Page 55 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
When they arrived, without hesitation, the group rushed into the building and presumably up the elevator with the attendant’s assistance. But Quinn’s shoes were glued to the golden street, her palms sweaty, and her heart racing like a cheetah trying to catch its prey. Her bag gently fell off her shoulder and sank like an anchor dropping to the sidewalk.
The Gold Quarter might shine with glamour and merriment, but Quinn’s soul fractured with dread.
Starring up at the tall building, she gulped. Anticipation siphoned at her self-control. The reporter might be the key to unlocking Jane’s murder. Unlocking—
No, she wouldn’t let herself think about the rest. Quinn needed to focus on either catching Jane’s murderer or finding the second Blood Mirror because if she failed either task, Quinn would be the next victim.
Noticing that she hadn’t followed, Emrys stepped back through the rotating doors.
Slowly, as if walking on shattered glass, he approached. “We will go in together.”
“Together,” Quinn whispered back, took the offered hand, and forced her feet to move.
Without another word, they entered the building and the elevator. The operator cranked nine floors up before opening the doors and letting them out. Emrys flipped a sienna at the attendant as he exited.
Halfway down the hall, a door hung ominously open. Unease gathered in the shadows around the door. Something was terriblywrong, or Quinn was overreacting. Her friends being inside was probably why the door hung ajar. Tentatively, Quinn stepped through the entry and was met with disaster.
It was like entering a windstorm. Papers littered the floor, creating a sea of disorder. Books, picture frames, and clothes, among other items, were stacked high on the couches. Every surface of the apartment was covered in some type of mess. It made Giselle pristine in comparison. Excrement laced the floor, and jars of yellow liquid sat on shelves. This room was an explosion of chaos.
Giselle knelt in the middle of the room, poking through a box with a pen. Even she was disturbed by the disaster. Constance stood stunned at the kitchen entrance.
“Where is Jevon?” Emrys asked at Quinn’s side.
“He’s searching for the reporter.” Giselle didn’t glance up. Instead, she searched through the box’s contents, looking for something. “I think he is in the kitchen.”
As if summoned, Jevon stepped out of a doorway, his complexion ashen and eyes wide. Quinn was immediately on edge because of the unfamiliar expression on his normally bored face. His mouth worked as if unable to communicate his thoughts to the rest of the group. Instead, he pointed into the room.
Quinn rushed past and stopped in her tracks as she spotted what stole Jevon’s words.
A dead body lying face down on the kitchen’s marble floor.
Nineteen
Quinn held her arm out, blocking her equally curious friends from entering the room and contaminating the scene. Everything needed to be handled appropriately.
“Emrys, find a telephone and ring my uncle,” Quinn said before turning to Giselle. “Do you think you could find a camera?”
“Yes.” Giselle scurried off and out of the room.
Quinn continued to bark orders like a highly skilled admiral, and everyone listened, even the prince. “Jevon, guard the hallway and make sure no one enters. Constance, I need you here to help me gather the evidence.”
Slowly, not trying to disturb the scene, Quinn walked into the hallway, searched for her medical kit, and dropped her bag next to the door. She tied her cinnamon hair into a tight ballet bun and slipped gloves onto her fingers. Once everything was in place, Quinn retraced her steps and carefully tiptoed over to the body.
Her hands shook as she reached out to grasp the man’s wrist. Inhaling sharply, she tried to steady the hailstorm of emotions cutting at her core. This man was the one person who had answers, the one person who might be able to lead them in the correct direction.
He was the key, and now he was dead.
As she slid her fingers across the victim’s wrist, she was struck by how warm his body felt. If the body was this warm, it meant that his time of death would’ve been less than an hour before.
The human body lost temperature at the rate of 1.5 degrees per hour, and although she didn’t have a mirror thermometer on her, this body felt nearly alive. But she would need Uncle Matias’s equipment to confirm.
The killer was one step ahead of Quinn. Ruining her chances of discovering their identity. It was almost as if they watched her and knew precisely what she’d do next.
A chill crawled down her spine.
It might be possible to have a mirror object that could spy on people, but the cost of an object like that would be astronomical. Quinn’s heart rattled. The type of person willing to make that large of a bargain scared her.
No lacerations, no puncture wounds. No tattoos. This body didn’t fit the profile, but it was too coincidental that he showed up dead right when they sought answers from him. The only logical reason for killing the reporter was that he might know the murderer’s identity because if his information had led to a Blood Mirror, there was an incentive to keep him alive and let Quinn get closer to finding the information.
