Taking a sharp breath, I go to knock on the blue door, only for it to swing open before I touch it. A young boy, maybe five, with white hair and blue eyes stares up at me, a spitting image of Margot.
“Sorry, there’s no time!” he shrieks. He dodges around me, shortly followed by an identical set of girls, not much older than he is. All three of them carry a toad. The boy has one in each hand, and one of the girls snags the empty bin as they pass.
“Mama’s inside!” the other girl calls.
Their shrieked giggles fill the neighborhood, even once they’ve disappeared into one of the adjacent yards. Momentslater, the laughter doubles, triples. Somewhere, just out of sight, there’s a whole cluster of kids screeching and cackling.
Despite where I am—andwhy—a smile tugs at my lips. Harrison and I used to get into all sorts of trouble when we were their age. We’d play pranks on the neighbors. Catch and capture every type of bug, only for one of our mothers to release them when we inevitably forgot about them. We’d play groundball past our bedtime and make stink potions to release during mathematics. We’d been terrible and wonderful, and Secora Reedruinedit.
I swallow and force my attention back to Margot’s home. Her door is still open, revealing a short landing that splits to upper and lower floors. Aside from the tiled entryway and the wooden steps, I can’t see anything. I can only hear the tone-deaf singing of a young girl, followed quickly by her frustrated screech.
“Mama!” she screams. She’s got bright red hair and she leans over the upstairs balcony. Her face is stained with tears and heavy blush. “I can’t do this. I’m going to be the worst one?—”
She cuts off abruptly when she sees me. Her face, which was already bright red, explodes with heat. Her pale hands cover her cheeks and eyes, and she collapses to the ground, out of sight. She must be fifteen, far too old to biologically belong to Margot.
I open my mouth to explain. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking…some strange man standing in her doorway, eavesdropping on her family. The problem is, I don’t knowhowto explain.
Your siblings left the door open? They were on a frog quest, and I got caught in the middle?
“Nadia isn’t accustomed to handsome men on our stoop. You’ll have to forgive her.”
I startle and turn in the direction of the basement. Margot Blake climbs up the final stairs, arms crossed over her chest, smile broad and blindingly beautiful. She’s always beenstunning and charming and kind, and Mama used to constantly encourage me to ask her on a date.
I told Mama it would be weird. She was Harrison’s first girlfriend. She shared a home with his killer. Those excuses felt easier than the truth: Margot Blake was beautiful, but for some reason, I wasn’t interested.
“Mama!” the redhead—Nadia, apparently—screeches. “Why would you say that?”
She’s crying now, and Margot glances toward the upper balcony, an affectionate smile on her face.
I still haven’t said a word, but now, I’m not even trying. Instead, I have a palm to my chest, feeling the steady beat of my heart. Everything within me moves exactly as it should, and yet, I am hit with that eerie sensation again. That same one I notice more and more now that I know what Cora did.
My body remembers things about Margot Blake that I don’t. It’s a terrifying, world-tilting sensation. Were the memories about her good or bad? Safe or dangerous?
“Let’s step outside,” Margot says. Then, to the girl upstairs, she adds, “Keep practicing, love. You’re getting better all the time.”
I don’t dare ask what she used to sound like.
I step back onto the porch, leaning against one of its wooden pillars. Margot closes the door behind her, moving carefully around her family’s haphazard collection of shoes, and mirrors my stance against the opposite pillar. That blinding smile is back as she scans over me.
There’s nothing sexual in the way we regard each other, only a nostalgic fondness that warms my chest. Margot Blake is as beautiful as ever, but she’s undeniably different. Older. There’s a soft crease between her eyebrows now, and her blonde hair is darker than it was in my memories.
“Did you come to inform me you’ve lost your voice?” she teases. “Or to stare at me like I’m an endangered creature?”
“Secora Reed,” I say. They’re the first words I speak to her, and my voice is so raspy, it doesn’t sound like mine. Cora’s name is a terrible combination of curse and anguish coming from my lips. “I’m here because of Secora Reed.”
Margot’s expression falls. Goes blank. Even her eyes, forever gentle and kind, go distant.
“Not here,” she says quietly. The words tremble from her mouth, and her gaze darts down the street, as if expecting someone to be lurking nearby. “We can’t do this here, Elliot.”
“Can’t dowhat?” I ask. I lower my voice to a whisper, stepping to bridge the distance between us. Down the street, the children have started shouting again. Margot looks toward the sound, but I keep my eyes locked on her. “Margot. You have to tell me.”
“This place doesn’t know her like we do,” Margot says. She steps closer, angling her body so that she’s facing the house, rather than the street. “Anything you say will get you in trouble, Elliot. You never know who’s listening.”
Another flicker of her attention.
My stomach twists, sinks, distorts into something unrecognizable.
I came to get confirmation on what I wanted to be true: Secora Reed and I are strangers. We were acquaintances, at most. We weren’t friends, and we definitely weren’t lovers.
