Page 130 of The Whispering Night
But then he had to ensure Martedì’s attention never turned onto the poor boy who knew nothing of what Jenna really was, but simply loved her with all his heart. First, Dad gave Jenna’s locket to Grayson with the order to give it to Erica.
Then Dad became a crow and flew away.
The rest… ah, well, the rest is shitty history. Dad was four years out of practice with magic, and he couldn’t change back into a person. He’dknown this might happen—he’d also known there was a very good chance he might die—so he had crafted a contingency plan. But Ms. Morgan didn’t follow her instructions. She was supposed to give the cards directly to Winnie and Darian. Instead, she delivered them to a mailbox, and then Mom tucked them away into the attic.
Human error. One step gone wrong. One semicolon forgotten on the line of code. Until a lucky, fateful day when Darian gave Winnie a locket for her sixteenth birthday… and Winnie went into the attic to dig for clues.
Dadwasframed, just not in the way Winnie thought.
And now he is back. Now he is home.
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
On the top floor of the Wednesday estate, a fabric shop has exploded inside of Fatima’s bedroom. And a crafts shop too. And also, forty-six jars of sequins. Her sleigh bed is hidden beneath so many silks, satins, feathers, lace, and sparkly plastic pieces that Winnie isn’t sure Fatima will ever find her lavender-colored bedsheets again.
Winnie keeps trying to neaten things. Fatima keeps swatting at her to stop. “Oh mygoodness,Winnie. Just stay still. Is that really too much to ask?”
“Winnie.” Bretta shoots a glance from across the room. She stands in front of Fatima’s mirror, while Emma carefully—like,reallycarefully—attaches oak branches to her head. “You have the easiest costume out of all of us, so you should be able to follow instructions.”
“Exactly,” Fatima agrees, concentrating on the seam she is trying to get some final stitches onto. “And I wouldn’t be here finishing this…” She glares at Winnie. The thick midnight liner around her eyes make her blue irises pop with almost terrifying intensity. “If you had just told us everything that was going on in your life.”
Winnie cringes.
“Because if we’d known,” Fatima continues, repeating a rant she has expressed several times since Wednesday morning, “we could have helped youandwe could have worked on this costume way sooner than theday of the freaking Nightmare Ball!” She stabs her needle into emerald silk.
Emma clucks her tongue, pausing her application of branches onto her sister’s head. “Everyone leave Winnie alone, okay? She was just doing the best she could. We love you, Winnie.”
Now Winnie really cringes, and shame is basically oozing out of her ears, her tear ducts, her nostrils. “No, no. Fatima’s right—”
“Yeah, she is,” Bretta mutters. Emma pokes her with a branch.
“—and I will just keep apologizing for the rest of time. Because it’s what you all deserve, okay?”
“Andwewill keep on accepting those apologies,” Emma answers. She pokes Bretta again.
“Ouch!” Bretta scowls. Then sighs. Then groans and drags her dryad-self away from the mirror. Her gown of gray and brown velvet streams behind her, the train cut into spirals to look like roots. So far, only three of the planned seven branches poke off her head. Emma has to chase behind to keep the fourth branch from falling before she has finished pinning it.
“Oh, you better not be walking over here, Bretta Wednesday!” Fatima doesn’t look up from her stitching. “I spent weeks making that costume, and if you tear it, I’ll feed you to a real dryad.”
“You are way too stressed right now, Fatima.” Bretta comes to a stop next to her—which puts her diagonal to Winnie. And Emma too, as keeper of the branches.
Bretta grins, her dimples digging deep. “Winnie: Idostill love you, okay? I’m mostly just mad I didn’t get to kick more Diana butt. So next time—because I just… I just have the feeling therewillbe a next time with you—you’d better include us in your plans.”
Winnie bites her lip. Her shame is turning soupy.
