Page 17 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Her eyebrows crinkled, but she was far too focused on the prince. Studying him in a way that Jane did not like. It was probably time to step in, so Jane cleared her throat, and both sets of eyes landed on her.

“Oh, right, Janey. What brings you here?” Quinnevere asked.

“Seems obvious, no?” Emrys asked. “We’re here to bury your investigation. I have already told the police that they are not allowed to investigate this murder, and since no one in this pathetic man’s life even cared about him, no one will bat an eye at his unsolved murder.”

Quinnevere returned to the body, her gaze measuring the corpse, before flicking to Jane. “Did you kill him?”

Jane sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to lie to her sister. It wouldn’t be good for their relationship, but how would her sister, who worked every day to get justice for the dead, think about the fact that one of her closest friends was a murderer? “Not technically.”

Quinnevere sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.

She paused for a long minute in thought.

Then she nodded and said, “Alright.” She picked the intestines, which she had been studying, and she shoved them back inside the corpse.

“I have to close him so that he might be able to be placed in a coffin. Not that it will be an open-coffin funeral. Not with no head.”

Emrys chucked. “I’d say not.”

Quinnevere nodded again, before taking a needle and thread and very methodically sewing shut the flesh. Jane wasn’t squeamish, but this was, in fact, disgusting. Yet neither the prince nor her sister seemed to mind the sight at all.

As they watched, Emrys turned back to Jane and said, “Don’t you look forward to one day being on that table?”

Jane protectively hugged her arms around her center. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“We all end up in the morgue, Jane.” Emrys winked, far too amused by the entire situation.

“Not you,” she whispered through her teeth.

Not vampire princes. After their meeting at the Russet, Nightmare had filled her in about his involvement with the gang and the prince and that, in fact, Prince Emrys was the King Emrys who had led humans in the war seven hundred years ago against the last remaining vampires.

Unfortunately, before the war was over, Emrys had been turned.

After the war, he established a secret society called the Blood Council and Accords, which bound the remaining vampires to secrecy and prevented them from killing and becoming tyrants again.

It was a long and complicated history, but the most critical piece of information Jane learned was that her blood-painting tattoo was actually a symbol of the secret society and that her parents had been key members before their deaths.

Jane very much intended to reopen the investigation into their murders.

But first, she needed to survive this one.

“Well, when I do end up at this table, I hope it’s a much better atmosphere than this. How sad would it be for no one to care about your death?” Jane said, loud enough for both of them to hear.

“If you die, I will make sure people care.” Emrys’s voice dropped an octave, expression growing serious.

When I die, Jane felt it coming… Jane swallowed and tried to let that thought fly away. She hated it when she got that feeling.

“You’re not going to die, Jane,” Quinnevere said, not looking up from her task.

Jane forced a smile on her lips. “Of course not.”

Fifteen minutes later, after Quinnevere returned the corpse to a cold chamber and threw away all of her findings, Jane and Emrys left. As soon as they were in the hallway, Jane turned on the Playboy Prince. “Please don’t fuck her.” Jane crossed her arms and glared at him.

“She’s too young for me.”

Thank god . “Yes, she is, and you’re going to stay far away from her.”

“Now, where is the fun in that?” Emrys’s eyes twinkled maliciously.

“Stay away, Emrys.”

“I think I’ve just gained a massive interest in crime.” He winked. “One really must solve murders.”

“Emrys,” Jane warned, but the prince simply strode away from her, whistling an annoying tune.

Well fuck .

“You will move in with me completely, now.” Nightmare ambushed her as she entered, as if he had been lying in wait for her to return.

An anchor dropped in her stomach. She enjoyed living at the Viridian and having a week of freedom. But she knew arguing wouldn’t do her any good. Nightmare was not reasonable. He did not make compromises or hear people out.

“Alright.” When Nightmare didn’t move and continued to stand before her like a wall of muscle, Jane added, “Was there something else?”

A low rumble sounded in his chest. “Yes, you will no longer ignore your magic. You will learn how to control it and protect yourself.”

“I wasn’t ignoring my magic—” At his violent glower, Jane stopped talking. I was ignoring you.

He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. “We start now.”

“Could you just order me to learn how to use my magic and we could skip all of this?”

“Magic doesn’t like being commanded.”

Jane wouldn’t understand what he meant by that until much, much later.

It took Jane nine and a half months to get any semblance of control over her powers.

At first, it felt there was no rhyme or reason to control them.

Ancient witches had been born with their powers and had intuitive control over them, but since Jane hadn’t grown up learning to bend and move magic, it was difficult.

It was as if she were a baby learning to crawl, walk, run, and speak for the first time.

It was irritating because Mirror-Blessed never had this level of difficulty using their magic, and when Jane had complained about this to Nightmare he merely said, “Of course, they are using a tool. You are the tool. They tap into magic. You are its source. The magic needs to trust you, because what you can become is far beyond anything I or a Mirror-Blessed can ever do.”

Nightmare often spoke as if magic were sentient and had its own personality. And it seemed to. It was like coaxing and seducing a ghost or the wind. One couldn’t see or grab the source, but one could feel it and hear it—sometimes.

Magic was like emotions. Not in the sense that it worked with emotions. It was like emotions themselves. Moving and rolling and flipping through moods, often pausing on one for a long time. One day, it might be big and hot like anger, but the next day, it could feel lethargic and low like sadness.

Half of learning magic was learning how to regulate it, just as one should with emotions. That was precisely the reason it took her so long even to get a grasp on it.

So far, Jane appeared to be a Wind Witch, but Nightmare was convinced she would become more. There were five types of witches. Wind, Water, Fire, Earth, and Chiaroscuro—Often referred to as Light or Shadow Witches.

Wind Witches controlled more than just the wind; they took on all the properties of wind and bent any type of magic relating to it.

So, a Wind Witch would become invisible, move objects, and do things like morph their bodies into air, making it so they could slip through cracks in walls, almost like they could walk through them.

But it didn’t start there. They could often hear voices on the wind, or even read people’s hidden thoughts or intentions—that last bit only the most skilled Wind Witches could accomplish.

When witches existed, there were many different levels, just like humans had various levels of intelligence. The most powerful were nearly unstoppable.

Nightmare was convinced Jane would become one of the most powerful witches of all time. Jane was less sure, since she could barely stay invisible. She’d managed five-minute stints, and that took nine months to accomplish.

But Nightmare was certain, and often said, “A pathetic witch wouldn’t be prophesied to destroy me.”