Page 52 of The Whispering Night
“Oh, right.” Still frowning, Darian digs into his bag and withdraws a scuffed-up flip phone of the not-smart variety. “This is for you. I guess Fatima raised it with Leila that you should have a phone, and so Leila said I could pull one from the city hall supply closet.” Darian smiles tentatively. “So… yay? It’s ready to go, with my number in it, and Dryden’s too. Just in case.”
Just in case what?Winnie thinks. Even if the sleeping spirit were to wake up and all of Hemlock Falls were to disintegrate beneath a mass of seethingnightmares, Dryden Saturday would still not be a person Winnie would call. Nonetheless, she makes herself match Darian’s smile—though hers is morepainedthantentative—and accept the phone from his grip.
“You push that button there, with the face-looking icon, to access contacts.”
Winnie pushes said face-looking icon. Sure enough, numbers pop up. Except there are more than two. “You put Andrew’s number in here.”
“Yeah.” Darian’s smile spreads into something more natural. “And the house number’s in there. And Mom’s new office line. Oh, and Leila suggested I include hers and Fatima’s numbers, so then while I was at it, I tossed in Jay’s. And, ah… how’s it going with you two?”
Winnie snorts. Since there is literally no way for her to explain that her relationshipwouldbe great if Jay’s life weren’t under constant threat by a nightmare mutation and a Dianacornix,she instead opts for: “I think you should be more worried about your own relationship, Darian. I saw Andrew at the Carnival yesterday, and he was so very aggressively alone. Like, the poor guy was banging the hammer at the Ring-the-Bell by himself. No one to cheer him on.” Winnie doesn’t add that she didn’t cheer Andrew on either. “So… you know. Maybe you should take him out for a nice time at the Carnival? Or I don’t know, take off Wednesday and do the Hunters’ Feast together.”
“Right.” Darian looks faintly ill, which Winnie is starting to recognize as the look he gets whenever he peers into the crystal ball of his future and sees only Dryden Saturday staring back.
ExchangeDrydenwithWitch,and Winnie can relate.
“Fraternal failures,” he mutters to himself as he shuffles away, “and ruined relationships. Great job, Darian the Destroyer.”
Okay, now Winniedoesfeel bad. Darian only alliterates when he’s at the farthest end of his stress spectrum.
Once she has relieved her bladder, washed her hands, then snuck back into an empty stall so no one can talk to her, Winnie pulls out her “new” phone. Texting is even more awkward without a proper keyboard, but she’s able to fire off a message to Jay.
This is Winnie. Got a phone. How was last nite?
She sits and waits for a reply, but none ever comes. Which she tries not to freak out over. She also tries not to imagine him once more transformedin the forest, where either hunters or nightmares might kill him. Or once more sucked into the Crow’s and Jeremiah’s clutches over pretenses Winnie can’t protect him from.
She sends Fatima a message too while she waits.
This is Winnie. Thanx 4 asking ur mom 4 phone 4 me
People come and go in the bathroom. Minutes ooze past, too slow and yet too fast since Jay isn’t responding.Werewolf. Witches. Wednesday. Whisperer.Flowers germinate, bloom, wither across Winnie’s brain. Her fingers itch to draw.
Until at last, the phone makes a ding.
It isn’t Jay—much to Winnie’s disappointment. It’s Fatima.Yay! A phone! Where are you? I’ll be at the Monday lunch with my mom. Sit with me?
Winnie sighs. Her heart is booming, and she hates herself for wishing this were Jay. She hates herself even more when she realizes, as she pushes off the unused toilet, that she’s no better than Darian. That her own friends have been just as abandoned as Andrew.
Winnie saw Emma, Bretta, and Fatima in Nightmare Anatomy yesterday at the Sunday estate, but she barely spoke to them. She didn’t update them on Jay, and shedefinitelydidn’t apologize for suddenly striding off in the middle of the Carnival. Yet not once did they push or pester her. They gave her space to be silent and sulky. And they also gave her a goodbye hug before she had to break off into her new Luminary history class during third period.
Here she is, telling Darian to be more attentive to his boyfriend, when she herself has been a Grade A Crappy Friend.
True, Winnie can’t talk about what’s going on because all these secrets in her life aren’t hers to share—and then there’s a freaking silencing spell on her to boot. But there are also plenty of innocent topics she could chat about, like Fatima’s costume for the Masquerade and all the epic stuff Winnie saw during the first half of the Science Fair.
Oh, and there’s the Compendium Art Competition, which did get officially announced today, exactly as Ms. Morgan promised.
With more pep in her step than she’s had all day, Winnie abandons the bathroom. As she walks, she considers how kelpie circulation could be applied to one of Fatima’s costume designs—how she might draw such a system, each artery and vein a gentle stroke across the page.
But her pep is short-lived. She’s like one of those cartoons that comes to such an abrupt halt, they leave smoking skid marks behind. Because in the long hall where lunch is being served, buffet style, Winnie finds Signora Martedì. A cartoon all her own, but of the evil, mustache-twirling variety.
And right now Martedì is twirling her mustache directly over Fatima.
Winnie spots them from three tables away. The hall, which is normally used for Monday dinners, has high rafters and skylights to glare down a garish light. Where the Wednesdays have a massive, elegant fireplace in their dining room, the Mondays have a podium and blackboard meant for guest lecturers.
Right now, the blackboard readsWELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE MASQUERADE!Then below that is the same message in all the other languages of the Luminaries.Bienvenidos al Festival de Máscaras de las Pesadillas,??? ?????? ?? ?? ?????,????? ?????????? ?? ???????? ????????,?????? ?????? ?? ????? ??? ??? ?????, and on and on.
And ten steps away from the podium, at a round table with diners and food, sits Fatima… with Signora Martedì parked right beside her, laughing and clapping and patting Fatima’s shoulder as if they are thebestestof friends.
Winnie stares for several seconds, her teeth rolling out a rhythm behind her lips that would make a snare drum proud. Her first instinct is to stomp over to Martedì and scream at her toback the hell off!But she knows this would make A Scene, and A Scene isn’t something Winnie wants—at least not for Mom’s sake. She also wouldn’t be able to explain herself to anyone.
