Page 60 of The Hunting Moon
Winnie leans back in her chair, tongue sliding over her teeth. Her eyes find bits of adhesive stuck to the wall—remnant tape from when her nightmare sketches filled this stretch of beige. She ripped the drawings down after her second trial, when she first encountered the Whisperer directly. The night when it shredded an entire vampira horde, andno onewould believe that Winnie had seen it.
If she couldn’t make Aunt Rachel or the Council believe her then, how will she possibly make anyone believe her now? Especially since, other than her Venn diagram, she has no proof. No direct connection between the Whisperer and the Dianas—at least not one that’s obvious and easy to point to.
Sure, she can probably get away with telling Mario about the Whisperer and its potential connection tofamesspells, but she can’t give him a detailed explanation ofhowshe came to that conclusion. It’s still too risky for her family.
She also can’t sit here and do nothing, though.
After cramming her new lists and new diagrams deep into the bowels of her sketchbooks, Winnie digs out a Post-it note.
The paper is so crumpled, so handled, its fibers have softened into something resembling cloth. The ten numbers on it are faded to near oblivion.
Of course Jay would include his area code on here. As if Winnie wouldn’t know it already—as if not everyone in Hemlock Falls has exactly the same one.
She studies his handwriting by the warm light of her desk lamp. It is much like she remembers it: very tiny. As if he’s always conserving, alwaysholding back. Each number is a perfect little pen scratch, no bigger than it needs to be.
She snags her tea off the table, cold and inky. It looks borderline toxic. She hurries downstairs; Mom will be home soon, and she’d rather make this call alone.
After dumping the teabag, then rinsing out the cup for later use (it’s not gross, Darian, since it’s just going to hold more tea), she snags the phone off the receiver in the kitchen and plugs in Jay’s number.
The beeps fill the kitchen. Her fingers are shaking and her heart is hammering so hard—though if that hammering is because of the new Whisperer connection exploding in her brain or because it has been four years since she called Jay Friday, Winnie can’t say.
She puts the phone to her ear, listening as the rings begin. Then continue. Then eventually stop. Her breath is held. Has he answered or is it just—
Voicemail. “Leave a message,” says Jay in his gruffest tones. Then the beep comes.
Winnie doesn’t leave a message. Her heart still thunders. For some reason, she is cold. And now she’s downright pissy too, because Jay knows her house number. Sheknowshe knows it, and she would bet all thirty-four dollars and twelve cents in her old piggy bank that he saw the caller ID and opted not to answer.
And god, how typically Jay to take the time to record a voicemail welcome message, but then to half-ass the execution.Yes, I will give you my phone number, but then I’ll write it so small you have to hurt your eyes to read it.
Yes, I will play in a band and bare my soul through song, but the instant I’m onstage performing, I will shut down and stare at the floor.
Yes, I will train with you in the forest and even joke with you like old times, but the instant you want answers about the past, I will retreat and reject you.
Winnie slams the phone onto its stand and stomps back upstairs. Once in her room, she curls onto her bed and tows her sunflower covers up to her chin. She doesn’t need Jay’s help to find a way forward here. She is a Big Girl and a Wednesday hunter, so she can 100 percent figure out how to protect Hemlock Falls from a Diana… while also protecting her family from Hemlock Falls.
She doesn’t actually conjure any solutions, though. At least not before her eyes drift shut, her exhaustion from the night before finally catching up to her.
Pure Heart. Trust the Pure Heart.
Winnie awakens an indeterminate amount of time to her mom banging at the door. “Winnie? Are you in there? We need to go.”
Crap,Winnie thinks, wiping drool off her cheek. Then aloud, “Crap. I’m coming, I’m coming!” So much for looking great for the twins. She almost hopes Bretta does bring her something, because her haphazard flail around a room lit only by sunset through the curtains is turning into an even bigger nightmare than the sadhuzag.
Mom cracks the door open right as Winnie is yanking off her jeans from school. Her Save the Whales hoodie hangs off the back of her desk chair. Mom’s eyes widen at the sight of it. “Don’t wear that.”
Winnie sighs. “I’mnot.”
“Then…” Mom gives her a wary once-over. “Whatareyou wearing?”
“Erm.” Now Winnie is the one to fling a once-over at Mom, who wears a very respectable green blouse with long fluttery sleeves and a pair of dark skinny jeans that Winnie thinks might be new. Mom also has on smart leather boots with actual heels that Winnie knows aredefinitelynew.
“Thanks for taking me shopping with you.” Winnie glowers. “All I have clean are my black jeans and that black turtleneck—”
“That is about three sizes too small,” Mom finishes for her, her face crumpling. “Oh Winnie, you need to get better about doing laundry.”
“And you need to get better about inviting me to… to wherever you bought that.” She gestures at Mom’s ensemble, heat sliding onto her face because why didn’t she set an alarm? As much as she doesn’t want to go hobnob with Wednesdays right now, she also doesn’t want to look terrible doing it. Especially since, for once, Mom looks really sharp—and Darian most certainly will too.
“Lucky for you,” Mom replies, dipping out of the room, “I bought some extra items. Maybe something will fit you!”
