KG: Okay. I have one more question, Margot. Did you take Ryan’s letters?
MA: Her letters?
KG: Yes. You said they were missing that night, but we recovered them from the park. If they were taken, they were also replaced. There aren’t very many people who could have done that. Did you take them?
MA: Yes. Sure, I took them. And I put them back after—after Ryan died. I—I thought maybe they would be found, and it would make people look into Mr. Krause.
DC: Margot, what you’ve just told us is very serious.
MA: I think I need a lawyer.
DC: Are you requesting legal representation?
MA: Yes.
DC: All right. Due to the request for legal representation, this interview is terminated at 11:31 a.m.
[End of recording]
FOUR MONTHS LATER
KIM WATSON STEPS UP TO THE MICROPHONE SET UP AT one end of the Art Lounge. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Kim Watson, and I’m the director of the Pearson Brooke Arts Exchange Program. I’d like to welcome you to our end-of-year Pearson Brooke Arts Exchange show.”
Jess applauds along with everyone else in the room, including her parents and Jamie, who is staring in fascination at a series of rainbow-colored papier-mâché elephants arranged in a ring.
“I’m so proud of all the work that these talented young artists have done this year,” Kim says, beaming. “The arts exchange program has been a labor of love for me and West Bedford High’s Gail Cooper-Lewis for the last few years, and we have been astounded by the work that’s been produced. This year is another exceptional one, and I hope you’ll enjoy viewing the wonderful art that’s on display today.”
Jess rocks back and forth on her feet while scanning the room. Beside her, Emily nudges her with her elbow. “Are you okay?” she whispers. “You’re a little jittery.”
“I’m fine,” Jess responds, but she doesn’t stop fidgeting.
Jess’s art, a series of three color prints, has been mounted on foam board and hung on the wall nearby. The first is from the beginning of the Kestrel story, when Laney and Kestrel meet in their dorm room. The second shows the Doorway that Kestrel opens in the woods, with Kestrel outlined in gold light as magic ripples in waves from her hands. The third depicts Laney and Kestrel leaning into each other in their room, Raven’s spirit superimposed over Laney.
“. . . please enjoy yourselves, and be sure to help yourselves to iced tea and cupcakes outside,” Kim concludes.
As the applause dies down, people begin to scatter through the Art Lounge. Jess says to Emily, “Wanna go get some cupcakes?”
“Aren’t you supposed to stay and talk about your artwork?” Emily says.
Jess gives her a slightly panicked look.
“I mean, sure, let’s get cupcakes,” Emily says.
Plenty of people have the same idea, because there’s already a crowd forming on the way to the refreshments. They get stuck in front of the circle of elephants, and Emily asks, “What is this about, anyway?”
“It’s called Circus,” Jess says. “I think it’s kind of cool.”
Emily gives the elephants a dubious look. “Yeah, okay. I like your comics better.”
“Jess?”
She spins around to see Angie coming toward them. She’s wearing a black lace baby-doll dress over black leggings and her purple Docs. She has straightened her hair and dyed it deep red, and now it cuts against her throat in a sharp bob. She smiles at Jess, but her smile falters when Jess doesn’t return it.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Angie says.
“It’s okay,” Jess says. “You cut your hair.”
Angie tucks it behind one ear a little self-consciously. “Yeah. Do you like it?”
“It’s different,” Jess says. “But yeah. It looks good.”
Angie almost hides her disappointment by swiveling toward Emily. “You must be Emily. Hi.”
“Yeah,” Emily says. “You must be Angie.” She and Angie look at each other for a moment as if they’re sizing each other up, and then Emily says to Jess, “So I’m gonna go get those cupcakes. I’ll see you?”
“Sure,” Jess says. “I’ll be here.”
“It was nice to meet you,” Angie calls after her.
Emily waves awkwardly as she leaves.
“Um, did I do something wrong?” Angie asks Jess. “I don’t think she likes me.”
“That’s just Emily,” Jess says. “So, do you want to see my comics?”
“Yes. Definitely. That’s why I came.”
Jess takes Angie over to the Kestrel prints. “I only mounted a few of them. Kim wanted me to show some of the black-and-white comics too, but I feel like they’re not really finished.”
Angie examines the three color prints with a serious expression. She points to the ghostly Raven. “What’s going on here? You haven’t shown me the comics in a while. I think I’m missing some of the story.”
“It’s kickback,” Jess says.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a spoiler.”
Angie gives Jess a slight smile. “Come on. Just tell me.”
Jess relents. “Kestrel casts a spell to open a Doorway, but it all flies out of her control, and it ends up killing Raven. Laney’s there at the same time, and because of the kickback from the spell, Raven’s spirit merges with hers.”
Angie looks puzzled. “So Laney and Raven are the same person now?”
“No, not really. I haven’t figured it all out yet. The kickback is just way stronger than they thought it would be.”
Angie steps closer to the print to get a better look. “Have you drawn all of it?”
“No. I’ve thumbnailed a lot of it, like I know what happens, but I only colored a few spreads. The rest is . . . it’s a work in progress.”
“Do you think you’ll post them online as a webcomic? You wanted to do that before.”
“I don’t know yet. Now that I’ve started coloring the panels, I feel like I want to color them all. That’s going to take a while.”
“Well, let me know if you post them. I want to see them.”
“If you really want to see them, you know you can just ask.”
Angie avoids Jess’s eyes. “Yeah, I . . . I know we haven’t talked in a while. It’s been—I’ve been busy.”
“I heard Margot’s out.”
Angie crosses her arms, seeming to shrink into herself. “Yeah.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Yeah. Yesterday. She’s doing okay, but she has to wear an ankle bracelet. She has a good lawyer. They’re probably going to suppress her confession.”
Jess’s eyes widen. “How?”
“She’s a minor and the police didn’t get her parents’ permission to interview her, so her lawyer’s going to argue she didn’t know what she was doing when she confessed.”
“Seriously, that’s going to work?” Jess asks, incredulous.
“I don’t know, but I hope so.” Angie finally looks at Jess. Her face is drawn, and her makeup can’t fully hide the bags beneath her eyes. “Don’t you?”
Jess takes a breath. “I hope you’re happy. That’s what I hope.”
“Margot makes me happy,” Angie says flatly.
“I can tell,” Jess says sarcastically.
Angie sighs. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I said I would! You’re my best friend.” Angie’s forehead wrinkles in frustration. “Aren’t you?”
Jess doesn’t answer at first. “I don’t know,” she finally says in a low voice.
Angie blinks rapidly. She glances around the room. “How many times do I have to say this? I wish things were different. I really do. But they’re not.”
Jess stays quiet.
“I should go,” Angie says, sounding disappointed. “I like the comics.”
Jess watches her leave. She wants to run after Angie but she forces herself to stay, to smile blandly at the people who wander past her comics, to swallow the surge of anxiety that feels as if she were in a car with a driver who suddenly slammed on the brakes, and part of her is still moving forward even as the seat belt jerks her back. She shoves her hands in her pockets to hide the trembling.
She’s still standing in front of her art when Emily returns with two cupcakes on two small paper plates. “Carrot or vanilla? I think the vanilla has strawberry cream filling.”
Jess looks at the cupcakes. The frosting blurs in her gaze.
“Split them?” Emily suggests. “Cool, because I want both too. Hold this.” She gives one of the plates to Jess, and then she pulls a plastic knife from her pocket. “Always come prepared,” she quips. She slices the cupcakes in half and distributes them between both plates.
Jess stares down at her cupcake halves. The smell of buttercream almost turns her stomach.
“Here,” Emily says, handing her a napkin. “I understand, the sight of them makes me want to cry too. They’re absolutely delicious.”
Jess takes a shallow breath. “You’re not funny.”
Emily makes a face as she gently touches Jess’s back. “I’m so insulted.”
Jess turns away from the room. She faces the panels of Kestrel and Laney’s first meeting in their dorm room. The two girls smile at each other: Laney shy, Kestrel eager. They have no idea what’s coming.
EPILOGUE
DECEMBER 17, 2:17 A.M.
THIS IS WHAT I REMEMBER: THE GUN GLINTING IN THE hushed, dark woods, reflecting my phone’s cold light. It’s a spark in Ryan’s hand.
Beside me, Angie draws a sharp breath. I reach out and grab her arm, holding her back. I shouldn’t have let her come with me. The snow is coming down hard, the flakes striking my face in tiny chips of ice.
Across the clearing, Margot takes a step closer to Ryan. She’s holding a messenger bag with its flap open, upside down. “What the hell are you doing?” Margot demands.
“This isn’t about you,” Ryan says to Margot. “It’s about her.”
She points the gun at me. Every nerve in my body switches on. My skin feels electrified.
“Ryan, don’t do that,” Margot warns.
“Shut up,” Ryan snaps. She takes an unsteady step toward me through the snow, the gun unwavering. “I want my letters back. Give them back, Jessica.”
“Put that down,” I say.
“Shut up. Give me the letters.”
“What are you going to do, shoot me?” There’s a roaring in my ears, and my voice sounds muffled and distant, as if someone else were speaking through me.
“You’re the only one who would have taken them,” Ryan says, her voice nearly a sob.
“Give me the gun,” Margot says. “You can’t do this.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Ryan turns the gun on Margot, who trips in her haste to back away and lands flat on her ass in the snow. The messenger bag flies out of her hand.
“Ryan,” Margot pleads. “This isn’t you.”
“Stop telling me who I am! You’re so fucking judgmental.”
“You are drunk,” Margot retorts. She tries to get up, but when Ryan advances on her, she stays put. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. I’m saying you’re a fucking bitch and you’re constantly judging me for—for everything! But you use me all the time, you know you do. You don’t have the balls to do what you want. You have to make me do it for you. Are you going to make me fuck your girlfriend for you? Is that why you haven’t fucked her yet?”
Angie jerks her arm out of my grasp. In three quick strides she reaches Ryan and wrenches the gun out of her hands.
“Shut up,” Angie says curtly.
There’s a moment of shocked silence, and then Ryan breaks into a high-pitched laugh. “Oh my God, who knew? I thought you were just a prissy little virgin.”
Angie holds the gun in front of her with both hands, but I can’t see it anymore; it’s a void in the dark.
“Angie?” I say.
“Angie!” Margot finally scrambles to her feet.
“Angie,” Ryan mocks, turning to face her. Ryan’s coat falls open; she’s still wearing her silver dress. It glitters in the light of my phone as if she were covered in ice crystals. “Are you going to defend your girlfriend? Excuse me—your girlfriends. It’s not Jess who’s the idiot, it’s you. You’re such a selfish bitch. You think you can have Margot and your pathetic lackey drooling over you, as if you’re—”
The gunshot cracks through the air. I flinch. The sharp smell of firecrackers stings my nostrils.
“Shit,” Ryan says in surprise.
She falls to her knees. Her breathing sounds wet and wrong. She slowly slumps to the ground.
I blink against the snow. I taste the remnants of vodka in the back of my throat, a sour, bitter stain. Margot stumbles through the dark toward Ryan.
“Oh my God,” Angie is saying. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” She holds out the gun as if it were a dead animal.
The air between us is thick with flying snow. Moving through it feels like crawling through a doorway to another world.
I pull the gun away from her. The metal is warm.
I’m dizzy. I bend over, afraid I’m going to throw up. I carefully set the gun on the snowy ground.
“Oh my God,” Angie repeats.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’re okay.”
“What did I do?” Angie asks. “What did I do?”
I force myself to straighten up. I touch Angie’s arm, but she’s stiff and unyielding. “It’ll be okay,” I tell her.
“How is it okay?” Angie demands. She wraps her arms tight around herself.
Margot kneels down beside Ryan. I can’t see what she’s doing. I feel Angie shaking beneath my hand. All I want to do is make sure she’s okay.
“You have to call nine-one-one,” Angie says, her voice breaking. “You have to call.” She suddenly grabs for my phone, and the light beam zigzags across the skeletal trees and the snowdrifts and Ryan’s bare legs—she’s wearing snow boots, but her legs are bent at an unnatural angle—and Angie freezes.
I take my phone back. I turn the beam down to the ground.
“You have to call,” Angie says again in a small voice.
“No,” Margot says. “It’s too late.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Margot stands up and comes back to us, her footsteps crunching over the snow. Her face is unreadable in the dark, but her back is straight. “Think about it.”
Angie chokes back a sob.
“Where’s the gun?” Margot asks.
I shine the light across the lumpy ground until I find it. It’s lying a couple of feet away from the messenger bag. Margot stoops to pick up the gun and slips it into her coat pocket.
“It was an accident,” Margot says. She looks at me and Angie. There is the faintest reflection of light in her eyes, a phantom glow. “It was an accident.”
The weight of her words heavy as a vow.
I take a breath. The night air slides like an icicle down my throat. Angie steps into my arms and buries her head in the crook of my neck. Her entire body is quivering. The slickness of her tears is hot and cold on my skin all at once.
“I’ll take Angie home,” I say.
“Fine,” Margot says. “I’ll come to your house, Angie. Wait for me outside. I have to get my car.”
“She needs to warm up and go to sleep,” I object.
“She can’t be alone,” Margot says. “We can’t leave her alone. Take her home, and I’ll meet you there.”
Angie trembles as I turn her away fro
m Margot and Ryan. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go home.”
At the edge of the slope I pause. “Hang on.” I backtrack, looking for the messenger bag. When I find it I unzip my coat and reach into the interior pocket, pulling out the stack of letters. I put them back into the bag. I shove the bag under the log.
Margot’s watching me, but she says nothing.
I go back to Angie and help her down the side of the hollow. I hear her irregular sobs as we move, but eventually they stop, and she falls silent. When we reach the dark trail through the center of Ellicott Park, I reach for her hand. She’s wearing gloves. I lace my fingers in hers and I don’t let go.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book began on a phone call with Andrew Karre, and then it took me on a twisting journey that I truly did not expect. Thanks to Andrew for seeing it through with me. Thanks to everyone at Dutton and Penguin: Julie Strauss-Gabel, Melissa Faulner, Natalie Vielkind, Anna Booth, Rosanne Lauer, and Kristin Smith-Boyle; to copy editor Anne Heausler; and to Stina Persson for the evocative title type. Many thanks go to Jolene Altwies, Mary Carmack-Altwies, Dan Solomon, Maggie Green, Alyssa Torres, and Wendy Xu for sharing their expertise and experience in police work, law, and comics. All errors are mine! Thanks to Cindy Pon and Kate Elliott for their encouraging early reads. Thanks also to my agent, Laura Langlie. And thanks as always to Amy Lovell, who is with me every step of the way.
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Malinda Lo, A Line in the Dark
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