Chapter 38

Thirty-Eight

C onstance was the murderer.

Betrayal's talons scraped down the back of Quinn's skull. Constance was one of her closest friends. Someone who had always been there for her, so this was utterly unfathomable and deeply hurtful. Did Constance kill Jane?

Quinn felt like vomiting.

The betrayal tasted awful, like shattered hearts, poisoned tears, and melting pearls. Things that never should happen. Things like this.

And as much as Quinn didn't want to believe it, she scoured over the evidence in her mind, and all the pieces aligned. The glitter, the silver sequins from the dress she wore the night of Jane's murder, and the fang markings on all the victims. The feathers found on Jane's body probably came from Constance's Viridian costume. In Giselle's pictures, Constance was watching Jane on the night she died. The reporter died minutes before they arrived on the scene. Constance had both time and opportunity to use her vampiric speed to kill him before everyone else made it up to the room.

And the reporter's body was still warm.

It was possible .

And she had a motive. All the vampires did. Maybe Constance didn't like being under the restrictive Accords and decided to kill in order to free her painting.

It must have been in the first Blood Mirror. That's how she'd been killing for the last nineteen years.

And she created more vampires.

It all pointed directly to Quinn's best friend. Even the shooting star comment made sense. She could move faster than human sight could measure.

Despite knowing all of this. Quinn still wanted irrefutable evidence. Everything thus far was circumstantial. Constance could've been in the alley for an unconnected reason. But if they had her fingerprints, they might be able to match them to the crime. Maybe her past sample from the council meeting was manipulated . . . after all, Constance had access to the prints. She could have easily tampered with the evidence.

But to get a new sample, they needed to break into her rooms in the Courtesan Wing of the Viridian.

Quinn jumped up with ballerina reflexes and dashed up the street, but before she got far, Emrys appeared in front of her with worry swirling in his chestnut irises.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's Constance." Quinn's voice crumbled to ash.

Emrys stepped back as if slapped. "It can't be."

The words were echoed by her friends who stared wide-eyed at the unfolding scene. Jevon tapped his fingers on his thighs for comfort, and Giselle let out a low curse.

"It is," Quinn breathed.

"You don't understand." Emrys reached out and clutched her hand. "The Viridian is a sanctuary for the lost and broken. Constance opened it with Kordelia to give people in desperate circumstances a safety net. She'd never kill your parents or Jane or even search for the Blood Mirrors. She has no motive. She wants vampires to be bound. Unless . . ."

"It's her." Quinn's voice trembled, and her heart thundered. " I remember her face. She was one of the vampires who attacked me in the ally. It's her. " Tears rolled down Quinn's cheeks like patterning rain. "I can prove it. We just need to break into her rooms at the Viridian."

"I believe you," Emrys said, stroking a tear from her cheek.

They entered the labyrinth of the Courtesan Wing, and everyone but Emrys was disguised as performers. Quinn wore a tutu that flowed like a river of feathers from her hips to the floor—like a peacock resting in a tree, letting its tail dangle in the wind. Her face was painted with birdlike makeup, and her hair dusted with blue glitter.

Giselle wore her acrobatic costume, and Jevon was dressed for temptation—or, more correctly, not dressed. He wore trousers and a white unbuttoned undershirt, exposing his ivory-muscled chest to the world. The outfit was complete with a peacock blue cravat and top hat.

Traveling through the Courtesan Wing was difficult because the walls and halls were enchanted. They twisted and danced, and none of them went where she thought they should. Every night, the corridors changed directions and played tricks on the mind. The closer anyone got to the Courtesan Wing, the more the walls danced and moved. Almost as if they were purposely trying to keep a secret—trying to keep people out.

After all, the wing was forbidden.

The task of navigating was made slightly easier with Giselle and Emrys guiding them.

The walls responded to Emrys differently than the rest of the group. They reacted like an old friend, coming to visit after years of being away. They liked him. Which is why he led the group through the twists and turns and magic .

Unfortunately, Quinn was the slowest of the group, having pointe shoes strapped to her feet. Giselle, being an acrobat, wore no shoes at all with her costume.

Five strides ahead, the group turned the corner just as a wall solidified in front of Quinn, trapping her away from her friends. She pounded to no avail. The Viridian hated her, and it didn't want her to know its secrets—to be allowed into the depths of its soul.

"Dirty mirror." She groaned.

Twirling around, she tried to get her bearings. Randomly, she chose a direction and started walking. At every turn, the walls shifted and obstructed her way.

Perhaps cursing at the mirror was a mistake.

The shadows tracked her movements, and it felt as if someone were watching her. But only curtains and an explosion of red greeted her. Continuing her path, she walked through three more doors with still no sense of direction. She doubled back and tried to follow the way she'd come, but it disappeared into dust.

"Hello, Cinnamon," Emrys cooed in her ear as she jolted out of her skin. "Did you get lost?" Quinn slowly twirled around and stared up into his eyes. Transfixed. "Are you in need of rescuing?"

"This place hates me." She huffed.

"It protects its secrets." Emrys smirked and clasped her hand. "But you're with me, and I know all of its secrets."

"Of course you do." Quinn sighed and allowed him to navigate her through the maze. "Where are Giselle and Jevon?"

"Searching the rooms."

"Oh, good."

Emrys grimaced. "I know I promised I wouldn't do this again, but—"

He gently pushed her into the wall and planted a falsely passionate kiss on her lips. A kiss for an audience.

A show . . . until it wasn't.

It started as locked lips and guarded disguises. Emrys did his best to not actually kiss her—not like before. It wasn't a kiss for him or for her. It was an escape route. A way to distract the person coming down the hallway.

For the scandal that it was, it was the tamest, most respectful of stage kisses.

And it wasn't Emrys who turned it into more. It was Quinn who opened her lips with a sigh and deepened it into passion. It was Quinn who laced her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. But she wasn't alone. He matched her fire with an inferno of his own, and soon he was teaching her so, so much more about kissing.

He was teaching her about lust and pleasure and devastation. For what they were doing would only lead to devastation. But Quinnevere Ashelle didn't care anymore. She was done fighting her physical attraction to him. Now, she just wanted all of him.

Someone cleared their throat and said, "Get a room, Princeling."

Breathless, his lips left hers, her heart beating a symphony of excitement.

Emrys glanced behind him, still shrouding her with his tall, muscled body. "With pleasure."

"And see that she makes her way back to the show." The sharp soprano voice belonged to the owner of the Viridian.

"Of course." A smug smile graced his swollen, just-kissed lips. He pulled her by the hand down the hall and into a room, his breath heavy as they waited for Kordelia to leave the hall.

"Well, that wasn't exactly as I'd planned it," Emrys said.

Embarrassment cried a river from Quinn's head to her toes. "We are not gonna talk about it."

"We're not going to talk about how you just attacked me?" Amusement colored his voice.

Quinn scoffed. "Who attacked who is debatable. Now, seal your lips, Prince."

"Are you sure you prefer them sealed?"

"Do you think it'd hurt if I punched a vampire?" she asked .

Emrys chuckled. "It would hurt, but not the person you intended it to."

"Silence, Prince."

Emrys mimed, sealing his lips before grasping her hand and leading her out of the room and farther into the Courtesan Wing.

With each step she took closer to Constance's room, more anxiety stroked her core. Quinn was about to discover if one of her best friends murdered her family. Maybe she allowed herself to get lost in the halls because she wasn't ready to handle the truth.

The pressure was dense.

Her brain wouldn't quiet. It kept circling through all the information over and over again.

Betrayal split her skull, filling her cell nuclei with chaos. A myriad of feelings circled in her baffled mind. Emotions she worked so hard to avoid and keep at a distance flooded through her bones. And she needed it to stop. She needed an experiment, a body or something to study, or to dance. Anything that would take her mind off Constance DeWinter.

She needed—

All of Quinn's thoughts froze in place.

Emrys hadn't led her to Constance's rooms. He led her to Constance and to the discovery of why the Courtesan Wing was forbidden. Quinn expected naked bodies in carnal acts, but what she saw was far more horrifying.

Five men were attached to blood bags, fully clothed, and completely dazed—drugged.

The women who performed the blood draw were famous Viridian Ladies, and they stole men's blood. Not . . . not seducing them. One of the girls—Ainsley, the singer—went from man to man and used her retractable claws to take a sip of their blood before saying, "You're having an erotic and pleasurable time. You're experiencing all your greatest fantasies. You will wake up feeling more than satisfied and wanting more."

Another girl drank directly from one of the men's wrists. The Viridian Ladies were vampires—beautiful, flawless creatures of the night in more ways than one.

And Constance sat in a gilded chair that could've been a throne, licking blood off her claws.

Quinn stepped backward, trying not to make a sound or a fast movement, and she held her breath. Confronting vampires was a terrible idea. Confronting a murderous vampire was suicide, even if she had Emrys by her side. The best option—the only option—was to flee. She slid her foot through the air and tried to place it without noise. Unfortunately, Quinn was fucking human and had no ounce of stealth in her body, and once again, for the fourth time in a week, she made too much sound for vampires' ears because the floorboard creaked beneath her toes.

She squeaked as all eyes in the room turned on her.

Fuck. Again. This was getting pathetic.