18. April

18

APRIL

JANUARY 1, 12:00 P.M.

We meet on the levee. It's empty, just like Piper expected: on a nice day like today, most people will be a few blocks away in Audubon Park, starting off their New Year's resolutions with an optimistic jog or pushing their kids around in expensive European strollers. There, it's gorgeous, all green trees and Spanish moss.

Here, it's as ugly as I remember. I haven't been since Margot was alive, and as we climb, I pick out all the familiar little details. Forgotten beer cans, plastic wrappers, other detritus left behind on the grass. Cars rumbling behind us, the low hum of bugs. I keep my eyes on the trees—a few bursts of scraggly orange leaves, too little and too late for fall—and the Mississippi beyond as Margot's voice echoes in my memory.

Y'all ever think about how the river could just kill you?

Back then it made me smile—such a classic Margot thing to say, bold and blunt but true. Now, though, it feels like some kind of omen. Because not too far off from here is where they found her car.

She died so close to her favorite view. Close, but not enough for it to be the last thing she saw.

I pull my flannel tighter, trying not to think about it. I should have said something when Piper suggested coming here, maybe, but I've gotten good at forgetting.

And maybe today, I don't want to. Because ever since last night, since I said it aloud, I can't let go of the thought: what happened to Margot wasn't an accident, and the Pierrot had something to do with it. The more I think it, the truer it feels. And I need to make up for all the time I've lost believing that what happened to Margot was only my fault.

"So," Piper says, "we should talk about what happens next."

She's using her usual authoritative tone, like this is all under control, but she looks like she's gotten about as little sleep as I have. Vivian, too.

Makes sense, if their nights were anything like mine. The few hours of sleep I managed were full of nightmares—the flicker of a lighter growing into flames that engulfed everything as Margot called out to me, the heat melting her skin like a plastic doll.

I'd shot awake with my heart pounding, the Jester's threat clear and harsh as a bell: Stop digging, or I'll show everyone just what you've been hiding behind those pretty masks of yours. I know, all too clearly, what that could mean.

Still, what happens next is obvious to me.

"We have to find those guys," I say. "The ones I saw on the balcony. They knew Margot. And if they weren't the ones who did something to her, then I'd bet they know who did. Maybe even where Lily is, too."

"Right." Piper looks hesitant, her confidence slipping just enough to make me suddenly nervous. "I think we should talk about the Jester first, though."

"Well, yeah," I say. "We need to figure out who he is, too."

"No, I mean—" She takes a small breath through her nose. "We need to think about how safe it is to keep going with this."

The quiet rush of the water behind me seems to get louder. My voice feels too small to compete with it.

"Are you saying we should stop?"

"I'm saying we should consider it. The Jester chased us out of there. He threatened us. That's not something to take lightly."

She's so transparent, I actually laugh. Here I was, thinking Piper was just as committed to this as I am, but as soon as there's the slightest threat of getting in trouble, she balks.

"That message was nothing," I argue. "He said he'd ‘unmask' us, or whatever, but what does that even mean? He's probably bluffing."

But even as I say it, I can't deny the way those words haunted me late into the night, tossing and turning around my head until they shaped themselves into memories I've tried to forget.

Vivian shifts her weight. "I don't know. Piper has a point."

I take in Vivian's face, the dark circles under her eyes even more pronounced against her pale skin. I wonder what she was thinking about last night, what she's afraid the Jester might know. I almost want to ask her, but then I remember how kind she was to me after we left the Pierrot. No one has ever asked me if I wanted to talk about Margot, besides my parents.

Besides Lily, in the text that started everything, this whole screwed-up domino collapse.

"But we can't stop," I say, only slightly less forcefully. "The Jester's probably only threatening us because we're close to figuring something out. And y'all saw that place. We can't—" My throat tightens, strangling my voice. I shake my head. "We can't just quit."

"I'm not saying we should," Vivian says. "But I do think we should be more careful."

There's a flash of something in her eyes, some hint at whatever it is she's afraid of the Jester knowing, but I let it pass. I'm grateful, at least, that she doesn't want to give up.

"Okay," I say. "Then what's the plan?"

"I think you're right about those guys," Vivian tells me. "We should start with figuring out who they are. What do you remember about them?"

A hollow feeling starts to gnaw at me. "Just their masks. One was a raven. And the other was a wolf. A Rougarou, I think. He had a lighter like Margot's."

Piper scoffs. "Well, that's not much to go on."

I tense, irritated, but mostly because she's right. I could have tried harder, looked closer, but it was dark, and I was scared, and I seriously don't need Piper to make me feel worse about it than I already do.

"Okay, what's your deal?" Vivian asks her, reading my mind.

"What do you mean?"

Vivian crosses her arms. "Are you in this, or not? Because it seems like a no."

Piper picks at a string on the end of her quarter-zip.

"My parents caught me sneaking back in last night," she says finally.

"Oh." Vivian's hands fall to her sides. "Shit."

"A family friend saw us in the Quarter. And apparently, Milford snitched to his mom—not about the Pierrot, but about our… you know. Interrogative tactics. So, needless to say, Mom and Dad were pissed."

I wince. As annoyed as I am at Piper, I've seen Mrs. Johnson during our debutante rehearsals, and I wouldn't want to be in the line of fire when she's mad.

"And they also said…" Piper tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, a rare anxious tic. "Okay, like, cone of silence on this, obviously, but they heard from Lily's parents, and apparently she took out a bunch of cash after the ball. So, with her car and phone missing, too, they think… you know. They think she really did just run."

For a moment, we're both frozen. Then Vivian shakes her head sharply.

"No. No way."

"It makes sense."

"No, it doesn't."

"Look, I didn't want to believe it, either," Piper says, "but maybe we jumped to conclusions too fast."

"What about the Jester?" Vivian argues. "What about—"

"I know," Piper says. "I know, okay? But I think, considering how much more dangerous this has all gotten since yesterday, it might be smart of us to take a step back."

Vivian's face hardens, but she doesn't argue.

Well, for once, I'm not staying quiet.

"So let me get this straight," I start. "Lily's missing. Someone's after us, maybe the same person who killed Margot, and you want to just take a step back ?"

"We don't know for sure that Margot was killed," Piper points out.

"Oh, great, so we're back to this again." I glare at her. "So what? All of this is just a coincidence?"

"April…"

"What?" This time, I say it like a challenge. Because I need her to say it to my face, what I know she's thinking. What everyone else has already believed for a year: that Margot's death was tragic but not surprising. That you can't mourn a girl who practically signed her own death certificate.

But what she says is "The police said it was an overdose. They never mentioned the possibility of foul play. Her parents moved away and never talked about it. I don't know about you, but if I thought someone had killed my kid, I wouldn't just let it go. I'm sorry, April, but what you're saying is just—"

"Crazy? Impossible? So is this entire fucking thing, and it's really happening."

Angry tears are stinging my eyes now, but I blink them away. Piper's mouth falls open, like she's not sure what to say.

"What?" I demand.

"It's not crazy," she says. "It's normal to want to find explanations when things like this happen, but—"

"Don't therapize me." I wipe a stray tear away with my knuckle. "You're not your dad."

"Hey, maybe we should take a second," Vivian tries, but Piper cuts her off.

"I'm not ‘therapizing.' I'm trying to help. I'm trying to say I understand."

"Bullshit," I say. "You're telling me I'm coming up with explanations that don't make sense? You're the one who wants so badly to believe there's nothing wrong with Les Masques and Deus and all of the debutante shit that you won't even look at what's right in front of you. You're fucking indoctrinated."

On any other day, the look in Piper's eyes would be enough to make me shrivel, but I won't back down. Not now. She shakes her head slightly, a cross between pity and disbelief on her face.

"Does it make you feel better?" she asks. "Hating everyone and everything? Acting all aloof and artsy with your camera so you don't have to stoop so low as to actually care about something?"

The question strikes a chord in my chest. One I recognize.

"Okay, seriously, y'all," Vivian says. "Stop it."

Piper holds up her hands. "I'm genuinely asking."

"Fuck off, Piper," I mumble.

"Gladly. But one question first. If the debutante tradition is so evil, then how come your parents are still a part of it? How come you're a part of it?"

It hangs in the air, dredging up memories of another conversation, of the night everything fell apart. And I know I can't stay here. That if I do, I'll fall apart, too.

I turn and walk down the levee.

"Wait," Vivian calls after me. "We can talk this out. If we're going to keep doing this, we need to work together."

I stop, lasering on Piper.

"Yeah," I say. "Well, maybe I don't want to be a fucking Maid anymore."