Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

“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.