Page 50 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“It can’t turn people into statues,” Giselle said, also eying the stone people.
“No, not people.” Emrys visibly swallowed and turned to Constance. “Shall we move on?”
Constance’s face twisted in horror as she tried not to look at the mirror. “Yes, please.” A vein in her neck pulsed.
All of them struggled against the mirror’s magnetic pull except Giselle. She merely peered at the mirror with defiance and shrugged.
“I don’t get it,” Quinn said. “Giselle, you come here so often. Why would you risk it?” It was a stupid question. Giselle was addicted to risk. It probably colored her soul.
“Its power no longer works on me.” Giselle’s smile played on her lips like she knew the secret to the universe. “The trick is, once you know what the mirror wants to do to you—that it wants to entrance you and keep you frozen forever locked in nightmares—its power fades.”
Once in a separate room, Giselle and Emrys ran off to find books. Emrys didn’t say what he looked for, but Giselle found books relating to tattoos and anything that might relate to the Blood Mirrors. She came back with a pile stacked up to her chin.
Jevon grabbed a stack of recent newspapers covering the last few years and began reading the murder reports while tapping his fingers on the desk.
Giselle opened a small book with a leather cover, and Emrys plopped a tome before Quinn.
She jolted out of a daze and turned her eyes to the massive book in front of her. “What in the dirty mirror’s name is that?”
Emrys flashed an arrogant smile. “New Swansea history of theroyal family.” He patted her on the back in the most condescending way. “Have fun!”
“Why in the world would I need to read about the history ofyourfamily?” she asked him incredulously.
“Trust me. It is relevant.”
“Because you’re a narcissist?”
He slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Possibly. But even so. Let’s say there was a secret involving Castle Hill and the coun—” He gulped. “A secret that I was unable to tell you myself, but you needed to know to solve Jane’s murder.”
Constance eyed him warily. And Giselle muffled her giggle and pulled a book to cover her face.
“And it is in this book?” Quinn asked.
“Possibly.”
Quinn narrowed her eyes, her heart quickening in her chest. “You have got to be kidding me. Thatthing . . .” She emphasized the word thing and pointed at the tome. “. . . Could eat twenty New Swansea history books. I am not reading it. Ican’tread it.”
Quinn’s blood bubbled with anxiety. It would take her twenty years to read that book. Emrys merely shrugged, which burned her blood even more, frustration coating her soul. “You know I have reading issues, right?”
Emrys flashed a dimple, his tawny face lighting up with amusement. He certainly liked to provoke. “A lot of the newspapers have pictures. Look for something about blood. I am fairly certain you know how to spell blood. You’ll do fine.”
Condescending prick. Of course, she knew how to spell blood . . . maybe. That wasn’t the point. The point was that he was insensitive and obnoxiously rude.
“You know what? Sometimes you’re so charming that I can barely contain my knickers,” Quinn said. “All the girls must find your arrogant condescension so utterly swoon-worthy.”
He dared to chuckle and shrug again like every word she said was accurate. “Thank you. Now, get to work.” He pointed at the book.
“And what will you do?”
“I’m going through gang records.”
“And why can’t I do that?”
Emrys wiped his hands together like he was removing dirt. Nonexistent dirt. “Because we need you to guard that history book.”
Frustration’s claws burrowed a hole in her heart. Oh, how she hated this arrogant, stupid, insolent man. She glared at the book. “Right.” She rounded on her friends a little too harshly. “What are you two reading?”
“I’m looking through old murder briefing reports. It’s possible Jane wasn’t the first victim,” Giselle said.
