Page 63 of The Hunting Moon
She wonders if Mom thinks of Dad every time she sees Darian and Andrew supporting each other. And she wonders how Mom doesn’t break down crying when she does… Then she feels shame for not supporting Mom more. For four years, Mom has done all she can to keep their family going. Now, tonight, she can maybe finally breathe again.
Please,Winnie prays.Please, please, please.
“Francesca, Darian, and Winnie,” Leila continues, “have toiled for so long under their punishment as outcasts. But…” She pauses here for effect, her eyebrows rising and a sly smile towing at her lips. “No longer. You are officially Luminaries again. The Council voted this morning to let you back in—”
She doesn’t get a chance to finish before the entire room becomes a stun grenade of noise. It’s deafening, it’sphysical.A slam of cheers and whistles and applause from hundreds of Wednesdays who somehow seem happier than Winnie or her family are at this development.
It really is like the last four years never happened.
Winnie grabs for a glass of ice water in front of her empty plate. The condensation coats her hand. The ice inside vibrates from all the noise. She wants to take a sip because her throat is suddenly swollen… but she can’t seem to lift it.
The Wednesday bear on her plate laughs at her, no longer a ferocious beast standing rampant, but a bear dancing for the Nightmare Masquerade. Winnie knows what’s coming. Like the shudder of a mama manticore’s steps before the beast’s arrival, she justknowswhat is about to hit her…
And there it is.Aroo!
Later, she will learn Marcus started it because of course he did. But in that moment, there’s no real sensing who utters the first howl or who utters the second. There are just the sounds of an excited crowd, and then there is an entire room of howling.
Winnie is going to be sick.
She releases her glass, palm wet, and grabs at the table’s edge to push away. She meets Fatima’s eyes, and her friend already seems to know exactly howWinnie feels. It is so vastly different from how she and the twins reacted at the party on Saturday night, and a little corner of Winnie’s heart warms knowing that her friends reallydidlearn from that encounter. That Emma’s apology in the library yesterday was genuine.
Most of Winnie, however, is consumed by the howling. It rattles in her skeleton. It pokes inside her ears and scuttles under her skin.
Aroo! Aroo!
She shoves away from the table. Fatima rises beside her, while on her other side, Darian reaches for her. Winnie brushes away his hand. “I’m fine,” she shouts, “I’m fine.” She won’t ruin this moment for him. Or for Mom, who is looking at her with a terrified face that only a mom can wear when she knows her child isn’t well.
“I’m fine,” Winnie repeats for her. “I just need some fresh air.” She doesn’t know if Mom or Darian or anyone else can hear her, but as she hurries from the table toward the nearest door into the garden, only Fatima joins her. And one of Fatima’s arms slides behind Winnie while the other braces against Winnie’s elbow.
Amazingly, Winnie realizes she needs that support. That without it, she might fall over as easily as Emma without her crutches.
As if the thought of Emma summons her, the twins soon fall into step beside Winnie, Emma moving with surprising, if unbalanced, speed. They reach the garden door. Bretta scoots ahead to open it. Then cold, clear air crashes against Winnie. She gulps it in.
Howls chase from behind.
Fatima guides Winnie past the burbling bear fountain surrounded by potted flowers, off the brick patio, and into the perfect rows of organized garden. A cement bench waits beside the rosebushes, the branches recently pruned in preparation for spring. They look like sadhuzag antlers. Like seventy-four prongs of danger and venom and death.
Fatima and Bretta help Winnie sit while Emma leans her crutches against the nearest bush and joins her on the bench. “You okay?” Emmaasks softly. These are the first words spoken since they all fled the dining room. The howls are gone now; there is only the general buzz of dinner being served and conversation rumbling; Winnie still feels sick though.
“I hope I didn’t ruin it.” She tugs off her glasses and leans onto her knees. Her head hangs down. She stares at shadowy gravel. “For my mom and my brother, I mean.”
“You didn’t,” Fatima assures her. She drops to a crouch before Winnie. It makes Winnie feel like a kid being coddled by her mother… and she doesn’t actually hate it. “We can say you got food poisoning.”
“Before the meal was served?” Bretta settles onto the bench too, except that with Emma and Winnie on there, only one butt cheek will fit. “How about we instead just tell everyone to piss off.”
Winnie snorts—Classic Bretta—and glances toward the estate. It looks like a jack-o’-lantern, the lights on the ground floor forming its smile while the two lights on the top, where Fatima lives, form its eyes.
It makes Winnie think of the lying lights of downtown. It makes her think of her third trial and how it all began right here. All Winnie has to do is walk northeast from this exact spot and she will reach the forest, where the mist will soon rise.
“I have an idea,” Emma murmurs. “What if we get of out here? Bretta and I have the van again.” She leans onto Winnie’s shoulder and rests her head there. Normally Winnie hates physical touch—especiallywhen she’s upset—but right now, she can’t deny it’s nice. Emma smells like lilacs. The night air smells like woodsmoke.
“Ooooh.” Fatima rises to standing in an impressive display of quad strength. “Where to?”
“Joe Squared?” Bretta suggests. “It’s open mic night. We can hide in the back where no one will see us.”
Winnie can’t imagine the Wednesday twins or Fatimaeverhiding. Even in the forest, they must shine like the lanterns they are.
“And,” Bretta adds, elbowing Winnie, “I’ll even get you a smallWinnie,if you want. I hear they’re half off on Wednesdays.”
