Page 24 of Midnight at the Magnolia

“Remember I told you about that case in Chicago? The one that went sideways?”

I nod, recalling our late-night conversation. The pain in his voice had been raw, real. Like fresh yarrow, bitter and sharp.

“What I didn’t say,” Ethan continues, barely above a whisper, “was that the victim... she was my fiancée.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, making all my protective herbs feel suddenly worthless. “Oh, Ethan...”

“Lauren,” he says, his eyes distant, grip tightening on my hand. “She was... everything. And I couldn’t save her.”

In that moment, I see myself reflected in Ethan’s pain. The same guilt, the same helplessness I’d felt all those years ago, holding Sarah’s cold body while Grandma’s protection charms hung useless around us. It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror, my own anguish warped and magnified on his face.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. His skin is warm against mine, an anchor in a sea of shared grief. But oh, honey, if it wasn’t your fault, then whose was it? And how far would you go to make it right?

Ethan’s eyes refocus on me, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I know that, in my head. But knowing doesn’t make the guilt go away.”

“No,” I agree. “It sure as hell doesn’t.”

We sit in silence, the weight of our shared pain hanging between us. The diner’s chaos fades to white noise. Then, almost against my will, I start talking.

“I had a sister,” I say, so quietly I can barely hear myself over the hum of the ancient refrigerator. “Sarah. She... she disappeared when I was sixteen.”

Ethan’s grip on my hand tightens, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my skin. The gentle motion is at odds with the tension radiating from him.

“We found her in the swamp. She’d been...” I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat like tar. The memory of that day rises up, vivid and suffocating. The thick, cloying air. The deafening buzz of insects. The sickly-sweet stench of decay that clung to everything. “The cops, they didn’t do jack. Said there wasn’t enough evidence. But everyone knew. Everyone knew who was behind it.”

“The Bayou Butcher case,” Ethan breathes, realization dawning in his eyes. His hand tightens on mine, almost painfully.

I nod, tears burning behind my eyes. “That’s why I’m here, Ethan. That’s why I can’t... why I have to...”

Careful, girl. You’re treading dangerous waters here.

I clamp my mouth shut, horrified at how close I’ve come to spilling it all. Years of caution slam back into place, and I yank my hand away from Ethan’s. The sudden loss of his warmth leaves me feeling adrift.

“Sorry,” I mutter, swiping at my eyes. “Didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

Get it together, Celeste. You’re not some damsel in distress.

Ethan leans in, his gaze intense. His cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him, wraps around me. “Celeste, you can trust me. Whatever you’re holding back, whatever you’re scared of... I can help. Let me in.”

For a heartbeat, I waver. The urge to confess, to share the weight I’ve been carrying alone for so long, is almost overwhelming. It presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Oh, Ethan. If only you knew what you were asking for.

But then Sarah’s face flashes in my mind. And all the others who’ve suffered at the hands of the rich and powerful at their lies and their disgusting games. The mission I’ve sworn my life to complete. The weight of it settles over me like a lead blanket.

“Thanks, Ethan,” I say, plastering on a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “But really, I’m okay. It’s ancient history now.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Ethan doesn’t buy it, I can tell. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches out, gently wiping a tear from my cheek. His touch is feather-light, but it sears my skin like a brand.

For a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us crackling with unspoken truths and dangerous desire. I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears, feel the heat radiating off his body.

Dangerous waters, Celeste. Best start swimming before you drown.

The spell shatters with the chime of the bell, the afternoon crowd pouring in. Reality comes crashing back, and I stand, the vinyl squeaking in protest.

“Gotta get back to it,” I say, not meeting Ethan’s eyes.

The rest of my shift passes in a haze of coffee refills and greasy plates, but my mind is elsewhere. The conversation with Ethan has stirred up more than memories; it’s awakened something dangerous—doubt. Even the grounding herbs in my pocket feel unreliable now, their usual comfort tainted by new questions.

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