The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Sixteen

 Trinket all but ran from the flower shop, her pulse pounding in her ears as she clutched the bouquet of roses to her chest.

"Told you it smelled bad in there."

She stopped short and discovered Gin trotting along beside her. She let out a breath of relief. Why was she being so jumpy? Did she think the Wottons would actually attack her for attempting to help them? Ridiculous. She really was paranoid.

"Smelled bad?" she repeated as she continued on at a more reasonable pace.

"Yeah, in the flower shop. Can't imagine why else you'd come running outta there like that."

"Oh. Right. I wouldn't say it smelled bad, exactly. A tad overpowering, yes, but a small bouquet like this is quite pleasant."

Gin shook her head and waved a hand in front of her nose. "I hate it all."

Trinket chuckled. "Are you sure you're not trying to be contrary?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You're tough and independent, so you feel the need to hate anything society deems weak and feminine?"

The little urchin scoffed. "Like I care what society thinks about me. Please."

"Very well then."

"I just hate the smell of flowers. I really do prefer the smells of tobacco and booze."

"All right, all right, I didn't mean to offend."

"And I might not like flowers and perfume and fancy dresses, but I do like hair ribbons and lockets. So there."

Trinket's lips twitched, but she held back her smile for fear of upsetting the feisty girl any further. "Lockets?" she repeated.

"Yes. I like the idea of hiding things in plain sight. And the ones I've seen are awful pretty. Lockets are one thing I can't bear to steal from folks."

"Really? Why is that?"

"They're so personal. Whatever someone puts inside of one must mean a lot to them. It seems wrong to take something so important. So I usually go for their wedding bands."

Nearly choking on a laugh, Trinket nodded solemnly and said, "I applaud your ethical standards."

After Gin saw her safely home and took her leave, Trinket headed into the kitchen in search of a vase for the flowers. Of course, Booker being who he was, all she could find was a chipped beaker. She gave the dusty container a good scrub in the scullery before filling it with water and returning to the kitchen. As she arranged the bouquet the best she could, her gaze strayed to the crumpets and cold tea still on the tray. Her face flushed as she recalled how petulant her employer was being.

"He wants to go hungry? Fine."

She grabbed the beaker of roses and stormed into the parlour, sloshing water as she went. Slamming it onto the table by the settee, she huffed and glared out into the hall.

Heartless.

Childish.

Obnoxious.

You're no better.

"Oh, shut up," she said, trudging back to the scullery to fetch a mop for the water she'd spilled all down the hallway.

~

Several days passed, and Booker continued to avoid her. A tiny part of her was actually worried about him. Was he eating? Sleeping? Had he perhaps hurt himself down in the laboratory? Even if he had, it wasn't like she could do anything; the door remained locked as it always did. So she was left to worry and fume over her employer's ridiculous behavior all by her lonesome.