I hereby confess:
I’m not above feeling smug.
Why did Poe’s proclamation chill me the way it did? After all, I’d been saying as much all day. But by this point, I’d gotten used to people not believing me. So when someone did—someone who, up until this point, seemed to have one purpose in life and that was proving me wrong—I didn’t feel vindicated. At least, not right away. No, my immediate reaction was terror.
Then triumph. Natch.
“What?” I exclaimed. “If you believe me, then we should be running to tell the police what we know.”
“Not without any evidence of wrongdoing. Not for an adult who’s been gone one day. No one would see a clean room as a sign of a kidnapping.”
“When were you going to tell me about your change of heart?” We’d been together for the past half hour and he’d given me no indication he felt any differently.
“How about not in front of the Edison dean?”
“How about yes in front of him! How long were you planning on keeping me on the hook?”
“I wanted more information first. I wanted to confirm the facts.”
Because he couldn’t just believe me. “Why wouldn’t you let me speak back in the tower? You saw that room. You know that’s not the way it was.”
“That’s not the only thing I know.” Poe checked the surrounding area, then backed me into a tiny chantry, leaned his head close to me, and started whispering. “After class today, I called Mr. Gehry.”
“You did? I thought you said he wouldn’t speak to you.”
But apparently it was a matter of what, exactly, the disgraced Poe had to offer. “I told him we believe Jennifer Santos is responsible for the leak.”
“And?”
“He didn’t act surprised. Which in itself is not noteworthy. But then he said he’d ‘taken care of it’ and ‘seen to it that people like her were no longer a threat to the organization.’” Poe pushed off the wall and turned away. “I thought I knew what he meant by that, but…her room! It’s like it had been sanitized.”
I didn’t know how to deal with this Poe. The angry, smug, holier-than-thou Poe I was used to. Not the one who looked worried, or friendly, or…frightened. This was the Poe Malcolm actually liked. And I had no idea how to react to him.
He sat down on the bench and folded his hands before him. “You said that last night you thought her bedroom had been trashed. Maybe they were looking for something. And after seeing the room today, I’d say they found it.” I digested this, and Poe watched me with clear, gray eyes. “Amy, are you sure there was no one else in that room with you last night?”
Oddly enough, the of course response failed to fall from my lips. It might be because I’d suddenly started shivering. This stone enclave was cold, and dark, and a little damp. And I may be in serious shit.
“I don’t know. There was so much crap in there. I don’t know where someone would have been hiding—” Except behind the computer table, or in the closet, or even under the bed, blocked from sight by the balled-up duvet. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. “If someone was there, and they saw me…”
“Then they probably think you have the info, too. They may be following us right now. They may be searching your room next.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense!” I realized my voice had gone up an octave and a few decibels, and I brought it back to a whisper. “Who would be following me? Every Digger on the planet knows the information Jenny’s been spilling to the site. Of course I have the info. We all have it. That’s never been of concern.”
“They know what’s she leaked so far. Our initiation procedures and similar information. To tell the truth, I’m pretty sure most of that stuff has been leaked at various times in the last century or so. But unless you read the Black Books, you don’t know substantive information about the day-to-day of clubs that you didn’t belong to. Maybe they’re interested in discovering what she knows of those kind of details.” He paused. “Or maybe it’s even more than that.” Poe closed in and took me by the shoulders. “What else do you know?”
I brought my hands down on his forearms, karate-chop style. “Nothing. I only know what they’ve been saying at the meetings.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
What the hell was he talking about? “Of course I’m sure. It’s me you’re talking to, remember? I’m the most clueless Digger of them all!”
Poe didn’t respond, simply stood there for a moment, studying me. “You keep saying that, but you must know it’s not true.” His tone was soft, almost conciliatory. Or maybe it was just that he was whispering. “You have this way of…weaseling information out. Like last year…” He returned to the bench, and sat, staring at his shoes for several seconds.
Yeah, it was just the whisper. Weaseling information out? Please. Right after my initiation, when the patriarchs had barricaded the tomb, Poe had made an obscure slip of the tongue, and I remembered it long enough to figure out he’d do anything to support his club. It’s not like I’d had him locked in a room, interrogating him with water boards and finger screws. Weaseling!
Finally, he lifted his head, “Amy, there’s something…after you kicked me out of the tomb last month…”
“I’m not your confessor, James,” I said. The last thing I wanted was to fill in for his graduated Digger friends. “Once upon a time, I found your weakness, and I exploited it. End of story.”
Ah, the patented glare was back. Good. I was on firmer footing if Poe reverted to form. He lifted his chin. “Yes. You did. So now I’m not going to have any more weaknesses.”
“You’re still a devoted Digger,” I said. “You know it, and I know it. You’d do anything to protect the sanctity of this organization.”
He smirked. “Shows what you know.”
Yep, back on solid ground.
When you become a Digger, you take three oaths to the society. They go like this:
1) The oath of secrecy: I do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, never to reveal, by commission or by omission, the existence of, the knowledge considered sacred by, or the names of the membership of the Order of Rose & Grave.
2) The oath of constancy: I do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, to bear the confidence and the confessions of my brothers, to support them in all their endeavors, and to keep forever sacred whatsoever I may learn beneath the seal of the Order of Rose & Grave.
3) The oath of fidelity: I do hereby most solemnly pledge and avow my love and affection, everlasting loyalty and undying fealty. By the Flame of Life and the Shadow of Death, I swear to cleave wholly unto the principles of this ancient order, to further its friends and plight its enemies, and place above all others the causes of the Order of Rose & Grave.
And yes, I know those second two sound like synonyms. I didn’t name the darn things; I just swore by them.
After Poe and I took our rather chilly leave of each other, I grabbed dinner then headed off to the library to get started on the Humphrey Clinker clunker. But the words wouldn’t come, and the rereading-significant-passages phase failed to uncover any paper-worthy insights. This was going to be a painful one. After a few hours, I packed up and headed home. If I wasn’t going to be working hard, I might as well not be doing so in the comfort of my own suite. Persephone willing, I wouldn’t come face-to-face with Josh, because, frankly, ain’t exactly feeling the brotherly love at the moment.
Instead, I found Lydia, who’d clearly been waiting for me a while, to judge by the way she pounced the second I crossed the threshold. “Do you have a minute?”
“A minute.” I took off my bag and sat. “What’s up?” My roommate was looking rather less than happy at the moment. I hadn’t been hanging with her much lately. Things at the tomb had been so hectic. But were those dark circles under her eyes?
“Something weird is going on with Josh. He’s been acting strange all week.”
All week? Not since, oh, Wednesday? I nodded and looked thoughtful. “Hmm…”
“And I think I know why.”
I clapped my mouth shut. She did? She what? How? We’d been so discreet.
Lydia took a deep breath. “I—um—kind of let the L-word slip. The real one. Not the ‘I love your hair, I love your laugh, I love spending time with you’ one, but the nonqualified version. I think I freaked him out.”
Honestly, I thought so, too, but I remained unconvinced that this was the root of his personality shift. Unless…He had gone on the attack right at the beginning of the week. Could our little confrontation a few days ago have been caused by his own relationship woes? But I tried to keep my tone neutral. “Wow. When did you say it?”
“After Halloween.”
Bingo. “And the response?”
Lydia blushed.
In my opinion, there are several families of response to this statement:
1) “I love you, too.” (Or some variation thereof.) And you mean it.
2) Same, but you don’t.
3) “Thanks.”
4) An upfront admission that, no, you don’t love them, and you don’t think it’s a good idea they expend much energy loving you.
5) The coward’s way out. (Full disclosure: I’m very familiar with this strategy, having most recently used it on Brandon. He said he loved me, I zoned out, he caught my attention, and I insisted I’d been listening the whole time. And, at the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, it sucks.)
“Lydia,” I prompted. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He, um, did something. Something R-rated.”
Oh. I guess there was also a number six. “Was it an R-rated thing done with love?”
“Amy, I said it freaked him out. I don’t think he was trying to return the sentiment.”
Neither did I. And if I knew anything about Josh’s romantic history, which I did, I’d guess he was out trolling for some chick to turn into his escape clause. Dammit.
“You know, Lydia, I have heard some rumors….”
“What?”
“That Josh has a bit of problem…remaining faithful.”
She laughed. “Oh, that. There are rumors about that?”
I shrugged. “Well, you know, I did some digging, just to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt.”
“You did, huh?” She hugged me. “That’s sweet, but we’ve already talked about it. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
Wow. I’d been beating myself up all this time over nothing. Josh had told her himself. Maybe I hadn’t given this guy the credit he deserved. Telling the other Diggers didn’t mean he was barred from telling the woman he was dating.
Or maybe he told her because he was afraid I would.
“Nobody’s perfect,” Lydia continued. “Not me, not you, not Josh. If we had perfect track records, we wouldn’t be single and available for new relationships, would we?”
“Well, yeah, but considering recent events…do you trust him?”
“Yes. I guess I trust him. I trust him until he gives me a reason not to. That’s how love works, right?”
Maybe that was our club’s problem, as Ben had hinted at last night. We weren’t hanging out because we loved one another, and letting the trust grow from that. We were hanging out because we’d promised to, and were expecting it to turn into love. None of the Diggers had been acting very trusting of late. It was because, ever since the rumors of the traitor surfaced, no one had trusted anyone else.
Actually, it had started even earlier, when the Diggirls had first received those rhyming e-mails, telling us to beware of danger right under our noses.
Like Ben said, too much drama and intrigue. Why couldn’t we spend our time in Rose & Grave actually engaging in the things the society had been created for? Camaraderie and the exchanging of ideas. No wonder I felt ten times more comfortable chilling with Lydia in our suite than I did at meetings. Our Salvation Army—furnished common room may lack the cachet of star-studded dome ceilings or wood-paneled Grand Libraries, but it was utterly devoid of intrigue. Okay, mostly devoid. We still held the secrets of our respective societies pretty close to the chest.
“What’s your plan for tonight?” I asked my roommate. “I’m overdue on a paper I have to turn in first thing tomorrow morning, so I’ll probably be up late. I vote Chinese food.”
“I’m working, too. That sounds great.” She grabbed the phone. “Shall I order?”
“Please. I’m going to run to the bathroom. Get me my usual.” I ducked out of the suite door and up the landing steps to the entryway restroom. And it was there, in the stall, with my pants around my ankles, that I heard the scream.
Lydia’s scream.
I finished up my business in record time and bolted out of the stall, pulling my clothes together as I went. I heard the entryway door slam open, but by the time I reached the landing, there was nothing but darkness outside. I flew down the steps and back into my suite, where I found Lydia standing by my bedroom door, the phone clutched in her hand. The irate voice of the Chinese-food delivery man could be heard, faintly, from the receiver.
“Crazy girl!” he shouted, and slammed the phone down.
“Lydia, what happened?”
“Oh, Amy, there was someone in your room!” She leaned against the bookshelf, as if for support. “I opened the door to grab a menu from your bulletin board, and this guy—he leapt out at me!”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. He just ran out. Didn’t touch me or anything.”
“Thank goodness. Did you see what he looked like?”
She shook her head and pressed her hand against her chest. “No. Tall. Dark clothes. White. Older…than us, I mean. I couldn’t see if he took anything, either. Amy, your computer. Your stereo.”
But I wasn’t exactly worried about my subwoofers—at least, not with Poe’s warning still forefront in my mind. They may be searching your room next. I slowly stepped toward my bedroom. Was there anyone else inside? Probably not, but I still felt violated. Ironic, huh?
“How long do you think he’d been in there?” Lydia said. “I was sitting in the suite for about ten minutes before you came home. I hate to think he was in there the whole time.”
Plenty enough time for him to ascertain that I had none of the mysterious information I could have supposedly swiped from Jenny. I peeked in the door. My computer was still there. Probably with keystroke recording software installed, and maybe a bug or two. Tell me my society isn’t into spying!
“Should I call the police?”
“Yes. Wait. No. Call Josh.”
She looked at me curiously. “Josh?”
This would be tricky. “Look, you’re obviously distraught. Don’t you want him nearby? Give him a call. Or I will.” I grabbed the phone out of her hands and dialed Josh’s room. “Hey, Josh?” I said when he answered. “It’s Amy.”
“Committed any felonies today?”
“Too busy dealing with people breaking into our suite.”
“What!”
“Look, can you come over? Lydia just found a man in my room. He’s gone now, but we’re pretty shaken up.”
“Yes. I’ll be right there. Tell her I’ll be right there. Are you both okay?”
“We’re fine.” He may not have provided the right response to Lydia’s proclamation, but he had it down pat now. “Do you think we should call the police about this man who was suddenly in my room tonight?” I asked, hoping he got my drift. “I don’t know what he was looking for.”
Josh considered this. “Wait until I get there. I’m leaving right now.”
I pressed the Off button and looked at Lydia. “Gosh, I don’t know, hon. I think he cares very much.”
But Lydia showed no reaction. Instead, she asked, “How do you know Josh’s number?”
Uh-oh. “I think I looked it up one time when you were over there. I can’t believe I remembered it.”
She stared at me, a curious expression playing across her face. “I can’t believe you did, either.”
I forced a laugh. “Come on, Lydia. I’m not seeing your boyfriend behind your back.”
Thankfully, Josh arrived a few moments later (he must have sprinted all the way from his college) and enfolded Lydia in a huge embrace. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” came the muffled reply. “He didn’t do anything. Just ran past me.”
Josh looked over Lydia’s shoulder at me. “Did you see him?”
I shook my head. “I was in the bathroom. I heard Lydia scream.”
Lydia disentangled herself from Josh’s arms. “I think we need to call the police.”
Josh took off his coat and threw it over the back of the couch, then strode into my bedroom. “This place looks okay, I mean, not trashed or anything.” He shot a glance at me over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what this person may have been looking for?”
“I wish I did,” I said, and joined him in my room.
“Guys, the police?” said Lydia.
“Things have…progressed somewhat since I spoke to you last night,” I whispered. I needed to get Josh alone and share what Poe and I had discovered about Jenny’s room. “The room is much cleaner than it was yesterday.” I wagged my eyebrows at him.
“I really think we ought to call…” Lydia tried again, then clearly gave up.
Josh moved until he was behind my bedroom door. “There’s no sign of forced entry. Do you lock your door?” He mouthed at me, You went back there?
I checked the common room, but Lydia had moved out of sight range. “Yes, but since this is so vital to you, I want you to know it was legal this time. I was with her dean.”
“Her dean?”
“Yeah, her parents called and were concerned.”
“Because you called them?”
“Because James Orcutt and I called them, yes.”
“Who?”
Poe, I mouthed.
Poe thinks there’s a problem?
Yes. We’re not all as skeptical as you. At this rate, we’d have to take out additional student loans to cover our society name fines. Although, I suppose the jury was still out on whether it counted if we didn’t speak them aloud.
“I knew it!” shouted Lydia. Josh and I jumped, and then, stricken, spilled back into the common room.
Lydia was standing by the sofa, Josh’s navy peacoat balled up in her hands. “You liar!” She lobbed it at his head and he caught it. His Rose & Grave pin shimmered from the left-hand pocket.
“Whoa, whoa, what lie? Sweetie—”
“You know exactly what lie. I can’t believe you two, all this time, acting like you’d just met. I can’t believe I never noticed. I can’t believe—”
“What?” I said. “That Josh is a better secret keeper than I was? You really find that a tough one to swallow?”
She turned to me. “How much have the two of you been laughing behind my back about this?”
Josh and I exchanged glances. “Believe it or not,” I said, “not at all. We’ve been too busy being at each other’s throats.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Josh, “we both love you and don’t want to see you hurt.”
My mouth fell open. Lydia, to her credit, kept her composure. “You…love me?”
Josh looked at her and sighed. “Yes. I do.”
Around this time, I decided to go back to the bathroom and, oh, I don’t know, wash my hands, brush my hair, maybe pluck my eyebrows. Stuff.
When I got back, Josh and Lydia were snuggled up on the couch. “All better?” I asked.
Lydia smiled, gave Josh a quick peck on the cheek, and hightailed it into her bedroom.
“Well, that’s one less secret I’ve got,” Josh muttered.
I shrugged. “She’s known about me since last year. World still hasn’t ended.”
“Indeed. So, fill me in on what’s going on.”
I told Josh what Poe and I discovered today (careful to always call Poe “James”) and what we suspected was going on.
“And you have no idea what the person in your room may have been searching for?” he asked.
“No. If Jenny was sharing her information with anyone, it wasn’t me. She was angry at me, remember? Do you know what they could be after?”
Josh shook his head. “Until a few minutes ago, I still wouldn’t have believed Jenny was involved. But after hearing all of this, how can I doubt it anymore? I feel like a moron.”
He looked at Lydia’s closed bedroom door. “I don’t want to call the police yet, but I don’t want you two staying here tonight. I’ve talked Lydia into coming back with me.”
“That must have taken some real effort.”
“I take it you have someplace to stay?” He raised his eyebrows. “Still keeping it in the family?”
“I’ll be fine.” I changed the subject. “Don’t you think it’s about time to go to the authorities? Two break-ins in two days?”
“One break-in, one alleged, and we’d have to come out with the society involvement to show there’s any connection at all. I’m not ready to go there.”
This was the same spiel Poe had given. “So when will you think they’ve gone too far, Josh? When it turns out the patriarchs have hurt Jenny?”
Josh frowned. “I don’t know. I’m still hoping this is all some mix-up. I’m going to try to get ahold of our truant tonight. I’ll call Po—what’s-his-name—and let him know I want to help. Lydia says you’ve got a paper due anyway, and I feel like an asshole for not helping earlier. Tell you what: If Jenny doesn’t contact us by tomorrow morning, we’ll go to the police. Deal?”
One more night. And if Josh was willing to meet me halfway and take on some of the responsibility, then maybe I ought to let him. “Deal.” I stuck out my hand, as if to shake on it.
“Amy,” Josh said, and he took my hand. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted your instincts.”
“You should have.”
“Want me to call George and tell him to expect you?”
I thought about that for a moment. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got a better idea.”
Twenty minutes later, I met Poe outside the entrance to the Law Library with my copy of The Expedition of Humphrey Clinker in one hand and my laptop case in the other. Change for the soda machine jingled in my coat pocket as Poe guided us past the metaphorical velvet rope with a wave of his Law ID and a proprietary hand on the small of my back.
This time, his touch didn’t make me ill.
“This never should have happened,” he said, almost as if to himself. “Are you sure Jenny didn’t pass anything on to you? Anything at all?”
Jenny was barely speaking to me. I was hardly her ally. But I’d come up with another hypothesis while gathering my papers. “Do you think there’s a chance the guy in my room could be behind the website? That if Jenny has been, uh, incapacitated, he’s trying to get his info from somewhere else?” If so, Josh’s or George’s rooms would be no safer than mine.
Poe scowled. “I’ll put out the word to everyone in your club to double bolt their doors and report back any suspicious activity. But to be honest, I don’t think this conspiracy theorist is the type that leaves his house much. And he’d be trying to get into the tomb, not your place. No, I think you were targeted because you were nosing around Jenny’s room. And if so, then all of this has gotten out of hand.”
He left me at his assigned study carrel, which came complete with a bag of Doritos. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
“I wouldn’t,” I said. “You’ve been helping me all day. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”
He frowned. “Don’t mistake me, Amy. It’s not for you, it’s for Rose & Grave.”
As if I’d somehow mix that up.
Nine hours, seven pages, and twenty-five hundred words later, I had a completed paper and a pounding headache, both of which I attributed to the four cups of Law Library coffee I’d consumed throughout the night. I’d also managed to stay up later than I had in the past three years, which I attributed in equal parts to panic and fear. Ever try to write a paper when you’re certain someone is watching you, waiting for a chance to strike? Was I about to be snatched wholesale from Poe’s study carrel, leaving behind little more than the dregs of my last latte and a half-eaten bag of Doritos? (Yes, I ate his Doritos. I owe him fifty-nine cents.) At least, in this case, they’d know straight off it was foul play. The library may be populated solely with zombies at this godforsaken hour, but even they would rouse at signs of a struggle.
Probably. If only to debate the ethics.
I was sick of being awake, of being paranoid, and of eighteenth-century stable-men. Unfortunately, due to the caffeine swirling through my system, I was not about to enjoy oblivion any time soon. Nor would I be returning to my cold, empty, recently violated room. There was safety in public places. I put my head down on the table and tried to breathe deeply, hoping that, if not sleep, at least I’d be able to meditate.
When it began to grow light beyond the windows, I gave up, packed my things, and began my academic walk of shame over to the English department to drop off my paper before my professor showed up at her office to collect.
Admittedly, I haven’t spent a lot of time enjoying the early morning during college (or, you know, ever), but you’d think that on the few occasions I’d managed to rouse myself at the butt crack of dawn, the least Eli University could do was make it worth my while. But today the only discernible difference between night and not-night was a sickly looking glow behind the dark clouds that had engulfed the campus and, from what I could tell, the entire eastern seaboard. The air was frigid and wet, and the sky hocked loogies on anyone stupid enough to venture outside.
I found the English department locked, if “locked” was an accurate description of a catch that hundreds of students forced open every day in order to use the front entrance to the building. (Because Eli’s Old Campus is gated and closed every night except to the students, the powers that be aren’t as interested in security on the quad-facing side of the building as on the streetside.) I took the stairs to my professor’s office, checked the floor for dust bunnies, and slid my paper under the door. There.
Maybe Hale had some bagels in the tomb. Since I was down on High Street, it was worth a look. The media had gone home, or at least weren’t yet out, having no doubt been exhausted by the non-stop excitement of their stakeout of a windowless building with negligible landscaping. I skipped across the deserted street and entered by the open gate, which in society code meant there was someone in the tomb. At this hour? Clearly I wasn’t the only Digger behind on my work.
I crept through the hall, fearful of waking another survivor of the all-night push, and into the Grand Library, where I found Juno, Bond, Angel, and Puck seated on the couches, drinking Earl Grey and eating cornbread.
“’Boo!” Puck cried. “Come and join us.”
“What are you doing here so early?” I waved off Angel’s proffered teacup (no more caffeine for me, thank you very much) and grabbed a slice of cornbread.
“You mean so late,” said Puck. “I got word late last night that my stepmom had to go into surgery, and they were worried about the baby. I just heard that everything’s fine, and we’re celebrating. I’m going to be a big brother!”
“The earth trembles at the prospect,” said Angel. She beamed at me. “I just got back from the best date of my life. I think I’ve met The One.”
“I’m trying to convince her there’s no such thing,” said Puck.
Careful, Clarissa. That’s how he got me.
“I fell asleep here,” Bond admitted, pointing at a nearby desk strewn with paper. “The first draft of my senior project is due before your national Puritan/Native celebration, and I haven’t even started.”
“I’m fresh from Tai Chi,” said Juno. “Sad turnout today. I guess too many people thought their energy wouldn’t be flowing in the frozen mud pit we usually call the New Haven Green. And you, Bugaboo?”
“I wrote seven pages about horseshoeing.”
Angel choked on her tea. “I think you may need brandy.”
But instead I got a mug of chamomile and settled in to listen sleepily to the rest of their conversation. Angel was wired, still fairly floating from her dream date; Bond seemed ready for a break from poetry translation; Juno worked her heretofore unknown Zen facets; and Puck set aside his usual contemptuous attitude toward his father and stepmother and exchanged it for obvious relief and good wishes. Over the next hour, the conversation meandered easily through a variety of topics: from Juno’s opinions on new spring fashion (gleaned from a swiped copy of Angel’s Vogue), to a debate about the all-important and upcoming Game between Harvard and Eli (Eli was up for the Ivy League Championship), to the various and contradictory historical accounts of the Black Hole of Calcutta. And no, I can’t remember how they all connected. Can anyone when they’ve got a good vibe going on?
Magic. I almost didn’t want to go to sleep. This should be what Rose & Grave was like all the time. Diggers, sitting in a room, sharing ideas and jokes and stories, without all the inner-society politicking and rancor that had hampered us since the start of school. This was what my club had been like in the beginning, or even over the summer, before we started worrying about missing funds and traitors.
But all good things must be spoiled by someone, and in this case that person was Angel. “So, has anyone heard from Lucky yet?”
Puck chuckled and nodded at me. “Ask Nancy Drew over there. Soze tells me she spent all yesterday investigating Lucky’s ‘disappearance.’”
“I’d disappear, too, if I were her,” said Juno. “Everyone’s so angry with her. What I can’t figure out is why she’d pull a stunt like that. Isn’t she a millionaire from some program she sold? It’s not like she needs the money.”
“Maybe she didn’t do it for the money,” I said, stifling a yawn.
“Then, what?” asked Bond.
I shrugged, because She hates us would totally smash the current lovey-dovey atmosphere in the room. But what would Also, I think her disappearance is more like a kidnapping, and I’m not the only one do to the energy? “Did Soze contact any of you last night?”
They all raised their hands. “Something about Lucky’s room being searched,” said Angel.
“And how you guys think it was arranged by a patriarch,” said Juno. “Sounds likely to me. They want to see what other dirt she’s got.”
Angel shuddered. “They creep me out, going into people’s rooms like that. Total power trip, if you ask me. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that crap. Soze told me there was someone in your suite, too.”
“Poetic justice?” Bond asked. “After all, you broke into Lucky’s room first.”
Puck winked at me. “’Boo’s growing into quite the fine little Digger. Look at all the neat tricks she’s picked up.”
“I was talking to Poe yesterday, after you guys ditched me,” I said, keeping the snark to a minimum, “and he agrees these people might have gone a damn sight further than just breaking into some rooms. We think she may be missing missing.” You know, like I said to you people the night before last.
Everyone sobered up quickly, even Puck. “Come on, ’boo,” he said. “You don’t really think the patriarchs would have anything to do with—”
“I do,” said Angel. “My father is a corporate raider. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit he’s pulled. I bet he’s the ringleader.”
“Not the honorable White House Chief of Staff?” asked Juno. “Maybe a little CIA action, since we’re toying with the idea of a massive conspiracy?” She rolled her eyes.
But I was too tired and too unwilling to get into another argument. Let Poe or Soze come in and pick up the debate. “We spoke to her dean yesterday. He can’t file a missing persons report without evidence of wrongdoing until she’s been gone for more than forty-eight hours. We’re not there yet. Soze promised me that if she hasn’t contacted anyone by this morning, he’d tell the police about Lucky’s link to Rose & Grave.”
That shut up everyone. “He’d break his oath?” said Juno. “He really does think something is going on, then?”
“Yes. And thanks, by the way, for taking it seriously only when he thinks it. Guess who convinced him?” I poked my thumb at my chest. Okay, I was a little cranky.
“I’m sorry.” Juno’s expression went contrite. “I guess…”
“What?”
“I guess I’m not familiar with what these guys do,” she said. “I wasn’t here last year. You were. I didn’t see her room. You did. I didn’t—”
“Have some weirdo hiding out in your suite last night?” I prompted.
“Exactly,” said Juno. “I should have paid you more attention. I’m sorry. It was just—everyone in the club was going on and on about what the patriarchs were going to do to the traitor. It was getting a little hysterical in here. My bullshit meter was on high alert.”
“You weren’t alone,” I grumbled.
Juno came over, sat down beside me, and then, shockingly, gave me a hug. “I wasn’t being a good brother. Support them in all their endeavors, right?”
Finally, she gets it.
That, of course, led to group hugging, and—I think (I hope)—Puck copping a feel. And then another round of tea and cornbread.
After a while, Puck said, “I’m still not with you guys that she was kidnapped, but I do think she’s telling tales about us. I never could trust her. I’d always thought we should bond—you know, because of our names.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, fighting another yawn. I needed to go to sleep soon.
“Lucky’s a traditional name, like Puck, and Big and Little Demon,” said Angel. “They always come in pairs. Lucky goes to the tap with the least amount of sexual experience.”
Juno grinned. “So she’s a virgin. What kind of bonding were you considering, Puck?”
Yeah. What kind? I raised my eyebrows at my lover.
He shot me a look. “Nothing like that. Just pointers and stuff. Try to help her ‘get lucky.’ It’s a terrible name to deal with.”
“I’m sure you’d be embarrassed to have it.” I wanted another slice of cornbread, but was too tired to reach over.
“I think she was, too,” said Puck. “At least, that’s the impression I got from her.”
“I never got the impression she spoke to you at all,” said Angel.
“She did. We had the same History of Science section freshman year. Not that we knew each other. I barely went to the class. She, of course, rocked it.” Puck smiled. “If I were in charge of naming the club, I would have done Lucky better. Given her something appropriately kick-ass.”
“Like what?” asked Greg.
He leaned his head back on the couch. “I don’t know. Trinity, maybe? Deep Blue? Ada Lovelace?”
Ada Lovelace. My eyes were drifting shut. “That’s too long for a society name.”
“No longer than Tristram Shandy,” said Angel. “Who’s Ada Lovelace? I only know of one Lovelace, from literature, and he wasn’t an Ada.”
That’s right. Lovelace, the villain of Clarissa. Of course Angel would remember.
“Not literature. History. She was the first computer programmer. Or something like that. Lucky did a report on her for one of the few class sessions I did attend.” Puck looked proud of himself for remembering. “She was Byron’s daughter and a mathematician.” He looked up at the bookshelves. “I bet we’ve got something on her.”
“Byron had a daughter named Lovelace?” Angel asked as Puck leapt up and began scanning the collection.
“Oh, yes,” said Bond. “I remember reading about that. Some story about how his estranged wife raised their daughter to be logical and scientific to contradict the Romantic influence of the girl’s father.”
Ada Lovelace. Yeah, it was cooler than Lucky. I yawned again.
Bond pulled down a book and opened it to the index. “I think it was her married name. Here she is.” He opened the book and placed it on the coffee table. I roused myself to look. There, on the page, was a very familiar-looking portrait of a Victorian woman with Princess Leia hair.
“I’ve seen this,” I said. “Lucky’s got a poster of her hanging in her room.”
“Hero worship, huh?” said Angel.
“Ada Lovelace” sounded so familiar to me. I yawned again and Puck caught me. “I think I need to escort ’boo home,” he said. “I’ll make sure there are no monsters or CIA agents in her closet.”
“Maybe I should do it instead, to make sure ’boo gets some actual sleep,” said Angel with a meaningful glance at me.
“Maybe ’boo will just stretch out here,” said I, doing so. “This couch is comfy.”
“Suit yourself.” Puck stood. “I’m going home, then, before the news trucks arrive.” He waved to us all and headed out.
A moment later, we heard his voice in the hall. “Mail’s here.”
“Is it FedEx?” said Juno. “That’s weird. But who else would deliver here? Bring it in before it gets wet.”
“I suppose,” said Angel, “the nice thing about having an unlisted address like the tomb is you don’t see a lot of junk mail.”
I fought back the waves of sleep. Junk mail. Ada Lovelace. That’s where I’d seen that name.
“Guys,” Puck appeared at the door to the Library, clutching an open manila envelope, his face devoid of all color. “I think Lucky’s been kidnapped.”
He held up a long black braid.