Page 3 of The Luminaries
Winnie summons a similar smile, one with actual teeth, and says: “Thanks. This is really… well, nice of you. Thanks.”
Emma beams, Bretta claps, and not for the first time Winnie wishes they were the stereotypical mean girls they’re supposed to be. She knows where she stands with the rest of the town—with brats like Marcus. With the twins, though, who arealmosther friends, but not quite…
That uncertain “between” makes her gut twist uncomfortably.
She clears her throat, unzipping the jacket. Then zipping it again. And again and again, because for some reason her fingers won’t stop. It just moves so easily.
“When’s your birthday?” Marcus asks the twins with an eagerness that suggests there might be awkward flowers in their future.
“Next week,” Emma replies—at the exact same moment as Bretta. They laugh, a bubbly sound that erupts whenever they speak in unison.
Winnie’s fingers freeze on the zipper. Next week doesn’t give her much time to find them a gift in return.
“We’re hoping to have a party,” Emma continues. “You’ll both be invited.” Marcus looks like he might swoon with joy. Winnie just feelsfaintly nauseated. Outcasts aren’t exactly welcome at the various Luminary parties.
So she changes the subject. As the oldest of their group, Winnie is in charge of corpse duty. “We’ve, uh,” she begins.Zip, zip, zip.“We’ve got a halfer near the Friday estate. Let’s start there?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Bretta pops a little salute. Then she, Emma, and Marcus pile into the flatbed. Winnie cranks the engine. Exhaust puffs, melting into the fog.
Dawn has arrived, pearly gray above the trees. Winnie flips on the headlights for good measure. Forest shadows scatter. The winter gray does not.
CHAPTER2
Winnie’s plan is a simple one: pass the three hunter trials, restore her family’s status in the Luminaries, and become a nightmare hunter like she has always been destined to be.
Her mom was a hunter.
Grandma Winona was a hunter.
Great-Grandma Maria was a hunter.
And if not for theincident,Winnie would be fully trained and welcomed to the first trial tonight with open arms. But as she knows in all-too-intimate detail, it turns out that having your dad be a spy for the Dianas, the Luminaries’ ancient enemy, doesn’t go over well—even if you, your mom, and your brother had no idea what was going on.
You should have known,the Council said four years ago.A true Luminary would have known. A true Wednesday would have known.Then they laid down a punishment of ten years as outcasts for Winnie, Mom, and Darian.
And that had been that. Dad was gone, having fled as a spy, and the old life as respected Luminaries was finished. Ten years as outcasts. The end.
Winnie hadn’t thought it could possibly get any worse… until she realized that her sixteenth birthday would arrive during her ten-yearsentence—thehunter trialswould arrive, and she would miss her one shot at taking them.
Which meant that if Winnie wanted to do this—and oh god, she wanted it then and she wants it now—then she couldn’t let her sixteenth birthday slip by. She was going to have to attempt the first trial. Sheisgoing to have to attempt it.
It’s her only chance to make everything right again and her only chance to go after the thing Dad tried to take away.
She just prays this new leather jacket will bring her luck.
CHAPTER3
Winnie parks the four-wheeler on a trail thirty feet from the halfer. The headlights beam through mist, turning the forest to a pixelated haze. In under a minute, Winnie has found the human remains. Three years of corpse duty, and she knows where nightmares usually deposit their prey. This particular clearing, surrounded by blue spruce and maples, is a regular feeding ground for vampira.
At the sight of the halfer’s exposed spine above the shredded remains of a waistline, Marcus gags. And at the sight of the exposed anklebones where the feet used to be, he turns and flees for the trees.
Which amuses Winnie. “Welcome to the forest,” she calls after him, and Bretta gratifies her with a giggle. Emma, however, takes pity on Marcus, and moments later her dulcet tones drift over a rebellious throat and the spray of vomit on pine needles.
Winnie and Bretta don’t wait for them. They pull on disposable gloves that are as blue as the cornflowers just appearing in Winnie’s front yard, and Bretta withdraws a body bag from the teal backpack she always carries. A chip package rustles. Probably salt and vinegar, knowing her. Or maybe it’s Emma’s preferred sour cream and onion.
“Nothing on him,” Bretta says after checking for ID. Her gloves arealready brown with blood. The guy’s jeans are even worse. “Should we search for the other half of his body?”
“Nah.” Winnie unfolds the body bag, which is really just an enormous ziplock. It’s even transparent like a ziplock too, with comparably poor seal quality that requires careful, patient unzipping. Nothing like Winnie’s new jacket.
