Page 66 of The Whispering Night
“Shut up,” Erica replies, accurately anticipating what Jay is about to say. (So maybe shewasstaring into the future.)
“I don’t like this.” Jay fastens a stare onto Winnie. “I don’t feel good about it, and I think it’s a trap. Secret notes in lockets and magic spells that auto-delete—this all feels like a really bad combination.”
Now Erica is the one to stare at Winnie. “Please remind Jay that he’s the one who’s a werewolf.”
Winnie swallows. She has successfully kept Mario’s baseless theory aboutwhyJay is a werewolf tamped down inside her brain. Now is not a good time to start chewing on it again.
Erica flips open the locket. “Awesome. There you are, Mr. Message. Except…” She angles the paper into the light. “It sayssecond floor. That’s not what it said before, is it?”
All thoughts of werewolf mutations scatter. Winnie snatches the paper from Erica, and sure enough, it now reads:Second floor, 11:05.“Whoa. This is new since I left the Monday estate.”
“And it’s eleven oh five now.” Erica’s eyes bug. “Put the note back in the locket, and let’sgo.” She spins on a boot heel, ready to march away.
Until Jay sidles a long leg into her path. “Nope. We’re not going up there, Erica. Following messages from an unknownwitchseems like a guaranteed way for all of us to end up dead.”
“Don’t make assumptions.” Erica pins him with an Ice Queen stare.“Winnie asked the locket for help, and that’s clearly what we’re getting. For all you know, it’s her dad sending the messages, and we’re about tofinallyget what we’ve been looking for.”
Winnie’s mouth dries at those words. Her tongue thickens.
“Or maybe,” Jay counters, “it’s that witch who tried to kill me and Winnie in the forest. Remember her?”
“You don’t know thecornixwrote this. There are probably more Dianas in Hemlock Falls than just her, and someone bewitched Winnie with a circling-words spell—”
“Wait, what? What spell?” Jay stares again at Winnie, but it’s not like she can explain to him what’s happening, so she simply shrugs helplessly back.
“She can’t talk about it,” Erica fills in, and there’s a smugness to the up-tilt of her jaw. She knows more than Jay, and she’s savoring it. “Any time Winnie tries to tell me about it, random nonsense spews out.”
Now Jay’s expression is one of betrayal.Erica knows this but not me?But again, it’s not like Winnie can say or do anything to explain herself. All she can manage is a tight-knuckled fist around the message and a furious exhale entombed by spring-cold fog.
Overhead, the strobe light keeps bouncing.
“Are we all good now?” Erica asks with pretend sweetness. “Because if so, it’s now eleven oh six, and we’re late.” She sets off again toward the museum’s entrance, and oh, Winnie is now noticing a tail attached to her jeans.
“I’m sorry,” Winnie tries, but Jay isn’t paying attention. His phone is lighting up in his flannel pocket, a secondary strobe to clash against the party. When he tugs it out, he groans. First at the phone. Than at Erica’s disappearing figure.
Given that the time is now 11:07 according to Winnie’s own phone, and that Erica has fully vanished from sight, Winnie mutters a rough “I’m sorry” for Jay. Then she scampers after the T in their WTF triangle.
Jay, half shouting into his phone so he can be heard, prowls after. “Can you—no. Please, L.A. Just wait, okay? It shouldn’t take long. Yeah, fine. Fine. I can meet you in the rotunda.”
That’s the last Winnie hears before the party subsumes her.
She has been to the old museum before, of course. On the night of Grayson’s funeral for a party so massive, there were at least double the people here celebrating his life. But whatever this party lacks in scale, itmakes up for in enthusiasm. Music careens over Winnie like a wrecking ball. Or like the disco balls that dangle in the main rotunda where once upon a time, a life-size droll skeleton hung. Black lights turn graffiti into glowing art displays across the marble floors and transform a wide, winding staircase into river rapids of dancing Luminaries. So many masks, so many painted faces, Winnie recognizes no one—and she herself remains unseen, pulled so far inside her hoodie, she has basically morphed into a turtle-wyrm.
Turtle-wyrm: Like the name would suggest, this subset of wyrm is able to retract its head into its body during times of danger or distress. (See also Cueille-Aigue, where one such wyrm managed to escape and survive for three years before Martedì Alphas tracked it down and killed it.)
For a chaotic, thudding moment, as Winnie tries to shove up the stairs toward the second floor, she loses Erica. She loses Jay. And she loses herself too, to the darkness, darkness, light of the Luminaries.
Then Winnie is at the top of the stairs and shoving into more crowds. More bodies. The heat mauls. Smells overwhelm, alcohol emulsifying with perfumes and deodorants and sweat. Winnie can’t see Erica, she can’t see Jay, and now that she’s on the second floor, where is she supposed to go?
With elbows and a cast-down head, she bludgeons her way into a familiar anteroom, where Grayson’s memorial was set up scarcely two weeks ago. The easel still remains, but there’s no crappy printout of Grayson’s face, noWe will miss you!written in permanent marker.
It’s just a room where more people dance, a few make out, and most hunch together shouting over the music or sharing drinks. No one looks at Winnie, and soon she finds herself before the window that will lead onto the roof. It’s open, though only enough to suck in a purl of air.
Winnie pulls her phone from her pocket. Her fingers shake as she fumbles out a message to Erica and Jay.By roof window.Then she waits.
And waits.
And waits some more while nothing happens.
