Page 17 of The Hunting Moon
Eventually Winnie joins him, lying back upon the roof beside him, her hand still clutched in his. And together, they watch the night pass and pretend that whatever this is between them is totally normal, totally fine and that the forest isn’t lurking only a few miles away. Or that there isn’t a four-year history trailing behind them, filled with hurt and loss and unanswered questions that Winnie can never wholly forgive him for…
Right now, Jay grieves, so right now, Winnie will stay with him, this lost boy in a suit that doesn’t fit and a new title that fits him even less.
CHAPTER8
It is almost 2:00A.M.before Winnie finally gets home. She is so tired, her brain hurts. Her ears hurt too from all the noise. And that crow still sits on the roof and laughs at her while she sneaks back in. But Winnie has no trouble falling asleep and staying there as soon as she curls into bed.
She dreams of a wolf howling upon a rooftop.
Then she dreams of the Whisperer, hunting her through the forest while a full moon beams down—except that in this dream it has a new name. One that comes to her on banshee tears, sliding down her cheeks.
Pure Heart. Trust the Pure Heart.
She has no idea what that means.Pure Heartisn’t in the Compendium any more thanWhispereris.
When the telltalebzzzzzzof her alarm sounds at eight, Winnie awakens with a smell like burning plastic in her nose. Her head throbs from too little sleep. She slams down the snooze button. Ten more minutes. She will sleep ten more minutes; then she can no longer delay the inevitability of time.
Thank the forest that classes start late in Hemlock Falls to accommodate corpse duty and last night’s hunters…andto accommodate the frequent parties.
Winnie’s heart pinches thinking of Grayson Friday.
Then it pinches tighter thinking of Jay. She held his hand for what seemed a lifetime, thought it was really only half an hour in the end. Her shivering eventually roused him like a revenant in the forest, and togetherthey returned to the party. She found the twins playing a game of catch-the-source—where you try to catch a Wiffle ball using only a Solo cup filled with booze—and Jay vanished into the crowds.
She didn’t see him again. She hates how much she wishes she had.
Winnie rolls to her side and squints at the Wednesday bear on the back of her door. It’s fuzzy without her glasses, like a creature trapped in the forest’s mist. And as tired as she might be, she did manage to assemble a plan in the wee hours of her partying night. All the howls, all her failed attempts to burn bright as phoenix… She can’t continue like this. She needs to know she isn’t going mad.
“The cause above all else,” she murmurs. “Loyalty through and through.” She yanks off her sunflower covers, warm and bright and kind—more lies like the lights of downtown—and fumbles her glasses off her nightstand.
The Wednesday bear sharpens. And Winnie nods good morning. It’s time to start her Sunday.
She has work to do.
CHAPTER9
Nightmare Masquerade: An annual festival hosted in each Luminary city around the world intended to display new local nightmare discoveries, the latest technological advancements, and new methodological developments. The weeklong event culminates in an elaborate masquerade.
Winnie doesn’t go straight to the Sunday estate for the required weekend training. Instead, she veers her bike north, pedaling onto a pier that hugs the Little Lake. Fog drifts lazily over the water, and a light drizzle mists her glasses.
She just wants one person to tell her she isn’t crazy. That’s it—only one. Then she can feel normal again. No more questioning her own sanity, no more grenade shrapnel in the heart.
As she rolls north, an enormous circus tent rises before her. Though it’s used for the Nightmare Masquerade, signs now promise aWEREWOLF TESTING SITE COMING SOON.
Once upon a time, the Masquerade was just a single party hosted on the Saturday estate. Now it’s a veritable spidrin of a festival, its web spread all over Hemlock Falls and lasting seven days. Here beside the pier is where the Floating Carnival will unfurl, colorful and brilliant in a way the forest never can be.
Before Dad left, the Floating Carnival was Winnie’s favorite part of the Masquerade. The booths and the rides and the funnel cake. Now, though, she just sees a place where the Whisperer could spill a lot of blood.
But hey, at least then people might believe it’s real!
She hates herself for thinking that.
Winnie leans her bike against a bench overlooking the waters, then makes her way toward the tent’s main entrance. People zoom about with boxes and crates and folding tables. In and out of the tent they move, Monday worker ants going where their councilor, Theresa Monday, barks and orders.
Winnie does not want to interact with that high-powered, boardroom-worthy lady, so she ducks into the tent behind a man pushing a dolly. His boxes are labeled with various dire warnings:Fragile! Toxic! Handle with care!
Inside the tent, the clatter of voices, ripping tape, and groaning tables pummels against Winnie with all the ferocity of a harpy dive-bombing from the sky. She has to pause for a second beside a booth near the entrance to get her bearings.
ARCHIE’S FAMOUS FUNNEL CAKES, the sign reads, and Winnie realizes with a jolt of horror that they aren’t just assembling a testing site—they’re also assembling the Floating Carnival. Which… of course they are. OfcourseDryden would use this chaos as an opportunity to get started on the only thing he really cares about.
