Page 15 of The Luminaries
Winnie gulps. Her teeth start clicking.
“I know it hasn’t been easy since Dad left, but you’ve done such a great job—”
Nope.Winnie can’t listen to this or she is going to erupt with a confession. Darian might have grudgingly released her for the trials, but she doesn’t know what Mom will do. She might approve—she might even support her more than Darian has. Or she might strap her to a chair and stand guard until sunrise.
And honestly, Winnie would actually prefer the latter option. It was bad enough seeing hope lurk in Darian’s eyes; she doesn’t think she can handle seeing it in Mom’s.
“Love you,” she blurts. Then she power walks from the room, through the low-ceilinged living room, up the creaking stairs (third from the bottom is a real doozy; watch out), and into her bedroom, tucked at the end of the hall where the ceiling slants down and squirrel feet patter all summer.
She “studies” for an hour, jumping every time she thinks Mom might be coming upstairs, and taking pee breaks every ten minutes because for some reason her bladder has shrunk to the size of a raisin.
Finally, 8:00P.M.clangs out from the downtown bells, and Winnie jumps into action. She stuffs pillows under her covers, turns on her white-noise machine, gathers up Andrew’s gear and her new leather jacket, and on the tippiest of toes, she sneaks out of her room and into Darian’s. He hasn’t lived at home in almost two years, but like everything he touches or has ever touched, the tiny room is a spreadsheet. Even the colors feel vaguely Excel—green and gray with black lines to separate it all.
Winnie opens the slate-gray curtains, and the first hints of moonlight spear in. Scarcely enough to see by, but enough to get dressed by. This window, with its warped glass that hasn’t been updated since the house was built almost a hundred years ago, is going to be Winnie’s escape. The roof juts out below it, and it’s an easy hop onto the woodpile and then to the ground. Winnie has actually done it many times as part of her makeshift “obstacle course” inside the house.
She pulls on old black jeans that are a little tight and a lot too short thanks to an unexpected growth spurt last fall, and a black turtleneck she got while thrift-store scrounging with Darian the month before.The teakettle whistles downstairs. The TV flips on with the local Luminaries news.
“Vampira hordes are on the rise again,” says the local news anchor, Johnny Saturday. Winnie can just imagine the way he gels his black hair. Mom used to jokingly sigh about how handsome he was; Dad used to jokingly mutter how he wasn’t impressed.
Winnie wonders where this year’s birthday card might be hiding.
“There has also been a surge in hotspot activity,” Johnny continues, “and boaters are warned to avoid the red buoys in the Little Lake as well as all staked areas outside the usual boundaries. For a complete list of coordinates, check the hunter website.” Johnny spells out the website, and Winnie pauses in mid-grab for her leather jacket.
In all the anxiety and frustration of the day, she completely forgot about Mario. He must have emailed her by now. “Shit,” she whispers, mentally adding a dollar to the swear jar in the kitchen that is almost entirely filled with dollars shoved in by Mom.
There is no way Winnie can sneak back downstairs to the family computer to check her email. And unlike almost every other teenager in Hemlock Falls, she does not have a phone. Cell service doesn’t work here—the forest interferes with signals—and though there is local Wi-Fi for phones, Winnie is denied access until her family’s time as outcasts is complete.
She’ll have to check tomorrow. Besides, it’s not as if the answer will change anything right now. Whether she won the wager with Mario or not, she is going to the first trial. She is going into the forest.
Once the leather jacket is on, Winnie finds the box labeledBAGSin Darian’s closet and fishes out a mostly black one. It’s old, the straps are worn, but it will hold the xeroxed pages from the Rulebook and Mom’s old copy of the abridged Nightmare Compendium. It holds Andrew’s gear and the two poison-mist traps as well.
Lastly, she pulls on the locket Darian gave to her. Her heart thumps against her fingers as she tucks it under her shirt. She regrets eating dinner. She feels like she needs to pee again. But it’s too late to turn back. She is doing this.
The forest awaits.
CHAPTER10
It takes Winnie longer than anticipated to walk to the Thursday estate. She is afraid Mom will notice if she takes the family’s shared bike, and despite Mom’s repeated insistence they practice driving, Mom has yet to actually make time for it beyond a handful of lessons over a month ago. Back in the day when Erica and Winnie had been friends, Winnie had trekked to the estate regularly. A mile and a half seems really short in her memory.
Memory, she realizes, is a liar. Especially when youhaveto arrive at nine o’clock on the dot. And even more so when you really should have skipped dinner, and crap on a cracker, you really do need to pee.
She ends up jogging most of the way, which leaves her sweating inside the Kevlar she’d pulled on behind the family shed. She’s desperately thirsty by the time the long driveway to the estate comes into view.
Cars pass her when she finally slows to a walk; no one offers a ride. They don’t even decelerate as they drive by, though Winnie does feel eyes staring.
It used to be that coming to the Thursday estate was exciting, since Erica’s mom is head of the clan and Erica lives on the estate. Winnie always felt sofancygoing to her room on the top floor, passing all the cool tile and tall windows. If the Monday estate feels like a campus, then theThursday estate is a modern-art museum. It’s all clean, contemporary lines set in a low pocket surrounded by hill and forest. Retaining ponds thick with lily pads and cattails surround the gray stone.
All the lights are on in the building as Winnie finally reaches the end of the driveway and the full expanse of the estate rises before her. Floodlights beam in front, revealing hedges so perfectly square only a Thursday could have trimmed them.
Culture runs thicker than blood.
On instinct, Winnie glances at the window into Erica’s room. It’s dark, but light flickers as if someone is watching TV—which surprises Winnie. Erica’s mom used to be so opposed to a TV in the bedroom.
Black SUVs are parked in front of the wide stone awning that leads to the front door, and teens dressed in much newer, fancier gear than Winnie’s mill about. She counts five, and she recognizes all of them from school. Two Sundays, a Tuesday, a Thursday, and Fatima Wednesday.
The rule is that anyone in the Luminaries—except nons who join from outside—can try to become a hunter during the month of their sixteenth birthday. If they fail, though, that’s it. No do-overs. No mulligans. The stakes are too high to risk anyone in the forest who isn’t a peak performer.
“Winnie!” cries a chipper voice. Then a second, “Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?” Bretta and then Emma dart out from behind a nearby SUV (bringing the applicant total to seven), and Winnie has to fight the urge to curl in on herself. The twins bound toward her, skipping in much newer, full-body armor, and despite Winnie’s not-subtle retreat, they envelop her in a hug.
