Page 39 of The Hunting Moon
She needs to remembershe isn’t actually alone.
She’s so used to solitude, so used to thinking of her life in terms of two triangles—her, Mom, Darian, and then her, Erica, Jay—that she’s forgotten there’s now a new shape in her geometry. A lovely little square that she can absolutely depend upon.
Bretta, Emma, and Fatima have more than proven they care about her. Emma especially, by forgiving Winnie for not finding her fast enough on the third trial, as if that mistake were no more than a late arrival at Joe Squared.
“Well,” Bretta declares when they reach Professor Svenia’s classroom—where the three of them will now study third-year history, “let’s meet at the library after school.”
“Sunday library?” Fatima asks, even as Winnie is struggling to keep up. “Or Monday?”
“Sunday,” Emma says, referring to the teaching library behind the Sunday estate. “We’ve got that lab write-up due for anatomy, so we can help our poor beleaguered buddy here”—she makes a face that can only be described ashaunted revenant rising from the dead—“write her paper while she helpsuswith all her Compendium smarts.”
Winnie actually thinks she might cry. Her chest is swelling so fast, it’s like a balloon is expanding inside her rib cage—and it’s the exact opposite of the grinding tectonic plates she felt last night while staring at her ex–best friend.
Yes, she lost a Friday four years ago, and a Thursday too… but she has now gained three loyal Wednesday bears. She needs to stop forgetting that.
“Thank you,” Winnie says, embarrassingly choked up.
The three other corners of her square all notice. They beam and nudge her. Emma even offers an awkward sideways hug, crutches held tight in one hand. “See you after school!” she whispers before hurrying into class with way more weight on her left leg than she’s supposed to be using.
The bell rings.
Winnie is officially late to Coach Rosa’s class, and she will definitely have to talk to Marcus.
But she doesn’t even care. If he wants to mess with her, she will just flash on her phoenix flames as a distraction, then run away before he can speak to her again.
Winnie’s plan works quite effectively. At the first sight of Marcus on the training course, she breaks into a flat-out sprint, and soon, she is so far ahead of the class that there is no way his obnoxious self—or anyone else’s—will ever catch up to her.
“Meu Deus,” Coach Rosa says as Winnie comes barreling over the finish line of the obstacle course, mud up to her knees and sweat pouring off her face. Her heart thunders in her chest. “Did you snort phoenix powder or something?”
Something like that.
Coach Rosa gapes at the stopwatch in her hand. “That is twice as fast as you have ever done it before.”
“Can… I… leave… early then?” Winnie pants. She might have pushed it a little too hard. She feels borderline puke-y.
“Absolutely.” Coach Rosa gives an impressed laugh. “Enjoy the showers while the locker room is empty.”
Winnie does not enjoy the showers, but rather rinses off as fast as she can, changes back into her “civilian” clothes, and scoots out of the echoing expanse of the locker room before anyone can catch her there. Then she makes her way across campus to the Sunday library.
It is a strange building that doesn’t fit with the aesthetic of the rest of the estate: instead of the standard red bricks and wooden roof, there are white stones and a domed top. Two columns frame the front double doors, and it feels more like Winnie is stepping into a Roman palace than a library meant for students. There are even a few cypress trees reaching for the sky.
Winnie used to love this building. In fact, other than the Monday library and the old museum, this was her favorite building in Hemlock Falls, and as she steps inside, an almost painful wave of nostalgia razes over her.
Nothing has changed here; for a few moments, she can pretend she hasn’t changed either.
The door crashes shut behind Winnie. “Hello?” a voice calls. “Ms. Thursday, is that you with my coffee?”
Winnie hurries forward. Skylights filter in natural light to illuminate curved bookcases. Shelves stream past and colorful spines flash like melusine scales beneath the sun.
“Ms. Thursday?”
“Uh, no, ma’am.” Winnie pushes into the central area to find the Sunday librarian standing at her round desk. Andoh my god.This is not the librarian Winnie remembers. This woman is a walking advertisement for color. Never has Winnie seen so many shades in one place. It’s like if a tropical fish exploded on top of a bird of paradise while an entire paint store rained down.
And it’s not just color, but texture and dimension too. The woman’s knit sweater has little tufts and balls all over it, while her overalls are assembled from strips of different fabric, like velvet and burlap and denim. As shesteps around the desk to greet Winnie, Winnie catches sight of boots that are lime-green snakeskin. Then there are her thick-framed glasses with raised yellow polka dots, and her wide headband flashes with magenta sequins and orange lace. Her pale cheeks are dabbed with rouge that isverybright, and her lips and eyelids are even brighter with matching orange smears. The only part of her that lacks color is her hair, but it’s so shiny and white it almost reflects all the color right back at you.
Winnie literally has to squint to focus on this woman.
“Oh, you’re that girl on the TV,” the woman says. She is extremely tiny, and her voice is like a squeaking field mouse. “I’m Professor Teddy Funday.”
