Bring Me Your Midnight(37)

It isn’t like this with low magic. We add our magic to what already exists: perfume, tea leaves, makeup, dough. But this tangling of my magic with the fern, with the wind and the sea the last time I saw Wolfe—it’s intoxicating.

It’s how it’s meant to be.

As soon as I think it, I scramble to undo it, but it’s too late. The thought settles, taking root in my mind like the ferns that surround me.

“Thank you for teaching me,” I say. “I’m glad I got to experience this.”

“Is that all you want to do tonight?”

I can feel the magic waking in my body, stirring, wanting more. But that is a dangerous feeling.

“Yes.”

Wolfe nods. “Then you’re welcome.”

We walk back toward the main beach, out of the cover of the trees, and I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

Then every part of me freezes with panic. Mrs. Wright is walking along the beach, humming to herself, her dog a few yards in front of her. She’s on the council with my mother, and I stare in horror as she gets closer. A cloud drifts in front of the moon, shrouding Wolfe and me in darkness.

But soon she will see us.

Suddenly, my body takes over. I sense the breeze over the sea and latch on to it, building it up until it’s a strong wind. I send it barreling off the water, sea spray suspended in the air, covering the beach in a hazy mist that moves straight toward Mrs. Wright.

“A breeze to a gale, fresh off the sea, more distance is needed, walk away from me.” I frantically whisper the words under my breath over and over, hoping they’re enough.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Wright says, so close I can hear her.

A few more steps and she’ll see us.

I kick up more wind, ready to send her way, but Wolfe collides with me, sending us flying into a thicket of long grass and overgrown shrubs. He lands right on top of me.

“What was that?” I hear Mrs. Wright say. Her dog runs over, sniffing at the grass, but as soon as it gets here, it whines and runs away. Wolfe holds a finger to his lips, and I can feel his chest expanding against my own, our breaths tangling in the space between us.

I push one more strong gust of wind her way, and it’s enough to send Mrs. Wright back the way she came. I hear her muttering about unpredictable weather, and then her voice fades to nothing.

My heart beats against my ribs so violently I’m afraid it might break free.

Wolfe is still on top of me, making it hard to breathe.

The clouds continue their march across the sky, and the moon comes out of hiding once again. It pours its pale blue light over Wolfe, over his disheveled hair and gray eyes, illuminating his expression. Illuminating the way his gaze finds my lips.

All I can think about is closing the space between us. I want to know what he feels like; I want to know how he tastes. I want to know all these things that are forbidden to me.

I almost do it. I almost close my eyes and touch my lips to his, but then I think of my parents’ expectations and Landon’s sea glass, my ancestors’ sacrifices and Ivy’s belief in me.

And I can’t do it.

I want it more than I’ve maybe ever wanted anything, but I can’t do it.

I clear my throat and roll to the side, but I don’t stand up. Instead, I stay on my back and look up at the stars.

Wolfe does the same.

“You’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.” I turn to him, but he doesn’t look at me. He keeps his eyes on the waxing moon, on the sparkling starlight.

“What is it?” I ask, terrified of what he might say. I think about my early days in the perfumery, infusing feelings into scents. I never had to work at it. And I think about how nothing, not even making perfumes, has ever come as easily to me as pulling the wind from the sea.

“What you just did is impossible for a witch of the new order. You shouldn’t have been able to do it.” He pauses. “Do you know what that tells me?”

I’m silent. I don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t blink. I wait for his answer, afraid it might shatter my whole world.

“You’re practicing the wrong magic.”

And I’m right. It does.





sixteen





Main Street is bustling with tourists, a sea of scarves blowing in the autumn breeze and gloved hands holding warm beverages. The maples are changing, the green and yellow leaves morphing into shades of deep orange and bloodred. The cobbles are wet from the recent rain, but today is clear and bright, and the sunlight catches the raindrops that rest on the foliage and vines.

Ivy’s arm is looped through mine, and we follow my mother as she weaves her way through the tourists. I love seeing the paper bags dangling from their hands, seeing the way our island is thriving, the way our magic is being appreciated. I’m scared by how easily it could fall apart.

You’re practicing the wrong magic.

I shake my head and banish the words. The right magic is the magic that protects us. That lets us live freely and openly. That guarantees the safety of our children.

“Hey, where are you?” Ivy asks, bringing me back to the present.

“Sorry, I’m here.”

Ivy rolls her eyes. “Give my regards to Wolfe.”

“Ivy!” I say, hoping I sound harsh. “Don’t say his name anywhere near my mother. And I wasn’t thinking about him.”