Page 17 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
So, Constance was in one of those moods. The girl’s spirits flipped on a sienna coin. She would sometimes be elevated, talkative, and reckless, and other times, she would brood like the long-extinct vampires. A coin, once tossed, no one knew which side they’d get. The calm, rational, and relatable side or the crazy, fun, reckless side.
What was strange about tonight was that the Viridian usually placed her in a rotten mood.
In fact, Quinn couldn’t remember the last time Constance was chipper at the club.
It might’ve had something to do with the cost of the Viridian’s illusions—performance. Kordelia, the owner of the Viridian, made a deal with a mirror to create the club, and now those inside the club were bound by that deal. As long as the Viridian dancers, singers, and acrobats performed, the mirror created a world of intrigue and fantasy where everything was a game designed to induce pleasure. The unforeseen consequence of the Viridian deal was that the performers could never stop. Someone had to be on stagealways.And Quinn was also pretty sure the building messedwith people’s memories—erasing them, warping them, and consuming them.
Constance was particularly susceptible to the club’s effect.
Anxiety bubbled in Quinn’s belly, so she tried to focus on the living, breathing nightclub. The Viridian was one of the seventeen sentient structures in the city, with walls that cried when they were upset and rooms that morphed of their own accord. And it had a personality. It was vain, like a bird prancing and preening.
The theme of the club revolved around peacocks—beautiful, ostentatious, and rich. It embraced the definition of exuberance and pride. Tonight, everything in the grand ballroom sparkled with enchantment—a viridian watercolor, blending, dancing, and breathing life into the room. The ceiling twinkled like the night sky. Fairy lights mixed with strands of white feathers that fanned out across the ceiling, forming a peacock’s tail. Even the building's roof was themed with two massive peacock statues—with their feathers spread down the side of the building like a windmill's rungs—that could be seen across the city.
And even those peacocks moved with a glamour and looked alive. Everything in the place danced.
“Jevon darling, go get us some drinks.” Constance snapped her fingers, and Jevon flashed a glower so deep and dark that the Obsidian Canyon would be jealous.
“Yes, princess,” he mumbled under his breath and shrugged, flashing a helpless grin before walking away.
Constance was a star, and she liked planets to orbit around her. And Jevon, by far, was the most subservient planet. Quinn sometimes complied, and Giselle very rarely did, which was why the two had underlying tensions. But in many ways, Constance was the sun of the group because she was the one who introduced them. She met Quinn and Jane in ballet, knew Jevon from primary school and Giselle from her work at the Viridian.
Constance was the group’s connective tissue.
“Wonderful.” She clapped. “I’ll be right back. Giselle, Jane, I assume you can watch after the birthday girl and make sure shegets into loads of trouble while we’re gone?” Constance didn’t wait for an answer before she disappeared into the crowd.
“I can manage trouble.” Giselle grinned, the smile so devious it painted sinful red blossoms across her bronze cheeks.
Quinn groaned. Not Giselle, too.Traitors, the lot of them.
“Want to find a spot to watch the performance?” Giselle asked.
Not really. Quinn wanted to find the prince, lure him into a dark corner, and quickly kiss him. All of which would fundamentally ruin her birthday and every interaction with him in the future. Not like it would change their dynamic because every interaction she’d ever had with him was pure torture. But after kissing him, she’d never be able to go to a murder briefing again—at least not without turning bright scarlet.
When she didn’t respond, Giselle grasped Quinn’s hand and dragged her through the crowd, a couple of people elbowing them as they went.
Not fully watching her steps, Quinn accidentally ran straight into a guest in a dark charcoal suit as Giselle’s hand slipped out of hers.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” she started but stopped when she saw who she’d hit.
Emrys Avalon.
Well, fuck. She had been looking for him, but she hadn’t meant to find himthissoon. Her mind went blank, and all the sound emptied from the room because now her entire attention was focused on the rotten nerves tangled in her stomach.
Nope, she couldn’t do this.
Running away was the far better option, right?
“Hello, Ginger.” He raised an eyebrow as the corner of his lips twitched.
The raven-haired Emrys Avalon was dressed to the nines in a pinstriped suit with silk lapels that looked to be weaved from spider silk. He dressed like a gangster, terrifying yet alluring, and power radiated from his skin like an aura of magic.
Hanging off one arm was the beautiful and flirty Countess Teagan Atwater. The girl’s walnut hair lay in perfect finger waves adorned with a feather and pearled headband. Her dress fell to her calves, the fringe composed of beads and pearls. The dress probably cost over one thousand siennas.On his other arm was the current prima ballerina of the Queen’s Royalle Ballet and one of the biggest celebrities in the country, Nia Cross. Where the countess was hard edges and scrutiny, the dancer was soft lines and compassion. Her midnight hair was tightly braided and laced around a ruby headband that perfectly complemented her umber skin’s jeweled undertones. She was dazzling and embodied grace.
Quinn swallowed, and anxiety bubbled in her stomach. Emrys, surrounded by his paramours, never boded well.
How was she to seduce him and steal a passionate kiss while he was dripping with accomplished women? Quinn could never measure up to that.
So, running. Yes, that was the far better solution.
