Page 39 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
In keeping with its mysterious, enchanted theme, the Russet entrance was in the back of a dark, dank alley. The rickety mahogany cellar doors creaked as Constance lifted the latch, exposing a set of claustrophobic stairs leading to darkness and shadows. Although Quinn had been to the Russet many times, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. There was something about walking into pure darkness that deeply unsettled her.
Constance, on the other hand, bounded down the stairs like it was nothing. Following, Quinn held the rail sotightly that white spread across her knuckles. Giselle and Jevon made up the rear; neither of them seemed to mind the dark at all.
As Quinn stepped onto the landing, a glowing light confronted her senses.
“What has a head, a tail, is silver and has no arms or legs?” asked a petite bouncer with vibrant purple waves that danced a Lindy-Hop atop her head, bouncing and twirling in a manufactured wind.
Was it a mirror consequence or wish?
Quinn shuddered. Either way, magic always unsettled her. They reminded her too much of the mirrors and what they could do. Nightshade purposely set her up to fail. He wanted her torture.
Dirty fucking mirrors.
The only way to enter the Russet was to solve a ridiculous riddle. Quinn appreciated good riddles but often found them to be useless and trivial things. As she pondered it, the light emanating from inside the cave blinded her. The vast difference in the atmosphere, temperature, and surroundings caused her vision to blur, and her knees buckled under newborn fawn-like legs.
“A sienna coin,” Giselle said in a disinterested voice, as if the riddle was the easiest and most boring thing she had ever heard.
“Welcome into the land of sin. Best of luck on your adventures herein,” the tiny girl said with a triumphant yet mystical voice that made Quinn’s insides burn.
The group stepped into a vast, watery cavern. Clinging from the cave roof were stalactites formed like crystal icicles, dangling like stars’ tears falling through the sky. Lighting up the entire room were thousands of magical fireflies buzzing across the ceiling and the water glowed with a gradient blue and purple pattern, illuminated by the Russet’s enchantments.
The place glistened like a river of ornate diamonds.
A jazz singer graced a wooden stage, singing a somber and smooth melody, setting a calming yet chilling ambiance. Wooden walkways allowed patrons to cross the cave to platforms housingliquor, tables, and gambling. Gondola boats floated on the water as couples shared romantic moments.
Quinn turned to her friends. Giselle’s eyes were wide, and she visibly shook. “You okay?”
“I . . . it’s been fifteen years since I’ve been here,” Giselle said, nervously, her eyes darting around like a trapped rabbit. “A lot has changed. My father is in prison, and I don’t even know who is in charge.”
It was rare to see Giselle shaken, and Quinn was at a loss for words. This wasn’t in Giselle’s nature. She was addicted to danger and adrenaline, and she never faltered. So Quinn had no idea how to help.
“It’s going to be okay. You won’t even have to speak to anyone,” Quinn said, trying to give comfort in some way.
Giselle nodded but still looked utterly uncomfortable.
Quinn wrung her hands. “Constance, make sure you are discrete.”
“Discrete.” Constance laughed before completely changing the subject. “Shouldn’t you be the one looking for the Fox?” Constance glared at Giselle. “He’s your old friend.”
Many of Les Fantômes went by code names, and Fox was the name of Giselle’s childhood friend that she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Not since her mother forced her to leave the gang at ten.
“So would you like to be the one to pick the locks?” Giselle asked.
A smile soaked in golden mischief spread on Constance’s face. “I’m sure I would enjoy trying.”
“I’m sure you would give up after a second,” Giselle said under her breath.
Constance rolled her eyes. “Fine, we all know I am much better at forcing information from people anyway.”
Quinn clenched her eyes shut for a moment. “You did hear me say discretely, right?”
Constance merely winked at her friend before pulling Jevon by the hand onto a bridge that led to intoxication and excess.
That did not bode well.
“Shall we go?” Giselle’s gaze tracked her friends.
Quinn nodded with a gulp, and anxiety built in her stomach. She was about to break into Les Fantômes’ private rooms. Something that went far out of her comfort zone. She was a bitter rule follower. She didn’t break in, lie, or steal.
