Midnight Is the Darkest Hour

by Ashley Winstead

It was the ultimate contraband: a story both occult and romantic, and meant for girls like me.

“Do you know what communion is?” “Sort of.” “You kneel in front of the pastor and drink grape juice and eat a wafer. It’s supposed to represent the blood and body of Christ.” “How vampiric.”

I know how dangerous it is to climb this high. (I stretch my hands up to the stars regardless.) I know what it means to set yourself up for a fall. (Even still, I breathe deep from the air whipping past.) I have been here before, I have leapt, I have shattered. I howl again. What do you call it when you know better, but—

“Ah.” His bushy eyebrows raised. “A reader, then.” He eyed me. “Dangerous quality in a girl.”