Bring Me Your Midnight

“Thank you.”

He nods, and we sit in comfortable silence. I’ve never been one to enjoy parties, but I love being on the outside of them, close enough to hear the notes of the music and the murmur of voices, far enough away that the sounds fade into the background, quiet enough that I can still hear my own thoughts.

I love knowing people are having fun and laughing and making memories that will stay with them for years to come. I like imagining the conversations and the shy glances and the way it feels to dance with someone you like for the first time.

“What are you thinking about?” Landon asks me.

“How much I enjoy knowing people are having a wonderful time inside.”

He looks at me then. “You’re a really good person,” he says, surprising me.

We don’t love each other. We hardly know each other, but as the night goes on, we’re each discovering things about the other, and there’s so much relief in knowing that the person you have no say in marrying is good. It isn’t a masterful concerto, but it’s something.

Maybe my mother is right. Maybe I will love him one day.

“I have a gift for you.” He pulls out an emerald velvet box and hands it to me.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a promise,” he says, looking me in the eye. “A promise that I will get to know the real you. Not the person your parents or my parents want you to be, but you, exactly as you are.”

“Landon,” I begin, but his name is the only word I can manage.

A breeze rushes off the water and sends my hair out behind me. My fingers shake as I open the box. Sitting in the center is a single piece of sea glass, and I smile as I take it out and feel it in my hand. It hasn’t been polished down; it’s rough, exactly as I’d find it on the beach, turquoise and jagged and perfect.

“Your mother told me that you love the sea. I must admit I’ve only ever thought of it as an inconvenience, but it’s important to me to know the things you love so that those things can follow you here after we marry.”

“An inconvenience?” I say, unable to believe that anyone would look upon the Passage with anything but awe.

“Of course. It separates me from my intended.”

I look at him then. This union is as important to him as it is to me, and instead of finding comfort in that, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something in it for him and his father that I’m unaware of. I look down, scolding myself; my mother has been open with me about the terms of our agreement. They want more eyes on the Witchery, on our magic, and they want a share of our silver. We want protection. It is beneficial for us both.

“I don’t know what to say.” I grip the sea glass tighter, let the weight of it anchor me in this moment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

My hands are shaking, and I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or something else entirely. Landon hesitantly touches his fingers to my knuckles, and when I don’t pull away, he takes my hand in his. The shaking stops, and I look down, wondering how much of this is for show and how much is real, wondering if he, too, is hopeful we might one day love each other like my mother says.

A new song begins in the ballroom, and Landon stands. “I believe we owe the room a final dance,” he says.

This time, his touch isn’t enough to stop me from noticing the way every person in the ballroom turns toward us when we enter. My heart races, but I keep my head high, leaning into Landon.

“Then let’s make it count.”

He smiles at that and leads me through the crowd, never once letting go of my hand.





five





The ferry is quiet as it takes us across the Passage. Mom and Dad are talking in excited whispers, beside themselves at how well the night went. Ivy is sleeping, her head resting on my shoulder, her hem brushing against the floor around her feet. There are no other passengers, a stark reminder that, apart from the musicians, we were the only witches in attendance tonight. I’m tired, slouched in my chair, but my mind is too active to sleep.

Ivy shifts and slumps down in her seat. Her head lolls back, and I take the opportunity to escape to the bow. I have the entire deck to myself, and I walk to the railing and close my eyes as the wind whips through my hair, sending chills through my body. The Witchery is mostly asleep in the distance, my perfect island quiet and dark after a busy day. It looks so peaceful.

“You did great tonight,” my mother says behind me.

I turn to look at her. Her shawl is wrapped tightly around her arms, and the wind seems to avoid her, going around her completely rather than risking messing up her hair, which is still in a tight updo, every strand in place.

She looks pleased, and it fills me with warmth.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m glad you’re happy,” I say, because I am. That’s all I really want, for the people I love to be happy.

Happy and safe.

She nods. “I am. So is your father.”

“That’s good.”

“Things are right on track for your Covenant Ball. Announcing your engagement to Landon that night will be perfect.”

“I think so, too. I can’t wait.”

“Really?” she asks, studying me.

“Really.” I smile and turn back to the sea. The waxing moon plays hide-and-seek with the clouds, coming into view and glistening on the surface of the water before disappearing again.

I’ve been looking forward to my Covenant Ball my whole life, so eager to bind myself to my coven in front of all my friends and family. If I’m being honest, that’s the part I’m most excited about. I worry that announcing my engagement that night might take away from my Covenant, but my mom is sure it won’t.

I suppose it makes sense. I’m marrying Landon to protect my coven; binding myself to them and protecting them all in the same night has a beautiful harmony to it.

Most of the witches are just starting to hear rumors about Landon and me, just like the mainlanders. My mother has kept the secret of our betrothal for most of my life in case it fell through, and the witches will be overwhelmed when it’s announced.

I turn around, but my mother is gone. A lullaby jumps into my mind unbidden, and I hum it softly to the sound of the waves.

Soft like magic, calming tea,

give your power to the sea.

If they should turn,

come after you,

your weakness will ensure your doom.

Soft like magic, easy glee,

you cannot stop this violent sea.



I’ve always wondered who wrote it, where the words came from. It’s clear it was written as a warning, likely from the witches who refused to give up their dark magic and adhere to the new order. There was only one coven who refused, a small subset of witches who would rather have put us all at risk than convert to low magic, but no one has seen or heard from them in many years.

It’s as if they vanished.

The prevailing belief among new witches is that they eventually died out—it was a small coven to begin with, and as time went on, there probably weren’t enough of them to sustain the group. No one wants to practice dark magic when it means you have no security, no safety, no home. When it means you could die in a jail cell on the mainland.

Still, the words dance through my mind, but they don’t scare me the way they used to. The mainlanders can’t turn on us once I’m married to the governor’s son.

A shrill sound comes from somewhere in the distance, and I jump back from the railing. I squint into the darkness, looking for the source of the cry, and find a sea lion thrashing in the water, trapped in a current.

One of our currents. My heart aches as I watch the animal helplessly, wishing I could do something but knowing I can’t. There is nothing to do.

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