Mr. Patterson's fortune to good use, I see."

Booker cleared his throat. "Could I perhaps persuade you to stay for breakfast?" he asked stiffly, as though he were hoping the answer would be "no."

That coy smile graced Frieda's red lips once more as she glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, now Booker, you know I'm the one who likes to do the persuading. But I suppose just this once I'll let you do the honor."

Again, not bothering to allow either Trinket or Booker to show her inside, she made her way into the parlour and disappeared through the dining-room door. Trinket turned to Booker, eyes wide. He held his hands out in a helpless shrug before letting out a sigh and following after Frieda. Biting her lip, Trinket reluctantly did the same, praying no one would end up poisoned or maimed during this meal.

Trinket nearly crashed into Booker as he stopped short in the doorway.

"Darling, if you're going to attempt to kill me, you might want to try a more creative method," came Frieda's voice from inside the dining room.

Trinket peeked over Booker's shoulder and took a sharp breath. There stood Daphne, staring menacingly at Frieda, kitchen knife in hand.

Frieda gave a throaty laugh and proceeded into the room, seeming unconcerned with Daphne's threat. "My, my, Booker, you have some very brazen help. My maids would never get away with this sort of behavior." She turned to Daphne and flashed a condescending smile. "Though I must say, I admire your efforts."

Hurrying to Daphne's side, Booker grabbed her wrist and gently extricated the knife from her grip. "Daphne is more a friend than a servant. And to be fair, you did drug her the last time you were here, so I think her reaction is warranted."

With a scoff and a shrug, Frieda pulled out a chair and gracefully adjusted her skirts to sit. "Why are people so touchy about being drugged? It's really not the worst thing that could happen."

Trinket narrowed her eyes at the woman and then met Booker's gaze. He flashed her an apologetic smile and turned his attention to Daphne. "My dear, we'll be having an extra guest this morning. I hope it's not too much trouble."

Giving him a withering glare, Daphne snatched her wrist from his hand and stormed through the kitchen door. Booker turned to Trinket, a desperate plea for help written all over his face. Pinching her lips together, she quickly glanced at Frieda. She was busy tracing the intricate patterns of the lace tablecloth. With one last look at Booker, Trinket released a long breath and hurried into the kitchen.

Daphne was furiously scooping food onto plates and fetching an extra place setting. Trinket had never seen her quite so upset before. Hesitating momentarily, she approached and laid a gentle hand on Daphne's arm.

"Please, Daphne, I know how you must feel about Frieda, but she could have valuable information about Benedict."

Raising an eyebrow, Daphne pointed to the dining-room door with the spatula in her hand and then ran the cooking utensil across her throat like a knife.

The threat was not lost on Trinket. "I understand. And I agree. She doesn't seem to be the most trustworthy individual."

Daphne gave something between a grunt and a laugh as she scooped up bacon from the frying pan sitting on the stove.

"But are any of Booker's associates all that upstanding?"

Sighing, Daphne set down the spatula and approached Trinket. With a look of true concern etched on her face, she laid a hand on Trinket's chest, right above her heart. She pressed against it and raised her eyebrows as she inclined her head.

Trinket hesitated, vaguely getting the sense of what she meant. Clearly Daphne could tell there'd been some sort of romantic history between Booker and Frieda.

"I'm fine," Trinket reassured her, laying her hands over Daphne's and smiling softly. "I don't have any issues when Grace flirts with him, do I?"

Daphne raised her eyebrows even higher.

"I promise. It will be fine. Now, let me help you with all this."

They gathered up the breakfast dishes and returned to the dining room where Frieda was playfully toying with one of her copper curls and watching with delight as Booker anxiously paced the room. As soon as they entered, he ran to their side, taking plates from their hands and helping them set the table.

"Booker Larkin, you have no idea how to act like a proper gentleman," Frieda said. "One does not assist the servants in serving."

"Again," Booker said, placing the plate of bacon next to the cheeseballs, "Daphne is more a friend than a servant. Besides, I went quite a while without a maid when I first moved here. I'm no stranger to taking care of myself."

"That could be debated," Trinket mumbled.

An amused smile spread over Booker's face as he cast her a knowing glance.

Frieda didn't miss the meaning behind their brief exchange. "And what about this one?" she asked, staring across the table at Trinket as she took a seat next to Booker. "Is she more of a friend than a servant as well?"

Booker's gaze darted nervously to Trinket as he sipped his tea. "Trinket is my assistant. So she's most certainly more than a servant."

Raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow, Frieda ran a finger along the rim of her cup. "Assistant? She must be awfully special to have won that title."

"She is. Trinket is perhaps one of the most remarkable people I've ever met."

"Is that so? My, my, what would Benedict think if he heard you talk like that?"

"Speaking of Benedict," Booker cut into an egg fritter as he spoke, "you never told me if you've talked to him recently."

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Frieda raised a teacup to her lips. "Must we always come back to him? I mean, your little obsession with the boy was adorable when we were children, but as adults, it's just a bore. There are so many more interesting things to discuss. For instance, my current marital status."

"Are you avoiding the subject because you know something?"

"I'm avoiding the subject because it's dull. I've come all this way to see you and you only want to talk about your estranged science partner. Lord, Booker, do you realize how ridiculous that is?"

Stuffing a large chunk of egg into his mouth, Booker avoided her eyes as he attempted to speak and chew at the same time. "There are dead bodies showing up all around the city and you really think your marital status is a more intriguing subject?"

This seemed to catch Frieda's attention. "Dead bodies?"

He nodded and took another sip of tea to wash down the alarming amount of food in his mouth. "Yes, several."

"And you believe it's Benedict's doing?"

Setting the cup down, he breathed in deeply. Trinket could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed the dangers and benefits of letting his old flame in on the game he and Benedict were playing. His eyes flickered to Trinket for a moment, and though she gave him no indication of what she thought he should do, he finally turned his attention to Frieda.

"Benedict and I are playing a game," he said.

Frieda's lips twitched ever so slightly. "A game? What sort of game?"

"A game to test our skills. Or my skills. He's been setting his experiments loose in the city, and I've had to either catch them or discover how he created them. Each round has led me closer to him, and I believe these latest bodies are the final leg of the game."

"And what makes you think that?"

Booker pulled something out of his vest pocket and laid it down on the table between two unlit candlesticks. It was the map segments now sewn into one piece with careful, tiny stitching. Trinket wrinkled her nose, not sure that it should be on the same table their food was on, considering the pieces had been inside dead bodies.

But Frieda didn't seem to care. She tilted her head and leaned in to get a better look. "Fascinating," she mumbled, her eyes roving up and down the illustrated streets.

"We found these inside two of the dead bodies," Booker explained. "There are three that came before them, but we haven't been able to get our hands on those."

"He's giving you a map to himself." Frieda smiled devilishly as she met his gaze. "Isn't that so sweet?"

Booker rolled his eyes and snatched the map up, placing it back in his pocket. "You showing up seemed quite the coincidence, so I wondered if perhaps you were somehow involved."

Frieda sat back and shrugged a shoulder. "I certainly don't mind sharing you with Benedict, but I don't think he and I would see eye to eye on the best way to capture you. He'd insist on being complicated and clever while I'd just as soon knock you out and tie you up in my bedroom. So no, we're not teaming up to get you."

She sipped her tea and grimaced. Then, without warning, she tossed the tea over her shoulder, spilling it onto the lovely carpet without so much as an apology. Daphne clenched her jaw, gripping the knife set by her plate as she watched Frieda retrieve a small bottle from her purse. A strong, clearly alcoholic smell permeated the room as she unscrewed the cap and poured the contents into her now empty cup. Tucking the bottle back into her purse, she smiled as she lifted the teacup to her lips and took a long sip.

Shoving another desperate bite of food into his mouth, Booker ran a hand through his hair. Trinket gently gripped his arm, and her touch seemed to help ease the tension in his body.

"However, while I may not be involved, I don't mind helping," Frieda went on as she set her cup down.

"Help in what way?" Booker asked warily.

"As you well know, my charms are a force to be reckoned with. Just look at my past accomplishments. Afterall, I did flirt my way into the heart of an old miser and convinced him to will me his entire livelihood. And seeing as you and I have a—" her eyes turned to Trinket, her lips curling into a wicked grin, "—deep, intimate history, I'd be more than happy to assist you in this little game."

"What are you hoping to get out of this?" Booker asked.

Frieda fluttered her eyelashes innocently. "Why, only the enjoyment of your company, my darling."

Daphne's lip lifted in a snarl as she stared daggers at the woman.

"And aside from that," Frieda went on, "I'm terribly bored since coming here."

"You've barely been here a day," Booker pointed out.

"And I'm bored already. All anyone seems to do in this city is drink and copulate. Honestly, I'm surprised you're so taken by the place, considering your own abstinence. Well, in drink at least."

Her eyes danced as she added that last bit. Trinket knew the comment had been meant for her. Biting her tongue, she resisted the urge to snap back.

"Tinkerfall is more than drunks and night flowers," Booker said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Although, I must admit they are worth your time if you really get to know them."

"I was so bored I even stooped to hiring a fortune-teller to entertain me."

Trinket's heart skipped a beat as she cast Booker a sidelong glance. Though he worried his lip, he managed to reply mockingly, "And did she divine what great fortunes and success await you in the future?"

Frieda took a sip of whatever was in her cup. "No, the old hag just kept saying the spirits were unresponsive. Ridiculous scam. I demanded my money back after a good tongue-lashing."

Letting out a relieved breath, Trinket reminded herself to thank Ms. Langtry later. Perhaps the mysterious woman was more trustworthy than she'd first thought.

Booker chuckled. "It's your own fault for wasting your time on that sort of nonsense."

"You're really very close-minded for a self-proclaimed scientist," Frieda said.

"So you actually want to help? Not just cause trouble as a means to amuse yourself?"

Frieda licked her lips as a smile slowly spread over her face. "Booker Larkin, you know as well as I that we're both all sorts of trouble."

"Frieda."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I actually want to help."

Booker gave a nod and took another sip of tea.

"But who says I can't help and entertain myself at the same time?" she added.

His cup still poised at his lips, Booker narrowed his eyes. He stole a glance at Trinket. She raised her eyebrows and offered a nervous smile. As she turned back to her food, she found that Frieda's attention had shifted from Booker to her. Those crystal blue eyes were filled with cunning and intelligence and more than a hint of venom.

"Oh, we'll have all kinds of fun," Frieda said, raising her cup to her smirking lips.