Page 70 of Midnight at the Magnolia

“Excellent!” Lucas practically vibrates with enthusiasm. “A holistic approach to identity reconstruction. The biological, the physical, the sociological... all the variables working in concert. Beautiful, really.”

I watch them - these two men who hold my life in their hands. Jazz, all warmth and rhythm and unspoken devotion. Lucas, brilliant and bizarre and borderline manic. Both willing to risk everything to help me.

“The strangest gardens,”Grandma’s voice whispers,“often bear the sweetest fruit.”

“Before we begin this grand experiment in identity reconstruction,” Lucas says, drawing up the compound with meticulous care, “perhaps you should share the full scope of what we’re dealing with. The variables at play, as it were.”

Jazz’s hand remains steady at my back, his warmth seeping through my blood-stained shirt. “Only if you’re ready, cher. No pressure.”

The contrast between them strikes me again—Lucas’s barely contained energy versus Jazz’s patient stillness. Like nightshade and morning glory growing in the same garden.

“My real name is Sarah,” I say finally, feeling the weight of the truth on my tongue. “Sarah Deveraux. Celeste was my sister.” I pause, knowing that with my next breath I can never take my words back. “We were identical twins.”

Jazz’s sharp intake of breath is almost musical in its pain. His hand tenses against my back but doesn’t withdraw. “All this time...” he whispers, understanding dawning in his dark eyes. “Every time I called you Celeste...”

“Fascinating!” Lucas interrupts, leaning forward with intense focus. “A complete identity absorption following trauma. The psychological implications alone... But wait.” His eyes narrow. “The Deveraux case. That was ten years ago. The daughter killed, the sister... supposedly missing...”

“Not missing,” I correct quietly. “Hidden. Trained. Transformed.”

“By whom?” Lucas’s question comes quick and sharp as a scalpel.

“A man named Alex. He found me after Celeste’s death, taught me everything I needed to know about... disappearing.” I pause, the memories rising like poison in my throat. “Or so I thought. Turns out he was working for them all along. The same people who killed Celeste.”

Jazz’s arm slides fully around my waist now, protective and grounding. “That’s why you’ve been hunting them, ain’t it, cher? All these deaths the papers been talking about...”

“Each one led me closer to the truth,” I confirm, leaning slightly into his embrace, too tired to maintain my usual distance. “But tonight... tonight I got too close. They know who I am now. What I’ve been doing.”

“The complexity of the conspiracy suggests high-level involvement,” Lucas muses, his fingers drumming an erratic pattern on his knee. “Political figures, law enforcement... Thesystemic corruption would need to be extensive to maintain such operational security for so long.”

“It goes all the way to the top,” I say softly. “To people like Councilman Davis.”

The name lands like a stone in still water. Jazz’s arm tightens around me. Lucas goes perfectly still, his manic energy suddenly focused to a laser point.

“Marcus Davis?” he asks, his voice carrying an edge I haven’t heard before. “Now that... that is interesting.”

The way he says it makes me look closer at him. “You know something about Davis?”

A smile spreads across Lucas’s face—not his usual excited grin, but something darker, more predatory. “Let’s just say our paths have crossed in certain... experimental capacities. His funding of particular research projects has been both generous and suspiciously unquestioned.”

“The threads of corruption run deep,” Lucas muses, his earlier manic energy focusing into something more calculated. “Like a particularly aggressive cancer, metastasizing through the city’s power structure. Fascinating from a systemic perspective, really...”

“Focus, doc,” Jazz says softly, but his own voice carries an edge now. His fingers trace soothing circles on my back, but I can feel the tension in his touch. “So what’s the play here? What’s our next move?”

“Our next move?” I pull away slightly, immediately missing his warmth. “There is noourin this. I won’t drag you both into?—”

“Too late, cher,” Jazz cuts me off, something fierce and determined in his eyes. “You came to us. That makes it our fight too.”

“Indeed,” Lucas agrees, holding up the syringe with an unsettling gleam in his eye. “The experiment has alreadybegun. Besides, the potential for groundbreaking research into corruption’s effect on societal structures, combined with the practical application of identity alteration techniques... scientifically speaking, it’s an unprecedented opportunity.”

“Some gardens need more than one kind of tending,”Grandma’s voice whispers.“More than one kind of love.”

I look between them—Jazz with his steady devotion, Lucas with his brilliant madness. Both offering shelter in their own ways. Both willing to risk everything to help me.

“The compound will take approximately twelve hours to fully integrate,” Lucas explains, approaching with the syringe. “During that time, you’ll experience some... interesting side effects. Jazz’s presence will be useful for monitoring vital signs and providing emotional stability.”

“In other words,” Jazz’s lips quirk into a small smile, “I’m here to hold your hand while his crazy science does its work.”

“Emotional support is a crucial variable in any experimental procedure,” Lucas sniffs, but there’s fondness in his clinical tone.

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