Page 90 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
The family motto:don’t talk about it.
Or perhaps he was too eccentric and busy to bother reprimanding her again. He’d been a surprisingly distant parental guardian.
Leaning over a table, Quinn checked and cross-checked the fingerprints from the council meetingagainagainst the fingerprints from Jane’s murder and the reporter. There was no match. She knew this, yet she couldn’t help herself. She needed something to cling onto because anytime she got anywhere with the investigation, everything was ruined.
The murderer was truly one step ahead . . . always.
Quinn didn’t know if she was still in danger. The murderer had destroyed the second mirror and gotten what they wanted. Technically, she’d played her part and led them to it. She had to assume they were watching her—following her. Somehow. Maybe with Mirror-Blessed magic? Quinn swallowed past the lump in her throat. It was all her fault.
All of it.
The victim on the table.
The dead mirror.
Everything.
The events also seemed to have shaken Emrys. He had held her trembling in his arms, protecting her from flying glass for far longer than was decent or necessary. Frozen in defeat. They’d failed. Spectacularly.
But currently, the prince sat in the corner reading a romance novel. It seemed that he also liked to suppress his struggles—with reading. The cover of his book read something likeA Rogue of One’s OwnorThe Rogue Not Takenor something similarly themed. She never imagined he’d be into romance, but he was so utterly confident, even in that.
After about twenty minutes of useless checking, Quinn huffed and dug her fingers into her temples.
“Find anything interesting?” Emrys asked, pocketing his novel, and pulling out a set of gloves.
“Nothing.” She sighed. “We have nothing. Just like always. We take one step forward to take a thousand steps back.”
Emrys examined the prints, his fingers shadowing her own—too close.
A bird in her heart fluttered against its cage, and she trembled. His closeness stirred sensations in her body, ones especially inappropriate in this situation. She needed to be impartial and not care—evidence required to be respected and cherished.
What she didn’t need to do was imagine how his fingers would feel against her neck or how his lips would—
Pull yourself together.
Quinn gulped, and her breaths grew ragged. “Do you think it’s vampires?”
“Yes.” He pulled back and caught her gaze, misery pirouetting in his eyes. It was as if the weight of the Looking Glass rested on his chest. “It has to be. The illusions last night, blood rain, fog, and lights are all within our power of persuasive illusions.”
Quinn’s intestinal tract solidified, causing deep guttural pain. “I have no real suspects.” She rolled out her neck and cleared her throat. “I am not sure what else to do. More people keep dying, and I am nowhere closer to the truth.”
“I know the feeling.” Emrys’s voice cracked. “Maybe we’re going about the investigation wrong. We’ve been looking for the murderer, but maybe we should try finding the last mirror and lure them into it.”
Quinn tried her best to sound clinical and uncaring, but her voice had a slight tremor. “That involves finding the mirror.”
“Perhaps your necklace or another mirror could help with that.”
Quinn’s mouth worked as Jevon opened the lab door carrying a package. Emrys stepped away from the examining table, putting space between them.
“Mr. Yale, you’re not allowed in here,” Uncle Matias said, eyes focused on his microscope.
Jevon flashed an innocent smile that oozed charm like magic. “I’m deeply sorry, Dr. Thyssen. Someone left Quinn an interesting package, and I figured I’d bring it in. Of course, I’ll leave as soon as I give it to her.”
“Fine, fine.” Uncle Matias waved him off.
Jevon strolled over to his friend and whispered from the corner of his mouth. “Find anything?”
“More of the same,” Quinn said. “A package for me?”
