Page 3 of Her Cruel Dahlias

Cricket jolted and a rack of coughs barreled through her as if she hadn’t breathed in days. She drank in the cool air, finally able to peel her eyes open to the night sky above her, its stars twinkling like diamonds.

“Oh my! You’re awake!” a young woman gasped, her tight red curls spilling down to her waist. Cricket squinted, unsure if she was imagining this performer from the carnival. One she’d seen over the years. Juniper. “Mistress Eliza,” she shouted. “Cricket’s awake!”

How did she know her name? Cricket’s limbs were heavy and she couldn’t gather the energy to push herself up.

“I was just about to have Zephyr carry you to bed,” Juniper said with a warm smile.

Zephyr? To bed? What in all the stars above was happening here? Her head swam, dizzy as she attempted to recall where she’d been before this. Had she been drinking at the pub with Anika?

“The Sleeping Darling’s awake? It’s about damn time,” a deep voice drawled, then a face with a strong jaw and chiseled cheeks stood above her, holding a lantern. Zephyr… This close, he was just as enchanting as he was on the stage. The kohl lining his eyes, the dark collar circling his throat, his chest bare. Bram, she thought. Focus on him. To look and not touch was perfectly acceptable—she would swear that to the grave.

A small crowd gathered near her, and another woman broke through it, limping toward her. Cricket’s pulse accelerated as she attempted to push herself up, to get away from this strange situation. Half of the woman’s face was covered in shadow, and the other half was lit by the orange glow of a lantern, exposing deep lines around her brown eyes and wide mouth.

“Give her a moment,” Zephyr said as he spoke to the small crowd, his voice calm. “Go to your caravans for now. She needs space.” The crowd backed away when Juniper pressed a hand to Cricket’s back and helped her sit up. She was in a wooden box with only a black velvet pillow and blanket. Dark hair swung forward and she tugged on the locks, drawing off a wig. She frowned at it and her heart pounded faster. What had they done to her?

“I’m Mistress Eliza. It’s all right,” the woman said.

As if someone shook her to recollect her memories, they returned to Cricket in a rush. Her walking home, being attacked by Clancy … his strong hands strangling her, the blade slicing through her chest, the dahlias drifting down over her eyes as she lay dying. But no pain lingered, and if anything, she should be dead. “Why am I at the carnival? Why am I in a box and wearing a wig?” Cricket asked, her voice shaky.

“We have much to discuss,” Mistress Eliza answered softly. “You’ve missed out on quite a few things since I saved you.” As the lantern caught more of her face, she found the woman to be perhaps the age that Cricket’s grandparents would’ve been if they were still alive. Two graying plaits hung past her shoulders, and a violet cloak hugged her curvy form. She pointed to the two performers as Cricket shivered. “This is Zephyr and Juniper. They work here at my carnival. I’m a necromancer.”

Cricket swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing precisely what direction this was now taking. “You’re the one who gives the performers a home after bringing them back from the dead. It’s not a story, but real, and that means...”

She had died, truly died. Yet her heart beat beneath her rib cage and pounded in her ears as if it had never once stopped at all.

Mistress Eliza nodded, her expression grim. “My necromancy called to you a little over a year ago after your death. We found your body near the woods, but it didn’t go as planned when I attempted to revive you. You didn’t rouse right away, and I thought you wouldn’t, yet days later, after you were buried, I felt your pulse thrum to life. Even when we dug your body from the earth, you didn't awaken. You have been in a deep slumber, and I wasn’t sure if you would ever wake, so for the time being, you’ve been here at my carnival as the Sleeping Darling.”

“A year? I was dead and then slept for a year?” Cricket gasped, holding up her hand, inspecting it. She was no longer donning a simple blue dress, but a silky crimson gown with lacy sleeves. A gown fit for a fancy ball. “And you had me placed inside this box as a spectacle? As a doll? For people to see and mock?”

Zephyr clucked his tongue. “I told you she wouldn’t be pleased about that once she woke.”

“What else did you expect me to do?” Mistress Eliza spat at him. “If you stay here, you have to perform. You know the rules.”

Cricket couldn’t focus on the fact that she’d been dressed and undressed like a doll for an entire year while asleep, only on how she’d been murdered and that so much time had passed. She needed to find Bram, Anika, and her parents, tell them how Clancy had murdered her, if they hadn’t discovered what he’d done already.

She clasped the edge of the box to shove herself out and stumbled forward on wobbly legs. Zephyr caught her around the waist just before she fell to the grass.

“I need to go home,” she whispered.

“Wake up now!” Mistress Eliza snapped, shaking Cricket by the shoulders.

As she opened her eyes, darkness surrounded her still.

“Chew the rose petal,” the necromancer instructed. “It will keep your curiosity from rising for a little while.” The petals… Mistress Eliza had given her some several weeks ago, and she’d carelessly forgotten all about them since her curiosity had never come. But she also hadn’t expected this to happen.

A hint of floral swarmed Cricket’s mouth, and she moved her jaw, chewing the dried rose petal, letting it relax her, calm her. Her muscles were heavy, her skin tight when a tugging sensation pulsed beneath her flesh, returning the devilish dahlia blooms to somewhere beneath her skin, deep into her bloodstream. She wished she could yank them free, then watch them burn to ash.

Pipe smoke filled the air as Cricket’s eyes cleared, and she wasn’t certain where she was at first, but it must’ve been inside Mistress Eliza’s caravan. The small area was cluttered with fabrics, spools of threads, herbs, crystals, and a table covered in jars and cups. A velvet purple curtain split the room into what she could only assume held her bedroom behind it.

“You’re lucky Zephyr brought you to me in time,” Mistress Eliza said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “You know good and well I wouldn’t have been able to bring you back a second time, not with my necromancy unable to work properly. I’ve told you to carry the rose petals on you in case your curiosity got out of hand the first time. I brought you back for a purpose.”

“Oh yes, to be a spectacle in your carnival, just as I was before I awoke. I know,” Cricket rasped, her chest heaving, sweat slicking her pale skin.

“Ungrateful child.” The necromancer sighed, brushing a lock of wet hair behind Cricket’s ear. “Would you have rather stayed beneath the ground?”

Cricket wasn’t ungrateful, nor was she a child. Mistress Eliza and the performers could’ve unburied her, then taken her home instead of using her. But she understood the reasoning a minuscule amount—because what if Cricket had never woken? Would she have truly wanted Bram and Anika to spend their lives waiting for her to? Her parents? A selfish part of her did … then maybe they wouldn’t have moved on.

Her chest tightened as she thought about what she’d discovered a month ago. Bram had married Anika, her parents had packed up then left the city without a trace, and Clancy had been caught and hanged. And so Cricket had chosen to return to Mistress Eliza’s Carnival, the only place left for her. A place she’d dreamt of performing in. A dream she wished with all her heart had never come true, not when her curiosity was blooming wicked reminders.