Page 5 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Never the worst.
“Arthur, as usual, great work! Your lifts are seamless, and Mariam,” the director continued his notes. “You have to control your constant mumbling. Your dancing is brilliant, but no one wants to hear your nonsense while you dance.”
Quinn winced. Mariam was notorious for her bad deal with one of New Swansea’s wicked mirrors. The deal’s unintended consequence caused her to mumble, whisper, and never cease speaking.
Hundreds of mirrors known as the Bargainers lined the city, and the godlike souls inside of them traded for information, wealth, prestige, and magic at terrible costs. People negotiated to better their lives, but the bigger the ask, the bigger the cost and unintended consequence. And some people—the desperate people—bartered away their autonomy for a chance at a better life, and others promised a piece of their soul for magical abilities. Poor Mariam traded for magic shoes that allowed her to dance perfectly, but the cost was never to be silenced. The unintended consequence was that she could never stop talking. Ever.
Far too great a cost.
It was clear she deeply regretted her decision because her eyes grew red, and she looked like she wanted to cry, but Mariam simply said, “Yessir, I’ll do better.” But her voice cracked on the last word.
Quinn shuddered, her upcoming Mirror-Rite clawing at the back of her mind.
“Quinnevere, can I speak with you for a moment?” Jane asked.
“Yes, of course.” Quinn swallowed, and her palms were suddenly sweaty. Nothing good ever came from that question.
Jane motioned to a corner, where they settled into a private nook. Fear stroked the insides of Quinn’s stomach. It was never good to be pulled aside privately—even by a close friend. But Quinn greatly admired the other redhead and would take any correction she’d give.
“Quinny, you have wonderful technique, but you lack passion. I can see it, and the director can see it. You need to move the audience with artistry.” Jane laid it out bluntly. It was her way, never pulling punches. But despite the harshness of her words, she flashed an empathetic half-smile. “We’ve talked about this many times, but now it matters. You have to impress the Royalle Ballet, and I fear that if you cannot show passion this week, you won’t make the cut this year.”
Quinn’s throat felt as dry as the Kaldan desert.
It was not a new critique, yet it hurt as much as it did the first time—possibly because she’d spent the last four years trying to work on her acting and learning emotion. Quinn was precise and technical, rarely missing a beat. Her artistry resembled a steamship engine chugging away, working to a brilliant yet dull rhythm. And like her dancing, the machine was predictable and plain because it lacked all semblance of passion.
Unfortunately, Quinn didn’t understand passion, nor did she know where to begin learning it. Long ago, to seek control in a chaotic and cruel world, she’d locked up her emotions in an impenetrable prison, and she no longer had the key.
“I know. I don’t know how to change it.” Quinn said as her heart was encased in ice.
“Try to feel something, and you will do fine.”
That was easier said than done.
Pain soaked into the corners of Quinn’s eyes, a stinging sensation pulsing through them, but she refused to let out a tear. Not for this. She would be strong and get through it. So Quinn merely nodded, not wanting to speak, not wanting anyone to see her upset.
What she needed was to get away.
“I can help you tonight if you would like.” Jane’s lips slid into a soft smile. “Maybe we could practice at the Viridian after your Mirror-Rite.”
Quinn’s stomach plummeted, and her hands shook at the reminder.
In New Swansea, on a person’s twenty-third birthday, they reached the age of majority and were legally allowed to bargain with the mirrors, and over time, it became a tradition to challenge a mirror with a small, innocuous deal the night one turned of age. Urban legend said that if somebody refused to do the ritual, they would have seven years of bad luck. So, while Quinn hated the idea of the rite, and it was the last thing she wanted to do, she couldn’t risk bad luck. Not with her week long auditions.
Jane placed a hand on her friend’s cheek. “You look like you might be sick.”
Of course, Quinn looked sick. People lost their souls to bad bargains. “Deals are scary, I mean you—”lost your ability to dance to one. Quinn cut herself off before she could finish. Jane’s bad experience was never openly acknowledged. She’d been the brightest dancing star in the city until one day, mysteriously, she couldn’t dance anymore. As far as Quinn could tell, Jane didn’t have anything physically wrong with her; she just couldn’t dance. Everyone knew it had to be a mirror, but no one ever mentioned or asked about it. It wasn’t kind to ask about mirror deals gone wrong. But Quinn desperately wanted to know if her inability to dance was the cost of Jane’s deal or the unintended consequence.
Did Jane know what she was giving up before she made the deal? Or was it a surprise?
Quinn sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to become like her friend. She didn’t want to regret her rite for the rest of her life—because after her rite, she never intended to make another mirror bargain ever again. The world was full of bad mirror deals, and Quinn had no intention of becoming yet another victim.
She shivered and clutched her necklace tight. “I’m fine.”
Jane examined Quinn, and it was clear that she didn’t believeit, but she decided not to push it. Instead, she changed the subject. “There is one more thing . . .” Jane’s voice trailed off, and she glanced around the room hesitantly—nervously. In a whisper, she continued, “I was wondering if you might know anything about a Blood Mirror?”
Quinn’s eyebrows crinkled. She knew about most bargainers, but she’d never heard of a Blood Mirror. But the name made it sound like something she’d prefer never to meet. Mirrors could not be trusted.
“I’ve never heard . . .” Quinn began, confusion twisting her words. “Why would you ask me?”
