Page 81 of The Whispering Night
Cheers from the current event (soccer, she thinks) are loud enough to smash out all others. The people are so tightly packed too, that Winnie eventuallydoeshave to put on her glasses just to locate gaps for wriggling through.
At last, though, she reaches the edge of the cordoned-off VIP seating area.
The first thing Winnie notices is that Darian isn’t here. This startles her. Then terrifies her. It makes the four-year-old hug branded on her bones physically sear. As if her skeleton wants to crawl out of her body and search for the brother thatshouldbe at Dryden’s side.
She will never forgive herself if Darian is underground right now. If Mom is too, and Winnie just escaped without finding them. Without evensearching.
The next thing Winnie notices is that Jeremiah Tuesdayishere, clean and dressed in his usual fatigues. No sign of the morning All-Terrain Raceon his body—or of the interrogation in his nest from before that. He smiles and laughs, chatting with a Vtornik Winnie vaguely recognizes from the Nightmare Safari.
The Crow, however, is as absent as Darian. Which doesn’t make any sense. That woman is pulling Jeremiah’s strings, right? So she should be here, twirling her mustache and laughing evilly. Or maybe even actively searching for Winnie with her magic…
Except now that Winnie considers it, now that she gnaws at her lip and gazes at Jeremiah’s oblivious, chuckling face, what was it Signora Martedì said on the Ferris wheel? When Winnie asked for records of when her dad disappeared?
Cannot or will not?Winnie replied.
The Crow never answered, but what if… what if the answer wascannotbecause Jeremiah doesn’t know what Martedì is? He said in the interrogation,There’s obviously a network of Dianas here in Hemlock Falls, and I intend to find out who they are. Each and every one of them.
If Jeremiah really doesn’t know, if the scorpions reallyaren’tthe tools of Signora Martedì… then that changes things, doesn’t it? Winnie isn’t surewhatit changes, but something.
As Winnie scans more faces, searching for Erica, her gaze finds L.A. Saturday instead, dressed in a gorgeous purple gown. On her head is the Midnight Crown, but rather than look happy that she finally has what she wants, she looks trapped in that nightmare gallery of the old museum.
She looks, in fact, like Winnie must have in the Tuesday cell, when last night’s events looped and re-looped across her brain.
L.A. saw what Jay turned into.
She saw, yet all she could say to Winnie before the Tuesdays took Winnie away was: “How did I never realize what he was going through?”
Yeah, Louisa Anne. Winnie can totally relate; she too wonders how for four years, she never saw what Jay was going through.
Right now, though, Winnie’s focus is on Erica, whom she finally finds slumped in a chair beside her mom. Marcia, hilariously, looks less like a sports fan and more like a person cosplaying one, complete with a foam finger on one hand, a foam bell on the other, and so much maroon-and-silver gear, her skin looks that color. Actually no, her skinismaroon because she has put on body paint too.
Wow, Marcia. Way to take it to eleven.
Erica, meanwhile, is dressed in a black outfit not so different from yesterday’s. Minus the cat ears and tail. Actually, maybe itisthe same outfit—and maybe Erica hasn’t slept any more than Winnie has.
Yetxalways leads toy,and here Erica is anyway. Her dad too, mingling with less blatant Thursday spirit in a group of Jueves visitors from Mexico—or at least, Winnie thinks that’s who they are because she’s pretty sure she recognizes Erica’s uncle in the group.
With very little finesse, Winnie scoots right up to her friend—opposite side of Marcia, of course—and says, “Hey.”
Erica glares at her, clearly planning to laser-beam whomever would dare disturb her. But when she takes in Winnie’s getup, then fastens on Winnie’s face, her eyebrows rocket skyward.
“We can’t talk here,” Winnie adds before Erica can say something loud or dangerous or conspicuous.
But of course, she’s not giving her friend enough credit. “Duh,” Erica replies. “Meet me at the bathrooms.” A dip of her head toward an array of fancy portable toilets nearby. Then she swivels away as if Winnie really is beneath her notice.
Winnie follows the command, and in seconds, she and Erica are ensconced behind a toilet. The crowds, meanwhile, are absolutely losing their minds because—based on theespeciallyloud cheers for Friday—the Friday clan must be dominating the Tuesdays on the pitch.
“They let you out?” Erica has to yell to be heard.
And Winnie’s snort definitely isn’t audible. She points at her face paint. “Does this look like someone who got let out?”
Now Erica’s jaw sags. “You’re on thelam? Holy crap, Winnie. How did you break free?”
“Long story.” Winnie shakes her head. “And you’re the only person I know who can help me.”
Erica rears back—and Winnie cringes. Not because of Erica but because her whole body is vibrating with a growing roar ofFriday, Friday, Friday!
It makes her think of Jay.
