Page 96 of Bring Me Your Midnight

He takes me to a gallery next, a clean, open room featuring artwork on its walls. “Not a very efficient use of space, is it?” I ask, laughing at how few paintings hang on each wall. The Witchery is a small island, and most of our shops are designed to maximize the space. But here, it seems there is more than enough.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just such an enormous room for so few paintings.”

“It would be difficult to appreciate each piece if you were distracted by the artwork on either side,” Landon says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course. And the art is lovely,” I say, making sure he knows I’m happy to be here. Happy to get acquainted with my new home.

We continue through the gallery, but goose bumps rise on my skin when I see the final painting. It shows four people on their hands and knees in an open field, sweat on their brows and anguish on their faces, clutching the earth. They are surrounded by hundreds of moonflowers.

The plaque beneath the paining readsTO KNOW FEAR.

My eyes fill with tears. The painting is so detailed and realistic, such a severe reminder of our history with the mainland. The island is our home, the only place that has ever been truly ours. But we will never forget that we’re there because the mainland banished magic, that even though the island became our refuge, it still wasn’t enough to stop the fear of the mainland from finding us. We still had to fight for the survival of magic.

I turn away and head for the exit, but there are no trees or waves to comfort me when I step outside.

“I apologize,” Landon says, reaching for my hand. “I didn’t realize the gallery was still showing Pruitt’s work.”

“Why is it called that?” I ask. “To Know Fear. What does it mean?”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to.”

Landon sighs. “It is meant to portray the transfer of fear that happened when the witches left the mainland for the island. How after hundreds of years of us fearing magic, it was finally the witches’ turn to know fear.”

Arriving on an island full of toxic flowers must have been terrifying. My palms sweat, and I try to keep my voice even.

“And you have that hanging in your gallery? Out of all the artwork to give an entire wall to, that is the one you chose?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know Pruitt’s work was still on display.”

“Do you fear magic?” I ask, watching Landon closely.

“That painting is from a moment in history, Tana. It isn’t meant to reflect today’s sentiments.”

We’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and people slowdown, looking at us as they pass. Even the automobiles brake, passengers craning their necks to get a look at Landon and his future bride. I can’t hear myself think, can’t calm my racing heart. Landon takes my hand and leads me back to the shore, where there aren’t as many observers.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.” I say it in a soft tone, trying to conceal the hurt in my voice, but it still comes through.

“I think we’re all a little afraid of the things we don’t understand.” Landon takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “But magic has become a delight for us, and I’m excited for you to help me understand it better. That’s what our union is doing, Tana. I believe there will be a day when no one remembers Pruitt’s work, when no one fears magic.”

My immediate reaction is to be defensive, to tell him that if anyone should be afraid, it was always going to be us. We have magic, but they have numbers far greater than ours. Even the most powerful magic isn’t enough when there are only so many witches to wield it, when there is a seemingly infinite number of mainlanders willing to fight it. And fearing something you don’t understand is not the same as fearing something because it has proven to be dangerous.

We have always known fear. Landon called the painting a moment in history, but we are announcing our engagement tonight because my coven is still fearful. We have made this arrangement because the mainland wants its eyes on us. Fear is everywhere.

“I look forward to it,” I say, the words burning on the wayout. I want to argue and yell and head back to the Witchery alone, but that is not my role. So instead, I smile, loop my arm through his, and walk up the boardwalk and onto the dock to wait for the ferry. I will teach Landon that magic is nothing to fear, and our children will know magic as one thing and one thing only: a gift.

My role may require me to bite my tongue and temper my tone, but there is power in it as well. And I intend to use it.

Landon points out something in the water, but my eye catches on a sign hanging above us. It’s large and colorful, proclaiming:EXPERIENCE THE WITCHERY! CALM YOUR NERVES! INCREASE YOUR HAPPINESS! DELIGHT YOUR LOVER! ALL THIS AND MORE FROM A MAGIC SO SUBTLE, YOU’LL HARDLY FEEL IT.

I stare up at the sign, at what our magic has been reduced to. I don’t feel proud that the mainland is advertising our island, I feel ill, filled with a thick, gross sludge that spreads out from my gut. My face heats and my palms sweat, and I close my eyes to stop the tears from running down my face.

“Ferry to the Witchery now boarding!” a man calls out.

“Ready for tonight?” Landon asks, a spark in his eye that wasn’t there before.

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