Chapter Ten
Cricket had stayed with her friend for hours until Anika fell asleep, leaving her to return to the carnival. Though it was closed, Mistress Eliza stood near her palm reading booth, ordering acrobats to improve their routines. Her gaze fell to Cricket as she approached, her lips turning into a thin line. “When I said to rest, I didn’t mean go traipsing around town.” The two acrobats went inside their tent, seeming relieved by the disruption.
“I wouldn’t have been able to rest anyway,” Cricket replied. “Besides, I was supposed to have tea with Bram and his wife today. Since he’s one of the authorities, I went to tell him what happened. I’m going to practice now, though.”
“Tomorrow, you can practice. Today, you rest,” Mistress Eliza said, her voice firm.
“All right,” Cricket relented. She was tired anyway, not enough to sleep, but enough to sit by the fire or in her caravan and not have to focus.
“After this morning, some of the performers are worried the town will think the murder had something to do with the carnival.” Mistress Eliza sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Cricket shook her head. “The carnival wasn’t even here when the murders started, so if they believe that, they are bloody fools.”
The edges of Mistress Eliza’s lips tilted up a fraction, a rare smile coming from the necromancer. “You have a mouth on you when you want to use it.”
“Sometimes.” Cricket cracked a small smile in return. “I do think having the carnival reopen tomorrow is the right decision. It’s an escape for people, whether it’s forgetting about an awful trade, a not-so-great home life, or a way to have a good time. As a child, when the carnival would arrive, it let me escape the life my parents hoped for me instead of what I really wanted.”
“And what kind of life did you want?” Mistress Eliza cocked her head and pressed a hand to her hip.
Cricket remembered those days of twirling in front of the mirror when her parents couldn’t afford dance lessons, so she’d taught herself the best way she could. She would sneak in with Anika to performances at the theater or flip through books that held illustrations and descriptions about the art. “To dance, but mostly to perform at this carnival.”
Mistress Eliza’s face softened. “Tomorrow, you’ll practice, and we’ll see from there. Necromancy is all I know, and with it not wholly there, it feels like a part of me is missing. But if you tell anyone I said that, I’m sending you off somewhere else.”
It was a small confession, yet one she didn’t expect the woman to reveal aloud. “Your secret is safe with me. I’ll pray tonight you’ll get it back.”
“I don’t believe in prayers, but maybe yours will change my mind.” Mistress Eliza turned on her heel and limped into her tent.
Every night before bed, Cricket had continued to say her prayers, whether someone answered or not. But she believed someone was always listening. Tonight, Mistress Eliza would try her necromancy once more. Only, Cricket wouldn’t tell her just yet. During the carriage ride home, the names of the three other victims had repeated over and over inside her head, then she’d thought about how Mistress Eliza had attempted to bring the recently murdered innocent to life. She needed the necromancer to attempt it again since she didn’t know another who could try. But she first needed someone to help her dig up a body.
An arm draped around her shoulders as if that someone had heard her call. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” Zephyr said. “Did everything go all right?”
“It went as well as could be expected. Bram went straight to the authorities, and I stayed with Anika for a while. She’s pregnant and hasn’t been feeling well.” Cricket blew out a breath. “I need to ask something of you, but can I have a drink first?”
“So secretive. I’ll do anything you ask.” He smirked as he fished out the flask from his pocket.
“I believe you’re going to regret that,” Cricket said, relishing the liquor’s warm burn while it traveled down her throat, taking the edge off her frayed nerves. “Now, follow me.” Bringing the flask to her lips for another sip, she led Zephyr past the lake to his practice spot.
“We’re here, and no one is around, so let me know your delicious secret.” Zephyr folded his arms and relaxed against a tree.
Cricket handed him his flask, knowing he would need it after hearing what she wanted. “When night falls, I was wondering if you’d go to the cemetery with me.”
“The cemetery?” He arched a brow. “For pleasure?”
“No!” she hissed. “If I wanted pleasure, it wouldn’t be on top of land with people buried beneath! Bram gave me the victims’ names, and I need you to help me dig up one.”
“My dark imagination can lead me to wicked places sometimes, but that wasn’t quite what I had in mind, Cricket.”
“Come on, please. I want to see if Mistress Eliza can try her necromancy again, to possibly get answers, but I can’t tell her now, or she’ll say no. I have no one else here who will agree, and I can’t dig fast enough alone,” she begged, clasping her hands together even though she hated doing it. Anika would’ve helped her, yet she wouldn’t ask her, not when she was ill and pregnant.
Zephyr drank from his flask as his eyes stayed pinned to hers, dancing with curiosity. “Is it just the one? I don’t think we’d have enough time to dig up all three.”
“Just one teensy corpse,” Cricket said. “I promise I won’t ask you to do another if this fails.”
“I’ll do it, but you owe me.”
Cricket rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to tumble you in exchange.”
“When I bring you pleasure, it won’t be in exchange for something.” He smirked.
“You say it as though it’s happening,” she drawled.
Zephyr chuckled. “I like to be optimistic.”
“I’m glad that’s sorted then.” Cricket sank down on a large rock. The night would descend soon, but she didn’t want to stay here where it was quiet, where she would think about how the body from earlier had looked. But wouldn’t the one they were digging up haunt her just as much, if not more?
Cricket needed another distraction, so she held out her hand and squinted as she studied it. She wanted to see if she could get the first part of her curiosity perfected, to make her skin turn translucent.
“You’re trying too hard,” Zephyr said and pushed off the tree. He sat beside her, and his alluring woodsy scent relaxed her.
“It doesn’t come when I will it, so I need to try harder.”
Zephyr grasped her hand, then interlaced their fingers before holding them up. “Now.”
Cricket’s eyes remained open as she squeezed his hand. And then, something stirred beneath her skin, like moth wings caressing her palms. Her skin became lighter, exposing muscle and blood until they turned translucent, leaving her ivory skeletal system in their wake.
Cricket waited for the scratching sensation to arise, but it stayed at bay. “Look,” she squeaked. “And no flowers.”
“Brilliant.” He grinned, releasing her hand.
As if being covered back up with a blanket, Cricket’s flesh held a peach hue once more. This time, she tried it without Zephyr’s touch. The color of her flesh faded, and the bones shone brightly. The flowers still didn’t claw their way free, and perhaps it was better this way since the night was already descending.
“I think we should start now. I’m not sure how long it will take,” Cricket said. “We need to get shovels.”
Zephyr stood from the rock and helped her to her feet. “We’ll grab some from the tool caravan, then go to the cemetery.”
“Easy enough.” As they trekked back through the woods, the moon took its place amongst the stars. Between the gaps in the trees, the torches’ flames blazed, lighting their way.
Once they neared the tool caravan, laughter floated around them. A smoky aroma brushed her senses as Zephyr went inside to collect the shovels. Nearby, the bonfire crackled, and she spotted Juniper wearing striped trousers with suspenders, her tight red curls free and blowing in the wind. She stood beside Stormy, listening to her talk about something. Juniper grinned, appearing happy, and that brought a smile to Cricket’s face. Beside them, Wilder tackled Autumn to the ground, tickling her sides as she giggled and cursed him at the same time.
“I found them,” Zephyr said, hopping down from the top step. She reached to take a shovel, and he tugged them back. “Let me be a proper gentleman and carry them to our secret rendezvous.”
“You’re so… I can’t think of the word at the moment, but fine,” Cricket grunted. Although she was thankful for his calmness. If she’d attempted to come alone, she would’ve been too anxious, her heart thumping more rapidly than it already was.
After grabbing two lanterns from her caravan, they walked toward the cemetery. Cricket wondered if the victim from earlier had been identified yet. And if so, had her family been notified? She thought about her parents, how they’d left when they believed Cricket was dead. Once the murderer was found, she would search for them, let the burden of death lift from their shoulders. She wished she knew where they were so she could send word that she was alive, that they didn’t have to believe both their children were gone.
Zephyr pushed aside a tree branch and held it for her to slip past. Cricket lit her lantern and raised it to reveal rows and rows of headstones. She stepped before a crumbling one, barely making out the date from centuries ago. Her body trembled as she thought about all the bodies decaying beneath the ground while their headstones stood watch. How her own grave marker might still be resting out here... A scratching sensation rustled within her, burning beneath her flesh. She held her breath, and a hint of a dark dahlia emerged at her wrist.
“So, who is the lucky lady?” Zephyr asked, startling her.
Cricket shot him a glare as her heartbeat lessened, the dahlia tucking back inside her.
“What? I don’t pleasure the dead.” He shifted closer to her and handed her a shovel, his eyes sparking with mischief. “I mean, unless they are revived, that is.”
“Enough of that.” Cricket fought a smile, but he caught it and grinned.
“Did that help you feel better?” His voice grew serious as his hazel eyes pinned to hers.
Cricket slowly nodded, thankful for his distraction and that the dahlia could go away without a rose petal. But once they focused on digging, nothing would distract her from knowing what they would unbury.
“We can start searching. What are the names?” he asked.
“If they are indeed buried here, Phoebe Brown was the last victim before the one today. Georgia Davies and Elanore Jones are the other two—the freshest graves will be near the back. Let’s hurry.” She waved him on, and they quietly began their search.
They held up their lanterns and ventured down separate rows, reading name after name. As she padded across graves, she noticed the dirt on some of them was much harder than it was on others which could pose a problem if it delayed digging.
“I found Phoebe,” Zephyr called, kneeling in front of a headstone on a row in front of hers.
Cricket stepped around a grave and crouched beside Zephyr, running her fingers over the engraved letters and numbers. “This is recent, so it has to be hers.”
“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Zephyr stood and studied the dirt where a bushel of wilted flowers rested. “The earth’s still soft, which is a good sign. Unless snatchers were here first and took the body.”
“Please don’t tease like that,” Cricket said, pushing herself up beside him.
“I wasn’t teasing. If it were thieves, the body should still be here.” Zephyr set his lantern beside the headstone, then struck the earth with his shovel and scooped out the first clump of dirt.
Cricket had heard about snatchers stealing bodies, then selling them to schools that practiced medicine. But as Zephyr said, if it were thieves just being thieves, then they stole for their own gain, and the body would still be there. If Phoebe’s body wasn’t below ground, they would have to wait until the following night to start on another.
Together, they continued to dig, only taking a small break to take a swig of liquor. As the buzz of insects grew louder, she thought the process would never end. Her muscles ached, and her throat was dry. She wanted to retrieve water for the two of them, but they were too close for her to want to stop.
And then, finally, her shovel struck something hard. The coffin . Zephyr shoveled faster, lifting the dirt away until there was enough room to open the wooden box. He pulled the lid back, and the earthy smell around them filled with something putrid.
She covered her nose as she gazed down at the corpse in the lantern’s orange glow. Phoebe was still beautiful, her impossibly pale features not yet decayed, her delicate lips parted in death. But then a beetle crawled free of her collar, its ebony shell shining as it traveled along her chin. She then noticed maggots, not teeth, lay within her mouth, trailing over one another in a happy feast.
Cricket pushed down the bile rising up her throat. “I’ll get Mistress Eliza.”