Page 62 of Her Cruel Dahlias
“I decided to come back and wait for Zephyr, but he isn’t home yet. I was wondering if I could use the spare key.”
“I’ll go and wait with you until he arrives.” She frowned and waved her inside. “Come in, but don’t touch anything, and stay where you are.”
Cricket nodded and inhaled the smoky scent of Mistress Eliza’s home. The necromancer limped past the velvet curtain, and the clank of metal sounded as she sifted through her belongings. Besides the couple times Cricket had been inside here, only Juniper had been allowed. She was trusted enough to tidy up the front area and leave pastries on the table for her.
Mistress Eliza drew back the curtain with a huff, and Cricket stilled. Lying on the floor in a heap was something made of bright yellow fabric, a shade she recognized.
Cricket swallowed the lump in her throat, her body trembling. She blinked, praying she’d imagined it, that a woman she trusted wasn’t holding onto the key to the murders. Mistress Eliza had the yellow cloak from the stranger in the woods, and she was hiding it for them. Perhaps it wasn’t the same cloak though. Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself. But Cricket had to be certain.
“I found out something interesting today,” Cricket began, hoping her voice sounded calm, flippant. “None of the dahlias found on the victims have withered. They remain vibrant blooms, just like the ones from my curiosity."
“Is that so?” Mistress Eliza seemed uninterested while fiddling with her jewelry.
Cricket watched her closely as she added, “Someone took them from me somehow.”
The necromancer arched a brow. “What a wild imagination you have.”
Cricket couldn’t wait a moment longer—she shoved past the necromancer into the space behind the curtain. Ignoring the cluttered surroundings, she snatched the yellow fabric. Her breathing hitched as her chest tightened. Hope that she’d been wrong disintegrated. It was the same cloak—dried mud on the hem and the long, pointed hood—she’d seen that day in the woods. She held out the cloak, her jaw tightened. “You know who’s been doing it, don’t you?”
Mistress Eliza’s eyes turned to an icy glare before she regained her composure. “Come now, child. You aren’t honestly foolish enough to believe I would allow someone here to murder people?”
The blood in Cricket’s veins boiled—Mistress Eliza was trying to make her appear foolish. “You’re helping someone!” she seethed, taking out her knife and pointing it at the necromancer. “Who? And why?” Zephyr’s face flashed before her, but she wouldn’t speak his name in case the woman blamed him to hide the real murderer.
Mistress Eliza’s lips curled up into a sneer. “Since you won’t let this go, open the drawer beside you. Flip through the book there, and you’ll see.”
Cricket didn’t remove her stare from the woman as she yanked open the drawer and took out a thick notebook, yellowed with torn edges. She flipped through each page, one performer after the other with their curiosities. Some she hadn’t seen before, the ones who’d already passed away, but most were the faces she saw every day, only younger. There was Zephyr and Juniper as children. Autumn. Stormy. Page after page, she flipped, then she halted on a familiar face. Her. It was of Cricket with red roses, her bones showing beneath her flesh.
“I don’t know what any of you look like before you’re murdered, but I always feel the pull, then I see the curiosity that guides me to save you all. Yet yours did something to me,” the necromancer said through gritted teeth. “What did I do to deserve this when I didn’t murder anyone? I only ever saved lives!”
Cricket’s hand shook as she turned the page, then the next, and the next. They were all in the same pose as Cricket’s was, and they were all the victims who’d died by the Dahlia Murderer’s hand. Roses and translucent skin. Except one victim was missing. “You don’t have Juniper in here.”
“Like you, Juniper became too nosey. She discovered what I was doing when she looked through my book. You are the reason that sweet child is dead! I was left with no choice. Then just when you gained your curiosity and would’ve been joining us to perform, you do this.”
The letters written to Cricket all made sense now, a way to taunt her into bringing out her curiosity. She clenched her teeth so hard they might break. It would be simple enough to knock Mistress Eliza to the floor and tie her up. But as she bolted toward her, the woman moved swiftly, no hint of a limp in her step, as she grabbed Cricket by the shoulders and slammed her head into the wall.
The room spun, and something hard struck her skull, the world darkening to nothing.
Cricket opened her eyes, and a muffled sound tore from her throat as she tried to scream. A piece of fabric was between her teeth and tied around her head. Her wrists were bound behind her back, and her ankles confined in front of her.
“Don’t scream when I pull the fabric down, or Zephyr will face a worse fate than his sister,” Mistress Eliza warned, trailing the tip of a blade down Cricket’s cheek. Her knife.
Once the necromancer lowered the fabric to her chin, Cricket whispered, “Why have you been murdering people in the same fashion that I was killed?” But as she recalled flipping through the book’s pages, the pieces slid together, becoming clearer.
“I’ll let you believe you’re distracting me with your question.” An all-knowing smile crossed Mistress Eliza’s lips. “When I used my necromancy on you, I lost my ability. I believe that prolonged your curiosity or twisted it into something else. You were meant to be one of the great acts here. But I couldn’t wait, and I needed to find another where the curiosity would perform the way it was meant to, so I had to make a decision. Either your dahlias would help bring another the gift you were meant to have, or it would help yours come forward. As I killed, my necromancy almost roused each one but still failed. Yet each time a victim was discovered, you tried harder to hone your curiosity, and it’s the reason it now works perfectly. You’re perfect.”
Cricket swallowed the bile drifting up her throat. She wished she had a curiosity like Zephyr’s, one that could reach out and strangle this wicked woman. Blood pounded in her ears, and she wanted to break free of the binds and run outside to scream to everyone in the carnival. Yet she wouldn’t make a sound until she could escape to protect Zephyr.
She studied Mistress Eliza’s leg, the way she easily moved about the room. “Why did you pretend to have a limp? How did you carry the victim here? How did you get to the pub? Did someone else help you?” There were so many questions, which led to someone else helping her.
“I have many gifts, child. Gifts you couldn’t even begin to understand. This whole world is open to me—all I have to do is… Here.” Mistress Eliza took the ruby stones from her pouch, then moved her hand, and the air shimmered. Cricket gasped as a triangle of deep crimson light filled the space, glowing in the caravan’s gloom. “Open a door, and I am anywhere I choose to be in the world. As for the limp, I did have one, but as my leg healed, it didn’t put on as good of a performance, so I’ve kept it hidden all these years.”
“You’re mad,” Cricket whispered.
“You, my dancing flower, will now face the same fate as the others.” The glowing light vanished, and she opened a box filled with dahlias. “When you were the Sleeping Darling, I felt them in you but hoped they wouldn’t come. As you slept, I drew them forward with my stones and cut as many away as possible, hiding them in my caravan. But more grew inside you. When you woke, and your destined curiosity didn’t rise, I knew why I’d secretly kept them all along. So one night, I left Sorel through one of my doors and went to Nobel. I think you know what happened after that, child.”
Cricket stared at her in horror.
“What? No more questions?” Mistress Eliza chuckled. “We’ll find out if my necromancy returns by killing you. And if not, it’s too late now. I would do it here, but we can’t very well get my home bloody.”