Page 7 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Beautiful Decay was known as one of the worst mirrors inNew Swansea. He made terrible deals and punished those who dared bargain with him with long-lasting and gruesome consequences.
There was a reason he was referred to as Poison.
Quinn rubbed her face and stepped toward the mirror she planned to challenge. Midnight. A purple galaxy shimmered underneath the glass, and lapis blue danced like the corps de ballet in Starlight Falls. The frame was made of swirling shadows and shooting stars. The Mirror of Midnight was one of the more harmless ones, speaking only in creepy, useless riddles and rarely harming anyone.
Sometimes, Quinn would watch the god talk with passersby on the street. Like a prison, the gods could communicate with the outside world, talking, luring, and doing their best to get people to enter their realm because the only way for them to make a deal was for a person to enter their mirror.
Midnight tried to talk to people on the street, but she wasn’t very successful at it. People tended to avoid her. She was justsocreepy.
“At least she’s awake,” Quinn said. Midnight also seemed to sleep far more than her counterparts.
“True,” Jevon whispered as if afraid she’d overhear him. “It’s strange how much she sleeps.” He whispered because the mirrors could most likely overhear them, which was probably why they were so good at their deals.
All mirrors were tricksters, but some were worse than others.
“What if Midnight tricks me and traps her inside her surface forever?”
“She won’t.” Constance scrunched her nose. “It’s true once you’re inside the mirror, you’re at its will, and it could trap you inside, but none of them do. If they did that, no one would ever come back to bargain with them.”
“And for some reason, the mirrors need the bargains as much as we do,” Giselle added.
Her friends’ words made her feel better, but getting trapped was still a possibility.
The worst deal anyone could make was trading their soul with a mirror. It was so terrible that no one should ever do it, but desperate times made hundreds of people take desperate measures. The numbers were easy to track because each time someone traded their soul, a new mirror formed in Trapped Souls Row.
“You’re going to be fine.” Giselle clutched her friend’s hand. “The Mirror-Gods won’t hurt you because, again, no one would ever come back. It’s why no one even trades with the Looking Glass anymore. He hurt too many people, and now no one dares to mess with him—except apparently Jane.”
“Once again, I didn’t have a choice.” Jane crossed her arms.
“Anyway, my point stands,” Giselle said. “No one trades with him either for the same reason.” Giselle pointed to the Mirror of Beautiful Decay. They have consequences for their actions, too.”
Quinn sucked in a breath, her hands shaking. The mirrors’ magic only worked inside their mirrors and in deals. Meaning the only way a mirror could use magic—for or against her—was if she entered it or entered into an agreement. And Giselle was right. Most of the gods needed the bargains and wouldn’t unwillingly trap someone inside. While their power seemed limitless, it wasn’t. The Mirror-Gods were only powerful within their realms, and once a deal was made, the gods were bound to it. Quinn knew all of this, but she couldn’t keep her heart from quaking and her mind from splintering. Because once a bargain was set, a mirror could bend the magic however they wanted, creating whatever costs they desired. Quinn said as much aloud.
“You’ll be fine.” Jevon swished an unruly blond lock out of his eyes. “They can’t really bend the costs like that. It’s more that they can trick you into a worse cost. Like for example, if someone made a deal to have enough money to feed their family and the person wasn’t careful enough with their words, the cost might be that the mirror kills one of their children because it’s one lessmouth to feed, ergo, now they have enough money to feed their family.”
“I don’t think that example is helping, Jevon.” Giselle shook her head.
It was a terrible reminder of how someone’s deal could affect the ones they cared about and could bind more than just themselves to consequences.
“I guess it was a scary example.” Jevon shrugged. “But it’s not like Quinn is going to trade for eternal youth like that one boy who lost all his empathy to the mirror.” Quinn stiffened, but Jevon didn’t notice and continued, “She’ll be fine. I’ve never met someone more careful.”
“That’s also not helpful either, Jevon.” Constance scrunched her nose and glowered at him.“You are the worst at cheering her up.”
Quinn gulped, and she clutched her necklace for comfort, taking another step toward Mirror of Midnight. If this deal were to happen, she needed to suck it up and jump head-first into danger.
But a frisson of fear rolled down her spine, and Quinn’s heart stormed, so she clutched the nearest hand she could find.
It belonged to Jane. Her grip was sturdy and comforting.
To perform the rite, she needed to walk into the mirror, and Quinn didn’t want any more time to think—to talk herself out of it. She was doing this to negate the bad luck. Doing it for her ballet auditions, and that was all she needed to think about. That was all that mattered.
Ballet.
Always ballet and only ballet.
Without another thought, Quinn stepped forward and touched the mirror.
It felt so cold it burned, so she ripped her hand away, and shock sank into her core. Her heart hammered like bourrée steps—quick and unrelenting, sweat dripping down her templebecause her body was responding. And the panic gripped her so tight her lungs burned with the tension.
