Midnight at the Magnolia (Venom and Virtue #1)

4. Celeste

4

CELESTE

NOLA CHRONICLE

The name “Viper” first appears in police reports. Fifth victim shows traces of rare bayou flora in system. “Killer knows their plants,” says forensic expert.

The night wraps around me like a lover’s embrace, all sultry heat and whispered promises of sin. I finger the sachet of protective herbs in my pocket—a habit Grandma drilled into me along with her other lessons.

“Protection comes in many forms,” she’d say, threading dried rue and angelica root onto a string. “Some stop bullets, others stop darker things.” In this city, you need both.

I’ve been here for hours, waiting and watching with the patience of a spider. My muscles are coiled tight, ready to strike. The rough brick at my back is a constant reminder that this isn’t some fever dream—it’s the very real world I inhabit, so different from the sugar-coated fantasy I serve up at the diner.

This is the part of me the good folks at Magnolia Diner would never recognize—the vigilante, judge and executioner rolled into one deadly package. Sometimes, in those dark hours before dawn when even the sinners are sleeping, I wonder what they’d think if they knew.

Would they recoil in horror, or would some part of them understand the necessity of what I do?

After all, everyone loves a good revenge story... until they’re on the wrong end of it.

A siren wails in the distance, its cry melding with the sultry notes of jazz floating from a nearby club. The city never sleeps, but its rhythm changes as night deepens. The laughter fades, replaced by whispers and secrets. In these hours, the true face of New Orleans reveals itself—beautiful and terrible, seductive and deadly.

Much like yours truly.

My watch shows 2:17 AM when I hear him—stumbling footsteps and drunken muttering that would make a sailor blush. Gregory Thompson, small-time crook with big-time aspirations, fumbles with his keys like a virgin on prom night. The streetlight catches his face, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his brow, the nervous darting of his eyes. He knows he’s in over his head, but it’s too late for second thoughts. The game is afoot, and he’s about to lose.

I slip on my gas mask, its weight a comforting reminder of the line I’m about to cross. The canister in my hand holds a brew of my own making—sweet flag root and devil’s snare, mixed according to Grandma’s careful instructions.

“The devil’s in the details,” she always said, “but salvation’s in the dosage.”

The metal is cool against my palm, a stark contrast to the humid air that clings to me like a second skin.

Gregory curses, his words slurred and colorful enough to make a preacher faint. “Fuckin’ lock...” His keys jangle, a discordant melody in the quiet night. Oh, honey, that’s the least of your problems.

I move, swift and silent as a panther on the hunt. Years of practice evident in every step. As the door begins to close, I’m there, wedging my foot in the gap. The canister hisses, releasing its payload—a fine mist that hangs in the air for a moment before dissipating like so many broken dreams.

Gregory turns, eyes wide with shock. He opens his mouth—to scream, to question, to beg—but it’s too late. The poison does its work, swift and merciless.

I watch as he struggles to figure out who stands before him, then I watch as fear crosses his features, then vacancy. He crumples like a marionette with cut strings, a puppet whose master just went on permanent vacation.

I catch him before he hits the ground, grunting under his dead weight. The mixture had worked perfectly—just as Grandma promised it would. Angel’s trumpet for confusion, passion flower for sleep, with a touch of vervain to fog the memory. Nature’s own reset button, courtesy of the bayou’s deadliest garden.

No time for philosophical musings when there’s work to be done.

Inside, Gregory’s lair reeks of stale beer and broken dreams. The stench assaults me even through the gas mask, a testament to the squalor he lives in. I arrange him on the floor, a tableau of just another drunk passed out after a bender. It’s a scene I’ve created more times than I care to count, each one a step towards a justice the law can’t provide.

After all, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to clean up the city.

He will wake up, thinking he just drank too much. He won’t even remember my existence thanks to my little cocktail. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? Cleaning up the city, one blackout at a time.

“Let’s see what skeletons you’re hiding, Gregory,” I murmur, my voice muffled by the mask. The sound of my own voice, distorted and alien, sends a shiver down my spine. It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come—or fallen, depending on your perspective.

The living room is a mess of takeout containers and crumpled papers. But there, on the coffee table—a stack of documents that doesn’t belong. They’re too neat, too important-looking to be part of Gregory’s usual chaos.

It’s like finding a diamond in a dungheap.

My heart races as I rifle through them, the rustling of paper loud in the silent apartment. Blueprints of the art gallery, every detail meticulously noted. Security protocols that should never have left the precinct. A list of names that reads like a who’s who of New Orleans’ elite, each one marked with cryptic symbols I’ll need to decipher. It’s a treasure trove of secrets, each page more damning than the last.

But it’s the last page that makes my blood run cold—plans for a citywide blackout on the night of the gallery opening. The implications hit me like a physical blow, each possibility more terrifying than the last. This isn’t just a heist. It’s the prelude to something much darker, much more insidious.

Oh, Gregory, what have you gotten yourself into?

A blackout would plunge New Orleans into chaos. Emergency services crippled, hospitals relying on backup generators that might fail. The streets would become a hunting ground for predators of all kinds. And in that darkness, what other crimes could be committed unseen?

My mind races through the possibilities, each more horrifying than the last. Targeted assassinations under the cover of darkness. Mass looting as security systems fail. Or worse— what if the blackout is just a distraction for something even more sinister? A coordinated attack on key infrastructure, or a mass prison break? The possibilities are endless, and none of them are good.

The gallery opening—a gathering of the city’s elite. In the chaos of a blackout, they’d be vulnerable. Perfect hostages, or perhaps intended victims. And with emergency services overwhelmed, response would be slow, if it came at all. It’s a perfect storm of opportunity for anyone with nefarious intentions.

This plan isn’t just about stealing art or making money. It’s about power. About reshaping the very fabric of the city in one night of engineered chaos. The level of coordination, the resources needed—this goes far beyond Gregory’s usual schemes. He’s just a pawn in a much larger, more dangerous game. And I’ve just stumbled into the middle of it.

As the full scope of the threat sinks in, I feel the weight of the city on my shoulders. If this plan succeeds, the New Orleans that emerges from the darkness might be unrecognizable.

And I might be the only one who can stop it.

No pressure, right?

A photo on the wall catches my eye—Gregory with Councilman Davis, their smiles too wide, too knowing. It’s an older picture, but the connection is clear. The pieces start to fall into place, forming a picture that turns my stomach.

How deep does this corruption go? And more importantly, how the hell am I supposed to stop it?

I snap photos of everything, my hands steady even as rage builds inside me. The camera’s soft clicks sound thunderous in the quiet room. Men like these destroyed my family, forced me onto this path of retribution. Each photo is another nail in their coffin, another step towards the justice I’ve dedicated my life to.

Say cheese, boys. You’re about to become the stars of a very different kind of show.

As I replace the papers, careful to leave everything as I found it, my fingers brush against the dried herbs sewn into my jacket lining. Black cohosh for power, thistle for strength, yarrow for courage. Grandma’s trinity of protection, as much a part of me now as my own skin. These men may have their guns and their political connections, but I have generations of bayou wisdom running through my veins.

Focus, Celeste. You’re not some amateur thief to be spooked by a cat. You’re a professional... vigilante? Avenger? Whatever. Just get it together.

I check Gregory one last time—still out cold, his breathing deep and even. The poison will keep him under for hours, and when he wakes, he’ll remember nothing but a night of heavy drinking. It’s a kindness he doesn’t deserve, but one necessary for my continued anonymity.

Sleep tight, Gregory.

Slipping out into the night, I remove the gas mask and take a deep breath of the humid air. The sky is lightening, the inky black giving way to deep indigo. Dawn is approaching, bringing with it a new day and new dangers. Sleep will be a luxury I can’t afford, not with the weight of what I’ve discovered pressing down on me. But then again, who needs sleep when you’ve got enough secrets to fill a library?

The day crawls by in a haze of coffee and forced smiles. I wipe down tables mechanically, my mind miles away, replaying every detail from Gregory’s apartment. Each customer becomes a potential threat, their innocent questions feeling like interrogations.

Do they know?

Can they see the blood on my hands, the secrets behind my eyes?

The dinner rush is winding down when the bell chimes. I look up, and my heart does a dangerous flip. Agent Ethan Blake walks in, looking like sin in a rumpled suit. His presence is electric, sending a jolt through me that’s equal parts attraction and fear.

Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite federal bloodhound. Come to sniff around some more, darling?

“Evening, Agent,” I call out, plastering on my best waitress smile. It feels brittle, fake, but years of practice keep it in place. “The usual? Or are you feeling adventurous tonight?”

Ethan nods, collapsing onto a stool. Exhaustion radiates from him in waves. Dark circles under his eyes, stubble shadowing his jaw–he looks like a man drowning in secrets.

In that moment, we’re mirror images of each other, both wearing masks, both buried in deceptions. Two sides of the same tarnished coin.

I pour his coffee, hyperaware of his presence. The scent of the brew mingles with his cologne, creating an intoxicating mix that makes my head spin.

“Rough day?” The question is casual, but my pulse quickens as I wait for his response. “You look like you’ve been dragged through all nine circles of hell... twice.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. The gesture is so human, so vulnerable, that for a moment I forget he’s the enemy. “You could say that. This fucking case baffles me.”

Oh, honey, if you only knew the half of it.

My pulse quickens, a staccato beat of fear and anticipation. “Oh? How so?” I lean in, pitching my voice low, conspiratorial. The counter between us feels like both a barrier and a lifeline. “Come on, sugar. Mama’s all ears.”

Conflict flashes across his face, a war between professional discretion and the need to unburden himself. “I shouldn’t be talking about this, but... We’ve uncovered evidence of a conspiracy. Corruption at the highest levels of city government. And the deaths...” he shakes his head. “It’s fringe. Too fringe.”

I school my features into a mask of shock, even as my mind races.

How much does he know?

How close is he to uncovering the truth—about the conspiracy, about me?

“That sounds dangerous,” I manage, the understatement of the century. “Like, sleeping with alligators dangerous or pissing off a voodoo priestess dangerous?”

Ethan laughs, a harsh sound devoid of humor. It scrapes against my nerves, a reminder of the gulf between us. “You have no idea. I’m starting to think I can’t trust anyone in this damn city.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “We’re talking about a network that spans the entire Gulf Coast. Fuck maybe larger. Each time I unravel one connection a dozen more pop up.”

Our eyes meet, and the air between us crackles with tension. It’s a moment balanced on a knife’s edge—one wrong move and everything could come crashing down.

“You can trust me,” I say, the words heavy with a sincerity that terrifies me. It’s not entirely a lie—I do want him to trust me, even as I deceive him.

And isn’t that the sweetest poison of all?

For a moment, vulnerability flashes in Ethan’s eyes. It’s like looking into a mirror, seeing my own loneliness and isolation reflected back at me. “I want to, Celeste. God help me, I do.”

The moment stretches, fraught with possibility. I find myself leaning in, drawn by some irresistible force. The scent of him—coffee, cologne, and something uniquely Ethan—envelops me.

“Maybe it needs someone willing to go deeper,” I murmur, then quickly add, “I mean, like an undercover agent or something. Someone who can navigate the underbelly of this city without setting off alarm bells.”

Surprise flickers across Ethan’s face, followed by something that might be suspicion. I hold my breath, wondering if I’ve overplayed my hand. Careful, Celeste. You’re dancing on the edge of a very sharp blade.

“Celeste, I?—”

His phone rings, shattering the moment. The spell breaks, reality crashing back in with all the subtlety of a freight train. He answers, tension coiling through his body as he listens. I watch the transformation, seeing the man replaced by the agent before my eyes. It’s like watching Jekyll turn into Hyde, but infinitely more attractive.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, already rising.

As he reaches for his wallet, I wave him off. “On the house. Go catch the bad guys, Agent.” The words taste like ashes in my mouth.

Just not me, not yet. I add silently, the thought a prayer and a curse rolled into one. Let’s keep this dance going a little longer, shall we?

Ethan pauses at the door, his expression unreadable. For a heart-stopping moment, I wonder if he’s seen through me, if this is the moment it all falls apart.

“Be careful, Celeste. This city... it’s not safe right now.”

“You too, Ethan.” The words come out softer than I intend, laced with an emotion I’m not ready to name. I hesitate, then add, “Wait. Let me show you New Orleans. Tomorrow night. The real New Orleans, not just the tourist traps and overpriced hurricanes.”

The smile that spreads across his face sends a jolt through me. For a moment, the hardened FBI agent melts away, replaced by a man who looks genuinely pleased. It’s a glimpse of what could be, in another life where I’m not a vigilante and he’s not the law. A dangerous fantasy, but oh so tempting.

“I’d like that,” he says softly. “Tomorrow night, then. Try not to get us arrested, okay?”

As the door swings shut behind him, I release a shaky breath. The walls I’ve built are crumbling, and I’m powerless to stop it. Ethan is a complication I can’t afford, a weakness in my armor that could prove fatal. But even as I recognize the danger, I can’t bring myself to regret the invitation.

The rest of my shift passes in a blur of coffee refills and fake smiles. As I flip the Closed sign, the transition from bustling diner to eerie quiet is jarring. I shed my waitress persona like a snake shedding its skin, the weight of my choices pressing down on me.

Time to trade one mask for another. The night is young, and there’s work to be done.

The moon hangs low and bloated in the sky as I find myself once again near Gregory’s apartment. The night air is thick with humidity, carrying the scents of jasmine and decay—the perfume of a city balanced between beauty and rot. Just like me, I suppose.

This time, Gregory is awake, engaged in a heated conversation with a man I recognize as one of Councilman Davis’s aides. They stand in the shadows of a building, but their voices carry in the still night air.

Amateurs. Don’t they know sound travels farther at night?

I inch closer, the rough brick scraping against my back as I strain to catch their words. My heart pounds so loudly I’m afraid it will give me away. Easy, girl. You’ve done this a thousand times. Just breathe.

“...can’t back out now,” the aide growls, his voice low and menacing. “You’re in too deep.”

Gregory’s reply is high-pitched, panic evident in every syllable. “This isn’t what I signed up for! A citywide blackout? People could die!” Oh, honey, now you grow a conscience? Bit late for that, don’t you think?

“Keep your voice down, you idiot!” the aide hisses, venom dripping from every word. “You’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll end up like the others. Like that nosy reporter, Marianne.”

Ice floods my veins, chilling me to the bone despite the muggy night air. Marianne—one of the victims in Ethan’s case. The murders he’s investigating are connected to this conspiracy. It’s all linked, a web of corruption and death that stretches farther than I’d imagined.

Well, well, well. Looks like I’ve stumbled into the belly of the beast, haven’t I?

A car turns onto the street, its headlights cutting through the darkness like twin blades. I press myself against the wall, willing the shadows to swallow me whole. Come on, darkness, don’t fail me now.

As it passes, I catch a glimpse of the driver—Ethan.

I hold my breath until he’s gone, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. When I look again, Gregory and the aide have vanished like ghosts in the night, leaving me alone with the weight of what I’ve learned.

Fantastic. Just fan-fucking-tastic.

The stakes have skyrocketed. This isn’t just about stopping a heist anymore. It’s about unraveling a conspiracy that reaches into the very heart of New Orleans, a cancer that’s been growing unchecked for who knows how long. And here I thought I was just playing exterminator to a few rats. Turns out I’m dealing with the whole damn zoo.

And Ethan is unknowingly working against me, inching closer to a truth that could destroy us both. The irony would be funny if it weren’t so terrifying. Oh, the tangled webs we weave, darling. This city’s about to become a battleground, and I’m caught in the crossfire.

My decision crystallizes, hard and sharp as a diamond. Gregory has to be eliminated. He’s the weak link, the one most likely to break under pressure. And if he talks, everything I’ve worked for could come crashing down.

I reach for my phone to warn my contact, then hesitate. Ethan’s worried face flashes in my mind, and the weight of my choices threatens to crush me. This is the moment, the point of no return. Once I make this call, there’s no going back.

Are you ready for this, Celeste?

Ready to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?

Not night, I decide, the words a solemn vow to the uncaring stars above. Gregory will meet his end. And may whatever God is listening have mercy on my damned soul, because I know I won’t show any.

I take a step away from Gregory’s apartment, my hand reaching for my concealed weapon. The metal is cold against my skin, and yet it comforts me unlike anything else. My constant companion in this city of shadows. But before I can move further, a figure steps out of the shadows—a ghost from my past, someone I thought I’d buried along with my old life.

“Hello, Celeste,” a painfully familiar voice says. “It’s been a long time.”

My body tenses, every muscle coiled and ready to spring. A kaleidoscope of emotions crashes over me—shock, fear, anger, and something dangerously close to relief. Well, fuck me sideways. The hits just keep on coming, don’t they?

I struggle to keep my voice steady as I reply, “Alex. I thought you were dead.”

I thought I killed you…

Alex steps closer, the dim streetlight illuminating features I’d tried so hard to forget. The scar that runs from his left eye to his jaw, a souvenir from the night that changed everything. The crooked smile that had once made my heart race for entirely different reasons.

He looks good for a dead man. Too good.

“Reports of my death were... greatly exaggerated,” he says, his tone light but his eyes hard as flint. “We need to talk, Celeste.”

And just like that, my carefully laid plans shatter like glass, leaving me standing on the precipice of a decision that will change everything. The air around us seems to crackle with tension, thick with unspoken history and dangerous possibilities.

“No,” I snarl, spinning on my heel and fleeing into the night. It’s not my proudest moment, but self-preservation wins out over curiosity. I can’t deal with this, not now, not with everything else hanging in the balance.

Alex’s laughter follows me home, a haunting reminder of a past I can’t escape and a future growing more uncertain by the second.