The Whispering Night (Luminaries #3)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

“What the hell is going on?” Erica asks this while power-walking next to Winnie on the downtown sidewalk. Fries rattle in a takeout box, a perfect soundtrack to Winnie’s glorious spite that has now fractured into all-out panic.

“The siren is thought to be an evolutionary ancestor of the melusine,” Winnie answers as they weave around visitors and locals alike. Dogwoods and redbuds are just unfurling their spring attire. The Masquerade lights twinkle in assorted clan colors, even in the afternoon. “Since DNA tests show phylogenetic matching.” She shakes her head. This is not what I want to say! Why can’t I talk about the Crow?! “Much like apes eventually evolved into humans, sirens were likely a precursor to the melusine.”

“Winnie, stop.” Erica grabs Winnie’s shoulder, reining her to a halt. They are just outside Joe Squared. The scent of coffee drapes across them with no-good, lying promises of comfort. “I know you don’t want to talk to me about melusine. I mean… you don’t, do you?”

Winnie shakes her head. Or rather, she wants to shake her head, but she can’t seem to move it at all. She also wants to pull out her locket, since she and Erica have previously discussed the lockets and their differences. Surely Erica could look at the locket and do the math. 2 + 2 = Winnie is bewitched.

Because that’s what is happening now, right? That final wave and whisper from the Crow—it must have caused this. A spell to keep Winnie from talking about what happened in the maze. But of course, Winnie can’t withdraw the locket any more than she can move her head. She is completely cemented in place while Erica stares at her, first in bewilderment. Then in curiosity.

But bless Erica with her brilliant Thursday mind because it only takes her the distance of one block before she cracks the puzzle. “You’re under a spell, aren’t you? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Winnie can’t nod, of course, and the harder she tries, the louder a buzzing grows in her ears, like a wasps’ nest loosed into her skull. “Contrary to popular belief,” she squeezes out, “in the non world, vampira do not require an invitation to enter a home.”

“Right.” Erica gnaws her lip. Then she grabs the takeout box, tears it open, and gnaws a fry instead. All while staring at Winnie as they stride ever closer toward Falls’ Finest. Chew, chew, chew. “Definitely a spell. Obviously cast by a Diana who is somewhere in the city. Seeing as you were just at that Saturday Welcome Breakfast, then it’s got to be someone who was there. Unless… it happened before? In the night maybe?”

“I didn’t see anyone last night.” Winnie’s breath hitches. Those words came out no problem—and now that she considers it, everything she said to Isaac was easy too.

Another fry vanishes in Erica’s mouth. “Okay. You were able to speak just now. But what happens if you try to talk about what’s happening? Is it a spell, Winnie?”

“The origin of this myth,” Winnie answers, “is attributed to the bellwether, since a vampira horde will not enter any space until the bellwether does.”

“Got it.” Erica stuffs in three more fries. “Definitely a spell, then.” She glances around to make sure no one is listening. They are now outside the glass doors into Falls’ Finest, where the fancy lettering on the windows has a sign boasting: 20% off all Evening Wear, This Week Only! The few people trickling in and out are too wrapped up in being tourists to spare them a glance.

“I’ll be honest,” Erica continues through a mouthful of starch, “that I have no idea what kind of spell this is, and I definitely don’t know how to neutralize it.”

“And I’ll be honest.” Winnie scowls. “I’d really rather you weren’t so calm about this because I am freaking out.” Okay, I could also say that.

Erica sniffs. “I’m a Thursday. We’re always prepared.”

“Does that mean you have a plan for how to never run from a banshee— grrrr. ”

More fries get vacuumed into Erica’s mouth. Chew, chew, thoughtful chew. “I mean, it seems to me we still need to find Jenna’s source. Yes?”

Winnie nods. Then is way too relieved she can make that movement. “And we also need to find any clues my dad left behind.” Success! “That way, hellions often hunt in packs— YARGH .” She snags a handful of fries and starts chomping too.

“It theems,” Erica mumbles through a fry that isn’t fully chewed, “that you can talk about anything”—swallow—“related to Jenna or your dad. So… let’s stick to those topics for now.”

“If that’s the extent of your plan—”

“Give me a second.” Erica glares. Then grimaces. “Okay, give me a few hours. I need to think.”

“Fine. And I need to go shopping. So can you help me?”

Erica’s eyes narrow. “I guess this means that whoever did this to you already knows we’re in cahoots. Am I right?”

Winnie wants to nod, but yet again, she cannot—and yet again, the wasps screech louder in her ears. “Cahoots is a funny word,” she offers instead. Then, “Can we go inside? It’s cold out here.”

She aims for the doors, feeling weird—uncomfortable even—that she was just here yesterday with her square of friends. They laughed, they shopped, and the seesaw of Winnie’s world seemed so bright. Now here she is, verbally hogtied by a Diana cornīx .

At the store’s entrance, Erica stops long enough to toss the now-empty takeout box into a trash bin. “Are we being watched?”

Probably, Winnie wishes she could say. Instead, she spits out: “Though seemingly small, no wider than a cobra, the basilisk can in fact stretch up to forty feet long.”

“Right.” Erica dusts salt and grease off her hands. She has more animation than Winnie has seen in… years, actually. And Winnie doesn’t think it’s because of all those fries. “We’ll figure this out, Win. Every spell has limitations—even the ones I’ve never heard of.”

Winnie tries to smile, and is delighted when her lips can actually obey. But before she can offer a sentimental reply, Erica grabs the door and shoves it wide. Perfume scents and pop tunes river over them.

“Come on. Let’s get you some more clothes because while I look great in a pantsuit, you do not. Also, the mustard, Winnie. The mustard.”

Once upon a time, when Winnie was nine years old, she and her best friend Erica Thursday pretended to be Dianas.

They wore navy bedsheets draped over their bodies in imitation of the navy cloaks Dianas had supposedly worn in their secret meetings centuries ago, and they each picked out what their source would be. Winnie’s was a simple rock she found in the garden that looked vaguely like a human metacarpal bone. Erica, meanwhile, went all in. She stole a spherical piece of obsidian that sat in her family’s cold, modern living room on a side table beside the grand piano—and that her mom really loved and was super pissed to later discover had been removed.

That was part of the fun, though. Pissing off Marcia, waiting for her to notice when her younger daughter misbehaved. Erica had an incredible ability to weasel out of punishments. It was 25 percent manipulation mixed with 75 percent airtight logic.

You can’t just take things, Erica! That crystal costs hundreds of dollars. You get no allowance for a month.

Ah, but Mother, if I don’t have an allowance, my friends will notice—and what if they tell their parents?

Winnie, who was even worse at verbal manipulation than she was at lying, would always observe her friend with wide-eyed awe and high-grade envy. Because wow, Erica would articulate an argument so impenetrable, even a jury would stand up to applaud—and Erica did so without ever breaking a sweat. Winnie, meanwhile, fumbled over her words and usually abandoned all hope at first sign of resistance from whomever had scolded her.

Not that Winnie got scolded often in those days. She liked rules and she liked following them—and any activities to the contrary happened pretty much exclusively on Thursday grounds where no Wednesday bears dared to tread.

On this particular night seven years ago, there were no Fridays treading either since it was actually a Friday and Jay was at clan dinner. Looking back, those Friday nights were often Winnie’s favorite of the week. Not that she didn’t love Jay—she did, and in quite a different way than she loved Erica—but having it be just her and her best girl friend…

Those really were the best times.

And there they were, wrapped in bedsheets in the old cabin on a hot midsummer night holding their sources and pretending to cast spells.

Eye of newt and blood of stone, Winnie improvised.

Tongue of harpy whispering home, came Erica.

Then together, they sang the one line they did know went in a Diana’s spell—or at least, that was what Katie Tuesday had told them the week before (and she would know because her cousin was in Lambda training). Sumus ūnus in somnō et somniīs.

We are one in sleep and dreams.

When they uttered those words, they felt a charge brush over them, like static cling after going down a plastic slide. It prickled and crawled and made their hairs rise until they both reached out to touch each other…

And spark! A little burst discharged between them.

At the time, they decided it had to be magic . Real magic, and they would swear to Jay the very next morning that they had cast an actual spell. Later though, as the years would pass, Winnie would decide it was nothing more than the sudden flow of a current between two charged objects brought in contact. In other words, electrostatic buildup.

But there would still be a little part of her that wondered…

Until the day when Winnie learned Erica really is a Diana who can cast magic. That Erica really does have a source, and it is hidden where no one will ever find it. Or at least where Winnie hopes no one will ever find it, since the Tuesdays are a constant threat—and that threat is only growing after what happened a week ago in the forest.

Two witches burned alive.

A third witch who got away.

It sounds like the beginning of a nursery rhyme: This little witchy went to market. This little witchy stayed to play. These little witchies got burned alive, while this little witchy got away. And this little Luminary screamed “wee, wee, wee” while the forest chased her as prey.

Sumus ūnus in somnō et somniīs.

We are one in sleep and dreams.