Page 9 of Her Cruel Dahlias

“Zephyr.” She glared but couldn’t control the corners of her lips from curling up a fraction or wondering what it would feel like to have his hands slide up her body while peeling away the one layer. No, she scolded herself.

“I was only teasing. Maybe.” He nudged her with his shoulder and drew out a silver flask from his trouser pocket. “I meant this. Here.”

Cricket stared at the flask momentarily, then took it from him, needing whatever was in it. She didn’t care as she tossed the liquid back, perhaps a bit too much, and a rack of coughs barreled through her.

“Easy now.” Zephyr chuckled, reaching for the flask and taking a long sip.

She laughed once she stopped coughing. “You could’ve warned me it was strong.”

“I didn’t know you planned to suck it almost dry in one swig. It’s a special liquor I make.” He grinned, taking another sip before handing it back to her.

“I might die tomorrow then,” Cricket teased and drank another swig—this time, the liquid went down smoothly. She hated to admit it, but the liquor was one of the best she’d had, and the anxious feeling that had pulsed in her veins was now soothed for the time being. Her gaze lifted to his collar, and she boldly brushed a finger against the leather, not knowing if it was the liquor making her do something so foolish. “Why do you always wear this?”

“Nosey little thing today, aren’t you?” He bit his lip and smiled. “If you’re wondering if my head falls off when I remove it, I promise it doesn’t.”

“Now, that would be a terrifying sight,” she said, amused.

“Wilder does it every performance, so nothing special.” Zephyr chuckled, his hazel irises dancing playfully. “Anyway, did you hear the news from Mistress Eliza? I suppose that’s why you were in such a lovely mood.”

Cricket’s stomach sank, and she slowly nodded. “I suppose it’s hard not to be. She told me about the murders.”

He arched a brow. “What murders?”

“Oh, the news must’ve not made it your way yet. There have been three recent murders in Nobel, and the victims were all left with dahlias. Like I was.” Her voice remained steady, yet inside, she was anything but.

“Didn’t they hang that bastard?”

She blew out a breath. “They did. I don’t know what’s happening.” If it was Clancy who had risen from the dead, she would make sure to send him back to that state. Anger pulsed in her veins, and she needed to concentrate on something else for now. “So what’s the news then?”

Zephyr smiled wide. A smile that she hated to admit lit up his handsome face. “Mistress Eliza said you’re to practice a routine with me, regardless if you can get your curiosity to come out and play.”

Cricket’s heart hammered in her chest, her eyes like saucers. “You’re jesting.”

“Afraid not.” His smile somehow grew even more as if he took pleasure in seeing her bewildered. “Meet me when we arrive in Nobel and be prepared to practice. I’m not going easy on you.” With that, he sauntered away, leaving her scowling at his back.

Cricket spent the remainder of the journey reading an adventurous story and was nearly to the last page when they arrived. She closed the book and took a brush from the vanity drawer to run through her tangled hair.

Soon the carnival would begin setting up in the same place where it always was—in a field near the cemetery. The cemetery where Cricket was once buried... A shiver crawled up her spine at the thought, and she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled to focus on the pain in her mouth instead of lingering in her mind.

The first performance wasn’t for three days, but she and Zephyr still had to practice as much as possible. She knew she could learn the routine—she’d always been blessed at quickly remembering dances she’d created.

A knock came at the door, and she stopped brushing her hair to answer it. As though being summoned by her thoughts, Zephyr stood there, an eyebrow raised. “You were supposed to meet me, remember?” he purred.

“We literally just arrived. I still haven’t set up my things.” Which was practically nothing, and Zephyr knew it too as he peered inside at the lack of boxes.

“Mmm, I believe a ghost has more possessions than you.”

“And you would know how? Have you seen a ghost before?”

“Quite possibly.” He chuckled, luring her forward with a finger. “Now, follow me.”

Cricket grunted but walked beside him as they trekked toward the wooded area. The horses had mostly been untacked and led to the lake to drink. From another caravan, the strong men were unloading the poles for the tents.

She and Zephyr ventured through the brush and passed several bushes blooming red and blue berries. The sparkling lake came into view, the sun reflecting off its rippling surface. A few performers filled up their canteens beside the horses as they drank. Zephyr didn’t stop there—he led her farther away to an area with a few boulders and enough space for the two of them to practice.

“Looks like we have this spot to ourselves.” Zephyr waggled his brows, taking his large satchel from his body. “I knew you probably wanted to be away from everyone, so I picked this place for us.” She shouldn’t have been surprised he would know this about her.

Zephyr knelt beside his satchel and fished out five silver juggling rings. He then brought out a couple of cloths and polished them.