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If Cricket was going to die regardless, she needed to find a way to let Zephyr know that Mistress Eliza was the one who’d murdered his beloved sister. He couldn’t wander this world for the rest of his life not knowing that he was performing for the woman who’d been the cause of it. Only, Cricket had to be careful so the necromancer wouldn’t kill him.
Mistress Eliza pinned her with a heavy stare. “Now, I’m going to unbind your ankles. Follow my rules, or you know what will happen to Zephyr. You don’t want another death on your hands, do you?”
Cricket wanted to stab her in the throat, but she couldn’t while tied. So she didn’t fight back when Mistress Eliza untied the fabric from her legs, then returned the one to her mouth. Once outside, it would be the right moment to do so.
However, the necromancer didn’t open the front door as Cricket expected, but instead, she made another glowing triangular door once more. “Get up!” she snapped, grasping her by the shoulder and yanking her through the room.
No longer were they in the caravan but outside in the woods. The air was calm, and the night dark, save for the light of the moon. This wasn’t good at all. She’d hoped when they left the caravan, she would’ve been able to get the attention of someone still awake.
As Mistress Eliza took a step toward her, blade raised, Cricket shifted her hands, trying to loosen them from the fabric bind to no avail.
The bushes rustled, and they both stilled as a voice hissed, “What are you doing? Why do you have Cricket tied up?” Stormy stepped into the low light, holding a bottle of liquor.
“She’s the one,” Mistress Eliza ground out, the lie coming easily from her lips as all the others had. “She killed them and Juniper.”
Cricket shook her head furiously, widening her eyes at Stormy to leave, to warn anyone she could.
Stormy’s gaze sharpened. “You aren’t limping,” she said.
“I suppose I’m not.” Mistress Eliza rushed forward, but Stormy dodged out of the way. She slammed her bottle against the necromancer’s head, and the woman fell to the ground. Stormy snatched up the knife and darted toward Cricket. She sliced through the fabric tying Cricket’s wrists together just as Mistress Eliza produced another blade from her waist.
“Duck!” Cricket shouted. But the blade was too fast, piercing Stormy’s chest. Blood bloomed to the surface of the performer’s white shirt while she swayed on her feet, pale in the moonlight.
As Mistress Eliza reached for another blade, Cricket didn’t hesitate to barrel forward and slam her boot against the necromancer’s face before she could stand. Mistress Eliza collapsed back to the ground, allowing Cricket to rip the dagger from her hand, then shove the blade into the woman’s chest. She tore it free and thrust it in again, this time the heart, a sickening squelch sounding. The woman slumped to her side on the sparse grass, her eyes staring blankly toward the trees.
Stormy groaned, and Cricket rushed to kneel beside her. She placed the fabric that had bound her wrists over the wound. The performer’s chest heaved as Cricket pressed on the material firmly.
Ripping the bind from her mouth to speak, Cricket murmured, “You’re all right.”
“I’m all right,” Stormy repeated, her voice a thick croak. “Perhaps now I can tell Juniper I’m sorry.” Her head lulled to the side as her ragged breaths stopped, her eyes just as empty as Mistress Eliza’s.
Cricket released a high-pitched scream and whirled around to Mistress Eliza. She tore the dagger from the necromancer’s chest, and even though she was dead, Cricket thrust the blade deep into her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
With blood staining Cricket’s hands and dress, she stumbled toward the caravans. She knocked on Zephyr’s door, but he still hadn’t returned. The thought of the other performers not believing her terrified her. But Autumn had defended her before, so she hurried to her caravan, knocking on her door a bit too hard.
“It’s me. Cricket,” she called.
A lantern turned on behind the curtains, and the door drew wide. Autumn blinked in surprise, wearing a silk robe with Wilder hovering behind her in unfastened trousers that he must’ve hurried and slipped on.
“Cricket? Why is there blood on you?” Autumn gasped and pulled her inside the caravan, holding the lantern closer to inspect her. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“I’m fine. But the Dahlia Murderer isn’t. I killed her. It was Mistress Eliza.” Cricket sobbed and wrapped her arms around Autumn, needing someone, anyone, to hold onto before she collapsed.
“Mistress Eliza?” Wilder asked, furrowing his brow. “Are you sure?”
Cricket took her arms from Autumn and explained everything that had happened. How Bram had discovered the dahlias belonged to her, that suspicions led to Zephyr, and when she’d gone to Mistress Eliza for a spare key, she’d discovered the yellow cloak. Then she told them about the book containing the drawings of all of them, the triangular doors Mistress Eliza created, how the woman didn’t have a limp at all.
“Stormy was there,” Cricket sniffed. “If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have gotten free. And Mistress Eliza … she … killed her.” She brought a hand to her mouth, muffling her choked sobs, and Autumn led her by the arm to sit on the bed.
“Wilder, can you go to Bram’s home and round up the authorities? Don’t wake anyone else yet. I want to make sure they know first. I’ll stay with Cricket,” Autumn said.
“I’ll be quick.” He slid on his tunic and boots before rushing out the door.
Autumn wiped the blood from Cricket’s hands with a wet rag and offered her whiskey. Even though she wanted to drink the entirety of it, she couldn’t get anything down right then.
Cricket didn’t speak—she just stayed on the bed beside Autumn and stared at her hands until the authorities arrived. As Cricket and Autumn stepped outside, a few other performers must’ve heard the horses, too, and opened their doors.
