“Hey, I never said I didn’t like you.” Jackson stopped and raised his hands. “I just don’t trust Kappas. Any Kappa.”
She didn’t ask him why. She didn’t need to. The guilt that had been her constant companion for two years fluttered once more in her chest, and her hastily erected defenses crumbled.
“I am so sorry, Jackson. About what happened to Harper. I’m sorrier than I can ever tell you,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze despite the pain flashing across his face. “And you’re right . . . what happened was a horrible accident. If she hadn’t joined Kappa, she’d still be here.” That was as much as she could say.
Jackson was quiet for a long moment, his jaw clenched. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded stiff, as if it was taking all his self-control not to shout. “It’s not just how she died, Scarlett. It’s everything that came before it. Harper and I were really tight. She was my family; we never kept secrets. Then she joined your sorority, and suddenly . . .” His gaze went distant, unfocused. “It’s like she became a different person. She had all this stuff she couldn’t tell me about. Secret traditions, late-night meetings nobody else was allowed to attend. The way she talked about the sisterhood, I’ll be honest, it sounded like she’d joined a cult or something.”
The familiar knot of guilt expanded, pressing against her until it became uncomfortable to breathe. Immersing herself in the Ravens had made her own world so much larger and brighter; she’d never stopped to think about the people who’d been pushed into the shadows. “We can be a little tight-knit.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it. The way you closed ranks after she died . . . even Gwen, who was supposed to be her best friend, would barely talk to me.” Jackson shook his head. “That’s why I came here, you know. This may come as a shock to you,” he said wryly, gesturing at his frayed jeans and Hendrix T-shirt, “but this preppy Southern campus wasn’t exactly my first choice. I was all set to go to Columbia when Harper died. But I knew I needed to come here if I was ever going to make peace with what happened.”
His usual sardonic expression faded, and for a moment, Scarlett got a glimpse of the scared, confused boy who gave up his dreams to cling to his sister’s memory. To follow a ghost. But then a new stab of fear shot through her. “Did Gwen tell you anything?”
Jackson shook his head. “We had this one conversation. But she just kept . . . I don’t know, choking up or something. I had never seen her like that. I know it’s traumatic for her, too. I mean, she was there. She almost died too. But I know her, and I know she wanted to tell me something. But she was so terrified and so scared . . . What would make her scared like that?” he said.
Scarlett rifled through her brain for an excuse before she realized he wasn’t actually looking at her for an answer; he was just lost in his own memory.
“After that she started avoiding me . . .”
“So you started following her,” Scarlett said.
Jackson crossed his arms, defensive. “You’re the one who broke into her apartment.”
“Guilty.” Scarlett held her palms up. “It’s just that . . . well . . .” She hesitated, unsure if this was the right thing to do. Confiding in an outsider went against every tenet of Kappa. But he was the only person in the whole world who might know where Gwen would go, and finding Tiffany took precedent over every tradition and protocol. “Look, this is a secret—”
“Shocker,” Jackson cut in.
“I know, but this is really serious.” Scarlett inhaled and then in one long breath said, “One of my friends is in trouble. She went missing after Homecoming. We can’t go to the police—there was a note. It was really specific, and I think Gwen might have had something to do with it. I know you’ve been watching her too, and if there’s anything you’ve found out or anything weird you’ve seen, I need you to tell me.”
“You think Gwen took your friend?” Jackson asked, his skepticism bordering on disdain. “Why would she do that? What did you do to her?”
Scarlett forced herself to maintain her composure. For all Jackson knew, Gwen was a scared, fragile girl who’d suffered a major trauma. He had no idea what she was really capable of. “It’s . . . complicated. But I promise, I don’t want to hurt Gwen. I just want to help my friend.”
“You’re going to have to give me a lot more than that. If she’s hiding from you, she probably has a damn good reason.”
Her fingers itched, prickling with the anticipation of magic. Out of respect for Harper, she was going to give Jackson one chance to work with her, but she was prepared to use magic if she needed to. Altering someone’s free will was against the rules, but now was not the time to worry about coloring inside the lines. “She’s not safe on her own. I think there’s a chance she could hurt herself and anyone she has with her.”
“Why would she do that?” Jackson’s voice was still hard, but the defiant look on his face was fading.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I can’t risk losing another sister.”
Jackson closed his eyes, and for a moment, Scarlett panicked, thinking she’d gone too far. As close as the Ravens were, her losses were nothing compared to Jackson’s. Finally, he sighed. “There’s a cabin out on Skidaway Island,” he said wearily. “I’ve followed her there before. She goes at least once every couple of weeks.”
Scarlett dug inside her purse for her car keys. “Think you can find the place again?”
* * *
“It just occurred to me we are doing the absolute opposite of everything we learned from horror movies,” Jackson said after a few minutes of scanning through her radio presets and giving crisp directions.
“This isn’t a horror movie. And there are two of us and only one of her,” Scarlett countered.
“Easy for you to say. You’re the Final Girl and I’m that poor sap who called shotgun. If I remember right, it doesn’t turn out well for my character.”
“Depends on the movie. There are a few where the boy survives too.”
“Name one.”
“Cary Elwes in Saw, Bruce Campbell in The Evil Dead, Corey Feldman in—”
“Friday the Thirteenth: The Final Chapter.” He gave a low whistle. “Scarlett Winter knows her horror movies. Are we in the Upside Down now?”
“You don’t know me, Jackson. You just think you do.”
“So educate me.”
She sighed, not really wanting to get into it. But he’d agreed to help her and she owed him, even more than he knew. “The woman who helped raise me loved horror flicks. She liked screaming at the screen, telling the characters to be smarter when inevitably they did something not so smart to keep the plot moving, like splitting up or making out when they knew a killer was on the loose.”
Jackson laughed. “I always sort of wanted to write a horror movie. I thought I’d be the next Stephen King or something, but then my real life kind of took a plot twist.”
“You’re a writer?” she asked. At first she was surprised, but when she thought about it, it made sense. He was smart—he was the only person in class whose answers were almost as elegantly constructed as her own, and he certainly was quick.