Page 18 of Her Cruel Dahlias
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.
Chapter Eight
Seeing a dead body wasn’t a new experience for Cricket or one she would shy away from. When she was a child, and the plague had come, dead bodies littered the streets, covered in pustules oozing sickness. Her younger brother had suffered that same fate, his little heart and lungs unable to battle any longer. But she’d never seen a death like this before, one where not only the flesh was sliced but ripped open, exposing organs inside of a bloody, cracked rib cage. The woman’s body had been mutilated, then decorated with dahlias as though her murder were a celebration.
Cricket’s heart pounded, and her lungs tightened while she clenched her rib cage. She didn’t scream or sob like the other woman who’d found this body had done, only stared, time freezing in place as something clawed beneath her flesh.
Even then, when a dark dahlia bloomed from her hand, she couldn’t move. Zephyr noticed, and his fingers remained steady while opening her locket to pull out a dried rose petal.
“You have to part your lips for me,” he whispered as he held the petal in front of her mouth, the rose scent taking away some of the metallic odor from the victim’s blood.
Cricket blinked and opened her mouth, knowing she didn’t have the strength to attempt to reel her curiosity back in and would surely fail if she tried. So she let him slide the petal onto her tongue. As she chewed, the rose flavor consuming her senses, the scratching halted, then, like the sun dipping beneath the horizon, the dahlia hid somewhere back in her bloodstream.
“I was on my way home from an inn.” The dark-haired woman sobbed, stumbling beside Cricket. Zephyr caught the woman’s arm just before she toppled into the grass. She yanked away from his grasp, seeming to not want to be touched. The woman reeked of alcohol, and her eyes were glazed red. She looked as though she’d spent most of the night at a pub, and judging by the smell of her, she’d spent most of that time drinking. Cricket didn’t fault her for it—after this, she might need to drink until she passed out herself.
“Did you see anyone on the road at all?” Zephyr asked.
The woman squinted and rubbed her temple. “Not near here. No.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she looked away from the victim.
Taking a breath, Cricket searched around for any footprints near the slain woman without getting too close but couldn’t see any against the weed-covered ground. She glanced at Zephyr. “I don’t know how long she’s been here, but we need to get the authorities.”
“Can you have someone take a horse into town to get them, then bring Mistress Eliza here to see if she can try her necromancy on the victim?” Zephyr asked. “I don’t want you to have to wait out here with the body, and I can see if maybe this woman missed something before the authorities come.”
Perhaps the victim had seen something, could tell them precisely who had done this horrific misdeed if she could be risen. Cricket prayed that Mistress Eliza’s necromancy would finally work, that she could close up the wounds, make them disappear as if they’d never been there at all, the way she had for Cricket.
“All right,” Cricket said as she stood, relieved he’d asked her to go instead of stay. She hurried through the trees and back toward the field where the caravans were. More performers had gathered around the fire to eat, ignorant of the horrors just beyond their sight, their cheerful music having drowned out the unfortunate passerby’s screams.
“There’s been a murder!” Cricket shouted to them, and the music halted—everyone focused on her. “Near the road. Can someone take a horse into town and get the authorities?”
“I’ll do it,” Wilder said, setting his food bowl beside Autumn.
“Thank you,” Cricket rushed the words out as she hurried to Mistress Eliza’s.
When she reached the necromancer’s caravan, Juniper stood beside her, chatting. Mistress Eliza’s eyes met Cricket’s, and she furrowed her brow. “Why do you look so pale, child? Did the dahlias come again?”
One did, but she wasn’t going to discuss her failed curiosity now. “Another woman has been killed. There, beyond the trees,” Cricket said between panted breaths. “She was left … gutted. And … her body is decorated with dahlias. Wilder is taking a horse to get the authorities, but maybe you can bring her back to life for answers.”
“A body?” Juniper gasped.
“I can certainly try. But no promises,” Mistress Eliza said as she removed the three ruby stones from her pouch. “Is it someone from the carnival?”
Cricket shook her head and motioned them to follow her. “No, it isn’t a performer, and I’ve never seen her before.” She didn’t run as quickly as she would’ve because of Mistress Eliza’s limping, but the woman moved a bit faster than she’d ever seen her, though she winced, struggling to keep up.
“Do you think it was a customer from last night?” Juniper asked.
“It could’ve been, but there were so many faces.”
Cricket’s chest tightened as she remembered her conversation with Bram the night before. How the victims’ hair and eyes matched hers. The body was so close to the carnival, and she knew she had to tell them, even though she would’ve rather kept it bottled up inside so she wasn’t to blame if the killer was doing this because of her.
“I spoke with an old friend last night. Bram is also one of the authorities,” Cricket started. “He told me that the victims of the Dahlia Murders have certain traits in common with me. All of them are young, blonde, and have blue eyes.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean it has anything to do with you,” Juniper pointed out.