Page 14 of The Hunting Moon
Winnie pushes at her glasses. “Hi.” She doesn’t know why she’s surprised to see Erica here. Erica is popular; Erica does what Luminaries are expected to do. She is a future councilor in the making.
But there’s something about Erica’s eyes right now—a brief parting of her usual stage curtain—that isn’t what Winnie expects to see.
Grief.
Winnie blinks. “Did you know Grayson?”
Erica’s lips compress. She is staring at the crude memorial poster. “Not really.”
“Oh.” And yet, Winnie is certain she senses sadness. It’s tightly leashed and Erica almost has it under control. But not even four years apart can erase how well Winnie knows her.
Erica might look different, might wear makeup like a model on the runway and dress so stylishly, she’d make an influencer weep with envy, but she is stillErica.
Then it hits Winnie.Of course.“They threw a party for Jenna, didn’t they?”
Erica’s breath catches. The leash loosens ever so slightly—just a quick shudder in her chest. “Grayson did, yeah. He… even invited me.”
“You were twelve.”
“I know.” Erica snorts. But it isn’t an angry sound. If anything, it’s amused. “I wanted to go too, but I made the mistake of asking my mom.”
Winnie gasps. “No you didn’t.”
“I totally did.” Erica’s eyes—so dark in these shadows—flit Winnie’s way. “Mom was furious. Even more furious than I would have expected, and I’m pretty sure she tried to stop Grayson from throwing the party.” She shakes her head. “He didn’t, though.”
From what little Winnie knows of Grayson, this sounds on brand.
“Does she know you came tonight? For him?”
“Of course not. You think I have a death wish?” Erica lifts a single eyebrow. “Mom thinks I’m spending the night at Angélica’s.”
“And Angélica’s mom thinks she’s spending the night with you?”
“Something like that.” Erica smiles. It isn’t big, but it’s genuine, lifting the edges of her mouth and crinkling into her eyes. “I did tell Papá, though. He, uh… well, you know him. He’s more okay with this sort of thing.”
Winnie does know Erica’s dad, Antonio Jueves, and he is the literal opposite of Erica’s mom in all ways: gentle where Marcia is harsh, lighthearted where Marcia is serious, and generous where Marcia is withholding. In fact, Erica, Jay, and Winnie all used to joke that he was theAntonio-nymto Marcia.
Winnie does not make that joke now. Although it does occur to her that,Oh my god, we’re having a civil conversation.Not just civil either, but actually friendly. Erica isn’t being her usual ice queen self—a perfect replica of Marcia—and Erica was even the one to initiate this conversation in the first place.
It also occurs to Winnie that she feels better. She doesn’t feel so sweaty; the nauseated spiders have passed; and the howling has faded in her ears. Maybe it wasn’t such a mistake coming to this party. If she can find a quiet spot, she can probably survive a few more hours here.
As if reading her mind, Erica dips her head toward the corner, to where a window hangs open and a draft steals through. “Maintenance access,” she says by way of explanation. “Ladder goes all the way to the roof.”
Then she bows her head, not quite an ice queen so much as a princess bidding adieu.
Winnie smiles.
Erica almost smiles back.
CHAPTER7
The ladder onto the roof is far more precarious than Winnie was anticipating. It’s not the worst thing she has ever climbed—that distinction goes to the hemlock tree Jay showed her in the forest. The one she barely ascended in time to escape vampira fangs.
Which is also where she watched the Whisperer decimate those same vampira as easily as a chain saw through grass.
Maybe because thisisn’tthe forest and thisisn’ta climb to save her life, the ascent feels a hundred times more terrifying. Each rung rattles and the wind whips against Winnie, thick with music and sharp with cold. She pulled her jacket back on before climbing, but failed to zip it up—a mistake she deeply regrets. If she falls into the haze of blue shadows below, her ice block of an abdomen will shatter into a hundred pieces.
Winnie isn’t sure why she keeps climbing. She wanted a splash of cold water to her face, not a potential fall to her death from the museum.
