Page 37 of Midnight at the Magnolia

“Alex!” I cut him off sharply, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure they can both hear it. The taste of fear, metallic and bitter, floods my mouth. Like the taste of wild mushrooms when you’re not quite sure if you’ve identified them correctly. “I’m sure Agent Blake doesn’t need to hear about ancient history.”

But the damage is done. I can see the wheels turning in Ethan’s mind, his investigator instincts kicking into high gear. His posture shifts subtly, becoming more alert, more focused. Like a hound catching a scent—and oh, what a scent there is to catch, if he only knew.

The blood under my fingernails.

The poison in my kisses.

The bodies in my wake.

“Actually,” Ethan says slowly, his eyes never leaving my face, “I’d love to hear more about Celeste’s past. She’s been pretty tight-lipped about it.”

I feel the walls closing in around me, the small office suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The hum of the refrigeration units seems to grow louder, drowning out everything else.

Grandma’s voice whispers in my head:“When you’re caught between the cobra and the mongoose, sometimes the only way out is through.”

But then, a strange calm settles over me, like the stillness after drinking jimsonweed tea.

Grandma’s lessons surface in my mind:“The most poisonous plants often have the sweetest flowers, child. Use that. Let them see the bloom, not the thorns.”

“You know what?” I say, plastering on a smile that feels as artificial as Alex’s cologne. “I suppose I’m overdue for a walk down memory lane, however unpleasant.”

As we make our way back to the diner, the noise and smells hitting us like a wall, my mind races with possibilities. Like sorting herbs in Grandma’s workroom—separate the harmless from the lethal, control the mixture, control the outcome. I need to give Ethan just enough truth to satisfy him without revealing the nightshade hidden among the sage.

We settle into a booth, the vinyl seats squeaking beneath us. I can feel the weight of both men’s gazes on me, heavy and suffocating. Alex’s eyes hold the heat of old flames and bitter promises, while Ethan’s carry the sharp edge of professional curiosity mixed with something deeper, more dangerous. Something that makes my chest ache in ways Alex’s touch never did.

Ethan leans forward, his elbows on the table. “So, Alex, you said you and Celeste go way back. How did you two meet?”

I hold my breath, waiting for Alex’s response. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, savoring the moment like he used to savor watching me work, mixing poisons in his underground lab. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one a tightening coil in my chest.

“Oh, it’s quite a story,” Alex drawls, his eyes never leaving my face. They’re full of dark promises—or maybe dark warnings. “We met at a support group, didn’t we, Cel?”

I nod stiffly, the motion feeling mechanical. Like a marionette whose strings are being pulled by competing puppeteers. “Yes, that’s right. For siblings of crime victims.”

Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. “Crime victims? Celeste, your sister Sarah right?”

My fingers find the scar behind my ear, tracing its familiar pattern.

Grandma’s voice whispers:“Every scar tells a story, child. The trick is making sure you’re the one telling it.”

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” I cut in quickly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My hands tremble as I pour more coffee, droplets splashing onto the table like drops of blood in the bayou. “My sister, Sarah... she was killed when I was eighteen.”

A flash of genuine sympathy crosses Ethan’s face, softening his features. “I’m so sorry, Celeste. I recall you telling me about her.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. For a moment, I want nothing more than to tell him everything, to unburden myself of the weight I’ve been carrying for so long. To explain how Sarah’s death led me to Alex, to training, to becoming the kind of woman who knows fourteen different ways to stop a heart without leaving a trace.

But I can’t. Some poisons, once released, can never be contained again.

Alex leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. Like a cat that’s caught a particularly interesting mouse. “Celeste here was quite the firebrand back then. Always talking about justice, about making things right.” His eyes glitter with hidden meaning. “She had quite the talent for... creative solutions.”

I feel my heart rate quicken, the blood rushing in my ears like the sound of the bayou at midnight. “We were all angry and hurting. It was a difficult time.”

Grandma’s words come back to me:“Grief makes monsters of us all, child. The trick is choosing what kind of monster you become.”

“Difficult?” Alex chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves like dried belladonna leaves being crushed. “That’s an understatement. Remember that night we broke into the courthouse, looking for files on Sarah’s case? The way you moved through those halls like a shadow...” His voice drops lower, intimate. “That’s when I knew you were special.”

Ethan’s head snaps up, his eyes widening. “You did what?”

I force a laugh, trying to sound dismissive even as panic claws at my throat. Like kudzu vines choking a tree. “Alex loves to exaggerate. We didn’t break in. We... may have stayed after hours once, when I was working as a janitor. It was stupid, but we were desperate for answers.”

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