Page 36 of The Luminaries
“The Friday estate.” Mom slips into her navy fleece. “He said to meet him outside.”
Nothing has changed since the last time Winnie visited the Fridays, four years ago—except that everything is even more run-down than it used to be. If the Thursday estate is an art museum, then the Friday estate is something out of a horror movie. It is a haunted Gothic mansion brought to life, with its sloped, mossy roof, with its three stories and chipped white paint, with its tall, slender windows (two of which arebroken and boarded up) and two gargoyles that loom over the eastern and western wings.
Then there is the crowning horror: the burned-out tower on the west side. It was round and stately once, according to the black-and-white photos that peer out from heavy frames on several halls inside. But now it is a charred skeleton, missing a roof, a top floor, and any dignity it might have once possessed.
The clouds have briefly abandoned their usual post, leaving the sun to sweep down. Unusually cheerful for Hemlock Falls in spring, but almost garish when beamed upon the Friday estate. This is a house meant for gloom.
While the estates exist for clan operations, the Fridays are the tiniest clan on the Luminary tree—meaning the Friday “work” has always been filling whatever spot might be vacant in the Hemlock Falls ecosystem, from cleaning to catering to running the Revenant’s Daughter (Archie is a third cousin of Jay’s).
Four years ago, Winnie had never thought this collection of odd jobs strange. The Fridays were just that extra family that made some of the best hunters, and that was that. Now, driving toward the house, Winnie realizes how very strange it actually is. Every other clan has a function in the global society. Sundays teach new Luminaries; Wednesdays handle basic life needs and logistics; Thursdays ensure no one ever learns of the forests or the spirits or the society. But the Fridays…
They’re justthere.The only clan without a clearly defined role. Is it because there aren’t many of them? And why hasn’t Winnie ever considered this before?
Culture runs thicker than blood.That truth doesn’t only apply to the clans and their ideals; it defines the entirety of the Luminaries. Except that while Winnie has been trapped on the fringe, the culture in her blood has… Well, it hasn’t gone away so much as thinned. Just enough for her to question things she’d never questioned before.
Jay waits on the bottom step of six that lead up to the black front door. He is still as the gargoyles, staring at the ground. Even when the gravel crunches under the Volvo’s tires as Mom drives up, he doesn’t move.
I could draw him like that,Winnie thinks, mentally taking a snapshot—even though she hasn’t drawn Jay in years. Even though she hasn’t touched her pens since before the first trial. Something about him right now, so far away despite being right here, feels actually sketchable.
“When should I pick you up?” Mom asks, eying Jay warily behind glasses she only wears when driving.
“Jay can give me a ride,” Winnie answers, and though Mom’s lips purse—she clearly still doesn’t trust Jay’s motives—she does at least nod.
Winnie exits the Volvo and Jay finally reacts. It’s like a robot coming out of power-save mode: his spine straightens, his gaze solidifies with focus, and he even offers the slightest twinge of a smile. He wears loose black sportswear, not so different from Winnie’s clothes from training at the Sunday estate (which yes, she still has on), except that his hoodie and joggers are fresh. Winnie’s, meanwhile, are coated in sweat with an extra fragrance ofeau de Revenant’s Daughterthanks to the car ride with Mom.
For some reason, as Jay approaches her and Mom drives away, Winnie is keenly aware of her filthy state. Which is weird, because it’s not as if Jay ever looks put together. “Do you have your hunting gear?” he asks.
Winnie lifts the black backpack that used to be Darian’s.
“Great. Then follow me.” Jay slides his hands into his pockets. The loose pants cling in places on his body that Winnie wishes she weren’t noticing. She doesn’t remember Jay having thigh muscles before.
He saunters off, as oblivious to Winnie’s scrutiny as he is to the rest of Hemlock Falls’ rapture, aiming for the mansion’s eastern corner. Grass pokes up from the gravel. A few snapdragons too.
They reach a cluster of trees that has a path lined with massive stepping-stones. Winnie’s heart gives a little sigh at the sight of it. She used to love this path; it was so magical. Soun-nightmarish. Like if she took this path, she’d end up at a castle far away. Unlike the grounds around the Friday estate, which are overgrown and long since evolved from chaotic garden into full-on nature, the path is cleared, the saplings and undergrowth kept gently at bay.
When at last Jay guides Winnie out of the trees, it’s to find a familiartraining ground. They used to sneak out here with Erica, all those years ago, and play hide-and-seek within the wooden platforms and rope ladders, the ditches and walls. Somehow, it looks even more run-down than the house. The man-shaped targets have plastic flaking off them in vicious curls—as well as a galaxy of holes from various weapons. The platforms, meanwhile, appear rotten, and the rope ladders have mostly just become ropes.
It is a downright perilous series of obstacles, and Winnie suspects any one of them might actually kill her if she doesn’t navigate themjustright.
As Jay leads her toward a table at the far corner of the field, Winnie remembers something Dad once said about people who excel. She’d been complaining that Erica had a nicer bicycle, and couldn’tshehave a nicer bicycle?
Listen, Winnie Benny, some of the world’s most elite athletes have trained in the worst conditions.He had on his professor voice, the one that hearkened to his days before joining the Luminaries and that always indicated a lecture was on the way.The constraints of a partly deflated soccer ball or a twenty-year-old tennis racket can sometimes lead to one-of-a-kind talent because when those athletesdoget the best gear—oh, to see them perform then. They become unstoppable.
For once, thinking of Dad doesn’t make Winnie’s blood boil. She’s too absorbed by the meaning of what he’d told her. By the living, breathing, very well-muscled proof before her. The other clans might have top-notch training gear, but everyone knows that it’s actually the Friday hunters who often turn out the best.
Jay has reached the table now, and he’s looking back at Winnie. No expression beyond a patient sort of curiosity. Winnie hurries toward him, frowning at her epiphany—wondering if her own constraints might ultimately help her.
Probably not.
On the table is a red compound bow. She reaches for it, but Jay lifts a hand. “Gear first,” he tells her. “It’s better to train in what you’ll actually wear.”
This makes sense, and speaking of constraints, the enormity of Andrew’s gear certainly is one. She hauls it out of her backpack.Rrrrippp, rrrrripppp.Velcro opens.Krrr, krrrr.Velcro closes. When she looks at Jay again, she realizes he’s staring at her chest.
“Hey,” she snaps, even though she’d ogled him only a few minutes ago.
“Banshee claws,” he replies.
Winnie flushes. Because of course he wasn’t oglingher.It’s just that three claws are still poking out of the Kevlar.
