Page 25 of The Hunting Moon
Winnie swallows. Then glances into the trees. She has the illogical sensation that the blood on the birches is pulsing. Little hearts visible through a rib cage. If any Tuesdays approach, she cannot see them. Yet.
“Okay,” she tells Jay, backing slowly away from him. “I’ll leave before anyone finds me here.”
“Good.” His posture deflates, although only momentarily as he realizes she isn’t returning the dampener. He locks up tight, shoulders wrenching toward his ears and gray eyes hardening to gunmetal.
Winnie keeps backing away.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t return this.”
“You have to.”
“Ican’t.” She wipes her wet face on her shoulder; it knocks her glasses askew. “Jay, Ican’t,” she repeats. “There’s no source in it, okay? It’s not dangerous. But I need whatever else it might tell me.”
“Why?” He moves forward as if to follow… but he only makes it two steps before his head snaps sideways. His pupils dilate. His stance lowers. “Tuesdays,” he says. “You need to go.”
“Yes,” Winnie agrees, and she pins the dampener under one arm so her other hand can be free.
Watching her adjust, Jay’s face creases into an expression that is simultaneously horrified, furious,andresigned. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, fingers flying to unbutton his flannel. “Shit,why do you always cause me so much trouble?” He stalks toward her, peeling his arms out of his sleeves.
And although Winnie would like to demand,When have Ievercaused you trouble, Jay Friday?,she instead keeps her mouth shut. “Take this,” he mutters, and he shoves the flannel at her. “Drape it over the dampener so no one else will see it.”
Chill bumps rise along his pale arms as he waits for Winnie to take his shirt. And as much as she wants to point out that he will freeze in this weather or that she has a sweatshirt of her own she can remove, there really isn’t any time. So she yanks the buffalo plaid from him—one more shirt of his to add to her collection at home—and murmurs, “Thank you.”
She turns away, wrapping up the dampener as she aims for the birch trees.
“You owe me an explanation,” Jay calls to her back. Winnie doesn’t answer, and by the time she dives into the forest, she hears distant shouts from Alpha scorpions arriving on the scene.
It is only when she is halfway through the forest that the full weight of what Jay is about to do sinks over her. She was so caught up with the dampener, with the Tuesdays coming, with the water shedding off her that she didn’t really processwhyhe was standing on that shoreline.
He is about to relive everything he went through with Grayson on Friday night. He is about to work through all that hell, step by awful step,while Tuesdays poke and prod and press with questions that someone has to ask… and only Jay can answer.
Yet, despite that slice of pain coming down the pipeline for him, Jay still took the time to help her. He still gave her his flannel and let her leave before anyone could see.
Winnie doesn’t know what it means, only that she owes him. Big time.
CHAPTER13
Clusterfuck: An occurrence not confined to the forest in which everything goes very badly all at once. See also: Winnie Wednesday.
Winnie didn’t think it was possible to hate her dad any more than she already does. It’s like he just can’t help it, like he justhasto constantly make her life as hard as possible. Running off four years ago as a Diana wasn’t enough; he then had to make a scavenger hunt that led right to a Diana dampener.
But where’s the source?Winnie’s brain wants to know. A valid question. Probably themostvalid question, along with:Did Dad put this dampener in the stream or was it the person who supposedly framed him?
As Winnie half sprints with frantic purpose through the forest, no Tuesdays pop up and shout, “GOTCHA!” But that doesn’t mean they won’t. It doesn’t mean she is safe with this dampener wrapped in wet flannel.
Nothing in Winnie’s body feels connected, frozen feet attached to frozen legs attached to a brain that is a ticking time bomb. If she can just cut the right wires, she can turn herself off… but it’s like she keeps snipping the wrong ones. Now the countdown is moving faster. Soon she will explode.
When Winnie reaches the edge of the forest and the red sensors promise safety beyond, she finally lets her clumsy, stream-numb pace slow. Notbecause shewantsto slow, but because she will reach the road soon—and at this hour, there will be people out.
In other words, she needs to play it cool. She is the epitome of normal, a model Wednesday, a loyal bear lumbering along at a completely respectable, unhurried pace toward home.
After all, a person who has nothing to hide willactlike they have nothing to hide. They won’t frantically sprint home, tear into their attic, dig out the birthday cards that could implicate their entire family as having colluded with a Diana, and then burn them in a trash can out back.
That is decidedly guilty behavior, and Winnie needs to behave like she isnotguilty. The empty tin in the stream was just a container that once held cookies. It is not a Diana dampener that looks like someone recently pulled a source out of it.
Friday estate,her brain suggests as she steps gingerly around the stakes at the forest’s edge. If she goes there, she could then walk home and reinforce the story that she was “hooking up with Jay.”
