Page 14 of Bring Me Your Midnight

“No,” I whisper. It isn’t possible.

I blink and look again, but it sits there as sure as the clouds in the sky and the chill in the air. A flower so lethal that a single touch of its petals can kill. And it’s illuminated by a light source I can’t find.

If they should turn…

My grip on the sea glass tightens.

come after you…

The sharp edges cut into my skin as I stare at the flower in disbelief.

your weakness will ensure your doom.

It isn’t until a trail of blood runs down my wrist that I realize I’ve cut myself. I drop the sea glass and it clatters to the floor. I rush to the bathroom and run my hand under the faucet, and when I’m cleaned up, I go back to my window.

But the light and the flower are gone.

six

I know it’s time to tell my mother about the moonflowers, but when I get downstairs the next morning, she’s already gone. A child was born last night, and it’s tradition for the highest witch to welcome a newborn into the coven with ritual blessings.

Dad has made me a sprawling breakfast of fresh fruit, eggs, scones, and cinnamon rolls, and it’s almost enough to make me forget about the white flower.

“What’s all this for?” I ask, setting the table and steeping some of Ivy’s Awaken blend tea.

“Does there have to be a reason?”

I raise my eyebrow and Dad laughs. “I won’t always get to make you elaborate breakfasts, that’s all.”

The comment makes an ache start in my chest; we’re both realizing things are about to change, that soon breakfast with my dad will no longer be a given.

“A truly unfortunate part of adulthood,” I say.

We sit down at the table, and I take the largest cinnamon roll. “How did you make them this big?”

“Magic,” he says, winking at me.

I laugh. Dad usually refrains from using magic in the kitchen—he thinks he’ll lose his edge if he does. But every once in a while, he makes an exception.

“Good call,” I say.

“You and Landon looked great last night.” He says it casually, but I know he’s bringing it up to see how I’m doing. Dad understands the importance of the path I’m walking, and he supports it, but I think he feels guilty that I don’t have much of a choice.

When he met Mom, they fell in love quickly. He said it was as if he’d been living in black and white and meeting her turned his world to color. It was passionate and exciting and right, and I know he wishes I could experience the same thing.

I want to tell him I hope for those things, hope that one day I’ll see Landon and a vibration will take over my stomach. But I don’t want Dad to think I’m unhappy, so I shove the words aside.

“Landon’s a good man,” I say instead. “I’m glad we’ve gotten to spend some time together. He’ll treat me well.” They aren’t the exact words I want to say, but I’m confident they’re true, and letting them out eases something inside me.

Dad takes a sip of his tea. “He will,” he agrees.

“He gave me a piece of sea glass last night. He said it’s important to him that the things I love still have a place in my life after we’re married.” I smile at the thought, but the memory sourswhen I think about the sea glass lying bloodstained on my bedroom floor. My fingers find the cut on my palm, and I wince.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Dad says, clearing his throat.

“It was a really lovely gesture.”

He nods, and I realize he doesn’t trust himself to speak without getting emotional. I’m going to miss this so much when I move to the mainland, and I suddenly find that I don’t trust myself to speak, either.