Page 70 of The Luminaries
“Really?”
He smiles. “Of course not. I rented it from Falls’ Finest.” He flicks a cuff link, which Winnie notices is shaped like the Luminary moon. “The shoes, though, are all mine.”
No surprise,Winnie thinks, peeking down at the motorcycle boots tucked under fitted tux pants.
On anyone else, this ensemble would look ridiculous. On Jay… Well, Winnie suspects his adoring fans will beveryhappy, and against her will, she finds herself yet again scrutinizing his thigh muscles.
“Did you see the Whisperer?” she asks, finally exiting the car. “Mario told me about Lizzy’s cameras.”
Jay shakes his head. “No, Win. I didn’t see it. Or hear it.” He looks deeply apologetic as he says this, and Winnie starts to wonder if maybe he doesn’t think it’s real either, because people who believe you don’t stare at you like that. Like they’re both embarrassed for you and sorry for you at the same time.
She finds herself scowling.
“Want to help me carry in my equipment?” Jay motions toward Mathilda.
“Not really.” She hugs her arms to her chest. It’s cold out. “But I will. Just because it’s you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smiles, a faint thing that hovers momentarily before will-o’-wisping away. Then he unbuttons his tux jacket and slips it off. The white of his button-up glows, leaching his skin of color. Before Winnie’s eyes, he becomes a ghost.
A ghost with very nice shoulders.
“Here.” He offers her the coat. “You’re freezing.”
She doesn’t disagree, and she doesn’t argue. The captured heat from his body radiates off the coat, and in seconds, she is snuggled deep inside. It smells like him. Like bergamot and lime and a forest shrouded in spring.
She puts the unicorn-wrapped gift in his interior pocket.
At Mathilda’s trunk, Jay offers Winnie the bass while he handles his amp. The tux jacket sleeves hang over her hands, so she has to roll up one to grip the case handle. The button on the cuff winks up at her.
They walk slowly toward the front of the estate, Jay unhurried—as if he too isn’t entirely sure he wants to go through with a party. And once Winnie can see the front door, see party arrivals mingling near the steps and in the front hall…
“Let’s go the back way,” Winnie says, cutting them right toward the garden path that circles behind the house.
It is like the trail on the Friday estate, with wide stepping-stones and trees kept in check by human hands. They swish and murmur on the night’s icy breeze. Winnie’s flats patter softly; Jay’s boots squeak; and for a few blissful minutes, it feels like they are the only people in the world. Like they are back in the forest, just the two of them, going to train. Just the two of them, like they used to be.
Maybe one day, he’ll tell her why he pulled away.
And maybe one day, she’ll forgive him for it.
They reach the garden too soon. It is a huge space, the brick walls thick with burgeoning ivy and morning glories that will bloom in August. Winnie leads Jay to an iron gate, through which hundreds of lights sparkle like a canopy of stars. They even flicker, one here, one there, in a slow twinkle that undulates across the brick patio where a stage has been set up. The main fountain—of a bear and her cubs—has been turned off, and potted plants that usually hug it have been cleared away for a refreshments table.
Winnie wonders if this is what the Nightmare Masquerade will look like, the grand gala that Dryden is so fixated on. It’s a huge celebration—more like a festival, really—that marks the true beginning of spring and the full release of the forest’s winter. Luminaries from all over the world will come.
Winnie wishes the Council would just cancel it, and she wishes even more that someone would just trust her about the Whisperer.
Beyond the patio, a gravel garden is split and divided by rows of early-season flowers. Daffodils and hyacinths, snapdragons and irises. As spring progresses, new flowers will grow while these ones wither away. Then summer will bring others, and even fall too. This garden bursts with color almost the entirety of the year.
Dad always hated it. Not the constant influx of new life—that he could and did appreciate—but its primness, each plant in its place withno interesting elements, no wayward strays. All the rows and diamonds, crosses and circles.Just like a good Wednesday,Dad would say.Growing exactly where it’s told to grow. Loyal to a gardener it will never know. Except plants, like people, aren’t meant to stay in perfect rows.
“You okay?” Jay asks, startling Winnie. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving, or that her lips had parted while she gazed at the tidy expanse of botanical symmetry.
No,she thinks. “Yes,” she says aloud. They resume their forward progress toward the stage, though they don’t proceed far before Fatima springs into their path.
“Oh my gosh, Winnie!Jay.”
“Fatima,” Winnie says at the same time Jay says nothing at all.
Fatima instantly snags Winnie’s arm, then Jay’s, and tows them both toward the stage. “You’re the first here, Jay, but L.A. just texted and she’ll be here any moment. Do you know when Trevor will arrive?” Fatima flashes Jay what can only be described as heart-eyes.
