Page 134 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Giselle’s life meant way more than trying to resist him—Quinn had given up her soul for it—so she handed over the fake paintings without hesitation. Once the scrolls slipped into his fingers, Jevon threw Giselle with a force that nearly knocked Quinn to the floor.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked, examining her friend’s facial wound.
“Mostly,” Giselle said. “Just another interesting day.” She forced a smile.
Jevon sauntered to the mirror. He lifted a wine-bottled rock and hurled it, shattering the mirror into pieces. The room rained lifeblood—filled with red dust and jagged stained-glass splinters.
“No!” Quinn screamed and fell to her knees, scrambling to grab one of the shards before they disappeared into nonexistence. What happened to the mirror’s soul when it died? And if the mirror disappeared, would Quinn die? There was no way of knowing what would happen to her soul once the mirror finally took its cost.
The world was too dark to believe that destroying the mirror would destroy her bargain. But she had no way of knowing.
Would it destroy her? Her hand circled a piece as a sob escaped her throat. “No.”
Javon cleared his throat and stepped on her hand, holding the slice of glass. “Drop it, or I'll kill her.” He had Giselle by the hair again with a knife to her throat.
“No, please,” Quinn begged. “Please.” She thought if she held onto a piece as she had with the original blood mirror, it could save her.
“Don’t test me again.” He released his foot and pressed the blade against the skin, causing a trickle of red to appear on Giselle’s throat. “I don’t care enough about her to keep her alive, Quinnevere.”
Quinn’s heart pounded in her ears. She felt its angry pulsingin her veins, as she opened her hand and let the shard fall to the floor, clinking as it bounced off the stone. The sound of her devastation. Her life. Her future. A sound that would forever haunt her soul.
Jevon tossed Giselle to the ground, and her hands scraped against the glass as it dissolved. A crimson shadow painted the floor where the pieces once were, and Jevon’s fingers were stained red. The sign of a mirror murderer.
“Teagan, restrain her,” Jevon glowered.
The countess grabbed Quinn’s hands and wrenched them behind her back before dragging her after Jevon. Quinn didn’t fight back. Instead, she went completely limp and forced Teagan to carry her as if she were a dead body—making it extra hard.
As they reached the exit, Quinn changed her tactics and started to struggle. Unfortunately, it was a little too late because as soon as they managed to pass the threshold, the vampires gained their strength back, and her tattoo seeped back onto her arm. Jevon’s hands also magically reverted to pale ivory, showing no sign of the red staining from murdering the mirror.
“Make her sleep,” Jevon said, seeing Quinn’s struggle.
“Go to sleep,” the countess said harshly.
It was a compulsion.
No.
She couldn’t fall asleep. She needed a plan.
Quinn tried to fight it. But the struggle was useless.
Darkness descended into her every pore, and she passed out, crumbling to the ground.
Fairy lights twinkled. Buzzing and floating. Shapes painted in her mind in shiny yellow and periwinkle. She blinked, and a room made of pink surfaced. It looked like a fairy had vomited on everysurface. Quinn loved girly things, but this was a completely different thing. This was a nightmare made manifest.
Pink, puffy, and overwhelming.
Jevon was nowhere to be found.
Some of the tension released from her shoulders because she was happy to get a reprieve from his dark machinations.
However, she wasn’t free. Seren lounged on a periwinkle-pink sofa and refused to look in Quinn’s direction. So, they were working together, after all. It was impossible to decide which betrayal hurt more. She loved both of her friends. But they were never real. They were ghosts. Illusions of love. And that was the most heartbreaking of all. Quinn’s hair matched her pain, turning a somber midnight blue, while her nails were a fearful white. Ropes chafed at her wrists, which seemed like overkill because no human had a chance of outrunning a vampire.
In the corner, the compelled countess helped Giselle into a massive ballgown, and a couple of vampires Quinn didn’t know were sprawled out on the sickening decor. But an anchor dropped in Quinn’s stomach. Emrys was missing. Despite everything that happened over the last eleven days, the one positive thing in a sea of rot was her newly establishedfriendship—or whatever it was with Emrys. A truce?
A sickness festered in her stomach. The night had only just begun to sour, and it would certainly get much worse. But she wasn’t powerless.
She had the real paintings.
