Page 59 of The Whispering Night
The librarian grimaces. Then shakes her head as if there are tiny canaries flying around it. “Ouch. Where was I? The locket. Um, can you show it to me again, Winnie? I don’t remember what it looks like.”
Winnie obeys, digging the locket from her Save the Whales hoodie, which she traded her sweater for. (She also added her leather jacket to the ensemble because the scheduledidsay to dress warm.) The locket glints in the evening light.
“Ah yes.” Funday adjusts her glasses so the bifocal parts of her lenses rest higher on her nose. “A pretty straightforward design,” she murmurs to herself. “A waning crescent with three stars. Typically three stars would stand fornuntius,which meansmessage.”
“So… that’s all this means?Message?”
“Well, it was usually the beginningofa message, and then more moonsand stars would be added after that. So for example, after the first moon and three stars, a moon and four stars might follow. Which would literally meanyew tree,or more symbolicallydanger—because hunter bows were made from yew. Five stars, meanwhile, referred to rowan trees for protection…” Funday trails off here as she flips around the locket. “Nothing on the back of the locket… and…” She snaps it open.
A scrap of paper flutters out.
Winnie’s heart, again, skips several beats. Especially because, with Funday in the way, she can’t reach the paper to retrieve it. Andespeciallybecause the way it falls is apparently the perfect angle for Funday to snatch it up and read. “My apologies, Winnie,” she says. “I didn’t mean to knock out a lover’s note.How romantic,though.”
For several more missed heartbeats, these words are meaningless to Winnie. Then two thoughts collide at once:She must think Darian is my boyfriend, not my brother, since his photo is inside.And:But wait, I thought I pulled the message out on Saturday night?
Winnie grabs the paper, pasting a very fake, laughably huge grin across her face. “So romantic,” she agrees. Then she flips the paper to read it on its way toward her pocket.
And oh, now Winnie understands.Nowshe sees why Funday might consider this romantic. Evening sunlight, filtered by a dirty bus window, reveals a message that isn’t at all what Winnie snapped in there two days ago. Because she reallydidpull that out on Saturday and toss it on the floor.
Museum,it reads.11P.M.tonight.
“Nightmare Safari” is a deeply misleading label for what happens over the next three hours. For one, there are no nightmares to see because the mist hasn’t yet risen. Therefore, the forest is nothing more than… well, a bunch of trees. Yes, there’s a definite creep factor that regular trees don’t possess—and thereisthat sense of Something Watching that everyone knows is caused by the sleeping spirit at the bottom of the Big Lake. But with no actual creatures to behold or photograph, the “safari” is more like a late-evening hike while the sun sets.
Not that Winnie minds. She’s such a bundle of panicked energy, sheis frankly glad she can expel that energy here instead of wasting hours at the after-party—or worse, all by herself in her bedroom.
Museum. 11P.M.tonight.
Before Mario can drive the transport bus fully out of civilization and into the forest’s clutches, Winnie blasts off a text message to both Jay and Erica:Meet at old museum at 10:30.
She doesn’t know if they get the message, since neither respond before the magic of the spirit eliminates all signal. That doesn’t stop her from checking the device every twenty seconds to see ifmaybea little blip of city service can sneak through.
It can’t, and for the next three hours, Winnie finds herself forced into the role of unofficial assistant tour guide. And despite her early reservations, it actually ends up being a solid distraction. Because these visitors reallyarenightmare wonks with the ecological, evolutionary, and biological questions to prove it.
So if she’s freaked out by the fact that they are slowly heading toward the northernmost shore of the Big Lake, which isslowlygetting them closer to an area where two Dianas were burned to death…
Well, those ghosts are quieter than Professor Funday, who fires out enough questions to keep both WinnieandMario busy.
And if Winnie’s entire circuit board is lit up by a single question—WHO SENT THE MESSAGE IN MY LOCKET?—then too bad. Winnie is here, in the forest, and the nightmare factoids bursting from her mouth aren’t forced there by a spell.
When they reach a stretch of shore shaped like a half-moon, Winnie can’t help but think of Grayson Friday. Of the funeral that happened for him right here, a little over two weeks ago. It was the same day Jay became Lead Hunter. It was the same day Winnie first realized maybe she wasn’t so great at exorcising her ghosts.
A stream burbles far too cheerfully at the farthest edge of this secluded beach. Next to it grows a silvery rowan tree, its branches flaunting new purple buds.Some Dianas,Winnie thinks, remembering words from Theodosia Monday’s book,will craft small coins from rowan wood that has been harvested in a spirit forest, believing such amulets can protect against nightmares.
Such a tree certainly helped her escape a sadhuzag two weeks ago.
“Manticores frequently rise here after the mist,” Mario explains as he guides them onto the silty beach. “Because the females are attracted to this softer soil for their nests.”
“And what about the males?” a visiting Tuesday asks. “Also, how does mating work for local manticores?”
“A great question, Señora Martes. Winnie, do you want to take it?”
“Sure,” Winnie says because what the heck else is she going to do right now? “Mating for manticores in this forest is a lot like scorpions in a non-magical ecosystem. The males begin the courtship with a behavior called ‘juddering,’ which creates vibrations in the ground. The females follow that.”
On and on, question after question—like a pop quiz to end all pop quizzes—twenty-four pairs of eyes watch Winnie with rapt attention. Mario too, because these people don’t actually care about Winnie’s Midnight Crown. They just want to know about the local nightmares in as much detail as two human encyclopedias can offer. And much like the Science Fair earlier, this whole thingshouldbe fun. Winnieshouldbe reveling in this chance to show off her knowledge and chat with fellow nerds.
Instead, she has never hated Signora Martedì more. And she can’t help but wonder if the signora is the one who sent the message in her locket. Except why? Martedì can just talk to Winnie directly. No need for subterfuge or lockets.
T minus thirty-six hours until the Crow makes good on her threats.
