Page 92 of The Hunting Moon
By the time Winnie steps outside, back into the brisk morning, she feels as if she is the one with melusine magic inside her. It is illogical, really. All the knots in the tangled chain that is her life just gotsomuch more tangled.
Two dead Dianas in the forest.
The unequivocal knowledge that the Whisperer is a Diana spell and not a nightmare.
A crow who swept off into the mist like a real crow.
And of course, the fact that Aunt Rachel now knows what Jay is. Even if Rachel is an A+ liar, she is still one more swamp fire to add to the lying lights of downtown. And what if Rachel ever changes her mind about keeping this particular secret?Thenwhat will Winnie have to do?
Yet for all these enormous knots in Winnie’s life, none feel particularly pressing at this moment. Because after four years of hating herself, hating her friends, hating her life, Winnie finally knows she had the whole thing wrong. And for all that she blamed herself in the forest, it’s not as if she has to keep making the same mistakes moving forward.
She spent so many days and months and years believing that no one would help her—because no onehad.Now, though, not only does she have new friends who will always be there when she needs them…
She has old friends whom she, Winnie, can support in turn. The lockboxes are open; Winnie knows the biggest secrets Jay—and Erica too—hadstuffed inside. And that’s why Winnie feels like a new person as she exits the hospital via glass sliding doors. Not even the sound of their whispery hiss behind her can make her skin crawl or drag her back into the forest. Back into the flames and the mist and the snarling laughter of Dianas who ruined her family.
Winnie spent four years hung up on what came before. Right now, she wants to know what waits ahead. There’s no will-o’-wisp to lead her to safety now, but she doesn’t need one. Nor does she need a secret map or coded clues, or even a book about secret messages from an Italian library…
Okay, she might need the book. But not yet. Notat this precise momentafter she survived a night she shouldn’t have—as did everyone she loves. You either trust the forest or you don’t. You either trust yourself or you don’t.
Which is why Winnie rolls her shoulders once, cracks her neck with a satisfyingcrunch!to ripple across the cold parking lot. Then she eases her hands into her pockets and sets off for home.
The sun rises ahead of her. The wind off the Little Lake kisses her face.
Winnie finds her house empty and a note from Mom about Rachel being in the hospital:I got a ride with Darian. Bring the Volvo when you can. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH—Mom
Winnie also finds a half-made batch of pancakes. She eats them, despite the fact that two of the four are mostly still dough on the inside. They are delicious nonetheless, and after hours on her feet, the calories are all Winnie needs to crash into a deep,deepslumber.
She doesn’t sleep long. Just until the titmouse outside rouses her with songs for Peter. But the few hours were all Winnie needed to feel as stitched back together as Jay was after the mist.
It makes Winnie’s heart ache to think about him—about the fact that Jay cannot heal unless he has the mist because the boy she once loved is physically gone, his cells rebuilt into something that isn’t human when examined beneath a microscope.
His sparrow-shaped heart is the same, though. His integrity and his reliability—those never went away.
Winnie showers, though she keeps the water cool this time. After a night of heat and flames, she has no desire to burn as bright as phoenix. She simply wants to feel clean, awake, alive.
She does at least tend to her changeling bite. It’s not pretty, but the anticoagulant no longer loosens her blood, and all those tiny monster fangs didn’t dig deep enough to require stitches.
As for her collarbone, Winnie finds no burn there. There isn’t even a blister. It’s just smooth skin, as if the locket never turned to flames. As if it is and always has been nothing more than a necklace with a photo of herself and Darian on the inside.
The photos are still in there. Intact, if a little bit dirty.
Obviously, though, this locket is much more than it seems. And just as Aunt Rachel knew it belonged to Grandma Harriet once upon a time, maybe Rachel also knows why Grayson Friday had one just like it.
Winnie adds those questions to her ever-expanding list.
It is almost noon by the time Winnie stomps outside in her Converse and Save the Whales hoodie—her bent glasses perched atop her nose. The bear flag ruffles at her, watching her departure with wary eyes.You are definitely a bear,it says,but not of the Wednesday variety.
As she aims for the Volvo at the curb, her calf twinges. Her head throbs from the brightness of the day. And the crow on the roof laughs and laughs, which makes Winnie think of the crow from the forest, with her gray hair and commanding voice.
There’s an important Venn diagram to be drawn about that woman at some point soon… But later. After the first two questions on her list have been dealt with—one that will take her east. A second will take her north.
Clouds part. Sunshine teases Winnie with a brief promise of warmth. Tree branches reach over her, fracturing shadows onto the Volvo. Darkness, darkness, light made by new leaves grappling for spring. Then she is encased in her family’s car and revving it up to hyperspeed.
A cardinal sweeps by. Winnie thinks of the will-o’-wisps. She wonders if they will re-form again tonight or if this morning’s mist erased them forever.
Though most nightmares re-form nightly unless slain, sometimes they do not, disappearing forever instead. Some speculate this is a conscious decision by the spirit, while others postulate it is an unintended failure of the mist—like faulty genetic code in the natural world. Others still suggest perhaps the nightmares simply senesce and eventually die with time.
Maybe that was what happened to the will-o’-wisp outside the forest. Maybe it was dying of old age, not an injury. Either way, Winnie hopes Jay’s boot really did end its pain.
