Page 92 of The Whispering Night
CHAPTER
38
They can’t speak because there are soldiers everywhere—and Jeremiah too, who shouts orders on every other breath.They’re here. Look for signs of magic!Or,Check the trees—they were just here.Or lastly,Get that garage door shut!
But he’s too late on the garage. Winnie and Erica might not be able to talk, but they don’t need to. Their clasped hands are a tether to hint at where each girl might go before they move. Winnie leads them into the garage. Erica leads them to the four-wheeler. Then Winnie briefly pulls away to release the flatbed attached at the back.
It’s loud—so loud—but there’s also enough commotion outside to mask them because more scorpions are coming, enclosed in Hummers and snarling down the narrow road that leads to this garage.
People will wonder where I am.That was the last thing Winnie said to Jeremiah before he ended the interrogation. How hilarious that nowheis the one wondering.
Winnie sneaks to the front of the vehicle, feeling her way around Erica—then feeling as Erica slides her arms around her waist and the source presses into her back, blocked by layers of clothes.
“Ready?” It’s the only thing Winnie has said in minutes.
“Ready.”
Two things happen simultaneously: first, Winnie revs the four-wheeler to life in rumbling shockwaves that alert every nearby scorpion that chaos is about to cut through them like a battering ram.
The second thing that happens is Erica laughs. It’s bright and brilliant,and suddenly it’s not just she and Winnie who are hidden, it’s the entire four-wheeler too. Winnie feels the magic shiver over her. Hot mist curls around her. Her locket heats up anew. Then they are an unseeable unit barreling out of the Sunday estate toward a line of Hummers and soldiers and Jeremiah Tuesday spinning around confused.
He roars something, but Winnie is already fixing her attention on the driveway ahead. She speeds off it, avoiding the careering approach of a Hummer. And she stays off-road—that’s what these vehicles are for, after all, and the smooth lawn of the Sunday swans is nothing compared to the forest.
“We’re leaving tread marks!” Erica’s voice stabs into Winnie’s ear. “And I’m… I’m losing the spell!”
“Okay.” Winnie doubts Erica hears her—and it doesn’t really matter. The facts are what they are, and Winnie is going to adapt accordingly. They are almost to the road now; all they need to do is cross it. On the other side, directly opposite, is the Saturday estate. If Winnie can just get them to the maze, she is almostcertainshe can lose the Tuesdays.
They don’t know the secret ways inside like she does. They don’t know the twists and turns mapped out for Dryden. If Winnie can justget her and Ericathat far, then everything will be okay. They’ll lose the Tuesdays. They’ll find Jenna’s source. And then…
And then…
Witch, Wednesday, werewolf.
Trust the Pure Heart.
Hope is the thing with feathers.
Winnie’s inner monologue fritzes and fries, no longer spewing out Compendium facts or Diana insights. Just random snippets from past musings and plans and fixations. Bits of scrap paper that mean nothing on their own, and that cannot be assembled into a coherent whole upon a conspiracy board.
Darkness, darkness, light.
The cause above all else.
MEETING AT THE OLD MUSEUM.
The four-wheeler hits the street. There is no traffic at this hour. The only light is from the streetlamps—and from two Hummers that have managed to turn around and give chase.
Winnie and Erica are halfway across the road when Erica’s spell fails. When Winnie abruptlyseesthe four-wheeler, her arms, her hands. She thinks she hears Erica wail,Sorry!, but she can’t be sure because more Hummers are turning. More engines are revving. Which is fine. The scorpions won’t reach Winnie and Erica before Winnie and Erica reach the Saturday estate.
The topography changes. Gone is smooth asphalt, replaced by juddering cobbles—with a six-inch curb. Cursed Saturdays and their need forover-the-top fancy.Winnie can’t escape the driveway; these wheels just aren’t going to cut it.
The headlights burn brighter, illuminating every stone in the driveway. Igniting each bush and hedge and perfectly shaped tree, and revealingabsolutelyno way off this roller-coaster ride.
Black wings streak past, so fast Winnie thinks she imagines them. Except now Erica is shrieking in her ear, “THERE! WINNIE, THERE!” Winnie sees it too: a dip in the curb and a walking path that veers into manicured woods. She doesn’t know that trail, but those trees sure won’t let a Hummer through—and how hard can it be to navigate from there to the maze?
Winnie swerves the four-wheeler right. Cold air slices against her face. Engines boom and howl. For several fractions of a second, headlights sear into the side of her face. She thinks she hears a horn.
Then they are off the driveway and on the path. Headlights fade behind them. Trees launch up around them like bars to keep intruders out.Or bars to keep us caged.
