Page 134 of The Whispering Night
Yeah, Winnie can tell. Mom is preening and declaring to the third person in the last ten minutes: “I’m going back on the hunt. Have you heard? Rachel, tell Archie here.”
“Yep,” Rachel indulges. Also for the third time. “Our Frannie’s a hunter again, Archie. Though she’ll have to work her ass off if she’s hoping to take back her old title.”
“Oh, I’m coming for ya, baby sister.”
“Bring it on, old lady. Especially since you’ve got your daughter over there to contend with.” Rachel grins Winnie’s way. Her bear ears seem to wiggle. “Everyone’s saying you’re headed for Lead Hunter one day, kid.”
Winnie smiles back. First at Archie, who looks about as interested in this conversation as he would be inChrysomya megacephalaon a corpse. Then Winnie smiles at Mom, and lastly at Aunt Rachel. And to her surprise, it’s not the false, pained grin she’s used to wearing whenever Rachel talked about the hunt.
No, Winnie hasn’t exorcised her ghosts. She hasn’t learned to differentiate between compartmentalizing and accepting that ghosts are a part of her… But she’s confident she’ll get there one day. Just like Mom, just like Rachel, just like Grandma Winona. Because the hunt is in her blood.
And the forest is, too.
Plus, working through the ghosts is exactly what her future therapy sessions are for, right?
Dad gives Winnie another sideways hug. A quick squeeze that says,Yeah, I get it, Win-Ben.Then they’re all moving, abandoning the fountain (Mom has hadwaytoo much punch) and aiming for the Nightmare Stage.
Winnie’s latest disguise works beautifully, except for one awkward moment halfway across the lawn when she runs into Jeremiah. Like literally runs into him because he’s the mostphoned-inof all the costumes at the ball. He wears his usual black fatigues and even has a black cap too, so he fully blends into the shadows. Winnie doesn’t see him until she steps on him.
He coughs. Jumps back. Then a scowl tugs at his red eyebrows. “Ms. Wednesday.”
Mom shoves in before Winnie can answer. She stares daggers. “Piss off, Jeremiah. No one wants you here.”
“Fran,” Dad says tiredly. Then in a voice that’swaynicer than Jeremiah deserves, he adds, “Hello, Councilor.”
“Hello, Mr. Silvestri. Thank you again for all the information you gave us last night. We’re grateful for your insights.”
“I mean it, Jeremiah.” Mom bares her teeth now. “Piss. Off.”
“You heard the lady,” Rachel inserts, her own eyes shooting death rays. “No one wants you here.”
This time, Jeremiah does depart. But not without a frown. Not without a disdainful sniff.
“Pickle breath,” Winnie mutters after him.
And beside her, Dad sighs. “My ladies and their tempers.”
“It’s not a temper,” Mom counters, “if the target deserves your outrage—”
“Oh come on,” Dad cuts in, now slinging his arms around her instead of Winnie. “Let’s not let a silly Tuesday ruin our night. Onward! To the stage!”
“To the stage!” Rachel cheers. (She has also had too much punch.)
“To the stage!” Winnie agrees, although she does tug her hat a bit lower, just to be safe. Minutes later, when they reach the thickest clots of crowds, Winnie separates from her family, searching, searching until she finds her fractal of friends.
“Winnie, no!” Fatima screeches as soon as she spots her. She yanks the bucket hat from Winnie’s head. “Howcouldyou?”
“I’m sorry.”
“This has to go too,” Emma insists, grabbing at the zipper on Winnie’s jacket. “And not just because you should be showing off Fatima’s creation, but because it’s also really freaking hot down here.”
Itisreally freaking hot, so after stuffing the hat in the jacket’s pocket, Winnie ties the leather awkwardly around her waist—and just in time, too. Cheers go up a second later. A spotlight winks on. And there’s L.A. Saturday on stage dressed in a purple velvet dress made to look like a dracon. Her tulle skirt is navy and violet, and as she strides toward a mic, it flickers like blue flames.
On her head, the Midnight Crown’s ouroboros seems to slither.
“Hello, Hemlock Falls!” L.A. shouts into the mic. “You may know me as your Midnight Crown—the second and moredeservingof the Midnight Crowns this year.” She grins cheekily; the audience laughs on cue, including Winnie. “But in case you’ve yet to experience my beauty and talent, I’m L.A. Saturday, lead singer of the Forgotten. And oh my, have we got a show for you tonight.”
Two more spotlights snap on. First onto Trevor, dressed in a leaves-nothing-to-the-imagination unitard of sequins that matches Fatima’s gown. Then the final light snaps onto Jay, in his aggressively dull tuxedo. Not thatanyonein the audience seems to care. They holler and wail for him like the adoring fans they are.
