Chapter 5

Five

" A ll aboard," the cable car conductor yelled at the Spirit Sector Cable Car Station.

A daze had settled over Quinn's mind, and she wasn't even sure where Jane had led her after they'd left the mirror. She'd accepted the deal, but instant foreboding filled her blood. Had she been tricked? Nightshade said, your life is about to fall apart, and you probably won't survive it with good luck, let alone bad luck.

Did he give her terrible consequences, or did he simply foresee the future and warn her? No one truly knew how mirror bargains worked, and Nightshade was the worst among them. But maddeningly, it was unclear whether he was helping or hurting.

Yet somehow, he was Jane's friend.

"All aboard," the cable car conductor yelled again. "On or off, but we are leaving."

Leaving. Quinn blinked, and the world returned to focus on the cable car in front of her.

"We can't leave. Giselle hasn't come back yet," Jevon Yale said, his eyes wild and worried. "She went to buy machinery parts while we waited, but she's not back."

"The next car comes in thirty minutes," the conductor informed them. "Either you get on now, or you wait or walk. "

Fuck. They had to get on the cable car now. Quinn had to kiss Emrys by midnight. Fuck. Why did she agree to that?

"We need to leave," Jane said as she slid onto the cable car's redwood bench. "Quinn has a deal to accomplish, and I have to get the Viridian and meet Emrys to—" Jane swallowed, cutting herself off. "Giselle will catch up to us."

"Wait." Quinn rounded on Jane. "Why are you meeting with Emrys? Is it about my deal?"

Jane's eyes caught on the row of mirrors they'd just left but then turned back to Quinn. "No, I need to talk to Prince about Castle Hill business. It's really just silly matters about ballet studios and other nonsense."

"This conversation can wait. We need to get on the cable car," Constance said, grasping Quinn's wrist and pulling her into the car.

"But Giselle's so late ," Jevon whispered.

Constance shrugged, making her way to the far back of the car, perching on the side of the rail.

The conductor signaled the gripman with one bell, and they began moving. Gears clicked into place, and the car glided up the massive hill on Passion Avenue—the street leading to the Passion District. New Swansea was a city of hills, cliffs, and dense fog. A sparkling azure bay encased the city on three sides, and cable cars and flying gondolas twinkled across the city like soaring diamonds.

Quinn swallowed and tried to focus on the Giselle problem and not her pending kiss or possible mirror consequences.

"The car is moving," Jevon said as he tapped his fingers on his vest. "And Giselle isn't here."

"Just wait. I promise she will miraculously appear." Jane folded her hands in her lap and leaned back into her seat, playing with the feathers on her dress.

Giselle was always late. It was an affliction at this point. Even with a wristwatch, a pocket watch, and a radio in her room, the girl never managed to show up on time. Only a miracle caused her to be early.

"How long do you think it will take her to catch up—" Jevon stopped as a shout pierced the air.

"Wait." It was Giselle, skirts billowing as she ran in the car's wake. "Wait."

"Stop the car." Constance glared at the conductor.

"I am sorry, mistress," the conductor said. "I cannot stop the car until a scheduled stop."

"I bet two sienna's that she will try and jump." Quinn stuck her head out and watched as Giselle stormed after the car.

A mischievous expression painted across Jevon's ivory cheeks. His worry finally settled. "That would be a silly bet to take."

"Indeed," Quinn agreed. She folded her arms and sat back as Giselle sped up and prepared to jump. Quinn might've been concerned if she hadn't seen Giselle pull off far more dangerous stunts on numerous occasions. Giselle performed with the acrobats and tightrope walkers at the Viridian Club just for the thrill of it. She had an addiction to adrenaline.

And just as predicted, with a strange grace, Giselle grand-jetéd and launched into the air before her fingers gripped the handrail. Graceful and skilled as always. But unfortunately, a rip sounded as she pulled herself into the cable car.

"Ugh, nearly perfect execution." Giselle's golden-brown eyes swooped over her torn crimson skirt as a bead of sweat dripped down her dark olive cheeks. "And this dress was so beautiful." She groaned as she dropped into the spot next to Quinn.

"You're late," Quinn said, not to shame her friend but to kindly remind her of the importance of timeliness—a constant argument between the girls.

"I might always be late, but at least I always show up." A warm smile crossed Giselle's lips. This was her typical response to the endless perfectionism.

Quinn sighed and returned the smile .

The girls were opposites in nearly every way, yet they fundamentally understood each other.

"Giselle, I am impressed with how fast you ran." Constance's voice was laced with snake venom mixed with chocolate macarons. Sweet and vicious. But she picked nonchalantly at the embroidered micro-sequins adorning her iridescent silver silk dress. The combination of expressions was striking in their discrepancy. But that was Constance. Hot and cold.

"Just because I'm not a ballerina like you three doesn't mean I don't have skills." Giselle motioned to the other girls. "Or were you implying that I shouldn't be able to run with all my extra curves? Because I am fat?"

Constance and Giselle's relationship was confusing. At one moment, they were the best of friends, and at other moments, they were entirely at odds. The tension usually came when Constance was in one of her more hyper moods because, in those moments, they were far too similar. Constance had two moods: energetic or brooding.

"I am pretty sure she meant nothing like that. She was just trying to compliment you," Jevon said.

"I am an asshole, but I'm not that big of one." Constance rolled her eyes. "I was merely saying I was impressed because it was fast. I don't even like running at all."

Quinn sighed and ignored her friends. They argued like this all the time. Instead, out of a hidden pocket in her dress, she pulled a small first aid kit, which doubled as a sewing kit.

If Quinn could keep her mind and fingers busy, it would distract from the anxiety settling in her bones. So she motioned to Giselle, who slid the torn part of her skirt over.

"I'll read while you work then." Giselle pulled out a small book from her cleavage and began to read. If Giselle could manage it, she would bring a library everywhere she went. Knowledge was her power.

"What are you reading?" Quinn asked as she used a tricot stitch to meticulously repair the silk .

"A book on the old vampire gods that I borrowed from the Grand Library," Giselle said, turning the page, her nose deep inside the tome.

At the word vampire , everyone reacted. Jane stared vacantly forward with her fingers steepled beneath her chin. Horror dashed across Jevon's cheeks, and Constance sat up straighter, leaning in but also trying to lace a disinterested expression on her face so as not to show Giselle she actually cared.

The girls were rivals in nearly every way, yet somehow, they still liked each other—or they pretended to like each other in Quinn's presence. It made for some interesting moments.

"And have you read anything interesting in your stolen book?" Constance asked.

"It's mostly borrowed . . . " Giselle paused her reading to shoot Constance a look so icy it could sink the RMS Colossal.

Quinn laughed and then said sarcastically, "Borrowed like all the other library books you will eventually give back?"

"Precisely."

"I don't get you at all," Constance said. "You're a daughter of a Countess—or so you say—and you don't need to steal them. You could buy them."

Giselle was a lady and extremely rich, but she refused to tell her parents' last names. She even took on a fake last name to hide their identities because she was so ashamed of them. After her father was sentenced to prison for murdering someone, she never talked about him again. And she hated her mother for unknown reasons.

"I barely do anything because I need to. Besides, who doesn't keep library books?" Giselle's nose flared. "Anyway, do you want to hear about my book or not?"

"Eh, not particularly, no." Constance wiggled an eyebrow.

"Well then, I shall definitely tell you now." Giselle's ruby lips rose into a wicked smile. "I was reading a story about the Bloody Countess . . ."

"Oh, fucking mirrors," Constance cursed under her breath .

"Now, you've started it," Jevon added in.

"A vampire who used to prey on men." Giselle ignored them and continued, "She bled them dry and hung them from gentleman's clubs in horrendous positions. She loved to use stakes. Many, many stakes."

A shiver crawled down Quinn's spine at the words, and she absentmindedly stroked a finger along her forearm, tracing the bleeding painting that was inked into her skin. Quinn performed many autopsies, but some things were even gruesome enough to churn her stomach. "Well, that's a bit of light reading."

"Did it give a reason for the murders?" Constance asked, a trill of excitement pouring from her tongue.

"Is there ever a good reason for murder?" Jane wrinkled her nose.

Constance shrugged and clicked her heels, flashing a naughty grin. "I could think of a couple."

Jevon let out a low laugh.

"Like wha—" Giselle's voice trailed off as ghostly screams pierced through the night fog.

The cable car approached Trapped Souls Row.

Quinn's stomach dropped. They represented the worst future imaginable. The worst mirror costs.

And it only served to remind Quinn of her deal and the future she had awaiting her if it soured. She wouldn't be turned into a mirror, but there were other terrible consequences.

Fuck .

This car needed to hurry because Quinn had a prince to seduce. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She was far outmatched because not only was Quinn a virgin—dance and dead bodies took up too much of her time to lure and fuck men—but she had also never been kissed. At twenty-three. Again, not for any other reason than being far too busy.

But now, Quinn was beginning to believe she might be missing something. She'd pleasured herself, and she was adequate at it. But all her friends had many partners and experiences she never had.

Fuck, Giselle had nearly fucked an entire baseball team at this point, sleeping with a new man every week. It was unclear if she was a courtesan or just simply bored. Either could be equally true, and she had no shame for any of it—nor should she. But sex wasn't something the girls discussed.

Quinn wished she could be that free with passion, but that wasn't how she was made. Quinn wasn't free with anything. She was an uptight nightmare.

A scream cut through the night, and Quinn jumped.

One of the mirrors of Trapped Souls Row let out a banshee call and pulled Quinn back into the moment, her eyes falling on the haunted things. Some were screaming, some were frozen in slumber, and others waved sadistically, their eyes tracing Quinn like chalk lining a crime scene. Some even banged on the glass and begged to be set free.

Unlike the other mirrors of New Swansea, these ones decayed. Their metal rusted and crumbled at the seams. Moss grew along the rock walls and snaked up through the cracks like the tentacles of an octopus. They were so different from other mirrors that they were housed in an equally sinister part of the city, where no one dared enter. They were the entrance to the Ruins, a place covered in twisted shadows that resisted the light from the sun.

A place reserved only for ghosts.

If someone wanted to enter the Ruins—which no one would—they would have to walk through Trapped Souls Row.

Quinn looked away from the tormented place.

She didn't want to feel for these people because if she let it in, a flood of all her unfelt emotions would be set free. And that couldn't happen. Ever. It was far better to be in control—far better to avoid emotions and focus on something else.

Quinn tried to do this by sewing Giselle's skirt, but she just couldn't drown them out .

"Quinny, your necklace is . . . glowing." Constance pointed, and in her umber eyes, a glowing red light reflected.

Quinn lowered her chin and took in her necklace. Inside the iron casing, the shard of glass liquified into a flaring crimson metal that swirled to a legato rhythm. It was a ballerina jumping and dancing.

Shock rattled through her core. It was the second time the necklace had come alive. But it shouldn't happen. It was a shard of a dead mirror, and Quinn only kept it because it reminded her of her parents—of the life they would never have together.

What was going on? She rubbed her temples and glanced up at the Ruins and trapped souls. There was something about this place or these souls that spoke to the necklace. Something that revived it.

Like it had been during the rite.

She'd passed Trapped Soul Row hundreds of times, so why come to life now?

Was it because of the rite? Had something changed the necklace when they were inside Nightshade's realm?

Lost in her thoughts, Quinn didn't notice when Jane reached out and touched the necklace until it was too late. The other redhead jumped back and nearly fell out of the car and would have if Constance hadn't grabbed her dress, catching her.

"It burnt me," Jane breathed and stared at a coined-sized burn in the center of her palm.

Jane's expression sparked with recognition, and it was almost like her thoughts twirled in her eyes like a scene playing out on a stage. Quinn had no idea what her friend was thinking, but it was clear that the necklace coming to life meant something. And it became even more clear when Jane whispered, "So it's true."

"What's true?" Quinn asked, protectively pulling away from her friend.

Jane's hand fell into her lap. "What?" she asked as if coming out of a daze.

"You said it's true while staring at my necklace." Quinn gripped the jewelry in between her fingers, the lattice cage digging into her flesh.

Jane bit her lip, and instead of answering the question, she said, "Did you get the mirror shard when your parents died?"

A strike of lightning surged through Quinn's core. There was no way anyone should've known that. She was the only person to survive the murders—murders that included a mirror.

Her fingers tightened further around the necklace as she contemplated telling the truth. "I—" Quinn started, realizing she'd been silent too long. She blew out a breath and finally chose to share this piece of her soul with someone else. "Yes," Quinn breathed.

"But that's not possible. When a mirror breaks, the pieces shatter and dissolve into nothing, leaving a mirror stain in its place." Jevon rubbed his hand and stared at her like he was trying to solve an impossible math equation.

Quinn sucked in a breath and swallowed down her emotions—deep down, never to see the light of day. She wouldn't allow what she was about to say to affect her. "When I was four years old, my parents were murdered in front of a mirror. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But when they died, the murderer shattered the mirror, and I grasped a sliver and hid. By the time I came out of my hiding spot, the shattered glass had dissolved. All except the shard in my hand. I don't know why it stayed. I barely know anything about that night at all. My memory is split into pieces. I don't really even remember my family or anything that happened before that moment."

Constance and Jevon's eyes met, and Quinn couldn't quite decipher what emotion was shared between them—if it was horror, curiosity, or empathy.

"I think they were guarding a Blood Mirror," Jane whispered to her lap, wringing her hands. "Which means it's a piece. Maybe it could find the thir—" she cut herself off, and her eyes darted over her shoulder. She stiffened, suddenly noticing her other friends hanging off her every word .

"Jane, are you okay?" Giselle asked, sliding her book into her corset.

"Yes, sorry." Jane flashed a false smile, squeezing Quinn's hand. "It's nothing. I was just surprised by the necklace moving. That's all."

Silence cascaded over them like a tidal wave, and the five of them sat huddled yet separately.

Quinn's thoughts turned back to her parents as she stared at the necklace.

She never talked about her parents. Ever. Preferring to pretend the murders never happened, but it didn't work. She heard their screams in her dreams and saw blood pooling on the floor—too much blood.

She cracked her neck and stared down at her fingers. She still hadn't finished fixing Giselle's skirt. Picking up the needle and thread, Quinn continued and tried to the best of her ability to erase her spiraling thoughts and emotions. It all just needed to go away.

When they had finally passed the Soul Mirror Way, her necklace stopped glowing and settled back into its original form, and a trickle of terror coiled in Quinn's stomach. The necklace never acted like this, and it was deeply unsettling.

Everything was falling apart, and Quinn had a sinking feeling that it was all about to get so much worse.