The Whispering Night (Luminaries #3)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Winnie outright refuses to throw candy from the pontoon-boat-turned-swan.

Dryden tells her she must. She tells Dryden CANDY KILLS, and to her surprise he drops the subject. Possibly because she literally bares her teeth at him like a nightmare. He also—wisely—does not make Winnie wear the Midnight Crown. It’s exquisitely detailed—made from painted metal to look like woven pine branches with an ouroboros sliding through—and way too freaking heavy.

Headmaster Gina—who is also on the boat with Winnie since it’s her clan parade—doesn’t seem to notice any of this exchange since she is too busy arguing with their boat’s driver over his poor navigation skills. Twice, they almost crash into one of the other swan-shaped boats. And the docking at the Floating Carnival is a real testament to Gina’s Sunday patience because they not only do crash into another boat (Hey, Professor Funday! You look really, really bright today in that magenta sweater!), but they also hit the pier hard enough to knock an entire plastic bag of individually sized chocolate bars into the Little Lake.

RIP, Winnie thinks as she, Gina, and Dryden are finally helped off the swan by the driver, who now decides to reveal his second profession as a blogger. “I interview famous Luminaries! Will you answer some questions for me?”

“No.”

“Did you wish you had a parachute when you jumped off the waterfall?”

“Not sure it would have helped me.”

“Does hypothermia hurt?”

“I don’t know. I was unconscious.”

“Did the werewolf have teeth bigger than a great white shark?”

“Depends. Is the shark a juvenile?”

Winnie is saved by (of all people) Marcia Thursday. Erica is, as expected, already at her mother’s side, and she gives Winnie a look so cool, Winnie actually needs a double take. They were just together, right? Winnie didn’t just imagine that whole encounter at the Sunday estate with Jeremiah Tuesday and the telescope?

As Dryden and Marcia discuss the next events on the agenda— Winnie, are you listening? —Winnie takes in the Floating Carnival around her. Water laps gently against steel pilings. Streamers in clan colors twinkle over clapboard stands and stalls. Voices churn, hailing from volunteers and workers. There are games and competitions, treats and crafts, and everywhere Winnie looks, she spies happy Luminaries with no idea that Dianas have taken over Hemlock Falls.

Banners flutter. Music plays from a calliope. And to the north, the Ferris wheel spins, spraying out reflected light each time a car hits its zenith.

“Come,” Dryden commands. “The world is waiting for you.”

Winnie looks again at Erica.

This time, Erica blinks in solidarity.

Marcia’s hand lands on Winnie’s right arm. Dryden’s lands on her left. And once more, Winnie is nothing more than a marionette being lolloped around on wooden legs.

“Smile, Winnie,” Marcia declares once they reach the striped tent that marks the carnival entrance, where a large silver ribbon awaits. Winnie obeys, not because she wants to smile, but because it’s the closest thing she has to a suit of armor. A sea of bobbing heads and gawping faces await her beyond the silver ribbon, so smiling at them feels safer than recoiling.

When people lined up to be tested for werewolf mutation, they’d formed helpful, single-file queues outside the striped tent. Now they are a mass. A swarm. A nest of manticores ready to attack. And somewhere in there, the signora must be waiting, scheming, laughing like the cartoon villain she is.

Anyone can be a Diana. A Diana can be anyone .

Morning sun glints on Winnie’s glasses, garbling all the faces into splotches on the page. “You’ll cut the ribbon,” Dryden tells her, “once I declare, Enjoy the Carnival . Do you understand?” He doesn’t wait for a reply before pushing enormous scissors into Winnie’s hands. Like, hilariously enormous . To the point that she feels even more like a puppet now, holding these human-sized scissors.

“Welcome!” Dryden calls, a megaphone abruptly appearing at his mouth. With the pince-nez on his nose, there is something almost ringleader about him. “Welcome to the fifty-fourth annual Floating Carnival!” Cheers erupt outside the tent, and as Darian’s schedule promised, cameras flash.

Winnie smiles wider. She is a bear. She is untouchable.

“We hope you enjoy the festivities this year,” Dryden continues, “and remember! Although death may be a part of life in Hemlock Falls, life is a part of it too! Life and pleasure and defiance against the night!”

Now the crowds really cheer, and Winnie has to admit, what Dryden said wasn’t half bad. The energy, the noise, the animation of it all—it reverberates inside her with a truth she has felt before. That is why we’re called the Luminaries, Winnie. We are lanterns the forest can never snuff out.

“Cut it,” Dryden growls. “Winnie, cut it!” Judging by the circumference of his eyes, he might have been snarling this for several seconds. But—did he say Enjoy the Carnival ? Doesn’t matter now. He wants her to cut, so cut she will.

Winnie hefts open the scissors and arranges them around the ribbon. Crank! The ribbon doesn’t cut.

“Uh…”

“Again,” Dryden snarls. “Again.”

Winnie cranks the scissors again. Nope. Again. Still nope, and oh god, this is turning into a bad dream. Please, please, please, forest spirit, let them work this time—

The ribbon splits. Cameras flash. Luminaries cheer.

And the Nightmare Masquerade finally begins.

Augustus Saturday’s Ferris Wheel: Often called the “jewel” of the Floating Carnival, the central spoke of the wheel is made to look like a golden full moon. The carts circling are black with silver stars, so when the wheel spins, it looks like a galaxy hovering above the Little Lake.

To Winnie’s vast surprise, she ends up wearing a real smile shortly after the ribbon cutting. Dryden sets her loose to “mingle” and she almost immediately runs into Bretta and Emma at the goldfish toss. As always, they look amazing. Bretta has on a pistachio maxi dress under a black moto jacket. She munches from a bag of her favorite salt-and-vinegar chips. Emma, meanwhile, wears a jean skirt, thick tights, and a T-shirt with the Goblin King from Labyrinth on it—no chips.

“Winnie!” Bretta waves her over while beside her Emma unsuccessfully tosses Ping-Pong balls at fish bowls. Emma laughs when one of the balls bounces off the attendant’s head.

“Please stop doing that,” Arthur Sunday (senior class) says.

“It’s not on purpose .” Emma rolls her eyes in Winnie’s direction. “Obviously it’s not on purpose. I just really want a goldfish.” She tries again; the ball hits Arthur again.

He scowls.

“Maybe just give her a goldfish?” Bretta suggests with a flirty smile. “Then at least she’ll stop bonking you.”

“Or,” Emma counters, leaning onto her casted leg, “I’ll try a different angle—”

“No you don’t.” Bretta shoves the chip bag onto Winnie, then swoops in before Emma can put all her weight on the leg. “Dr. Dara literally said yesterday that you’re doing that too much.” She tucks an arm under Emma’s shoulder, shares her biggest smile for Arthur (who is too busy picking up Emma’s wayward Ping-Pong balls to notice the vibes Bretta is sending his way), and then hauls a complaining Emma onward. “Come on, Win!” she calls without waiting to see if Winnie actually follows.

But of course Winnie follows. For one, she is now Carrier of the Chips. For two, she is grateful for the distraction. Her eyes can’t stop searching for Jay, while her brain keeps catapulting back into Samuel’s office. It was so empty. And now it will always be empty.

Because of what Winnie did.

And where is Jay? Why isn’t he here?

As if reading her mind, Emma asks, “Hey, where did Jay go last night?”

Winnie’s feet slug to a halt. “Huh?”

“Last night. Jay didn’t come to the show at Joe Squared.”

“L.A. was so pissed, ” Bretta adds. Then she grabs the chips back to her and resumes munching.

Winnie’s whole body freezes over. They are beside the Nightmare Puppet Stage, where a sign declares the show will start at one o’clock. People stream around Winnie and the sisters. One guy glares.

“What do you mean Jay didn’t come to the show ?” Winnie doesn’t mean to shout this, but she definitely shouts this.

“Exactly what I said.” Emma’s face pinches up with apology. Bretta’s face, meanwhile, is a mishmash of indecision while she chews: Does she think Jay is an asshole for skipping his own show? Or is she worried like Emma clearly is?

“He was there,” Emma explains, “but then he left. Like, right before the show. With Councilor Tuesday and an Italian lady. He said he’d be back, but he never showed up. Normally he’s such a reliable Friday—”

Bretta snorts her doubt.

“—and we tried to find you last night to tell you he was gone, but… Well, you weren’t home.”

No, because Winnie was with Erica staring at dead bodies and spewing useless Compendium facts.

“You need a phone,” Bretta says. “Because we were actually pretty worried, Win.”

“Was Jay with you?” Hope lifts Emma’s eyebrows.

“No.” Winnie’s voice is back to being stuck in a tin-can phone. She is a chocolate bar sinking to the bottom of the Little Lake. “Jay wasn’t with me.” And I wasn’t with him because I am a terrible person. “ Did you,” she begins, “ask his aunt Lizzy if she’s seen him?”

“Councilor Friday?” Emma shakes her head. “No, but Trevor did call her last night during the show. She didn’t know where he was either.”

Winnie’s head detaches from her spinal column. Her gaze fixes somewhere on the quantum space between Emma and Bretta. I should have been there. If I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened. “You said he left with Jeremiah?”

“Yeah, Councilor Tuesday and an Italian lady. Hey, Winnie, is he okay?”

“Probably.” This is a lie, and the twins can hear that. “Thanks for letting me know,” Winnie adds. “I’m going to go find him right now.” She walks away, despite her friends shouting after her. Despite them calling, “Should we do something?”

Maybe he just got pulled onto an extra hunt, Winnie’s brain suggests . Or maybe he turned into a werewolf and is still sleeping it off. It’s the same list of possibilities Winnie conjured last night, except now she has actual evidence to push against her. The Crow promised to harm Winnie’s friends and family; now the woman has probably followed through.

People try to stop Winnie as she roves the Floating Carnival. Can I get a selfie? Hey, will you sign this? She ignores every request. Every face. Brilliant streamers and glittering lights smear around her. She passes the carousel with kelpies instead of horses. The funnel cake stand. The Tilt-A-Whirl. She hears Andrew call out from a Ring-the-Bell stand, where his mallet swing has only gotten him up to the third level. Sylphid. He groans. Then waves.

Winnie doesn’t wave back.

Anyone could be a Diana. A Diana could be anyone.

Calliope music follows her like a horror movie gone wrong. Her fingers straighten at her sides. Her stride lengthens. Her harpy-sharp vision scans and searches for the one face she needs.

She thinks of her sketches of Jay. She thinks of the boy, an orphan and so alone. She thinks of the wolf, cursed and terrified.

Winnie is almost to the Ferris wheel, where dry ice tentacles over the dock, caressing the full moon of the wheel like forest mist. A line is cordoned off—and there, right there, is the target of her hunt: Signora Caterina Martedì stands beside Marcia at the front of the Ferris wheel line.

“Signora,” Winnie declares, “allow me to join you on the jewel of our Floating Carnival.” Shouts of protest erupt from the people waiting in line. Until someone points out: “It’s Wolf Girl! The Midnight Crown!” That shuts everyone up.

“No, no, Winnie,” Marcia says through a pained smile. “ I am riding with the signora.”

The Crow smiles serenely. She was clearly expecting Winnie to confront her. “Of course, Signorina Wednesday. What an honor to ride the Ferris wheel with you. You do not mind, do you, Councilor?”

Marcia’s mouth bobs open. She can’t exactly say no, and Winnie can’t pretend she doesn’t feel a lemon twist of triumph over dominating Marcia so easily.

“Thank you, Councilor Thursday. Ciao ciao. ” The signora offers an arm to Winnie, as if they are longtime friends. As if touching each other is a totally normal thing to do.

Winnie takes the Crow’s arm. I’m not afraid of you. Then she smiles—a fake, cold smile. Her locket, she notes, isn’t warming at all.

Strangely, this close, the Crow reminds Winnie of Grandma Harriet— a woman Winnie barely knows and hasn’t seen since Dad disappeared. Harriet and the Crow have similar coloring, similar bearing. They have similar style, too: a scarlet, ankle-length gown undulates dramatically in the breeze. Martedì’s loafers click next to Winnie’s sneakers. A black shawl drips over her shoulder. Her gray hair is loose and wavy.

An attendant whom Winnie vaguely recognizes from Wednesday dinners hurries over to help them strap into a cart. Lights gleam on the Little Lake’s water, pulled like strands of caramel by the current. A chemical, musty smell from the dry ice fills Winnie’s nose. Then she is seated in the cart and the Diana is seated too, straight-backed and elegant, beside her.

“Grazie,” Martedì says as the attendant lowers a bar across them.

The Ferris wheel engine kicks on. The wood and metal groan. Winnie and her enemy begin to rise up from the fog. Pick your nightmare, spin the wheel! Or you’ll end up a Diana meal!

“Where is he?” These are the first words out of Winnie’s mouth. “What have you done with him?”

“You will have to tell me who you mean, Winnie.” The witch has lost her accent again. She stares with calm curiosity over the lake and Hemlock Falls expanding before them. Two weeks ago, Winnie thought all the lights of downtown were liars. Swamp fires pretending to be fairies. Now she knows it’s true.

There is no safety in Hemlock Falls. There is only death and Dianas and monsters.

“Cut the act.” Winnie leans toward the Crow. A scent like lavender cuts into her nose. “I know that Jay was with you last night, and that he never showed up for his band’s show. So where did you take him?”

“My, my.” The Crow clucks her tongue. “You are making a lot of assumptions here. Yes, I spoke to Jay Friday last night—just as I spoke to all the Lead Hunters.” She motions to the crowds. They are high enough now that everyone has become miniature. “But Jay left along with the rest of them—including your aunt—the moment we were finished. If he disappeared after that, well…” A shrug of her shawled shoulder. “That had nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t really care if you do. Have you found Jenna’s source yet?”

Winnie recoils. Wind sweeps against her face. It smells like funnel cake and a lingering tendril of dry ice. “Of course I haven’t.”

“And why not, Winnie?”

“Because you only gave me the task yesterday.”

“But you were searching long before that. And as you know, every minute you waste is one more minute that the Whisperer can use to kill people.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Of course it is.” The signora grins. “Do not mistake me for a patient Sunday swan, willing to wait until you decide you’re frightened enough to make a move.” She motions to the swan pontoon, regal and bright next to an array of colorful floats from the parade. “I am a Tuesday scorpion, and there’s venom in my sting.”

“You’re a cartoon villain, is what you are.”

The signora chuckles. Wind flings her hair across her face, but she lets it flutter there, unbothered. “I’m giving you until Wednesday morning. If I don’t have Jenna’s source by eight A.M. , then your boyfriend really will disappear—along with everyone else you care about.”

Wednesday morning. Winnie feels sick. The Ferris wheel moves too fast. The lying lights of Hemlock Falls melt together. Like hound masks.

“That’s not enough time,” Winnie croaks.

“For someone as industrious and illustrious as you? Surely it is.”

“I… need help, then.” Winnie can’t believe she’s squeezing this out. She can’t believe she’s sitting here giving this woman what she wanted all along: Leverage. Power. Control.

“You want my help?” The signora’s thick eyebrows rise in mock surprise. “Well, you certainly aren’t very polite about it.”

“Get rid of this spell on me. Let me tell Erica about you. And Jay—let me tell him too.” For the first time since leaving the maze, Winnie can say all of those things freely. No trivia replaces her words.

“You’re cute, but no.”

“Why not? Clearly you can turn the spell off at will, right? You’re letting me talk freely right now.”

“I can, Winnie, because it’s helpful to me. It is not helpful to me if you talk to your friends. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Okay fine, ” Winnie powers on. “You’re a Tuesday, so can you get me records of the night my dad vanished? That would help.”

“That I certainly cannot do.”

“Cannot or will not?” Winnie stares down at the carnival, oblivious and gorgeous. And a bunch of sitting ducks. “Then… then tell me what happened. You were there that night, clearly.”

“And I wasn’t the only one.”

“You mean other Dianas?”

“I mean your mother.” The smile returns, predatory now. A scorpion about to attack. “Maybe you should start with her, Winnie. Little Franny has even more secrets than you do—ones Jeremiah could never pry loose. But you… well, you’re her daughter. Maybe she’ll share them with you. And if not?” The signora shrugs. “Wednesday morning will be here soon enough.”