Under the Rose (41 page)

“I knew it! I was told there were shenanigans going on in this tent. You’re making a mockery of this organization!” He looked over at Nikolos. “I expected better from you. What are we, a group of magicians playing parlor tricks?”

Nikolos did his best bored-rich-boy shrug and grabbed a handful of pretzels. “I thought it was funny.”

“A bit childish, perhaps,” said George, adopting a similar pose, “but then again, some of us are known for our immaturity.” He winked at me, but there was nothing lascivious about it. Maybe we were all capable of growing up.

“Not childish,” I interjected. “Good clean fun. Right, Mara?”

“The type of prank we’ve engaged in for centuries,” she agreed. “Actually, sir, it’s you who makes a mockery of this organization every time you seek to undermine our unity and turn brother against brother.”

“You disapprove of parlor tricks because your method falls much more toward the bullying and threatening side of the equation,” said George. “Which isn’t cool.”

Josh pointed at him. “Kurt Gehry, so-called Barebones: For breaking the oath of constancy, for your participation in the unsanctioned revival of Elysion, and most of all, for your totally whack lies and insinuations about patriarch involvement in the disappearance of one of our brothers, we knights of D177 disavow you as our patriarch. All in favor, say ‘Aye.’”

A chorus of “Aye”s erupted across the room.

“You can’t do that,” Gehry spluttered. “I’m a trustee.”

“Not a trustee whose opinions or orders will ever matter to this club again, God willing,” Jenny said.

“We’ve entered your name and actions into the annals of the Black Books,” I said. “Your infamous behavior toward this club is now recorded for posterity. At Rose & Grave, your name is mud.”

He laughed. “I don’t think so, girly. I’m one of the most powerful men in the country. Who do you think people care about? Me, or a bunch of silly college students?”

“You should be the one who cares about a bunch of silly college students,” said Josh. “We’ve recently become quite adept at combing our archives.”

“And we’ve pulled up a good chunk of dirt on you,” added Odile.

“And, funny,” said Jenny, “but since you’ve been disavowed by this club, I don’t think we’re under any vows of secrecy as far as
you’re
concerned.”

I smiled sweetly. “Watch your step, sir. You of all people should know what we like to do to outsiders.”

At that, Gehry and a few of his cronies turned very red in the face and left. A few more stayed behind, watching us curiously.

“What’s been going on here?” one asked.

Josh stepped forward. “I’ll be happy to explain it all back at the tomb, sirs. But suffice it to say, it’s been a very interesting semester. We admit the club has been plagued with certain problems, but we believe we’ve rooted them out, and now we’re back on track.”

“But…threatening a trustee…” another began.

“He almost destroyed us,” I said. “He’s lucky all we did was threaten.”

Soon after, the cheers resounding in the stadium indicated that Eli had once again snatched victory from the gaping maw of humiliating defeat, and the parking lot began to grow quite crowded. As a group, we decided to adjourn to our home base to enjoy the fruits (hopefully fermented) of our success and explain the rest of our story to the stunned patriarchs. We headed back to campus, then fairly ran home to the ancient tomb on High Street.

Poe was seated on the stoop. He watched as most of the members filtered past him, waving at a few, completely ignoring Jenny, and giving deferential nods to several patriarchs. At last, it was just the two of us.

“What’s up?” he asked. “You look like you’ve had an interesting day.”

I couldn’t hold back my grin of triumph. “I’ve been cleaning house. Getting rid of all the trash we’ve been keeping around here.”

“Quite the show back there at The Game.” He nodded sagely and scuffed his feet against the step. “Good for you. Malcolm told me your plan.”

“It was hardly
my
plan. We all came up with it.” Credit where credit’s due and all. But it must have given Poe a jolt when Malcolm told him what we upstarts had been scheming. “What did you say to him?”

“That you weren’t like anything we’d expected.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

But he neither confirmed nor denied my assessment. “I guess you’ve got to go in there.”

I tilted my head. “And you?”

He was silent for a few moments, and then, very quietly, “I’m not welcome. Unlike the rest of them, I’ve committed no great act of loyalty.”

But neither had he set out to destroy us. “I beg to differ. You commit them all the time. I’m sure you’re still well in the plus column.”

“Even after Elysion?”

“Even after everything. You were the only patriarch who cared enough to find Jenny, regardless of what it meant for you. You’re the go-to guy—the patriarch I think most understands what it means to be a knight of Rose & Grave.” I walked over to the door and gestured to him. “Come on, old man. Shower us with your Diggerly wisdom.”

He followed me, his face full of hope. “You’re sure?”

I put my hand over my Rose & Grave pin. “Cross my heart. Besides, if you don’t get in there, I have to call you Jamie. Don’t do that to me.”

The ghost of a smile flickered across his face as he yanked open the door and stuck one foot inside. “After you, Bugaboo.”

And, together, we entered the tomb. Though maybe I should have thought better of it.

After all, Puck still had to give his C.B.

Acknowledgments

My appreciation goes out to every reader of
Secret Society Girl
and
Under the Rose
. Your e-mails and letters have meant so much to me. I especially want to thank the amazing booksellers in the D.C. area, in Tampa Bay, and in Connecticut, who were so enthusiastic about my book and helped me set up rocking signings. You’re the best. Also, thanks to the Random House Get Lit team for choosing my book and helping to spread the word.

Lots of credit is due to those who helped this novel find its way into print: my genius editor Kerri Buckley, savvy copy editor Pam Feinstein, tireless publicist Shawn O’Gallgher, Brant Janeway, Cynthia Lasky, Gina Wachtel, Kelly Chian, Paolo Pepe, Lynn Andreozzi, Lynn Newmark, Tracy Devine, and, of course, Nita Taublib and Irwyn Applebaum. A special shout out to Pamela Testa, who makes a very beautiful Amy. Luanne Rice, Lauren Baratz-Logsted, and Cara Lockwood, thank you for reading advanced copies of my debut. Also, to Mike Gibson, for working so hard on my website. And I can’t forget the “regulars” on my blog—you’ve made so many of my days.

More gratitude is due my agent, Deidre Knight, and her entire staff for their boundless energy and hard work. I’d also like to thank the agency sistahs and the members of my writing organizations, both official and those as secret as any society: the RWA Tampa chapter and the Chick Lit Writers of the World, the Non-Bombs, and the
other
group with the initials NB.

To my fellow writers Marley Gibson, Cheryl Wilson, Kelly Remick, Justine Larbalestier, and Julie Leto, thank you for your advice, critiques, and support. I am so lucky to have colleagues as talented and generous as you.

I am overwhelmed by the support I’ve received from my coworkers, friends, and family. I love you all. Mom and Dad, I can’t tell you how much your excitement and plans have meant to me in the past two years. That party was incredible. Everyone says so. And to my future mom and dad, thank you for sharing so much with me. And to Dan, thank you for listening to every word, calling me on the crap, and making the night of my launch party utterly unforgettable (as if it wasn’t already)!

Amy owes many of her turns of phrase to the classic works of literature she studies; I applaud the teachers who introduced me to them. And last, but not least, I am in debt to my fellow sons and daughters of Eli for inspiring my stories, and to my secret sources, for allowing me inside their wonderful world.

About the Author

DIANA PETERFREUND graduated from Yale University in 2001 with degrees in geology and literature. A former food critic, she now resides in Washington, D.C.; this is her second novel. Visit the author’s website at:

http://www.dianapeterfreund.com.

Watch for

The Rites of Spring(Break)

by

Diana Peterfreund

On Sale Summer 2008

I hereby confess:

Even the secretive and the powerful

need vacations…

Please turn the page for a special advance preview.

Not all tropical islands keep their treasures buried, but for those that do, no map will help. Take, for example, a tiny strip of land off the coast of Florida. It has been long understood by those who care to keep track of such things that this glorified sand bar, this unassuming key, heavily wooded and boasting only one decent beach, is actually a lush and luxurious retreat for the members of one of the most notorious secret societies in the world.

But Cavador Key is not listed on any map, whether those commissioned by the state, or the penciled sketches of shallows by a dock-bound old salt. The locals won’t speak of it above a whisper. No charter company will take you thither, and when emissaries from the island come to the mainland to pick up supplies, they are silent as the grave about their employers and their employers’ mysterious pursuits.

What happens on Cavador Key? Rumors abound, but few have seen the rituals up close. Anyone boating near the island is given stern warnings to stay away, and if unheeded, these warnings turn into threats. The tops of several roofs peek out of the ground cover, and grainy photos reveal evidence of people scurrying from building to building, wrapped in dark hooded cloaks in spite of the warm Florida weather. Recently, access to satellite photos revealed still more: a helicopter pad, the remnants of an airstrip, and crisscrossed pathways surrounding a somber, windowless structure. Those who have made it close enough report strange sounds, and stranger lights. Those who have made it closer still are never heard from again.

So next time you’re out on your boat, a little sunstruck and with way too many piña coladas on your tab, don’t make a decision you’ll regret. Cloak-and-dagger government cabals, clandestine midnight rituals, and inexplicable disappearances aren’t on your spring break itinerary. Stick to sunbathing, snorkeling, and that all important spring fling. You don’t want the kind of trouble an unplanned excursion like this can bring you.

But, hey, is there an offshore island paradise that
doesn’t
hold a secret?

Trust me on this one. Some of us know the truth about Cavador Key. But we’re few in number, and we keep our secrets close, just as we were taught by the Order of Rose & Grave.