Chapter Four
As Cricket drew closer to her caravan, several performers lingered in the open, waiting for the carnival to continue their journey while the damaged wagon wheel was being replaced. Stormy and Louise bickered about something, their words too low for Cricket to hear, but their scowling expressions were more than telling that they were annoyed with one another.
Mistress Eliza stood near Cricket’s caravan, her back turned, barking orders to two of the strong men. The beads of the necromancer’s bracelets clanked together on her arms as she motioned at them to hurry. Cricket silently approached, hoping to sneak back into her caravan without being noticed. But Mistress Eliza glanced over her shoulder, her brow arched as she met Cricket’s gaze.
“I suppose you decided to return, did you? Two of the performers caught you running away,” Mistress Eliza huffed, placing her hands on her hips while turning from the two men and limping toward her. “How was your temporary leave?”
Cricket held her head high and inched toward the woman, sarcasm lacing her tone as she spoke, “It was fine. I got a good look at the lovely scenery, but I’m back. I didn’t like it as much as I thought.”
“Will you be running off again?” Mistress Eliza cooed. “Or will you be focusing on honing your curiosity? The carnival doesn’t need fickle people who aren’t dedicated.”
Cricket didn’t fault Mistress Eliza for her reprimand. If she were in charge of a carnival, she would want performers who put their entire hearts into their craft and not give up when they believed they couldn’t handle a situation.
“That even includes ones with wondrous potential,” Mistress Eliza added, her lips tilting up at the edges.
Cricket blinked. Wondrous? The necromancer believed she had that sort of potential? Even though part of her still wanted to flee, she knew wherever she went, her curiosity would be attached to her regardless. And so she needed to try harder, do it for herself. “I’m here to focus.”
Mistress Eliza gave a curt nod. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to use your necromancy again?” She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to have had such an ability and lose it.
Mistress Eliza blew out a breath. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I haven’t even been able to raise a single animal, which used to be a simple task. As a child, I was told to raise the loved ones of the wealthy, but as I gained independence, I did things my way. I only bring back those I see in my visions, those who call to me. However, over the past year, after Ingrid died, there have been no calls when there should’ve been. Now, even when I can feel the life waiting to be reawakened within the dead, my efforts are useless. Unfortunate decisions will have to be made to keep this carnival going. It’s infuriating, yet for now, we’ll make do.”
Ingrid had been the carnival’s longest performer who’d passed away while Cricket was dormant as the Sleeping Darling, but several others were also aging, tiring more easily.
Mistress Eliza met Cricket’s gaze, and for the first time, pity shone on the woman’s face. “There’s something else.”
“What is it?”
“Something harrowing has been happening in Nobel, and I hope you don’t run away again once you hear it.”
Cricket faced death itself before, so she promised herself she would face whatever came her way. “If it’s a sickness spreading, I’m not worried about that.” Yet she couldn’t help but think about her little brother’s death from the plague. How boils had covered his frail body, his lungs barely pumping.
Mistress Eliza sighed, shaking her head. “No, nothing of that sort. But a little after you left my home last night, Stormy informed me how she’d overheard a group of visitors discussing a recent murder that happened in Nobel. Not only one but three similar cases in the past couple of weeks.”
Cricket furrowed her brow. “There’s always a murder here and there in the busier part of the city, more so on the poorer side.” Before she could think about Clancy’s gloved hands squeezing her throat, she shoved that damning day back into the depths of her mind.
“Unfortunately, that’s true.” Mistress Eliza tapped her chin and looked behind her at the performers milling about. She met her eyes once more, then whispered, “But not murders like yours.”
Cricket froze, taking a deep swallow as her heart struck against her sternum. “What do you mean?”
“Three women have been found dead. All left decorated with black dahlias.” Mistress Eliza held Cricket’s gaze, the necromancer’s grip firm on her shoulder, as the world went cold.
Cricket held back a gasp and dug her nails into her palms. “Clancy’s dead. He was hung.”
“Is he?” Mistress Eliza asked. “You were dead once. What if another necromancer came out of hiding?”
Her words were like a knife to the heart. Had someone brought Clancy back to life? Or was it someone else imitating him? But why would they do that? “I don’t understand. It seems awfully strange. In this case, I’m certain that someone in Nobel would’ve dug up Clancy’s grave to see if his body was still buried.” Unless another body was placed down there to appear like it was his… No, it had to be someone else.
“I’m sorry, child. I should’ve told you before we left, but you were already frightened of the dahlias your curiosity brought forth. If this changes your mind about continuing, I need to know now. I understand if it would.”
Three murders with dahlias left in their wake. It most likely was someone imitating what Clancy had done, but why? If it had been within the past couple of weeks, it had started sometime after she’d been to Nobel. Word had to have spread that she was alive after she’d visited a pub and a couple of shops where she’d been recognized. Bram would’ve also told the other authorities since he’d joined law enforcement as soon as he was old enough. But why would that make someone want to start imitating murders? It didn’t make sense, and she believed Bram would have the situation handled as he had when uncovering that Clancy murdered her. She wouldn’t hide from her problems again. It would be cowardly for her to run and just as cowardly for her not to find out more. “I’m staying.”
“I’ll take your word for it then. And I’ll send Wilder to the authorities once we arrive to find out if Clancy’s grave has been checked.” Mistress Eliza patted her arm, the most comforting she’d ever been toward her, before leaving her alone.
Cricket leaned against the caravan and stared up at the gray sky, the bloated clouds, just as they’d appeared when she’d been walking home the day she was murdered. She thought about the dahlias from the night before, the scratching, but she couldn’t feel her curiosity inside her now.
A tall shadow slipped around her caravan, and her gaze fell on Zephyr. He didn’t say a word as he rested beside her against the caravan, a hint of his woodsy scent brushing her nose. He wore a white shirt with several buttons unfastened and a black vest over it. The usual dark collar hugged his neck.
As she studied his sculpted face, she was glad for the distraction from what Mistress Eliza had told her. But then her mind turned into another dark direction—Juniper and Zephyr being murdered as children, how they’d come to the carnival together. A bright side to the darkness was that they’d at least had one another.
“You look like you could use something,” Zephyr said, pressing his head to the caravan as he peered at her.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m keeping my clothing on, thank you very much.”
“Now that’s a damn shame. A nightgown is easy to remove,” he purred.
“Zephyr.” She glared but couldn’t control the corners of her lips from curling up a fraction or wondering what it would feel like to have his hands slide up her body while peeling away the one layer. No , she scolded herself.
“I was only teasing. Maybe .” He nudged her with his shoulder and drew out a silver flask from his trouser pocket. “I meant this. Here.”
Cricket stared at the flask momentarily, then took it from him, needing whatever was in it. She didn’t care as she tossed the liquid back, perhaps a bit too much, and a rack of coughs barreled through her.
“Easy now.” Zephyr chuckled, reaching for the flask and taking a long sip.
She laughed once she stopped coughing. “You could’ve warned me it was strong.”
“I didn’t know you planned to suck it almost dry in one swig. It’s a special liquor I make.” He grinned, taking another sip before handing it back to her.
“I might die tomorrow then,” Cricket teased and drank another swig—this time, the liquid went down smoothly. She hated to admit it, but the liquor was one of the best she’d had, and the anxious feeling that had pulsed in her veins was now soothed for the time being. Her gaze lifted to his collar, and she boldly brushed a finger against the leather, not knowing if it was the liquor making her do something so foolish. “Why do you always wear this?”
“Nosey little thing today, aren’t you?” He bit his lip and smiled. “If you’re wondering if my head falls off when I remove it, I promise it doesn’t.”
“Now, that would be a terrifying sight,” she said, amused.
“Wilder does it every performance, so nothing special.” Zephyr chuckled, his hazel irises dancing playfully. “Anyway, did you hear the news from Mistress Eliza? I suppose that’s why you were in such a lovely mood.”
Cricket’s stomach sank, and she slowly nodded. “I suppose it’s hard not to be. She told me about the murders.”
He arched a brow. “What murders?”
“Oh, the news must’ve not made it your way yet. There have been three recent murders in Nobel, and the victims were all left with dahlias. Like I was.” Her voice remained steady, yet inside, she was anything but.
“Didn’t they hang that bastard?”
She blew out a breath. “They did. I don’t know what’s happening.” If it was Clancy who had risen from the dead, she would make sure to send him back to that state. Anger pulsed in her veins, and she needed to concentrate on something else for now. “So what’s the news then?”
Zephyr smiled wide. A smile that she hated to admit lit up his handsome face. “Mistress Eliza said you’re to practice a routine with me, regardless if you can get your curiosity to come out and play.”
Cricket’s heart hammered in her chest, her eyes like saucers. “You’re jesting.”
“Afraid not.” His smile somehow grew even more as if he took pleasure in seeing her bewildered. “Meet me when we arrive in Nobel and be prepared to practice. I’m not going easy on you.” With that, he sauntered away, leaving her scowling at his back.
Cricket spent the remainder of the journey reading an adventurous story and was nearly to the last page when they arrived. She closed the book and took a brush from the vanity drawer to run through her tangled hair.
Soon the carnival would begin setting up in the same place where it always was—in a field near the cemetery. The cemetery where Cricket was once buried... A shiver crawled up her spine at the thought, and she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled to focus on the pain in her mouth instead of lingering in her mind.
The first performance wasn’t for three days, but she and Zephyr still had to practice as much as possible. She knew she could learn the routine—she’d always been blessed at quickly remembering dances she’d created.
A knock came at the door, and she stopped brushing her hair to answer it. As though being summoned by her thoughts, Zephyr stood there, an eyebrow raised. “You were supposed to meet me, remember ?” he purred.
“We literally just arrived. I still haven’t set up my things.” Which was practically nothing, and Zephyr knew it too as he peered inside at the lack of boxes.
“Mmm, I believe a ghost has more possessions than you.”
“And you would know how? Have you seen a ghost before?”
“Quite possibly.” He chuckled, luring her forward with a finger. “Now, follow me.”
Cricket grunted but walked beside him as they trekked toward the wooded area. The horses had mostly been untacked and led to the lake to drink. From another caravan, the strong men were unloading the poles for the tents.
She and Zephyr ventured through the brush and passed several bushes blooming red and blue berries. The sparkling lake came into view, the sun reflecting off its rippling surface. A few performers filled up their canteens beside the horses as they drank. Zephyr didn’t stop there—he led her farther away to an area with a few boulders and enough space for the two of them to practice.
“Looks like we have this spot to ourselves.” Zephyr waggled his brows, taking his large satchel from his body. “I knew you probably wanted to be away from everyone, so I picked this place for us.” She shouldn’t have been surprised he would know this about her.
Zephyr knelt beside his satchel and fished out five silver juggling rings. He then brought out a couple of cloths and polished them.
“You really like performing?” Cricket asked, crouching beside him and taking a ring and a cloth from the ground to help.
“I do, but it wasn’t something I’d dreamt about.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know how to juggle before joining the carnival. At first, I would just stand on stage and let the vines snake out. It was pitiful, really.”
“Not pitiful at all. Your vines are extraordinary, regardless if you were to stand as still as a statue,” she said softly, peering down at her hands as she remembered this was where she’d seen him perform on the day she died. That murders like hers were happening again.
“A compliment from you? I’ll take it.” He chuckled, and when she didn’t glance back up, he lifted her chin so their eyes met. “What is it?”
She swallowed, not having the strength to pull away from his gentle touch. “It’s just … we’re back in the town where I died.”
He let out a breath and nodded slowly as he released her chin to run the fabric across a ring. “I understand. We were just in Sorel. It was where I was murdered. You can talk to me about anything—I won’t judge.” He returned to polishing his rings, waiting for her to speak.
Juniper had told Cricket about her and Zephyr’s deaths, but she hadn’t confessed that they’d been in the same city where they were murdered. Perhaps she’d wanted to pretend she wasn’t, just as Cricket wished to do so now. “Last night, Juniper told me what happened. To her, to you… I’m so sorry, Zephyr.”
Zephyr stopped his meticulous movements with the fabric. “She told you?”
“She did. I hope you’re not angry with me for mentioning it.” Cricket had never been the best at keeping secrets, only with Anika. There had been so many between each other over the years, and she would continue to hold them even now.
“No, I’m not—just surprised, is all. Juniper doesn’t talk about what happened to us to anyone. But again, neither do I.”
Even though everyone at the carnival knew about her death, because of her unusual circumstance of not waking right away, she’d never discussed it with any of the performers, only Mistress Eliza on one occasion.
Zephyr’s serious expression became playful once more. “Are you ready to get close to me and practice?”
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose… What do you want me to do?”
“Spin for me.”
“Simple enough.” Cricket pushed up from the ground and brushed the dirt from her trousers before turning in a slow circle. Zephyr cocked his head at her, clearly unimpressed.
“I think you can do better than that pitiful spin.” He smirked. “A little birdy told me you were a dancer before.”
The only person it could’ve been was Mistress Eliza, and she wished the woman wouldn’t have. “Yes, but that was before...” Cricket thought about the days of practicing in her bedroom, dreaming of joining a stage at the carnival, moving like flowers drifting in a breeze.
Zephyr stood in front of her, his tall frame hovering above her as he placed a hand around her waist and drew her close, his warm breath mingling with hers. “And this is now. Spin, but remember how you felt about dancing then. Bring the passion into your performance.”
Cricket blew out a shaky breath, avoiding looking at Zephyr when he stepped away from her, his fingers leaving her waist. She brought one leg back and lifted an arm toward the sky. Then she spun, as he’d asked, pretending as if a piano was playing, the ivory keys being pressed harder, faster, the song chaotic, creating a wonderful frenzy.
Zephyr raised his rings and tossed them high above him, catching one after another. He plucked a leaf from a tree and placed it between his lips. She flicked her gaze away from his pouty lips to twirl. Thick green vines slipped out from his arms, and they grasped his rings, continuing to do what his hands had been.
She paused, arching her back as she stretched. Farther away, shriveled flowers caught her attention—thoughts of death swirled in her mind. Scratching stirred beneath her skin, and clawing broke through her veins. She stilled, unable to move or scream. Zephyr didn’t seem to notice as he continued with the rings.
Cricket finally willed herself to move, telling herself the roses would come out when her skin became translucent, the bones peeking through. She spun slowly, building faster, ignoring the perspiration dripping down her neck. Her muscles prickled, the clawing burning, black dots freckling her pale skin. Not a single red spot in their wake. She tripped, falling to the hard ground after two dark dahlias bloomed.
Zephyr’s silver rings dropped to the dirt, and he cursed as he came to her side. “Focus on your curiosity. Rein them back in and think of crimson.”
The foliage spun around her, even though she was no longer moving on her legs. She remembered the dried rose petals and brushed the locket at her throat, to place one into her mouth.
Cricket’s numb fingers fumbled to open it, and her eyes fluttered. As Zephyr scooped her into his arms, everything turned black.
Like death.