Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

Bond cast her a skeptical look. “Easy enough to determine that, don’t you think? Ring up the employment agency. ‘Hello, agency, can you provide the correct documentation for your staff? Thanks ever so.’ No. If the agency is still an issue, it’s because the Gehry camp is spinning it that way.”

“Soze—” I started, but then was promptly shushed as Gehry turned to answer a reporter.

“My wife and children are currently visiting family abroad,” he said, then spun on his heel and strode rather quickly inside the nearest building.

“Poor kids,” Lucky said. “I don’t feel bad for him, but those children…”

“Hey, Soze…” I tried again, but he was glued to the monitor as the talking heads started doing their thing.

“This is really big news, guys,” Thorndike went on. “Gehry could end up in jail.”

“Josh!” I cried. He turned to me at last.

“Two dollars, Bugaboo,” Angel said.

“I need to talk to you. Now.”

Soze followed me into the library, and I was pleased to see that Angel and Lucky could manage to tear themselves away from the news for five minutes as well. I showed them all the note.

“Well, this is good news,” Angel said.

Lucky snorted. “You can’t actually be considering this. After everything they’ve done to you, you want to go over there alone?”

“Well, that’s what I was wondering,” I said. “Does it have to be, like, alone alone? I mean, couldn’t you guys just come and lurk in the shadows or something?”

“It’s the shadow-lurkers I’m worried about,” Lucky said. “I’m sure Dragon’s Head has this place scoped out. How naïve do you really want to be about this? Considering everything they’ve done already?”

Angel studied the letter. “I don’t know. There is a degree of honor between societies. If they say they want to parley, maybe they mean it.”

“But why with Bugaboo alone?” Soze said. “Why don’t they want to parley with all of us?” He glanced back into the Firefly Room. “Is there any way we can talk about this later?”

“Later!” I cried. “There’s a 24-hour news cycle covering Gehry. I promise you, you’re not going to miss a thing. The parley is happening now.”

“But the Gehry situation is unfolding tonight,” he said. Almost whined it, in fact.

Hale cleared his throat. “Should I serve dinner now? We’re running late.”

I appealed to the small contingent of knights. “Should I go? Should someone come with me?”

“I vote yes to the former and no to the latter,” Angel said. “There is a code. Just because they haven’t been following it so far…”

“Doesn’t mean they’ll start following it now,” Lucky pointed out. “Stay far away.”

We looked at Soze, who was clearly straining to hear the newscast from the next room.

“Well?” I asked.

“Go,” he said in a distracted tone. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

All three of us glared at him in frustration, and when he noticed our expressions, he threw up his hands. “Fine! I don’t care, okay? These stupid pranks…they don’t matter. There is serious stuff happening in the world and I’m sorry if I can’t get all worked up over every little drama this society goes through. Sheesh!”

“Fine!” Lucky exclaimed. “Let her go, and if she winds up dead, it will be on your head.”

“They aren’t going to kill her,” Angel said. “They have expulsion to think of, too, you know.”

Some comfort. Over dinner, we discussed the parley offer with the rest of the club, and it was agreed upon (rather quickly, in my opinion, so conversation could turn back to Gehry’s political and legal troubles) that Angel was right. I should follow the instructions on the note, despite the risk.

“Think of it this way,” Angel argued, “if they wanted to ‘get’ you, they’ve been doing a bang-up job of it without arranging it with you in advance. If they’re bothering to send a letter saying they want to parley, maybe they really mean it.”

“Or maybe that’s what they want you to think,” Thorndike pointed out.

Finally, we decided I’d go, with a small contingent of Diggers waiting for me outside the library, and my finger poised over the Send button on Jenny’s Push-to-Talk cell in case things got hairy.

At fifteen minutes to midnight, I left the tomb and began walking to the library. It was raining, the type of wintry, New Haven downpour that seems to come at you from all sides, thwapping at you with clammy bursts of wind and making every step away from shelter seem like a futile, if not downright insane, gesture. But I soldiered on and eventually made it across the campus to the steps of the library. The timing of this part of the journey was very important, since the library closed at midnight and they stopped letting patrons enter at quarter-till.

I made my way through the front door and into the splendid, Gothic-cathedral entrance hall. With the security guard and the research-desk employees looking on, I tried to casually gravitate toward the West Reading Room, which had, among its many desks, wingback chairs, and private nooks, a fire entrance to the central courtyard that was often propped open when the building’s ancient heating system threatened to turn the Stacks into a sauna.

Tonight I was lucky. I sat and waited, wondering in turn how many of the library’s remaining visitors were Dragon’s Head spies and if a security guard would be along presently to kick me out.

At 11:58, I stepped outside into the cold rain, which felt that much worse after the dry heat of the Reading Room. As the golden light faded into blue-gray darkness, I strained my eyes to determine if there were any people waiting in the courtyard, but the only things I could see were stone carvings of grimacing gargoyles, winter-dead trees, and piles of grayish ice. I kept my gloved hand in my coat pocket, ready to press the button on the phone.

And I waited. And waited. It seemed much longer than 120 seconds before I heard the distant chimes from the clock tower. Midnight.

On my left, I saw a shadow move. It drew closer to me, but all I could make out was a vaguely human shape. Still ten yards away, the figure stopped and sat on one of the stone benches. It raised a hand and beckoned to me. I stepped forward, and as I did, the figure’s features came into focus.

Felicity.

“Oh, come closer,” Felicity said, as I struggled to breathe. “It doesn’t count unless we talk.”

“What…are…” Get ahold of yourself, Amy. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to parley, of course.” Her tone was perfectly calm, perfectly kind. Perfectly perfect. I knew this unflappable socialite charm, had seen it at work in Clarissa—had hated it in Clarissa, long before I ever grew to hate it in Brandon’s girlfriend. “As I assume you are.”

“I’m here to parley with Dragon’s Head,” I replied.

She smiled and flashed me her pin. “Well, I’m in Dragon’s Head, but I’m here to parley with you, Amy Haskel.”

My name on her lips was a curse, the opposite of everything Brandon made it sound like. I swallowed my disbelief. “This never had anything to do with that raid.”

“Of course it did,” she said. She patted the seat beside her. “Come sit next to me. We’re protected from the rain by the eaves.”

“I’ll stand, thanks,” I said, though my teeth were starting to chatter as the water seeped under my collar.

“Suit yourself.” She took a deep breath. “Here’s the deal, and don’t think it was an easy one for me to concoct. The members of my society will henceforth cease and desist from their personal campaign against you. And in return…” she paused. “…you will never see my boyfriend again.”