Page 22 of The Whispering Night
“That doesn’t make this better.”
“Okay, then think of Mom.”
Now Winnie pauses, her left arm halfway out of the blazer sleeve. “What does Mom have to do with anything?”
“They…Marcia,I mean, and Dryden too—they say they’ll let Mom back onto the hunt ASAP if you do this. No more waiting, no more crappy office at the Wednesday estate—have youseenher office?”
“Not yet,” Winnie mumbles.
“It’s the smallest one on the networker floor. So small, I think it’s probably an old supply closet. But Mom can be one hundred percent Luminary again. You—and me too… We just have to cooperate without complaint for the whole Masquerade.”
“But we were made ‘one hundred percent Luminary’ over a week ago. Remember the big clan dinner? The one where Leilaliterallysaid the Council voted to let us back in?”
“I know, I know.” Darian starts spinning the ring again. “They keep moving the goal posts. But if Mom can get back on the hunt, it’s not like they can take her off it again.”
Don’t be so sure,Winnie thinks.
“This is only for one week,” Darian says. “Well, technically eight days. But after the Nightmare Ball, you’ll be done. And Mom will be back on the hunt as if the last four years never happened.”
Winnie lets her arm slump back into the sleeve—because let’s be real: she already knows how this scene will end. It doesn’t matter that she has done so much for her family over the past month. It doesn’tmatterthat adding in a Midnight Crown just feels like an unnecessarily cruel cherry to plop on top of everything. In the end, Winnie is a Wednesday bear. She is loyalty through and through.
So she swallows. Clears her throat. Then tugs her blazer fully back into place. “This isn’t fair, Darian, and I’m not happy about it.”
The relief on her brother’s face is startling. His skin blends from green back toward olive. “Thank you, Winnie. Oh my god, thank you. And trust me: I’ll do everything I can to make this painless for you.”
CHAPTER
10
Either Darian’s definition ofpainlessis not like Winnie’s, or else he was lying. Winnie chooses to believe the former, although she can’t help but suspect the latter as she’s hauled into the Saturday estate.
It has been well over four years since Winnie last stepped inside, so her memories of the grand foyer have been rubbed down to vague splashes of gold and purple—just streaks of color on the page. Reality is so much sharper. Lush tapestries on the walls give way to gilded woodwork. Keys glitter across a black-and-white marble floor, stamped in gold upon each tile, and the towering foyer that holds it all is framed by a gilded staircase that circles up one side. A chandelier winks coyly overhead, each crystal carved into a key.
Leadership in deed and word,reads one large floor tile at the center of the room.Persuasion is power.
“We’re going to the ballroom,” Dryden barks from the front of their marching line. “Winnie, you will enter with me.”
“And me,” Marcia purrs, her manicured nail poking into Winnie’s spine at the perfect angle to make Winnie feel like a wind-up doll.Crank, crank.Now dance, Winnie! Dance!
She doesn’t dance, but she does go as directed into a hall lined with windows. Leila offers more apologetic glances, but she never actually steps in to help. Meanwhile, Darian is furiously texting someone about, Winnie suspects, an order of beef tartare he keeps muttering about.
As Winnie soldiers down the long hallway, floor-to-ceiling windowsreveal a terrace outside covered in potted flowers—as well as an enormous fountain with river sylphids shooting water. Beyond that, on a lawn that rolls down to the river, the Nightmare Stage is currently under construction on the grass. When finished, it will be an ornate assemblage of gold, silver, and Saturday purple.
Winnie’s Converse are silent next to the clattering heels of her drill sergeants. Leila, knowing that Winnie bought new boots the day before, had wrongly assumed Winnie would wear those boots today. Now Winnie’s white pants, which are way too pinchy in the waistband, drag over the tiles. Mirrors offer her glimpses of herself as she is prodded past closed doors that might lead to Rumpelstiltskin or maybe just to a bathroom.
She does notlookin the mirrors, since she knows with absolute certainty she won’t like what she sees.
When they at last leave the hall for the ballroom, it feels as if Winnie really is stepping into a fairy tale—except the macabre kind where everyone dies at the end. For one, the room is classically designed and peak Versailles. But now draped over it are dark silks and laces, feathers and crystals, fairy lights and paper lanterns. If Winnie tried to bedazzle a room like this, it would look tacky, but the Saturdays have managed to keep it classy.
And holy hellions and banshees, are there a ton of people in the room. Clearlyforty-nine of the most important Luminariesdoes not include all the aides, family members, and general hangers-on who have accompanied them. They all stand about, mingling in a way that is more mixer and less breakfast—although people do hold plates of food.
Different languages bounce and ping around the room, but where Winnie expects all eyes to turn to her as she is thrust inside like livestock, no one seems to notice her. And now that Winnie is looking behind, she realizes only Marcia and Dryden are actually still with her.
Good job, Darian. You’re running great interference here.
Winnie scours the room for anyone else who can come to her rescue. All she finds are seven tall tables draped beneath velvet tablecloths. Upon each is an ice sculpture in the shape of a clan sigil. A green tablecloth with an ice bear for the Wednesdays. A purple cloth with an ice key for the Saturdays. All the colors, all the animals, all the symbols.
And at the scarlet table with the ice scorpion stands Jeremiah Tuesday.
