Page 111 of The Whispering Night
But Jeremiah will crush her. Because he must. She’sfartoo dangerous to leave free.
Jeremiah yanks a radio off his belt. “Downtown,” he barks, alerting the lead Lambda below. “Everyone. Now.” Then he stalks to his Hummer, his entourage of Lambdas standing sentry along the bridge scatter for their own vehicles like the good scorpions they are.
Below, four boat engines rev loudly, abandoning their search.
The siren still continues howling. It will wake up everyone in the town,and Jeremiah is about to have a real shitstorm on his hands. One led by certain Saturday and Thursday councilors.
But oh, how short-sighted this will prove to be for Jeremiah Tuesday. Because as the four scorpion speedboats zoom toward the northeastern shore where a concrete landing feeds into downtown, on thesoutheastern shore a pontoon boat putters to life. It has been made to look like a swan, complete with white wings and a graceful neck—although its current pilot ruins the effect by bonking into the dock three times. Then breaking off the tip of the left wing on a steel piling.
No one notices, though, because no one is looking at the Little Lake anymore. Anddefinitelyno one is looking at the Floating Carnival.
The swan sets off to the north, where clouds coagulate over the forest like scabs atop a wound.
CHAPTER
44
Winnie has been many things in her life: Wednesday, Luminary, outcast, bear, girlfriend, best friend, science nerd, Midnight Crown… What she has never been is a thief. Until today.
First, she stole the T-shirt. Then the sweatshirt, and now she’s jumping right up the corporate ladder tovehicular thief.
Number of boats stolen a month ago? Zero.
Number of boats stolen now? One.
Oh, and the fireworks—she can add those to her list as well, since there are three crates of them in the pontoon boat. Does Winnie have any idea how to detonate the fireworks? Nope. But surely the box of matches in her pocket that advertise the Très Jolie will do the trick.
Wind slaps over Winnie, cold and stinking of ancient soil. The swan’s neck, head, and wings act like a funnel, targeting all the frozen air into her face. It snatches away the whine of the Diana siren downtown, so all she hears is the wind.
She thinks she smells dead things.
And she definitely feels Jay’s song, summoning her like a different sort of siren.
Siren: These nightmares are known for luring their prey in with a song so seductive, no one can resist.
Ms. Morgan never did hear Jay’s voice, and she wasadamantly opposed(her words) to Winnie’s plan. But Winnie didn’t care about her teacher’s approval back at the Floating Carnival, and she sure doesn’t care now, halfway across the Little Lake. Jay’s song is so seductive, Winnie can’t resist it.
Besides, it’s not Ms. Morgan’s boyfriend who is trapped inside the Pure Heart. It’s notherboyfriend who is the son of forest, son of pain. And it’s notherboyfriend who said,I love you. I’m sorry.
Winnie’s plan is a pretty simple one, in the end: while Ms. Morgan gets Jeremiah Tuesday aiming for downtown, Winnie will sail upstream toward the Big Lake. She actually wants the Tuesdays to follow her eventually—just not yet. Winnie needs a head start. Because no way in hell is this majestic Sunday swan going to outrun the scorpion speedboats.
Storm clouds have fully assembled in the north; the morning that should be peeking out in the east is being stamped down again.Never mind, sunshine. Go back to sleep. You’re not welcome here today.
Winnie’s hands—gloved in scorpion armor that belong to Mason—are frozen atop the pontoon steering wheel. The gear, although top-of-the-line, was definitely still wet when Winnie slugged it onto herself at the pier. It fits her taller frame no better than it fit Ms. Morgan’s, hanging loose on Winnie’s shoulders and thighs. The exo-scalesshouldbe form-fitting.
Still, some armor is better than no armor.
Her ankle thrums with a rhythm like Morse code.SOS. Bandage immediately and elevate.Winnie’s response to that would be,LOL. Not happening.As long as her fibula, tibia, and talus bones can still support her weight, then she’s going to keep using them.
Her left sleeve is rolled up to her mid forearm, allowing constant access to her watch’s digital screen. What it says right now isT minus one hour and seventeen minutes until the Crow makes good on her threats.
So yeah, no stopping for injuries. No stopping for potty breaks or hitchhikers either, since here’s the way Winnie sees it: there was a reason Martedì gave her an 8A.M.deadline. That can’t just be an arbitrary time on an arbitrary day. So by Winnie’s logic, maybe the Pure Heart spell has until 8A.M.to be cast.
Which also means it has until 8A.M.to be canceled.
Winnie pushes at her glasses. The crack over her left eye seems to pinwheel.Pick your nightmare! Spin the wheel! Ignore how Jay’s song makes you feel!She is almost out of the Little Lake, and although she can’t see it from here, the Tuesday estate is beyond those dark fir trees and burgeoning maples.
And okay, there’s undeniably a white fog trickling downriver now—one that is not merely water vapor condensing as the morning temperature ascends.Awesome.If Winnie had any doubt the forest spirit was waking up, that mist just dispelled it.
