Bring Me Your Midnight(89)

I wish the music would start back up again or the ocean would roar behind me—anything to drown out the blood rushing through my veins, the worries swirling in my mind like the currents. I touch the vial my dad gave me and feel the weight of it in my hand. It steadies me.

I look out over the crowd surrounding the stage, my coven, smiling up at me as I give myself to them forever. It’s such a beautiful thing, this group of witches supporting me, watching as I go through the same ceremony they all went through in years past.

My parents are in the front row, and they look so proud. So content. Ivy stands just behind them, the uneasiness on her face still present. I lock eyes with her and she grimaces, and it threatens to stop my heart.

I desperately want to know what it means, want to jump from the platform and ask what she’s thinking, but it’s too late.

Then there’s Landon, his eyes curious and his stance rigid. He isn’t comfortable here, surrounded by my coven, the first non-witch ever to witness a Covenant Ball. I wish his shoulders would relax and his hands would ease open.

I wish he were a witch.

The thought gives me pause. It’s the first time I’ve ever considered it, that Landon isn’t a witch. He will never understand the most important part of me because he has no connection to it, because the aim of his government has always been to dim the magic inside us. And we’re about to marry.

It takes my breath away, knowing we will never revel in magic together, never challenge the power inside each other. I will move to his home, and my magic will be all but forgotten, a silly parlor game he’ll use to impress his friends.

I shake my head. I’m being unfair. He has never given me any reason to believe that. He has always been honest and open. He has always been kind.

It’s time. I swallow my doubts and prepare to speak the words that will bind me to my coven for life.

I walk to the marble pillars. A gold knife with emeralds and rubies along the hilt shines in the sunlight directly between the two basins. I think about how the earliest witches could have their Covenant Balls at night, surrounded by darkness. How no one required them to step into the light, as if the time of day could erase what stirred inside them.

But here we are. In the light.

I take a deep breath and hold my hands over the knife, preparing to begin the spell. I look between the two basins, and something inside the copper bowl catches my eye. There should be nothing except for the blood of the witches before me, still red and fluid, sustained by magic. But poking through the surface is the top of a perfume bottle with a note that says PRESS THIS. And floating next to it is a single moonflower.

I slowly look up, unsure of what to do. It must be from my parents, but they didn’t prepare me for this part of the ceremony. I’m supposed to speak the spell, cut my hand, and let the blood run into the basin of my choice, sealing my fate forever. They never said anything about a perfume, and they would never give me this flower.

Slowly, I reach into the basin and press the top of the bottle. A strong scent fills the air, fresh and earthy. It smells like grass and salt and something else I can’t quite place.

Then an image appears, and I gasp. I see myself practicing magic at night, standing on the western shore next to Wolfe. I’m pulling in the tide, and he’s watching me as if I’m the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. The memory consumes me, coming to life in my mind, strong and vivid and real. I search for other memories, but nothing else comes. Just this one.

I watch as water crashes over me and I almost lose myself in it. Then Wolfe pulls me onto the shore and helps me breathe again, saving my life for the second time. We watch the stars and the moon and each other.

It’s hard for me to leave him—I can see it in my slow steps and hesitations. I clutch the edges of the basin as the memory plays out in front of me, awakening something I thought I’d put to sleep.

He walks me up the shore and we pause, staring at each other. I ask if he wants to see me again, and he says yes, even though he sounds disgusted with himself when he answers.

I don’t even realize my eyes have filled with tears until one rolls down my cheek and falls into the basin, salt water instead of blood.

Do you want to see me again?

Yes.

I remember it. I remember the way the word slid inside my gut and changed me from the inside out. I remember how leaving him felt as impossible as seeing him again. I remember how he made me feel alive, how his magic made me feel alive.

I’m overwhelmed by it.

The scene fades, but I cling to the bowl, desperate to see more. Just one more glimpse, one more second, one more memory.

But nothing comes.

I stare at the bottle, completely devastated by what I’ve lost. I want back every single moment I spent with him. I want to see it all.

“Tana?” My father whispers my name, jolting me back to the present. Back to this wooden platform, surrounded by my coven and parents and future husband.

I finally let go of the basin, its sharp rim leaving dents in my palms. My dad gives me a questioning look. I try to smile but feel completely lost.

There are too many people watching me, and I feel frozen to this stage, unsure of how I’ll ever step down from it.

I take a deep breath, but it only makes me shake. The air tastes salty, just like the cologne. Just like Wolfe.

I look out over the crowd and find Ivy. She’s staring at me, her eyes wide. As soon as I see her, my vision blurs and my throat aches. And before I know what’s happening, she rushes onto the stage and pulls me into her arms.