The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Eleven

"Couldn't you use drugs?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Couldn't you create a sedative and find a way to shoot it at the Wolf as you would a bullet? Something that would put it under without killing it? Then you could drag it down to your laboratory and go from there."

Booker considered this option, tilting his head and pursing his lips with a look of approval. "That's not a bad idea. I could come up with a device to do that. And I certainly have the drugs for it." He turned back to her and gave a soft smile. "Clever thinking, Trinket."

Uncomfortable with his thoughtful gaze, she cleared her throat and returned to nibbling on her crumpet. Well, at the very least, it seemed she wasn't going to be dismissed from her job. It made her wonder what the maids before her had done to lose their positions. Whatever it was, it had to have been rather terrible.

~

When they had finished breakfast, Booker insisted they go out to see how people were reacting to the commotion they had caused the night before while chasing after the Wolf.

"It's good to find out what others are saying," he said as he opened the door for her. "Keeps you in the know, even when you already know."

The city was certainly abuzz with gossip. Shopkeepers chatted up their customers, urchins whispered to one another excitedly, and gentlemen and ladies from the suburbs engaged in tête-à-têtes with night flowers.

There were various versions of the tale. Some said the police had broken up a vicious gang fight. Others claimed it was a thief who had been breaking into houses in the suburbs. Then there were some—mostly the street workers and those who frequented the Clocktower—who wondered if it had been the Wolf again. Booker was pleased with the chaos he'd created, but he feigned ignorance as he asked questions and joined in on the theorizing.

Trinket tried to cover a yawn as Booker inserted himself into a group of servants arguing about how many police officers the Wolf had attacked. Why was she so tired even after staying in bed so late? It wasn't like she was unaccustomed to sleepless nights.

No sleep for the wicked.

A fly buzzed by her head, and she swatted at it absentmindedly, too exhausted to worry about whether it was real or not. But when it came back with a swarm of friends, she sighed and forced herself to ignore them. In an effort to distract herself, she scanned the crowds around her.

And then she saw her.

Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes locked onto the familiar woman. No. It couldn't be. She had to be another hallucination. She had to be.

But when the ghastly woman met her gaze, something like recognition dawned on her face. Tugging at the coat of the gentleman beside her, she nodded in Trinket's direction.

Panic seized Trinket's chest, and she quickly turned away and prayed it wasn't real. It couldn't be her. She couldn't be here. This couldn't be happening.

Thought you could run.

That you could hide.

But you'll never escape.

"What's your name, girl?"

Every muscle in her body stiffened at the sound of the sickly sweet voice. She turned slowly and dared to look the woman in the eye. Everything about her was the same. Plump. Pasty. Sloppy. There were even crumbs still stuck to the corner of her mouth, her brightly colored lipstick smudged in a failed attempt to wipe them away.