Bring me your midnight, p.1
Bring Me Your Midnight, page 1
Also by Rachel Griffin
The Nature of Witches
Wild Is the Witch
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2023 by Rachel Griffin
Cover and internal design © 2023 by Sourcebooks
Jacket art © Elena Masci
Jacket design by Erin Fitzsimmons and Liz Dresner/Sourcebooks
Case art © taesheosa/Shutterstock, Buryi Bogdan/Shutterstock, nudiblue/Getty Images, shunli zhao/iStock/Getty Images
Map art © Sveta Dorosheva
Internal design by Tara Jaggers/Sourcebooks
Internal images © vectortatu/iStock/Getty Images, shunli zhao/iStock/Getty Images
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
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Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Back Cover
For Dad.
Thank you for teaching me that my happiness matters, and for reminding me when I forget.
one
My mother once told me I was fortunate I’d never have to find where I belong. Being born with the last name Fairchild on a small island due west of the mainland meant I had already found it before I even knew to look. She’s right, the way she is about most things, but I’ve always thought that if I needed to find my true north, I’d find it in the depths of the sea.
The piercing cold of salt water and the thick silence feels more like home than the ornate five-bedroom house perched just two blocks from the shore. The water welcomes me as I wade in and submerge myself, the sounds of the island fading away until they are swallowed whole. My long hair floats out in every direction, and I push off the rocky bottom and swim, keeping my eyes open. The currents are getting stronger, and I watch for any signs of restlessness or agitation, but the sea is quiet.
For now.
I float on my back. The sun rises above the horizon, chasing away the dawn, and the hazy gray of early morning is replaced with rays of golden light that sparkle on the surface of the water. I’m the only one out here, and I can almost fool myself into believing I’m insignificant, a tiny speck in an impossibly vast world. And while the latter is certainly true, insignificant I am not. My mother made sure of that.
I roll over and dive toward the seafloor, deeper and deeper until the water cools and the sunlight fades, entirely unreachable. I pause close to the bottom, reveling in the way expectation and duty can’t follow me here. Reveling in the way my life feels like my own. My chest aches and my lungs beg for breath, and I finally relent, kicking toward the surface. The sea ejects me, and I gasp for air.
It’s still early, but the Witchery is coming to life in the distance. Many of us rise with the sun to take advantage of every minute of magic we can. The days are getting shorter as winter draws near, and the long nights of our northern island mean we will soon have even less time with our magic.
I take another deep breath as soft waves lap against me. I’ve already spent too much time out here, and I turn toward the shore, but something draws my attention. It looks like a flower, light and delicate as it rises through the water to greet the sun. I swim toward it and watch as it surfaces, gently floating an arm’s length away, inviting me to reach out and take it.
I blink, and the flower vanishes. I scan the water for any sign of it, but there is none, and I realize I must have imagined it. My mind is hazy with the upcoming ball, playing tricks on me in my favorite place. But it’s enough to undo the peace of the morning, and I swim back in, knowing there is too little time to recover it.
When the bottom is close enough to scrape my knees, I stand and trudge up the rocky beach, fighting the urge to look for the flower one final time. I wring out my hair and grab my towel from my bag. Salt clings to my skin, so familiar that I no longer rush to rinse it off. I slip into my sandals and twist my hair back in a low bun, then gather the rest of my things.
“Better hurry, Tana,” Mr. Kline calls from the sidewalk. “Your mother is on her way.”
“Already? She’s a half hour early.”
“You weren’t the only one up with the sun today.”
I give him a grateful wave and rush toward the perfumery, thoughts of the ball and the stress of being late mixing in my stomach, turning it sour. I should already be in the shop, getting ready for the stream of morning tourists, but the first ferry doesn’t dock for another forty-five minutes, and I’ve never revered the schedule the way my mother wishes I would.
I turn onto Main Street, where dozens of magical shops line the cobblestone road like wildflowers in spring. Storefronts in baby pinks and sky blues, soft yellows and minty greens stand out against the often-overcast haze that blankets the Witchery, inviting people in, gently reassuring them that magic is as sweet and delicate as the colors of the doors they walked through. In an hour, this strip will be full of tourists and regulars from the mainland who visit our island for perfume, candles, tea, baked goods, natural textiles, and anything else we can infuse with magic.
Dense green vines climb stone walls, and clusters of wisteria hang above doorways, every detail meant to convey that this place is special, but not threatening. Peculiar, but not frightening. Enchanted, but not dangerous.
An island so lush and lovely, one might forget it was once a battlefield.
Large daphne shrubs encircle bronze street lanterns, their strong floral scent filling the air with more magic than we ever could. I sprint over the cobblestones until the perfumery comes into view on the corner. My best friend is waiting for me, leaning against the door with a cup of tea in each hand.
She raises an eyebrow at me as I bend over and rest my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“Here,” Ivy says, shoving the tea in my face. “It’s our Awaken blend.”
“I don’t need your magic,” I say, ignoring the tea. I push my key into the lock and open the door, ducking under a waterfall of lavender wisteria.
“Really? Because you look terrible.”
“How bad?” I ask.
“There’s seaweed in your hair and salt crusted in your eyebrows,” she says.
I grab the tea from her and take a long sip. It feels good as it slides down my throat and settles in my stomach, its magic working instantly. My mind clears and energy moves through me. I rush into the back room and change out of my wet clothing and into a simple blue dress.
“Sit down,” Ivy says, and I give her a grateful look. Her dark brown eyes glimmer as she moves her hands over my face. I feel the salt lift from my skin and light makeup settle in its place. I don’t have a talent for makeup the way Ivy does; mine usually comes out too dramatic for my mother’s taste, but Ivy gets it perfect every time. As she works, I tame my hair, drying it instantly and letting it fall in loose waves down my back. Ivy holds up a mirror.
My dress brings out the blue of my eyes, and my chestnut hair doesn’t look quite so plain with curls in it. Nothing about my appearance reveals that I was recently in the water, and while my mother will be pleased, I like the way I look when touched by nature and slightly disheveled, a person instead of a painting I’m afraid of messing up.
“Thank you for your hel
“How was your swim?” she asks.
“Not long enough.”
The small bell on the door rings just then, and my mother flits into the shop.
“Morning, girls,” she says as she walks into the back room. I sit up straighter when I see her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fairchild,” Ivy says with a smile.
My mother looks polished as always, her blond hair pulled back into a simple knot, her tanned skin glistening with whatever new makeup she’s trying from Mrs. Rhodes’s skin care shop. Her lips are stained pink, and her blue eyes are rich and vibrant.
Always put together. The perfect new witch.
The floor is wet and littered with seaweed, and my mother looks down. “Ivy won’t always be here to cover up your failings, Tana. Clean this up,” she says, leaving the room.
I grab a mop from the closet and wipe up the mess, ignoring the sting of my mother’s words. I throw away the bits of seaweed that followed me into the shop and make sure the tile is dry before putting the mop away. Magic is tied to living things, and unfortunately, that doesn’t extend to the floor.
“We almost had her,” I whisper. “Thanks again.”
“Anytime,” Ivy says, taking a sip of her tea. She’s always put together as well, never late for work at her parents’ tea shop, never disheveled or groggy when she arrives. Her brown skin glows without magic, and her dark curls bounce lightly over her shoulders as she moves.
I grab a bunch of dried lavender from a glass jar on the wall and take out a mortar and pestle from the cupboard beneath the island. My dad and I made the work surface from a large piece of driftwood we found on the shore, and I run my hand over the smooth wood grain.
Early morning sun drifts in through the store’s front windows, stretching into the back room and illuminating all the varietals of plants and herbs. Ivy enjoys her tea as I create the base of a bath oil, closing my eyes and picturing how it feels to fall asleep, the heavy calm and gentle sinking of it. I let the feeling tumble into the lavender until the petals are drenched. Practicing magic is my favorite thing to do, and though I’m creating an oil to calm others, it has the same effect on me. This is when I’m happiest, when I feel most at home.
The bell rings again, and I reluctantly open my eyes. I recognize Mrs. Astor’s voice before I even look up, a regular from the mainland who comes to the Witchery for two things: magic and gossip.
“Good morning, Ingrid,” she singsongs to my mother, taking her by the hand, a gesture of friendship my mother likes to remind me is only possible because of the sacrifices made by the generations of witches who came before us.
“How are you, Sheila?”
“I should be asking you the same question,” Mrs. Astor says, giving my mother a significant look. “There are rumors circulating on the mainland, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Oh?” my mother asks, busying herself with some glass bottles on the counter.
I turn my back to the door and try to focus on the lavender.
Ivy nudges my arm and nods toward the woman. “Listen,” she whispers.
“Don’t play coy with me, dear. Something about your daughter and the governor’s son?”
I hold my breath, waiting to hear how my mother will respond. The rumor is true, of course, but timing is everything, as my mother says.
“You know as well as I do that I don’t like to share anything unless it’s settled.”
“Can we expect a… settlement anytime soon?”
My mother pauses. Then, “Yes, I should think so.”
Mrs. Astor lets out a tiny shriek, then congratulates my mother and gushes as she buys two new perfumes.
I quietly shut the door to the back room and rest against it, closing my eyes.
“News travels quickly,” Ivy says.
“News travels as quickly as my mother wants it to,” I correct her.
I just swam, but I want to run from the shop and dive into the sea, silencing Mrs. Astor and my mother and the expectations that weigh on me.
Ivy sips the last of her tea and hands me mine. “You should finish this.”
I take it from her and drink it down.
“Before I go, how are you doing with all this? It was one thing when your mom decided it was time to start your courtship with Landon. It’s another thing now that it’s truly happening.”
“This is huge for us,” I say. “It would be the most high-profile marriage between a witch and a mainlander in history. It would completely solidify our coven’s place in society.”
Ivy rolls her eyes. “I didn’t ask how your mom persuaded you. I asked how you’re doing.”
I exhale, moving closer to her. “Did you read any articles about the dock fire?”
The words are so quiet I’m not sure if Ivy heard me, but after a moment, she slowly shakes her head. “Only what was in the paper here.”
“I went to the mainland and read every newspaper I could find,” I say, watching the door to ensure my mother doesn’t walk in. “And you know what? There was hardly anything.”
A look of confusion settles on Ivy’s face. The fire happened one month ago, when a mainlander who didn’t trust magic or witches rowed to our island in a wooden boat and set our docks ablaze, trying to destroy the ferry route between the mainland and the Witchery. Trying to cut us off. As soon as my mother learned the details, she said it was time to begin my courtship with Landon.
“Why did you go there?” she asks me.
“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see how the mainland felt about it, how strongly they would condemn it. It never occurred to me that I’d find just three short articles that never even called it what it was. I know it’s a small subset of people who feel that way, but things like this will continue to happen until the mainland takes a firm position on the Witchery, and what better way to do that than the future ruler marrying a witch? It’s the most powerful statement they can make. If Landon and I were already married and the mainland had officially written their protection of the Witchery into law, would our docks have been burned? We don’t even know how harshly the man who did it is being punished, if at all. It’s easy to feel like we’re protected with the sea separating us, but we aren’t.”
Ivy nods along to my words. “Mom locked our doors that night. It was the first time I could ever remember her doing that.”
“It’s time for Landon and me to announce our courtship. I’m ready.”
The truth is that the fire only affected the timing. My life has been mapped out for me since the day I was born. This is my role—keeping my coven safe by cementing our place among the mainlanders. It’s a role I’m proud to play, even though it isn’t up to me.
“Well, then,” Ivy says, wrapping her arm around my shoulders, “I suppose it’s a good thing he’s handsome.”
“He most certainly is,” I say, laughing.
Ivy takes my cup from me and walks toward the door.
“Thank you for asking,” I say. She turns. “It’s nice to be asked.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, because I’m going to keep bringing it up.” She grins and walks out the door, saying goodbye to my mother as she leaves.
I’ve known my parents’ plan for this wedding since I was a little girl, and Landon is a good person. He’s decent and kind. We will formally announce our engagement on the same day as my Covenant Ball, when I will bind myself to my coven for the rest of my life. It’s the same ritual every witch must go through, a choice that can never be altered, can never be undone. I must choose my coven or the outside, seal it with magic, and never look back. Without that choice, magic becomes volatile and dangerous.
Even magic needs a home.
In many ways, I’ve been preparing for the ball for nineteen years. It makes sense to share it with Landon.
My mother has never sat down with me to ask my thoughts on the plans my grandparents set in motion, to find out if I would be okay with leaving the Witchery and becoming part of the mainland’s ruling family. If I would trade my magic for jewels, my swims for social calls.
Every so often, I think it would be nice if she asked, if only so I could look her in the eye and tell her with absolute certainty that yes, I’m committed to this path we’re on.
I love my parents and my coven with my whole heart. I love this island with my whole heart. And I will do whatever it takes to secure our place in this world, even if it means marrying a man I don’t love in order to protect all the things I do.
