Page 54 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“Come here,” she said, using her head to point at the gloves. “I want to show you something.”
Emrys pulled gloves on and strolled to the other side of the exam table. “As you wish.”
Quinn gently pushed back Jane’s hair from her face and pointed at the puncture wounds. “Jane died from blood loss, most likely from these puncture wounds. These slash marks were made postmortem.” She ran her finger across the cuts. “It’s all connected. Isn’t it? Jane was killed because of her knowledge of the Blood Mirrors or because of the mirrors. And so were my par—”
He grasped her hand and squeezed. “Yes. It is all connected.” He flinched as if in pain, as if he couldn’t say any more.
The beast in her heart banged against its cage, and her hands trembled. She needed to pull herself together. She rolled her neckand cleared her throat, returning her eyes to the victim. “I think we need to read those reports.”
Without another word. Quinn rolled the corpse into its storage chamber and pulled off her gloves. Swinging open the door, she called behind her, “Are you coming?”
Three minutes later, the two were piles-deep in the evidence room, sifting through autopsy reports. Quinn still didn’t trust the prince, but Giselle was right. It took far too much energy to fight his presence.
When they finally found the Ashelle murder files, it was almost impossible to gain any new information from them. Most of the report was redacted, leaving only the cause of death and physical findings untouched by black ink. All of the investigation, motive, and circumstances of the murders were covered up.
There were six Ashelle murder victims, but one of the bodies was missing. The other five all had two puncture marks covered up by the lacerations—just like Jane—and their bodies were completely drained of blood. The victims also had the same tattoos as both Jane and Quinn. Under some of the retracted ink, the wordsguarding a Blood Mirrorwere shown through.
“So, a serial murderer is killing people with a connection to the Blood Mirrors.” Quinn ran a finger along one of the reports as a strand of her cinnamon hair fell into her face. “But someone is covering up the facts of the crimes . . . why?”
“Not someone, something,” Emrys said before clutching his head in pain.
“Something, meaning an organization, or something, meaning a monster?” Quinn asked. Emrys visible gulped, and the vein in his forehead budged. “Should we be searching for a vampire?”
Emrys watched her hand, circling the report. “It’s possible.” He winced again.
“Right.” Quinn sucked in a breath. “Why can’t you speak about any of this?”
“It’s—” Pain flashedacross his face again.
“Magic,” she guessed. He tilted his head by a fraction and squeezed his eyes tight momentarily. “Okay, so how do I find the answers without forcing you to endure pain.”
“I thought you enjoyed causing me pain.” He flashed a smile and a sensual wink. At her glare, he said, “Perhaps we could start here.” He pointed to a newspaper article that accompanied the reports.
On the margins of the article, someone wrote,I think you’re right, St. John. It looks like vam . . .The last word was smudged, but it was definitely the wordvampires.
“Who is that?” Quinn asked.
“A reporter,” Emrys answered. The prince knew everyone who was important.
Quinn stilled as she stared at him, a mixture of emotions circling inside her. This reporter might have answers to who and why someone wanted people connected to Blood Mirrors dead.
Eighteen
After taking two separate cable car lines, Quinn and her friends assembled in the Gold Quarter, searching for the reporter’s apartment. She didn’t want to go with only the prince.
The streets glittered, the gold surface shining in the sliver of sunlight that poked out from behind the clouds. The metal appearance was created by the Mirror of Molten Gold.
The streets were also filled with celebration from the second night of the Festival of Blood. Everywhere you looked was art, dalliance, and wine. The bohemians of the Art Sector hosted the event, but all parts of the city joined in on the fun, from the rich of the Estate district to the craftspeople of the marina.
On Quinn’s left was the Queen’s Royalle Ballet, gilded in all of its glory. She always imagined herself standing here in the company of the rich and famous. She imagined standing in this very spot, being honored and respected. She wanted to be the greatest ballerina the Royalle Ballet had ever seen. Then, she would finally be enough. She would be accepted. She would be whole. The world would know her name.
Deep down, she always wanted the Playboy Prince to respect her, too.
“I think his apartment is somewhere around here,” Gisellesaid, scrunching her eyebrows and looking at a map. Directions were not her forte.
Quinn shook her head. She never should’ve allowed her friend to navigate. They could be in the completely wrong district. “Let me see the address,” Quinn said, holding a hand.
Within seconds, she pointed them in the correct direction. The reporter lived in an opulent apartment building three streets off Union Square.
