The Whispering Night (Luminaries #3)

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Under normal circumstances, Winnie would be thrilled by an entire day at the Science Fair. In fact, this is so on-brand for her, she is legitimately angry she can’t spend the hours enjoying behind-the-scenes access to all the new Monday inventions. Like, this is the only perk of winning the Midnight Crown, but rather than gush over technology, she spends every minute with a countdown timer in her head.

T minus forty-eight hours until the Crow makes good on her threats.

Sure, it sounds like a lot of hours… until you start carving out chunks for awards ceremonies and races (see the Tuesday schedule for details). Which is why Winnie has strapped on an old Timex dug out from the bottom of her closet: so she can keep track of exactly how much time she has before eight A.M. on Wednesday morning arrives.

As she tromps around from booth to booth, stage to stage, green room to green room, Winnie scowls when spoken to by any councilor (yes, even Leila Wednesday), smiles only for photos, and spends every tick-tocking moment pretending she doesn’t hear Dryden when he snarls at her, “Hurry up, Ms. Wednesday! There are more exhibits to see and judge.”

Marcia is, of course, less gentle, screwing a Philips-head fingernail into Winnie’s spine whenever Winnie dares question a Monday about their invention. Wow, so you’re modeling this suit after kelpie anatomy? How do you make the circulatory system preserve warmth without a pumping mechanism?

Screw, screw, screw.

Tens of booths, tens of inventions, and Winnie can’t enjoy a single one. Her only “relief” comes in the thirty-minute bathroom break she gets before lunch. She’s at least got access to a VIP toilet, and it’s right as she’s about to stride in that Darian springs.

“There you are,” he pants, his cheeks red as if he already got started on the Tuesday Olympics. “I’ve got something for you.” He reaches into a leather messenger bag at his hip—one Winnie recognizes, but has never seen so sloppily stuffed before. But then he pauses. “Oh… you bought more clothes.”

For the first time since the Big Bang created the universe, Winnie is actually better dressed than her brother, and she can see he is having trouble processing this. He smooths at his rumpled pale pink sweater—which actually looks a lot like her sapphire-blue sweater (jewel tones!) that is brand new, and therefore doesn’t need smoothing. She has paired it with the same jeans as yesterday, and though she knows she’d look better in literally any other shoes in her closet, she opted for combat boots this morning. Because come on: Nightmare Safari? She ain’t hiking in the forest without proper footwear.

“Erica helped me,” Winnie says, the implication being You didn’t .

It flies over Darian’s head. He blinks behind his glasses (no longer smudged). “You’re friends again?”

“Why? Want access to Marcia?”

Now he grimaces. “You’re still mad at me, huh?” Genuine shame collapses his skeleton like a folding chair. For a brief moment, he is not only worse dressed, but also the shorter sibling too.

And now Winnie feels bad. Because it’s not really him she’s mad at. That’s the Crow, whom Winnie has seen neither feather nor talon of today. Still, she lacks the energy to apologize, so she simply says, “Did you need something? Because I’ve really got to pee.”

“Oh, right.” Still frowning, Darian digs into his bag and withdraws a scuffed-up flip phone of the not-smart variety. “This is for you. I guess Fatima raised it with Leila that you should have a phone, and so Leila said I could pull one from the city hall supply closet.” Darian smiles tentatively. “So… yay? It’s ready to go, with my number in it, and Dryden’s too. Just in case.”

Just in case what? Winnie thinks. Even if the sleeping spirit were to wake up and all of Hemlock Falls were to disintegrate beneath a mass of seething nightmares, Dryden Saturday would still not be a person Winnie would call. Nonetheless, she makes herself match Darian’s smile—though hers is more pained than tentative —and accept the phone from his grip.

“You push that button there, with the face-looking icon, to access contacts.”

Winnie pushes said face-looking icon. Sure enough, numbers pop up. Except there are more than two. “You put Andrew’s number in here.”

“Yeah.” Darian’s smile spreads into something more natural. “And the house number’s in there. And Mom’s new office line. Oh, and Leila suggested I include hers and Fatima’s numbers, so then while I was at it, I tossed in Jay’s. And, ah… how’s it going with you two?”

Winnie snorts. Since there is literally no way for her to explain that her relationship would be great if Jay’s life weren’t under constant threat by a nightmare mutation and a Diana cornīx, she instead opts for: “I think you should be more worried about your own relationship, Darian. I saw Andrew at the Carnival yesterday, and he was so very aggressively alone. Like, the poor guy was banging the hammer at the Ring-the-Bell by himself. No one to cheer him on.” Winnie doesn’t add that she didn’t cheer Andrew on either. “So… you know. Maybe you should take him out for a nice time at the Carnival? Or I don’t know, take off Wednesday and do the Hunters’ Feast together.”

“Right.” Darian looks faintly ill, which Winnie is starting to recognize as the look he gets whenever he peers into the crystal ball of his future and sees only Dryden Saturday staring back.

Exchange Dryden with Witch, and Winnie can relate.

“Fraternal failures,” he mutters to himself as he shuffles away, “and ruined relationships. Great job, Darian the Destroyer.”

Okay, now Winnie does feel bad. Darian only alliterates when he’s at the farthest end of his stress spectrum.

Once she has relieved her bladder, washed her hands, then snuck back into an empty stall so no one can talk to her, Winnie pulls out her “new” phone. Texting is even more awkward without a proper keyboard, but she’s able to fire off a message to Jay.

This is Winnie. Got a phone. How was last nite?

She sits and waits for a reply, but none ever comes. Which she tries not to freak out over. She also tries not to imagine him once more transformed in the forest, where either hunters or nightmares might kill him. Or once more sucked into the Crow’s and Jeremiah’s clutches over pretenses Winnie can’t protect him from.

She sends Fatima a message too while she waits.

This is Winnie. Thanx 4 asking ur mom 4 phone 4 me

People come and go in the bathroom. Minutes ooze past, too slow and yet too fast since Jay isn’t responding. Werewolf. Witches. Wednesday. Whisperer. Flowers germinate, bloom, wither across Winnie’s brain. Her fingers itch to draw.

Until at last, the phone makes a ding.

It isn’t Jay—much to Winnie’s disappointment. It’s Fatima. Yay! A phone! Where are you? I’ll be at the Monday lunch with my mom. Sit with me?

Winnie sighs. Her heart is booming, and she hates herself for wishing this were Jay. She hates herself even more when she realizes, as she pushes off the unused toilet, that she’s no better than Darian. That her own friends have been just as abandoned as Andrew.

Winnie saw Emma, Bretta, and Fatima in Nightmare Anatomy yesterday at the Sunday estate, but she barely spoke to them. She didn’t update them on Jay, and she definitely didn’t apologize for suddenly striding off in the middle of the Carnival. Yet not once did they push or pester her. They gave her space to be silent and sulky. And they also gave her a goodbye hug before she had to break off into her new Luminary history class during third period.

Here she is, telling Darian to be more attentive to his boyfriend, when she herself has been a Grade A Crappy Friend.

True, Winnie can’t talk about what’s going on because all these secrets in her life aren’t hers to share—and then there’s a freaking silencing spell on her to boot. But there are also plenty of innocent topics she could chat about, like Fatima’s costume for the Masquerade and all the epic stuff Winnie saw during the first half of the Science Fair.

Oh, and there’s the Compendium Art Competition, which did get officially announced today, exactly as Ms. Morgan promised.

With more pep in her step than she’s had all day, Winnie abandons the bathroom. As she walks, she considers how kelpie circulation could be applied to one of Fatima’s costume designs—how she might draw such a system, each artery and vein a gentle stroke across the page.

But her pep is short-lived. She’s like one of those cartoons that comes to such an abrupt halt, they leave smoking skid marks behind. Because in the long hall where lunch is being served, buffet style, Winnie finds Signora Martedì. A cartoon all her own, but of the evil, mustache-twirling variety.

And right now Martedì is twirling her mustache directly over Fatima.

Winnie spots them from three tables away. The hall, which is normally used for Monday dinners, has high rafters and skylights to glare down a garish light. Where the Wednesdays have a massive, elegant fireplace in their dining room, the Mondays have a podium and blackboard meant for guest lecturers.

Right now, the blackboard reads WELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE MASQUERADE! Then below that is the same message in all the other languages of the Luminaries. Bienvenidos al Festival de Máscaras de las Pesadillas , ??? ?????? ?? ?? ????? , Добро пожаловать на Маскарад Кошмаров, ?????? ?????? ?? ????? ??? ??? ????? , and on and on.

And ten steps away from the podium, at a round table with diners and food, sits Fatima… with Signora Martedì parked right beside her, laughing and clapping and patting Fatima’s shoulder as if they are the bestest of friends.

Winnie stares for several seconds, her teeth rolling out a rhythm behind her lips that would make a snare drum proud. Her first instinct is to stomp over to Martedì and scream at her to back the hell off! But she knows this would make A Scene, and A Scene isn’t something Winnie wants—at least not for Mom’s sake. She also wouldn’t be able to explain herself to anyone.

Why did you just scream at one of the most important members of the Martedì clan?

Because will-o’-wisps lure their prey with lights! That’s why!

Winnie’s toes inch forward. Her second instinct is to turn tail and run. Just text Fatima an apology and seek refuge once more in the bathroom. Not because Winnie is scared of Caterina Martedì (although, let’s be real: she is), but because the woman loses all her manipulative sway if Winnie never sees her asserting dominance over Winnie’s friends.

And that’s clearly what’s happening here: the Crow wants Winnie to know she can and will get to every one of Winnie’s closest friends. Wednesday morning will be here soon enough.

That’s when Winnie feels it: a heat against her sternum. Her locket is warning of magic, warning of the Crow. Martedì knows Winnie is here, even if Fatima hasn’t noticed yet.

The Crow looks up. Her eyes meet Winnie’s, and she smiles. Then her hand, currently placed on Fatima’s shoulder, tightens. It’s a movement that could be interpreted kindly, supportive, endearing by anyone on the receiving end. But Winnie knows it for what it really is.

She knows because she feels a whisper of power scrub down the back of her neck. Feels her locket blare all the hotter. And sees Signora Martedì’s smile turn threatening.

Then Martedì straightens. Withdraws her hand from Fatima. And in a swirl of black shawl and silver hair, she pivots away.

Which is when Fatima finally spots Winnie too. She waves, eyes brightening. “Winnie! I got a sandwich for you. Hope you like veggie medley because that’s all that was left.”

Winnie shambles forward, her eyes locked on the Crow’s retreating back. Her shawl gives her the look of wings, and Winnie would bet big money that’s intentional. Slowly, Winnie’s locket cools.

She drops down next to Fatima. Her heart is giving her snare-drum teeth a run for their money. “Hey, who… was… that talking to you?”

“Oh? Signora Martedì? She’s the Tuesday liaison, and wow! She’s so nice, Winnie. She told me she studied fashion for a few years in Milan, when she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay in the Luminaries or not. And then she said she’d come look at my Masquerade Ball designs this afternoon. How cool is that?” The gleam in Fatima’s eyes is decidedly heart-shaped as she continues gushing.

And Winnie finds herself caught once more in the Crow’s feathery clutches. She can’t warn Fatima; she can’t scream, STAY AWAY! But there’s also no way in hell she’s going to gush alongside her friend and say, Oh yeah, Martedì is the absolute best. I just love her!

So Winnie sits there instead, mouth bobbing and heart drumming, and tries to find a way to veer Fatima away from praising a villainous Diana who wants to ruin Winnie’s life. Tick tock, tick tock. Wednesday morning will be here soon enough.

T minus forty-four hours.

As Fatima continues to recap every awesome word that Caterina Martedì uttered (which included so many compliments on Fatima’s own style), Winnie shoves a veggie sandwich down her gullet. It’s way too much mayo. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. But when Fatima pauses to bite into her own sandwich, Winnie leaps at the chance for a subject change.

“I thaw”— gulp, swallow —“some really cool inventions today. Maybe you can incorporate them into one of your designs. Like, there’s this one armor that covers only the chest—but it can be extended downward over the thighs with the simple push of a button.”

Now Fatima is the one to gulp and swallow. “Whoa. How does that work?”

Excellent. “The layers of the armor are modeled after the keratinous shell on turtle-wyrms, but specifically the head flap. Here, I’ll show you.” Winnie grabs a napkin, Fatima hands her a pen, and in seconds, Signora Martedì is forgotten.

Or at least, she’s forgotten for Fatima. Winnie hasn’t forgotten the Crow at all, and it’s probably not a coincidence that she and Fatima end up designing a costume they name The Hunter…

Which is a gown stylized after the ancient Roman goddess Diana. Yes, that Diana whom the witches are named for—but who was actually a symbol for the Luminaries on the hunt before that.

Winnie isn’t backing down from the Crow. She isn’t going to let Martedì scare her. And with a real hunting bow in one hand and a real knife sheathed on a jeweled belt at the waist, Winnie’s sketched figure with Fatima’s design overtop is pure, unadulterated badassery .

Winnie is just finishing the sketch (okay, the model’s hands kind of look like popcorn) when Fatima’s phone dings. Winnie’s too. When they look, they find messages from Bretta. Except on Fatima’s phone, it’s a group chat that also includes Emma. On Winnie’s… Well, it’s just a message from a number she hasn’t saved yet.

Party tonight at the old museum. We going?

“Hmmm.” Fatima glances Winnie’s way, frowning. “Do you want to go? Because honestly, I’d rather stay home and work on my designs.”

Winnie hesitates. She wants to respond: If we go, would that keep you from meeting with Martedì this afternoon? But this is silly, so Winnie instead shakes her head. “Naw, I’m tired. I’ll just turn in early.”

“Really?” Fatima’s eyes narrow. “Is that really your reason?”

“Um, yes?” Oh crap, that sounds like a lie. “Why wouldn’t it be?” God, that sounds even worse.

“It’s just…” Fatima runs her tongue over her braces. “You’ve felt kind of distant lately. And you’ve been hanging out with Erica Thursday a lot. Which is fine, you know, but we can all be friends. You don’t have to choose her over us.”

Winnie stares at Fatima. She feels sick. She feels guilty. Worse, there’s so very little she can actually say to explain what’s going on. “It’s not like that,” she insists—and because this is true, it comes out with the necessary amount of emphasis. Of friend-shaped panic. “I promise it’s not like that, Fatima. Erica and I—it’s just… there’s some stuff I have to do with her, okay? But you and Emma and Bretta are still my best friends. I promise.”

“Okay.” Fatima huffs a tense laugh. “I’m glad to hear it.” Now she smiles and lifts up her phone. “I’ll answer for the both of us, shall I? No… party… for me… or Winnie. Maybe… next… time. Oh, but hey—are you going to hunter training tomorrow at dawn?”

Winnie groans. Right. Hunter training. She one thousand percent forgot about it this morning. “Are you?”

“Not tomorrow, but Bretta wants to start on Wednesday. So I think I’ll go then. How was it for you last Friday?”

“Intense,” Winnie admits, although she doesn’t elaborate. She’s still wriggling with shame. “Hey, um, I haven’t thanked you yet for the phone. I really appreciate you telling your mom I needed one.”

“Aw, you got it, Win. Anything for our besties, right?” Fatima smiles once before her thumbs start flying again across her phone. And Winnie, feeling even worse, twists away so she can scan the crowded room filled with the brightest lights of the Luminaries.

The Crow is nowhere to be seen. She and her wings have retreated to the shadows, and when Winnie touches her locket, she finds it cold as a candle blown out. Cold as a lantern forgotten on the Big Lake’s spring shore.

Jay Friday, 1:35 P.M.

How do I know this is really Winnie?

Winnie, 1:37 P.M.

Ugh Jay

Jay Friday, 1:37 P.M.

Okay, verified. That was easy

Winnie, 1:38 P.M.

When can I c u?

Jay Friday, 1:39 P.M.

Why are you texting like a grandma?

Winnie, 1:39 P.M.

Old phone

Jay Friday, 1:39 P.M.

So your new phone is an old phone. For some reason, this feels very appropriate for you

Winnie, 1:40 P.M.

I am insulte

d

Winnie, 1:44 P.M.

Did u talk 2 Mario?

Jay Friday, 1:44 P.M.

Yes, but he’s busy with the fair today. He said to come back tomorrow

Winnie, 1:44 P.M.

Can u wait that long?

Jay Friday, 1:45 P.M.

One more night won’t do anything

Winnie, 1:47 P.M.

I hope ur right

Jay Friday, 1:47 P.M.

Don’t worry, Win. Everything will be fine

Winnie, 3:31 P.M.

Any progress on my condition? This is Winnii

Erica Thursday, 3:37 P.M.

So you finally got a phone. Thank god. And no. No progress yet.

Winnie, 3:37 P.M.

2 bad bc my mom has same condition

Erica Thursday, 3:39 P.M.

WHAT

I’m sorry, what?

Winnie, 3:40 P.M.

Can I call? Have ceremony soon

Erica Thursday, 3:40 P.M.

No. I’m with my parents right now. □

Winnie, 3:40 P.M.

Did u use emoji? I see only empty box. Phone is 2 old 4 emojis

Erica Thursday, 3:41 P.M.

Of course it is. Jesus, Winona. You are the opposite of a Thursday

Winnie, 3:42 P.M.

Is that a compliment?

Erica Thursday, 3:42 P.M.

No.

And yes, I included a skull emoji with my text because I am slowly dying as I endure nightmare anatomy

Winnie, 3:43 P.M.

U r wrong. That’s best class of day

Erica Thursday, 3:44 P.M.

□□□□□□

That was 6 more skulls, for the record. And here are 6 more. □□□□□□

Winnie, 3:44 P.M.

Got 2 go 2 ceremony. Talk more l8r

Erica Thursday, 3:45 P.M.

Jesus, reading your texts causes me actual pain

Chat more later, xo □

Winnie, 4:15 P.M.

Mom, I got a phone

Francesca Wednesday, 4:17 P.M.

Who is this?

Winnie, 4:17 P.M.

Your dauter

Francesca Wednesday, 4:18 P.M.

I don’t have a dauter

Winnie, 4:20 P.M.

DAUGHTER WITH A G AND AN (a?) H

Francesca Wednesday, 4:20 P.M.

Ah, yep. That’s Winnie alright

How is the science fair?

Winnie, 4:21 P.M.

Would b better w out crown

Phone is old

Slow 4 text

Francesca Wednesday, 4:22 P.M.

Ah, okay. That explains the robot voice

Boop-beep-boop. I. Am. Winnie. Dauter Model 1.6.

Winnie, 4:22 P.M.

Buy me new phone?

Francesca Wednesday, 4:23 P.M.

Cute. But money doesn’t grow on trees, kid

Winnie, 4:24 P.M.

It does n Brazil forest

Predatory tree w bark made of pure gold

Francesca Wednesday, 4:24 P.M.

Welp, you’ve proven your identity

When will you be home tonight, Winnebago?

I have an early shift at the Daughter tomorrow

Daughter with a g and an (a?) h

Winnie, 4:25 P.M.

B home after safari

Francesca Wednesday, 4:25 P.M.

Okay, sounds good. Have fun.

I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND THEN SOME

But really, I do.

And thanks for sharing what you shared last night. We’ll figure it all out, okay?

Winnie, 4:26 P.M.

Ok, Mom

Love u 2 4ever