Page 62 of The Hunting Moon
Winnie tries not to wince. She is most assuredly not ready. “Right,” she says. “I’ll be there.”And putting up with your horrible son the entire time.
Rachel smiles, though it’s strained. She isn’t a live wire like Mom, but there’s obviously something on her mind. She shifts from foot to foot. Her arms cross over her chest. Then uncross. Then she finally sighs.
“Look, now that Jay Friday is a Lead Hunter, I know he doesn’t have time to train you. That means you’re not getting in the work you need to hone your skills, and, uh…” She pats at her slacks’ pockets until she finds a folded paper. She offers it to Winnie. “This is the Wednesday training schedule. I expect to see you at some of the meetups, okay? Assuming you still want to hunt.”
Rachel says that last bit almost jokingly—assuming you still want to hunt—and Winnie forces herself to laugh. It’s a sound that’s part punch of air, part giggle because ofcourseshe wants to hunt. Ofcourseshe wants to train. That is literally the only thing she has ever wanted for the last four years. Every moment for overfourteen hundreddays she has spent focused on that one goal: becoming a hunter, restoring her family’s name.
And yet…
Winnie swallows. Her throat is itchy, and though she grips the folded training schedule, she makes no move to open it. The Ping-Pong balls bounce inside her skull. None of them are labeledHunter.
As if Rachel can see these thoughts playing out on Winnie’s face—which good god, Winnie hopes she cannot—her expression softens. It’s a flash of sympathy that stirs a memory in Winnie’s brain. A time when she saw those same slanting brows, those same sideways-pursing lips. Except then, Rachel was standing on Winnie’s front porch when she said,I’m sorry, Win. You have no idea how sorry I am, but I have to follow the rules. I can’t talk to you anymore.Then she walked away and stayed away for four eternal years.
Now, Rachel says, “There’s no rush, okay? I mean that.” She rests a hand on Winnie’s biceps. It’s awkward, but the sentiment in her grip is genuine. “Why don’t you pick one session a week to train, and we’ll start there. We can ease you in slowly because really, Winnie”—her grip tightens—“there really is no rush. Safety and comfort are the priority.”
Are they though?Winnie thinks as she watches Rachel turn away and melt into the crowd. Unlike Winnie or Mom or Darian, Rachel is an adept liar. Like, top-notch, lie-to-your-face-without-missing-a-beat liar. She lied after Winnie’s trial, first to Winnie and then to everyone else. And then she lied during the second and third trials too.
She knew Winnie didn’t kill that banshee; she knows it still today; andfor some reason that thought makes a question rise in Winnie’s mind: If Aunt Rachel lies so easily about the banshee, then what else is she hiding? What else does she know?
And… does any of it have to do with Winnie’s dad?
CHAPTER33
Winnie has no time to study her Rachel-shaped questions before the twins find her. Bretta, dressed in a floral-print baby doll dress, gives Winnie a once-over. “It’s not terrible,” she admits grudgingly, a wave directed at Winnie’s outfit. “But that sweater is a little—”
“Mommish.” Winnie’s spine sags. “Iknow,okay? I took a nap and overslept. This was the best I could do.” She waves helplessly at the blah outfit that her amazing leather jacket can’t quite elevate.
“And it’s fine,” Emma inserts, glaring at her sister. She is dressed in fitted black jeans and a pink button-up, her crutches wrapped in black scarves. “Winnie looks justfine,and we’d better go sit down or we’ll end up at thekids’table.”
Everyone collectively shudders at this. The kids’ table, as suggested by the name, is where the under-twelve crowd sit, and it is the actual worst. Even when you’re under twelve. It’s the farthest corner from the main table, where Fatima’s mom, Leila, sits with special guests. It’s also the farthest from the fireplace, so in winter it gets really cold. Like,reallycold.
Maybe there’s a lesson in there. Or maybe the Luminary adults just really don’t want to deal with their children.
Fortunately, there is no problem finding a table, even with Emma moving slower on her crutches, because of course Leila has invited Winnie’s family to join her tonight—and she even extends that welcome to Emma and Bretta. “As Fatima’s friends,” she explains, ever the beneficent headof the Wednesday clan. Tonight, Leila wears a stunning violet gown with a black blazer overtop, and her hijab is a mauve that Winnie would never have thought to match with violet but that most definitely works.
Clearly this is where Fatima’s design sense comes from.
Winnie sits next to Darian—who must have arrived while Winnie was chatting with her friends. When he spies Winnie, he leans over to give her a sideways hug. He wears an outfit similar to what he wore at clan dinner two weeks ago—a sweater and khakis—except tonight he lacks the polish. He’s rumpled. He’s tired. His normally olive skin is sallow and pale.
On Darian’s left sits Andrew, who for once looks like the more put-together half of their partnership. No scrubs or textbook-studying sweats for Andrew tonight. He wears an ice-blue button-up that sets off the warm tones of his dark brown skin. And when he smiles at Winnie, his brown eyes are bright. There is no misreading the expression on his face; he is always so open, so real.I am so excited for you and Darian. This is going to be amazing.
Winnie can’t help but smile back.
Fatima sits on Winnie’s left, dressed with the same easy, understated elegance as her mom, where the quality of the fabric speaks louder than any cut or pattern ever will. Her wide-leg pants are a silvery gray, her red turtleneck tucked in without wrinkle. Her hijab is a complementary shade of brown that matches her heeled boots.
Okay. Winnie looks hands-down the worst at this table. Even Aunt Rachel, who also sits with them, looks more polished.
Maybe Winniewilltake Mom up on that shopping offer.
Assuming tonight goes well.
Leila stands at the table and tinks a knife against an empty champagne flute. The room falls silent. Eerily, uncomfortably silent. The sort of silence that only the mist can bring, where sound is muffled and danger could be hiding anywhere.
“As you all know, we have come together tonight for a very special clan dinner.”
Cheers rise up here from several quarters of the room; Mom flushes, and Darian grins tiredly. Winnie spies his hand clasped in Andrew’s—and she spies Andrew giving it a squeeze.
Strangely, Winnie wishes someone were holdingherhand. She wishessomeone would givehera squeeze that says everything Andrew’s hand and eyes now say:I’m here for you, always here for you, and I could not be more proud.
