Page 61 of Midnight at the Magnolia

Every breath feels like a step deeper into Grandma’s poison garden, where beauty and danger grow tangled together, impossible to separate.

The city lights blur past us as we drive, a kaleidoscope of neon and shadow, much like the twisting, turning path that’s led me to this moment.

Each streetlight illuminates Ethan’s still form in the backseat like camera flashes, capturing evidence of my betrayal.“Love’s the most dangerous poison,”Grandma always said.“It kills slow, but it kills sure.”

I’m starting to understand what she meant.

The New Orleans Museum of Art looms before us, its grand facade a stark silhouette against the night sky. Like a venus flytrap waiting with open jaws, beautiful and deadly. Alex parks a block away, hidden in the shadows of ancient oak trees. Their branches reach out like gnarled fingers dripping with Spanish moss, as if trying to warn us away from what we’re about to do.

“What now?” he asks, his voice carrying that edge of excitement that reminds me of oleander—sweet on the surface, poison underneath.

I take a deep breath, tasting copper where I’ve bitten my lip raw. Grandma’s voice whispers in my memory:“Blood’s the price we pay for justice, child. Make sure the cost is worth the victory.”

“We stick to the plan,” I tell him, even as my eyes drift to Ethan’s unconscious form. “You know what to do.”

“You should tie him up.” Alex’s warning carries the weight of experience, but I’m already shaking my head no.

Some lines, once crossed, can never be uncrossed. Like drinking from a poisoned well—there’s no taking back that first sip.

With a final glance at Ethan, we exit the car, leaving him behind. The guilt gnaws at me like kudzu strangling a tree, but I push it aside. I have a job to finish.

For Sarah. For justice. For redemption.

The night air crackles with tension as I crouch in the shadows outside the museum. Magnolias and damp earth fill my lungs, grounding me in this moment, in this choice. Each breath feelslike drinking one of Grandma’s bitter teas - necessary medicine for what’s to come.

As the clock tower in the distance chimes ten, a sound like death bells in the bayou, I know it’s time. Tonight, everything will change. Tonight, I’ll either save my soul or damn it completely.

Either way, there’s no going back. Not anymore.

Gregory’s van pulls up right on schedule, the soft purr of its engine a predator’s growl in the quiet night. I watch his crew unload their equipment, playing maintenance workers in their stolen uniforms. They don’t know they’re walking into a garden of thorns. My garden.

“Patience,”Grandma’s voice whispers.“The deadliest flowers take their time to bloom.”

I slip into the museum behind them, my footsteps whisper-quiet on polished marble. The musty scent of preservation mingles with sharp cleaning chemicals, creating an atmosphere that reminds me of Grandma’s workroom—a place where beautiful things are kept, studied, sometimes destroyed.

My focus narrows to the mission until a soft click from a side entrance sends ice through my veins. The silhouette is unmistakable.

Ethan.

“Even the best-laid trap can catch the wrong prey, child,”Grandma’s wisdom echoes as panic threatens to choke me. This isn’t part of the plan. Ethan isn’t supposed to be here, conscious and armed, moving with that careful precision I’ve come to love.

I should have tied him up.

I force myself to breathe, to think past the thunder of my heart.“Sometimes the cure and the poison grow from the same root,”Grandma would say. I can still salvage this. I have to.

Moving like nightshade spreading in darkness, I intercept him just before he reaches the main gallery. The familiar warmthof his body against mine as I pull him into an alcove sends electricity through my veins. His stubble scratches my palm as I cover his mouth, each point of contact a reminder of softer moments, gentler touches.

“Don’t move,” I whisper against his ear. “It’s me.”

The tension in his body shifts from professional alertness to something more personal, more dangerous. When I remove my hand, the loss of contact feels like withdrawal.

“Celeste?” My name on his lips carries confusion and anger in equal measure. “What the hell are you doing? I followed you in here?”

Before I can answer, Gregory’s voice drifts down the hallway, thorny with impatience. “Hurry up with that painting. We’ve got ten minutes before the real security patrol comes through.”

I watch realization dawn in Ethan’s eyes, beautiful and terrible as sunrise over a poisoned garden. The muscles in his jaw clench as he opens his mouth, but I press a finger to his lips. One word from him now could destroy everything I’ve cultivated.

For a moment, we’re frozen together in that small space, our shared breaths carrying the weight of secrets and betrayal. The heat of him, the familiar scent of his cologne, threatens to undo all my carefully laid plans.

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