Selene stuck her finger with a pin and placed it against the mirror, bracing herself, the box pressed tightly against her chest.
Nothing happened.
“Please,” she said. She pricked her finger again and again, squeezing out more blood. It smeared against the glass as if this was just a mirror. As if it didn’t matter at all.
“He was a dream,” she said. “I give him up.”
And maybe it was the race of her traitorous heart. Maybe it was the barest hint of hesitation she’d felt when she first thought of the rose. Maybe it was the taste of Victor still on her lips.
The mirror did not give way.
The ghost sang from its depths, mournful and sweet. An apology. Selene thought to write it down, but the sound was strangled, muffled and far away. Like something was holding him back.
“I’ll find a way,” she promised.
But she already felt like a liar. And she was running out of time.
She shut the door behind her, returning the hinges as if they’d never been removed. Selene was halfway to the stairs, weaving between the set pieces, when she felt a presence. Not a ghost—she wished it were a ghost. This was so much worse. In her haste, she’d been careless and now she was caught. She turned around, bracing herself.
Gigi stood behind her. Cat’s countenance, dancer’s delicate steps, like her mother. Her eyes were wide with shock. Her dancer’s feet moved with a skilled silence. “So this is where you’ve been going.”
Selene was breathless. So close to being caught. “You’re speaking to me now?”
“I was never not speaking to you.” Gigi moved in tendu.
“You moved out of our room without telling me.”
“Thought you’d be happy it was clean.” Gigi smiled weakly.
“I thought we were in this together.”
“We are.” Gigi popped onto her toes. “We were. I know you’re keeping secrets, Selene.”
Selene went cold. The door—expertly locked—to the underground lake and the mirror beyond was mere feet away, guarding the lion’s share of her secrets. She could tell Gigi, but then what? Gigi was afraid of the ghost. Who knew what she would do?
Selene opened her mouth, searching for some lie, some near truth she could offer.
Gigi took a step forward. “You’re going to tell me everything, but not yet. I have something to say first.”
“Gigi, I—”
Gigi held up a finger. “I quit this morning.”
Selene’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I formally pulled my name from the competition. Or tried to.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because none of this matters to me. This isn’t my dream. I don’t want to be the King’s Mage. I don’t want to be a magician at all. I just want to be”—she cleared her throat—“wanted to be with Benson and with you and with my mother. And I realize now how foolish that all was.”
“We’re so close. How could you—”
“She wouldn’t let me,” Gigi said. “Madame said it wasn’t safe for me to go yet.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You said we were like lambs to the slaughter. Everything that’s gone wrong—the razors, the stolen music, the glassed berries—it’s to get us out. To save us from something worse. You have to go, Selene. You have to go while there’s a chance.”
