Page 12 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Nine

B reathing felt like dying, and getting out of bed was next to impossible. Without dance, Jane had no hope. She was a useless blob of human flesh. She was nothing—a girl controlled by two evil monsters.

She was a shattered mirror. Dead and filled with horrible luck.

Somehow, she had managed to inform the Royalle Ballet Director that she had sustained a career-ending injury and that she would no longer be able to perform. Saying the words aloud was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but somehow she had managed.

And now she lay in the fetal position in her bed, which she hadn’t left in two days save to drink water and relieve herself.

It was her week to herself. The week she didn’t have to stay with her husband or see Nightmare, she rented a room at the Viridian Nightclub.

The Courtesan Club and Cabaret was one of the seventeen known Mirror-Blessed buildings in the city.

Kordelia, the owner of the Viridian, made a deal with a mirror to create a club that was alive, always moving, and always changing with enchantment.

It gave the attendees their heart’s desires, conjuring up any and all fantasies one might have. It was a den of pleasure and sin.

Most importantly, it was a refuge for the lost and broken, and it was the place Jane turned to for the week she was alone.

A soft pattering sounded at the door. Jane mumbled and smashed her pillow over her face. She wanted nothing to do with whatever was beyond her room.

“Janey?” A soft, feminine voice floated through the crack in the door.

Another soft knock.

“Move aside, Constance. She won’t hear you if you knock like a hummingbird.” Kordelia’s harsh tone pierced through the wood.

“I am trying to be gentle,” the softer voice said.

Kordelia scoffed. “She doesn’t need gentle.”

And with that, the door flung open, and light slapped Jane across the face. She groaned and slammed her face further into her pillow.

“It’s time to stop sulking, girl.” Kordelia’s formidable footsteps sounded like thunderclouds as she moved closer. “Get up.”

The pillow was ripped out of Jane’s hands, and that horrible light surged through her skin and into her bones.

“No,” she moaned.

“You need to get up and move on with your life.” Kordelia crossed her arms and glared at Jane.

“It’s only been three days. She can sulk for at least four more.” Constance was generally the nicer of the two, but she was even more so now, since she was also a dancer. The Viridian’s star cabaret dancer.

Jane was semi-friendly with both women, but she didn’t truly have any close friends because her husband never wanted her to have relationships beyond him. When she was with Nightmare, they were focused on his machinations, and Jane didn’t have time to connect with people.

Kordelia clicked her tongue. “The longer she sulks, the harder it will be. She needs to push through it.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Constance’s voice sounded as light as birdsong despite being firm.

Kordelia stepped closer and put a gentle hand on Jane’s shoulder.

Then she knelt to eye level. “I do not possess a heart any longer, but this one”—she motioned to Constance with her thumb—“is trying to teach me empathy. And here is what I have gathered. You are a young, broken girl with an unfair life and unfair circumstances. You have experienced far more than most will in their entire lives. You are hurting, and you don’t know how to live past your most recent setback.

But I also see you, girl. You are strong, talented, and resilient.

You can get through this, too. The Viridian is a safe haven for girls like you, and you can sulk for years if need be.

Constance and I are immortals; We’re not going anywhere, so if you want to be a pile of pathetic human flesh taking up one of the beds in my nightclub, by all means… ”

“Kordelia—” Constance chided.

“But I think you are too driven and too full of life to waste your youth away sulking. So you can’t dance anymore—it’s awful, but it’s not who you are . So, who are you? A girl who gives up?”

No. Never.

The words must have played on Jane’s face because Kordelia said, “I didn’t think so.” Then, she turned back to her lover and business partner. “I think I did brilliantly, don’t you?”

Constance shook her head but smiled. “You didn’t do terribly. Jane, there is a position available teaching at the Royalle Ballet School if you’re interested. I know it might be hard considering your… injury, but it might help give you a purpose.”

No one actually believed Jane was injured.

Not after the Cobra Lilies kidnapped her and forced her to make a mirror deal.

Apparently, the Mirror Mafia loved to spread rumors.

And the ongoing rumor was that she had lost her dancing ability because she had made a bad deal with a mirror, and this was her unintended consequence.

In a way, they weren’t wrong.

Five days later, Jane stood at the front of the juniors’ ballet class. The class was for advanced dancers ages fourteen and up—the dancers who would go on to audition for the Royalle Ballet’s apprenticeships.

Jane arrived at the Royalle Ballet Dance School thirty minutes early to meet with the Artistic Assistant Director and prepare for the class. She’d never taught anyone anything before, and she had no idea what she was doing, but she wasn’t going to be late on her first day.

So she was there when all of the dancers arrived. They came in pairs and groups, and as they walked in, the Artistic Assistant Director introduced her to them. Upon the arrival of the third group, Jane saw a glimmer of crimson hair, and immediately, all of the breath left her body.

Jane was not prepared; she probably never could have been. Pain blossomed in her chest, and every muscle in her body grew as tight as a harp string.

Quinnevere.

The redheaded girl, who must have been about seventeen years old, was Jane’s little sister. She was shorter than Jane by about four inches, and her hair was slightly darker—more cinnamon than Jane’s ginger—but Jane would have known her anywhere.

She wore a soft pink flowing ballet dress, and with her footfalls, a blood-red necklace bounced around her neck.

Jane sucked in a breath. The necklace hummed a smooth tune that only Jane seemed to hear.

She cocked her head; it emitted a similar frequency as the invisible mirror in the Royalle Ballet.

Strange.

Jane’s gaze slid back to her sister’s face, and their eyes caught.

It was too much. Jane mumbled something unintelligible to the Artistic Assistant and rushed to the powder room.

It was too much. Jane had only seen glimpses of her sister for the past thirteen years.

It was part of her promise to her uncle that she would stay away.

And for the safety and well-being of her sister, she had.

A harsh sob rocked Jane’s shoulders, and she smashed a hand over her lips to try to cover her mouth. The pain was a hoarse echo rattling through her bones. A pounding war drum. A rotting bouquet of roses.

A clock ticked somewhere in the distance, and Jane knew she had to pull herself together.

She had to get up and act like nothing was wrong.

It was her duty to the Ballet Director. But she also needed to patch herself together, because this was her chance to see her sister, and maybe even get to know her, too.

Jane pinched her eyes shut for one moment, and she let the tears ricochet down her face and tinkle to the marble floors. Then she stood up, turned on the faucet, and threw water on her face before returning to the room and making her apologies, saying she was nauseous.

People might assume she was pregnant, which may be why, in their minds, she quit ballet and began teaching.

The entire class was now present, and as soon as she was introduced, they started warming up and going through their positions. Once they ended their warm-ups with the grand battement, Jane and the Artistic Assistant began teaching them the choreography to “Winter’s Eve” and the corps parts.

It was an advanced class, so the corrections were minor.

There were slight redirections to positions, postures, and the lines of their arms. Jane tried to keep her eyes off her sister, but they found her anyways.

Over and over and over again. She was surprisingly talented, but she also had a lot of work to do if she were going to make the Royalle Ballet.

The first class was tough, much harder than Jane had ever imagined. Still, she got through it, and would get through it again and again until teaching became easy. Although, she suspected that teaching her little sister, who had no idea they were even related, would never get easier.

Months passed as Jane taught at the Ballet School. During that time, she still had to split her time between her husband, Nightmare, and her week at the Viridian, but Constance was right: Teaching gave her purpose and small hints of happiness.

But she was still grieving the loss of her dancing.

So much so that Jane hadn’t spoken to Nightmare in months.

Not even her curiosity about her dormant magic could bulldoze through her anger.

She hated him now. So they ate in silence.

When he gave her commands, she merely nodded her head and did as he wanted.

During the time she spent with him each month, she’d sleep in his bed and never say a word.

She was punishing him, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

He never mentioned the silence, nor did he compel her to speak to him. He was simply okay with it, which made her all the angrier. She wanted to punish him for stealing dance from her, but the god had no feelings. He didn’t care about anything or anyone. So how could she punish someone like that?

It wasn’t possible.

It was like trying to weave with invisible thread or paint a portrait with a blindfold. One could do it, but it wouldn’t turn out very well.

So, instead of focusing on her hatred for him, she turned her eyes to her sister.

It took Jane six months to build a meaningful relationship with Quinnevere.

At first, it was too hard to talk to her for any period without wanting to break down completely.

But slowly, Jane let her sister in—let her sister see pieces of her that others didn’t.

They started by chatting after classes, but when Constance decided to join the ballet class, they would grab lunch and dinner together and slowly began building a friendship.

Constance was different outside of the Viridian.

Almost more… free? As if away from Kordelia, the girl was more alive, bubbly, and energetic.

Almost like Kordelia sucked the energy out of Constance.

It wasn’t Jane’s place to judge—after all, her husband was abusive, and her soul belonged to a mirror—but something was off about the girl’s relationship with the Viridian and its owner.

Jane enjoyed both versions of the girl, but it was rather interesting to see how different she could be when away from her responsibilities.

It made Jane wonder if she was the same.

Probably, considering she felt like two different people when she was with her husband and when she was around everyone else.

She was a meek, pathetic, quiet doll when she was with her husband, and with Nightmare and her friends, she was both lighter and stronger, like a dragonfly—able to metaphorically lift twice her body weight.

But the strangest thing was that she could say she had friends; and incredibly, her friendships didn’t end with Quinnevere and Constance, because their trio was soon joined by two more.

Jevon, a quiet, astute but messy young man, and Giselle, a vibrant, colorful acrobat who worked at the Viridian alongside Constance.

There was something about Jevon’s mess that comforted Jane.

His suits were always wrinkled, and his cravat was tied loose and off-center, but there was beauty in it.

Jane wasn’t remotely interested in him romantically, and he never once made any advances toward her.

He was the first safe man she’d ever been in a relationship with, and it meant all the more that it was so platonic.

Giselle and Constance also came to mean the world to Jane.

They both had vibrant energies that twisted together, got knotted, and clashed, but there was something magical about it all.

But of course, it was Quinnevere who truly meant everything to her.

It was remarkable getting to know her, getting to see the fruit of Jane’s sacrifice.

Quinn was brilliant and talented, although her closed-off nature and unwillingness to feel emotions hindered her dancing skills.

Technically, the girl’s dancing was perfect; she just lacked acting and artistry, but with time, Jane was convinced she’d get better and that, maybe one day, she would grow to be a better dancer than Jane had ever been.

But it was Quinnevere’s mind that Jane was most proud of.

The girl was a genius. She was the youngest apprentice medical examiner in the history of University Square.

Jane had only watched Quinnevere do one autopsy, but it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

And all of it warmed Jane’s soul. Before she had often wondered if her sacrifices—the orphanage, her husband, the abuse—were worth it, but after spending only a moment with her sister, she’d do it all over again—a million times.

Quinnevere was imperfectly-perfect. And so were the rest of Jane’s friends, and Jane loved them more than she knew was possible.

The group was like a tree. Giselle and Constance were orange and yellow leaves that had fallen off the tree and were violently dancing in the wind, while Jevon was a breakable branch attached to the tree.

Quinn was the trunk, stubborn but fierce in her loyalty and personality.

And Jane was the roots, digging into the ground and anchoring them all down.

It was a beautiful group of friends, and for the first time in her life, Jane was truly happy.

The only problem was that her husband was beginning to get jealous, which never boded well.