Page 101 of The Whispering Night
“A what?”
Ms. Morgan looks ill now. Like saving Winnie from certain death was one thing, but having to explain the birds and the bees of Dianas? No way.
“Right,” she says. “You don’t know what that word means. But like, imagine Diana royalty. That’s what thelegataare: legacy families who have been in the society for generations. Everyone knows who they are—so once I learned your dad was a Diana, I realized he wasthatBryant from the Silvestri family. As did Teddy. And we both just assumed that what Jeremiah told us was true: your dad had cast a spying spell, and…”
“Oh no.” Winnie doubles over again. Because she can fill in the next letters on her own.E, F, G! Next time won’t you sing with me!“You thought Dad killed Jenna, didn’t you?” she croaks out. “You thought he was a Diana spy and a murderer.”
“Yeah.” Now Ms. Morgan sounds as ill as she looked. “And so you can see why I was terrified not to do as Bryant asked. When I found those cards in my mailbox—”
“Didhe kill Jenna?” Winnie interrupts. She clutches at her knees.Breathe, breathe.“Didhe cast a spying spell to the Dianas?”
“I thought he had. For four years, I really thought he had, Winnie. And that’s what I believed right up until a few days ago, when you contacted Harriet and she contacted Teddy.”
“But what changed your mind?” Winnie’s voice sounds so far away. “What did Grandma Harriet tell you that convinced you my dad wasn’t the bad guy?”
“First, Harriet explained that Bryant wasn’t casting a spying spell, but rather contacting her on the night he disappeared. He was trying to warn her of an active witch in Hemlock Falls, but he never said who it was or what they were doing before your mother interrupted the spell.”
Winnie pushes at the bench. Her torn hands screech at her, but she savors the pain. It sharpens her. Grounds her. And with a grunt, she cranks herself upright again. “But why believe Harriet? For all you know, my grandmother was lying.”
“To tell you the truth,” Ms. Morgan admits, “I didn’t believe her. Not until we were at the old museum. Not until I saw that golden arrow coming for me, and Isawa hotspot open up. I mean, raising a hotspot—that’s some serious magic. Andbadmagic.”
“So that’s when you decided to help me?”
“I’m certainlytryingto help you.” Ms. Morgan tries again for a Concerned Adult smile. “I’m not sure I’m succeeding, though. You’re way too cold, Winnie—and honestly, so am I. We need to find those sweatshirts and get out of here.”
“Right.” Winnie can’t argue with this, so when Ms. Morgan stands and offers her hand, Winnie takes it. And when she pulls Winnie into a trudging walk, she doesn’t resist. Her ankle stabs with each step.
But again, she finds the pain clarifying. A filter that she can pour this jumbled-up alphabet through. When Winnie stood on the bridge, her green sweater in hand, sleeves fluttering on the breeze—the same breeze currently sucking all warmth from Winnie—thiswas the missing link, wasn’t it? The missing connective tissue:Dfor Dad,Dfor Diana.
And, apparently,Lforlegatum,too.
The petal labeledGraysonwas connected to Jenna because they were in love.
Jenna’s petal connected to Dad because, like Ms. Morgan, she must have figured out that Dad was basically Diana royalty. And knowing that Dad had defected, maybe Jenna believed he could help her. Because she didn’tonlywant to leave the Luminaries four years ago; Jenna must have wanted to leave the witches.
And of course, Dad’s petal then connected to Mom because they were in love too.I didn’t move to Hemlock Falls for my degrees, Win-Ben.
Soon, the lantern-shaped carts of the Tilt-A-Whirl glow into Winnie’s vision. Beyond is Archie’s Funnel Cake booth, where sure enough, a stack of black sweatshirts rests on one side of the counter.
Ms. Morgan hurries ahead, grabs a sweatshirt, and flings it at Winnie. It is, of course,anotherhoodie. Bretta would laugh. Fatima would too.
And Erica. So would Erica.Why did we do all that shopping, Winona, if you’re just going to wear hoodies in the end?
Revenant’s Daughter,this one reads in the same script as the sign outside the restaurant. It smells vaguely like fried food and powdered sugar. It makes Winnie think of Mom. It makes her think of how she has failed her—and everyone else too. Erica, Jay, the entirety of Hemlock Falls. After following all the steps in Dad’s long, convoluted plan, it has led Winnie here: nearly drowned and stuck inside a horror-film carnival.
Signora Martedì won.
Shewon,and now it’s more than Winnie’s back that’s pressed against the wall. It’s her face and stomach and legs. She is locked up in a straitjacket. She is buried in a tomb, and thatfuckingDiana Crow with herfuckinggolden-beaked mask won. Dad couldn’t beat her, even though he was apparently a powerfullegatum,so really, what chance did Winnie have four years later?
“Winnie.” Ms. Morgan’s voice sounds thick and inhuman. Like Winnie is again under the Little Lake, again under crushing waves. “No, no—Winnie! Look at me!”
Winnie’s vision swims, but she doesn’t look at Ms. Morgan. Instead she grabs—frantically—at her back pocket. Does she still have her last drawing? For some reason, it seems important right now. Like sheneedsto see her final picture of Erica, of Jay, of her family. Otherwise all the ghosts Winnie sealed up are going to seal up Winnie instead. Mummify her organs and shove her into a sarcophagus.
The paper is waterlogged, just like her pants, and she is too rough as she fumbles it open. It tears.
Yet where Winnie expects to find a sketch of Lady Justice or Jay or her family, instead, there are words written in round, curlicued script.Jenna’s spell.
Winnie hasno ideawhen Erica put this in her pocket. Maybe when they were on the four-wheeler fleeing the Sunday garage. Maybe when they were running helter-skelter into the maze. Maybe in that last moment, when Winnie tried to drag her away from the Crow.
