Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

But for now, I intended to enjoy my evening as one of the thousand or so “devil-worshipping” souls who fought to drive off the soon-to-be November chill by listening to a world-class symphony orchestra in weird outfits. I failed to see how college students dressed up like geological theories were somehow paying homage to underworld demons. I thought we were just having fun, and Halloween was the name we gave to this brand of fun.

How’s that for not overthinking?

George pulled me onto his lap as the lights went down. The ESO puts on a phenomenal show every year. Not only were the members master musicians, they had a wonderful sense of whimsy, setting each year’s live program to a homemade movie that usually followed plotlines that wouldn’t be out of place on The Simpsons ’s annual spooky special. And the show always began the same way: with an organist rocking the hell out of “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” on the antique pipes embedded in the building’s walls. The lights slowly rose on a trio of fiddlers who circled a glowing cauldron spilling over with mist and tossed their dreaded hair in time to their otherworldly music. The Weird Sisters.

Man, I loved Eli.

Okay, maybe Jenny had a point about the holiday’s ties to Satanism, but she was one to talk. After all, she spent a few nights a week wearing robes in a room lit by candles inside skulls and professing allegiance to a goddess of the underworld. If anything, Rose & Grave had far more guilty-as-charged moments when it came to hellish activities.

The last strains of Bach overlaid these reflections, and then, incredibly, I wasn’t thinking about music, or Halloween, or even the way George’s hands were slowly creeping up my corset, no doubt in search of stray candy. Instead, I was remembering a conversation I’d once had with Jenny. It was the night of our Rose & Grave initiation, and we were hiding out from the other taps, who’d decided to go for a midnight swim in the indoor pool at the mansion where we had our party. I’d been trying to make getting-to-know-you chitchat and she’d been raving about the “Brotherhood of Death” and their “devious intentions.” A few days later, she’d claimed she wanted to change the organization of Rose & Grave from the inside out.

She’d shown enough contempt for our traditions over the past few weeks to convince me she hated our current setup. I really did suspect she’d told that Micah guy what I’d said at my C.B. (if not others as well), breaking her oaths and undermining the fabric of the society. The only reason the Diggers felt comfortable talking so freely in the tomb was because they knew the others would never betray them. And yet Jenny was probably doing exactly that. Who knew what other secrets could do my fellow knights serious damage if they were out in the world? I sneaked a peek at Josh and Lydia, who were canoodling at the end of the row. Even I, who had an airtight reason to spill some secrets (roommate bonds being thick as blood after three years), had managed not to break my oath.

And how realistic was it really that a computer genius, a woman who’d made several million dollars by her eighteenth birthday selling off software to Silicon Valley, couldn’t do something as simple as track down a little IP address?

And then tonight, why had she gone back to the tomb after we’d left? We hadn’t even known she was there, and she didn’t look like she was leaving until we came out onto the staircase. Had we caught Jenny in the middle of something? Had she gone back later, after she knew we were gone, to finish it?

“George,” I said over the crash of the cymbals onstage, “I think I know who’s leaking the information.”

“What?” he shouted, as the crowd began to scream. On the screen above our heads, two band geeks dressed in Matrix -style black leather navigated their way through the ultra-modern landscape of the rare book library on their quest to get…well, I hadn’t been paying attention, but the sound-track rocked.

“I said, I think…” I checked the surroundings and remembered Malcolm’s standard reminder to use discretion when it came to all things Rose & Grave. Plus, it wasn’t as if George would care. He’d remained completely disinterested in the whole traitor issue since it came up. George could either take Rose & Grave or leave it. He’d only joined as a favor to his father, and it had taken a good deal of cajoling and even a bit of manhandling on the part of the elder Prescott to accomplish that.

But Josh was right down the row. I’m sure he’d want to hear my thoughts on the matter. Still, a glance at the couple indicated neither would welcome my interruption, and George had decided to go after the candy corn in earnest.

I’d see Josh in our room after the performance. It could wait.

Except we didn’t go back to the room. From the smashing ESO performance, we hiked up to the Eli Film Society’s yearly showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and watched folks in skimpy costumes running around onstage throwing bread at one another and engaging in other wild, drunken revels, until George and I made the command decision to head back to Prescott and re-create some key scenes, sans alien transsexuals. On a night like this, I truly did love Eli. And it was such a nice send-off for the good times.

Because November sucked.

I hereby confess:

Discretion is the better

part of vice.

I was running late the next morning, and as I scurried over to my entryway and up into our first-floor suite, there wasn’t anything on my mind except for: toothbrush, change of underwear, hair comb, check face for stray sparkles from my costume (which was currently balled up in the corner of George’s bedroom). I flew blindly through the common room and made a beeline for my bedroom door.

“Good morning, Amy,” said a male voice at my back. I whirled to find Josh sitting on our couch, laptop on his lap. He closed the cover and set it aside. “We need to talk.”

“Crap. Yes, we do, I have something to tell you, but I’m running so late—”

“You have enough time for this. Sit down.”

I blinked at him. Excuse me? Sit down? This man was my age, in my common room, on my couch, and he was telling me to sit down like he was my father? “Where’s Lydia?” I planted my feet.

“At class.”

“Well, much as I love having you here, Josh, I really do have to run. However, I want to talk to you. I think Jenny’s the leak.”

He looked incredulous. “No, she’s not. Trust me. We’ve been working pretty closely on this and she’s put a lot of effort into tracking this guy down. No one would be trying so hard if she were secretly involved.”

“Are you sure it’s not a cover?” I said. “Keep talking while I change really quick.” I ducked into my room and tore off my clothes. “I have reason to think she’s been telling her boyfriend about everything that happens in the tomb, breaking the oath of secrecy.”

“You have proof of this?” Josh’s voice floated in.

I scrubbed at my face with a toner cloth, but the sparkles stuck. “No, but the day after my C.B., he looked at me as if he knew all of my dirty secrets. Plus, I saw him lurking outside the tomb last night.”

“Where outside the tomb?”

“By the Art History arch.”

Josh laughed. “Okay, that’s technically outside the tomb—the same way this room is. This is that prayer-group guy we’re talking about? He probably hates you for no reason. That’s his gig, remember?” He kept talking as I threw on new clothes and pulled my hair up with a clip. “Look, I know how you tend to over…um, how you attribute certain…” He apparently thought better of his sentence, for it soon changed directions completely. “Believe me when I say it can’t be Jenny. We’ve spent hours on this leak situation. Hours. You can’t prevaricate that long. She’s incredibly intense. I promise you’re mistaken.”