The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Eleven

 "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.