Chapter Seven
Cricket woke with a yawn, and when she sat up, a slight headache pulsed above her right eye. Once she and Bram parted ways, Cricket wasn’t able to sleep well after hearing more about the murders, that the victims hadn’t only been left with dahlias the way she had, but their bodies held common characteristic traits. So she’d tossed and turned, polished off her whiskey, and when she did manage to find sleep, she was consumed by nightmares filled with women, their bloody chests sliced open, black dahlias blooming from their eyes and mouths.
Shaking away the images, she threw back the covers. Her hair and nightgown were damp with sweat. She peeled the cotton fabric from her body before fumbling through her small wardrobe. Most of the clothing consisted of performance costumes and about ten pretty dresses she’d purchased in the previous town after waking. Mistress Eliza had given her payment when she’d woken for performing as the Sleeping Darling, but Cricket had almost used up all the coin. Not having time to bathe until she returned, she chose a deep blue dress with a high collar and pearl buttons down the front of the bodice. The simplest of the dresses so as not to appear as though she was there to impress Bram.
Cricket slipped on the comfortable fabric and fastened the front. She studied her reflection in the vanity mirror, not knowing what to do with her hair. The curls had fallen out, leaving a tangled bird’s nest. She combed out the golden locks and quickly plaited her hair but decided to forgo the rouge to her cheeks and gloss to her lips.
Bram’s manor wasn’t far from the carnival, so she wouldn’t bother asking Mistress Eliza if someone could take her or if she could borrow a horse.
As Cricket slipped on her boots, a knock came at the door. She tucked the knife Bram had given her into the lacy black garter around her thigh.
Zephyr stood outside, his leather bag draped over one bare shoulder as the sun cast a warm glow on his broad tan chest and handsome face. A lazy smile spread across his lips, the neutral expression from last night no longer there. “You’re not dressed for practice,” Zephyr drawled. “You’re dressed as though you’re going to afternoon tea somewhere.”
Cricket couldn’t help but smile. “That’s because I am going for tea. Or morning tea with an old friend. I was going to tell you I won’t be able to practice until later.”
“Oh?” He arched a brow. “Would this friend be the same rigid man who was here last night?”
She rolled her eyes and collected her satchel from beside the door. “Yes, he will be there, amongst others. And he isn’t rigid.”
“He doesn’t seem suited for you in the least.” She could’ve sworn she’d heard a hint of jealousy in his voice.
Cricket blinked as she stepped into the morning light and shut the door behind her. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were a fortune teller.” She placed her hands on her hips. “And just who do you predict to be my perfect match?”
Zephyr pressed his hand to the caravan so he was partly caging her as he leaned in. His intoxicating woodsy scent enveloped her, and a part of her wished he would put his other hand up, caging her in completely.
“Someone who can easily match your hidden wildness, make those pretty lips of yours part in pleasure,” he purred, his pupils dilated. And then he did what she wanted—lifted that other hand to fully cage her in.
Cricket swallowed, her gaze shifting away from his as warmth spread through her. Pushing away whatever this was, she forced herself to duck down and out of his cage. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Bram and I are no longer together. He courted me before I…” She trailed off, the words trapped in her throat. And she was glad for it because she didn’t know why she admitted the part about him courting her before aloud.
Zephyr’s face softened as he finished what she’d intended to say. “Before you died. And he’s with someone else now? That’s why you came back to the carnival seeming different, melancholic, after visiting Nobel. Why you never spoke of him or anyone. Why you avoided the performers.”
She remembered when she’d seen Anika and Bram together last. How he’d so easily come into the room, staring at Anika as though she was the force to his heartbeat before he’d discovered Cricket was there at all. The things he’d admitted about Anika last night, the things she secretly wished someone would say about her one day.
“He’s now married to my closest friend.” She shrugged as if she had poured herself a cup of tea and had given it to her friend instead of drinking it. “They are a good match, and I’m happy for them. But sometimes…”
“You wonder what might have been,” he finished for her.
Cricket slowly drew in a breath and nodded. “Yes, this past month, I did that more times than I’d like to admit. But it’s been different recently, especially after the chat with him last night. If I were to think about it at this very moment, I see that if we had one day married, it would’ve led to regret. Performing and traveling are things I always wanted to pursue. Even though I’ve come to terms with Bram and Anika being married, I must admit I’m still nervous about seeing them together today while I’m alone. If only I could get these blasted nerves to go away.”
Zephyr stepped toward Cricket and lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his again. “If you wish, I can help ease your nervousness. Whether you want me to make you come quick or drag out the pleasure, I promise it will relax you.”
At that moment, she wondered what it would feel like to have those callused fingers of his hike up her dress, then trail them up her bare thighs to touch her— “I think I’d rather sleep in a bed of snakes.” But it didn’t come out as haughty as she would’ve liked.
He smirked. “Oh, we can make that happen while I spread your—”
“Just stop talking,” she cut him off, flames licking their way through her and into her cheeks. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to pull him closer or shove him away with how frequently she blushed when around him. “Anyway, Bram is with the authorities working on finding the Dahlia Killer. It for certain isn’t Clancy miraculously brought back to life.”
Zephyr cocked his head and studied her face. “You’re not going to meet him only for tea, are you? You’re going to discover more, so you can search too.”
“No,” she drawled, and even though it was only a single short word, she could hear the lie in her voice.
The playfulness disappeared from his face, and sincerity shone in his light hazel eyes. “You don’t have to bottle this up inside. You can talk to me.”
For the past month, since leaving Nobel for good, Cricket had felt like she had no one, even though the performers had been kind and attempted to talk to her. But it was her fault—she’d been too focused on the past, on having her curiosity come out. She wasn’t the only one who’d faced death at Mistress Eliza’s Carnival. Zephyr had been through a murder too—all the performers had, yet he was the one here now, and she desperately needed to confide in someone. Not only that, but each time she’d sprouted the black dahlias, he’d been the one to help save her by bringing her to Mistress Eliza.
“All right,” she said, motioning for him to follow her away from the caravans and toward the road. They passed a small crackling fire where Wilder was skinning the fur from a rabbit beside Autumn while two of the strong men roasted meat. Arthur took out a flute and began to play a slow melody.
Once they broke away from their homes, Cricket continued, “Last night, Bram told me that not only were the victims being murdered and left with dahlias, but they are all young women with blonde hair and blue eyes. Like me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, maybe. But since it’s not Clancy, there are several directions the reasoning could go into. However, I don’t know precisely what it could be.”
Zephyr rubbed the back of his neck. “With Clancy, you were the only one and random at that. With these, coincidence doesn’t seem right, especially since there have been multiple murders all using the dahlias. Perhaps the killer just so happens to like blondes. I know I do.”
“Zephyr!” Cricket hissed and shoved his arm.
“Just trying to lighten the mood while we think about the gory details,” Zephyr said, brushing the crease between her eyebrows away with the pad of his thumb. “Whoever is doing this will be found, same as Clancy was. I find it rather pitiful that someone is mimicking a murder instead of at least being original.” He held up his hands and stepped away just as she tried to shove him again. “I’m not saying I agree with murders, but don’t use what someone’s done before, is all.”
She sighed. What he said did make sense, yet she wouldn’t admit that aloud. “My rib cage was still intact—these victims’ aren’t. I suppose by breaking open their rib cages and placing a dahlia over their heart, he’s adding his own paltry flair.”
“Paltry indeed.”
“I think this would’ve been easier if it had been Clancy. He wasn’t the brightest, but perhaps I’m not either if I didn’t notice him sneaking up behind me.” None of this seemed real to her because she didn’t even know the women’s names. It was something she should’ve asked Bram the night before, but she would when she met up with him at his manor. She supposed her death might not have seemed real to most of Nobel since they hadn’t known her. Cricket stopped and stared at the sun high up in the sky as anxiousness crawled through her.
Zephyr stood beside her, gazing up with her. “Hmm, the sun doesn’t seem to be one for offering us much advice. What do you say, Sun? Can you let lovely Cricket know who this bastard is?”
She looked at him and shook her head. “Thank you for having a semi-proper discussion about things with me. I better get going, but maybe we can talk more about this when I get back?” Bram hadn’t given her a precise time to meet with him and Anika, yet she didn’t want to arrive too late.
“Of course, I—”
A shrill scream pierced the air. Cricket’s heart thundered in her chest as she froze, unable to move. Zephyr grabbed Cricket by the waist and pulled her behind him.
“Stay here,” he whispered before taking off toward the road.
Cricket wasn’t going to remain there and do nothing—she pulled herself from her staring spell, then hiked up the skirts of her dress to fish out her blade. Clutching the knife, she darted through the grass, skirting around a few trees until she caught up with Zephyr.
“I told you to wait back there,” he said between clenched teeth.
“You don’t even have a weapon on you!” she whisper-shouted.
“I carry leaves in my pocket.”
Cricket hadn’t thought about how easy it would be for him to place a leaf into his mouth and let his vines slip out to shred someone apart. Out of everyone’s curiosity at the carnival, he could be the most powerful, the most dangerous, and she’d never thought of it that way until now.
Frantic cries echoed across the morning haze as they broke through the trees beside the dirt road. A woman with dark hair plaited over her shoulder stood in the middle of the road, cupping her mouth as her body trembled.
“Miss, are you all right?” Cricket asked, knowing it was a ridiculous question when the woman had just been screaming.
“No. Over there,” she stuttered, pointing toward the trees across the road before she released a choked sob.
Zephyr didn’t hesitate as he pressed a leaf onto his tongue and walked to the road’s edge. He halted just where the grass dipped down.
Cricket hurried to his side, and she gripped the knife harder when she discovered what rested in the swale.
A limp body, with arms and legs sprawled at unnatural angles. Blood rested beneath the still form, matting the woman’s golden hair, coloring the shallow pools of water crimson. Nausea churned in Cricket’s stomach when she peered at the two black dahlias over the victim’s eyes, the next peeking out between her blue lips. As her gaze swept down the shredded silk dress to the torn-open rib cage, dahlias also rested inside, twisted in a macabre fashion and drenched in scarlet. Two more lay in the woman’s dead hands. Cricket’s gaze flicked back up to the ones covering the victim’s eyes, and she knew that sky-blue irises would be hidden beneath, even without lifting away the dahlias.
The same blue as the other victims. Just the same as hers.