Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

Q uinn loosed a breath. Her plan to stall long enough for Emrys to return worked, but now she needed a new plan.

There seemed to be no good reason why the groups couldn't work together to solve the murders and find the mirror. After all, neither Francois nor Hadleigh's prints matched the killer's—she checked this morning—which meant they were most likely innocent.

"It seems like we all have the same goal," Quinn said. "Why don't we stop working against each other and start working together?"

Quinn didn't actually want their help. She couldn't trust them, but she needed to get out of this situation and to the Royalle Ballet.

She had no idea what to do once she found the mirror, but she couldn't let the killer get the paintings. It seemed like the best plan was to find the mirror and lure the murderer there. Get them to come to her and Emrys.

Francois glared at the prince. "Have you ever heard of asking politely? Your ballerina certainly knows how to."

"Where is the fun in that?" Emrys flashed a dimple. " It was far more entertaining watching the women break in. Little phantom here"—he waved at Giselle—"is quite a talented lockpick."

"I told you not to call me that," Giselle said through her teeth.

"So, the Royalle Ballet then?" Francois asked Emrys.

The prince nodded. "May I use your rotary phone? I need to call my family."

"Absolutely, the more vampires, the better!" Francois grinned with far too much delight.

"Wait, what?" Giselle raised her arms with a confused gesture. "That was far too easy," Giselle said, explaining what Quinn was thinking.

"Emrys and I are allies, even when he doesn't act like it." Francois prowled over to the brunette and ran a finger along her cheek. "I definitely don't trust you two, but I trust the vampire prince."

A firework of confusion burst in Quinn's gut. They acted like friends . . . more than friends—confidants. Then Quinn remembered the Russet and the blood bags.

The gang was running a blood ring to feed vampires. That was their main business.

Crimson light was painted across the sky as the group made their way to the Queen's Royalle Ballet. Unfortunately, they spent most of the day trapped in the mirror and lost valuable time to search the ballet without an audience.

It was the opening night of the winter ballet season, and the show was sold out. The place was filled to the brim with people, and it was the least opportune moment to sneak in and search for the spell-protected mirror. But if the killer had a blessed object that allowed them to observe Quinn and stay a step ahead, then the group needed to act quickly—during the show.

Quinn never thought she'd be thankful to the prince, but he had the Royalle Box, and it didn't matter that the show was sold out.

The group—two gangsters, two ballerinas, an acrobat, a prince, and Jevon—entered through the private doors dressed like glamorous stars. The ballet was a place to be and be seen. It was a place where aristocracy, rich, and famous came to flaunt their wealth and success.

It was a game of fake smiles, polite compliments, and vicious gossip.

It was a den of sparkling lions.

Quinn wore a slick blue dress with diamond straps and a choker, and her mirror necklace was tucked into her corset.

The prince, as usual, dressed impeccably. Tonight, he was in a navy-blue suit with a waistcoat, silver vest, and black top hat. The silver accents were meant to match Quinn's dress. He was officially making it look like he was escorting her—like he was courting her.

Quinn didn't know how to feel about that or if it was even real. Was it for the publicity, or was it for her? And if it was for her, what did it mean? He'd made it so clear before that she was just another one of his girls.

Yet . . .

Was it possible she wasn't?

Either way, the press was going to have a field day with this story.

The room shimmered with gold and wild dreams. The walls had intricate carvings and crimson curtains. Marble white staircases stood at the center of the room, leading to the balcony seating and boxes. Flanking the room and stairs were giant golden statues.

As the group entered, everyone's eyes landed on them but specifically landed on Quinn and the prince who escorted her.

Violent whispers broke out, invading the room with toxic gas. The rumors created an almost physical fog that drifted through the room from person to person. Quinn's back tensed, and she held her breath. She'd always wanted to be famous, to have power, to have control, but the aristocracy looked at her like vultures. They wanted to devour her.

Devour the girl who dared to catch the prince's attention.

"Relax," Emrys whispered into her ear, his arm firm around her waist. "They mean nothing."

Perhaps they didn't matter to him, but they unsettled her—almost like the vultures could see underneath her skin.

"Come, we'll stop by the Royalle Box and get away from all of them. Besides, we won't be able to sneak anywhere until everyone is seated."

When she entered the Royalle Box, she nearly fainted from excitement. She'd only been to the ballet twice in her life. Quinn was too poor to afford it. The first time, she'd saved up all her extra money for three years to get a seat, and the second time, she won a dance competition for a ticket. But neither were box tickets. Both were in the very back, where she was barely able to see.

But now she had the best seat in the house.

The rest of the group filtered in and took their seats as the lights dimmed and the crimson curtains opened.

The group needed to wait until all the guests were settled before splitting up and searching.

The Blood Rebellion Ballet started with slow, elegant moves, with the dancers pretending to be the Vampire Gods. They depicted the total and utter control vampires had over humans. Humans were prey—victims—fully lacking power.

The dance was dark, alluring, and utterly captivating.

The Royalle Ballet's Mirror-Blessed dancers shined in the number, flying, hovering, and manipulating the stage. One of the performers had hair made of diamonds, and another shone like that of the North Star. Glimmering and gliding across the stage.

Quinn was transfixed, allowing the music and movement to fill her soul. But she felt the prince's gaze on her face like a phantom wind, and she turned to meet him.

"I wish I could see through your eyes," he whispered. Her breath hitched, and her lips tingled with the memory of his kisses. "You see the world and all of its beauty." His gaze caressed her cheeks. "All of its possibilities. You study it, and you understand it."

She gulped.

A surge of passion built in her belly, and she leaned into him, his energy pulling her closer. A magnet needing to touch him, to feel his lips on hers. He was an intoxicating drug, and she wanted to get lost in him.

But then she remembered Constance's words from earlier. He still wanted her—longed for her. His roguish ways were due to his pain from losing Constance. Quinn didn't want to be a consolation prize or just another girl he played with. If she wanted him—which she absolutely didn't—she wanted to be more. She wanted to mean something.

She tore her gaze away and focused back on the stage, where there was a sudden flash of blood. Quinn gasped.

"Emrys, do you see it?" she said, tapping his arm and pointing at the stage.

At the back stood a massive two-story crimson mirror. It was a waterfall of sparkling blood, and it blended in perfectly with the coloring of the theater as if it belonged there—as if it had always been there.

She turned back to Emrys to see if he felt the same adrenaline surging through him at the sight, but he only glanced at her with crinkled brows. "I don't see anything."

"You don't see the mirror on the stage?" At this, everyone in the box's eyes landed on her, confusion lacing their faces. "None of you see it?"

Under her corset, her mirror necklace pulsed and burned. She pulled it out of the fabric, and the glass melted into liquid metal. Then danced a pas de deux in its cage.

"Has it ever done that before?" Emrys asked.

"Yes," Quinn whispered. "Once." Was the necklace the reason she could see the mirror, but others couldn't? Testing her theory, she looped the chain over her head and placed the chain in Emrys's palm. "Be careful not to touch the shard, but do you see it now?"

She was unsure if that was the correct answer because when she removed the jewelry from her body, she was still able to see the mirror.

"Yes," Emrys breathed. "I see it."

He passed the necklace to Constance, who passed it to Giselle, who passed it to Jevon. Within a matter of minutes, they all saw the sparkling liquid mirror at the back of the stage through the glamour.

Possibly because the Blood Mirrors were connected.

"How in the world are we going to get to it with a packed audience and dancers littering the stage," Giselle asked.

"Quinny, are you thinking what I am?" Constance said.

Quinn moaned. "We're gonna steal the dancer's costumes, aren't we?"

A mischievous grin painted Constance's face. "Yes, we are."

"What exactly is the plan?" Francois asked, raising a brow. "The cost of taking the paintings out is a soul, so we obviously aren't going to bargain for them, and the mirror is far too big to move during the ballet."

Emrys rubbed his forehead. "We need to guard it and maybe send someone in to ask if anyone has tried to bargain with it recently."

"I believe the killer has a mirror object that is allowing them to either watch us or be a step ahead. They might even be here now," Quinn said. "So, we need to make sure we keep them from getting what they've come for and then possibly figure out a way to lure them and trap them."

"We get as close as we can to guard it until the show is over or the murderer shows?" Jevon asked.

"Yes," Emrys and Quinn said in unison.

After slipping from the Royalle Box and using Emrys's vampire abilities, the group split into four groups. Giselle, with the gang, tried to get to the mirror from behind the stage. Emrys compelled two dancers to sleep in their dressing room so that Quinn and Constance could join the show. After helping the girls, he used his vampiric abilities to make himself invisible and get as close as he could, and Jevon watched from the stage wings.

Quinn never thought the first time she'd dance on with the Royalle Ballet would be in a stolen tutu in the middle of a murder investigation and vampiric conspiracy. But this was her life now.

The dance started within a croisé devant position and was full of tricky steps. Quinn knew the sequence, having performed the ballet once before, but it'd been a long time, and she was sloppy. She needed her fellow dancers to call out moves as they went.

Trying to position herself as close to the mirror as possible to keep an eye on it proved difficult while also trying to perform. Every turn she took, she spotted the mirror; every lift, her eyes watched the scarlet waterfall, checking and making sure no one approached it.

The music didn't flow through her like normal; it burned, singeing pieces of her. It wasn't beauty or passion; it was death and destruction.

But she didn't care. She had a mission. Protect the mirror. Watch the mirror.

As the ballet continued, more and more dancers and Mirror-Blessed performers flocked to the floor, making even the simplest of moves impossible. The stage became a labyrinth, and she kept getting pushed farther and farther from her task.

A dense, enchanted fog invaded the stage. It was ominous and full of deadly secrets, the mist too thick to see much of anything.

The room smelled of iron and broken hearts.

Rain poured from the ceiling, coating Quinn's tutu. The lights flickered as the music built into a crescendo, constructing a tense climax. Each strum of the violin echoed through her chest as she clawed her way to the mirror.

Something was wrong .

A drop of rain landed in her mouth, and it tasted like blood—real blood.

Quinn's heart stumbled, and dread licked at the back of her neck. This was not supposed to happen. Something had gone terribly wrong. She tore her way through the dancers, and as the song climaxed, and an explosion rattled the sky, sending shards of crimson glass through the air.

Sharp, massive shards sliced through the air, cutting everything in their path—including the flesh of the dancer's skin. Glass daggers.

Coming straight for Quinn. She threw her arms up to protect her face as she was about to be pummeled with the pieces of the mirror.

In a blink, Emrys appeared in front of her and pulled her into his chest, shielding her body from the shattering glass. The glass clinked against the ground, and time stilled. The sound was a thick, broken melody of death and destruction.

Screams burst through the glass melody, and chaos climbed into the night.

Quinn tilted her chin up and met Emrys's amber eyes which were coated in deep concern.

He'd saved her, taking the impact of the glass daggers—using his body to protect hers, and even though he was a vampire, it had to hurt.

"Are you okay?" she breathed.

His lips tilted up in a half smile. "Yes, Quinnevere. I am fine"—he stroked her chin with his thumb—"and so are you."

Quinn gulped. "You're bleeding."

"It's just a scratch."

The rotten melody played on while they stood frozen in each other's arms, but as the sound faded, the mirror glass evaporated into nothingness, leaving a scarlet stain across the floor—the sign of a dead magic mirror.

Quinn swallowed, her throat tight and aching. "We failed . . . again."