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Chapter 20

Twenty

T he investigation was at a complete and utter dead end. Quinn needed to learn about the painting tattoos and the Blood Mirrors. She had to find answers, and it was clear that Emrys couldn't provide them.

Quinn's only true option left was to face another mirror or wait to be murdered. But she absolutely was not going to challenge Beautiful Decay again. So, instead, she would go to the Mirror of Midnight.

Quinn stood in front of the Mirrors of: Midnight, Beautiful Decay, Winter, and Skulls, trying to gather enough courage to go into another mirror. Her eyes focused on Midnight. A purple galaxy shimmered underneath the glass, and lapis blue danced like the corps de ballet in Starlight Falls. The frame was made of swirling shadows and shooting stars. Quinn's heart stormed in her chest, and she clutched her necklace for support.

But she had to do this. Her life depended upon these answers.

She stepped toward the mirror and without another thought, Quinn plunged inside. Its texture was like a million granules of sand that scratched at her skin and eyes. Ice crawled like spider veins up her arms and neck and encased her body with the freezing cold. Her breaths grew hollow and strained. There was no oxygen here.

Stumbling out of the barrier, Quinn fell to her knees and landed on a sea of glitter. No . . . it wasn't glitter. It was starlight. Purple and blue clouds circled her. She tried to touch one, but her fingers went straight through it.

From the dancing clouds, stepped a petite girl with cotton-candy pink hair. She looked to be slightly younger than Quinn. "Hello, Quinnevere Ashelle, daughter of Callan and Brielle and seeker of truth." The girl had eyes like blood diamonds and the voice of a seven-year-old child. Airy yet cheerful. "Daughter of the Blood Glass, Daughter of the Council, Daughter of Secrets, Queen of Mirrors, what is it that you require of me?"

Quinn shuddered, and confusion was a claw biting into her back. None of those titles made any sense to her. But then she remembered she was in the Mirror of Midnight, notorious for only speaking in childlike riddles.

"I—" Quinn started but was distracted by her necklace.

It buzzed, just like inside Beautiful Decay, but this time, it liquefied, spun on pointe like a ballerina out of its cage, and grew into a life-sized humanoid creature. The red metal melted off like dripping wax, revealing a raven-haired lady in her mid-twenties.

The woman's hazel eyes, far greener than brown, stood out with her dark hair and pale features. She wore an indigo blue gown that dropped from her shoulders, loose and elegant, and reminiscent of ancient times. It was simple, but in its simplicity, it almost seemed more commanding—like the woman's power radiated through the dress rather than overwhelming her.

"Hello, Quinnevere," the raven-haired woman said with a gentle smile.

Quinn gasped. All 206 bones in Quinn's body shuddered and froze. Her heart hammered in her ears—at the base of her skull—and each beat sent a different emotion pouring through her body.

The necklace spoke.

It actually spoke to her. Well, she spoke. And the necklace was a beautiful woman. Quinn shouldn't have been surprised because she knew she was carrying a Mirror Portal around her neck after visiting Nightshade, but it was still unreal to confirm it as fact.

The necklace Quinn had worn around her neck for nineteen years SPOKE.

Quinn didn't know if she felt faint, nauseous, or curious. It was all a little too much. Her knees buckled, and she started to fall, but the woman swooped in and caught her. Her grip was gentle and warm.

"Who are you?" Quinn asked, staring into the woman's green eyes. "What are you?"

"Oh, hello, Blood." The pink-haired girl pouted in a voice that made it clear that she was not happy to see the other woman.

"Midnight." Blood curtsied to the other mirror.

"Are you okay?" Blood asked Quinn.

"I—" Quinn gulped. "Ah. Yes . . . No." Her gaze raked over the necklace-woman again. "Who are you? Are you the mirror that was destroyed the night my parents died? Did you know my parents? What were they doing there?"

Quinn's questions slurred together and stormed from her mouth, one after the other, with very little thought given to them. It was like a cascading waterfall of all the unanswered questions she'd had in the last nineteen years.

Blood started to respond but was immediately cut off by Midnight's dramatic moan. "No, no, no. This is my realm, and I don't care about these silly questions." Midnight rounded on Quinn. "So, Quinnevere, what is it that you seek from me?" Without any warning, the girl hopped down into a cross-cross sitting position and clapped. It was a surprisingly graceful move, but it made her seem even more like a child.

Quinn swallowed but squared her shoulders. "I would like to trade for information."

"Hmmm, you seek only information, but I could give you a voice that compels all to love you, or I could change the colors of your hair with every emotion or grant you a kiss of death. I could give you the ability to compel anyone like a siren. Or I could give you a chest of the rarest jewels in all the land." The voice came from the clouds and the lightning, the shadows, and the stars. It came from everywhere and vibrated in the wind.

A tremor coiled in Quinn's core.

To her surprise, Midnight said in a lazy voice, "I control everything in here. It's like my dollhouse." Midnight paused, her red, ruby eyes cutting into Quinn. "I could give you the Queen's Royalle Ballet."

At this, Quinn paused. Her heart was a fast-flying hummingbird in her chest. It was what she always wanted, but . . . the cost. Nightshade's deal already killed Jane—probably. "I thought you could only give information." Quinn had only heard of people getting information from Midnight, but it made sense she could bargain for magic, too.

Red chrysanthemums blossomed on Midnight's cheeks. "I excel at information. It is my passion and my past-time, but like all mirrors, I can give you magic, if you prefer. I just might not get the ingredients quite right. I am not practiced, you see."

"You practice," Quinn repeated, not fully understanding what that meant.

"Yes, not all of us can be like the Looking Glass. He is so skilled he can project his costs and his magic outside of his glass cage. He makes everyone in New Swansea City have nightmares every night." Midnight tapped her long fingers on her knee as if she were playing a nursery game with herself. "I wish I knew how he did it. But he is ancient and won't tell me. At least four thousand years old and the same with Passion, Gold, and Greed. They're from long before the Blood Rebellion. That's why they can extract like they do."

During Midnight's monologue, Quinn glanced at Blood, who stood silently, watching and assessing. Upon catching Quinn's questioning gaze, Blood simply shrugged. But the shrug spoke loudly. It said I am not responsible for her. She's gone a little mad.

"Information is my magic," Midnight continued .

"It is definitely your greatest skill." Blood's voice was gentle, like a mother soothing a child.

"Oh, sssh, I didn't ask your opinion." Midnight glowered before turning back to Quinn. "I could give you the name of your parents' murderer or Jane's murderer, but that would take a big cost, not quite a soul level, but pretty big."

No.

The cost was too much.

Quinn needed to get out of this unscathed. "How much will it cost for clues for the investigation?"

"Clues aren't really worth that much. So, what will you give me for them?"

Quinn gulped. She had no idea what fair cost would be or how to go about starting the bargain. "Umm, uh, what would you like?"

"I like hair." Midnight twirled a finger through her waves. "I'll take some of your hair for every answer given." Shivers rolled down Quinn's arms. That was a creepy cost.

"What are you going to do with it?" Quinn asked.

Rubbing strands of her hair together, Midnight said, "Braid it. I like braiding. It is an art form, you know."

Quinn nervously reached for her hair. "How much of my hair?"

"Enough to play with but not enough for it to matter. You have thick hair. You'll have plenty left for you." Midnight's face was a tableau of excitement.

"What are the unintended consequences?"

Midnight smiled. "Oh, you're good. If you promise to come and visit me again, I will give you no unintended consequences."

Quinn sucked in a deep breath and thought about all the ways Midnight could try to twist the bargain. She combed through every alternative she could think of until she landed on the cost and the wording she was willing to be bound by.

"I'll agree to a small lock of hair taken from the bottom of my head for each question I ask." Quinn held out a very small section of hair between her fingers. "As long . . . as long as you never use my hair to spell me or to hurt me or use me in any way . . . or to hurt my friends. And when I come and visit you again, I can leave whenever I want."

Midnight furrowed her brow. "I don't play tricks on humans. I solemnly swear on my peach feathered wings that I'll never ever, ever spell you . . . unless asked." Peach-colored wings sprouted from her back with her words. "And I agree to all the other things you've said. You have a deal, little human."

Quinn couldn't see any more traps, but just in case, she refused to respond until she thought it through again. Eventually, she said, "I agree on the terms established."

"Wonderful." Midnight clapped her hands together.

"What are these tattoos?" Quinn asked as she showed her wrist and the mirror tattoo. She figured she would start with the tattoo and then ask about the Blood Mirrors.

Midnight's answer made absolutely no sense and started with eight horrifying words. "Your future is cloaked in blood and death."

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