Page 38 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Quinn crumpled the note between her fingers and threw a pointe shoe at the wall, then a ballet slipper. Agony building in her chest, she threw anything she could get her hands on. Tutus, anatomy books, pillows, clothing. One of the pointe shoes hit the makeshift wall of her bedroom with the force of a small boulder, shaking it.
But she didn’t stop. She hurled books, clothing, and bed sheets around. Her heart was a crescendo, and her breathing became stilted.
Jane was dead, and Quinn couldn’t cry.
Jane had called her sister. She’d thought of her as her true family, and Quinn couldn’t even cry.
There was something fundamentally broken inside her. Normal people cried. Normal people could read without struggle. Quinn was such a fool to believe she could solve her friend’s murder because she would never be smart enough or good enough to do it.
And if she didn’t solve the murder, she’d die.
Nine days.
To solve the murder or uncover the mystery of the Blood Mirror.
Nine fucking days.
It wasn’t enough.
Quinn huffed. She was surrounded by chaos, yet she felt empty. She shivered at both her ineptitude and the mess. Disorder was the enemy.
Everything was so out of control.
“Quinnevere, what are you doing in there?” Uncle Matias asked from the other side of the makeshift wall. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she called back but pulled her legs into her chest and let her head rest against the wall.
He slid open the divider and said, “You don’t look okay.” He eyed the scene, disgust flashing on his cheeks. He did not tolerate disorder either. “You look like you got into a fight with the ballet.”
“I may have.” She shrugged off the evidence of her emotions.
“Should I be concerned that auditions are not progressing as you had hoped?” he asked, holding a tray of food. “I hope you’re doing well,” he added to her continued silence.
His expression seemed genuine, but it was hard to tell. He desperately wanted Quinn to set aside herfoolish pursuits—his name for dancing. After all, he never wanted her to audition in the first place. In his mind, shemust focuson the morgue.
“It’s going fine, except tomorrow’s auditions are canceled because of the . . .” She inhaled sharply. “The murder. The Royalle Ballet director loved Jane, and he wanted to postpone a couple days to respect her memory.”
A letter had arrived saying as much before Quinn’s bath.
“Oh, I am sorry. I know you cared for Jane.” Uncle Matias’s voice was a melodic tenor as he placed his tray down on the kitchen counter.
A wellspring of emotions gathered in her throat, and she was unable to speak, so she simply nodded.
He rubbed his hand, clearly notknowing what to say or how to comfort her. He settled on practicality. “Well, I do hope you clean up this mess.”
Perfectionism ran in the family. As did the lack of emotional expression.
“And, Quinn, you better not be looking into that murder.”
Quinn stilled. “Why?”
“Because I said so.” And as usual, that was the end of every argument between them.
The group was running a half hour behind to Les Fantômes’s gang casino because Giselle was late. As usual. On the way, Quinn told the group about the threatening note she found during the autopsy, and she showed the group the key. It didn’t make sense to keep things from them. No one knew where the key came from. So, they decided to check the casino for something that might fit.
The plan was that Constance and Jevon would ask around about Jane at the bar, and Giselle and Quinn would search for a door that fit the key.
When the entire group had finally arrived, they walked to the entrance.
