The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

 "How long are you going to leave that thing out there?"

Trinket and Booker were walking towards the city center, arms entwined as the sun shone brightly on a relatively balmy winter morning. It was one of those mornings that teased with the promise of a warmer season to come, one filled with new life and new beginnings.

"A few more days at least, maybe a week," Booker replied, glancing over his shoulder to admire the Wolf's severed head set upon a pike in front of the house. "Besides, I think it suits the neighborhood."

She wrinkled her nose, though she couldn't really argue. "It's disgusting. And rather disrespectful to the poor creature."

"Poor creature? We're talking about the same beast that nearly ripped my arm off."

"I still feel it's unnecessary to keep its head on display outside our front door. You're going to lose clients."

"I just want people to know the truth. And I think that head is pretty good evidence of who truly has the Wolf."

She sighed and shook her head at him.

After shooting the Wolf dead, she had helped Booker drag the carcass into the laboratory so that he could examine and dissect it. He was absolutely fascinated by the skill that had gone into melding the metal teeth into the creature's jaw, going on and on about the genius behind it all.

Trinket eventually had to coax him into taking a break from his mad science in order to care for his injured arm. Unable to stitch the wound himself, he had to coach her through the process. Even with her lack of experience in sewing up human skin, she managed to close the gash with large, messy stitches.

Now, as they walked down the street together, she fingered the arm of his coat, imagining the bandages and stitching underneath. He had been incredibly fortunate that more damage had not been done. But he didn't seem too concerned, bragging that he would have a scar to match the one she had given him on his other arm.

"I'm sorry we weren't able to catch it alive," she said.

Booker shrugged. "There was no other option at the time. You made the right choice."

"Are you really not going to tell the police?"

He scoffed. "What exactly are the police going to do? It's an animal, not a human. They wouldn't have prosecuted it for the murders of slum folk. They would have shot it. So it's already shot, justice has been served, and now its body has been put to good use. The police would have just sent it to the knacker or something. This way its remains have been donated to science."

Science, indeed. Booker had spent days down in the laboratory, taking the beast apart to examine every piece of it. It had been terribly undernourished, only half the size a full-grown wolf should be. Its state of near-starvation accounted for its desperate search for food throughout Tinkerfall, perhaps even for the Lipstick Woman's death. The bullet Booker had put in its leg the night he and Trinket met was no longer lodged in its flesh. However, while the wound had been sewn up, it had not been properly cared for, which explained the Wolf's persistent limp. Still, the fact that the projectile had been removed and the leg stitched proved that someone had been caring for the animal.

Booker was certain it was his friend.

"Just take it down before it starts to smell," Trinket said as they continued into the center.

"I gutted it, so it shouldn't rot too quickly."

"So what are you going to do with yourself now that there's no wolf to chase?"

He smiled mischievously. "Oh, the adventure has only begun, my dear. The Wolf was just the start."

"Did your examination lead you any closer to this friend of yours?"

The muscles in his arm went taut as he clenched his jaw. "Every clue leads me closer."

She swallowed hard, slightly worried about the determined glint in his eye.

He perked up and flashed her a crooked grin. "Before I forget." He fished through his coat pocket and pulled out a key. "For you."

Taking it, she glanced up at him with one eyebrow raised. "I appreciate this, but you've already given me a key to the house."

"It's not to the house. It's to the laboratory."

The humor fell from her face as she looked down at the key again, seeing it in a new light. "Oh."

"I figured that since you are my assistant and you've proven yourself to be more than capable and trustworthy, I might as well give you access to the laboratory. This way you won't have to come banging on the door when someone's bone is jutting out of their foot."

Though he said it with a grin, she couldn't help but contemplate the true meaning behind this seemingly small gesture. He was trusting her with his life's work. Everything he loved, everything for which he had labored so hard, was summed up in that dark, cold room. And now he was allowing her to be a part of it, to come and go as she pleased. This key meant so much more than access to the laboratory.

It meant access to his life.

He watched her carefully as she closed her hand over the key. "Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled and gave a short nod.

A strange warmth fluttered through her chest. It was like a glowing light that grew brighter the longer she gazed into his intoxicating eyes. The sensation nearly stole her breath away, and she gripped his arm tighter as she bit her lip and swallowed.

The tender moment was quickly shattered when a horrific scream echoed through the air. They both set their attention on a large crowd gathering near an alley up ahead.

"Oh, no," Trinket mumbled.

"Oh, yes," Booker said, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

"Do you think—"

He glanced down at her and raised his eyebrows playfully. "The game continues, my dear."

Pulling her close, he dragged her towards the ruckus, and she could not help but feel a rush of excitement and dread, wondering where this deranged game would take them next.