Chapter 14

Fourteen

" Y ou're trespassing, and do you know what Fant?mes do with people who interfere in their business?" A tall brunette man in his mid-twenties with russet brown skin asked. He wore a deep purple pinstriped suit with an olive-green cravat, purple feathered pocket square, black glasses, and a smile that would make the gods jealous.

Something about him seemed familiar.

"Oh, probably something horrifying," Giselle said sarcastically.

The man pointed his gun across the clearing. "How did you get over there?"

"I climbed," Giselle said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "How do you get across?"

"The bridge." The man matched her tone. "Would you like to come join your friend?"

"Not particularly." Giselle smiled. "I don't see a bridge."

"It's invisible." The man took two strides into the room and held his gun up to Quinn's temple. "Please join us."

Quinn rubbed her necklace for support as her heart screeched like a violin string off-key, and her teeth chattered. She was going to die. And worse, her friend would be murdered with her .

Giselle threw her arms up dramatically. "While I don't believe you'd actually do it, I'd prefer not to risk it."

She maneuvered the climb just as quickly as the first time. If Quinn didn't know for a fact that Giselle didn't possess magic, watching her acrobatic skills would make anyone believe she did.

"Hadleigh, bring her here," the man with glasses said to a brunette girl. She wore a dark maroon pinstriped pantsuit and walked over to Giselle with her gun at the ready.

Hadleigh did as commanded, grabbing Giselle and roughly throwing her at her friend. Quinn caught her and stumbled back, her face coming dangerously close to a crystal. Clasping hands, the girls stared at the Fant?mes in a silence so deep the cave threatened to swallow it.

"Why are you riffling through our things?" the leader asked.

Quinn's tongue seized up, and no words formed. She had no idea what to say. So she clenched her hands into fists and tried to feel her feet upon the wood. A grounding exercise. She needed to get her breathing and heart rate under control. It was the only way to fight.

Instead of answering, Quinn finally settled on, "You're blood traffickers?"

"Yes," he said slowly, playing with his pistol.

"You're vampires." As she said the words, she knew they didn't make sense. First, vampires were extinct—although the building evidence might suggest otherwise. And second, all of them had both a gang tattoo and a Mirror-Blessed tattoo. They couldn't be vampires . . . unless vampires could bargain with the mirrors. Right?

That was a horrifying thought.

"No." He smiled; a grin filled with toxins. "We are the supply. It's a very profitable business model."

"Supply for vampires?" Quinn's fingers shook as she grasped onto Giselle.

The man shrugged. "All things are possible in the land of mirrors. "

It was not an answer, and Quinn knew she wasn't going to get one, so instead, she asked, "And the casino is a front?"

"The casino is, as it turns out, a casino." His eyes had a wicked twinkle. "Although perhaps we might also do some Mirror Market business from time to time." He winked. "Do let me know if you are in the market for anything forbidden." That last bit was definitely directed at Giselle, and Quinn was fairly certain it was some kind of innuendo, but that was Giselle's specialty, not hers. "We have many things in the market that might be to your tastes."

The Mirror Market was a black market for highly dangerous mirror magic goods that were banned by Castle Hill and the police.

Turning to Giselle, Quinn asked, "Did you know about the role in the Mirror Market?"

"No—" Giselle pinched her friend in a way that said, shut your mouth now, please.

"Why would she know about it?" Hadleigh asked.

Giselle's nostrils flared, and she ran a finger along her necklace, thinking, "I am a private investigator. My job is to uncover secrets."

The leader's lips turned up. "You seem too obvious to have that type of job. There isn't a room you would be in where I wouldn't notice you." His eyes flashed for a moment over her curves.

"And you seem young to run a gang. I much preferred your old leader," Giselle spat back.

His smile grew larger. "I grow tired of you. Maybe we should throw you in the pool." The man faked a yawn. "Or maybe I'll just shoot you and leave you for carrion birds."

"Carrion birds in your casino? It doesn't even make sense."

"Do you have a death wish, girl?"

"Are you going to murder me? Really?" Giselle squared her shoulders and glared directly into the leader's eyes. "You can't, can you? We aren't gang members. The police would instantly know if you did, and I am sure they are dying for a reason to lock you away on the Rock with your old leader."

He let out a deep laugh and strolled up to Giselle, putting his face in hers. "If I wanted to kill you, girl, I'd do it and brand you with our symbol after you were dead." Fire crackled between them, but both remained resolute. Either Giselle was not afraid of him or wouldn't allow her fear to show on her face. He grasped her by the chin. "Or maybe I would do it before you died so that I could watch you scream. Not all our members get their markings from a mirror. Some take the iron."

"I am sure you would enjoy me screaming," Giselle said with a soft, dangerous lilt. "Maybe we could schedule another time when I could reciprocate the favor."

He let out a low chuckle, and a glimmer of warm delight danced in his eyes. "I am sure I would enjoy that more than I would like to admit." He sighed. "But alas, I have to kill you. You know our secrets."

Quinn's heart pounded in fast violin strokes, but she pulled upon Giselle's bravery and said, "No one would believe we joined a gang, and even if they did, the branding wouldn't be healed, and no decent medical examiner would miss that. They would suspect you planted it."

"Good point." He turned his coal eyes on Quinn. "Maybe I'll just hold you hostage long enough for your marking to heal. Meanwhile, I'll torture you and your pretty friend."

"I am sure I would enjoy the torture too much, and it would devalue the whole point of doing it." Giselle held her chin high, still intensely studying him.

The man's gaze dipped to her chest, and his smirk turned feral. "You do make rather a good point. Perhaps you would be more valuable to me alive."

A dangerous tension jolted between them, running on an electric current so hot sparks chipped off, threatening to consume them in flames. Giselle flashed a vicious smile and winked. And the two engaged in the most inappropriate of staring contests .

Hadleigh cleared her throat. "Francois."

That name felt familiar.

"Right, you are, Haddie. Where were we?" he asked, stepping back and composing himself a bit.

Giselle let out a snort and defiantly crossed her arms. "I believe you were threatening to torture us. So why don't you get along with that?"

Quinn's head swung to her friend. What in all the mirrors was Giselle thinking? Admittedly, she was brave and had a sheer lack of fear in the face of uncertain circumstances, but now she was goading this man—Francois—on.

But something was off about the Fant?mes and the situation, and it gnawed at the back of her mind. It was almost as if they were play-acting. As if this is how they were expected to appear.

After a prolonged moment of silence, Francois laughed, and his face lit up with pure enjoyment. "Touché, perhaps we'll wait on the torturing for now."

Quinn loosed a breath, but Giselle only rolled back her shoulders and said, "I thought the new leader of Les Fant?mes would be scarier." Giselle glowered at him, the energy between them palpable.

"While a fox might not be scary, I find that they can outmaneuver almost everyone." He ran a finger down his silk lapels, straightening them.

Giselle tensed and tilted her head once more, studying him intensely. "Almost everyone."

"You're the Fox?" Quinn blurted out.

"You know of me?" he asked with a raise of his brow.

"We were loo—" Giselle stomped on Quinn's foot before she could say anything else.

Clearly, Giselle didn't want him to know who she was. But why, if they were once friends? And if they were friends, how did he not recognize her? It'd been fifteen years, and it was possible that Giselle looked utterly different after growing up, but why wouldn't she want him to know ?

Francois slightly shifted on his feet, waiting for an actual answer. His shadow danced against the wall, reminding Quinn of a Viridian illusion.

Illusions . . . Quinn let out a gasp, stepped back, and nearly fell into the thermal pool. "Francois," she whispered. "It was you. You were with Jane the night she died. You must know more about her death."

"Oh, that's why you've come. You're the little redheaded medical examiner I've heard so much about." Francois rubbed his chin, his entire demeanor changing—softening. "I wondered if it was on council business, but this makes more sense."

Council business? And he knew about her? From who, Jane?

"And before you ask, we had nothing to do with Jane's murder," he said, his tone and demeanor utterly shifted. His "gang" mask fell away, leaving a less intimidating version of him underneath. "Jane was family, and we don't kill family even when they step out of line. I assume you're investigating the murder because you cared about Jane, and while that doesn't make us friends, it does place us on the same side."

Hadleigh shuffled her feet and averted her eyes slightly, clenching her fists. If Quinn hadn't been staring right at the girl, she would have missed it. But it was clear Hadleigh didn't want anyone to see what rested in her golden irises.

Did she care about Jane—maybe loved her?

Quinn released some of the tension in her shoulders and loosed a breath. She chose to believe, for now, that the gang didn't want Jane dead—at least until she had solid evidence pointing toward them.

But now that Francois was talking, she'd take advantage of it. "Stepping out of line?"

"Jane was acting cagey lately," Francois said.

"How so?" Giselle asked.

Hadleigh opened her mouth to respond, but Francois held up a hand. "We are not in the business of charity. If you want information, you'll have to trade. Tell me about the autopsy, and I'll answer your questions."

Quinn swallowed. Francois knew too much about her, and she knew barely anything about him. It was unsettling, but then maybe Jane told him. But she needed a lead or a clue to a killer. The best option was to trade. So Quinn listed the facts of the case but intentionally left out precisely what was found on the body, in case the gang only wanted the information to cover up the murder.

None of them spoke. Silence and heartbreak were their only companions, their demeanors hollow and shaken. Either they were excellent fakes, or they cared.

Francois was the first to regain his composure. "Thank you for telling us," he said, a tiny quiver in his voice as he slipped his gun back into his jacket. "Ask your questions."

"Alright," Quinn said slowly, unsure if she was falling into a trap. "She was acting cagey?"

Hadleigh frowned. "She was sneaking and hanging around places she normally wouldn't go—"

"And before you ask, she means like the Viridian." Francois darted a glance at his friend. "It's an unwritten rule for rival gangs not to mess with the Viridian."

"No one wants to mess with Kordelia Shone," Hadleigh said. "Most of us would rather die than endure her form of torture."

Torture?

Quinn knew Kordelia was dangerous and very, very powerful. She was terrified of the Viridian's owner most of the time. Still, she never assumed Kordelia would harm someone.

"What about someone in her life who might have a motive to kill her?" Quinn asked.

"No one in the Fant?mes would dare, and the only person who would from her past was her husband, but he is dead now." Hadleigh's throat visibly bobbed.

Husband. That was right. Jane had been married. It was another thing she barely talked about, and the only reason Quinn knew about it was because she'd done the autopsy on the vile man. When asked about it, Jane refused to answer. At the time, Quinn didn't want to pry, but now, she wanted to know everything.

"Why did Jane join your gang in the first place?" Quinn asked.

"Because her terrible dead spouse gambled away all of her earnings, life savings, and livelihood, and then he wagered her off as well." There were warmer blizzards than the frozen lake of Hadleigh's words.

"What are you saying?" Quinn asked.

"He offered her to his enemies as collateral." Francois placed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wooden railing. "After a couple of nights of what I presume to be a living hell, Jane went to the Looking Glass and asked it for three lifetimes full of riches."

"What did she trade?" Giselle asked sternly.

"It's unclear; her deal with Nightmares has always been private information," Francois said pragmatically. "But something did happen in that mirror that caused her never to dance again, and she somehow became tied to Nightmares because after that first deal, she visited him weekly, sometimes daily."

"We know she got some money out of the deal because we know she paid off her husband's debts and freed herself from the Cobra Lilies. When her husband eventually died—" Was murdered . It was one of the investigations Emrys tampered with and got Quinn in trouble. "Jane came to us for refuge."

Acid frothed in Quinn's esophagus, and a sudden wave of heartburn hit her. The entire story was tragic. How could Jane have remained so positive and happy with everything that had happened to her? It was like she didn't know Jane at all. And this new information slanted Quinn's worldview and made her question every interaction she'd ever had with Jane.

"And what did you do?" Giselle asked.

"I allowed her to join my gang in a business capacity," Francois said. "She was a stunning and talented woman, after all. "

"So she traded one gang for another?" Quinn bit out. "You took advantage of her vulnerability."

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. "I take advantage of anything that will let me."

Quinn swallowed her disgust. "How chivalrous of you."

He stood up straight and caught her gaze in his midnight-fire eyes. "If you want civility, I wouldn't ask me . . . or your prince."

Quinn jolted. This was the last thing she expected to hear. "My prince?"

"Haven't you seen the papers this morning? Your face is all over them." Francois motioned to one of his cronies, who ran out of the room and reappeared with the paper in his hands. With a jerk of the head from Francois, the boy handed the newspaper to Quinn.

The headline read, Golden Prince Snubbed by Beautiful Ballerina .

"You have got to be kidding me," Quinn said. The last thing she wanted was to be in a newspaper next to Emrys. If she were to be in a newspaper, it would involve accolades for her dancing.

She crinkled the paper before handing it back to the boy.

Francois let out a deep chuckle. "Apparently, you were quite rude. All the gossip columns are covering it. And speaking of your pretty prince, he was hanging around Jane a lot recently. The two always sneaking away."

Quinn shouldn't be surprised by this information because Emrys had said as much himself, but it was still startling. But she didn't have time to think about that because a voice sounded at the door. "She was no more rude than she usually is." Emrys appeared at the alcove's entrance.

He wore a midnight black double-breasted tailcoat accented with emerald green trim, a silk cravat, and a gilded cane. He'd left his top hat at home. His ink-spilled hair framed his face and drew focus to his sparkling chestnut eyes, which blazed with mischief, humor, and entertainment. He looked like trouble dancing a tango with joy .

Apparently, he found Quinn surrounded by wicked gang members quite amusing.

"Ah, there is your prince now." Francois beamed as he met Emrys's stare. "We summoned a demon."

"Don't call him my anything," Quinn murmured and dropped her gaze to her feet. She did not need to peer at his deep arrogance.

Ignoring Quinn, Francois asked, "Do you appear anytime someone talks about you? Is that your power?"

Quinn's heart stopped. Francois knew that Emrys was Mirror-Blessed.

"Often enough to keep you on your toes." His words weren't dark, but the way they trilled off his tongue made it feel like a threat. Like his words were a pool of darkness drowning her.

"That sounds intoxicating," Francois said ruefully. Their dynamic was strange. Deadly yet friendly like they were two devils playing tricks on each other. They both basked in power and influence and could enchant with a smile.

"Well, I hate to ruin your fun, Francey, but I need to speak to our little ballerina." Emrys was a picture of ease and power.

Quinn scoffed. She didn't want to talk to him. Ever. Rogues might make other girls melt, but she was not interested in his playboy nature .

"Wait, I have one more question," Quinn said. "Why was she asking about the Blood Mirror?" Quinn threw all caution to the wind. She needed to know this information.

Emrys's hand stiffened, and shock jetéd across Francois's sculpted face before he cooled his features. "I have no idea," he lied.

Interesting. So, the gang knew about the Blood Mirrors.

"A word of caution, Quinnevere Ashelle," Francois said. "I may let you investigate Jane's murder, but you should stay far away from anything else related to Les Fant?mes' business. Do you understand me?"

Quinn simply nodded. There was no point in arguing with a deadly gang leader. But he was threatening her, and that was information. It was a clue. And if he knew about the mirrors, maybe he knew about the tattoo.

"Do you know about this?" Quinn lifted her own arm, showing the bloody painting.

Francois paled and tossed a glance at Hadleigh. "No," he lied again.

"Great!" Emrys flashed a fake prince charming smile. "Then the three of us will get going."

The prince escorted them out with one hand curled around her right bicep. His touch shot fire through her body. But as soon as they were out of earshot, Quinn spun around and pushed him against the wall. He hit it with a thunk. "I didn't need your help."

A gilded grin painted his lips. "Yes, that seems to be a pattern for you. It was clear that you had the situation fully under control."

"Why do you want to speak with me?" Quinn said, crossing her arms across her silk evening dress.

"To solve a murder."

A murder she still wasn't sure he didn't commit.