The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

 As soon as Trinket told Daphne of Booker's recovery, she immediately brought up soup and her meticulous mothering nature. Booker looked at Trinket questioningly as Daphne checked his pulse and temperature. However, he didn't say a word until she left them both alone with the soup.

"She's doing well," he said as Trinket settled back onto the stool by his bed.

"Daphne? Yes, she's amazing," she said, taking up her own bowl of soup after making certain Booker had a firm grip on his.

"Daphne? Oh, Lord, you've named her?"

"It's your silly rule. Patients must have names. Even if it's not their actual name." She swallowed a spoonful of soup. "Oh, and I hired her."

Booker nearly choked on his food. "Pardon?"

"I hired her."

Wiping his mouth, he cleared his throat before asking, "Why the devil did you hire her?"

"Because with her new additions, it will be impossible for her to start fresh elsewhere. Your portable aquariums are not as easy to hide as a mechanical arm or hearing piece."

A playful smile tugged at his lips. "Portable aquariums?"

"And besides that, she's incredibly handy around the kitchen." She motioned to the bowl of soup in his hands. "She's an excellent cook. And she isn't fazed by any of the chaotic goings-on that we throw ourselves into. Look how readily she agreed to have your devices attached to her. And she didn't even hesitate to start taking care of you when I found you semi-conscious and spewing up who-knows-what."

Booker let out a sigh. "Very well. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep her close considering she's the only person we've come across who has actually seen Benedict. Perhaps she can help us find him."

"Precisely."

They continued to eat in silence, the clinking of their spoons against the bowls mixing with the crackling and popping of the fire. After a moment, Booker snuck a glance at Trinket. "But I hope this doesn't mean you won't be making me tea anymore."

She arched an eyebrow. "She makes fine tea."

"Yes, but I've become quite accustomed to your tea, and I'm not too keen on changing that."

She smiled despite herself. "Of course. I view making your tea as part of my duties as your assistant."

He returned the smile and took another spoonful of soup. "Excellent. So, tell me, have you been able to ferret any more information out of this Daphne?"

"Only that she's not a night flower. I tried to find out where she came from, but she was reluctant to tell me, never mind how difficult it is for her to communicate."

"You seem to have a rather good grip on it. I myself can't figure out what she's trying to convey."

"She's very expressive, so that makes it easier. But there are some things that you just need words to say."

"Does she write?"

Trinket recalled Daphne's written instructions regarding the mint. "Yes, she does."

"Maybe we can get her to write down what she remembers of her time spent with Benedict."

"It's worth a try."

When they had finished eating, they called Daphne up to question her right away. She sat at Booker's writing desk with him and Trinket watching over her shoulder. Booker leaned against Trinket for support, and as she held him close about the waist, she could feel that he was trembling.