Page 15 of The Whispering Night
“Not for a Lead Hunter.”
“Right.” Mom’s cheeks bunch up. “Tonight’s Friday.”
“Tonight’s Friday.” Winnie sighs, trying not to consider that these flies buzzing in her lungs must have flown in Dad’s lungs too, every Wednesday night when Mom went out on the hunt. She slings open the washer door and dumps in her wet clothes. “Oh hey, how’s the new job? Is being a Wednesday networker like you remember? Also did you get assigned an office? I would have come by to see, but I went to hunter training. And holy whoa, Rachel issotough.”
“She is,” Mom concurs. Her eyebrows slope in unmasked longing. “How was it? What drills did she do? And did you get a locker?”
As relieved as Winnie is that Mom has completely and totally forgottenabout the locked door, she also feels crappy over her choice of subject change. Because Mom’s hunger for her old life isn’t just evident in the acute angles of her brow; it’s audible in her voice, slightly breathy. Falsely nonchalant.
Winnie dumps detergent into the washer. “Have you heard anything from the Council about when you can hunt again? Or is it still vague nothings?”
“Okay, that is way too much powder, my child.” Mom scoots over and tugs the detergent from Winnie’s grasp. “And this should be a delicate wash if you want those leggings to last.” She hip-bumps Winnie aside. “As for the Council, it’s still vague nothings.Soon, Frannie. Don’t get ahead of yourself! You’re four years out of practice, after all.”
Me too,Winnie thinks, recalling how winded she was at training while Rachel’s sweat glands barely switched on.
“Oh, hey,” Mom says, clanging shut the washer door. “Did you go shopping today? I saw a Falls’ Finest bag on the couch.”
“I did.” Winnie grins slyly. “Apparently Leila wants me to look presentable for all these Luminaries coming to town, so I got to buy stuff on the Wednesday credit line.”
“Dang, girl.”
“Iknow. Want a fashion show?”
“Of course.”
Winnie’s smile stretches wider, and in under a minute, the living room has become a runway. And of course, Momoohs andahs at all the right moments. The rain might be falling, Winnie’s muscles might be hurting, and she might have two pieces of paper covered in invisible ink that still need reading… but right now, Winnie is really, reallyhappyto have this pocket of goodness.
All that’s missing is Dad. He would perch on a couch arm, making his own fashion-related observations while wryly commenting that Mom and Winnie are kind of terrible at this.In conclusion,he would say,take me and Darian with you next time you go shopping. I didn’t win Best Dressed in high school for nothing.
Then Winnie would laugh and say,I do not want to shop with my dad and brother, thanks.
Dad would shake his head in mock seriousness and say,Your loss, Win-Ben. Your loss.And itwouldbe her loss because ithasbeen her loss for four endless years.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
It is almost midnight before Winnie can sneak downstairs and finally decode Erica’s message. She had to wait for Mom to go to bed, then wait another hour to ensure Mom wasfullyasleep. Winnie herself is half asleep and in her pj’s (sweatpants and an ancient Charmander T-shirt) by the time she reaches the kitchen and lights the gas stove. Just one eye, one flame.
She pulls Erica’s message from her pocket and waves it high, high over the fire. Nottoohigh or there won’t be enough heat. Not too low or the paper will burn…
There it is. The honey caramelizes. Words appear.
Still no news on who the Diana hounds were, and really no news anywhere. There was only that one message in the locket from Friday when I asked for help—and they said “no communication, stay hidden”—and nothing has come since. My guess is the Masquerade is forcing the Dianas to stay away. (Or forcing the Diana Crow if she’s the only one remaining.) So many Luminaries visiting means more chances to get caught!
I do have other news, though. Katie Tuesday had too much hard cider last night, and she let it slip that her cousin Isaac saw Dianas in the forest. “Dead ones,” she said. “And he claims he has pictures.” Fortunately, she thinks he’s just making it up. She also seemed to realize she should not have told me what she did. Isaac could get in huge trouble. Like outcast-level trouble for taking photos.
