Page 21 of Bring Me Your Midnight

But nothing comes.

It’s over.

I don’t know how long I stand in the water. Dawn is beginning to break by the time I force myself from the sea.

I’m dripping wet as I walk up the beach, and I take the long way home, wandering through open fields and wooded trails, breathing in the scents of the island I love so much.

Taking advantage of the energy left at the shoreline to produce my own rush was my only idea, and now I’m at a total loss. Idon’t know what to do, if there even is anything to do. I wonder how my parents will react when they find out, what Ivy will say, if Landon will want to see me one last time.

I think it would be nice to see him again.

My house comes into view, and I take the exterior spiral staircase all the way up to our rooftop patio. I don’t bother to change out of my rushing gown. I just sink onto the couch and wrap myself in a thick wool blanket. Now seems like a good time to watch a sunrise. I have only nine more chances to watch one, after all.

The dawn is chased away by vibrant oranges and soft pinks, the rays of the sun bursting over the horizon and drenching the ocean in golden light. If this were any other day, I’d be waking now, excited to use my magic after the long night.

And suddenly, I’m angry. This magic I’ve had my whole life, that I’ve risen with the sun for each and every day, has let me down. It’s eating me from the inside, and soon it will kill me.

The ultimate betrayal.

Once the entire sky is painted blue, I go inside and peel off my damp clothing. My parents are still asleep, and I grab the sea glass from my night table and crawl into bed.

My eyelids finally get heavy, and my hands still.

Then the boy from the field comes to mind, and I sit up.

Wolfe Hawthorne. If the old coven really does exist and he really is a member, he knows dark magic. I remember the way he called the wind as if it were nothing, the way he held the moonflower with ease.

He can help me.

Hehasto help me. This is his fault, and though the thought of seeing him again fills me with fury, I refuse to die because of him. If dark magic can summon the wind and heal the sick, it must be able to help me rush my magic.

But as soon as I think it, I reprimand myself. That magic is forbidden, and more than that, I’m terrified of it. It goes against everything my coven stands for and everything my ancestors worked so hard to protect.

I’ve heard stories of what a life infected by dark magic looks like, the ways in which it poisons a person. When the new witches gave up that kind of magic for good, our bodies forgot how to wield it, instead acclimating to the gentle magic we practice today. Illnesses ran rampant in the old covens, and witches went mad with power. Those things all but stopped when we switched to the new order, and it was only then that our ancestors realized they never should have been practicing dark magic to begin with.

It’s pure evil, rotten the whole way through.

I can’t do it. If anyone ever found out, I’d be banished from my coven for life.

But I wouldn’t be dead.

The thought invades my mind, startling me. I shove it aside. Asking for help from Wolfe Hawthorne, a boy I don’t know and certainly don’t trust, would be an affront to every witch who sacrificed a part of themself in hopes of creating a better future.

But as I lie back down and let my eyelids close, I see the boy from the field extending his hand, offering me a moonflower that didn’t hurt to touch.

nine

When I wake up, the fresh pain of remembering the night before pierces my chest and takes my breath away. I sit up in bed and pull my knees to my body, hugging them close. My parents are downstairs, and I don’t know how to face them.

They’ll see it in my eyes, hear it in my voice. They’ll know something’s wrong.

The thought of their faces when I tell them I missed the rush is what makes the decision for me. I can’t put them through that, not unless I’ve exhausted every option to fix it.

I’m going to find Wolfe Hawthorne. And when I do, I will force him to help me.

I don’t know where to find him, but he said this was “our” island, so he must be close. I roll out of bed, get ready, and pack a bag.

When I get downstairs, my parents are both nursing cups of tea. They’re still in their pajamas, sitting on the couch together, sharing a wool blanket.