Page 25 of The Whispering Night
The question is, though, does Jeremiah know what Signora Martedì really is? Is he, in fact, working with her? Or is he just a pawn, pushed around the board by her witchy whim?
A sharp poke screws into Winnie’s spinal cord. Marcia has her claws out again.Crank, crank.Answer, Winnie, answer! Dryden, meanwhile, is sucking his teeth impatiently, and Jeremiah is looking at Winnie with a thoughtful, borderline worried gaze that transports Winnie back in time to a cold, concrete interrogation room underground.
Only the signora seems unsurprised by Winnie’s stunned silence. There’s even a flicker in her dark eyes that says,Oh, I know exactly what you’re thinking right now, little bear, and it’s delicious.She is still holding Winnie’s hand, too, and seems to be in no rush to release it.
Winnie forces her brain to find words. Then she forces her tongue, lips, jaw, and pharynx to formulate those words loud enough for others to hear. They aren’t the best words. They aren’t evensmartwords. But they’re kind of all she has right now: “Oh, wow,” she says, her grip tightening on the signora. “You look really different in this light, ma’am. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
A collective lifting of eyebrows. A small grunt of confusion from Dryden.
The signora smiles. Her pressure on Winnie’s hand increases. Her pointer finger curls inward in a move that would be sensual if this were a romantic situation; instead, it’s unambiguously threatening. “Ah, but I do not believe we’ve met before, Winnie. You must be mistaking me for someone else. I do have one of those faces.”
“Right.” Winnie slides her hand free. It’s shaking a little, so she pushes it into her blazer pocket. “Sorry, ma’am. I guess you look like someone I’ve met before.” Since these words aren’t a lie, they come out strong and clear—and Winnie feels strong and clear saying them. The nucleic reactions in her brain’s language centers have settled; she is finally regaining control.
Which is why she twists away from Caterina Martedì like the woman is justanyold Luminary who showed up from out of town. “Where to next?” she asks Dryden. “I haven’t met the Wednesday visitors yet.”
It’s clear that Dryden and Marcia can sense something Very Strange and Possibly Worrisome has just unfolded before them. Yet it’s also clear their minds can’t evaluate what. Winnie and this powerful Luminary knowingeach other? That would be as plausible as eyeballs inverting or nose hairs combusting.
A small frown puckers on Marcia’s mouth. Dryden’s nostrils flare repeatedly.
Marcia pulls herself together first, flashing her most beneficent smile at the Crow. “Enjoy the breakfast, Signora Martedì. We are so glad you’re back in Hemlock Falls for pleasure this time, instead of business.”
“Yes,” Dryden agrees, hastily cramming himself into the conversation. “And do try the espresso. We imported it all the way from Italyjustfor you, so it should taste better than last year’s.” He gives her an obsequious smile, then his hand comes to Winnie’s shoulder, Marcia’s claw digs into Winnie’s back, and Winnie is carted away from the Tuesday table and a scorpion made of ice.
CHAPTER
12
Both carnivores and herbivores are essential for a healthy ecosystem, and this author posits that so too are our disparate societies of Dianas and Luminaries. The question however is: Which society is the predator? And which society is the prey?
—Understanding Sources: A Brief History and Guideby Theodosia Monday
When Winnie was a toddler, her dad taught her a very important lesson: if there was ever something she couldn’t do, then she should simply turn to the nearest grown-up and say:I need an adult!Apparently Winnie took this lesson so deeply to heart that she went on the warpath. She demanded adult intervention for literally everything, ranging from picking up a stuffed octopus thatshehad thrown across the room to insisting Grandpa Frank put spoonfuls of strawberry ice cream into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger.I NEED AN ADULT!!!
Dad thought it was hilarious; Mom did not; and Darian can’t remember these alleged misconducts.
Right now, as Winnie is herded toward the Wednesday table, that old lesson is all she can think about.I need an adult! I need an adult!
Distantly, Winnie knows this is a panic response. That her brain is actually trying to protect her from mental overwhelm. Because of course she iswithadults. Tens upon tens of them, none of whom she can actually speak to about what just happened at the Tuesday table.
It doesn’t help that Winnie can feel Signora Martedì’s eyes, boring into her with the strength of two high-powered drills. It takes all of Winnie’s self-controlnotto look in the woman’s direction.Notto see if Jeremiah Tuesday is watching her too.Notto simply crawl under the nearest table and wait for this whole breakfast to end.
On and on Winnie moves, drifting like a dinghy at sea. At the Wednesday table, with its ferocious ice bear, Leila tries too hard to be smiley! and bright!, as if she’s overcompensating for Winnie—who is emoting about as much as an actual dinghy at sea. Next is the Friday clan with its sparrow sculpture. Jay’s aunt Lizzy looks pained as she introduces Winnie to nearby visitors, and she gives Winnie a squeeze on the shoulder that is probably meant to be supportive… except Winnie has dissociated so far from her body, she hardly feels it.
She continues onward. Drift, tip, float. She shakes more hands and forces more smiles and blesses more (figurative) babies with the Saturday clan, where Dryden handles the whole situation as ifhewere the winner of the Midnight Crown who survived a werewolf attack and jumped off the waterfall. Then Winnie is led to the Thursday table, its ice bell melting so artfully, it somehow looksmorelike a bell now than it probably did four hours ago.Don’t piss off Marcia,it seems to warn.Do what she commands, little bear.
Yeah, except Marcia is the least of Winnie’s concerns right now, thanks. And if Winnie had any doubts remaining that she was incapable of compartmentalizing—or of exorcising her ghosts—then this breakfast has shattered that illusion. She’s terrible at it. Time compresses and expands, feeling interminable and also too fast.
Until there are suddenly no more hands left to shake or names to forget. Winnie isfinallyfinished with this breakfast, and she is left with only Darian at her side.
Yet if she expected safe quarter from her brother, she instead finds only a frazzled young man with powdered sugar smudged on his lip. “I’m sorry, Win. I did try to call this morning to warn you, but no one answered the house phone.”
“And you couldn’t call a second time?” Winnie’s voice sounds like it’s coming through two tin cans and a string. “I was home all morning, Darian. So was Mom.”
“Well, it’s notmyfault if you…” His lips purse. He shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I should have called more than once. But I was busy and distracted, so I didn’t.”
Bingo,Winnie thinks, but she doesn’t have the energy to say it out loud. Her mind is still shouting for an adult, and in the end, Darian was just looking out for Mom. Which is exactly what she’s doing too.
Darian withdraws a stack of blue papers from his pocket. They are folded vertically but otherwise smooth—as if he only just printed them off to deliver to her. “This is your schedule for the week. I’ve divided everything by day. So here’s where we start. Today is Saturday the twentieth.” He taps at the words on the first page:Welcome Breakfast at Saturday Estate—Winnie does speech. Dress is elevated business.
