The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Seventeen

Two days went by without incident. No bodies, no threats from Scales. The city continued on with its normal routine, completely unaware of the momentous event that had occurred with Viper's death. No one knew the leader of the Dead Mice was gone.

No one knew the danger they were in.

Trinket and Booker struck a bit of luck in their search for Viper's successor. Madison knew straight away who it was.

"Short fella, wears his hair in a long braid. Goes by the name Hiss," he'd explained. "Viper chose him only just a week or two ago. Guess Hiss has got a temper to match his height. Thinks he's pretty tough, too. Always picking fights. Awful loud when he's drunk. And he's got a real taste for well-endowed night flowers."

He sounded very much like one of the men they had run into when chasing down Tory. Trinket remembered his behavior then: getting in everyone's face, talking back, acting as though he were in charge and yet a true coward when it came to unknown danger, like a potential vampire.

Scales could kill him with a single look.

Booker somehow managed to not completely lose his mind while waiting for something to happen. He occupied himself in the library and the laboratory, studying everything he could find on frogs and tinkering away downstairs. He made appearances for meals and never objected to Trinket's company.

Trinket, however, found herself unable to sit still. Scales' numerous threats haunted her thoughts, playing over and over again. The image of Viper's dead body was scorched into her memory, those bleeding numbers mocking her. Outwardly, her hallucinations manifested as swarms of flies that followed her wherever she went. Blood trickled down the wallpaper, congealing into odd shapes she soon recognized as corpses.

It was more than she could take.

Grabbing her shawl, she rushed outside into the warm, fresh air. She breathed deeply and took large steps down the road, hoping she could outrun the voices that were chanting the same word over and over again:

Death.

Death.

Death.

"Enough!" she hissed as she clutched her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

In her panicked frustration, she crashed into a passerby. Her eyes flew open, and she grabbed at a nearby lamppost to steady herself. When she had collected her senses, the person she'd walked into addressed her.

"Miss Trinket. How fortuitous that I should bump into you," said a rough yet very feminine voice.

Trinket lifted her gaze and found Ms. Langtry standing before her. A cold pit of dread settled in her gut as the horrific scene she'd witnessed at the Clocktower when last speaking with the woman played through her head.

The dead dove.

Her bloodstained hands.

And Merrill's voice singing that same old song.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself back into the present moment and gave Ms. Langtry a tight smile. "Ms. Langtry. How nice to see you. Please forgive my clumsiness. I'm afraid I was quite distracted."

"Yes, I could tell. I'm sorry to have interrupted you. But as I said, I think it may have been good fortune that brought us together again. I've been thinking about you."

Trinket fell back a step, her nerves wound into tight, frayed knots. "Have you?"

"Yes, I feel dreadful about the way things ended the last time we met. I fear I may have overstepped my place, and I wanted to apologize to you."