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“What? I don’t pleasure the dead.” He shifted closer to her and handed her a shovel, his eyes sparking with mischief. “I mean, unless they are revived, that is.”
“Enough of that.” Cricket fought a smile, but he caught it and grinned.
“Did that help you feel better?” His voice grew serious as his hazel eyes pinned to hers.
Cricket slowly nodded, thankful for his distraction and that the dahlia could go away without a rose petal. But once they focused on digging, nothing would distract her from knowing what they would unbury.
“We can start searching. What are the names?” he asked.
“If they are indeed buried here, Phoebe Brown was the last victim before the one today. Georgia Davies and Elanore Jones are the other two—the freshest graves will be near the back. Let’s hurry.” She waved him on, and they quietly began their search.
They held up their lanterns and ventured down separate rows, reading name after name. As she padded across graves, she noticed the dirt on some of them was much harder than it was on others which could pose a problem if it delayed digging.
“I found Phoebe,” Zephyr called, kneeling in front of a headstone on a row in front of hers.
Cricket stepped around a grave and crouched beside Zephyr, running her fingers over the engraved letters and numbers. “This is recent, so it has to be hers.”
“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Zephyr stood and studied the dirt where a bushel of wilted flowers rested. “The earth’s still soft, which is a good sign. Unless snatchers were here first and took the body.”
“Please don’t tease like that,” Cricket said, pushing herself up beside him.
“I wasn’t teasing. If it were thieves, the body should still be here.” Zephyr set his lantern beside the headstone, then struck the earth with his shovel and scooped out the first clump of dirt.
Cricket had heard about snatchers stealing bodies, then selling them to schools that practiced medicine. But as Zephyr said, if it were thieves just being thieves, then they stole for their own gain, and the body would still be there. If Phoebe’s body wasn’t below ground, they would have to wait until the following night to start on another.
Together, they continued to dig, only taking a small break to take a swig of liquor. As the buzz of insects grew louder, she thought the process would never end. Her muscles ached, and her throat was dry. She wanted to retrieve water for the two of them, but they were too close for her to want to stop.
And then, finally, her shovel struck something hard. The coffin. Zephyr shoveled faster, lifting the dirt away until there was enough room to open the wooden box. He pulled the lid back, and the earthy smell around them filled with something putrid.
She covered her nose as she gazed down at the corpse in the lantern’s orange glow. Phoebe was still beautiful, her impossibly pale features not yet decayed, her delicate lips parted in death. But then a beetle crawled free of her collar, its ebony shell shining as it traveled along her chin. She then noticed maggots, not teeth, lay within her mouth, trailing over one another in a happy feast.
Cricket pushed down the bile rising up her throat. “I’ll get Mistress Eliza.”
Chapter Eleven
Cricket broke through the trees, following the torches leading to the caravans, their smoke billowing toward the starry sky. The bonfire was nothing but ashy embers now. A few lanterns lit performers’ windows, though most homes were dark for the night, their curtains drawn tight.
Mistress Eliza’s window was completely darkened, hidden behind black fabric as always, yet Cricket banged on the necromancer’s door anyway, her hands shaking in nervous anticipation.
The woman yanked open the door, wearing a long white nightgown. Her face lay in shadows before she lifted a lantern that illuminated a table covered in tarot cards behind her. “What are you doing here so late, child?” Mistress Eliza asked, her eyes puffy with sleep. “Is something the matter?”
The blood in Cricket’s veins sang wilder than ever. There was still a long while until the sun rose, and it wouldn’t take much time for the necromancer to try to rouse the victim. “I need you to come with me to the cemetery,” she said hurriedly.
“The cemetery? At this hour?” Mistress Eliza hissed. She brought her lantern forward, letting it rise and fall, the orange glow sweeping across Cricket’s form. A deep crease formed between the necromancer’s brows. “Why are you covered in dirt?”
The woman wasn’t going to like this, but it needed to be done, regardless. “I dug up one of the victims’ bodies from the Dahlia Murders.”
“You what?” Mistress Eliza whisper-shouted and yanked Cricket inside the caravan. The spicy herbal scent of the necromancer’s home enveloped her. “Are you trying to get the carnival banned from performing? Or are you attempting to get yourself thrown into a prison cell?”
“Zephyr and I—”
“Zephyr?” Mistress Eliza spat. “Why are you dragging one of my star performers into your chaos?”
Cricket didn’t want to get Zephyr in trouble, yet Mistress Eliza would see him the moment she arrived at the cemetery. “I know how this sounds. But if anything could help the authorities find an answer about the murderer, this could. You were able to get the victim from this morning to twitch a bit, so maybe you can get this one to rise, even if only briefly. You tell me I need to practice my curiosity every day—now I’m giving you the same advice.” She didn’t like the way the words sounded coming out of her mouth, as if the victim’s body was only something to be tested or practiced on. But if there was a chance, no matter how slight, that they could catch whoever was hurting these women, Cricket was determined they should at least try.
“Dead animals work just fine to practice on. Besides, you didn’t have to dig a whole body up for me to see if I could get her heart to start.” Mistress Eliza glared.
“Maybe not, but it would be stronger if the body were closer, right? And if it did work, it would be better for her to be above ground than below.” Even though Cricket didn’t remember being buried in a wooden coffin deep in the ground, the thought still haunted her. Suffocation, claustrophobia, and being alone without an escape. Cricket had wondered if Mistress Eliza hadn’t felt her pulse, what would’ve happened down there when she did awaken? She shuddered at the thought.
