Trinket woke with a start and found herself lying on something hard and cold. Squinting against a bright light, she slowly lifted herself up and tried to remember where she was. Her head was pounding, there was a painful knot in her neck, and the pressure behind her eyes made her want to claw them out. Once her vision began to come into focus, the events of the previous night replayed in her mind.

The game.

Scales.

Her fight with Booker.

Crying herself to sleep on her bedroom floor.

Letting out a long sigh, she pulled the weaponized pins from her hair and tried to untangle the knots in her braid. The "poison" ring Booker had given her kept getting caught in the snarls. She clumsily tugged it off and was about to throw it across the room when she paused. Bringing it closer to her face, she gazed down at it thoughtfully. She gently traced the copper heart and then flipped open the top to reveal the needle inside. She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. Only Booker would create something so beautiful and yet so practically deadly.

With another sigh, she returned the ring to her finger and rose to her feet. The movement sent her head spinning, and she had to grip the bedpost to keep from falling over. She'd never gotten drunk in her life, but she imagined this was what it would feel like the morning after a night of indulgence. All she wanted to do was crawl under her covers and never talk to anyone ever again.

But she dutifully changed into her work dress and combed out her hair despite the shadows jumping out at her every time she turned around. She was too tired to care. Even if they were real, she'd gladly let them drag her to who-knows-where, as long as she didn't have to deal with the day ahead.

Stepping over a rat sitting in the hallway, she made her way downstairs as the front bell went off. Though tempted to ignore it, she pasted on a polite smile and pulled open the door to find Jewkes standing before her.

"Constable? What—"

The body. They hadn't done anything about Hiss' body.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Trinket released a shaky breath. "Constable, please believe me when I tell you we had nothing to do with that body. We got here last night and—"

Jewkes held up his hands and offered a sympathetic smile. "Miss Trinket, I know you and Larkin were not involved. At least not directly. The man was a Mouse, and from what I've heard, he was their newly appointed leader. If I had to wager a guess, I'd say it was a disgruntled ex-Mouse who committed that murder."

"That's some adept sleuthing, Constable. If it helps any, Scales did show up last night with the man's missing scalp."

Furrowing his brow, Jewkes eyed her suspiciously. "And where exactly was this?"

She shook her head, not wanting to cause any more trouble with Scales than she already had. "So if you're not here to arrest Mr. Larkin, why are you here?"

"To be sure you're both alive and unharmed. And to let you know about the body in case you hadn't noticed it."

A crude laugh escaped her lips. "You think we'd miss something as blatant as a corpse on our doorstep?"

He looked her up and down, a line etched between his brows. "Are you all right, Miss Trinket? You don't seem quite yourself."

"It was a rough night. And the morning isn't looking much better."

Leaning forward, his expression became panicked as his eyes darted up and down her body and face. "Larkin didn't hurt you, did he?"

Her shoulders slumped as she raised her eyebrows at him wearily. "Constable, do you really think Booker Larkin would lay a hand on me?"

He met her gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "I think he's a madman who's capable of anything. But I would be hard-pressed to believe he'd hurt someone he seems to love as much as he does you. It's my job to worry, though."

She smiled softly. "You go a little above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to us, Constable."

"Well, you make it easy to care. Anyhow, I just wanted to check in, be sure everyone was alive. And inform you we removed the body from the premises."

Bodies. This was a prime opportunity to dig for information. "I suppose you'll be storing it with the other corpses that've shown up?"

"I doubt that. The widely known identity of this poor fellow and his position with the gang give us a pretty good idea of what happened. I'm guessing after a quick examination, he'll be tossed into a communal grave. The mortuary's getting a bit full, anyhow."

So the numbered corpses were still at the station. They'd remain preserved for a little while, at least. "So they'll do an autopsy on this body? Despite his connections to the Mice?"

Jewkes let out a bark of a laugh and shook his head. "No, when I say a quick examination, I mean a doctor will come in to declare he is indeed dead. No one wants to get mixed up in a feud with the Dead Mice. Well, except for you and Larkin."

"Do you realize how foolish that is?"

"Are you really that dense?"

Booker's harsh words returned to her, sinking in her gut like a weight. "Then why keep the other bodies stored? Why not send them all to the cemetery?"

With a sly smile, Jewkes pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "I see what you're getting at, Miss Trinket. Larkin put you up to this?"

"I have no idea where Mr. Larkin is this morning and have hardly spoken to him since we returned home last night. How could he have put me up to anything?"

Clamping the cigarette between his teeth, he paused and considered her for a moment before nodding. "All right, all right. You win. The bodies are still in the mortuary at my request. I don't have very much say in this case, mainly because I allowed a butcher accused of murder escape. But I have convinced them to keep the bodies for a tad longer so I can try to dig up some information to prove it wasn't the Mice."

"And have you?"

He shrugged. "I've done some investigating, but I was mostly waiting for an opportunity to let you and Larkin sneak in and take a look at them. Unfortunately, they won't let me do any more overnight shifts at the station for a while, so it's been a tad difficult getting you in there."

Trinket couldn't keep from smiling as the officer struck a match and lit his cigarette. "We appreciate the gesture, Constable."

"I'll let you know if any decisions are made, though. The bodies might be more accessible once they're out of the station."

"Constable, are you promoting body snatching?"

He turned his head away to let out a stream of smoke. "I'm doing no such thing, miss." Returning his attention to her, he gave a soft smile. "But I hear that's often how doctors obtain cadavers. And that lazy gravekeeper does a pretty pathetic job of guarding the place, so I imagine it wouldn't be too hard to steal a body or two. Or three."

Chuckling softly, Trinket leaned against the doorframe. "I'll keep that in mind."

"But remember, body snatching is an illegal activity and also very dangerous. Please be careful."

"I will. I promise. Was that all?"

"I think that's about it. Stay safe, Miss Trinket. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to find me."

"Thank you, Constable. Have a lovely day."

Jewkes nodded and made his way back into the street. Trinket locked the door and slumped against it, letting out a low groan. At least Hiss had been taken care of. That was one less body to deal with. But there was still all of this tension between her and Booker.

She stole a glance at the laboratory door, and every inch of her bristled as it had last night when he'd yelled at her. However, mixed with that resentment was something akin to sadness, a sadness that burrowed deep into her heart and nearly made her collapse to the floor and cry.

Instead of crying, though, she pushed herself away from the door and hurried down the hallway and into the kitchen. There were crumpets warming up on the stove as Daphne poured hot water over two teacups. She smiled at Trinket when she entered and tilted her head towards the hall, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Trinket replied, leaning against the table and tangling her fingers in her hair. "But I'd say he's probably still fuming downstairs."

After setting the kettle back on the stove and scooping the crumpets onto a plate, Daphne set aside her spatula and joined Trinket at the table. She gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and inclined her head, trying to coax an explanation out of her.

"We had an argument last night," Trinket said, fighting back the emotions raging inside of her. "Coming back from the game night. He said I was . . . he said I was being stupid . . . and . . . Scales . . . and I . . ."

The emotions won, and she burst into tears again. Burying her face behind her arms, she sobbed like she had the night before, her entire body trembling as she desperately tried to get a hold of herself.

Daphne immediately put her arms around her, drawing her into a tight embrace. Trinket cried into her shoulder as Daphne stroked her hair and rocked her gently until the tears slowed enough to speak.

"I was so angry," Trinket said, pulling away and wiping her wet cheeks. "Angry and sad and so many different things I can't even put into words. And I just . . . I don't know . . ."

She drew a deep, hiccuping breath in an attempt to keep herself from breaking down again. Biting her lip, Daphne untied her apron and tossed it onto the table. She took Trinket's arm and dragged her out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Where are we going?" Trinket asked as Daphne donned her shoulder cape.

Lifting her hand up as though holding a cup, Daphne lifted it to her mouth, smacked her lips, and gave her a wink.

Trinket shook her head. "Oh Daphne, I don't think I should drink, not with my mental condition." She hated to imagine what horrific visions her mind might conjure up with the aid of alcohol.

Daphne placed a hand on her chest and then pointed at Trinket while opening and closing her free hand in a pantomime of talking. Nodding decisively, she grabbed Trinket's arm and pulled her outside. Not having the strength to argue, Trinket simply followed after her.

Tucking Trinket's hand into the crook of her arm, Daphne flashed her a bright smile. Trinket tried to offer her one in return, but it quickly crumpled into a twisted frown as another sob tore at her throat. Daphne put an arm around her and pulled her close, leaning her head against hers as best she could with her portiums in the way.

"I love him so much, Daphne," Trinket said when she could finally manage to speak. "But when we fight, we really fight. It's not a pretty sight."

Daphne gave a wry smile.

"Right, you were there for our argument over the drugs. But, I mean, I feel like I had every right to be upset then. He could've gotten himself killed."

Daphne nodded her agreement.

"And I suppose he had every right to be upset with me last night. I should be more careful with how I speak to Scales. He's already murdered someone dear to us and has made several threats against my own life. And I'm always getting after Booker for baiting him. Really, I'm no different."

Daphne gave her a side glance and raised her eyebrows.

Trinket laughed softly. "The thing is, I was never like this before. I was quiet and content to fade into the background, going completely unnoticed. I never argued with my family. I did everything they asked, desperate to please them. Even in Elysium, I didn't fight. At least not much. But ever since meeting Booker, I've slowly turned into this whole new person, someone who has a voice and doesn't shy away from using it. It's exhilarating, but terrifying all the same. Sometimes I can't control myself. It just slips out."

Cocking an eyebrow, Daphne nodded back towards the house. Towards Booker.

"I guess we're more alike than I ever could have known."

Daphne gave a teasing smile.

Trinket gazed down at the road. "Is it normal for couples to fight?"

Daphne furrowed her brow and gave her a funny look. She nodded slowly as though the answer were obvious.

"It's just I've never actually seen any couples fight before. My parents hardly spoke to each other, and they were so in control of their emotions. Well, except for when my mother learned about the voices. That was the one time she showed any emotion aside from irritation. She looked genuinely afraid."

Daphne gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

"And with any other couples I knew, I only saw the sweet and happy moments. The only arguing was done in jest. Nothing like what happened between me and Booker."

She stopped. In all honesty, she'd only known one other couple, and in her memory, they were all sunshine and strawberry candy. She couldn't imagine them ever fighting. Not that they'd have an opportunity to now . . .

Murderer, murderer, murderer.

Daphne's gentle touch pulled Trinket from her guilt-ridden thoughts as she cupped her cheek. She gave her the most sincere and heartfelt expression. Even without words, Trinket understood.

She attempted a smile again, and this one stuck. "Thank you, Daphne. It's good to know you're rooting for us."

With a firm nod, Daphne released her and they continued on their way to the Clocktower.

"Were you ever married, Daphne?"

Daphne's shoulders went stiff, and she gave a strained smile as she wobbled her head back and forth. Sighing, she turned to her and shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry. You're just so good at giving advice and reassurance, I thought perhaps you'd had experience."

Screwing her lips up, Daphne tilted her head. She looked like she might try to elaborate as much as she could without words, but her attention was drawn away by someone a few feet ahead of them.

Trinket followed her gaze to find Grace shuffling towards them, holding a wadded-up handkerchief to her forehead. As she drew closer, the night flower caught sight of them and actually seemed relieved.

"Ah, perfect," she said, her voice hoarse, as though she'd just woken up. And based on her rumpled hair and wrinkled skirts, she very well may have. "I was on my way to see if Booker could help me, but you two will do."

Now that the night flower was in front of them, Trinket could see the handkerchief was covered in blood. "Lord, Grace, what happened?" she asked.

Grace removed the handkerchief and revealed a deep gash that had a steady flow of blood coming from it. Trinket gasped as Daphne carefully took the night flower's face in her hands, tilting her head to get a better look.

"How did this happen?" Trinket asked.

Wincing as Daphne got a bit too close to the cut, Grace pulled away and turned to Trinket. "I was out working in your neck of the woods last night when I noticed someone standing outside your house. Tall fella, little thin. It was too dark to catch any details. But I thought it odd he was just staring at your place."

Someone tall and thin? Could it have been Benedict? What was he doing in front of the house?

A horrifying thought formed in Trinket's mind.

"So I went to go have a chat, maybe flirt some information out of him," the night flower continued, "when some wagtail grabbed hold of me. I tried to brush him off, but he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. I may have slapped him."

"And he hit you?"

"Something like that. Knocked me to the ground, which is how I got this pretty thing." She pointed at the cut and pressed her bloodied handkerchief to it. "I figured you and Booker must've been at the game last night, so I just went home and applied some cobwebs to it. Old trick my mum used to employ. As you well know, they are in great supply in my building. Bleeding seemed to stop, but I woke up this morning with a splitting headache and blood-soaked sheets. Must've upset it when I was asleep."

"Looks like it needs stitches. Come on, I'm sure Booker will be happy to help."

Grace caught her arm before she could turn back towards home. "You told me you've learned how to stitch people up, no?"

Trinket's stomach dropped. "Oh, Grace, I'm only an assistant, I can't—"

"And this one here seems to know her way around a sickbed." She motioned to Daphne. "Besides, we're closer to my place than yours, and I'm worried if I try to get to Booker, I might pass out. I think I lost a lot of blood while I was sleeping."

Though she wasn't so sure about her abilities, Trinket reluctantly nodded. "All right, we'll do what we can. And here, let us help you back."

She and Daphne stood on either side of the night flower, exchanging worried looks as they kept her steady. Trinket glanced over her shoulder and noticed a trail of blood following them. For once, she was certain it wasn't a figment of her twisted mind.

~

"I don't have a needle or thread," Trinket said as Grace stumbled into her apartment.

"There should be some sewing supplies lying around here somewhere," Grace said, collapsing into the chair at her old vanity and shuffling through the drawers.

Daphne was glancing about the dusty, dirty room, her eyes going wide when she spotted a rather thick patch of mold growing under the peeling wallpaper. Her fingers fidgeted, and Trinket imagined she was aching to take a broom and mop to the place.

"I also have no painkiller," Trinket added as Grace handed her a needle and thread.

The night flower grinned and pulled a bag and a brown bottle out of another drawer. "Oh, I'm well supplied."

Trinket frowned as Grace got to work concocting her own anaesthetic. Leaving the night flower to her chemistry, she went to fetch a candle lying on the nightstand. After lighting it, she ran the needle through the flame several times as Booker had taught her. She'd never done this on her own. She had absolutely no medical training aside from her time spent with Booker. Why couldn't Grace have just let them escort her back to the house? Booker was far better equipped to take care of this. Maybe the night flower had hit her head harder than she realized.

"All right then," Grace said, turning to Trinket with a cup of dark liquid. She took a long chug of it and let out a satisfied sigh. "My own custom-made laudanum. Now, let's get this over with."

Gritting her teeth, Trinket sat on the edge of the bed. Grace moved her chair a little closer. Threading the cooled needle, Trinket held it in one hand as she examined the cut. There was too much blood to see where it started, and she worried about what infection might set in if she left it as it was.

"Do you have any alcohol on hand?" she asked Grace.

"Of course." She picked up the brown bottle lying on the vanity and raised an eyebrow as she passed it to Trinket. "Need to steady your nerves?"

"I need to clean the cut. Daphne, could you help me here?"

Daphne hurried to her side and snatched up the handkerchief Grace had been using earlier to stay the bleeding. She doused it with the strong-smelling contents of the bottle and gently, but thoroughly, cleaned the wound. When enough blood had been cleared away that she could see the outline of the cut, Trinket took a deep breath and lifted the needle.

She shouldn't be doing this without Booker. He was the doctor. She was only an assistant. What did she know?

Nothing.

You know nothing.

"Any day now," Grace mumbled.

Sucking in her lips, Trinket made the first puncture and resisted the urge to wince. To Grace's credit, she hardly flinched, though she did keep her eyes shut tight. As swiftly as she could, Trinket sewed the gash closed, trying to keep the stitches small and tidy like Booker's. She'd always been rather good at sewing, but sewing up flesh was very different. Skin was thicker than cloth. And it wasn't like she could stop and undo stitches that didn't come out right like she did with her needlework. Or maybe she could? All she knew was she didn't want to. She just wanted to get it done as quickly as possible without completely destroying Grace's face.

When at last she was finished, she tied a firm knot and snapped the end of the thread. "That should stop the bleeding at least," she said, her muscles relaxing as she sat back on the bed.

Grace opened her eyes and looked in the mirror, pushing back her bangs to see the stitches. "Not bad, girlie," she said, admiring Trinket's work from different angles. "Hopefully it doesn't leave too nasty of a scar. My face is one of my selling points, after all."

"I'd advise applying honey to it regularly to stave off infection," Trinket said, setting the needle on the vanity. "And you should really let Booker check it. I don't know why you didn't just let us bring you to him in the first place."

"I told you, I was afraid I'd drop dead before we got to him." She turned to Trinket and flashed a smile. "Besides, look what a fabulous job you did. You're not half bad for a little girl."

Shaking her head, Trinket got to her feet and wandered back to the door. "Really, Grace, you should see Booker about it. Sooner rather than later."

Sighing, Grace stopped fingering the stitches and turned to face her once more. "I assumed he would still be in sore straits after last night's game. I overheard some folks talking about Scales' sudden appearance while I was on my way to see him. That's why when I saw you and your fish maid here, I thought it might be better to petition you two for help instead. I've seen Booker when he's emotionally compromised. I'm not sure I'd want him touching my lovely face in such a state."

Daphne gave her a withering glare at the description "fish maid," but Trinket was too distracted thinking about Booker brooding down in his laboratory. She was still upset with him, but maybe it would be better for everyone if she just confronted him.

"Well, I'll work on his mood," she said to Grace, crossing her arms over her chest. "But promise you'll stop by and have him check the stitching in a few days."

Grace waved her concerns away. "Fine, fine, fine. Now let me fetch you something for your trouble and you can be on your way."

She reached under her mattress and pulled out a coin purse, but before she could take out any money, Trinket stopped her. "Actually, I'd be happy to substitute monetary payment for some information."

Raising an eyebrow, Grace tucked the purse back under the bed. "Good Lord, you're too much like him. Very well. What information would you like? Or do I need to fish it from one of my customers?"

"That man you saw by our house—"

"Like I said, I didn't get a good look at him. It was too dark and then he was gone."

"Right, but did you notice where he went?"

"No, I'm afraid I was a little busy with the gaping hole in my head."

Trinket nodded as she chewed on her lip. "And did you happen to see anything on our doorstep?"

"I was a tad out of it, so you'll have to be a bit more specific."

Trinket paused, afraid to speak the words, as if saying them would make them true. "A body. Was there a body in front of our door?"

Grace raised her eyebrows in surprise, but when she realized Trinket was serious, she furrowed her brow in thought. "Well, like I said, I wasn't in my best form at the time, but I'm pretty sure I would have noticed a body."

A wave of relief washed over Trinket as she nodded and offered the night flower a smile. "Thank you, Grace. Remember, honey. And do stop by soon."

"I will. And thank you, Trinket. You know, you're far more capable than you think. I can see why Booker is so taken with you."

Trinket laughed softly as she and Daphne stepped into the hallway. "You must have hit your head hard, Grace. That almost sounded like a compliment."

Grinning, the night flower shook her head slowly. "Sometimes you really make it difficult to dislike you."

With one last smile, Trinket closed the door.