Page 35 of The Whispering Night
“I want to kiss you.”
“Now?”
“No, in three years and sixty-seven days. Preferably in the afternoon, if you can make it work—ouch. Punching someone on the arm isn’t nice, Win.”
“If you qualify that as a punch, then you aren’t worthy of your Lead Hunter title.”
“I mean… I’m not worthy of it.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I’ll forgive you if we can go back to the subject of kissing. I do want to kiss you three years from now. But also right now too. Basically, I want to kiss you always. It’s like… it’s like homeostasis, and it’s just this constant, steady state inside my system. ‘Kiss Winnie,’ it says. ‘Kiss Winnie.’ Wait—why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I’d like for you to say ‘homeostasis’ again, please.”
“Homeostasis.”
“Ah, Jay.”
“Wow, that’s so much nicer to hear than ‘Ugh, Jay.’ I guess this means I should talk nerdy to you more often. Homeostasis.”
“Ah, Jay. Do it again. Say something else.”
“No, no. This time you have to pay the toll—ouch! Okay, okay. You’ve really got to stop hitting me. You’re stronger than you look.”
“Or maybe you’re weaker, Jay Friday.”
“I am when you kiss me.”
“Like this?”
“Just like that. Can I have another?”
“No, nowyouhave to pay the toll.”
“Wait, so you won’t pay it but I have to?”
“I paid, Jay! Here, I’ll kiss you again. And again. And here, on your neck. Your jaw. Your ear…”
“Ah, Winnie.”
“Now it’s your turn. I expect payment.”
“Homeostasis. Biome. Mitochondria. Uh… binary fission? Okay, if you keep doing that, Win, I’m not going to be able to think of any more science words.”
“Don’t worry. I have more than enough for the two of us.”
A black-and-white wolf lies upon the page. It is Jay in the forest ten nights ago, when Dianas and Luminaries hunted him. His eyes are closed; he is curled into himself and dying. Blood smears his fur.
Winnie abruptly shuts the sketchbook. She doesn’t want to relive that night. She doesn’t know why her teapot mind wanted to draw it.That is the night you became a murderer. That is the night you killed.
Winnie kicks away from her desk. Her swivel chair squeaks and spins as she shoots to her feet. As she drags her skeleton to bed and hides beneathher blanket. The sunflowers on it are so much brighter than any that will ever grow in Hemlock Falls.
The last thing Winnie does before she closes her eyes is check her locket. Still no message inside, so she rips out the paper she wrote on. She crumples it. Drops it to her floor. Then Winnie falls asleep—and far more easily than she expects to. Her mind drifts; her teapot is drained; and there is just enough space now for Jay’s song “Backlit” to creep in. To tickle at her amygdala like a prophecy.
With heat on your skin I spin until I can’t see us
I find no relief, inside I’m still a hopeless curse
