Page 40 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“ W here is your Nightmare?” Emrys asked, gesturing at Jane, who was clearly sitting alone.

“Off doing Nightmare things.” She shrugged.

Emrys groaned. “Please don’t tell me he is off killing people and I am going to have to clean up his mess… Again.”

Jane didn’t know. She’d asked him to prove that he could let her make her own choices without interference until after the Winter’s Eve Ball. She asked for her freedom to do whatever she wanted for eleven days: no deals, no spying, no anchors.

“Most likely not. He’s ‘stuck’ in his mirror.”

“Well, that’s a blessing.” Emrys smiled with brightness and mirth.

It wasn’t . But Jane didn’t say anything else.

The next one to enter the room was Periwinkle, her bubblegum-pink hair bouncing with her footfalls.

Goosebumps rose on Jane’s flesh. The Mirror of Midnight always freaked her out. She talked in riddles and code and was far too clever for her own good. Jane was glad she had forced her sister to bargain with Beautiful Decay instead.

He was at the very least stable, or stable enough, and more so since Harlow had entered his life.

Speaking of the now white-haired woman, she was the next to enter the alcove with Francois on her heels. When her eyes fell on Periwinkle, she winced but tried to hide it under a smile.

Harlowe and Jane agreed that the pink-haired Mirror God was not to be trifled with.

“Aww, sister,” Periwinkle’s voice was coated with cherry-sweet candy—“it’s so good to see you again. My irritating baby brother here likes to keep you from me.”

“We like to keep everyone from you,” Darcy said under his breath.

Periwinkle heard the comment, wiggled her nose, and winked at him. “Ah, yes, very prudent of you twinny.”

Draven Darcy Hawthorne and Periwinkle—no one, save her brother, knew her real name—Hawthorne were ancient fraternal twins. Born over two thousand years ago.

“Shall we get started then?” Emrys said.

“By all means.” Darcy glared at him.

Jane cleared her throat to break the tension, and Harlowe slipped her fingers around her lover’s arm, calming him.

“If Nightmare were here, he’d want you to know that the tremors from the Nature district are getting stronge—”

“As important as that topic is,” Emrys cut in very much, meaning the opposite of his words. “I’d rather discuss the rumor that you found the second Blood Mirror.”

“How did you hear that?” Jane asked.

“So you aren’t denying it.” He shook his head as if disappointed, and a bit betrayed.

“How do you know?” Jane asked again, worry digging its claws into her back. No one save Nightmare should know, so the fact that he did was very bad. And more so, very dangerous:

“Oh, I might have let it slip,” Periwinkle said brightly.

Jane’s brow furrowed. “And how do you know…” She trailed off. “Oh, never mind, you’re… you.” Periwinkle was the keeper of knowledge. Of course, she would know almost everything.

“Creepy,” Harlowe said under her breath.

Then she cursed and said, “Oh, for fuck’s sa—” and blinked out of existence, the last part of her sentence eaten by the wind.

Every hour, for seven minutes at a time, Harlowe would randomly disappear.

No one could see her or hear her. It was one of her very infamous mirror consequences.

And while that consequence was a curse, it was often a blessing in disguise because, for those seven minutes, she could do anything without being noticed.

Including breaking into things without setting off alarms. A valuable skill set in the Mirror Mafia.

“Ah, brilliant idea. I, too, shall disappear.” Periwinkle clapped her hands together excitedly. “The walls have ears, so it’s best to avoid their eyes, too.” Then, with what had to be wind magic, she popped out of sight.

She must have guessed Jane’s thoughts because, at her right, the other girl whispered into her ear. “Yes, I am a Wind Witch too. Technically, I am a Wood Witch, too, but I expect you to be all five types one day. When one goes through death and fire, one can be reformed. You know?”

Jane shivered. No, she definitely did not know. Jane didn’t get time to think about what that could mean because Emrys broke through, stepping toward her and growling like Nightmare often liked to do.

He boxed her in, his demeanor dark. If he were a color, he would be empty black.

“You have to tell me where it is,” Emrys Avalon said fiercely to Jane, nearly shaking her. “We need to know; it’s life and death.”

“I can’t tell you.” Jane folded her arms and stood her ground.

A glow from the wall sconce flickered in Darcy’s silver-ringed eyes. “But you do know where it is?”

Jane’s gaze jolted to his, and she said, “Shouldn’t you already know exactly where it is?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Darcy said, cocking his head. “Peri might be able to find it, but she’s more talented with knowledge than I am.”

“Then ask Periwinkle, not me.” Jane pointed to the space around her. She’s right there. Probably.

“This isn’t a game, Jane,” Emrys snarled. “I need to know where it is.”

“No one should ever know where it is,” Jane crossed her arms, “it’s too dangerous—and so are you.”

Just as Jane said it, a floorboard at the alcove’s entrance squeaked, and everyone’s gaze shifted in that direction.

Quinnevere.

The walls have ears . Periwinkle knew she was listening. God, the mirror was creepy.

Quinnevere stood at the entrance, all color leeching from her face. She shifted and slowly stepped deep into the shadows, but it was too late; the room had already seen the girl, and when she realized it, she let out numerous curses. “Fucking, filthy, nasty mirrors. Well, fuck.”

Jane chuckled to herself. Her sister was adorable when she cursed.

"Hello, Ginger." Emrys’s smile was wicked but not disturbed. He clearly didn't care that she was listening. Instead, he walked toward her as if she were prey.

Jane did not like the way he looked at her, like he wanted to devour her whole.

"I am sorry…" Quinnevere sputtered. "I didn't hear anything."

“You are a terrible liar." Emrys's eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief, and his mouth curved further with sinister delight. "It's okay. We weren't talking about much of interest. You should just forget about it.” His voice was laced with sugar.

Nope. It was too much. He would not compel Quinnevere. Not when Jane was around to see it. Or ever.

Jane rushed up, grabbed the prince, and harshly said, “No. Don’t you dare!”

The prince’s lips turned into a hard line. “As you wish.” He waved his hand, and the enchantment he was spinning unraveled.

She needed to get her sister as far away from these fucking vampires and Mirror Gods as possible. Jane glanced back at Darcy. “Remember, Darcy, hurt her, and I’ll hurt you.”

“You’re worse than my paramour, Harlowe.” Darcy rolled his eyes. “Besides, what’s done is done. It is her actions that will decide her fate.”

“And yours, it would seem.” Jane stepped forward, laced her arm through Quinnevere’s, and guided her away from the scene and back into the Viridian grand ballroom.

One crisis semi-averted.

At least it was until Quinnevere said. “Wait.” She pulled out of Jane’s grip. “You are going to tell me what that was about later, but first, I have the Mirror Rite to complete.” Before Jane could stop her, Quinnevere turned and strode back to the alcoves.

Jane rubbed her face and let out a long-suffering sigh.

“That rough of a night, huh?” Francois strolled beside her and slid his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall.

Jane pinched her nose. “It’s been rather interesting.”

“I’ve found that most nights are, with this gang of misfits—especially the godly ones.”

Jane nodded, and the hairs at her nape stood up.

A sickening and terrible feeling suddenly hit her.

It was like when the mirrors called to her, but far more sinister.

It was her intuition, a kind of magic, warning her of something, giving her foresight.

And at that moment, she knew what she had to do. “Francois, will you do a favor for me?”

“I would say anything, but I have long since learned not to make that promise to anyone.” He slid his glasses up his nose with his middle finger.

“If I die, will you deliver these letters for me?” Jane pulled out four folded and sealed letters from the pocket behind the bustle of her dress.

Francois leaned back into the wall, bending a knee and placing his perfectly shined shoe against the wallpaper as he examined his friend. “Are you planning to die?”

“Of course not…” But I just have a feeling. So much so that she had picked up the letters she had written after the sinking of the Titan steamship and placed them in her dress.

Francois reached out and took the letters, combing through the envelopes. “What, I don’t get one?”

“Do you need one?”

He shrugged.

“If I wrote you a letter, it would say, “Be nicer, and smile more—and not like you want to rip someone’s head off—but you don’t need that reminder since I tell you that daily.”

“Like this?” A mocking smile lifted on his cheeks. “But yes, you are the bane of my existence.”

“Precisely… “ Jane smiled warmly back at him. “Although if I had written you a letter, I probably also should have warned you that a girl from your past is plotting against you.”

“Jane?” He raised a well-manicured eyebrow. “Is this something I should be concerned about?”

“If I thought she was dangerous, I’d let you know. And honestly, with this one, you kind of have coming.”

“Jane…”

Jane clicked her tongue. “Perhaps you might even enjoy it.”

“Jane?”

“Oh, and one more thing,”—she completely ignored him—“if I die, there are casefiles and autopsy reports in the Mirror of Terror. I would like you to return them to the morgue.”

The Mirror of Terror was where the Mirror Mafia kept all of their secrets. Jane had moved the reports there in the morning because, although she agreed not to investigate during the eleven days, she still wanted access to them without going back to the Looking Glass—and Nightmare’s realm.

His eyebrows went from slightly amused to terribly concerned. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, I just have a bad feeling.” She rubbed her chest, a trickle of fear climbing her ribcage like a spider weaving its web. Her magic’s inklings were never wrong. “Anyway, you should go enjoy the night. You don’t have to be patrolling a casino floor or overseeing a light maiming.”

“Hilarious,” he said, starting to walk away. “Are you not joining?”

“I will, but first I need to eavesdrop on the prince and my sister.”

The side of Francois’s mouth twitched. “Now, that is dangerous.”

Jane sighed. “Yes, it is.”

Francois’s expensive shoes clicked as he strolled away from the alcove.

“Oh, one more thing,” she called after him. “Stay away from fiery brunettes tonight. Just trust me.”

He laughed. “Will do.”

Jane scrunched her nose as she turned back toward the alcoves. The last thing she wanted to do was watch or listen to her sister kissing the Playboy Prince, but Jane needed to make sure her sister’s bargain was successful.

But gods, she did not want to overhear any of it, and it wasn’t like there was much she could do.

“Are we snooping?” Periwinkle said in a fairy-sweet tone, popping out of thin air. Jane jolted and nearly came out of her skin. “I do love snooping.”

“We are not snooping.”

“It certainly looks like we are.” Periwinkle tapped her nose. “Is it a redhead thing to lie about eavesdropping? Or an Ashelle thing? Maybe it’s an Ashelle fated ballerina thing. Hmmm, one may never know.”

“Fated?”

“One shall die while the other blossoms, but time shall tell if they are possums.” Periwinkle paused and scratched her head.

“No. That’s not right. Not possums. Hmm, well, I don’t remember the rest of the prophecy.

It’s something, something, save the world.

Shatter ceilings… no, not ceilings. Red, rose, murder, fun.

Life, death, and as bright as the sun? Well, it’s along those lines. Do you understand?”

No, none of Periwinkle’s word salad made sense.

“Ah, I see you do not. Alas, one day you shall.” Periwinkle flicked Jane’s nose and skipped off into the club, a wave of pink curls bouncing as she went.

Jane touched a hand to her heart and let out a little gasp she’d been holding in. The god was sometimes a little too much for Jane to handle, and what she had just said, at the very least, was confusing and, at the most, quite terrifying.

And Jane didn’t want to think about any of it.

She just wanted one night of fun. One night for herself. For once.

So she allowed herself to be swept up in the jubilance of the night, celebrating her sister’s birthday.

All of her closest friends were there: Constance, Jevon, Giselle, and Quinn, as well as the infuriatingly charming Prince with eyes for her sister, and her boss, Francois.

They all handed her a drink at one point during the night.

Causing her to be far too lubricated with spirits.

Darcy and Harlowe had left. Something about a mission across the sea: apparently, they were leaving on a steamship in the morning to be gone for seventeen days.

But they weren’t very fun anyway. Darcy could be, but Harlowe’s personality was formed from razor blades and sour candies. The festivities would probably be better without them.

Regrettably, Jane might have been allowing herself to imbibe just a bit too much, as all her friends were handing her drinks and contributing to her poor decisions.

She found herself lured to and trapped in a quiet section of the club by a man she’d thought was a friend.

Her feet were too unsteady and her vision just a bit too hazy. But she could see the danger.

And fortune was not on her side, for Death was on the prowl, and nameless monsters lingered in the dark.