Page 27 of The Hunting Moon
Once the shower is so hot it scalds like phoenix feathers, Winnie shoves inside. She scrubs off the grime of dead things. She thaws out the frost ofdawn. And she imagines herself, over and over again, stepping out of this painful heat, pink-skinned and reborn. The ashes of what Dad did forgotten and left behind… At least until a boy, lost and lonely in the woods, inevitably comes to her for answers.
Winnie really doesn’t know what she’ll tell him.
CHAPTER14
Somehow, despite the eternity of Winnie’s morning, it is still only Monday by the time she actually reaches school. And somehow, she has gotten even more famous since yesterday. Everyone is grinning at her or fist-bumping her or giving her thewhat’s up?chin bounce they’ve all bestowed these past two weeks, but now they’ve added a new epithet:Wolf Girl.
“Hey, Wolf Girl,” says a Sunday named Shaunielle.
“Aroo, Wolf Girl!” shouts Imran Saturday as he passes, while Astrid Söndag chants “Aroo, aroo!” beside him.
When dear cousin Marcus shoots finger guns at Winnie in the hallway and howls at her—aroo! aroo!—it is just too much. She corners him by a locker. “Why are people calling me Wolf Girl?”
To her mild satisfaction… and okay, slight shame, Marcus looks terrified at Winnie’s entrapment. She withdraws several inches.
“It’s the news,” he explains. “They, uh, showed more footage from your trial. From when the wolf bit you by the Big Lake.”
“Huh?” Winnie rears back. The wolf didn’t bite her by the Big Lake.
“With the manticore,” Marcus explains. “It’s really cool watching how the wolf came right for you at the same time as the manticore. You really should be dead.”
“Yes.” Winnie lurches into his face once more. “I should be. And no, it is notcoolwatching that, Marcus. That is my actual life, thank you.” Winniereleases him, and he scampers off like the goblin he is. Then she stomps toward homeroom while all around her people howl,Aroo! Aroo!
Weirdly, she doesn’t feel like her heart might explode. Or like spiders are trapped beneath her skin. She’s just… tired. So, so tired.
Because come on, people.Wolf Girl? That’s the best you can do? The nightmare mutation didn’t even pass into her with the bite, so if you’re going to call her anything, “Not Wolf Girl” would actually make more sense.
At least Fatima gives Winnie a cheery grin as Winnie ducks into her desk at the front of the room. Two weeks ago, Winnie hated this spot because it made her way too easy a target. Now she hates it because she feels a very different sort of gaze beaming onto her.
But what’s wild is that if you’d asked Winnie of two weeks ago which type of stare she’d prefer, she would have assumed the latter. Ofcourse.Popularity and acclaim? Yes, please! I’ll have that one in droves!
The tardy bell rings.
“I hope all of you are ready for a finger prick,” Ms. Morgan declares, moving in front of Winnie’s desk. She holds up her hand, where a Band-Aid gleams on her middle finger. “You’ll be getting tested for werewolf contamination at the Sunday estate today.” Her gaze flicks to Winnie.
Please, don’t say anything about the new footage. Please, don’t say anything about the new footage.
Thank the forest, Ms. Morgan doesn’t say anything. “It’s also that time of year where we all get to encourage the antiquated and—in my opinion—toxictradition of selecting our Nightmare Court for the Masquerade.” She retrieves a stack of papers from her desk. “If you all would be so kind as to write down three nominees from your peers—whomever you want, exceptno,Peter, you cannot nominate yourself, so don’t try that again.”
The room laughs. Winnie hopes he is squirming with shame behind her. She would look if it didn’t mean potentially making eye contact with him.
A paper falls onto Winnie’s desk as Ms. Morgan strolls by. It has three lines on it, and Winnie frowns. In the past, she was not allowed to vote. Now, she is and she knows she ought to be happy about it. This is exactly what she wanted. This is what normal Luminaries do on a normal Luminary day.
Somehow, she only feels more tired.
Winnie inhales through a yawn and quickly scrawls down the threenames of the only people in this town she actually likes: Emma Wednesday, Bretta Wednesday, Fatima Wednesday. Then she folds it in half to drop in the makeshift ballot box (a.k.a. an old shoebox) on her way toward the door.
Except Ms. Morgan stops her before she can reach the hall. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Winnie tries—except it doesn’t sound true at all. And as she eyes Ms. Morgan’s skeptical face, it occurs to her that ifanyonewill get it, surely it’s Ms. Morgan. After all, she is a non who grew up outside the Luminary world; her culture doesn’t run thicker than blood.
So Winnie takes the honest plunge.
“Do you ever find it weird how people here… Well, terrible stuff happens to us, but no one ever acts like it?”
“Ah.” Ms. Morgan sighs. Then fiddles with her Band-Aid. “I saw the footage last night too. And yes, Winnie, Idofind it weird. But that doesn’t make it wrong.”
“Ma’am?” Winnie frowns.
