The Whispering Night (Luminaries #3)

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

As far as venues go for rowdy meetups away from snooping adult eyes, you can’t really beat the old museum. Art deco and white stone, it’s got four long galleries, seven side chambers, a glass conservatory, and—the most popular spot of all—a domed rotunda perfect for booming bass lines.

Winnie of course knew from Bretta’s text that there would be a party here tonight. What she wasn’t expecting was for it to be a masquerade.

This isn’t like the grand ball coming on Saturday, where a string quartet will play and all will marvel at the elegant, elaborate nightmare costumes that people like Fatima have designed. This is a party for teenagers, where booze flows in abundance (along with nightmare contraband), and the costumes are comparable in quality to what you’d find at a Halloween party for nons.

And although some of the costumes tonight are indeed mimicking nightmares, most are just… well, there are a lot of sexy nurses, sexy pirates, and sexy superheroes in attendance.

Winnie is, at the moment, the only not -costumed partygoer—which doesn’t seem to bother anyone, since they haven’t actually noticed her lurking against a column near the entrance with her hood pulled over her face and her hands stuffed into her pockets.

Except Casey Tuesday, who has managed to spot her and now stands uncomfortably close. He’s dressed like Dracula (which has no connection to actual Luminary lore, for the record, although some historians do speculate the Count might have been a Diana tapping into vampira magic). “Punch?” he asks. His breath plumes; the warm breeze from before has fled. Forest cold dominates again. “It has vodka in it.”

“No punch.” Winnie tugs her hood lower and wonders how the heck Casey noticed her. She’s far enough from the main entrance that none of the disco or strobe lights can reach her. Only music does, blasting from speakers she knows hang inside the main rotunda.

Casey tips back his cup. A scent like nail polish remover and strawberry sears up Winnie’s nose. Casey chokes. Then coughs. Then rubs at his now-tearing eyes. “So, I, uh…” Cough, rub. “I hear you and Jay Friday are dating. Is that true?”

Winnie grunts. If only she had some garlic with her. Or some holy water. Or hell, a wooden stake. Maybe if she waved it at Casey, that would get him to leave in a way that social cues never do.

He wipes his mouth and conspicuously does not sip more punch. “So if you’re dating, does that mean Jay’s taking you to the Masquerade Ball? Because I still don’t have a date.”

“I wonder why,” Winnie murmurs.

Casey nods enthusiastically. “I know, right? I’ve asked like sixteen people. But hey—you know what they say about lucky number seven… teen. So what do you say? Want to go with me to the ball?”

“No,” cuts in a new voice. “She will not go with you to the ball.”

As one, Winnie and Casey whirl toward a nearby shadow, from which Jay manifests. Maybe he was standing there all along; maybe he only just arrived on silent boots. Either way, his skeleton is at its tallest and there’s a cant to his jaw that would send most nightmares running.

Not Dracula, though. “Oh, hey, Jay. Want some punch?”

Jay ignores the question. “Winnie is my date for the ball, Casey. Are we clear?”

Winnie blinks. She’s been standing here for half an hour, fretting and freaking that Mario’s theory might make her view Jay differently—or worse, that it might make her blurt out something backed by zero evidence that he absolutely doesn’t need to know. But she shouldn’t have worried. Seeing Jay makes her feel as it always does: three parts extreme attraction + two parts deep respect for his air of competence + one part intense frustration.

“Ugh Jay!” She shoves off the column. “You haven’t actually invited me to the ball. So no, I’m not going with you.”

Jay rounds toward her, eyebrows shooting high. “I didn’t… know I had to invite you?”

“Of course you have to invite me.” Winnie glares behind her glasses. “For all you know I have plans on Saturday night.”

“Do you?”

Winnie shrugs. “I might. Casey here has invited me to the ball twice now, so maybe I will go with him.”

“Really?” Casey is so excited, he sloshes out punch. Alcohol whiffs through the night. “I have a mask that looks like a velue, so I’ll need you to get a dress in teal to match it. Also, I spent all my allowance on the new Call of Duty, so I won’t be getting you a corsage.”

“She’s not going with you, Casey. She’s told you that twice now.” Jay offers this without breaking eye contact with Winnie. His pupils have swallowed up most of the irises, making him look more animal than human. A puzzled animal with its head cocked to one side. “I’m confused, Winnie. If you’re my girlfriend, aren’t we supposed to do things together—”

“Girlfriend?” Winnie yanks off her hood. “You also haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend, Jay! These sorts of developments require conversation. You don’t get to… to just claim ownership .”

“I’m single,” Casey inserts. “So if Jay’s bothering you, Winnie, I will gladly step in.”

Now Winnie is the one to snap: “Oh my god, Casey. No.” Then, because she feels he deserves an explanation, she adds, “I’m not going to the ball with you because you spent four years being a total dick to me while I was an outcast.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“You toilet-papered my house.”

“Not by myself! I was with Peter, Dante, and Astrid!”

“Point proven. Now, if I may offer a suggestion: return Call of Duty so that you can get your future date a corsage. Oh, and go away.”

“But that game has hours of content, Winnie. A flower will wilt before the night is even over—”

“Casey,” Jay says. His pupils briefly shrink; the silver irises almost glow. “You need to go now, and give me and Winnie some space.”

Casey finally listens—because of course he’ll listen to a fellow male. Though he doesn’t stomp away without an assortment of swear words and a glare so petulant, it would give Marcus a run for his money. And if not for Jay stepping closer, Winnie would probably chase after Casey and dump fruit punch all over his costume. But as it stands, Jay is in fact stepping closer.

Way closer.

“Please, go with me to the Masquerade Ball, Winnie.”

“No.” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “You don’t get to command me to do things.”

“That wasn’t a command. It was a question.”

“Except that questions begin with a predicate, not a subject. Such as, ‘ Will you go with me to the ball?’”

“Okay, will you go with me to the ball? Say yes, and then be my girlfriend too.”

“Oh my god, Jay, what don’t you understand about questions ? Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Okay, Winnie. I’m sorry.” Jay moves even closer. So close now, Winnie has to tip her head all the way back. “Let me try this one more time. I have liked you since we were kids. You were the first person I kissed, and for four years, that kiss haunted me.”

“Oh.”

“And if I’m being honest, Winnie, it still haunts me. Because you haunt me. Waking up next to you Saturday morning, after a night on the hunt, was probably the best feeling I’ve ever had in my whole life, and I want to do it again. And again. And again. For as long as you want to do it with me too.”

“Oh,” she repeats.

“You’ve asked me a million times about where I take girls to make out, and the truth is I don’t have anywhere. Because no one has ever been you, Winnie. So please, will you be my girlfriend? And then will you go with me to the Masquerade Ball on Saturday? Oh, and…” He reaches up to remove her glasses. “Will you let me kiss you?”

“Yes,” she tries to say. Except all she can manage is a shaping of her mouth. A curt, almost desperate nod.

But Jay doesn’t kiss her. Not right away. Instead, he lifts a single finger and taps her nose. “Boop.”

Then he kisses her.

So hard it pushes Winnie’s back against the column. Or maybe she’s the one pulling Jay. It’s impossible to tell, and she definitely doesn’t care. All that matters is how her shoulder blades rub against cold stone. How the boom of the music vibrates into her ribs. How Jay’s hip bones feel so pronounced as they press against her.

Here is his waist, defined and firm. Here are his lips, kissing not just Winnie’s mouth, but her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.

She feels like she did when she drank melusine blood. Her whole body sparkles. Her neurons light up with the need for more Jay, more nightmare, more forest. She can’t think, she can’t breathe, she can’t do anything but pull Jay harder, harder against her.

His teeth tug at her earlobe. “Homeostasis,” he murmurs, and a laugh bubbles up from her lungs.

“Ah Jay,” she murmurs on cue. Then he is kissing her again, his tongue meeting hers while her fingers explore his back.

The night’s cold is gone now. Winnie is hot enough to scald. She is a phoenix burning into something new. A lantern shining against the night.

Until a voice charges over her: “Oh my god, you guys. No one wants to watch that. Please just get a room.”