"A flying squirrel?" Trinket said as she studied the hand-drawn illustration of the animal. "I've never heard of such a thing."
It looked nothing like the squirrels she was familiar with. Rather than red fur and a bushy tail, it had a sleek, velvety-looking coat and an almost flat tail. Its eyes were huge, and its ears lacked the tufts of fur that the squirrels in their area had. The most obvious difference, though, was that this squirrel had flaps of furry skin extending from its wrists to its ankles.
"They're not native to here, though some of the gentry have been known to keep them as exotic pets," Booker said as he continued to look over her shoulder at the open page. "They're most common in the West, with a few species in the Northeast and the South."
"Can they really fly?"
"Not fly so much as glide." He pointed at one of the diagrams that showed the flaps of skin extended while the creature was in "flight." "See, it jumps from high trees and extends the skin flaps. They catch the air and glide far distances. So not flying, but more than we as humans can do."
Trinket ran her finger along the illustrated flaps, marveling at how similar they were to the ones on the dead woman. "So could she fly with these?"
"Again, glide. And probably not, even if she were alive. I mean, perhaps they'd slow her descent slightly, but I think it would take a lot more for her to be equipped for the air. Still, it's quite the undertaking. And the quality of the skin is amazing."
Pushing the book away, Trinket looked up at Booker. "All right, so we know what animal the mutilated woman downstairs was fashioned after. How does this help us?"
His face fell slightly, and he twisted up his lips as he stared down at the book. "It doesn't, I suppose. It just confirms my suspicions that the man behind these creations is still the genius I knew him to be."
She heaved a sigh and lifted up her exhausted body. "I should make some tea. We haven't stopped for hours."
As she skirted around Booker, he caught her arm. Looking back at him, she was surprised to see, not disappointment at not having made any real progress, but a gentle warmth.
"Why don't you get some rest?" he said softly.
She cocked her head. "But we haven't really solved anything yet. Don't you need help cleaning—"
He waved away her words. "It can wait." A teasing smile tugged at his lips. "After all, it's not like she's going anywhere."
She gave a soft laugh. "You're morbid, Booker."
"Which is why it's good I have you to remind me to be more appropriate." He raised his eyebrows. "At least when we're around other people."
She smiled. "I'm happy to assist. Are you sure you don't want me to stay up with you?"
Hesitating at first, he gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "Rest. I'll be fine."
He returned to the table, taking her seat to further study the entry about flying squirrels. She watched him for a moment before turning to leave.
Even though the library was adjacent to it, it took all of her strength to drag herself to her room. Without bothering to undress, she collapsed onto her bed and let out a soft moan. What time was it? She was too tired to check. Exhaustion had made her eyelids heavy, and she thought she could slumber for days.
However, something inside her chest kept her from drifting off. It felt like a tiny spark, its warmth spreading through her abdomen and toes and fingers, making them all tingle. She was suddenly very aware of Booker's presence in the room beside her own. Listening closely for the sound of footsteps or of a closing door to signal his exit from the library, she found herself unable to put him from her mind.
Turning over onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling and breathed deeply. Was he going to retire to bed tonight? Did he sleep at all? She sometimes wondered if he were some otherworldly being, subsisting simply on knowledge and burnt tea. But then that tender look in his eyes when he told her to rest flashed through her mind, and her heart began to pound.
He was human. Most certainly human. But he was unlike any human she had ever known.
~
Trinket had dreamt that there were flying squirrels gliding about her room all night. Or had it even been a dream? She couldn't tell if she had woken up in the middle of the night to hallucinations or if it had truly been the product of a restless slumber. Her sleep deprivation made it more difficult to differentiate between illusions and reality.
It was later than she would have liked to have been up as she made her way downstairs. She had changed into her work clothes so that she could make breakfast. As she entered the kitchen, though, she noticed that the kettle was warm and one of the teacups was missing. Was Booker already up? Had he ever gone to bed? Worrying about his health if he continued his insomniac behavior, she quickly toasted some bread and crumpets and fetched a jar of jam. She made herself a cup of tea and then brought the humble breakfast down to the laboratory where she assumed Booker was.
He was sitting at his desk, going through papers and sipping tea. When he heard her enter, he glanced up with a smile. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
Remembering the squirrels that had pestered her in either her dreams or her broken psyche, she gave a half-hearted smile. "Well enough. And you? Did you even try to sleep?"
"I think I may have dozed off for a time in the library." He set his teacup down and motioned for her to join him. "Look what I came up with last night."
Placing the tray of food on a cart, she stooped over his shoulder to see what he was referring to. There were sketches on the paper in front of him. They looked very similar to the dead woman with the skin flaps, except the flaps on this person appeared to be made of metal and leather rather than flesh. There were numbers and calculations as well, but they were gibberish to her.
"After reading about that squirrel and seeing the work on the corpse, I was inspired to create something of my own." He tapped the sketches with his pen. "With strong enough materials, I think this could allow someone to take flight. Or glide if you will."
"It's fascinating, really, but how is this helping you find your friend?"
He tossed the pen onto the desk and picked up the paper to examine it. "It doesn't. I was just a bit restless last night."
"Your restlessness worries me."
He glanced up at her curiously. "Really? Why is that?"
"Because I fear if you are bored enough, you'll get us roped into something dangerous. Or you'll create some sort of monstrosity."
She flashed a teasing smile at that last part, but Booker only responded with a quick lift of his mouth. His eyes returned to his newest design and suddenly became distant. "I used to have that same fear about him," he said softly.
She watched him carefully. "Your friend?"
He nodded. "Boredom led us to dissection, and boredom of that led to vivisection. It went on like that until it ended with us trying to sew live snakes onto a girl's head."
Reeling back, she gasped. "You can't be serious."
A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Oh, I am."
"Was the girl all right?"
He gave a crude laugh. "Frieda? Yes, she was no worse for wear. To be fair, it was her idea in the first place. I actually think she was a bit peeved at us for getting caught before we could finish."
Was this girl the same one he had admitted to having an affair with? Trinket was dying to know, but it wasn't her place to pry, so she moved on to another subject. "All right, so where do we go from here? We know that this woman was fashioned to look like a flying squirrel and that the previous one was given bird talons. So animals seem to be your friend's theme. What we don't know is how he's leaving these bodies about the city without getting caught, and—"
She stopped, not wanting to upset Booker again by suggesting that his friend might be a killer.
He raised his eyebrows in question, and she cleared her throat. "I lost my thought," she said. "Sorry. Lack of sleep."
Though he nodded in understanding, she thought she detected a glint of suspicion in his eyes. "I suppose we just keep searching. The bodies don't appear to have been dead for very long, so I'm sure he's nearby. Maybe he's using some of the street folk to drag the corpses out and leave them in areas where they'll be found. And he'd need supplies. I should go to the chemist to see if any unfamiliar faces have shown up at his shop. Maybe even the knacker for the animal parts."
"Speaking of the knacker." Trinket glanced at the butchered body. "What are we going to do with her?"
Leaning back in his chair, Booker placed his hands behind his head and let out a long hum. "I'm not really sure. I didn't exactly think it through when I decided to bring the body home. We can't have the knacker take it for fear the police would take notice. It was bad enough I had him here to pick up what was left of the Wolf. Even if I managed to chop it up into unidentifiable pieces, I'd worry the police would find so many visits from the knacker suspicious. They already have their eyes on me."
"You have quite a few folks keeping a close watch on you."
He looked up at her with a grin. "Can you blame them? I am easy on the eyes."
Turning back to the corpse, she grimaced. "We can't leave her down here. She'll start to smell."
The legs of Booker's chair came down with a bang, and he leaned forward, resting his chin on his tented fingers. "I'll think of something. Just give me a day or so."
Remembering the food she had brought down, she fetched the tray and carried it over to him. "You should at least eat if you aren't going to sleep."
He accepted one of the crumpets and took a bite of it. "I wonder if that tea shop girl could give us any more information. She has quite the shady double-life. She might know more than she's letting on."
Trinket nibbled at a piece of toasted bread. "I could try to find out if you'd like. Although, after her last encounter with us, I'm not so sure she'll be eager to confide in me."
"Couldn't hurt. In the meantime, I'll clean up what I can here while I figure out a way to dispose of the body."
"And you wonder why the police have you pegged as a suspect."
"I'm not worried. They have no evidence against me."
Her eyes wandered back to the operating table. "You sure about that?"
Booker swallowed another mouthful of crumpet. "I'm clever. I'll figure something out."
Unease settled in her stomach despite his confidence. It was true that his brilliance was admirable, but the men who had taken a sinister interest in him were their own kind of clever.