Poe sighed. “You know, Amy, if you’d just step back for a minute in the middle of all your feminist ranting, you’d see that sometimes acting like an idiot—girl or otherwise—in matters of espionage can be a good way to get things accomplished. You’re the Literature major. Did you skip The Scarlet Pimpernel?”
“Then you act the fool, Sir Percy.”
He shook his head. “Not in that situation. Had the dean been a woman, I’d have been happy to play the worried lover to your concerned Cupid, but it wouldn’t have budged that guy.”
Yeah, especially considering one would first have to buy Poe as boyfriend material (nice shoulders aside).
“Don’t tell me you’ve never put on an act to get what you wanted.”
He had me there.
“Maybe your problem was that the chosen act hit a little too close to home.”
“Maybe my problem was that it gave you another chance to act chauvinistic and superior.”
And apparently that remark hit a little too close to home as well. Poe was silent for a moment, then regrouped. “Amy, grow up. I did a little good-old-boy talk, and we got in. Get over your indignation.”
Poe stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking. I stood there for a moment, seething, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. Easy for him to say. Easy for him not to get up in arms every time he was taken for a moron, because he chose when it would happen. When you deal with dismissive attitudes every day, playing the fool grates a hell of a lot more. I was treated like a lesser being several times a week when I wasn’t feigning stupidity, merely by virtue of…of what? In the general population, it was because I was a woman, in the world of Eli it was because I was a “soft” Literature major, and in my own secret society it was because I held a slight historical tendency toward paranoia.
But I was not an idiot, and I was not wrong about this. Any of it. There was something monumentally weird happening in the case of Jenny Santos, and I was going to prove it.
I caught up to Poe as he headed down the steps into the graduate school’s main building. “Okay, fine,” I said. “I agree to put aside our partisan politics in favor of the greater good. Yes, we got into her room. Thank you. And I know you aren’t going to believe me, but that place was a disaster last night. It looked like a bomb had gone off in there.”
Poe closed the door behind us and stood there for one long moment, his hand on the knob, his faced downturned. Then he looked at me, his gray eyes sad and full of concern. “I believe you,” he said at last. “I think she may be in danger.”
I hereby confess:
I’m not above feeling smug.
14.
Commission and Omission
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 fo
und 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.”
Under the Rose Page 18