Page 45 of The Whispering Night
Four years ago.Why did so many things happen four years ago?
At that question, a memory surfaces in a way the candy bars and Hummer never will. A conversation on the roof of the old museum, where Jay lay draped on shingles while grief and vape smoke enclosed him.
“Grayson was on his second trial,” Winnie says to the water, where wind sketches a chevron pattern. White chop on dark waves. “When he stole a Tuesday Hummer and drove it off the dam.”
The second trial was the same trial Jenna was on when she died. Jenna, who was Grayson’s girlfriend. Jenna, who created the Whisperer. Jenna, who gave Grayson her locket for reasons no one understands.
And Grayson, who tried to reach out to Erica four years ago, only for herto essentially throat-punch him away. He told her that he’d found Jenna on her trial and tried to revive her. Assuming that’s true, what happened next? Why did he steal a Hummer and drive it off this bridge right there?
Winnie is still gripping the green sweater, holding it over the water as if she really does plan to drop it. In her brain, her three-petaled trilliums are morphing into four-petaled poppies.
Dad, Mom, Jenna, Grayson.On the surface, they should have nothing in common. And yet, four years ago something happened that connects them all.
Mom and Dad. What does Mom know?This is a conversation Winnie will have tonight, when she can gather the needed supplies and corner Francesca Wednesday alone.
Jenna and Grayson. What did Grayson know?Winnie thinks of the photograph she found in Jay’s office—of Grayson wearing Jenna’s locket. Then she thinks of Jay, still missing—or at least not answering her messages.
Winnie reels in her arm. The sleeve of the green sweater flutters like a fishing line that’s lost its catch. After tying the sweater around her waist, she resumes her run. Symmetrical now. Faster thinking, better processing. Until eventually the Sunday estate appears before her. Until she is once more at the oak tree where she met Erica only a few hours before.
Luminaries percolate from vehicles toward the front doors, pulled by the gravity of their culture. There might be a carnival with cotton candy and goldfish, but there is also a forest that wants to kill them. Winnie lets her footsteps slow so she can search for a Wagoneer. For Jay’s pale head and signature flannel.
He isn’t here, though, so she looks instead for Erica and the Porsche. Winnie will call Jay directly. She will hear his voice, and maybe then she will feel less worried about him.
Because of course, there are other things than the Crow that might have harmed him.
Winnie shoves inside the Sunday estate—so full, so alive now—and continues her wild search for Jay’s face, for Erica’s. Her feet lead her without conscious control to Luminary history, where Professor Alice is waiting at the door.
Because of course, Professor Samuel is dead.
Because of course, Winnie killed him.
“Ah, there you are,” Alice says with a smile that reveals lipstick on her teeth. “I have been told to escort you out of class.”
Winnie blinks at Alice. She is panting and sweating, and her neural pathways are primed for instant panic—What is it this time? Did they learn Erica and I broke in earlier? Oh god, what if they have security cameras!
Except now Alice chimes: “You’re being moved to new classes, Winnie!” She grips Winnie’s biceps with the strength of a droll and whirls her around. “I’ll be seeing you at the end of the day moving forward, instead of the beginning.”
“Ma’am?” Winnie is surprised this comes out without cracking.
“You’re being bumpedup,Winnie. Don’t you want to be around students closer to your own age?” Alice’s smile falters. “Wait—why are you so sweaty? Did you run here?”
Winnie nods.
“Well, all the more reason to advance you. Come on.”
“So… I’ll be with my grade now?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t saygrade.” An apologetic smile. “The headmaster felt you were too behind in Luminary history for that, but she did move you to the tenth-year class during third period. And for first period, you’ll be moving into twelfth-year physical training.”
“Oh.” Winnie doesn’t really know what else to say to this.
“You passed all of your trials,” Alice explains. “Which means you’re more than ready to train with the seniors. But if you don’t feel comfortable, I’m sure Headmaster Gina can rearrange things—once our day of Sunday festivities is over, of course. I hear you will be at our Sunday dinner tonight?”
“Uh, yeah.” Winnie finds herself swallowing and shoving at her glasses. Alice has led her to the locker rooms, and the door looks very different with body heat and voices to press against it.
“In you go.” Alice grins. “And I’ll see you in third period!”
Winnie feels detached from her body as she moves to her usual locker. She just jogged from the Floating Carnival while her brain attempted to run complex computational formulas. Now here she is, back in the Sunday estate locker room where the lights are too bright and a handful of seniorsare staring at her with expressions she can’t sort through. Are those fangirl smiles or mocking ones? Or are these girls all just changelings who want to eat Winnie and wear her skin?
