The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

"I should be able to finish this up by tomorrow. Hopefully the infection will have gone down enough that we can attach the devices," he said to Daphne as he gathered his things.

Daphne smiled and nodded, though her eyes darted between him and Trinket.

Booker allowed his gaze to rest on Trinket for a moment before averting it again. "Be sure to continue applying the medicine," he said. "So long as you have no objections to that sort of treatment."

Trinket held her tongue and turned away as he brushed past her. She listened to his footsteps move through the hall and only dared to breathe when they disappeared down the stairs. She then turned to Daphne and gave a tight smile.

"I brought you some breakfast," she said, bringing the tray of food over to the tub. "I'm sorry that they're a tad burnt. I got a bit distracted while I was heating them up."

Daphne smiled as she accepted a crumpet. She broke off a piece and chewed it with more ease than she had the night before. However, her eye twitched when she swallowed. Her smile remained, but it was a little more strained.

"I'm really not much of a cook," Trinket admitted as she opened the jar of jam. "Here, this might help."

Daphne slathered a generous portion onto the burnt crumpet and ate the rest of it slowly. Her eyes kept flickering to the doorway until she finally nodded towards it and gave Trinket a quizzical look.

Trinket shook her head. "It's nothing. Just a disagreement."

Daphne pointed from the door to Trinket several times and raised an eyebrow suggestively.

It dawned on Trinket what she was suggesting, and heat crawled up her neck. "No, no, it's nothing like that. I'm his housemaid. Well, technically that's what he hired me for, but I also act as his assistant. Sometimes."

Nodding slowly, Daphne took another bite of the crumpet, the corner of her mouth lifting into a teasing smile. Trinket chose to ignore the expression.

"Anyhow," she continued, "once you're well-hydrated, I should probably apply more ointment to your stitches. They look much better. How are you feeling?"

Wiping the crumbs from her hands, Daphne nodded and smiled.

"Mr. Larkin is making something that will allow you to go about life normally without your gills drying out. Unfortunately, removing them runs the risk of causing further damage, so he had to find a way around it."

Daphne tapped her temple and raised her eyebrows.

Trinket smiled. "Yes, he is rather brilliant." She could suddenly almost smell that horrid drug mixture, and her smile began to fade. "Most of the time."

After helping Daphne out of the tub and tending to her stitches, Trinket busied herself with housework. Daphne followed her around and assisted wherever she could. They stopped to have lunch together, and this time Trinket stayed away from the stove, knowing she was too distracted to cook anything without burning it. She didn't even bother to bring any food to Booker. With that drug in his system, there was no need for proper sustenance.

Daphne soaked in the tub one last time before they both retired to bed. Trinket was exhausted, but she knew she needed to remain alert in order to check on Daphne during the night. Not that it mattered. Even with her exhaustion, Trinket's entire body was tense, and she found that her mind would not stop racing.

Tossing her dress over her mirror, she slipped into her nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed as she untied her hair from its braid. Fiddling with the ends, she glanced at the wall adjacent to the library. Hadn't it only been so many nights ago that she had been unable to sleep knowing that Booker was in the next room over? Now sleep evaded her with the knowledge that there was a chasm between them. At least, that's how it felt.

She collapsed onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Laying a hand against her aching chest, she realized that her heart was racing again. Why was this upsetting her so much? She'd had arguments with him before. And while she didn't enjoy the tension from those arguments, she had never felt this sort of pain. But recalling the coldness in his voice and the way he had avoided her eyes—it cut her down to the quick.

Swallowing hard, she sat up and clutched the quilt on her bed, overcome by the sudden urge to rush down to the laboratory and insist that they set things straight. But that would be foolish. He was in the middle of an important project, and the last time he had been on a large dose of this drug, confronting him had only caused more friction.

Why did it matter so much anyhow? He was only her employer.

And her friend.

Yes, she certainly considered him a friend at this point. Losing him now wasn't just losing her livelihood and sense of security. It meant losing his companionship. And that was worse than having no place to go.

Yes, that's why her heart was racing. And why her heart ached.

And why she felt like she might burst into tears at any moment . . .

~

The following morning, as Daphne and Trinket sat down to breakfast, Booker entered the dining room. Trinket's heart pounded even as he ignored her and focused on Daphne.

"It's ready," he said, his voice raspy and the muscles in his jaw twitching. "Are you?"

Pulling herself up to her full height, Daphne placed her teacup on the table and folded her hands in her lap. Without a hint of hesitation, she met his gaze and nodded firmly.

"Very well," Booker said. His eyes flickered to Trinket for a moment, but before she could try to read his stare, he turned back to the doorway. "I'll be waiting in the laboratory."