Page 12 of Her Cruel Dahlias
As she gazed around, Cricket couldn’t help but search the faces of the crowd, wondering if any of these people were secretly a killer. But the outer layers of a person weren’t where she would find her answer—it was inside them, their thoughts, and she was no mind reader. A few familiar faces caught her eye that she’d seen before in town or back in school, and she turned away, hoping to go unrecognized.
Above the flaming torches, the stars flickered in the sky. For the past couple of days, Cricket had practiced both with Zephyr and alone. Her curiosity hadn’t once appeared, nor had it stirred beneath her flesh. She needed it to come and behave so she could remain with the carnival.
They approached the white and purple striped tent in the center of several black and red ones. Zephyr pushed open the thick fabric of the back entrance, then held it up for Cricket to walk through.
Inside, Juniper knelt beside a fruit basket, riffling through it until she lifted a pear and stood. She wore a black leather bodice and a matching skirt flecked in silver beads that exposed her skin well enough so her curiosity could be seen thoroughly. Biting into the fruit, Juniper wiped her other hand across the perspiration dotting her brow.
“I just finished. You’re almost up.” Juniper smiled. Not a single speck of blood lingered on her freckled skin from her performance.
“Where’s the chair?” Zephyr asked as he tilted a board back in the corner.
“Autumn needed to use it, but I told her to leave it there once she’s finished.” Juniper shrugged.
Cricket glanced behind the velvet curtain at the stage, watching Autumn stand on a wooden chair, lifting one leg behind her until her foot rested atop her head. She then brought her leg back down and stepped inside a small clear box. Blowing a kiss to the audience, she bent backward and peered through the glass at the crowd as piano music played.
Above Autumn, two female acrobats, wearing deep purple tutus and onyx masks, swung across the stage, hanging from the metal rod by their legs. Cullen, an older man with white powder on his face and black diamonds painted over his eyes, pretended as if an imaginary rope was pulling him across the stage before placing the glass lid over Autumn’s box. He sat atop it, tapping his chin in playful boredom while Autumn feigned a huff.
The crowd’s boisterous laughs echoed in the tent at the act, and Cricket stepped back. She needed the performance to go well for Zephyr—all she needed was for the black dahlias to remain at bay. The rest would be simple. And if everything went well, she wouldn’t receive another reprimand from Mistress Eliza.
Even though she’d partially blamed Zephyr for her attendance at the carnival over the years, she would never want to ruin his wondrous performances. Part of her old self was creeping out, the piece that would’ve been ecstatic to align herself with him in an act.
Zephyr adjusted his collar and took three swords from Juniper.
“No rings tonight?” Cricket asked, her gaze roaming across the shiny jeweled blades.
“Nope.” He grinned. “Tomorrow I’ll practice the swords around you.”
“As long as one doesn’t slice me, I won’t have to return the favor. And with that favor, I’ll choose where precisely,” she drawled.
“I like this side of you, Cricket.” He smirked just as the audience cheered. Her heart lurched at how her name rolled off his tongue, but she became distracted when the performers stepped off the stage.
Autumn sauntered by last, running her palm across Zephyr’s abdomen. “Good luck,” she said to him, then glanced at Cricket with a smile. “You too.”
Cricket’s frown left her face, replaced by surprise. Zephyr didn’t lose focus as his hand pressed against Cricket’s back. “Ready?” he asked when the piano began a new song.
Her stomach coiled tight, but she nodded, letting him lead her onto the stage to the wooden chair resting in the middle, waiting for her. Black lacy fabric hung around them like gossamer, and beds of nails lined the back of the stage. Same as in their practices, Cricket sat while Zephyr stood behind her. Her gaze roamed the silent audience, their expectant gazes. No face mirrored Clancy’s, and as for everyone else, she couldn’t see behind their expressions. Sweat gathered on her palms, her upper lip, the back of her neck.
As a violin accompanied the piano with a slow and deep melody, Zephyr’s hand fell to Cricket’s clavicle. He’d told her what he would do, but they hadn’t practiced this part because he said it should be natural, like a first kiss. His callused fingertips sensually trailed up her throat, lifting her chin until her eyes connected with his. Her heart beat faster, but not with fear, as something warm stirred within her chest, dipping lower.
He winked, signaling her next step. Cricket slipped a leaf out from the front of her one-piece and placed it between his lips, lingering for a moment, feeling the fullness of them against her digits. A few whistles came from the audience, and she caught the twitch of Zephyr’s mouth. She held back from rolling her eyes as his vines grew from beneath his flesh, her heart slamming against her rib cage.
Cricket remembered his words during practice. “I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he whispered. “If you want me to stop, just say my name, and I will.”
The vines curved around her, groaning, creating a barrier as they drew closer. Zephyr released her chin, stepping back and allowing the vines to fold around her. Their texture wasn’t rough as expected but soft like silk, surprising her when they cradled her in a way that felt like they were caressing her. She didn’t study any of the audience’s faces again yet instead looked toward the back of the room to tamp down the fear that her dahlias would break free. That the audience would scream in fear.
Zephyr’s vines lifted her from the chair, and even though she hadn’t practiced the next part, she was prepared from his words. Cricket gasped, pretending to be frightened, as she clamped onto him briefly. His vines tossed her up into the air, and a thrilling rush barreled through her stomach when she fell, but he easily caught her. The vines tilted upward, and she rolled down them straight into Zephyr’s warm, awaiting arms. A scratching sensation came beneath her skin, and her eyes grew wide—she couldn’t force the smile she was supposed to have. So instead, she pulled Zephyr’s face to hers and kissed him on his cheek, distracting her.
The scratching within her halted, her shoulders relaxing as she drew back.
Zephyr smiled at her and whispered, “Kiss me anytime you want.” He set her on her feet, winking at her once more. “I’ll see you in a moment.”
Cheeks heating, Cricket twirled across the stage to her exit, the closest to dancing she would get for now. The audience clapped, and a sense of home flowed through her as she reached Juniper.
“You did it!” Juniper chirped with a big smile before handing her a canteen.
The scratching didn’t stir again, and now that she was off stage, Cricket wished it would, just to see if roses would blossom. “I need to do it with my curiosity though.” Taking a swig of the water, she watched as Zephyr effortlessly juggled the swords. She couldn’t juggle one ring by herself without it hitting her in the face, let alone swords.
Juniper pressed a hand to Cricket’s shoulder. “You’ll get it, I promise. An almost skeleton that blooms roses, who twirls like you just did, will be a beautiful performance indeed.”