Trinket remained on the ground for a few moments longer, breathing steadily and trying to clear her mind. When she finally attempted to sit up, she hissed at the pain in her head. Slowly, she rose to her feet and balanced against the wall. Taking a deep breath, she shuffled her way out of the alley and glanced about the street. There were only apartment buildings, although a few looked as though they had been abandoned and left to rot. She wasn't sure where she was exactly, and after checking her surroundings to be certain none of the Mice had followed her, she dared to venture out in search of the police station.

When she reached the next road, she recognized it as the same one the station was on. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but her muscles ached too much to deal with the umbrella, so she tucked it under her arm and ignored the way her soaked dress clung to her skin.

The familiar brick building came into sight, and she felt an unexpected rush of relief. Picking up her pace, she kept her eyes focused on her destination, eager to get out of the wet cold.

Something shot out of the shadows and grabbed her. Her scream was smothered by a gloved hand clamped over her mouth as someone pulled her close, pinning her arms to her sides. The stranger's face was difficult to see, but the moment he spoke, she knew who it was.

"You're a slippery little creature, aren't you?" Scales hissed.

She struggled against him, but he only tightened his grip.

"None of that, now. I would think you'd know better than to fight against the likes of me."

He was right. Fighting wouldn't do any good. He was much stronger than she was, and though she knew her faux perfume was in the pocket of her dress, there was no way for her to reach it. So she gave up and turned her eyes to him.

"There's a good girl. I apologize if my men gave you a fright earlier. They can come off as brutes. I just wanted to have a nice chat with you."

She raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled at her response.

"I saw you at the scene of the latest death. You and Larkin must know something. Was he off to butcher the body?"

Did he expect her to respond? If so, it would be a little difficult with his hand over her mouth.

"Of course, you could imagine my surprise when I saw you and Larkin part ways. What could have enticed you to stay standing out in the cold rain while your precious doctor went off to play with cadavers? Hmm?"

Clenching her jaw, she resisted the urge to swallow for fear it would give away her terror.

Scales pulled her closer and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "I know that Larkin wouldn't waste his time on someone ordinary, so you must have something twisted about you. At the very least, I know that you are very good with details, hence why he brings you on all his little outings and investigations. So if you felt the need to stay behind even as the body was carried away and the crowd dispersed, you must have seen something. You seemed to be moving with a purpose. Like you were following someone. Who was it?"

She averted her eyes, hoping she appeared to be evading the question rather than searching for some way to escape. Aside from the station, there were only abandoned buildings nearby. Some broken bottles were in the street, but they would do her no good since she couldn't reach them.

Giving her a shake, Scales tightened his hold on her jaw. She let out a whimper.

"If it would help you to remember better, we could take this conversation back to my office. I find that people tend to be more persuaded to talk when I employ my skills in a place where I won't be interrupted."

He shook her again, and as he did, the umbrella under her arm shifted.

And then an idea began to form.

The handle was pressing against Scale's chest. With just a little bit of movement, she might be able to maneuver it enough to use it to her advantage.

Though knowing her plan could backfire terribly, she closed her eyes and fought against Scales. She could feel the anger pulsing through his body as he violently tugged her back, holding her firmly against himself and in the process, triggering the button on the umbrella.

It opened in a flash, startling him so that he loosened his grip for just a second.

That was all she needed.

She elbowed him in the side, and with a deep, pained grunt, he doubled over, clutching his ribs. She scooped up the umbrella and jabbed him in the belly with the pointed end, pushing him into the overgrown bushes on the side of the road. The thug let out a string of curses as he toppled into the shrubs.

Not wasting a moment, she threw the umbrella at him for good measure and ran for the police station. Her muscles protested and her head throbbed with every step, but she refused to stop until she reached the safety of the station.

She burst in through the front door, gasping for breath as water dripped from her hair and dress, forming a small puddle at her feet. The officers inside rushed over, asking so many questions their voices became nothing more than a blur of noise.

Finally, a familiar voice rose above the rest. "Oy, give her some room to breathe, why don't ya?" Jewkes barked as he pushed through the other officers and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Go get her a blanket and make up some tea. And clean this blasted mess before someone slips and breaks their neck. Come this way, Miss Trinket."

The constable led her over to a nearby desk and pulled out the chair for her to sit. She muttered a "thank you" and sank into it, her aching legs practically sighing in relief. A young officer appeared with a blanket, and Jewkes draped it over her shoulders as another officer arrived with a cup of steaming tea.

"What happened to you?" Jewkes asked as he pulled up a chair to sit beside her, pushing the teacup into her hands.

The warmth was soothing on her shaking fingers, and she held it more for comfort than to drink it. "Where is Mr. Larkin?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

"He took off a while ago when you didn't show up."

"Did he finish the autopsy?"

"No, he started it but then stopped once he opened her up, saying he couldn't complete it without his assistant. Then he ran off to find you. What happened? Did someone attack you?" Jewkes' eyes widened and his expression grew dark as he leaned in closer. "Did someone take advantage of you?"

She met his gaze, both confused and touched by his sincere concern. "No, no, I'm fine, really. Did Mr. Larkin say where he was going?"

He shook his head. "Just that he needed to find you."

Letting out a sigh, she tightened her grip on the porcelain cup and looked out a nearby window. It was still pouring, and the storm clouds made it darker than she was comfortable with, given her situation. She didn't want to go back out there with Scales so close. But what if he happened upon Booker? Would he go after him next?

She turned her attention back to Jewkes who was watching her with a line of worry between his eyes. "Constable Jewkes, I hate to inconvenience you," she said, "but would it be possible for you to escort me home? With this vampire running about, I'm not too keen on being out on my own, especially in such ominous weather."

His eyes traveled up and down her bruised and battered body, and though he seemed like he wanted to question her further, he gave a nod and rose to his feet. "Of course. No inconvenience at all, Miss Trinket."

Preparing her muscles to be used again, she gingerly left the comfort of the chair and placed the teacup on the desk. She shrugged off the blanket and left it on the chair as Jewkes fetched an umbrella and met her at the front door. He offered his arm to her, and she took it, happy to have someone with her as she ventured back into the dangerous city.

She couldn't keep her eyes from darting about, searching for any sign of the Mice. Surely they wouldn't give up so easily? Especially not Scales? But she saw nothing, save for a small dent in the bushes and her umbrella blowing about the street.

"You know, my offer still stands," Jewkes said as they turned onto Gainsborough Avenue.

"You mean your offer for me to betray the secrets of my employer? You still think he's a murderer, Constable?"

"Maybe not a murderer. A madman, though? Absolutely. But that's not what I meant. My offer still stands to assist you. You don't need to stay in the employment of someone as deplorable as Larkin. I could help you find work elsewhere. Good and honest work. Safe work."

She stifled a laugh. Even if she had wanted to leave Booker, there weren't many places she could go considering her precarious mental condition. But she wasn't about to tell Jewkes that.

"What would be in it for you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just knowing that a good girl is out of the hands of a maniac."

She chuckled softly. "Mr. Larkin may be a tad unhinged, but he isn't a maniac. Besides, who in this city isn't a little twisted, hmm?"

"True, but look at you. What kind of gentleman would let a young lady put herself in such peril?"

Trinket bit her lip. It was true that Booker did get her into quite a few scrapes, but as of late, many of her predicaments were of her own making. Perhaps that had been from his influence, but she wasn't sure changing professions would fix that problem at this point.

"I'm just concerned about you," Jewkes continued. "I'd hate for the next body I'm called upon to retrieve to be yours."

Glancing up at him, she furrowed her brow. "Why are you so kind to me, Constable?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to her momentarily before returning to the road. "You remind me of my daughter."

"Daughter? You have a daughter?"

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, I do. Annabelle. Fifteen and sweet as an angel. Looks just like her mother, with a bright mind to match."

This must be a child he had with his wife, considering the speedy abortion he'd gotten for his mistress. Perhaps it was the abortion and the mistress that made it difficult for Trinket to picture him as a family man. But the manner in which he spoke about his daughter was filled with nothing less than adoration.

"I do appreciate your concern, Constable," Trinket said. "But we all have our faults and vices. For some, it's their curiosity. For others, it's the temptation to stray."

The officer's jaw tightened at her pointed comment, but she continued.

"And for me, it's stubbornness. Maybe you're right. Maybe Mr. Larkin will be the death of me. But we all have to die someday. And I'd rather die by the side of someone I lo—"

She stopped herself, swallowing the word down before it could escape. Jewkes glanced down at her suspiciously, and she quickly went on to keep him from probing further. "Someone I respect and trust."

"You trust Larkin?"

She nodded. "I do."

"And you think that's wise?"

"Well, Constable, if he's so untrustworthy, why do you keep coming back to him for assistance?"

The officer paused as they neared Booker's house. He tilted his head curiously as he considered her.

"I'll be the first to admit that Mr. Larkin's methods are not always the most typical or even the most ethical," she went on. "And he has a lot of growing up to do. But that's the beauty of people. You can never stop learning about them. Because we all continue to grow and change. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes for the worse. However, based on the time I've spent with Mr. Larkin, I'm convinced he's growing for the better. And so am I, now that he and I have met."

Jewkes gave a soft grunt of a laugh and smiled. "No wonder he likes keeping you around. You make a person think. We need more thinkers." He released a sigh and led her up to the front door. "Tell Larkin he can finish the autopsy whenever it's convenient for him. And don't hesitate to ask if you need any more assistance."

Trinket nodded. "I am incredibly grateful for your help, Constable. Stay safe and dry."

The officer waited until she was inside the doorway before heading back up the street. Closing the door behind her, Trinket let out a long breath, happy to be back in the warmth of home.

Daphne appeared at the top of the stairs, and she let out something like a squeak as she waved her hands at someone down the hallway. She rushed down the steps to meet Trinket and gasped when she saw the state she was in. Patting Trinket's cheek gently, she nodded towards the kitchen and hurried off.

"Oh, thank heavens you're all right," Booker said as he practically tripped down the stairs. He pulled Trinket into a tight embrace, and though her head still throbbed, his familiar touch eased the tension in her muscles. "I panicked when you didn't show up at the station."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry," she said, closing her eyes and taking in every bit of his warmth.

To her disappointment, he pulled away to look at her. "What happened? You're a mess. Is that bruising around your jaw?"

His fingers brushed against her sore chin, coming dangerously close to her lips. "It's nothing, really. But Booker, I have—"

"Lord, your head is bleeding!" he exclaimed, his hand now at the back of her head.

She winced as he touched the sore spot. Pain shot down her neck and through her shoulders. "I slipped and fell. Booker—"

"We need to take care of that. Go sit on the settee while I fetch my bag."

Heaving a frustrated sigh, she shuffled into the parlour and sat down as he disappeared into the laboratory. She needed to tell him about the girl with the blood on her wrist from the scene of the first death. And about the Mice. And Scales.

And Tory.

Tory.

She needed to tell him about Tory now that she knew it was really her.

Tell him?

Are you sure?

Her stomach twisted. To tell him about Tory somehow felt like a betrayal to the one person who had been the closest thing to a friend she'd had in Elysium. But she had to. It was important to the case. If Tory was the vampire, she needed to be stopped.

Stop!

Stop! Stop! Stop!

Still, a guilt-ridden doubt ate at her gut.

Daphne entered the parlour with a cup of tea and a pail of warm water. She placed the tea on the table and then brought the pail over to the settee. She sat beside Trinket and dipped a rag into the water. As she began cleaning the mud and grime from Trinket's cheeks, Booker returned from the laboratory. He had his medical bag in his hand, but his face had suddenly gone very pale.

Trinket's stomach dropped. Something was wrong. "Booker?"

Clearing his throat, he hesitated before speaking. "Ah, some bad news. Somehow the tree hopper has gotten out of its jar, and I can't seem to find it."