The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Seven

Snowflakes drifted whimsically by Trinket's window as she stared up at the night sky. It'd been a few days since her episode in the kitchen, and though the deep despair and gloom had faded to an annoying throb in her chest, sleep continued to evade her.

As a warm fire blazed in the corner, she thought about her last night out in the snow. About the Wolf and Booker. About her intentions when she had wandered into that alley. About how badly she had wanted to end her life. Those feelings were still there, even if quiet at times. But killing herself would be a mistake now that she had a job and a place to live.

Wouldn't it?

Or would it bring her the relief she so desperately desired? And really, wasn't death what she deserved? After what she had done, what right did she have to be alive and happy?

You have no right at all.

Look at what you did to your employer.

You're a menace.

A monster.

A killer.

Just end yourself now.

A frantic ringing caused her to jump and briefly silenced the voices. Ringing? Was she hearing ringing now?

"The door," she muttered under her breath as she threw on her dressing gown and rushed down the stairs.

It was almost midnight. Who could be calling at such a late hour? One of those strange visitors Booker had alluded to when he hired her?

Opening the door, she found two young girls on the doorstep. One seemed more or less unconscious, and the other was holding her up, her eyes wide with terror. The conscious girl's heavy breaths came out in puffs, snowflakes clinging to her limp hair.

"Please," she gasped. "Please, help her."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the nearly unconscious girl mumbled, opening her eyes to meet Trinket's gaze.

Fidelia.

She tried to extricate herself from her friend's grasp but practically toppled to the ground. Trinket managed to grab her, pulling her upright and turning to the other girl. "What happened?" she asked.

"It's her arm," the girl wheezed. "She got attacked by a dog a few weeks back, and the bite's gotten real bad. She has a fever, and I think the infection is spreading."

"It's nothing. You're overreacting, Ruth," Fidelia insisted, hissing in pain as she tugged her arm away from Trinket.

"Please, miss," Ruth went on. "She's stubborn. I'm afraid that if I hadn't dragged her out of bed, she would've died in her sleep."

"Ruth, I told you . . ."

Fidelia trailed off as her knees gave out from under her. Booker appeared just in time to catch her. "Trinket, help me get her downstairs," he said.

Fidelia shook her head. "Mr. Larkin, please, it's really—"

He scooped her up into his arms and brought her down himself. "Trinket, hurry up."

Trinket turned to Ruth and gestured to the parlour. "Please, come inside."

The girl's eyes darted to the open basement door and then back to her. "Will she be all right, miss?"

Offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Trinket gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Mr. Larkin is a skilled doctor."

"Trinket!" Booker called again from downstairs.