Page 86 of The Whispering Night
Which, Winnie supposes makes sense, given that Erica is not a strong Diana.
“Why was Jenna on her second trial?” Erica continues. “Whydid she go out there, into the forest, if all she wanted was to leave the Luminaries and leave Hemlock Falls?”
The source glisters, veins of gray sliding through it. Winnie thinks again of bioluminescence. She thinks again of secret places where adults can’t watch. And she thinks of those words from long ago that she and Erica uttered as girls in the cabin:Sumus unus in somno et somniis.
“The Saturdays were managing the trial that night.” Erica’s voice is a detached confessional, as if she is narrating one of her own letters.Yourssincerely, Erica Antonia Thursday. “So I never understood why it was the Tuesday clan who brought my family the news about Jenna’s death. Yes, Tuesdays eventually contain a kill site, but shouldn’t that come later? It was the Saturdays who must have found her first.
“It was only later, when I found Jenna’s spell… Well, someone else must have realized what she was. And Dianas are always the domain of the Lambda scorpions.” Here Erica pauses long enough to withdraw a torn piece of notebook paper from the dampener. Its blue and red lines have faded to teal and pink, as has the ink scrawled across it.
“Is this it?” Winnie asks. “The spell?”
Erica nods. She doesn’t offer it to Winnie. Instead, she holds the spell in one hand, her source in the other. Lady Justice with her scales in perfect balance.
“You told us you got rid of it.”
Erica winces. “I know. And I’m sorry I lied. I didmeanto destroy it, four years ago. But I… I just couldn’t in the end. Jenna took the risk of leaving it in her diary—where anyone could find it. And I just… well, it felt like maybe that was the point. Like maybe shewantedme to uncover it.”
“And do what with it? What’s the spell for?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t asked the other Dianas?”
Erica’s head shakes. Then she blinks, as if tears are stinging. “I haven’t asked them. I’m afraid to. Because I still don’t know how Jenna died, you know? My family never saw a body before Jenna was cremated. Was it really a vampira horde that killed her? Or did Tuesdays find out what she was and finish her off? Or…”
“Or did the Dianas kill her?” Winnie fills in, and she thinks back to what Signora Martedì told her—that a spell killed Jenna. And that the spell is still bound to her source.Maybe this is the spell. Maybe this is what created the Whisperer.
But Winnie can’t say this to Erica any more than she can suddenly say,The Crow is a powerful Tuesday!
Erica’s fingers tighten on the paper. “All I really know is that this spell, whatever it is, is an important one. We’re told never to write spells down. We learn them like songs instead, so that no one can ever take them from us.” She laughs here, an almost hateful sound. “Remember those blistersyou saw on my fingers?” She makes jazz hands. “Theywerefrom a guitar because I was trying to memorize spells by giving them tunes.”
“And that one?” Winnie points at the spell. “Does it have a tune?”
Erica frowns. “If it does, I don’t know it.”
Winnie would betsheknows it. Because there’s only one song it can be, right?Thesong that haunted her beneath the waves of the waterfall—the one she thought saved her while hypothermia crushed in. She must have had it wrong; it wasn’t Jenna’s ghost protecting her underwater. It was the Whisperer, still hunting even as water and cold dragged Winnie down.
And it’s the same song that has now dragged Jay down too.
“I don’t know what the spell does,” Erica continues. “What few books there are in the library on Dianas sure don’t mention theIncantamentum Purum Cor. And until I have an answer—I’m afraid to even make up a melody of my own.”
Winnie swallows. Then folds forward, her ribs bowing down into her stomach. She wants to tell Erica everything. Never has she wanted it more.I know the song. I know how Jenna died. I don’t understand why, but Erica, I have at least a few answers for you.
But of course Winnie can’t grit any of those thoughts past her circling-words spell. As soon as she opens her mouth and tries, she feels the Compendium awakening instead.
Erica watches Winnie, her eyelids lowered to half-mast. Her nostrils flaring with something that is almost tipping toward rage. “I’m sorry I haven’t found a way to break that spell on you. You have no idea how sorry, Winnie.”
It’s fine,Winnie wants to respond.I’m sorry too.But the words won’t come—and now that she considers it, there’s a weird feeling tickling at the back of her neck. A shuddery sensation that makes her think of a CD of her dad’s that had overtone chanting. The recorded monks were able to manipulate their vocal tracts to create more than one pitch at a time.
Here is Erica’s apology,says one pitch.And now here is something else too.
Erica lowers her arms. After easing her source back onto its nest of moss, she tenderly rests the spell above it. The paper is clearly precious to her—and understandably so. That spell and a locket with a stain on it are all she has left of her sister.
Winnie blinks. Sits taller. All thoughts of overtone chanting have fled now.A locket with a stain on it. “Show me your locket,” she blurts, and with as little caution as Erica just used on her source, Winnie leans over the dampener.
Erica’s head chickens backward, her face scrunching with surprise. But she does let Winnie tug out the locket and tip it toward the light.
“Four stars,” Winnie murmurs. “For the yew tree, which symbolizes hunters or danger. Or…” Her eyes flick to Erica’s. “Maybe it symbolizes nothing at all.”
