The Whispering Night (Luminaries #3)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

If Winnie thought the speech was bad, what follows Dryden’s long-winded introduction is actually so much worse. She should not have gotten tea. She should not have eaten two beignets. She should not have passed Go and collected two hundred dollars. Instead, she should have fled while she had the chance, even if it meant stealing a canoe from the Saturday boathouse and paddling upriver to the Little Lake.

Painless, Darian? You call this painless ?

When she was at the podium, there were a hundred and fifty Luminaries slightly hazed by morning sunlight. Faceless, nameless—just eyes bearing down on her like all those will-o’-wisps in the forest. Now, however, she is having to meet all of them, and they are no longer faceless. No longer nameless.

It feels like hours of being carted around by Dryden and Marcia to different Luminaries. Because of course the groups aren’t separated by their clans or nations—that would be too easy! Instead, they are dispersed and mingling like multicolored gumballs dumped on the floor. So at the Sunday table, Winnie meets a Norwegian S?ndag, then an Italian Giovedì, then a Mexican Miércoles… Then it’s over to the Monday table, followed by the Tuesday table.

The Tuesday table.

Winnie is almost glad she is so overwhelmed, because she doesn’t have time to freak out about Jeremiah Tuesday. Instead, she is an asteroid caught in his planetary orbit, and while she definitely senses her slow approach toward him, she’s still in outer space. There are too many faces, too many names, too many hands, so she can’t fully focus on the knots in her intestines.

At least not until the gravitational pull of Jeremiah Tuesday is too strong and she has burned into his atmosphere.

“Ms. Wednesday,” he says in a deceptively soft voice that always makes him sound like a radio host introducing jazz fusion to the night’s listeners. “It has been a long time.”

Winnie’s teeth start clicking. One, two, three . She stops them. “Yes.” She refuses to drop his blue gaze. Refuses to do anything other than look at him like an unabashed bear while he shakes her hand.

He has a firm handshake.

She makes hers firmer.

“Councilor Tuesday.” She pulls her hand back. Do not wipe it on your pants, do not wipe it on your pants. “May I meet your guests?” She veers her attention to the stunning woman at Jeremiah’s left, who has silvery hair in loose curls. It is artfully messy, and her fitted black dress makes her look like she stepped out of a black-and-white film from the ’50s. “I’m Winnie Wednesday, ma’am.”

“Caterina Martedì,” the woman answers, and a slow smile spreads over her Sensual-Seduction-red lips. Her fingers clasp Winnie’s. “Lead Liaison for the Martedì clan.”

They are warm and strong. And they are familiar.

Then there it is: a faint burn from Winnie’s locket. A heat to sparkle against her collarbone and transport her back in time to that night inside the forest, when fires burned and witches died. When Jay had to drag away Aunt Rachel to save her, and when Winnie—whether she will admit it or not—became a murderer. Because she had to. Because it was the only way to fight against the Diana Crow trying to destroy her.

The same Diana who now stands before Winnie and holds her hand.

Cornīcēs: These elected witches maintain roles of leadership within Diana society. To be eligible, one must have both skill and experience.

“It is so wonderful to finally meet you, Winnie. I have been waiting such a very long time.” The signora speaks with an accent—which she did not have in the forest—and for a split second Winnie wonders if maybe she’s got it wrong. If this signora is only smiling so widely because she’s happy to be here…

But then Winnie’s locket heats a second time, and Winnie knows she is facing the crow from the forest. The cornīx. All that’s missing is the mask.

Signora Martedì smiles, like she can hear what’s happening in Winnie’s brain. “It is so very commendable, all you have done for this town—and for the global Luminari, too.”

Winnie’s mouth opens. Then closes. She wants to say something like, I guess you would know, but all her words are splitting apart at the seams. They are nuclei bombarded into fission. If Winnie tries to speak, only gamma photons and radiation will come out.

For ten days, Winnie has been braced for fallout over what happened in the forest. Tuesdays coming for her or for Rachel or Jay or Erica… But on none of Winnie’s bingo cards was there ever a square that read: Diana leadership shows up in a room full of Luminaries.

And there absolutely, 100 percent, most definitely was never a square that read: Diana is also a powerful Martedì who can openly walk in front of Jeremiah Tuesday.

A Lead Liaison. Someone who can travel all over the world, to any Luminary outpost they want to visit, without anyone batting an eye.

Winnie knows she needs to say something. She knows she needs to emit coherent words with her tongue, lips, jaw, and pharynx. But instead, she just keeps glancing around her like, Oh my god, is anyone else seeing this? Which of course they aren’t seeing this because they don’t know that there are Dianas in Hemlock Falls and that this elegant woman in her tailored dress and perfect lipstick tried to kill Winnie ten nights ago.

Except… Jeremiah Tuesday.

He knows.

Not about Winnie, maybe, but he knows about the Dianas in the forest. He knows there were dead hounds, murdered by flame. He knows that Aunt Rachel fought against them. And he knows he has swept it all under the rug for over a week now.

And oh crap, there go the nuclei in Winnie’s brain again, except this time they’re undergoing fusion, forming helium from hydrogen and powering an entire solar system of ideas. This explains why Jeremiah barely interrogated Rachel. This is why there has been no uproar over the Dianas, no ringing of the alarm. Jeremiah Tuesday is keeping it all hush-hush for this powerful Luminary beside him.

The question is, though, does Jeremiah know what Signora Martedì really is? Is he, in fact, working with her? Or is he just a pawn, pushed around the board by her witchy whim?

A sharp poke screws into Winnie’s spinal cord. Marcia has her claws out again. Crank, crank. Answer, Winnie, answer! Dryden, meanwhile, is sucking his teeth impatiently, and Jeremiah is looking at Winnie with a thoughtful, borderline worried gaze that transports Winnie back in time to a cold, concrete interrogation room underground.

Only the signora seems unsurprised by Winnie’s stunned silence. There’s even a flicker in her dark eyes that says, Oh, I know exactly what you’re thinking right now, little bear, and it’s delicious. She is still holding Winnie’s hand, too, and seems to be in no rush to release it.

Winnie forces her brain to find words. Then she forces her tongue, lips, jaw, and pharynx to formulate those words loud enough for others to hear. They aren’t the best words. They aren’t even smart words. But they’re kind of all she has right now: “Oh, wow,” she says, her grip tightening on the signora. “You look really different in this light, ma’am. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

A collective lifting of eyebrows. A small grunt of confusion from Dryden.

The signora smiles. Her pressure on Winnie’s hand increases. Her pointer finger curls inward in a move that would be sensual if this were a romantic situation; instead, it’s unambiguously threatening. “Ah, but I do not believe we’ve met before, Winnie. You must be mistaking me for someone else. I do have one of those faces.”

“Right.” Winnie slides her hand free. It’s shaking a little, so she pushes it into her blazer pocket. “Sorry, ma’am. I guess you look like someone I’ve met before.” Since these words aren’t a lie, they come out strong and clear—and Winnie feels strong and clear saying them. The nucleic reactions in her brain’s language centers have settled; she is finally regaining control.

Which is why she twists away from Caterina Martedì like the woman is just any old Luminary who showed up from out of town. “Where to next?” she asks Dryden. “I haven’t met the Wednesday visitors yet.”

It’s clear that Dryden and Marcia can sense something Very Strange and Possibly Worrisome has just unfolded before them. Yet it’s also clear their minds can’t evaluate what. Winnie and this powerful Luminary knowing each other? That would be as plausible as eyeballs inverting or nose hairs combusting.

A small frown puckers on Marcia’s mouth. Dryden’s nostrils flare repeatedly.

Marcia pulls herself together first, flashing her most beneficent smile at the Crow. “Enjoy the breakfast, Signora Martedì. We are so glad you’re back in Hemlock Falls for pleasure this time, instead of business.”

“Yes,” Dryden agrees, hastily cramming himself into the conversation. “And do try the espresso. We imported it all the way from Italy just for you, so it should taste better than last year’s.” He gives her an obsequious smile, then his hand comes to Winnie’s shoulder, Marcia’s claw digs into Winnie’s back, and Winnie is carted away from the Tuesday table and a scorpion made of ice.