Booker's grip on Trinket's shoulder grew tighter. Unfortunately, this reaction was not lost on Scales. He grinned and turned his eyes to her. "A little possessive, isn't he?"

She opened her mouth, ready with a snappy retort. However, remembering Booker's response the last time she talked back to the Mouse, she firmly pressed her lips closed.

"Oh? He has you well-trained now, does he?" Scales said. "My, my, Larkin, I didn't think you had it in you to lay a hand on the woman you love. Not as noble as you pretend to be, are you?"

"I've never once claimed nobility, Scales," Booker replied, his voice tight as a spring.

"No, you prefer 'gentleman doctor,' don't you? Not sure that fits so well, either, seeing as you slum about establishments like this."

"I'd dare to say I'm the only gentleman in this conversation. Now, if you'll excuse us."

Booker pushed past him, hurrying Trinket out the door.

But Scales would not be so easily dismissed. "You seem in a sour mood," he said as he followed them into the street. "I take it you still haven't gotten your hands on one of those corpses?"

A smile twitched across Booker's lips, but he quickly smothered it. "Other than the one you left at my door? No, I'm afraid I haven't."

Scales darted in front of them, forcing them to a halt as he flashed a wicked grin. "Liked that, did you? Thought it would be a nice reminder."

Booker clenched his jaw. "Of your sloppy handiwork?"

"Of what happens when people don't know their place."

"You're one to talk about knowing your place, Scales."

The Mouse raised his eyebrows and leaned forward on his walking stick. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"That you're sticking your nose into a game that doesn't involve you."

Trinket drew in a sharp breath as a sly smile spread over Scales' face. Realizing his mistake too late, Booker swallowed hard and tightened his hold on Trinket.

"A game?" Scales repeated. "And here I thought your little strumpet was mocking me when she called it that."

Booker's eyes flickered to Trinket as her heart sank. Had she said that? She hardly remembered when, but there had been so many unplanned conversations with Scales it was entirely possible.

"But it's true, isn't it?" Scales went on. "This is a game. Is that what all these bodies have been about?"

Closing his eyes and biting his lip, Booker took a slow breath. "Goodnight, Scales," he said as he attempted to walk around the Mouse.

But Scales slipped in front of them again. "You forget, Larkin, what an expert gambler I am."

Booker licked his lips and took another deep breath. "It's not that sort of game."

Once more, he tried to escape, but Scales was quicker, blocking the way. "You underestimate me. I'm a fast learner. You have no idea what a pathetic card player I was as a boy. And just look at me now."

"Were you always this pathetic of an interrogator?"

"So what's the objective of this game? To see who can mutilate the most corpses? I hate to tell you, Larkin, but this madman is beating you by a long shot."

Having given up on his attempts to escape, Booker stood perfectly still while Scales mocked him, refusing to react. Trinket bit her lip, trying her hardest not to snap and say something she would likely regret.

"No, that's not it, is it? That wolf and the vampire were both alive," Scales went on. He looked Booker up and down, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ah. I understand now. This is a test."

Booker avoided his eyes, but the way he flinched at the word "test" gave him away.

Scales chuckled softly. "Yes, that's it. It's a test. This lunatic is testing you to see if you're worthy. Worthy of what, though?"

Tapping a finger against his lips, Scales let out a hum. Trinket stole a glance at Booker. It was clearly taking everything in his power not to react, but it didn't seem he could hold on much longer. His jaw was clenched so tightly she could practically hear his teeth grinding against each other. And his fingers were digging into her shoulder to the point that it was almost painful.

"Him."

Trinket turned her attention back to Scales. His face lit up as understanding dawned in his eyes.

"This is a test to see whether you're worthy of him," he continued. "And you're afraid of not passing and losing him forever."

Booker's nostrils flared, and Trinket slipped an arm around his waist in an attempt to keep him from acting rashly.

Scales gave a sharp laugh. "Emotions, right? They'll be the death of you. That's why it's best to lock them away so they can't cloud your judgement."

"Are we through here?" Booker asked through gritted teeth.

"You know, I don't think this is a game anymore. No, I think it's a race."

Booker's brows drew together as he regarded Scales warily. "What are you talking about?"

"All of those strange creatures—the wolf, the mutilated bodies, the vampire—they were meant to test you, to see if you could hunt them down and figure out how they were made. But these numbered corpses are different. They're leading you to him, aren't they?"

He didn't need Booker to respond to know the truth. The grin on his face made it clear he knew he was on the right track.

"Like I said, this is no longer a game," he said. "This is a race. A race to find the madman behind these brilliant creations. And let me tell you, I'm not accustomed to losing. I'm going to find this man. And when I do, I'll become the most powerful leader the Mice have ever known. Our gang will go down in history."

Booker was trembling now, and it was more than Trinket could bear. She tightened her grip on his waist and turned her gaze on Scales. "And what makes you think he'd want anything to do with the likes of you?"

Her outburst didn't seem to faze him. He lazily shifted his attention from Booker to her and raised his eyebrows as though the answer were obvious. "Because someone who can orchestrate something this elaborate must be logical enough to realize it would be foolish to side with a man who couldn't keep up with the game."

Clenching her jaw, Trinket grabbed Booker's hand and dragged him away. This time Scales let them go, but she could hear his soft laughter behind them.

"Good luck, Larkin," he called out. "You're going to need it."

She picked up her speed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd heard him. It was only once they were home with the door locked that she dared to turn to Booker, gripping his shoulders firmly.

"Don't let him get to you," she said. "This game was meant for you, not Scales. Benedict is not going to choose him over you."

He looked so utterly defeated. "What if I fail?"

"You aren't going to fail."

"I can't even figure out what these bloody numbers stand for. How am I going to win?"

"Scales knows even less than you do. Remember, Ms. Langtry said the numbers are most likely a personal connection. So if anyone is going to decipher the code, it's you."

"I've only been able to examine a single body."

"And Scales has examined none. On top of that, he doesn't know you found one of the bodies, nor does he know about the map. You're ahead, Booker. Even if Scales insists on sticking his nose into this, you're still in the lead, no matter what he says."

He gave a half-hearted shrug. "I suppose you have a point."

"And you know what else Scales doesn't have?"

"A medical education?"

"Well, yes. But he also doesn't have friends who are willing to help him. Sure, he might have underlings, but they only do his bidding out of fear. Your friends—me, Daphne, Grace, even Jewkes—"

Booker scoffed. "Jewkes is not my friend."

Ignoring him, she pressed on. "We help you because we care about you and want to see you succeed. Scales has nothing on you, Booker."

At last, his muscles relaxed, and he pulled her close. "What would I do without you?" he whispered against her hair.

She let out a long breath and closed her eyes as he held her tight. When he finally released her, she took his hand and led him into the parlour. "So what's the next step with these twins?" she asked as they sat on the settee.

He sighed and put an arm around her. "I arranged to meet with them tomorrow morning at the Clocktower."

"Tomorrow morning? When Frieda's coming by to see you?"

His face fell. "Oh. Right. I forgot about that."

"I am not entertaining her alone."

"No, that wouldn't end well for anyone." He drummed his fingers against his knee and rattled his teeth as he thought. After a long silence, he huffed and muttered, "Blast it all."

Rising to his feet, he headed into the foyer. "Booker? What is it?" Trinket asked, following after him.

"I have no choice but to go down there and talk to Frieda now."

Trinket's heart skittered. "To the Clocktower? To her room? Alone?"

"Well, I can't cancel my meeting with the Twins. I don't want to risk losing their assistance. We really need to get this body out of here."

"But—"

"I don't particularly like it myself, but what else can I do? Frieda will not take being stood up well. And besides, maybe she'll be in a more compliant mood and actually tell me something useful this time."

He pulled open the door and stepped outside. "Please be careful," Trinket said as she gripped the doorjamb.

With a soft smile, he reached up and cupped her cheek. "I'll be back shortly, my dear. Trust me, I much prefer your company to hers."

Placing a gentle kiss on her lips, he headed back into the night. She watched him go, fighting the urge to run after him. But this was his past. He knew how best to deal with it. And she trusted him. She trusted him wholeheartedly.

It was Frieda she didn't trust.