Page 16 of The Hunting Moon
“And that’s fine,” Jay replies. He sets the vape aside. “It’s one of the things I like about you.”
“I didn’t know you liked anything about me.”
He grunts, a noncommittal sound that stings more than it should, and for several minutes, they sit in silence. Winnie watches the horizon, and Jay watches her. Sheknowshe watches her because she can feel his eyes studying her profile while she gazes at the lying lights of downtown.
She isn’t cold anymore.
Until eventually, she can’t handle the staring a moment longer. She twists toward him. “So is this your famous make-out spot?”
Jay’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You told me that there were better places to make out than in the forest. Is this one of them?”
“Oh shit,” he says, swooping up his beer and twisting off the cap. “What a thing to ask me, Winnie.” He gulps back a long swallow. When he finally lowers it, a smell of yeast and sugar drifts Winnie’s way. It’s a welcome reprieve from the weed.
She wishes it were bergamot and lime.
“Winnie,” he says, squaring his torso her way. “This is not one of my make-out spots.”
“Ah, too bad.” She shrugs. Then realizes a heartbeat too late how her words must sound.
Jay realizes too, and somehow his eyebrows rise even higher.
“I mean,” Winnie quickly amends, “it’s too bad for the world. Not for me.”
“Right.”
“Right,” she insists. Then, because she is desperate to change the subject, she says, “Tell me what Grayson was like.”
Jay’s jaw clenches. His muscles lock up. And for several seconds, Winnie is worried that she crossed some invisible force field and dug too close to the secret heart of him.
But then his answer emerges: “Fearless.”
Ah.One more thing Grayson and Jay have in common then.
“Did he really steal a Hummer and drive it off the dam?”
“Yeah, he really did.” Ever so slowly, Jay’s muscles release. He grabs the bottle for another swig. “Don’t you remember? It was all anyone talked about for days.”Drink. Swallow. Return bottle to rooftop.
“They didn’t talk about it to me.” Winnie pulls off her glasses and frowns at the lenses, glinting in the night. “Outcast, remember?”
Jay winces. “Right. And it wasn’t on the news.”
“Why not?”
“Because it happened on Grayson’s second trial, which the Saturdays were overseeing.”
“Ah.” The Saturdays—i.e.,Dryden—do not appreciate negative attention. “Did they punish him?”
Another swallow. “No.” Jay stares out over the trees. “I don’t know why either. They even let him pass the trial—and obviously he became a hunter. But it was weird. The whole thing was just… weird. And now?” Another swig. Another head shake. “Now I’ll never know why.”
“I’m sorry, Jay.” Winnie reaches out a hand, as if to take his. But then she stops halfway. Her fingers fall useless to the frozen roof.
“Me too.” His gaze flicks to her hand. One heartbeat. Two. Wind whips against him, pulling up his hair. Until finally, he reaches out and takes her fingers in his own. Then he slowly levers himself back onto the shingles and stares up at the sky.
His grip is cold and damp from the beer bottle. For some reason, it makes Winnie think of the forest when it rains.
Jay’s chest rises. His chest falls. He doesn’t look at Winnie again, nor does he speak. The only sound is the music from the conservatory, the shouts and the laughter and thedarkness, darkness, lightof the Luminaries within.
