Chapter 6

Six

T he Viridian's grand ballroom pulsed with magic and possibility as Constance pulled Quinn by the arm into the festivities and closer to her dreaded deal—closer to midnight too. Jane said Emrys would be at the Viridian tonight, so if Quinn were going to kiss him, it would have to be in the infamous nightclub before or after Jane's meeting. Why Jane was meeting with the prince was just another mystery that needed to be solved.

But not now, because the mere thought of kissing caused an anchor to drop in her stomach. Everyone Quinn knew was experienced except her. Constance and Giselle both lived in a burlesque club and courtesan den—although from what Quinn had gathered, neither of them partook in that particular profession. Regardless, Giselle had a new man weekly, if not nightly. And Constance was more than skilled in the art of seduction. Even messy, clumsy Jevon fucked new women all the time.

All of Quinn's friends partied and truly lived while she was too busy dancing and working.

Now, she feared she was getting too old to be so sheltered.

Granted, Quinn had probably seen more penises in her life than any of her friends. But dead penises didn't really count. She'd even seen a broken penis once, but again, it didn't count— except to be utterly scarring. Because Quinn had never used any . . . or touched them outside of a medical lab.

And the kisses she'd had in the ballet were pecks—for show. None of her experiences would help her seduce the Playboy Prince and kiss him passionately.

Fuck Nightshade . He'd set her up to fail. Kissing Emrys Avalon was madness. It was torture—and Nightshade knew it. He'd said as much, and that's why he chose it.

"You look worried," Constance said, pulling Quinn and their friends out of the rush of people. "Is it about kissing the prince?"

"Of course it is." Quinn's voice quivered. "I don't have any real experience."

"You don't really need experience. Emrys will do most of the work for you." Constance winked. "I'm sure it would be his ultimate pleasure."

Quinn groaned. She, too, was certain he'd love to kiss her. The man was known as one of the biggest rogues in New Swansea, but Quinn would still need to corner him and put the idea in his mind, and that wouldn't be easy.

"If it's possible, her face just got redder," Jevon fake whispered to Giselle, who stifled a giggle.

"You're going to be fine," Giselle said with a hand muffling her face.

"Yes, you will," Constance added. "He's been practicing for ages. I'm sure he's even deflowered a virgin or two. You'll be in great hands."

"Ages?"

"It's a metaphor, Quinn," Constance shook her head. "And of all of the rogues I know , he's probably the most skilled and patient."

Know . The way she said know . . . "Did he deflower—" Ugh, no, that was a ridiculous word. "Have you fucked him?"

"No, and yes."

Before Quinn could get any more answers to that fascinating riddle, a group of young revelers pushed in between them. Terrible timing.

"Don't be so glum," Constance yelled over the crowd. "It's your birthday. Enjoy the splendor. It will be fun to lose yourself to handsome, handsy gentlemen."

"Handsy gentlemen?" Quinn's heart stumbled. She truly hoped Emrys wouldn't be handsy . . . or did she? Fuck. Maybe it was the night to experiment and learn.

Fuck. Quinn didn't know. It was all too confusing. Trying not to show her fear . . . again, Quinn played along with Constance, saying, "I am pretty sure the words handsy and gentlemen do not go together."

"Oh, I think they go perfectly together." Constance winked.

Jane's lips drew up at the corner. "Oh, they do."

"See, even our serious, boring friend knows how wonderful hands can be used in the proper ways."

So, Constance was in one of those moods. The girl's spirits flipped on a sienna coin. She would sometimes be elevated, talkative, and reckless, and other times, she would brood like the long-extinct vampires. A coin, once tossed, no one knew which side they'd get. The calm, rational, and relatable side or the crazy, fun, reckless side.

What was strange about tonight was that the Viridian usually placed her in a rotten mood.

In fact, Quinn couldn't remember the last time Constance was chipper at the club.

It might've had something to do with the cost of the Viridian's illusions—performance. Kordelia, the owner of the Viridian, made a deal with a mirror to create the club, and now those inside the club were bound by that deal. As long as the Viridian dancers, singers, and acrobats performed, the mirror created a world of intrigue and fantasy where everything was a game designed to induce pleasure. The unforeseen consequence of the Viridian deal was that the performers could never stop. Someone had to be on stage always. And Quinn was also pretty sure the building messed with people's memories—erasing them, warping them, and consuming them.

Constance was particularly susceptible to the club's effect.

Anxiety bubbled in Quinn's belly, so she tried to focus on the living, breathing nightclub. The Viridian was one of the seventeen sentient structures in the city, with walls that cried when they were upset and rooms that morphed of their own accord. And it had a personality. It was vain, like a bird prancing and preening.

The theme of the club revolved around peacocks—beautiful, ostentatious, and rich. It embraced the definition of exuberance and pride. Tonight, everything in the grand ballroom sparkled with enchantment—a viridian watercolor, blending, dancing, and breathing life into the room. The ceiling twinkled like the night sky. Fairy lights mixed with strands of white feathers that fanned out across the ceiling, forming a peacock's tail. Even the building's roof was themed with two massive peacock statues—with their feathers spread down the side of the building like a windmill's rungs—that could be seen across the city.

And even those peacocks moved with a glamour and looked alive. Everything in the place danced.

"Jevon darling, go get us some drinks." Constance snapped her fingers, and Jevon flashed a glower so deep and dark that the Obsidian Canyon would be jealous.

"Yes, princess," he mumbled under his breath and shrugged, flashing a helpless grin before walking away.

Constance was a star, and she liked planets to orbit around her. And Jevon, by far, was the most subservient planet. Quinn sometimes complied, and Giselle very rarely did, which was why the two had underlying tensions. But in many ways, Constance was the sun of the group because she was the one who introduced them. She met Quinn and Jane in ballet, knew Jevon from primary school and Giselle from her work at the Viridian.

Constance was the group's connective tissue.

"Wonderful." She clapped. "I'll be right back. Giselle, Jane, I assume you can watch after the birthday girl and make sure she gets into loads of trouble while we're gone?" Constance didn't wait for an answer before she disappeared into the crowd.

"I can manage trouble." Giselle grinned, the smile so devious it painted sinful red blossoms across her bronze cheeks.

Quinn groaned. Not Giselle, too. Traitors, the lot of them.

"Want to find a spot to watch the performance?" Giselle asked.

Not really. Quinn wanted to find the prince, lure him into a dark corner, and quickly kiss him. All of which would fundamentally ruin her birthday and every interaction with him in the future. Not like it would change their dynamic because every interaction she'd ever had with him was pure torture. But after kissing him, she'd never be able to go to a murder briefing again—at least not without turning bright scarlet.

When she didn't respond, Giselle grasped Quinn's hand and dragged her through the crowd, a couple of people elbowing them as they went.

Not fully watching her steps, Quinn accidentally ran straight into a guest in a dark charcoal suit as Giselle's hand slipped out of hers.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—" she started but stopped when she saw who she'd hit.

Emrys Avalon.

Well, fuck. She had been looking for him, but she hadn't meant to find him this soon. Her mind went blank, and all the sound emptied from the room because now her entire attention was focused on the rotten nerves tangled in her stomach.

Nope, she couldn't do this.

Running away was the far better option, right?

"Hello, Ginger." He raised an eyebrow as the corner of his lips twitched.

The raven-haired Emrys Avalon was dressed to the nines in a pinstriped suit with silk lapels that looked to be weaved from spider silk. He dressed like a gangster, terrifying yet alluring, and power radiated from his skin like an aura of magic .

Hanging off one arm was the beautiful and flirty Countess Teagan Atwater. The girl's walnut hair lay in perfect finger waves adorned with a feather and pearled headband. Her dress fell to her calves, the fringe composed of beads and pearls. The dress probably cost over one thousand siennas.On his other arm was the current prima ballerina of the Queen's Royalle Ballet and one of the biggest celebrities in the country, Nia Cross. Where the countess was hard edges and scrutiny, the dancer was soft lines and compassion. Her midnight hair was tightly braided and laced around a ruby headband that perfectly complemented her umber skin's jeweled undertones. She was dazzling and embodied grace.

Quinn swallowed, and anxiety bubbled in her stomach. Emrys, surrounded by his paramours, never boded well.

How was she to seduce him and steal a passionate kiss while he was dripping with accomplished women? Quinn could never measure up to that.

So, running. Yes, that was the far better solution.

Glancing around, Quinn searched for her friends for help, but they had already traveled on without her, leaving her to face these demons alone.

The countess waved down a waiter and ordered a cocktail before turning her attention back to the obstacle in front of her, glaring. Her eyes searched Quinn from her toes to the tight corset of her green gown. A disgusted expression flashed across Teagan's face but was quickly covered up with a sensual tilt of her lips. "I see the trash dressed up tonight. Who did you steal your frock from?"

Quinn clenched her teeth and smiled through a breath, nervously glancing down at Teagan's dress. Feathers dripped from the bodice like dried wax, falling down the skirt like teardrops. It was beautiful and looked expensive.

The aristocracy always turned their noses down on the lower classes. The titled and rich generally had enough money and privilege to avoid the Bargainers and were never desperate enough to make costly deals, yet they still benefited from them .

As a medical examiner, Quinn was considered part of the working class, but as soon as she made it into the Queen's Royalle Ballet, she would join the highest ranks of society. New Swansea's currency was fame and fortune. And the most revered groups in the city were ballerinas and silent movie stars. The aristocracy were only figureheads, and their only real power rested in their titles and wealth. But as the century turned, a lot of their wealth was draining, and the business tycoons were taking over.

Emrys, of course, had both fame and fortune, placing him squarely at the top of society.

"You look dazzling tonight, Quinnevere," the prince said with a velvet-smooth voice.

The countess suppressed a snort.

Quinn stilled. It was unclear if he was making fun of her, too. He had the ability to make his insults appear as compliments.

"I—" Quinn started, trying to figure out the right words to escape the situation. She needed to regroup and figure out how to trap him alone . . . preferably where no one would see them.

"Are you enjoying your birthday?" Emrys's gaze cut into her with the intensity of an earthquake.

Quinn's throat tightened. How the fuck did he know that? She tried her best to hide it from her friends, let alone the people she disliked the most in the world. "It is unsettling that you know that, Emrys."

"What?" He shrugged. "I keep tabs on all my enemies." A playful smile danced on his lips, but a chill slid down her spine. "Still . . . it's your twenty-third. The big year. Are you going to perform the rite?"

Yes, and now I have to seduce you.

"I—" Oh, Quinn needed to get away as soon as possible. She was falling apart. Words weren't even coming to her anymore. Taking a big breath, she glanced around the room, looking for an excuse, anything to escape. "Oh, look . . ." She pointed into the crowd. "Jane. I must go. "

"Miss Ashelle." Emrys nodded his head with respect. Quinn nodded back before darting into a group of festive people.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That went as terribly as she could have possibly imagined. She wanted to drown in a frozen lake. Oh, mirrors, you're pathetic, Quinn. You can't even talk to the prince, let alone kiss him.

As if adding to her misery, the clock struck eleven. One hour . Shit.

But she needed to regroup and get her friends. It didn't take long for her to find them on a ledge. They usually watched the shows in one of two places. A private booth or the ledges surrounding the room.

"Constance said to get you in trouble, but I define engineering as trouble. I know she wouldn't approve, but then she shouldn't have left you in my hands." From out of Giselle's dress pocket, she pulled out a camera.

Quinn laughed. "Is this one of your new inventions?"

"Yes, it's a camera with a portable darkroom, and it worked the other day," Giselle said. "I want to test it again tonight, but it's definitely better than what a mirror could create."

Giselle didn't like mirror deals for technology because they always left humans far more reliant and beholden to them. She much preferred to make her own things.

"It truly worked?" Quinn sat up a little straighter. Giselle was known for her inventions not fully working as intended.

"Well . . . It mostly works." Giselle took a picture and showed Quinn. After a couple of minutes, a distorted picture printed out from the bottom of the camera. "See, it's not perfect, but it works."

"It's amazing, G."

Their conversation was cut off because the lights grew dim, and the dance floor cleared of patrons. With a loud pop and an explosion of blue fire, the show began, and dancers gilded in, feathers grazing the floor. Quinn was exhausted watching them. It was like they were shot out of a cannon, running and dancing, quick steps and kicks designed to expose as much of their petticoats as possible.

"Do you see their emotional expression?" Jane asked, pointing at the dancers, and keeping her promise from earlier to coach Quinn's artistry.

Quinn rubbed her palms together. Of course, she could see it, but she couldn't do it. "Yes."

Jane squeezed Quinn's hand empathetically, knowing the depths of her friend's struggle. "As dancers, we are also actors. And in order to act, we need to have access to either true emotions or imagined emotions."

Quinn loosened a breath. "But that's the problem. I can't access my emotions."

Jane smiled kindly. "Yes, you can. In the four years I've mentored you, I've seen you connect with your emotions on numerous occasions. You can do it. You just don't want to."

Fuck, Jane was right. She saw into the depths of Quinn's soul. And that was terrifying because Quinn didn't want to feel. She couldn't afford to.

"If it helps, pretend to be a different person with a different past," Jane said. "Sometimes, letting go can be the very thing you need."

Quinn sighed and fiddled with her fingernails, watching the dancing. Could she let herself go? Was it possible?

Jane pulled a small box from her pocket behind the bustle of her dress. "I got you a present." It was a bracelet with a single charm on it. A gold ballet pointe shoe with a heart inside. But not a cute heart that a schoolgirl would dot her I's with, a human heart—the organ—cradled in a pointe shoe. To anyone else, it would have been utterly ridiculous and creepy, but to Quinn, it was perfect. She said the last bit aloud.

"I know your ballet is your dream, but I also know, deep down, you love carving up dead bodies. You love being smarter than everyone else, and there is a world in which you can have both of your passions." Jane rubbed a wrinkle in her skirt .

"They aren't both my passions."

"Sure, sure." Jane nodded, but it was clear she didn't believe her. "One day—" Jane cut herself off, her eyes focusing on someone in the crowd. "I have to go . . . There's a meeting . . ." Jane jumped down from her perch and misjudged the distance, stumbling and falling. Before anyone could help her, she sprang back up and disappeared into the crowd.

Quinn tried to follow her disappearing form, but an explosion of fire came from the ceiling, and out of it appeared a woman in a deep red costume. The feathers started from her bodice and traveled up her chest, finishing at her throat like a choker necklace. The dress had a deep V-neck that exposed the skin to her belly button, and the skirt was shaped like a tutu. The dancer floated down from the ceiling like a falling star.

Constance.

Her toes touched the floor, and she balanced fully on pointe. At the precise moment she touched, the ground and the air lit up with golden fire.

Quinn squinted, and on closer look, the fire was thousands of glowing butterflies flying and dancing in time with Constance as she performed the Sable Swan variation mixed with cancan and seductress moves. The butterflies moved and morphed into shapes in the sky as Constance moved.

Quinn looked up to share her excitement about the dance with Giselle but discovered that she'd left. She was so absorbed in testing her invention that she had wandered off taking pictures and was entirely across the room.

Quinn was alone with her thoughts. Never a good thing. So she stared down at her necklace, clutched it, and remembered her Mirror-Rite.

A frisson of anxiety gathered in her core and crystallized.

The only way to keep her mind from unwanted emotions was to do something, whether it be work, a puzzle, or dance. Something, anything would do. She decided to find Emrys and get this over with .

Through the crowd, she spotted Jevon's blond hair. He stood, his shoulders slightly slumped with a frown on his face, holding two refreshments and surrounded by a group of fawning girls—far too polite to excuse himself and find freedom.

He needed to be rescued.

But Quinn would have to do that later. She made it three steps before she froze in her tracks. Behind her, in one of the curtained-off alcoves, an argument was brewing between familiar voices. She turned on her heel and tiptoed to the purple curtain blocking the room.

Perhaps she had fantastic luck because the object of her search simply fell into her lap.

Slowly, Quinn opened a curtain leading to a hall with a set of four little alcoves—designed for midnight assignations. The voices came from the farthest one on the left, so she tiptoed up to it, placed a steady finger on the fabric, and moved it oh-so-slightly enough to give her a view.

It was the meeting Jane had run off to.

Emrys spoke in dark tones and boxed Jane in. He was with two other men. A tree-like man, tall and slight of frame, in a pinstriped, immaculately tailored suit and square-rimmed glasses that framed his face. On his russet-brown skin behind his left ear rested a gang tattoo of a mask with a snake coiling through the eyehole.

A Les Fant?mes tattoo.

The second man was spun in a suit of midnight black that matched his hair. He was also tall and conventionally attractive, but his eyes were a haunting deep brown-nearly-black with silver rings around his irises.

"You have to tell me where it is," Emrys Avalon said fiercely to Jane, nearly shaking her. "We need to know. It's life and death."

"I can't tell you." Jane folded her arms and stood her ground.

The man with silver-ringed eyes cocked his head. "But you do know where it is?"

It? What could be so important that both Emrys and this man were threatening Jane? The hairs on Quinn's arms rose. Jane, what have you gotten yourself into?

Jane's gaze jolted to his, and she said, "Shouldn't you already know exactly where it is?"

"It doesn't work that way," the silver-eyed man said. "Peri might be able to find it, but she's more talented with knowledge than I am."

"Then ask Periwinkle, not me."

"This isn't a game, Jane," Emrys snarled. "I need to know where it is."

"No one should ever know where it is." Jane crossed her arms. "It's too dangerous—and so are you."

A storm of questions laced Quinn's mind. The scene was more than just shocking. It was disturbing. Jane was clearly involved in dark matters. A prince, a gang member, and a mysterious Mirror-Blessed were not people anyone would want to mess with.

Quinn shifted slightly, and the wooden floorboard beneath her feet cracked.

Dirty fucking mirrors.

Fuck me. The last thing she needed was to get caught eavesdropping on Emrys. Quinn slowly stepped deep into the shadows, hoping the prince hadn't seen her. But as if summoned by bad luck, Emrys's eyes latched on to hers and stole her breath.

"Filthy, nasty mirrors," she cursed under her breath. " Fuck ."

"Hello, Ginger." His smile was wicked but not disturbed. He clearly didn't care that she was listening. Instead, he walked toward her as if she were prey. Fear spiked in her body, chilling her bones.

"I am sorry . . ." Quinn sputtered. "I didn't hear anything."

"You are a terrible liar." Emrys's eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief, and his mouth curved farther with sinister delight. "It's okay. We weren't talking about much of interest. You should just forget about it." His voice was laced with sugar, and Quinn's mind twisted and melted, as if magic's claws were digging into it.

Jane rushed up, grabbed the prince, and harshly said, "No. Don't you dare!"

The prince's lips turned into a hard line. "As you wish." He waved his hand, and whatever enchantment he was spinning unraveled.

Was he Mirror-Blessed?

Jane glanced back at the silver-eyed man. "Remember, Darcy, hurt her, and I'll hurt you."

"You're worse than my paramour, Harlowe." Darcy rolled his eyes. "Besides, what's done is done. It is her actions that will decide her fate."

"And yours, it would seem." Jane stepped forward, laced her arm through Quinn's, and guided her away from the scene.

The entire exchange left Quinn reeling, and a shiver coursed through her bones. Jane had a lot of explaining to do, and as soon as Quinn completed her rite, she would get those answers because none of it made sense. But the one thing abundantly clear was that something was terribly wrong—like Quinn had walked into a secret underworld of peril and mystery.