Page 154 of Midnights
Rachel curtsies while her voice dips into dramatic elegance. “Of course not, good sir.”
The man chuckles, offering his hand.
“I’ll find you,” she calls over her shoulder as he whisks her away. “Make good choices!”
I roll my eyes.Unlikely.
That’s my cue. With the chaos of the ballroom swirling behind me, I slip out into the hall, heading for the one place that’s been pulling at me all night.
The library.
I slow down when I see two security guards standing at attention. They scan the hallway, not missing a thing.
I didn’t really think this through.
I watch one of them raise a hand to his earpiece. There's a pause before they exchange glances. And just like that, they quickly move down the hall in the opposite direction.
My heart rate picks up. What luck.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady my breath as I slip through the heavy doors. The shift is immediate. The music, the voices, the noise, it all melts away.
Now which way?
I close my eyes, piecing together the layout from the last time I was here. Instinct pulls me right, and I follow—hesitating only long enough to second-guess myself.
Each step echoes softly against the plush carpet. My heart races, torn betweenoh hell yes, andwhat the fuck am I doing?
After a few more steps, I find what I'm looking for. The library smells exactly like I remember—old paper, polished wood, and something almost… charged.
“Thank you,” I whisper to no one.
A shiver ripples through me as that familiar, high-pitched ringing fills my ears. Only, it’s sharper this time. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to stop, because I don’t have time for this.
The library is dimly lit, but scattered lamps cast a golden glow, illuminating the towering shelves and intricate details of the space.
I move quickly, following my memory to the large desk in the corner.
And then I see the painting that stopped me in my tracks the first time I saw it.
It's a couple frozen in time, their clothes are straight out of a history book. My eyes are on the man first—tall, broad, and has a chiseled jaw. He's the whole brooding package for a guy centuries old. His eyes burn through the canvas, following me with an intensity that makes me wonder if the paint itself is still wet.
I swallow hard.
There’s something timeless about him. Something that tugs at the edges of my memory.
I step closer, caught in his stare. My fingers hover over the canvas—not quite brave…or dumb enough to touch anything. A gut-punch of déjà vu slices through me, sharp enough to steal my breath. My heartbeat hammers in my ears, but my focus shifts to the woman at his side.
She’s beautiful, of course. It's the kind of beautiful that feels intentional. Her hair is falling in waves down her back, and her expression is soft, and almost dreamy. But there's something else. The way she looks at him is loaded, like they're in on some secret the rest of us aren't invited to.
I can’t shake the feeling that this painting means something important, but what?
Then, I see it. The dagger.
How did I not see this before?
Its hilt is embedded with stones eerily similar to mine, but it's not quite the same. The stones in this one are black, swallowing light instead of reflecting it. Just like the one stone I usually keep in my pocket.I think back to the daggers in the display case we saw. I wonder if this one is in there. Maybe I can get a closer look.
The rest of the painting is rich, vibrant, and alive with color, yet the stones seem to pull everything into them, leaving only emptiness.
