Page 42 of Her Cruel Dahlias
The chest was torn open and black dahlias rested in the victim’s palms. Charles wasn’t the murderer, even though Cricket had thought him to be—had prayed for him to be. He’d given his reason why he’d wanted her dead—because he believed her to be an abomination. Underneath that, she knew he also believed she was the root cause of why the murders were happening.
As she approached the dead body, something gave her pause, her heart speeding in her chest. The victim wore men’s clothing, and as her gaze fell to the face with eyes covered by black dahlias, the person wasn’t a woman but a blond man.
Cricket banged on Bram’s door until he answered, a candle in his hand. “What are you doing here at this late hour? Is everything all right?” He searched from her face to her three friends standing behind her.
“No, Bram, it isn’t,” she said, her voice cracking. “We were at the Garland, and a dead body with dahlias was found behind the building. Miles and a few other authorities came before the victim was taken away to the coroner. Only this blond one wasn’t like the others. It was a man.”
He inhaled sharply. “A man?”
“What about the letter?” Zephyr stated, his nostrils flaring. “Did it match Charles’s handwriting?”
“We’re still digging. Nothing he has at the office or his home was written in cursive. Just to cover all possibilities, I even checked Clancy’s, and it doesn’t match his. There still isn’t a clear answer. He could’ve also written differently in the letter so someone wouldn’t notice.”
“It couldn’t have been Charles,” Juniper piped in. “The murderer is someone else and still on the loose.”
“Unless this is another person wanting to mimic again,” Stormy mumbled, gripping the ends of her hair. Cricket didn’t believe that was the case, not with how the dahlias were strategically pressed inside the rib cage the same way as the two others she’d witnessed.
“Bram, who’s at the door?” Anika called as she came down the stairs in her flowing nightgown. “Oh dear, I’m underdressed, it seems.”
“There’s been another Dahlia Murder, darling. It doesn’t seem to be Charles as we thought. I’m going to take a horse to the coroner and see the body for myself.” Bram then looked at Cricket. “I don’t want any of you walking home. I’ll have the coachman bring you there.”
Anika grasped Cricket’s hand. “You all can come in and stay.”
“I would, but we need to warn the others at the carnival about the murder,” Cricket said.
“Promise me you won’t wander anywhere alone,” Anika pleaded.
“I promise.”
After explaining to Anika what they’d witnessed at the pub, the coachman took them back to the carnival in the carriage. She didn’t know when she would get answers from Bram, but she hoped by early tomorrow.
A group of performers lingered around the fire while Mistress Eliza sat opposite them, sipping from a glass bottle and chatting with Autumn. Cricket and Zephyr went to Mistress Eliza, and a sinking feeling plummeted into the pit of her stomach as she stopped in front of the necromancer.
“The Dahlia Murderer is still out there,” Cricket started. “There was another dead body in town, but this one was a man. I think everyone needs to be extra careful. Especially the two blond male performers.”
Mistress Eliza’s gaze narrowed at Cricket, her voice coming out a slur from having too much to drink. “So that means whoever wrote you that letter is still going to threaten my carnival. Is that what you’re implying? That the carnival is going to suffer more because of you?”
Horrified, Cricket was too taken aback to find words in her defense. Because what the necromancer implied was true. This was all her fault.
“You have no right to say that,” Zephyr said between gritted teeth.
Cricket didn’t wait to hear Mistress Eliza’s reply as she took off toward Zephyr’s caravan. All she could focus on was that it was her fault. Perhaps she should’ve sent back the others alone while she stayed with Anika. She was nothing but a waste of time to Mistress Eliza.
The scratching sensation clawed beneath her flesh like an old friend bidding someone a hello. Under the night air, dahlias, black as midnight, rose from their gardens across her arms.
“Cricket!” Zephyr shouted, grasping her by the arm and tugging her to his chest. “Stay calm.”
Even though she tried to tuck them away, they wouldn’t return to their depths. She opened her locket, finding it empty. “There’s more in your caravan,” she rasped, her blood akin to a fire raging through her veins.
Before she could stumble toward it, he lifted her into his arms and rushed her inside. As she went to grab her bag, dahlias bloomed from her eyes, darkening the world, and she screamed. Rustling sounded, followed by the press of salty fingers and a petal onto her tongue. The rose flavor filled her mouth.
The black curtain lifted from her eyes as the dahlias hid away, revealing color and Zephyr’s handsome face. Breaths ragged, she reached for the blade that should’ve been at her thigh when she remembered it was plunged into Charles’s chest.
“What are you searching for?” Zephyr asked.
“My knife,” she sobbed. “Perhaps if I cut them out, the dahlias will stop growing from me. I shouldn’t have been brought back. Mistress Eliza believes I’m a burden, and I am.”
“Fuck her. Fuck anyone who believes that,” he spat. “How would they feel if this was happening to them? And if you die again, that’s it. Mistress Eliza can’t revive you a second time, and I don’t know where to find another necromancer.”