Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

“Let’s look on the bright side,” he said, scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes, then letting it plop back onto his plate. “What did the stupid site really say? A bunch of crap about our initiations and a floor plan of the tomb. They didn’t actually release any of the info in the patriarch’s Black Books.”

“No,” said Frodo, who had finally arrived. So far, only eight of us had made it through the gauntlet. “They’re saving that for next week’s big reveal. We gotta track this guy down before it gets any worse.”

I took a bite of beef and looked at Soze. “Heard from Lucky, perchance? I haven’t seen her in days.”

“Drop it, ’ boo, ” Soze snapped. And if Puck noticed the use of his special name for me, he didn’t show it. Unlike the rest of us, my lover didn’t seem particularly morose about the recent turn of events, and was digging into his dinner with gusto. He’d already finished two servings of beef, and was eyeing the slice on my plate as well.

But Lil’ Demon jumped to my defense. “Why should she drop it? You were on my back about being in New York when the announcement was first posted. No one here has seen Lucky since it went live. She skipped our last Diggirls get-together, she skipped all of our recent powwows, and I bet you a bottle of Cristal she skips tonight as well. Doesn’t that seem far more suspicious to you?”

Soze narrowed his eyes in my direction. “Who else have you been sharing your suspicions with, Bugaboo?”

“They aren’t her suspicions,” Lil’ Demon said. “They’re mine. You’re not the only one who gets to make accusations around here, Soze.”

“Though I’m apparently the only one who realizes what doing so might mean.” He threw his fork down. “Has no one else been paying attention to Gehry’s threats? He’s out for blood, and we all know from personal experience the man doesn’t bluff. I also know from political circles he’s a leap-first-look-later kind of guy. If he thinks he can pin this on someone, he’ll ruin them without a second thought. He’ll do it even if it’s only to make an example of the person.”

“And he’d probably love to pin it on a Diggirl.” Angel slumped in her chair, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders.

“So what?” asked Big Demon. “He tries anything with Lucky and she’ll crash his whole system.”

“Not Lucky,” Puck piped up at last. “Something tells me she’s a turn-the-other-cheek kind of gal.”

I set down my fork. “Look, I’m the last person who would turn her over to that asshole. What do you take me for? I just want to talk to her. That’s all. I haven’t seen her for a while. She hasn’t managed to make it over here and I want to know why. Is this too much to ask?”

Apparently so. Of course, as it turned out, Lucky wasn’t the only no-show on that fine November evening. Graverobber (of course), Kismet, Shandy, Thorndike (who you’d think would have experience running blockades), and Bond all failed to make an appearance, and when it became obvious we had nothing even approaching a quorum, Frodo, the evening’s Uncle Tony, called a recess.

“We’ll talk online,” Soze suggested as we began to sneak out, “and make sure we can meet on Sunday. This should all blow over by then.”

Here’s hoping. And to that end, I decided to accompany Ben back to Edison College, which just happened to be my favorite missing knight’s home. Josh may think Jenny’s absence was more correlation than causation, but I’d decided to beard the computer hacker in her den of CPUs.

Edison is located on the far end of campus, near the gym. It’s one of the so-called ugly colleges. While the rest of us dwell in Gothic or Georgian splendor (a little cramped, but hey, lead-veined windows, enormous fireplaces, exposed brick, and wood paneling), the residents of Edison College enjoy spacious singles from sophomore year onward and spend their time at Eli in an ultra-modern architectural example of abstract art. The building has no right angles. Those of us who were lucky enough to draw into one of the older colleges don’t get the appeal.

“How do you like this place?” I asked Ben as we traversed a wide courtyard ringed with towering monoliths of glass and jagged stone. “I can’t imagine living here. Half the reason you come to a place like Eli is because of how beautiful the campus is. What did you think when you were assigned into Edison?”

Ben blinked at me. “I came to Eli because I was recruited onto the team and it was the best academic program of the schools recruiting me. And, no, I don’t think it’s ugly at all. I think it’s great. I transferred into this college, and so you know, it wasn’t because I’m a jock and wanted to be close to the gym. I happen to like modern architecture.”

Around that time, I remembered Ben was an Art History major, and wondered if I’d gain any points by offering to cut out my cruel tongue as punishment for my ham-handed remarks. Just because I preferred the Georgian style of Prescott College didn’t mean I knew the first thing about the value of modern art. Never much one for Kandinsky, either.

But it was par for the course in our conversation. Ben was harboring some unnamed grudge that evening and only offered limited assistance. I needed his college key to activate the tower elevator that would take me up to Jenny’s room on the eighth floor, but as soon as we stepped into the elevator, he begged off accompanying me to her door.

“It’s bad enough I spend two nights a week with her,” he said. “Negativity like that totally messes with my mojo, and Coach says…” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t interested in the state of my game. You just need me to get to Jenny.”

“That’s not true.” I touched his arm. “Of course I’m interested. If you’re having a problem, you’re supposed to come to one of us. Why didn’t you bring it up at a meeting?”

Ben looked skeptical. “There’s always some crisis going on down there. The patriarchs are rallying or failing to rally or everyone is threatening to quit or blah blah blah. I don’t want to add to the whining.”

“You think that’s what it would be? Maybe it would force us to refocus on what we’re really about.”

He snorted. “We’re not really about anything, Amy. Not this year. We never had a chance. We’re nothing more than a bunch of cliques and factions. You girls and your tattoos. Think about it. The rest of us were in the city, too—hell, I drove the damn van—but were we invited to get tattoos? No.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s like last month when you wanted us all to track down Jenny and ask her what was bothering her. Right, like that was going to happen. How am I supposed to feel comfortable opening up to everyone if they don’t open up to me?”

I swallowed. He had a point. Was I guilty of contributing to the fractious nature of this year’s club? Had I, perhaps, not been listening when one of my brothers needed help? “Someone needs to start,” I said at last. “If you want to talk to me, Ben, I’ll always listen.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” The elevator arrived at the eighth floor, and he nodded toward Jenny’s door. “Just not now.”

I glanced out at the narrow hallway lined with doors. The Edison College setup was so unlike the usual Eli dorm design that for a moment I felt as if I were at another school entirely. “No, if you want to talk, now is—”

“Nice try.” There was the hint of a smile. “Let’s go for Sunday.”

“Really—”

He held up a hand that palmed basketballs. “Amy, this was supposed to be my C.B. night. We couldn’t even have a meeting, because all the drama meant half the club didn’t show. I’m in a bad mood, and I just want to take my anger out on the treadmill. Tell you what will really make me happy: You find the bastard responsible for wrecking my society experience. That’s how you can make it up to me.”