Page 82 of Midnight Enemy

“Oh, other adults help out and teach practical skills like gardening and herbal medicine alongside the traditional subjects.” She stops at the look on my face, and her lips curve up. “Go on. Mock me if you want.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I purse my lips. “All right, I can’t resist. Is it called the Waiora School of Forest Bathing and Fern Identification?”

“Yeah. We offer a major in Vegan Cheese Making with a minor in Moon Phases.”

We both laugh.

I reach out and take a strand of hair and play with it.

“You can ask,” she says.

“Ask what?”

“Whatever you want. About the commune. I know you’re puzzled. I won’t take it as a personal insult.”

I run the strand of hair through my fingers, thinking about it. “I think it’s idealistic, that’s all. It’s all well and good treating everyone as equals, having higher ideals, and using trust as a governing principle. But you must have seen what happened during COVID—people emptying the shelves of essentials even though the government had begged everyone not to stockpile. At heart, people are selfish.”

“I don’t believe that would happen in a tight community where everyone depended on everyone else. It happens where people are strangers. At Kahukura nobody would dream of taking something that belonged to another person.”

I let the strand of hair curl around my finger. Her eyes are wide and open, as innocent as a newborn baby’s.

I reach out and pretend to remove a pair of spectacles from her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, puzzled.

“Taking off your rose-tinted glasses.”

Her expression turns wry. Then she lifts a hand in the air and mimes moving something from left to right in front of me. When I lift my eyebrows, she says, “Just letting in some sunlight. It must be pretty dark in that hermit cave you live in. Why don’t you come out and join the rest of humanity?”

“No thank you. I despise the rest of humanity.”

A frown flickers on her brow. “You might have nine zeroes in your bank account, but out of the two of us, I consider myself the wealthiest.”

“Is this where you give me a speech about love and not money filling the human heart? Because mine isn’t empty. I have family, and friends. I just happen to be rich as well.”

“Money is the root of all evil.”

“Actually, if we’re going to quote the Bible, Timothy says ‘For the love of money is a root of all sorts of evils.’ It’s a love of money that’s the problem, not the money itself. Money is like electricity—it’s a tool. Electricity can be used to power a respirator or an electric chair. Money is the same. It can be used to buy drugs or pay for hospitals. It’s the unhealthy pursuit of and craving for it that can lead to evil.”

She chews her bottom lip. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s why we formed the Midnight Circle. It’s a way for us to help those in need.”

“To make yourselves feel better about having more than everyone else?”

I look away, out of the window at the view of the city. If I’m honest with myself, she’s right, and that stings a bit.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was uncalled for. You’ve been so nice to me, taken me out for dinner, brought me here, made love to me in the gentlest way possible. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” She moves toward me, slides her arm around my waist, and snuggles up to me. “I apologize.”

“Honestly, it’s okay. You were right. Part of the reason for setting up the Circle was to make ourselves feel better, even if it was unspoken.”

She kisses my chest, then my neck. “Don’t let’s talk about it anymore.”

My lips curve up. “All right.” I turn and put the almost-empty box of truffles on the bedside table, then come back and cuddle up to her, drawing the duvet over us. “Will you stay the night?” I murmur, nuzzling her hair.

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