Page 65 of The Hunting Moon
When the sisters finish, the gap between performers stretches long. Twice, Jo steps to the mic to askif the next performer is here? All it says on the list is Thursday?Conversation buzzes while everyone waits. Bees in a hive. Manticores in a nest. Voices that hum and build while smoothies blend and coffee grinds.
The combination of it all sounds like the Whisperer.Feelslike the Whisperer, minus that hair-raising scent of burning plastic.
Fatima and Bretta discuss the Nightmare Masquerade; Emma scrolls on her phone; and Winnie lets herself sink against the brick wall behind her. The Ping-Pong balls are back, although they’ve settled into a gentle float. They bob and bounce, dropped atop the pond that is her mind.
Spells. Sources. Sadhuzags. Winnie. Witches. Whisperer. Whisperer. Whisperer.
How can Winnie prove the Whisperer is a Diana spell? Afamesthat’s sustaining itself by eating all in its path? She’s close, she’ssoclose. But it’s like hopping across a river via rocks: she has made it most of the way, over riffles and rapids and pools, only to realize the final rock iswaytoo far from shore. That although she canseethe other side, there is no way in hell she will ever be able to jump that far.
Winnie just prays the answers are tucked in Darian’s birthday cards—or maybe, justmaybein the title Professor Funday sent for from Italy.
Otherwise, Winnie is all out of options, all out of luck. She is trapped in the river while the current rises around her and the water claws her down. She will be forced to choose between the safety of her family…
Or the safety of Hemlock Falls.
Spells. Sources. Sadhuzags. Winnie. Witches. Whisperer. Whisperer. Whisperer.
A wind creeps in from the open back door. It smells of dead leaves and lost memories—and also fried food from the Revenant’s Daughter. Winnie’s stomach grumbles; the smoothie and muffin weren’t enough supper.
The wind kicks a bit harder, and this time, she thinks she hears crying.
Instantly, her spine tenses. Her eyes snap wide.Banshee.A burst of adrenaline stabs her heart.
But then she hears the sound again, and she knows ofcourseit isn’t a banshee. It’s just a person in the alley, all alone and very sad.
Dead leaves and lost memories.
The mic squeals with feedback from the stage. “Um, I guess our Thursday performer didn’t make it, so we’ll move on to the next. Unless…” Jo peers hopefully through her glasses at the crowd. “Alrighty, I don’t see our Thursday, so in that case, let’s welcome our next guests to the stage. They need no introduction, as they’ve graced this shop many times before.”
The sniffling comes again, this time laced with a whimper. It’s just a sliver of sound as the crowderuptswith excitement because they all know who is coming. Even Winnie has guessed, thanks to Bretta’s and Fatima’s sudden bouncing and Emma’s sudden scream.
The Forgotten! The Forgotten!
Winnie finds she is almost as excited as they are. There is a piece of her that is still caught up in the performance from two weeks ago at the twins’ birthday party. The night when she was forced to face feelings she had buried almost as deeply as her fury at her Dad. Feelings that keep punching into her chest like a droll fist, and that, no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t seem to burn to ash.Fish food in an aquarium.
But there is also someone in the alley who needs her. They have a banshee bearing down and no werewolf there to save them.
Winnie sneaks away from her friends and emerges into the night. Awaxing crescent moon shines overhead, briefly stealing Winnie’s sight after the shadows of the coffee shop. She smells french fries and burgers. She hears Archie shouting orders that most nights Mom would be picking up.
Winnie adjusts her glasses and frowns around her. She can’t see anyone. Just the usual dumpster and a stack of pallets from recent deliveries.
Then Winnie spots Erica, tucked into a shadow with her back ramrod straight against the wall. She has a hand over her mouth, and it’s clear she is hoping Winnie won’t notice her. She also has a guitar case leaning against her: a red guitar case that used to belong to her sister.
Erica’s eyes shutter. She knows she has been caught. She isn’t going to try to run. Instead she will face the inevitable hunter now striding her way.
Winnie stops with five paces between them. The night is truly cold now; it twines into her leather jacket. “E,” she says by way of greeting.
“Winnie,” Erica replies.
“You… didn’t perform.”
“No.”
“I didn’t know you played guitar.”
“Yes.” Erica sets her jaw, a defiance hardening in her eyes as if she is justraringfor a fight and Winnie showed up at the perfect moment for one. Winnie remembers that look—it is a look Erica’s mother Marcia employs to great effect on the Council.
Winnie also remembers how to deal with it: she cracks a joke. “And here I thought all those Band-Aids on your fingers made you a Diana.”
