Jewkes' eyes darted about as he entered the parlour. His scrutinizing gaze passed over every odd and eccentric piece of decor. Trinket was thankful there were no stray body parts or bloody tools lying around. Not that this was the first time he had been in Booker's home. He'd come to interrogate them once before. And certainly he had been inside even prior to that when he came to Booker for help regarding his impregnated mistress. Still, it made her anxious to have a police officer in a parlour that was only feet away from a basement laboratory that contained a wolf skull with iron teeth and an eyeball belonging to a deceased florist.

"Have a seat, Constable," Booker said, motioning to the settee as he seated himself in the armchair.

"Much obliged," Jewkes mumbled, gingerly sitting on the edge of the settee.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Scones? Or are you here for my medical expertise?" Booker asked, his every word dripping with disdain. "I might remind you there are certain branches of medicine I do not deal in."

Jewkes sneered, and Trinket quickly interceded. "How do you take your tea, Constable?"

The officer's expression softened as he faced her. "Sugar and milk, thank you."

She nodded and made for the dining room door. However, she stopped short of being hit in the face when the door swung open and Daphne appeared with a full tea set on a silver platter. She gave Trinket a wink as she sauntered to the low table and placed the tray on it.

Staring at Daphne's portiums, Jewkes barely muttered a "thank you." Panicking for a moment, Trinket looked to Booker, but he seemed completely unconcerned with the officer being witness to his creations.

"Problem, Constable?" he asked with a smug smile.

Still gawking at Daphne, Jewkes shook his head slowly.

"It's the latest fashion," Booker continued as he crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands on his knee. "I daresay all the ladies will be sporting portable aquariums before long. Perhaps we'll even find a means to add fish. How fetching would that be?"

Poor Jewkes could not tear his eyes away from Daphne, and she gave him a wink and a saucy shake of her hips before retreating into the dining room. Trinket tried to hold back a groan as Booker relished in the officer's shock.

Finally, Jewkes turned to Booker, his surprise having shifted to irritation. "Is this how you spend your spare time, Larkin? On frivolous inventions?"

"Oh, I think we could all use a little frivolity in our lives, don't you, Jewkes? Things tend to get a bit too serious hereabouts. I mean, just look at you. You seem like someone has stuffed a stick up your—"

"You said sugar and milk, correct, Constable?" Trinket interrupted as she stooped over to make up the officer's tea and distract him from Booker's insufferable behavior.

It worked. He focused his attention on her. "Ah, yes. Two sugars, please."

She handed him a teacup and then brought one over to Booker. Pushing it into his hands, she leaned forward and hissed, "Stop goading him when he's here for help."

"He makes it too easy," he whispered back.

"He could be here about the butcher."

Rolling his eyes, he accepted the cup, and she stationed herself by his side. "So, Constable Jewkes, what brings you to my humble abode?" he asked.

Jewkes was sipping his tea and nearly choked on it as his lips twisted into a frown. "I received your notes."

"About the butcher?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to release him?"

Placing his cup on the table, Jewkes cleared his throat. "Possibly. But I'll be needing something from you in return."

Booker sipped his own tea. "And that would be?"

"Your medical expertise."

It seemed to take every ounce of Jewkes' strength for him to say the words, and he looked as though he had swallowed an entire lemon once they were out of his mouth.

With a smug smile playing on his lips, Booker raised his eyebrows. "You don't say?"

Sighing, Jewkes rested his elbows on his knees. "I need you to perform an autopsy."

"On the victim from the butcher's shop? That's going to be a little difficult with the poor sap being in pieces."

"On the old man who dropped dead earlier today."

The atmosphere in the room grew far more serious, and there was a shift in Booker's expression. Still, he tried to play it off as disinterest. "Old man?" he repeated.

"I know you've heard about it, Larkin. The whole city has. That's the problem. No doctor will work on him due to the rumors circulating."

Trinket furrowed her brow and turned to Booker whose own brows were knit together. "Rumors? What rumors?" he asked.

"That the man's death was not natural."

"Well, he was bleeding from every orifice. That's not exactly normal."

"Yes, but folks are attributing the death to something more sinister."

"Such as?"

Jewkes looked him dead in the eye. "Vampirism."

Booker clenched his jaw. "They think a vampire did this?" he asked.

"The two puncture wounds on his neck were rather telling. And all that blood. The speculations have been a tad wild, but there's a general consensus that otherworldly forces are at work in this case."

Closing his eyes, Booker shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, did you say you couldn't get any other doctors to perform the autopsy?"

"That's right."

"Because they think it's the work of a vampire?"

"Yes."

His eyes shot open with a look of pure disgust. "That's ridiculous."

Jewkes held his hands up and shrugged. "I hate to admit it, but for once, you and I are in agreement. However, I can't convince them otherwise, so I'm at a loss. An autopsy is our only hope of proving this is not the work of a bogieman. But with no one willing to do the job for fear of getting turned into one of the undead, there's not much we can do to keep hysteria from taking over."

"So your men are in agreement with you?"

Hesitating, Jewkes let his eyes wander about the room. "There may be one or two who lean more towards my stance, but most of them are of the opinion that the rest of the city is correct in their assumptions."

Booker scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Brilliant lot you've got there."

"I'm just as frustrated with them as you are. As it is, I'm the only one who'll go down into the mortuary, so the sooner we can get this taken care of, the easier things will be for me."

"Not exactly a good incentive for me to cooperate," Booker mumbled.

Jewkes glared at him, and Trinket cleared her throat. Booker glanced back at her and immediately schooled his expression into something a bit more respectful.

"Anyhow," Jewkes went on, "I thought that we could strike up a deal. You do this autopsy for me, and I'll pull some strings to clear the butcher's name."

"And how do you intend to do that?"

"I'd be willing to make a few things up if need be."

"You'd let a suspected murderer go free just to have someone chop up this vampire victim?"

Leaning back in his seat, Jewkes let out a long breath. "Listen, I believe the man's innocent as much as you do. The body parts were crudely cut. Our butcher friend has been slaughtering animals for years. His work is clean and precise. If he was going to murder a man and sell him as meat, he wouldn't have been so sloppy about it."

Booker pouted his lips and gave a respectful nod. "Decent deduction, Jewkes. You're better at your job than I thought."

Jewkes sat upright again, his mouth twisted into a sneer. "I can figure out an alibi and scrounge up some witnesses to clear his name if you'll agree to do the autopsy."

Booker appeared to be weighing his options as he stared at the officer for a long moment. Trinket bit her lip, praying he wouldn't let his dislike of the officer get in the way of saving an innocent man from the gallows.

Finally, he leaned forward and placed his cup on the table. "Very well. Under one condition."

Raising an eyebrow, Jewkes asked, "Which is?"

"My assistant accompanies me."

Jewkes looked over at Trinket, slightly taken aback. "You want to have a woman attend an autopsy? Larkin, don't you think—"

"She is necessary to my work. Her keen eyes and sharp mind are invaluable to me, and I refuse to perform the autopsy without her."

Hesitating, Jewkes looked to her again, as if trying to ascertain some sort of sign that she was all right with this arrangement. She shrugged her shoulders and gave a short nod. Though still seeming uncertain about the idea, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Very well. The two of you then."

Booker flashed a triumphant smile. "Perfect. Name the day and the time."

"Tomorrow. Midnight. I'd like to get this done quickly without drawing attention."

"Yes, because a doctor toting a bag full of autopsy tools in the dead of night is completely inconspicuous."

Jewkes shot him a look filled with daggers. "I trust you to be discreet, Larkin. This isn't some game. Make a wrong move and we could send the city into a panic."

The muscles in Booker's cheek twitched, but he kept his expression calm. "Of course. I will be the picture of discretion. You'd be surprised how secretive I can be."

Narrowing his eyes at him, Jewkes opened his mouth to comment but appeared to reconsider. Instead, he pressed his lips together and rose to his feet as he dusted off his uniform. "I thank you for your cooperation, Larkin." He turned to Trinket and nodded. "You as well, Miss Trinket."

"Of course. Anything for an old friend," Booker said with a twisted grin as he got to his feet to see the officer to the door.

"Ah, one question though," Jewkes said, turning back to him. "What's your interest in the butcher? Why do you care so much about his fate?"

Booker shrugged. "I'm quite fond of his bacon."

Jewkes furrowed his brow, but before he could respond, Booker opened the door and pasted on a polite smile. The officer glared at him for a moment and then pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

"Tomorrow. Midnight. Don't be late."

"I'll be there with bells on," Booker said.

Jewkes sneered and clamped the cigarette between his teeth, mumbling something under his breath as he ventured into the night. Booker closed the door behind him and locked it securely.

"Well, that certainly worked out in your favor, didn't it?" Trinket said as they returned to the parlour.

"Indeed. We clear the butcher's name and get a firsthand look at the latest clue in our game," he agreed, picking up his teacup and pacing the room. "Though I'm slightly disgusted with my medical contemporaries for believing these ridiculous rumors. Vampires. Please. I thought these men were supposed to be educated."

She watched him walk about the room, drumming his fingers against the cup and rattling his teeth as his eyes went distant in thought. "Education cannot ward off ignorance," she said.

He snorted and leaned against the mantle. "Isn't that the truth."

Biting her lip, she took a few steps towards him. "Thank you."

He furrowed his brow as he turned to her. "Thank you?"

"For helping the butcher. It means a lot to me that you'd go to such efforts to see an innocent man freed when I know it is not necessarily your instinctual reaction."

A soft smile replaced his confusion. "Of course. Really, though, I should be thanking you for making me do the right thing."

She frowned slightly. "I don't want to make you do anything, Booker."

Shaking his head, he placed his cup on the mantle and closed the distance between them. "Let me rephrase. Thank you for making me want to do the right thing."

A strange sensation stirred in her chest. Something thick and warm. Pride? Pride in what, exactly? Certainly not her own actions. No. It was pride in Booker for putting forth such an effort to be a good person.

"Glad to be such a corrupting influence," she said with a smile.

They gazed at each other for a spell, and when the intensity of the moment grew to be more than she could bear, she cleared her throat and broke their eye contact.

"I should help Daphne clean up before I retire to bed," she said. "And you should get some rest, as well. You'll have an audience for your work tomorrow."

He nodded and took a step back. "Yes, yes, of course. Don't want to make a mistake because of my lack of sleep and give Jewkes any fodder against me now, do I?"

Retrieving his empty cup from the mantle, she walked back to the table and picked up the tray. "Indeed. You have a reputation to uphold."

As she passed by him on her way into the dining room, he caught her arm. "You're all right with joining me, right? I fear I spoke before conferring with you first."

Touched by his consideration, she gave a nod. "Of course. I am your assistant, after all."

His thumb caressed her arm for a brief moment, but that one tender gesture was enough to raise goose pimples all over her body. "And a fine one at that," he said as he released her and retreated into the hallway.

Taking a deep breath, she failed to smother a delighted smile as she made her way through the dining room on her way to the kitchen. However, that feeling of dread returned when she remembered. Remembered him.

Merrill.

Murderer, murderer, murderer, murderer, murderer.

You'll do it all again.

Monster.

Forcing down her joy, she reminded herself of how dangerous she was. Even if Booker reveled in danger, she could never forgive herself if something were to happen to him because of her. If she were to do something to him. Something awful and irreparable.

Booker could very well be her next victim.

Still, even with the voices laughing at and mocking her, she could not stop thinking about the feeling of his thumb running up and down her arm, and the goose pimples returned.