Page 46 of The Luminaries
Even if no tears reach Winnie’s eyes, Aunt Rachel seems to sense her emotions. She offers a closemouthed smile, the kind that’s casually sympathetic. That says,I get it, kid.
Winnie appreciates it. She also appreciates when Rachel asks, “Want to go in through the front?”
It’s not the most direct route to the hunters’ area where gear would be kept. In fact, it’s kind of out of the way, since they could just veer right at the forked path ahead and circle behind the house to the basement entrance. But shedoeswant to go in the front. Shedoeswant to savor this moment after four years stuck outside.
She’s glad no one is around. It’s just her and Aunt Rachel to go up the white steps leading to the green double doors with the bear banner. It’s just her and Aunt Rachel to step inside the yawning foyer with its enormous chandelier, the candles unlit at this time of day. The dark hardwood floors gleam beneath thick patterned rugs that stretch down the long hall before climbing the main stairs at the end. Mirrors mark the paneled walls, hanging over antique tables loaded down with busts of every Lead Hunter from the past fifty years.
Mom’s bust is conspicuously no longer there, replaced instead by a marble version of Aunt Rachel.
Between the tables on the left are closed doors leading to the various archives and offices that fill the estate. On the right there are only two doors, both open, leading into the enormous dining room. The Wednesday clan is the largest in Hemlock Falls; they need lots of space.
Winnie can’t resist poking her head into the dining room. It’s empty now, but assuming all goes well tonight—or well enough—then on Wednesday night she and Mom and Darian will be back in there. Backat one of those long tables that each seats a hundred. Tall glass doors peer out over a closed garden just starting to awaken and welcome spring.
Aunt Rachel waits patiently while Winnie takes it all in, which Winnie again appreciates… but also kind of resents now. Because all of this isweird.Only three days ago, Rachel was rude, borderline hateful. Now she’s a sympathizing, supportive kind of aunt. It’s enough to give a gal whiplash.
A door opens into the main hall; Winnie jerks out of the dining room doorway. But the person—a second cousin named Arthur—doesn’t look at her suspiciously as he strides down the hall with a stack of papers in one hand. Instead, he calls a greeting to Aunt Rachel and then grins Winnie’s way. “Welcome back!” He disappears through a different door.
And that weird feeling rises higher inside of Winnie. She loves this even as it makes no sense. Have they all really just switched off how they felt about her and her family? Technically, they’re still outcasts. Does killing a banshee really negate a ten-year sentence so easily? Sure, in all her fantasies, it had been exactly like this…
Except not really,her subconscious kindly reminds.You didn’t actually pass the trial, so all of this welcome is built on a lie.
Winnie’s teeth start clicking. She shoves at her glasses and motions for Rachel to continue leading the way.
Soon, they’ve reached the end of the hall, where the stairs rise and then split, aiming upward into more offices and, on the top floor, Fatima and her family’s living quarters. Another set of stairs descends on the left. Voices drift up, along with the sounds of jogging feet, of fists against punching bags, of bow bolts thudding into targets.
Winnie’s breath catches. She used to love this sound, and whenever Mom had visited the estate for clan business, Winnie had sat right here, at the top of the stairs, and dreamed of the day she’d get to go down.
She’s never actually been allowed into the Armory, as they call it. Sure, she got to see it a few times as a kid, but remaining inside for more than a cursory glance is not allowed for anyone who isn’t a hunter. Now, Rachel is beckoning for Winnie to descend like she’s welcome. Like she can stay. Like she’s a hunter who’s already passed all three trials. Winniehurries down the steps, barely able to keep pace with Rachel’s leisurely stroll. She wants to run. She wants to see how much the massive gym-like space has changed.
Then she’s there, facing it all: the track that circles the enormous room, looping behind the cinder-block wall lined with targets. There are the punching bags and the sparring ring. There are free weights and benches. There is an open space where three hunters are doing yoga.
It could not be more different from the decrepit Friday estate training grounds. The equipment here is all new, all gleaming and clean. Not a one of the fluorescent lights flickers with impending death, and there are even water coolers along a side wall with sprays of colorful fruit tucked inside.
Winnie thinks again about what her dad had said. But just because she knows that she might become a better hunter if she trains as the Fridays do… what normal human is going to say no to strawberry-flavored water or punching targets that aren’t dissolving in the rain?
Rachel leads Winnie to a door tucked into the wall behind the coolers. This leads into the actual Armory, a locker room space where all the hunter gear is stored. Winnie has never been inside before; she’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to go now, since there’s a very clear sign that readsHUNTERS ONLY. But no one argues with the Lead Hunter—certainly not Winnie—and she follows after Rachel. The light dims to amber, revealing what could have been any rich country club locker room… were it not for the back wall of crossbows and compound bows, of machetes and sabers. Though hunters don’t typically use guns—the noise only draws more nightmares—there are a few handguns and rifles too.
And Winnie’s whole body is tingling. Her mom used to come here. Grandma Winona used to come here—probably Great-Grandma Maria too. Winnie can almost pretend theincidentnever happened, and this is just the natural course of things. She is a hunter; she has been invited here; and now she belongs.
“Let’s get you outfitted,” Rachel says, offering a sly grin.
“Yeah, okay.” Winnie fights the urge to pinch herself. “Where do we start?”
“Well, it’s called the Armory, so…” Rachel sidles over to a panel beside Winnie’s shoulder. “How about armor?” She flips a switch, the wall gives off an electric hum, and before Winnie’s eyes, a series of drawers along the bottom roll outward, revealing all sorts of leather and Kevlar and fleece and Lycra, each item in forest black. “A hunter needs good gear to survive a night in the forest. Take your pick.”
“Anything?” Winnie’s eyes bug out.
“Anything.” Rachel’s grin widens, and Winnie can’t help but grin right back. Weird or not to have her aunt be so nice, this isbeyondeven Winnie’s wildest dreams. She floats toward the drawers, soaking in all the options. They’re so top-of-the-line, she’s never seen anything like them. This isn’t the gear Mom wore four years ago. This isn’t a Kevlar vest with Velcro. These are the latest Tuesday family designs, each stamped with the Wednesday family bear on the chest.
“Might I suggest this one?” Rachel pulls out a black shirt that is so slinky, it doesn’t hold its shape—but also so dark, Winnie can’t seem to focus on it.
“Yes,” Winnie breathes.Gimme, gimme, gimme.“I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER25
Jay whistles as Winnie gets into Mathilda at two o’clock. She knows she is smiling like a fool, but she can’t help it. Rachel let her have the “exo-scales,” as they’re called, and they make her feel part Catwoman, part nightmare. Composed of a thin, almost scalelike material, they absorb all light and hug her like a second skin. She usually hates tight clothes of any kind, but these aren’t restrictive or revealing. They are freeing.
“How do I look?” Winnie asks, yanking on the seat belt.
