Page 38 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

J ane didn’t know who was more nervous for Quinnevere’s Mirror Rite, her or Quinn.

Jane was an utter mess. She had been all day. Earlier at Quinnevere’s Royalle Ballet auditions, not only had Jane let it slip that Blood Mirrors existed, but she’d also asked Quinnevere about her necklace.

The last thing Jane needed was for her sister to get wrapped up in the dark underworld of New Swansea City.

And now they were standing in front of the Mirror of Midnight, waiting for Quinnevere to get enough confidence to enter it.

The only problem was that Jane didn’t think her sister should make a deal with The Mirror of Midnight—aka Periwinkle.

No one else thought she was dangerous. They all thought Periwinkle to be a harmless, quirky, sad mirror, but Jane knew better.

She was the most clever of all the mirrors, and she always had a nefarious scheme up her sleeve.

If there were a true puppet master of New Swansea City, it would be the Mirror of Midnight.

So, Jane couldn’t let her sister bargain with her.

Quinnevere gulped and clutched her necklace for comfort, taking another step toward the Mirror of Midnight.

She visibly shook and reached out a hand for comfort. Jane instinctively curled her fingers around her sister’s, trying to be comforting.

Quinnevere took another step toward the swirling galaxy surface of the Mirror of Midnight. She reached out and touched the liquid nebula, flinching back from the mirror’s icy cold

Jane’s heart surged. She couldn’t let her sister do this. “I think this is a mistake.” So, without warning or forethought, Jane wrenched her into the wrong mirror.

Into one of the wickedest mirrors in all of New Swansea.

Beautiful Decay.

At least he was a friend. After a tumultuous beginning, Harlowe and he first became lovers and then partners in all ways. Except they weren’t married. A true happiness for now.

And because Jane and Harlowe had gotten over their differences and actually become friends in the last two years, Jane had gotten fairly close with Draven Darcy Hawthorne, aka Nightshade, aka Beautiful Decay, and technically Nightmare’s first cousin once removed.

Jane’s life was rather strange.

Quinnevere sucked in an audible breath and rounded on Jane. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s my Mirror Rite.”

“That’s not a real rule,” Jane said, grasping Quinn’s wrist. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Fine?” Quinnevere whispered through gritted teeth. “This is Beautiful Decay.”

Quinnevere’s face blanched as an icy wind ruffled the petals of the flowers surrounding them.

Beautiful Decay’s realm was a sunken garden with lily ponds and magic cottages. It was like a fairy wonderland.

“What the fuck was that? Why did you do it?” Quinnevere rubbed her temples.

Jane held up her hands. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you bargain with Midnight. Her bargains cause permanent consequences.”

“Are you out of your mind? Beautiful Decay is—” Quinnevere’s eyes darted around, realizing the mirror god might hear her.

Jane wrung her hands. “I know how it seems. Nightshade is known for cruel bargains, but he’s my friend.”

“A friend?” Quinnevere’s voice pulsed with what sounded like intrigue and shock.

“Do you trust me?” Jane’s tone was a plea.

Quinnevere hesitated, and hope sank like an anchor in Jane’s heart.

“Trust me, he won’t hurt or take advantage of you. He only punishes the bad—the people willing to trade anything for selfish gains.”

“Coming from the person who made a deal with Nightmares, that’s the Looking Glass, Jane.”

“He’s not as bad as he seems, either. I wouldn’t bring you in here if I thought you’d be harmed. This is going to be okay, I promise.” Jane paused and bit her lip. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Quinnevere gulped. “No, it won’t be okay.” Frantically, Quinnevere turned on her heel and tried to leave the mirror through the magical portal door that they had entered through, but just as she ran toward it, a figure appeared on the path in front of her, halting her steps.

“Leaving already?” A sinister smirk rose on Darcy’s face, and Jane’s eyes lifted to the heavens. He was far too pleased with himself. “We haven’t even started yet. You don’t want to ruin all the fun.”

Darcy crossed his arms, his muscles bulging under his white dress shirt.

Jane was surprised he was even wearing a shirt.

Inside his mirror, he often walked shirtless, especially when Harlowe was around.

But tonight, he wore black slacks and a white button-up shirt with the top three buttons hanging askew, exposing the top of his chest. He raised a cocky eyebrow, his swirling silver eyes alight with mirth.

“Hello, Quinnevere Ashelle, friend of Jane Whitfield-Wryte and the Daughter of Blood. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I—” Quinnevere started, but was distracted by her necklace. As were Jane and Darcy, too.

It began to buzz. Inside the iron cage, the shard of glass became a flaring crimson metal that swirled to a smooth rhythm.

Jane’s jaw dropped. She knew it. She now knew the necklace was a shard of the Blood Mirror that was destroyed the night their parents died.

She hadn’t realized her sister had stolen a piece but when Jane saw it now, she instantly knew.

It called to her. It sang songs of sorrow and pulled her to it. This Blood Mirror wanted her attention in the same way the second had—in the same way the one had always called to her at the Queen’s Royalle Ballet. Now, Jane had found all three Blood Mirrors, but she would never tell another soul.

Their secret was safe with her. Not even death would rip it from her. Jane was excited to meet this one. The final one.

But then, as soon as it started to morph into something else, it froze, reversed, and solidified into a ruby, almost as if something had blocked its magic.

Jane screamed with frustration inside her head. It was going to be her chance to ask the necklace what happened to her mother after she entered the mirror. She’d never been seen again, and Jane needed to know the truth.

“I do not allow other magic in my domain,” Dracy said, his tone dark and threatening. Jane narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t that he was a soft man. He wasn’t, but this seemed like an act. Draven Dracy Hawthorne was a villain, oftentimes worse than Nightmare, but he was also fair, unlike Nightmare.

“Nightshade, stop scaring her.” Jane folded her arms.

“Is that your name?” Quinnevere asked.

The side of his lips turned up. “It’s one of them.” He turned back to Jane. “You will remain silent for the rest of our adventure.”

It was a command but not a binding one. Jane smirked. “As you wish, oh terrifying one.”

Nightshade glowered, clearly not amused. Jane simply smiled back. Two could play this game.

“Now, you.” He angled his head, his gaze devouring Quinn like prey. “You’ve come here to avoid getting bad luck, so what do you want?”

“How do you know that?”

“I am a god, little ballerina. The things I know would rattle your bones and rip apart your heart.”

“I think I should leave now.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered. “If you leave now, you will incur the seven years of bad luck, and you and I both know that you wouldn’t make it into the ballet if that happened.”

“Okay, then.” Quinnevere paused, her hands trembling, but she tried to cover it up with determination. “What do you offer?”

“What do you want?”

“Aren’t you going to offer to make my dreams come true? To give me unending beauty or eyes that make everyone fall in love with me, or a life filled with no pain, or wealth that won’t dry up or magic or something?”

A wicked sneer climbed up his face. “I could give you all those things, but why would I offer you any of that when I know you wouldn’t accept it?” He cracked his neck almost as if irritated with how much of his time she was wasting. “You’ve come here, so what do you want?”

Quinnevere sucked in a visible breath. “Is Jane truly your friend?”

“Yes.”

“She pulled me in here so I wouldn’t face horrible consequences.”

Jane opened her mouth to respond, but Darcy narrowed his eyes at her, and she closed her mouth.

“Interesting. That would depend on how well you can bargain.” Darcy’s tone was like a dark, smooth whiskey. “What is it you want?”

After a long, long pause, where thoughts flashed across Quinnevere’s face like a silent picture show, she finally said, “I want to have an emotional expression in my dancing, but I am not willing to pay the cost and the consequences for that.”

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

Darcy rubbed his chin. “Here is the only deal I will offer you. I will give you the ability to express emotion in dance. I will give you such incredible artistry that no one can look away—if, and only if, you passionately kiss the prince you despise so much.”

“Nightshade, what are you doing?” Jane cut in, her eyebrows crinkling. He was fucking ridiculous. Was he punishing Jane for bringing her sister in here? Darcy knew she wanted the prince as far away from her sister as possible.

“Quiet, Red,” the god growled.

Jane threw her hands up in mock surrender but said under her breath, “I thought you two had settled your issues.”

“Anyway, Quinnevere,” Darcy’s voice was rough, “kiss the prince with passion, and I will give you everything you want.”

“I can’t kiss Emrys,” Quinnevere gasped out.

“And yet, it is the only deal I will make with you.” His grin sharpened like the edge of a dagger. “Take the deal or receive seven years of bad luck.”

“Why would you ask this of me?” Quinnevere shivered. “What do you get out of it?”

“Torture.” A sneer twinkled in Darcy’s eyes. “I know you hate him above all others for making you look like a fool to your medical superiors. I want torture for you and possibly a fun show for me. I think you may enjoy it, though, my sweet, innocent Quinnevere Ashelle.”

“And if I fail your task?” Quinnevere stuttered, her voice quivering. “What happens then?”

“If you fail, you don’t reap the rewards of our deal.”

“And the consequences?”

“Kiss him passionately, and I won’t give you any—”

“Nope,” Jane interrupted, “this is where I step in. He can’t promise you that because it is not the Mirror Gods who determine mirror consequences.” Jane learned long ago that it was the magic’s choice. And magic often acted like an unruly teenager, doing whatever the fuck it wanted.

Jane’s magic was very rarely helpful without begging or bargaining. But in this particular case, it was Harlowe who had confirmed Jane’s suspicions that the Mirror Gods weren’t fully in control of their deals.

Darcy rounded on Jane. “For the love of all the gods. Stop giving our secrets away. The Looking Glass should know better than that.”

Jane scoffed. “While he has told me that, it was your lover who told me that first. If you want your secrets kept, speak with Lowe about them.”

“Who determines the consequences?”

“The magic,” Jane said, “whatever force exists beyond us, that is greater than the mirrors. The cost is upfront. It is determined during the deal by the god.” She pointed with her thumb at Darcy. “The consequences are unknown. It is possible to get none or horrible ones.”

“So, how do I avoid having horrible consequences, or even just visible ones like Harlowe Merriwether?”

At the mention of Harlowe’s name, Darcy’s eyes darkened, but it was Jane who cut in, “A lot of her consequences were actually costs that she knew about before making her deal, and she trades for powerful magic. That always carries harsher consequences.” Jane touched the god’s arm, calming him.

“What Nightshade is offering won’t carry that kind of consequence. ”

“Will you stop helping her now?” Darcy pulled out of Jane’s grip.

“She’s family to me,” Jane said. “You know better than anyone else. We always help family.”

“Fine.” Darcy gritted his teeth. “Back to your deal. Do you have any questions before you accept it, which we all know will happen?”

“I could leave and not make any deal at all.”

“Then you would get the bad luck,” he said. “I know stubbornness is a trait of redheaded ballerinas, but if we could just get this done, I have places to be.”

“Stuck inside a mirror?”

“You’ve seen my realm.” He motioned to everything around them. “Maybe I want to frolic through the fields.”

Quinnevere glared at him and crossed her arms. “What if I can’t kiss the prince with passion?”

“Then I assume it will be very disappointing kiss.”

Jane snorted, and both the god and Quinnevere flashed her a glare.

Emrys would never allow that to happen, which was the problem with this deal.

He would get his claws into Quinnevere, and she’d never be able to get them out.

The last thing Jane needed was Emrys breaking his sister’s heart, but in the scheme of deals, this one was fairly innocuous.

Quinnevere thought on the terms for a very long time before she inhaled sharply and seemed to decide. She nodded and said, “I accept your deal.”

“Wonderful.” He clapped his hands. “Oh, and remember, dearest Quinnevere, if you don’t at least try to kiss Emrys, you will receive seven years of bad luck. And trust me, your life is about to fall apart, and you probably won’t survive it even with good luck.”