"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Booker said as they made their way down Gainsborough Avenue.

"Of chasing after wolves?" Trinket asked, leaning into him as the unseasonal cold bit at her cheeks.

"And mutilated bodies. Ah, the macabre happenings that brought us together."

She tried to smile, but her anxiety was at an all-time high. Every movement, every shadow, made her jump and flinch. It was a wonder Booker hadn't noticed. He must have been too preoccupied with his excitement. Just as well. Better he didn't know how unstable her mind was tonight. She only had to get through the next hour or two without a breakdown, and then she could fall apart in the privacy of her bedroom.

Concentrating on her breathing, she tried to keep up with Booker's quick pace. "So, where are we headed first?" she asked.

He pulled out a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and flipped it open. "I was thinking perhaps the bakery. Our love of crumpets surely has not been overlooked by Benedict."

She nodded slowly, her eyes darting to a shadow that was scrambling across the road to her left. "Let's hope he doesn't get us banned from there as well."

"Daphne's crumpets are just as good, if not better. It wouldn't be too hard of a blow."

They took a left down Clark Lane. A small group of night flowers glanced over their shoulders as she and Booker came closer, but when it was clear they weren't potential customers, the women returned to their conversation. Except for one particular flower who gave a coy smile and sauntered her way over to them.

"Mr. Larkin, fancy meetin' you out this late," she said, her accent rather simple and country-like. Her hair looked as if she'd combed it with a lump of charcoal. No amount of hairpins would ever be able to tame it.

"Good evening, Savannah," Booker responded politely. "What a lovely shawl. Is it new?"

The night flower shook her shoulders a little as she flaunted the gold-fringed accessory. "Indeed it is. Got me a few fancy customers as of late. Thought I might spoil meself a bit."

"It's very becoming." He then added in a whisper to Trinket, "Whatever can keep the attention away from her hair."

"The girls tell me we've lost all hope of landin' you," Savannah went on.

"I'm afraid that hope was lost long ago, my dear. I've never had much of a taste for that sort of entertainment. No offense meant to you lot. Just not my style."

"I can see that." The night flower put her hands on her hips, looking Trinket up and down. "Tell me, missy, has your salary increased since the promotion?"

Already exhausted from the number of hallucinations pestering her, Trinket ignored the woman and focused on the road ahead.

"Awful high and mighty for a maid who part-times as a personal whore," Savannah said.

Booker stopped short and turned to the night flower, his hold on Trinket firm. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you. Recall that I am a man of questionable morals with access to surgical tools and limitless imagination. With so many bodies showing up about the city, I doubt the police would question the addition of an insignificant, three-penny-upright bunter."

The night flower's smug smile disappeared as her face paled. The other women had ceased their conversation and were watching with morbid interest.

"Remember that the next time you dare to insult the brilliant woman I love and adore." Booker pasted on a smile and tipped his hat. "Have a pleasant night, ladies."

They continued on their way, leaving Savannah stunned and speechless.

"You're going to get yourself arrested with threats like that," Trinket mumbled, though she couldn't help but feel somewhat flattered.

He kissed the top of her head. "A risk I'm willing to take."

There were no bodies by the bakery, human or amphibian. They stationed themselves in the shadows of an alley across the road for a spell in case someone showed up. As they waited, a spider the size of a teacup scurried over Trinket's boots, forcing her to bite back a terrified scream.

"If we find a body, what will we do?" she asked quietly, doing her best to ignore a second spider crawling up the brick wall of the alley.

"Take it home," Booker said.

"Yes, but won't that be difficult with just the two of us?"

"We've done it before."

"True, but we did have an extra set of hands that night."

A muscle in Booker's cheek twitched, but he kept his eyes on the bakery. "You and I are an excellent team. We'll manage."

After another moment or two of no suspicious activity, they headed off to their next destination. Turning onto Devonshire, they passed by the knacker's darkened shop. Trinket recalled the intimidating man's rage when he confronted them about the body.

"What will you do if the knacker refuses to take your spare parts?" she asked.

Booker shrugged. "Breed more beetles, I suppose? I could go back to boiling the flesh away and then grinding up the bones."

"Daphne would kill you if you tried to do that in her kitchen."

"Once upon a time, it was my kitchen."

Someone was walking towards them, a woman in a grey dress. As she drew closer, Trinket recognized her as the fortune-teller. Trinket's body went stiff, and she met the woman with a cold gaze as their paths crossed.

"Good evening, Mr. Larkin. Miss Trinket," Ms. Langtry said.

"Ms. Langtry," Booker responded with a smile. "You're out late tonight."

"I had a long workday. Needed to unwind a bit and lost track of time at the Clocktower." She turned her eyes to Trinket, letting them wander her face before her brows knit together. "Are you well, Miss Trinket? You seem distracted."

A prickling sensation ran down Trinket's spine, and she tightened her grip on Booker's arm. "I'm just fine, Ms. Langtry. Your spirits must be misinformed."

With an easy smile, Ms. Langtry inclined her head. "My apologies. I'll let you two continue your walk in peace. Take care."

She made her way past them and disappeared into the apartment building set between the knacker and the ironmonger. Trinket watched over her shoulder, noticing that one of the windows on the first floor lit up with the dim glow of a lantern's light.

"Are you well, Trinket?" Booker asked, pulling her attention away from the building.

He was gazing at her with that tender concern again, and she knew if he suspected her mind was in a state of unease, he'd insist they return home. "Yes, of course. Are you actually trusting the ravings of a soothsayer, Mr. Larkin?"

She started walking, forcing him to follow along.

"I'd hardly say she was raving," he said. "And she seemed to be making more of an observation than a prediction. Trinket, if you're not feeling well, we—"

"Where are we headed now?" Trinket interrupted, eager to leave the subject of her health behind.

Chewing on his lip, Booker let out a short breath and set his gaze forward. "The stationer. We spent a good amount of time there during our search for the Wolf, so I thought maybe it could be a location for a future body."

"We'll most definitely be banned if that happens. The shop owner really doesn't like us."

"True. I'm not sure even you could charm him into forgiving us for the trouble we caused."

"I'm not as charming as you might think."

"You've won over that insufferable bobby."

She glanced up at him with a teasing smile. "Booker, you know Jewkes isn't interested in me romantically, don't you?"

He gazed down at her and leaned in so that his lips hovered over hers. "I think anyone would be crazy not to be interested in you romantically."

Something moved in the corner of Trinket's eye, and though she was ready to brush it off as another shadowy hallucination, a soft grunt made her believe otherwise. She turned and noticed a ratty tailcoat disappearing into a nearby alley.

"Did you see that?" she whispered, gripping Booker's sleeve as she stared into the shadows.

Nodding slowly, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. "I think we should head home," he whispered, guiding her down the street.

They continued on, keeping their pace swift but calm. The shadows and spiders increased in number as Trinket did her best to concentrate on the road. However, the faint thump of footsteps behind them sent her nerves into a panic.

"Faster," Booker hissed, increasing his speed.

Now at almost a trot, they rushed past the chemist, Gainsborough coming into view. However, their stalkers followed their cue, and it was clear this was not going to end in a simple parting of ways.

"Mice?" Trinket whispered, the strangers' footsteps deafening to her overspent senses.

"Who else," Booker muttered, his grip on her shoulder bordering on painful.

They rounded onto Gainsborough, and as they did, they caught a glimpse of their pursuers. A glint of metal in the hand of one of the two men reflected the moonlight, and the sight of it put an end to Booker and Trinket's casual evasion.

"Run!" Booker exclaimed, grabbing her hand and yanking her forward.

They raced down the road, ignoring the stationer as they flew past the shop. Their stalkers did the same, the heavy tread of their boots drawing ever closer. Trinket waited for the sound of gunfire, sure that these men were out for blood.

"Let's try to lose them," Booker said through gritted teeth.

He took a sharp turn down Finch Street at the last minute, and their pursuers had to scramble to a halt, practically passing by the road. But they were quick to make up for the delay, and they'd nearly caught up as Booker and Trinket reached Well Street.

"Why haven't they shot at us?" Trinket panted, following Booker as he took another turn.

Shaking his head, he glanced over his shoulder. "I don't know. Let's just get rid of them and then we can wonder."

Another sharp turn. The men were beginning to lag behind. Booker and Trinket made it to Gainsborough again, and this time, as they turned onto the road, the strangers were far enough away that they weren't there to see Booker take a detour onto Raglan Road.

He proceeded down Sun Street and then pulled her into an alley between two apartment buildings. "Where are we going?" Trinket asked as they squeezed through a gate that was hanging off its hinges.

"Just felt it would be safer to shake them off before heading home," he replied, looking about the alley and darting to the other side. "Besides, it might be a trap. Better to go through the back."

There was a wall separating the alley from the next street over, but Booker led her to a small hole in the bricks and helped her through it. Their backyard wasn't too far from there; she recognized the wrought-iron fence closing their property off from the surrounding slums. There was a light on in the kitchen. Daphne must still be up.

Booker gave her a boost over the high fence and then climbed up after her. She took a moment to catch her breath, blinking away the strange, glowing lights buzzing about her head. Booker landed beside her, and with a heavy sigh, he offered her his arm.

"Well, that was a bust," he mumbled as they headed towards the house.

"It could have been worse. They could have been trying to kill us."

Pulling out a key, Booker unlocked the door. "That is a surprise. Perhaps they were following us in hopes of finding one of the bodies."

"Scales isn't a doctor. What does he plan to do with a corpse?"

As they entered the kitchen, Daphne jumped out of her chair, wielding a rather large scaling knife. Her eyes were wild as she fearlessly closed in on them.

"It's us, Daphne! It's us!" Booker exclaimed as he and Trinket threw up their hands.

As soon as he spoke, Daphne lowered her weapon and let out a long sigh. Her face contorted into a scowl as she ushered them inside. Slamming the door shut and locking it, she spun around and set her hands on her hips, practically fuming.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," Trinket said, leaning against the table as she caught her breath. "We were being followed."

"We thought it would be more prudent to come in through the back," Booker added.

Though she still seemed irritated at having been taken by surprise, Daphne nodded and gestured to the stove where the kettle was set.

"Actually, I'm rather tired," Trinket said, glancing at the dismembered rat sitting by Daphne's teacup. "I think I might head off to bed."

"Not a bad idea," Booker said as he removed his top hat. "Thank you for your vigilant watch, Daphne. I'll go check the front to be sure there's no one waiting for us. You may as well retire for the night, too."

Daphne nodded and fetched her cup, not even noticing the dead rat. She gave Trinket a questioning look as she held it up.

Smiling, Trinket shook her head. "Really, Daphne, I'm just tired."

Nodding slowly, Daphne took her cup and knife into the scullery.

Booker walked Trinket down the hallway, and as they paused at the front door, he placed a kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry I had you running around at all hours of the night again," he said.

She shrugged. "Comes with the job."

He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. "Sleep well, my dear."

"Don't stay up too late."

While he made his way into the parlour to peer through the windows and check that they were secured, Trinket turned to the stairs. Her head spun as her heart continued to pound. Putting a hand on the railing to steady herself, she found it was coated in a thick, warm liquid. Fearing the house was bleeding again, she looked down and discovered some sort of black substance clinging to her fingers. It wasn't blood. It wasn't anything she'd ever seen.

But it smelled like death.