Bring Me Your Midnight(41)

I turn and follow the sound of the waves, wanting to get to the shoreline, where the moonlight will illuminate my way home. Wolfe falls into step beside me. I don’t respond until I’ve reached the beach and breathed in the salt air, letting it calm me from the inside out.

Finally, I turn to Wolfe.

“I came out to harvest and started thinking about our conversation, and I don’t know. I think I subconsciously went searching for proof that what you’ve told me is true.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why would you be looking for proof?”

I take a deep breath. “Because I don’t want to believe you.” I walk closer to the water and sit on the sand, tired and embarrassed and confused.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s easier than the alternative.”

“And did you find any proof?” he asks, sitting on the ground next to me. His tone gives nothing away, but there’s a softness to him that I haven’t felt before, and I don’t understand why. Maybe he can see all the threads he’s torn loose from me.

“Well, I found you. Either you’re following me, or you have a magical house on this island that I got a little too close to.”

“I’m not following you,” he says.

I pause. “I know. So how does it work? How did you know I was out here?”

Wolfe shifts next to me, and I realize he’s uncomfortable too, not knowing if he can trust me. Not knowing if he has shared too much or if I’ll go home and tell my mother everything I’ve learned.

“There is a spell on the house that can sense heat signatures in the woods surrounding it. It was originally used to alert the witches to nearby animals. Before their crops began yielding food, the witches needed to eat. We now use it as a kind of security system.”

As he speaks, the anger inside me grows, but it’s more than that. It’s sadness that this place I have loved with every part of me has kept secrets so large they threaten to break everything my coven has worked so hard to build.

“If you hadn’t been there to stop me, would I have eventually bumped into your home?”

“No. The magic would keep you walking in a loop through the forest.” He watches me as he answers.

“I hate that you have an explanation for everything,” I say, but I think what I really mean is that I hate that I believe what he says. I hate that his words have made me ask questions I’ve never thought to ask.

“I hate that you require so many,” he says, and I think what he really means is that he hates that we don’t know about the life he lives, as if it isn’t worth knowing about.

And I don’t know what to say, because part of me wishes I didn’t know. Part of me wishes I could go back to before the rush and erase everything that came after, because I’m so scared of learning more.

So scared of asking all the questions I want to ask.

So scared.

But past the fear, past the worries and doubts and uncertainty, is the undeniable truth that I want to know him. I want to know what keeps him up at night, the thoughts that pull at his mind, the reason his edges are sharp and his words are tense.

And the thing that makes my eyes burn, that makes my throat ache with the truth of it, is that I want to know Wolfe Hawthorne more than I’ve ever wanted to know anything in my entire life. And it’s devastating.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.

I should lie to him, answer with something mundane, but he has somehow slipped into the cracks in my foundation, he and the moonflower and his magic, slowly breaking it apart.

“You might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say, scared to meet his eyes, scared even to look in his direction.

He exhales, picks up a stone from the beach and tosses it into the waves. “I know that.”

“Then why? Why tell me you want to see me again? Why come find me in the woods when you easily could have let me be?”

He turns to me but doesn’t speak until I finally look at him, a decision I instantly regret. “Because I’m selfish, and when I see you practice my magic, the world makes sense.”

I want to yell at him, tell him how unfair he’s being, how incredibly cruel this is. But more than anything, I want to whisper that on those nights, practicing his magic by the light of the moon, my world made sense, too.

It made sense, even as it was torn apart.





eighteen





A week later, Ivy comes over to stay the night. We haven’t had a sleepover in so long, and after laughing with her in my room and whispering about things that have nothing to do with benign flowers or dark magic, I’m feeling like myself again. My parents are downstairs, drinking wine in front of the fire. It’s dark outside, and the lights in my room are dim.

We’re sprawled out on my bed with a bowl of popcorn between us.

“We’ve already had dozens of preorders for our Tandon tea, by the way,” Ivy says.

“Seriously? Who’s actually ordering that?”

“Witches on this island who are finally breathing again after years of holding their breath.” The words are serious, and I prop myself up on my elbow.

“That’s nice,” I say, my tone softening. And it is nice. I feel good knowing my relationship with Landon is bringing peace to a coven that was founded on fear.