Impostor by Susanne Winnacker

eyes like a girl from a manga. I’d surely recognize her in person. I browsed further, scanning the faces at dances, pep rallies, and school plays, only to stop at a photo of a boy named Phil Faulkner. I was halted by his eyes, which were a translucent, watery blue, like the color had been washed from them. A number of Variants had weird eyes, Kate and I among them. If Phil was a Variant, that might help explain why Major was interested in the case. But strange eyes didn’t automatically make him one of us. Still, I told myself, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him just in case.
    Martha set a plate down in front of me. It smelled of vanilla, sweetness, and lemon. “Thanks,” I said, already bringing a fork to my lips. “Mmm.” That was enough validation for Martha. She patted my cheek and returned to scrubbing the counters.
    Careful not to drop any food onto the yearbook, I continued to pore over its pages. There were too many names, too many faces with too many histories behind them to remember everything. Moving on to the final pages of the book, I found the superlatives section, where people were awarded titles like Best Artist or Dream Couple.
    As I scanned over the photos, I choked on a bite of brioche, my eyes starting to water. Martha looked up from the counter, face tight with disapproval over my ruining a perfectly fine bite of her French toast by coughing. I swallowed, staring at a picture of Madison and Ryan. “The Dream Couple.” Holy shit. Why had nobody bothered to tell me this?
    So Madison had had a boyfriend, Ryan Wood. Had they been a couple up until her attack?
    As I studied the photo, I noticed something was off about their body language. Ryan looked like he couldn’t be happier, but Madison’s smile was a bit too bright, her expression a bit too devoted, everything about her a bit . . . too much. I wished I could see into her thoughts in that moment, but even Kate wasn’t capable of such a thing.
    As it was, I’d just have to investigate the old-fashioned way. I slammed the yearbook shut. Martha tsked but didn’t say anything.
    Next I rummaged through Madison’s school papers. There were essays about Tolstoy, Kafka, and even Nabokov’s
Lolita
, for which she had earned perfect grades. I hoped no one expected me to write papers about literature, which really wasn’t my thing.
    I spread the map of Livingston on the kitchen island. Right next to Livingston was Manlow, the neighboring town. Nestled in between them lay the lake where Madison and one of the other victims had been found. Stretches of deep green dominated the map, indicating lots of forest. Livingston had only two main roads, where most of the shops were located. I counted two gas stations, two graveyards, and a drive-in movie theater. Not much of anything really. Madison and her parents lived in one of the newer developments bordering the forest. I folded the map and, after a moment of hesitation, I opened the file about the murders.
    The first victim was Dr. Hansen. She’d been a thirty-five-year-old pediatrician at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Manlow, but she lived in Livingston, close to the lake. She’d been found in her backyard, strangled, with an
A
cut into her rib cage. Soon afterward, Kristen Cynch, a seventeen-year-old high school senior, was found drowned in the lake. She had unusual marks that looked like a snake had wrapped itself around her throat. Her skin was bloated and blue, but the red mark of her killer was impossible to miss. The same signature had been cut into the other two victims, including the janitor, Mr. Chen. Hesitantly, I touched the spot over my ribs where the mark would be. Sickness settled in my stomach.
    I hopped off the barstool, deciding to call it a night. “Good night, Martha, and thanks for the food.”
    She waved me off with a small smile.
    The moment I arrived back on the fourth floor, I heard the fighting. The words were hushed, so it took me a moment to recognize the voices: Alec