Page 37 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Shimmering like glitter?
It could be a Mirror-Blessed persona with a magical power. Or a person who made a bad bargain and ended up with sparkling skin, but—and this was incredibly unlikely but considering the puncture wounds on Jane’s body—it could have also been a vampire moving at super speed with reflective clothing. But that last possibility was incredibly far-fetched. Quinn still didn’t want to believe that vampires were back, but it was a distinct possibility. Most likely, the murderer wore sequins or something else of that nature.
It seemed to be a big possibility because Jane was most likely killed at the Viridian nightclub.
“Did you see anything else?”
The boy sneezed and flicked out of existence for a moment. Disappearing and reappearing in an instance.
A mirror consequence? Or a mirror cost?
Many vendors in the Marina made deals with mirrors, mostly for things like a never-ending supply of fish or food that wouldnot spoil. It was possible that he traded for something practical but settled for a terrible consequence.
But he barely looked of age. Maybe twenty-three at the oldest.
“No, ma’am, I promise that is all I saw.” He winced, and his shoulders sagged.
“Thank you for your time.” Quinn nodded to each of them in turn before rotating back to the crime scene.
Once they were gone, Constance said with her usual sarcastic jubilance, “So a shooting star killed Jane?”
“Let me add that to my list of ways humans can murder each other.” Giselle grimaced as she tried to lighten the mood.
“Or to the list of ways vampires can.” Quinn’s voice hung on the frigid air.
At her words, Jevon gulped, Constance paled, and Giselle pinched her lips together in deep thought. None of them wanted to believe vampires could be back. But Jane had vampire-shaped puncture wounds in her neck.
“So, what do we do now?” Jevon asked.
It was the question of the hour. So far, their only evidence was puncture wounds, glitter, a fingerprint, and now a feather. But they had no suspects.
“I think we should look into Jane’s past,” Quinn said. “We need to pay a visit to the Fantômes.”
Thirteen
After the crime scene, Quinn and her friends split up to wash off the mud and get ready to go to the Russet, the Les Fantômes gang’s casino.
Dripping wet and holding a towel, Quinn froze in her tracks.
At the center of her bed was a small white box, the size of a croissant. Slowly, she approached, her body on full alert. It could be from the killer. After all, they’d already sent her a threatening note.
Maybe it was insurance.
Sucking in a breath, Quinn opened the box, her fingers trembling. Two items rested inside. A key and a note. The key was bronze with intricate loops carved into the handle. And the note read:
My Dearest Quinnevere,
If you’re reading this, it means I am dead. I’ve spent the last couple years trading in secrets that were meant to be kept buried. If I am right, then you are in grave danger. I am sorry for all theriddles, but I cannot write clearly in case this ends up in the wrong hands. I am so sorry to involve you in this.
I leave you my inheritance and my secrets. This key will lead you to both.
Your Loving Sister,
Jane
P.S. Keep your necklace close.
Translating the words to meaning took far too much effort because the handwriting was curved and rushed. Quinn’s brain had to work four times as hard to understand, and when she did, she fell on her knees to the floor. Unshed tears licked at her eyes and burned.
