Page 39 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

J ane sat quietly in the corner of the cable car, her fingernails digging into the wood, her eyes gazing off to the distance of the city.

They were riding from the Spirit Sector to the Pleasure District to get to the Viridian so Quinnevere could finish her bargain, and Jane had another Gilded Alliance meeting.

The first one without Nightmare. It would be interesting, to say the least.

While Jane’s mind wandered, her sister and friends were discussing vampires and various ways to die. But Jane’s mind was focused on Quinnevere’s Blood Mirror shard.

She was the only person alive who knew the location of all three Blood Mirrors—the location of every vampire in New Swansea City’s greatest weakness and the only way to kill them.

People would kill for that information, including some of her closest friends like Emrys.

But more than any of that, Jane wanted to speak to the third Blood Mirror.

It might be the only creature alive that knew what happened to her mother.

But how to manage that?

Quinnevere never took off her necklace. Jane knew because she’d been drawn to it since the moment she saw it, and there was not a day that her sister didn’t have it around her neck. So, how would she get to it?

The truth was not an option.

Could she drug her sister?

That sounded awful.

Fuck.

Jane was wrenched out of her rumination when Constance said, “Quinnevere, your necklace is… glowing.”

A glowing red light reflected in Quinnevere’s green eyes. Jane sucked her lip into her mouth, entranced. Inside its iron casing, the shard of mirror liquified into a flaring crimson metal that swirled to a slow melody.

At that exact moment, a high-pitched scream sounded from beside them—trapped Souls Row. They were Mirror Echoes as Nightmare called them, but also one of the barriers between everyone and finding the Third Blood Mirror.

The Mirrors were talking to each other.

Jane felt it on the air like a conversation. No longer focusing on her actions, Jane reached out and wrapped her hand around Quinnevere’s necklace. Instinctively, she knew it wanted to talk to her too.

And it did.

Time froze. Her friends were statues, and the lights bent like an abstract painting, blurring and swirling together in a beautiful dance.

Sound stilled, and an icy chill skated over her arms. The sound returned first, and it was a haunting soprano she’d never forget and had heard in countless night terrors.

“Darling Janey, you must stop.” The necklace spoke with her mother’s voice.

Shock rattled through Jane’s bones. “Mom?” Jane whispered, a tear leaking down her face.

“Yes, my Jane,” her mother said softly. “You need to drop your investigation. You are getting too close to things that are too dangerous to unearth.”

“Mom?” Jane’s nose flared.

The glass in her hand heated as what might be Jane’s mother spoke another unsettling warning. “You are going to die. You must leave all of this now…”

Jane opened her mouth to respond and ask a million questions, but she never got the opportunity because time snapped back into place, and the glass flamed, searing her skin. This was a final warning.

She jumped backward and nearly fell off the cable car, but Constance caught her, keeping her from falling out of the moving vehicle.

“It burnt me,” Jane breathed, and staring at a coin-sized burn in the center of her palm. “So it’s true.” Was it truly her mother? It was definitely a Blood Mirror, and it was the last place she was seen. Jane knew better than anyone that humans could live inside the glass.

Was her mother trapped? Jane needed to find out. There was no way she would drop anything now. She would simply have to find a way to incapacitate her sister or distract her enough to get her hands on that shard again.

“What’s true?” Quinnevere asked, protectively pulling away from Jane.

Jane blinked, and her hand fell into her lap. “What?” she asked as if coming out of a daze.

“You said ‘it’s true’ while staring at my necklace.” Quinnevere gripped the jewelry in between her fingers, the lattice cage digging into her flesh.

Jane bit her lip, and instead of answering the question, she said, “Did you get the mirror shard when your parents died?”

Quinn’s fingers tightened further around the necklace as she contemplated the question. “I—” she started. She blew out a breath. “Yes.”

Jane didn’t quite listen to the conversation after that. It was all the information she needed to know. One of the city’s greatest secrets was also her mother’s prison, and Jane would figure out how to get her hands on it again.

The Viridian’s grand ballroom pulsed with dread. It was all around her—in the air, sizzling like flame. Jane couldn’t put her finger on it, but ever since she’d discovered the vampire lair, she’d felt a sick feeling tingling at the back of her spine.

Ever since gaining witch magic, Jane sensed things.

Periwinkle had even called her a seer, despite the fact that Jane never saw anything.

But sometimes, she just felt things—knowings.

These “feelings” were part of the reason Jane had intervened in Quinnevere’s Mirror-Rite earlier.

She simply felt that she had to, so she did.

And right now, something felt off.

The problem was that she had no idea what it could be. Quinnevere’s Mirror Rite? Les Fant?mes business? The Gilded Alliance meeting?

Emrys had called the meeting because he had somehow discovered some information that he needed to address immediately. The man had ears in the walls, he found out everything.

The meeting was to take place after the cabaret’s opening number, so Jane still had time to find her sister and give her a birthday present. But she had to hurry.

Glancing through the horde of people, she looked for the glint of fiery hair, and when she finally spotted it, her stomach twisted.

Jane glared through the crowd, her gaze latched on fucking Emrys Avalon, who was once more flirting with her sister.

Jane was going to castrate him. And he didn’t even have the decency to be alone while doing it.

He had that vampire bitch Teagan Atwater dangling off one arm, and Nia Cross—Jane’s replacement as the prima ballerina of the Queen’s Royalle Ballet—on the other arm.

The cad.

As a business partner and friend, Jane rather enjoyed Emrys, but as a suitor for her sister, she was less enthusiastic.

This was bad.

Worse, Darcy was forcing them to kiss. What in all the hells?

Jane trusted Darcy, mostly because she trusted Harlowe, but this was ridiculous.

If Quinnevere followed through with the deal and passionately kissed Emrys, he would fuck her—because he couldn’t help himself—and then he would toss her away like all his other girls, and it would destroy Quinnevere.

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh, Jane, there you are,” Giselle said, grasping onto her arm and pulling her through the crowd. “I found us a spot to watch.”

“What about Quinnevere?” Jane asked, pointing in her sister’s direction.

Giselle glanced for a second at Quinnevere and Emrys before tossing her hair and continuing on her path. “Isn’t the point for her to kiss him?”

Well fuck. Jane let Giselle lead her to a ledge overlooking the crowd and the stage. It even gave a better view of Quinnevere and the soon-to-be-murdered Vampire King.

But Quinnevere didn’t pull Emrys aside to seduce him. Instead, she scurried away like a rat on a sinking ship before quickly finding their ledge just in time for the show to start.

The lights grew dim, and the dance floor cleared of patrons. With a loud pop and an explosion of blue fire, the show began, and dancers glided in, feathers grazing the floor. They ran in with quick steps and high kicks, exposing as much of their petticoats as possible.

It wasn’t surprising because the club was made as a vessel of seduction—everything about the place catered to dark desires.

And the dancers embodied it. They became seduction itself. It could be a good teaching moment for Quinnevere, who was still incapable of showing anyone her emotions.

“Do you see their emotional expression?” Jane leaned into Quinnevere and pointed at the dancers.

Quinnevere rubbed her palms together nervously. “Yes.”

Jane squeezed Quinnevere’s hand empathetically, knowing the depths of the struggle.

Quinnevere was too young when their parents died to remember the horrors of it—she didn’t even remember having a sister—but Jane was fairly certain Quinnevere‘s inability to feel anything outwardly stemmed directly from witnessing the bloodbath.

Jane had her own scars from that night. Different, but just as dark.

“As dancers, we are also actors. And to act, we need to have access to emotion—either true or imagined.”

Quinnevere let out a breath. “But that’s the problem. I can’t do that.”

Jane smiled kindly. “Yes, you can. In the four years I’ve mentored you, I’ve seen you connect with your emotions on numerous occasions. You can do it. You just don’t want to.”

Quinnevere bit her bottom lip as a storm of thoughts played in her eyes. Jane wanted to pull her into her arms and tell her everything would be okay—tell her everything and help her process through her past, but she just couldn’t get herself to do it.

What if, when Quinnevere discovered the truth, she didn’t want anything to do with Jane?

Jane could withstand anything in her life except losing her sister—again. Once was enough. So, she lied to, and withheld from, the one person she loved more than anything else.

“If it helps, pretend to be a different person with a different past,” Jane said. “Sometimes, letting go can be the very thing you need.”

Quinnevere sighed and fiddled with her fingernails, watching the dancing.

I love you so much. Emotion pooled behind Jane’s cheeks, and she did everything she could to hold it in. I think you’re perfect, baby Quinnevere.

Jane pulled a small box from her pocket behind the bustle of her dress.

“I got you a present.” It was a bracelet with a single charm on it.

A gold ballet pointe shoe with a heart inside.

But not a cute heart that a schoolgirl would dot an “i” with; a human heart, the organ, cradled in a pointe shoe.

Quinnevere told the world she didn’t want to be a medical examiner, but Jane sometimes stalked her sister, made so much easier with being a Wind Witch, and she saw the way her sister lit up when she had her hands deep in a corpse.

Ten years ago, Jane would have found it creepy and revolting. But that was before she’d watched Nightmare slaughter hundreds of people and helped the Fant?mes with their more nefarious adventures.

Now, blood, guts, and dead bodies were just a Tuesday to her.

Jane rubbed a wrinkle in her skirt. “I know ballet is your dream, but I also know, deep down, you love carving up dead bodies. You love being smarter than everyone else, and there is a world in which you can have both of your passions.”

“They aren’t both my passions.”

“Sure, sure.” Jane suppressed a smile. “One day—” A flash of something in the crowd caught Jane’s eye. Her brow furrowed.

Was that one of the vampires Nightmare had beheaded a few weeks ago? Of course, Jane knew they couldn’t die without destroying their Blood Paintings, but they’d all gone missing since she found their lair.

Were they looking for her?

That could be a massive problem because, foolishly, she’d forced Nightmare into a deal to leave her alone and taken off his ring.

She wanted him to prove he had self-control—prove that, for once, he could put her needs above his.

But the deal left her vulnerable. If they were here for her, she needed backup.

Thankfully, Francois was in the club for the Gilded Alliance meeting. She’d just stick close to his side.

“I have to… go. There’s a meeting…” Jane jumped down from her perch and misjudged the distance, stumbling and falling. Before anyone could help her, she sprang back up and disappeared into the crowd.

Ever since Jane got her dancing ability back, she’d been far more agile—like a ballerina again. It only took her two minutes to get through the crowd and find the alcove where the meeting was to take place, but Francois hadn’t arrived yet. Only Nightshade—Darcy—greeted her.

“Hello again, Red.” A wicked smile climbed his sculpted face. “You think your sister has tried to kiss her prince yet?”

Jane shook her head and crossed her arms. “Why in all the hells would you make that deal?”

“Besides the entertainment?”

Jane rolled her eyes.

“I want to see Emrys suffer. Whether that’s from you cutting off his balls for daring to touch your sister, or him trying and failing not to touch her.”

“So you set her up to fail?”

His smirk widened. “Oh, no. Emrys won’t be able to resist her. She is his poison, and that’s what makes it beautiful”

“I thought you were over your grudge.”

“He murdered me.” His eyes darkened. “I may be forced to work with him and not kill him because of Harlowe, but I will always hate him.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Emrys said, pulling back the curtain and strolling through.