Page 36 of Midnight at the Magnolia

I set down the coffee pot with shaking hands, the hot metal burning my palm. Like the burn of his last kiss, the one I thought would be fatal. I force a neutral expression, even as bile rises in my throat. My mind races, searching for an escape route that doesn’t exist. Finally, I settle on deflection, injecting a lightness into my voice that I don’t feel.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” The lie tastes like the herbs I’d once slipped into his whiskey. “Though I have to say, if I had an avenging angel for a doppelganger, my tips might improve.”

Alex leans forward, his voice low, intimate in a way that makes my skin remember things it shouldn’t. The scent of hiscologne—expensive and cloying—washes over me, making my stomach churn with memory as much as revulsion. “Cut the act, Cel. We both know who you are.” His fingers drum once on the counter, a pattern we once used as a signal. “Question is, does anyone else here know? Does your FBI agent know what those pretty hands of yours are capable of?”

I glance around nervously, the cheerful chatter of the diner patrons suddenly seeming sinister. I’m relieved to see that no one is paying attention to our exchange, too engrossed in their own conversations and meals. Just like that night in Chicago when everyone had been too busy with their dinners to notice him slipping something into my wine. “What do you want, Alex?”

He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. The soft rustle of his silk shirt seems unnaturally loud in my heightened state of awareness. “Just catching up with an old friend. It’s been what, five years since you disappeared? Left me for dead in that hotel room?” His tone is conversational, but his eyes glitter with something darker. “Left a lot of people wondering what happened to you.”

The threat in his words is clear, each syllable landing like a physical blow. I take a deep breath, the scent of grease and coffee suddenly cloying.

Grandma’s voice whispers in my memory:“When the cobra rises to strike, that’s when you know you’ve already stepped too close.”

“If you’re going to threaten me, Alex, at least have the decency to do it where my customers can’t hear.” My voice drops lower, a dangerous edge creeping in. “Or have you forgotten how good I am at making things look like accidents?”

I lead Alex to the small office at the back of the diner, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. The chatter of the diner fades as we move further back, replaced by the low hum of therefrigeration units. Each step feels like déjà vu—how many times had we walked side by side into danger, neither quite trusting the other even then?

How has he found me?

What does he want?

And most importantly, how many times do I have to kill this man before he stays dead?

As soon as the door closes behind us with a soft click, I whirl on him. The small space seems to shrink further, Alex’s presence filling every corner. His scent—that damned cologne mixed with something uniquely him that still haunts my dreams—makes the room feel even smaller. “Spill it, Alex. What’s your game?”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, the light glinting off his expensive watch—the same one I’d given him the night before I’d tried to kill him. “Easy, tiger. Still so quick to bare your claws.” His smile turns predatory. “That’s what I always loved about you. Well, one of the things.”

I feel a chill run down my spine, goosebumps rising on my arms despite the stuffy warmth of the small office.

Like Grandma always said,“Your body knows danger before your mind catches up—just like night-blooming jasmine knows when to close its petals.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but my hand instinctively moves to the small vial I keep in my pocket. White snakeroot this time—faster than nightshade, harder to trace.

Alex’s smile turns predatory, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “No? Well, maybe I should have a chat with that FBI agent who’s been sniffing around. I’m sure he’d be very interested in what I have to say.” He steps closer, too close, the way he used to when he wanted to make a point. Or before he’d kiss me. “About Chicago. About us. About how good you are at making people... disappear.”

Before I can respond, a knock at the door makes us both jump. The sound echoes in the small space, sharp and startling. Like nightshade berries dropping into a metal bowl—a sound I know too well.

“Celeste? You in there?”

Ethan. My heart leaps into my throat, its frantic rhythm choking me. The irony would be delicious if it weren’t so terrifying—the two men I’ve kissed with lips stained by poison, separated by only a thin wooden door.

I shoot Alex a warning glare before opening the door. The cooler air from the hallway rushes in, a welcome relief from the stifling tension of the office. “Ethan, hi. I was just, uh, helping a customer with a complaint.”

Ethan’s eyes dart between me and Alex, his brow furrowing. The scent of his familiar cologne—a mix of sandalwood and citrus—wafts in, clashing with Alex’s more aggressive scent. Like foxglove trying to bloom in a bed of oleander. “Everything okay here?”

Alex steps forward, extending his hand, and my stomach lurches. The movement sends another wave of his cologne washing over us, and for a moment I’m back in that Chicago hotel room, watching him fall, thinking I’d finally freed myself. “Alex Durand. Old friend of Celeste’s.” His smile is all teeth. “And you must be the famous Agent Blake I’ve been hearing so much about.”

I watch in horror as Ethan shakes Alex’s hand.

Grandma’s words echo in my head:“When two predators circle, best make sure you’re not standing between them.”

The sound of their palms meeting seems unnaturally loud in the small space. “Old friend, huh? Celeste hasn’t mentioned any old friends. Funny, that.”

“Oh, Celeste and I go way back,” Alex says, his tone casual but his eyes gleaming with mischief. He places a hand onmy shoulder, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my uniform like the poison I’d once traced across his skin. “We’ve been through a lot together. Haven’t we, Cel? Life and death situations, you might say.”

I force a laugh, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. My mouth is dry, making it difficult to speak. Grandma would say I’m like cattail fluff in a storm—scattered, desperate to find solid ground. “Alex exaggerates. We knew each other briefly, years ago.”

“Briefly?” Alex raises an eyebrow. His fingers tighten on my shoulder, the pressure just shy of painful. A reminder of other marks he’s left on my skin. “I’d say those three years were pretty intense. Especially after what happened to your sis?—”

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