Secret Society Girl Read online

  Angel headed me off at the pass. “I looked it up,” she whispered. “Little Demon is also a traditional name, given to the smallest tap every year.” She cast a haughty glance back at the colorful Lil’ Demon. “Don’t you think I’m skinnier than she is?”

  I ladled myself a glass of punch and resisted throwing it in her face. “I honestly”—couldn’t care less—“wouldn’t know.”

  She shook her head as if shrugging it off. “That was some piece of luck today in the library, huh?”

  No. I was never fortunate to run into Clarissa. “How so?”

  “Me being there to find that letter before someone else did. Pretty cool trick of Lancelot’s—you know his society name is Lancelot, right?”

  I nodded. Had Clarissa—Angel—already looked it up in one of the many leather-bound books lining the walls of the room? She had to be getting all her Rose & Grave trivia from somewhere. Man, she and Lydia were separated at birth!

  I was about to ask her where she’d unearthed that bit of info when the doors opened and in shuffled George Harrison Prescott, sheepish grin plastered across his gorgeous face, zippered jacket and eyeglasses notably absent.

  “Hey, guys. They got me.” While everyone lifted their glasses in cheer, George crossed to a table I hadn’t noticed before, scrawled something on a sticker, and slapped it against his chest. Then, with a flourish, he turned, presenting his society name sticker.

  Angel’s mouth dropped open.

  “Yo, Amy!” George waved. “Another Prescotteer, thank God! What’s your new handle?”

  “Bugaboo.” I looked down at my stickerless chest, glad that I’d been able to pull off underwire after all.

  Angel looked at me. “Right, you need a sticker.” A moment later she handed me one with Bugaboo printed in a curly, girly script. Good thing there were no “i” s in my name, or I was damn sure she would have dotted them with hearts.

  “Thanks,” I said as she leaned close to whisper in my ear, smelling of Chanel, vodka, and pomegranate juice.

  “You know what ‘Puck’ is, right?”

  Well, let’s see….

  Option One:

  The little black disk hockey players fight over.

  Option Two:

  That annoying bicycle messenger from Real World: San Francisco.

  Option Three:

  “As an English major, I’m required by law to respond ‘the head sprite in Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ ” I said, sure she was about to give me another lesson in Digger lore. I was not disappointed.

  “The name they give to the tap with the most sexual experience.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, there’s a no-brainer. George Harrison Prescott probably has more sexual experience than the rest of us combined.”

  Angel threw back her head and laughed, giving me a great glimpse of what must have been two-carat sparklers in her ears. Guess the no-metal rule didn’t apply to platinum earring backs. “I think we’re going to get along great, girl.”

  Uh-oh. Certainly hadn’t meant to deliver that impression. I moved closer to George. “Hey, what was the deal with the matches earlier?”

  “They’re tipped in sulfur,” he responded. “Diggers aren’t supposed to carry sulfur.”

  Oh, that’s what they’d meant in the letter. Things a nonsmoker never thinks about. Probably didn’t want to accidentally ignite us in the Firefly Room.

  He shrugged. “I was just screwing around with them. But look at you!” He beamed. “A Digger! What do you think?”

  I glanced around the library, at the built-in bookshelves stuffed floor to two-story ceiling with leather-bound volumes, at the lead-veined windows overlooking a darkened courtyard. In one corner of the room, Frodo was giving an animated reenactment of his initiation to a knot of new taps, while in another, a group of half a dozen older men stood in stony silence, surveying the room as if grading us. A lone girl sat off to the side, fingering something around her neck.

  “I’ll tell you when I know.” I cocked my head in the direction of the girl. “Let’s go say hi to her.”

  She stood as we neared. “Hey,” I said. “You new here, too? I’m Bugaboo.”

  “Jen—Lucky—Santos. Whatever.” She took my hand, dropping the crucifix she’d been clutching against her throat.

  “I’m Puck,” George said, but the girl shot him a withering glance rather than take his proffered hand.

  “I know who you are.”

  So, his reputation had preceded him. George opened his mouth, but before he could engineer a response, the huge double doors of the library were flung wide and in strode the rest of the Diggers in a five-deep pyramid formation. The most outlandish of their costumes had been traded out for a uniform of simple, black hooded cloaks, but traces of the makeup some had worn in the Inner Temple or the tableaux remained around their hairlines and jaws. I recognized the Devil, Othello, and one of the Puritans. They were followed into the room by another dozen men, all bearing similar remnants from their costumes.

  The one I knew as Poe, standing at the apex, lowered his hood and spread his arms wide. “Welcome, Rose & Grave Tap Class Anno Deae 177.”

  My Latin was a bit rusty—okay, it was completely deplorable—but did he just say The Year of the Goddess? Everyone began clapping.

  “Now that you have all been Initiated into our Brotherhood”—apparently, he hadn’t gotten all his capital letters out during my torture session—“we will spend the rest of the evening teaching you the Secrets of the Tomb and the Ways of our Order.”

  “And partying,” added Lancelot.

  Poe shot him a glare. “And partying,” he added with reluctance.

  “Hear, hear,” Puck said, lifting his glass.

  “Will our newest Initiates please step forward and join hands?”

  Twelve people threaded their way through the burgeoning crowd to stand before Poe. The Rose & Grave seniors fanned out until there was one standing behind each of us. Lancelot put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Three of the taps are absent this evening, owing to the fact that they aren’t currently on this continent.”

  I bit my lip. Clearly, nothing short of an ocean would be an acceptable excuse for Poe.

  “However, they’ve been Tapped and, through the miracle of modern technology, we might actually be able to witness one going through his own Initiation Rites—Right, Barebones?”

  One of the Diggers in the back gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re a go.”

  Poe nodded. “And now, to introduce the newest Knights of the Order of Rose & Grave…”

  “Angel.” Clarissa stepped up.

  “Bond.” Dorian took his place by her side.

  “Little Demon.” Odile sauntered over and struck a pose.

  “Big Demon.” A center from the Eli basketball team who’d been lurking in the corner with some of the suited alumni came forward.

  “Bugaboo.” My turn. I stepped into the forming circle. Lancelot met my eyes and grinned.

  “Graverobber.” Another man from the group of silent suits, looking like gold-plated Eurotrash.

  “Frodo.” Mr. Young Hollywood practically bounced into place.

  “Kismet.” A tall black man stepped up.

  “Puck.” George strolled into the circle, hands in pockets.

  “Thorndike.” Demetria rolled her eyes at Puck as she joined him.

  “Lucky.” Jennifer Santos shuffled in, keeping a safe distance between herself and her nearest neighbor.

  “Keyser Soze.” Josh completed the circle, taking Lucky’s and Angel’s hands in his own.

  Poe lowered his head, as if in reverence. “Welcome, my brothers…and my first sisters. You have been granted a Sacred Trust. The Knights that stand before me will be legendary in the Annals of the Order, for you are the first to count women amongst your ranks. The five females before us are the only women ever to be Initiated into the Mysteries of Rose & Grave.”

  So that explained it. I knew that Rose & Grave didn’t tap women.
So, we were the first, huh? It’s about time they caught up to the modern world. I glanced around the circle at the other four. And these are the women they chose. I wondered if there was any rhyme or reason to the choices.

  The older man I knew as “Uncle Tony,” now suited, stepped forward. “I would like to commend our departing seniors for having the strength and courage to drag this society into the 21st century. I know your path has not been an easy one, but I applaud your wills. You are truly a class of Brothers to be proud of.” Then he turned away from the hooded knights and toward the circle of taps. “As the presiding Patriarch of the Initiation Ceremony, I am honored to welcome you into our Order. I would like to take this opportunity to remind the ladies in the group that these boys have taken a great risk and a big leap of faith letting you in here. We expect you to be model women…so don’t blow it.”

  Some welcome, schmuck! From across the circle, I saw Thorndike roll her eyes. “Go blow yourself,” she mouthed. Ha. Great minds think alike.

  As if sensing that things were going downhill, Lancelot piped up. “I think we’ve got the hook up to Sarmast.” He gestured to another Digger, who released a projector screen from the wall, while a third fiddled with his laptop and an overhead projector.

  “Behold!” said Poe with a flourish. “The Initiation of Harun Sarmast.”

  “Right. Whatever.” Lancelot clicked the projector on.

  The picture was grainy, pixellated, but I could make out half a dozen men standing in a drab, corporate, pre-fab conference room lit by yellowish fluorescents. Some were in military uniforms, the rest in suits. They circled around a tall, gangly Middle Eastern young man, clapping and hooting undecipherable, static-filled phrases.

  “Where is this?” Soze asked.

  “U.S. embassy in Saudi Arabia.”

  Soze whistled through his teeth. “Wow! Who’d you have to kill to get that go-ahead?”

  Poe was clearly an expert at the deadpan look.

  The boy in the picture was blindfolded, and considering the current political climate, the scene would have made me very uncomfortable if I hadn’t noted the enormous, shit-eating grin on his face. I wondered if that was the standard Rose & Grave M.O.—politically incorrect hazing scenes. After all, they’d done the whole “Diggers’ Whore” act on me.

  “Sarmast is doing language work for the government this semester. We pulled some major strings at the embassy to tap him before Dragon’s Head could.”

  One of the hooded Diggers sniggered. “Their pockets just…aren’t as deep.”

  “What about the other two?” I asked.

  “They’ve been…secured.”

  “I thought you said they were tapped.”

  Poe shot me a look like a cobra ready to strike. “I’ve got it covered, Bugaboo.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Lancelot said. “He gets sore every time he’s reminded that he’s a mere mortal. Rest assured, if Poe couldn’t track them down, no one else will, either. We’ll get to them first. And you’ll get to be in on the initiations.”

  “What if they reject the tap?” I asked, but Lancelot merely blinked at me as if such a predicament was inconceivable.

  Poe pulled out a cell phone and began dialing. A moment later, one of the marines on-screen answered.

  “Is this real-time streaming?” Lucky asked, joining in on the party at last.

  The Digger manning the keyboard smiled and beckoned to her. “Yep. Come take a look.”

  Lucky took a place behind the computer, her look of fear replaced with one of rapture. Now I remembered—Jenny Santos, who at the tender age of seventeen developed some amazing software, sold it off, then donated every last cent of her eight-figure proceeds to her church. No wonder Rose & Grave wanted her on their team.

  “Okay,” Lancelot said to the man in Saudi Arabia. “Begin.” He passed the phone to Uncle Tony and joined me.

  “I knew we’d win her over eventually,” he whispered in my ear, nodding his head at Lucky. “Just had to find the right apple with which to tempt her.”

  “Pomegranate.”

  “Huh?”

  “Didn’t you take the Bible as Literature class?” I asked, pleased I could get back at him for his literary critic crack. “No such thing as apples in the Cradle of Civilization. Closest modern translators can come is that Eve ate a pomegranate. Just like your Persephone.”

  Lancelot slipped his arm around my shoulders. “Our Persephone, Bugaboo.”

  I frowned. “And then they both got kicked out of Paradise.”

  He sighed. “Don’t you get it yet, girl? This is Paradise.”

  “Shhh!” said Poe. “They’re starting.”

  I turned back to the scene being beamed in from the Cradle of Civilization as Harun Sarmast was presented with his own pomegranate. The sound blipped in and out, but I caught enough to recognize that it was utterly incomprehensible.

  “Are they speaking—German?” Angel asked, incredulous. Not surprising to me, though, considering my run-in with the Reaper. Hadn’t Angel been subjected to that tableau as well?

  Poe nodded. “Our Saudi contingent is a little old-school.”

  “And what are you?” I muttered under my breath. “A freakin’ progressive?”

  Lancelot leaned in. “By Digger standards? Hell, yeah. It was all in German prior to the Second Rose & Grave Council.”

  I laughed, earning yet another glare from Poe. What a killjoy.

  Harun Sarmast proceeded along the path to initiation, and even without the wild costumes and the midnight-sky domed ceiling of the Inner Temple, it looked impressive. The Saudi-based alumni executed their roles with the type of military precision to be expected, considering their professions. Now that I was no longer the object of attention in the room, I could fully appreciate the earnest enthusiasm and joy the knights felt at showing the neophyte the overseas versions of the initiation players and paraphernalia. Even without the trappings of the tomb, the knights all raved about Persephone! Persephone! Persephone! (or at least a photocopy from a mythology book) Connubial Bliss! Connubial Bliss! Connubial Bliss! (crude reproduction) and Uncle Tony (whose Saudi incarnation was not wearing the elaborate rose mask) Cthony Carpathian…oh, bother. I forget the rest.

  Every Digger in the room stood transfixed by the scene before us. They mouthed the words of the oaths as Harun took each one, they cheered along with the Saudi knights as he passed every stage of the initiation, they laughed when he spilled his third skull-full of pomegranate juice down the front of his shirt.

  And then—here’s the really strange part—something blossomed inside my chest. I know, I know, I’d spent the evening being carried around in a coffin, tricked into thinking I was drowning, forced to drink fruit juice out of human remains, vowing to worship an ancient Greek goddess and to never tell a living soul about the whole shebang, and this was the strange part? But yes, it was. The feeling was akin to an adrenaline rush, but not unlike that first swoop of pleasure when you jump in a hot tub. I watched the faces of the knights, laughed every time Lancelot gave me an encouraging nudge, and even managed to temper somewhat my hostility toward Angel. Now that I was on the inside, Rose & Grave seemed to hold little in common with its formidable and mysterious reputation. Okay, so there were dead bodies (skeletons, at least) in this tomb. So what? They had them in the biology lab as well. And divested of their hoods and freaky-ass makeup, the other knights looked less like a satanic cult and more like a bunch of college kids playing dress-up. Even the tomb itself seemed welcoming from within. The skull sconces were a little unnerving, but the light they cast upon the wood-paneled walls and towering bookshelves was rosy and inviting. I spotted a darling cushioned window seat in one corner, perfect for curling up with a novel. I might be able to get used to this. I might like it a lot. They picked me, out of all the students in the school, to join their ranks. To be one of the first women. This was way cooler than Quill & Ink!

  As I watched another knight be brought within the Society of Rose & Gra
ve, I could feel the circle being drawn, and I was inside of it. Camaraderie took over, and—dare I say it?—brotherhood. They became we.

  Lucky ran her fingers across the keyboard and suddenly the picture got ten times better. I didn’t even want to know what she’d just hacked to pull it off.

  I watched Harun stumble over the oath of fidelity once, say it again with a strange, subtle flicker of his gaze toward something off-camera, and then, with a deep breath, capitulate and say it a third time with such sincerity in his eyes that it shone through even the pixellated, grainy image. Was that what we all looked like at that moment, when we promised to love, honor, and protect the society?

  The Saudi Digger playing Uncle Tony lifted a scimitar. “From this moment on, you are no longer Barbarian-So-Called Harun Sarmast. By the order of our Order, I dub thee Tristram Shandy, Knight of Persephone, Order of Rose & Grave.”

  Someone off screen struck a drum thrice, once, and twice again.

  And from deep inside it welled up, and all together, we shouted, “DIGGERS!”

  What is there to say about the rest of the evening? What salacious, luxurious details can I confess? Should I reveal how we were herded into a fleet of white stretch SUVs and driven to a Connecticut country mansion (belonging to one of the alums, or “patriarchs”)? How we drank champagne at midnight and feasted on broiled lobster at 2 A.M. ? Even I was shocked that they had a chef up at three in the morning to caramelize the tops of the crème brûlée we had for dessert.

  In between all of this, we had a crash course on the inner workings of the society, and enough history lessons to qualify for half a credit. The lore of Rose & Grave stretched back almost two centuries. It’s not particularly exciting (and it didn’t help that we were all exhausted and tipsy). Seems this kid Russell Tobias got into a tizzy over not being invited to join Phi Beta Kappa, huffed off to Germany, met some Masonic or Templarian, or whatever kind of brotherhood folks, and got it into his head that, like the founder of every other Eli institution, including the university itself (which was started by a bunch of folks displeased with how they were running things at 17th century Harvard), if they wouldn’t let him play in their club, he’d just start his own. So he did, and because he came from this ridiculously rich family with their fingers in every Victorian moneymaking scheme there was—agriculture, import-exports, early industry (here’s where Soze leaned over and whispered, “Drugs”)—he was able to devote a big chunk of change to his new little boys’ club, and Rose & Grave was born, as was the Tobias Trust Association. The Tobias Trust Association (or TTA, as Poe proceeded to refer to it) is the closest thing to a ruling body that Rose & Grave has. It’s presided over by a board voted in by the living members, and all monetary and other requests made by the seniors who comprise the active campus body of Rose & Grave have to be approved by this board of trustees.