Page 10 of Midnight at the Magnolia

No time for philosophical musings when there’s work to be done.

Inside, Gregory’s lair reeks of stale beer and broken dreams. The stench assaults me even through the gas mask, a testament to the squalor he lives in. I arrange him on the floor, a tableau of just another drunk passed out after a bender. It’s a scene I’ve created more times than I care to count, each one a step towards a justice the law can’t provide.

After all, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to clean up the city.

He will wake up, thinking he just drank too much. He won’t even remember my existence thanks to my little cocktail. It’salmost poetic, isn’t it? Cleaning up the city, one blackout at a time.

“Let’s see what skeletons you’re hiding, Gregory,” I murmur, my voice muffled by the mask. The sound of my own voice, distorted and alien, sends a shiver down my spine. It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come—or fallen, depending on your perspective.

The living room is a mess of takeout containers and crumpled papers. But there, on the coffee table—a stack of documents that doesn’t belong. They’re too neat, too important-looking to be part of Gregory’s usual chaos.

It’s like finding a diamond in a dungheap.

My heart races as I rifle through them, the rustling of paper loud in the silent apartment. Blueprints of the art gallery, every detail meticulously noted. Security protocols that should never have left the precinct. A list of names that reads like a who’s who of New Orleans’ elite, each one marked with cryptic symbols I’ll need to decipher. It’s a treasure trove of secrets, each page more damning than the last.

But it’s the last page that makes my blood run cold—plans for a citywide blackout on the night of the gallery opening. The implications hit me like a physical blow, each possibility more terrifying than the last. This isn’t just a heist. It’s the prelude to something much darker, much more insidious.

Oh, Gregory, what have you gotten yourself into?

A blackout would plunge New Orleans into chaos. Emergency services crippled, hospitals relying on backup generators that might fail. The streets would become a hunting ground for predators of all kinds. And in that darkness, what other crimes could be committed unseen?

My mind races through the possibilities, each more horrifying than the last. Targeted assassinations under the cover of darkness. Mass looting as security systems fail. Or worse—what if the blackout is just a distraction for something even more sinister? A coordinated attack on key infrastructure, or a mass prison break? The possibilities are endless, and none of them are good.

The gallery opening—a gathering of the city’s elite. In the chaos of a blackout, they’d be vulnerable. Perfect hostages, or perhaps intended victims. And with emergency services overwhelmed, response would be slow, if it came at all. It’s a perfect storm of opportunity for anyone with nefarious intentions.

This plan isn’t just about stealing art or making money. It’s about power. About reshaping the very fabric of the city in one night of engineered chaos. The level of coordination, the resources needed—this goes far beyond Gregory’s usual schemes. He’s just a pawn in a much larger, more dangerous game. And I’ve just stumbled into the middle of it.

As the full scope of the threat sinks in, I feel the weight of the city on my shoulders. If this plan succeeds, the New Orleans that emerges from the darkness might be unrecognizable.

And I might be the only one who can stop it.

No pressure, right?

A photo on the wall catches my eye—Gregory with Councilman Davis, their smiles too wide, too knowing. It’s an older picture, but the connection is clear. The pieces start to fall into place, forming a picture that turns my stomach.

How deep does this corruption go? And more importantly, how the hell am I supposed to stop it?

I snap photos of everything, my hands steady even as rage builds inside me. The camera’s soft clicks sound thunderous in the quiet room. Men like these destroyed my family, forced me onto this path of retribution. Each photo is another nail in their coffin, another step towards the justice I’ve dedicated my life to.

Say cheese, boys. You’re about to become the stars of a very different kind of show.

As I replace the papers, careful to leave everything as I found it, my fingers brush against the dried herbs sewn into my jacket lining. Black cohosh for power, thistle for strength, yarrow for courage. Grandma’s trinity of protection, as much a part of me now as my own skin. These men may have their guns and their political connections, but I have generations of bayou wisdom running through my veins.

Focus, Celeste. You’re not some amateur thief to be spooked by a cat. You’re a professional... vigilante? Avenger? Whatever. Just get it together.

I check Gregory one last time—still out cold, his breathing deep and even. The poison will keep him under for hours, and when he wakes, he’ll remember nothing but a night of heavy drinking. It’s a kindness he doesn’t deserve, but one necessary for my continued anonymity.

Sleep tight, Gregory.

Slipping out into the night, I remove the gas mask and take a deep breath of the humid air. The sky is lightening, the inky black giving way to deep indigo. Dawn is approaching, bringing with it a new day and new dangers. Sleep will be a luxury I can’t afford, not with the weight of what I’ve discovered pressing down on me. But then again, who needs sleep when you’ve got enough secrets to fill a library?

The day crawls by in a haze of coffee and forced smiles. I wipe down tables mechanically, my mind miles away, replaying every detail from Gregory’s apartment. Each customer becomes a potential threat, their innocent questions feeling like interrogations.

Do they know?

Can they see the blood on my hands, the secrets behind my eyes?

The dinner rush is winding down when the bell chimes. I look up, and my heart does a dangerous flip. Agent Ethan Blake walks in, looking like sin in a rumpled suit. His presence is electric, sending a jolt through me that’s equal parts attraction and fear.

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