Page 58 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“Who are you?” Quinn asked, staring into the woman’s green eyes. “What are you?”
“Oh, hello, Blood.” The pink-haired girl pouted in a voice that made it clear that she was not happy to see the other woman.
“Midnight.” Blood curtsied to the other mirror.
“Are you okay?” Blood asked Quinn.
“I—” Quinn gulped. “Ah. Yes . . . No.” Her gaze raked over the necklace-woman again. “Who are you? Are you the mirror that was destroyed the night my parents died? Did you know my parents? What were they doing there?”
Quinn’s questions slurred together and stormed from her mouth, one after the other, with very little thought given to them. It was like a cascading waterfall of all the unanswered questions she’d had in the last nineteen years.
Blood started to respond but was immediately cut off by Midnight’s dramatic moan. “No, no, no. This is my realm, and I don’t care about these silly questions.” Midnight rounded on Quinn. “So, Quinnevere, what is it that you seek from me?” Without any warning, the girl hopped down into a cross-cross sitting position and clapped. It was a surprisingly graceful move, but it made her seem even more like a child.
Quinn swallowed but squared her shoulders. “I would like to trade for information.”
“Hmmm, you seek only information, but I could give you a voice that compels all to love you, or I could change the colors of your hair with every emotion or grant you a kiss of death. I couldgive you the ability to compel anyone like a siren. Or I could give you a chest of the rarest jewels in all the land.” The voice came from the clouds and the lightning, the shadows, and the stars. It came from everywhere and vibrated in the wind.
A tremor coiled in Quinn’s core.
To her surprise, Midnight said in a lazy voice, “I control everything in here. It’s like my dollhouse.” Midnight paused, her red, ruby eyes cutting into Quinn. “I could give you the Queen’s Royalle Ballet.”
At this, Quinn paused. Her heart was a fast-flying hummingbird in her chest. It was what she always wanted, but . . . the cost. Nightshade’s deal already killed Jane—probably. “I thought you could only give information.” Quinn had only heard of people getting information from Midnight, but it made sense she could bargain for magic, too.
Red chrysanthemums blossomed on Midnight’s cheeks. “I excel at information. It is my passion and my past-time, but like all mirrors, I can give you magic, if you prefer. I just might not get the ingredients quite right. I am not practiced, you see.”
“You practice,” Quinn repeated, not fully understanding what that meant.
“Yes, not all of us can be like the Looking Glass. He is so skilled he can project his costs and his magic outside of his glass cage. He makes everyone in New Swansea City have nightmares every night.” Midnight tapped her long fingers on her knee as if she were playing a nursery game with herself. “I wish I knew how he did it. But he is ancient and won’t tell me. At least four thousand years old and the same with Passion, Gold, and Greed. They’re from long before the Blood Rebellion. That’s why they can extract like they do.”
During Midnight’s monologue, Quinn glanced at Blood, who stood silently, watching and assessing. Upon catching Quinn’s questioning gaze, Blood simply shrugged. But the shrug spoke loudly. It saidI am not responsible for her. She’s gone a little mad.
“Information is my magic,” Midnight continued.
“It is definitely your greatest skill.” Blood’s voice was gentle, like a mother soothing a child.
“Oh, sssh, I didn’t ask your opinion.” Midnight glowered before turning back to Quinn. “I could give you the name of your parents’ murderer or Jane’s murderer, but that would take a big cost, not quite a soul level, but pretty big.”
No.
The cost was too much.
Quinn needed to get out of this unscathed. “How much will it cost for clues for the investigation?”
“Clues aren’t really worth that much. So, what will you give me for them?”
Quinn gulped. She had no idea what fair cost would be or how to go about starting the bargain. “Umm, uh, what would you like?”
“I like hair.” Midnight twirled a finger through her waves. “I’ll take some of your hair for every answer given.” Shivers rolled down Quinn’s arms. That was a creepy cost.
“What are you going to do with it?” Quinn asked.
Rubbing strands of her hair together, Midnight said, “Braid it. I like braiding. It is an art form, you know.”
Quinn nervously reached for her hair. “How much of my hair?”
“Enough to play with but not enough for it to matter. You have thick hair. You’ll have plenty left for you.” Midnight’s face was a tableau of excitement.
“What are the unintended consequences?”
