Page 9 of Enchantra (Wicked Games #2)

8

WICKED REFLECTION

Genevieve wasn’t entirely sure where she was going as she hastily made her way down the empty corridor. All she knew was that she needed to get away .

She dashed across the foyer to the hallway of portraits and noticed that the first door to her left was now halfway open. She cautiously peered inside and was relieved to find that it was an empty powder room, every wall adorned in a dusty, blue jacquard wallpaper that made her eyes cross with its hectic pattern. After turning the lock on the door with an echoing click, she braced her hands on the marble vanity.

Rings. Weddings. Devils. Games. It’s all too fucking much. I wanted to find a companion to talk to about my childhood trauma, not a damned husband.

She gulped down a few deep breaths. She reached out with a shaky hand to twist on the faucet over the vanity’s sink and splashed her face with a few handfuls of cold water before grabbing one of the neatly folded towels atop the cabinet and patting her skin dry.

When she lifted her gaze back to the mirror, a scream began clawing its way up her throat as she took in the wicked reflection now staring back at her. Though it was her own face, her cerulean irises had changed to a deep violet, and her mouth was pulled into a ghastly, too-wide smile.

What lovely little creature do we have here?

Genevieve backed away from the vanity until she hit the wall behind her, the room too narrow to put a comfortable distance between her and the monstrous illusion in the mirror. The crooning voice had unmistakably been inside her mind. Something that she’d experienced only once before, inside Phantasma, with a Devil named Sinclair.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her eyes never breaking from the unnatural violet gaze in the mirror as she worked to keep her words even.

The voice laughed. Some refer to me as the master of the house. Others refer to me as Knox. Lady’s choice. And you are…?

It was Genevieve’s turn to laugh. She was not about to give a Devil her name.

Oh, come now, you can tell ? —

A sudden pounding cut through the room.

“Genevieve, open the door,” a deep voice that was becoming all too familiar called from the other side.

As perturbed as Genevieve was by the idea of letting Rowin think he could boss her around, she was more keen to escape the Devil’s presence. She twisted the door’s lock, but as quickly as it clicked open, it snapped right back into place.

Let him wait, lovely. I’m not done with you yet.

Genevieve opened her mouth to shout to Rowin, but when she tried to speak, no words would come out.

She glanced back to the mirror, and a rumbling laugh permeated her mind as something speared out of its surface and latched onto her wrists. Purple strings. She tried to free herself from the strings’ clutches, but it was no use. The glittering threads only tightened as they dragged her forward. She lurched right into the vanity, the edge of the countertop hitting her stomach and making her grunt with pain.

Stop resisting and this will be a lot easier for you.

The strings gave another painful yank, nearly pulling her arms out of their sockets, until she finally let out a defeated hiss.

“ Alright ,” she growled between clenched teeth as she climbed onto the vanity of her own volition.

The mirror in front of her began to ripple as the Devil urged her forward, and Rowin’s knocking became even more impatient. As she tumbled through the strange portal, however, everything went utterly silent. It quickly became clear that wherever she’d been transported to was meant to be an exact replica of the powder room, except…mirrored. The strings were still twined around her wrists, but now they stretched out of the door into what she presumed would be this mirror-realm’s version of the corridor back in Enchantra.

Come find me, lovely.

Genevieve climbed down from the vanity and lunged for the door with determination, following the strings through the hallway, through the reversed layout of the house, and across the foyer to the front entry. She noted, in the back of her mind, that it seemed much brighter here. Less dusty and certainly much quieter with the absence of the Silver family.

When she threw the front door open, she gasped at what she found beyond the porch.

The walls of the labyrinth were blanketed in blooming roses. All in shades of fuchsia, blush, and lavender, the gleaming sun overhead making them stretch toward the sky. Gone was the slush of snow and the bite of cold. Instead, she was met by a warmth that made her want to shed her cape and gloves, the latter of which she did pry off before tucking them into her pockets.

As if in a trance, she made her way toward the maze. The violet strings tugging more gently now—guiding instead of insisting. She wove her way around the twists and turns of the hedges, the sound of trickling water growing louder until she finally reached the labyrinth’s heart. A square clearing decorated with the same checkered flooring of the foyer inside. Only a small perimeter of grass outlined the gray-and-white marble. In the center was an exquisite silver fountain, its streams of water spouting down from the mouths of a few very familiar animals.

A sudden swirl of deep purple smoke began to churn through the air in front of her as a figure took shape. A strangled gasp fell from her lips and she found herself staring back at the imposter she’d seen in the mirror. This version of herself had the same violet eyes and harsh smile, but instead of her ensemble’s blush details, the imposter wore a gown of violet and black. As if they were dressed for a funeral.

“Hello, lovely,” Genevieve’s imposter-self rasped in Knox’s voice.

“What sort of game is this?” Genevieve hissed. “Why do you look like me?”

The imposter’s brows rose. “Do I? Well, that is certainly interesting.”

Genevieve swallowed as Knox began circling her like a vulture, eyes flicking hungrily over every inch of her form.

“Why did you bring me here?” Genevieve demanded, impatient when he didn’t offer anything more.

“I don’t usually visit Enchantra until the masquerade, but today I sensed that something was different. Imagine my surprise when I peered through that mirror and found your pretty face staring back at me.”

“What do you want?”

“No, I think the question is what do you want? You appear to have broken into my house.”

“I—” Genevieve’s mind raced. Barrington had said that Knox would kill her if he knew the truth. “I’m Rowington Silver’s fiancée.”

She couldn’t believe she’d let those words past her lips. She still had no intention of following the Silvers’ ludicrous scheme, but she would do whatever it took to get out of this nightmare alive.

A dangerous smile spread across Knox’s face, and he looked her over once again. “Rowington has found himself a bride?”

Genevieve nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to speak the lie again.

“And he’s going to attempt…”

She nodded again.

“What joyful news,” the Devil said, drawing closer. “The wedding is tonight then?”

Genevieve swallowed. And then nodded once more.

“I hope Rowington prepared you for what you’re getting yourself into, lovely. If I announce the two of you are playing as a couple, my patrons are going to get excited. Which means there better be no cold feet on either you or Rowington tonight. Because if my spectators decide to pull their wagers, there will be consequences. When I lose, everyone loses.”

“Very dramatic,” Genevieve said dryly.

Knox paused his steps, facing her head-on now. It was eerie, staring back at herself like this.

“I must say, I am utterly dying to know what Rowin thinks he’s going to do with you. A simple mortal. But I do love a good romantic tragedy.” A sniff of amusement. “He’s always been selfish, that one. Nearly two decades of freedom and it’s still not enough for him.”

“Freedom? Remaining unconfined while your family is trapped in Hell is not freedom. But I’m sure you already know that.”

The smile on the imposter’s face tightened. “You and Rowin are cut from the same cloth, I see.”

Genevieve worked very hard not to make a face at that.

“You’re going to play a little game now,” Knox said. “Consider it a preliminary assessment of how you might fare in the Hunt.”

“I’m not—” she began. But before she could finish, the imposter version of herself, and the purple strings, evaporated into thin air. Genevieve took that as her cue to leave.

She made to dash through an opening between the hedged walls, but the gap that led into the interior corridors shifted to the left. Stopping short of getting a face full of leaves and roses, she blinked in disbelief. She adjusted and tried to exit a second time, but the opening moved away once again.

“That’s the wrong way out,” a cheery voice called from behind her.

She turned to see Sevin, leaning next to another gaping exit on the far side of the square clearing, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her in amusement.

“You aren’t real,” she stated.

“Are you sure?” the illusion of Sevin asked with a tilt of his head.

“Yes,” she said, unmoved. Aside from the fact that she knew better than most the illusions a Devil could create, there were certain details missing that made it clear this was an imposter. No lollipop hanging out of his mouth. And no spark of amusement in his eyes.

“We might not be the real thing, but I bet we could inflict pain just the same,” a second voice commented on her right.

Genevieve whipped around to find Rowin, his expression a mask of apathy as he gave her a once-over. Whatever features were off about this version of him were not as easy for her to determine. His hair was shorter, perhaps. His outfit less impeccably tailored.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Rowin suggested, cutting through her thoughts as he started for her.

When he lunged forward, Genevieve scrambled back, narrowly avoiding the tip of the dagger he suddenly had gripped in his hand. As he righted himself to attack again, she reached over to rip out a handful of leaves and vines from the labyrinth’s wall. He shot forward with the dagger once more, and she let it go through the palm of her left hand while she shoved the handful of foliage right into his mouth.

A burst of pain went through her hand and reverberated all the way up her arm as Rowin spit out the leaves with a decent amount of surprise. She gawked down at the knife protruding from her palm, blood spilling from the wound like a waterfall and splashing down the front of her cape and dress. Without a sound, Genevieve reached up to grab the hilt of the knife and pull it out of her wound, letting it clatter to the ground at their feet.

You should run , she told herself. Move.

But she could hardly do anything but stare at the blood ruining her gown.

The corners of Rowin’s mouth turned down in dissatisfaction, and that was when she realized what was so off about this imposter. He was missing his lip ring.

A shame, since that might possibly be the only thing I enjoyed about him.

The illusion procured another dagger from thin air.

“May I suggest you start running, sweetheart?” Sevin called out with a laugh.

As if she’d been doused with cold water, Genevieve’s shock finally wore off. Ducking beneath Rowin’s raised arm, Genevieve hauled herself toward the opening of the labyrinth yet again, only this time it stayed in place. She sprinted down the first interior corridor, several pairs of footsteps echoing around her as Rowin, Sevin, and at least one other unseen figure gave chase. Something whipped past her head, and she gritted her teeth as a nick of pain began to burn along the top of her left cheekbone and a trickle of warm blood slid down her face. She made to hook the next right, but the moment she did, she face-planted into one of the flowering hedges. Spitting leaves out of her mouth, the irony not lost on her, she saw that the maze was once again moving itself around to trap her.

“A mortal,” a gruff, unfamiliar voice scoffed just behind her. “Easy win.”

Genevieve spun, but before she could make out the details of the stranger’s face, his dagger descended. She tried to reach out for her magic, but the spark she could usually feel burning in her core was nowhere to be found, and the stranger rammed his blade through her right shoulder. At first the pain ripping through her nearly buckled her knees, and the only thing keeping her upright was her grip tangled in the branches at her sides. When she heard her attacker’s huff of laughter, however, something inside her snapped. She unclenched her grip from the hedge and reached out to grab the knife by its blade mid-arc, hissing as its sharpened edge sliced into her already-wounded palm. The hulking stranger hesitated just long enough for her to rip the dagger from his grasp. She quickly adjusted her grip to its hilt and then rammed the dagger as deep into his right eye socket as it would go.

When she managed to dislodge the blade from his face, she slammed it into the side of his neck next. Over and over she hacked at him as her rage and fear twisted together into an unintelligible knot inside her. By the time his body finally slumped to the ground, she was heaving with the effort of her fury. Left frozen in shock at what she had done.

But the stillness didn’t last long as another dagger whipped toward her, nearly lodging itself in the soft flesh of her abdomen before she dodged out of the way and stumbled back into the hedge?—

—except the opening in the wall had shifted once again. She crashed to the ground, hard. She couldn’t really remember the last time she’d taken a physical blow like that. For years she’d relied on her magic to avoid the discomfort of being human—while desperately trying to appear human as well.

I am so fucked up , she thought.

She wasn’t sure who had thrown that last one, or whose footsteps were thundering toward her now, but she was sure she’d had enough. She braced herself against the agony still tearing through her body and lurched back to her feet, taking off through the maze once more. And either Knox had gotten all the assessment he needed, or she had found a dose of pure luck, because she managed to puzzle her way out of the labyrinth without any more trouble from moving walls or murderous siblings.

She tore through the house for the powder room, and as she clambered up onto the vanity and spilled through the mirror, back into reality, she heard one final thought.

This is going to be fun.

As Genevieve fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the door to the bathroom wrenched open, splintering where the lock had resisted and sending slivers of wood scattering to the floor.

She squeaked in surprise as she blinked up at Rowin, her mind still trying to understand what had just happened.

“Fuck. You spoke with Knox? What did he—” Rowin said, but Genevieve was already scrambling forward.

Crawling over the splintered wood, she wedged herself past him and out of the powder room, hauling herself to her feet and toward the front door. Back toward Enchantra’s gate.

She was going to get away from this house, this family, if it killed her.