Page 84 of The Luminaries
Click.
Just like that, she knows what her dad’s drawing means.
“Stop feeling guilty, okay?” Rachel pats Winnie’s shoulder, scattering her thoughts and misinterpreting her frown. “And know that we’ll be waiting for you on the hunt, whenever you’re ready.”
Winnie nods absently as Rachel leaves. The locket glistens on her palm. The bear watches on.
Winnie waits until she hears the front door shut before springing into action and aiming for her desk. Her sketchbook has gathered a little dust since Monday morning, and when she peels back the cover, the lines of a half-drawn werewolf stare up at her.
She doesn’t remember sketching this; she could have done it months ago or maybe she did it last year. Darian is right that she should date and label things. What stands out to her most of all, though, is just how wrong she got it all—too vicious, too flat, too small. This isn’t what a werewolf looks like.
This isn’t whatthewerewolf looks like.
She rips the page aside to find a blank one. Then she snatches up a 0.5 pen, lays her newly returned locket on the left side of her desk, and with quick strokes, draws out what she’d found on the bookshelf at the library—every squiggle, every curve, and even the numbers 1–2–1 and the letterZwith an arrow.
Once it’s drawn, she rotates the page counterclockwise and draws in the locket’s moon and stars.
Now she is staring at a map of the forest. TheZis anNpointing north. The locket’s moon is the stream beside Stone Hollow—the stars representing the megaliths, at the heart of which rests a big X. Dad wants her to go there, that much is obvious. Yet there’s still one part of the map she doesn’t quite understand.
1–2–1.
Then it hits.Address me as “my lord.”It’s a cipher that’s meant for the birthday card in the attic.
In seconds, Winnie has scribbled down the card’s message. “First word,” she whispers, “in the first phrase.” She underlines it. “Second word, second phrase.” Another line. “First word, third phrase.” A final line—and the final message. Stark, unignorable, and very, very upsetting.
I.
Was.
Framed.
CHAPTER41
Winnie spends the next two days in bed, not by choice but because Mom is constantly there. She has no chance to make a run for it. So for two days, she does as the hospital discharge notes told her: she rests, recovers, drinks a lot of ginger ale, and stews over Dad’s map and message.
And over the Whisperer too.Isit real? Maybe her brain imagined the grating sound of a chain saw on starlight. Maybe she never really saw the world assembled like a broken jigsaw.
By Sunday afternoon, when Mom finally ventures out to work at the Daughter, Winnie sees her chance to break free. She has two errands to run on the family bike. The first will take her south. The second will take her north.
At first, lactic acid invades her muscles with a searing pain—though that’s more due to underuse than any lingering effects from her fall or hypothermia. She thinks of the song she heard beneath the water as she pedals. She thinks of Jenna and ghosts and the sad look in a basilisk’s eyes.
When she reaches the Thursday estate, she cuts onto the driveway. It’s got just enough incline for her to coast all the way to the mansion. It’s a gray day, perfumed by rain in the night before. Fog rises from theblack driveway. Winnie’s hair, by the time she reaches the front door and strides inside like she belongs there, is a frizzy mess.
She takes an elevator. The mirror within confirms her wet-dog status. She doesn’t even bother trying to fix it, and when the bell dings at the top floor, she continues her purposeful march into the tile entryway lit by floor-to-ceiling windows. At the gray door ahead, she pushes a doorbell. It buzzes.
Then she waits. She feels strangely calm, but also very alert.
Heels tap inside the apartment before the doorknob turns and the door swings wide. Erica stands on the other side, dressed in a black sweater over black leggings—and her usual steel-capped boots.
She blinks at the sight of Winnie. Even recoils slightly.
“Is that the pizza?” a voice shouts from inside. It sounds like it might be Astrid or Marisol.
Erica doesn’t answer. Instead, she recomposes herself, chin rising, and steps outside. The door shuts behind her.
“Hi,” Winnie says once Erica is close enough for her to spot the fresh lip gloss sparkling on her lips.
“Hi.” It’s a wary response, but not a mean one.
