In one unused corner of the room there was a squat table covered in red cloth, on which was a sort of makeshift altar topped with votive candles, a neatly curled rosary, and a figure of the Virgin, all looking a bit on the dusty side. A small pillow rested before the table, cushioning a thick book with a cover made of duct tape. A Bible, most likely. There were a few posters on the wall, mostly of the inoffensive Monet’s landscape-and-lilies variety, and a portrait of some Victorian woman with Princess Leia hair.

Envelopes were strewn across her bed, along with file folders, textbooks, computer magazines, catalogs, stacks of CDs, jewel cases, and more of the ever-present wiring. It didn’t even look possible to sleep on the thing. Of course, maybe Jenny didn’t sleep here. Or at all. Maybe she was a raging insomniac who subsisted on No Doz and mocha lattes. Maybe she never took her keys with her anywhere. Maybe whatever intuition I had telling me this didn’t seem like Jenny was utterly wrong. Did any of us really know what did seem like her? She’d always been the most secretive Digger, and not in that good, institutionalized way. Her secrecy, I was beginning to understand, was a front. Something she could hide behind while she sought to betray us. I just didn’t know why.

I glanced down at the nearest paper-strewn flat surface, as if its contents would give me an insight into my brother’s mysterious personality, but found nothing I didn’t have lying on my desk back in my room. A handout from class, a few Post-it notes scribbled over with phone and room numbers, and junk mail, half of which wasn’t even addressed to Jenny, but to “resident” or random names. I got the same sort of crap in my university Post Office Box every day. The spammers apparently thought the owner of my box was a Korean Chemistry grad student named Jungsub Byun. Jenny’s prior occupant appeared to be one Ada Lovelace.

Ugh. What was I doing here? Even if there were proof of Jenny’s treachery, I hadn’t the faintest clue how to find it. Not in this mess. I pulled out the ergonomic chair—the one empty spot in the room, and sat down. Dead end.

Or at least, a dead end here. I could still try to track down Micah and see if Jenny was with him. Though she’d never talked to me about the confrontation I’d witnessed, I assumed she was still dating the guy, asshole or not. After all, I’d seen them together on Halloween. I felt a twinge of guilt that I’d never been able to get through to her on that issue, but forgive me if I was lacking in sympathy at the moment. Was that unbrotherly of me? After all, I’d once sworn to bear the confidence and the confessions of my brothers, to support them in all their endeavors…. But did that mean supporting Jennyin her endeavor to become an oath-breaking bitch?

Methinks it’s not what our forefathers had intended with that oath. Plus, we had other oaths to think about, like the ones saying we were to further the society’s friends and plight its enemies, and place above all others the causes of the Order of Rose & Grave. Not to get all Kurt Gehry here, but I think it was safe to say Jenny was an enemy of the Order. Thus, she must be plighted.

Whatever that meant. Was “plight” even a verb?

On the floor at my feet there was a blinking red light. I reached over and pushed aside a few papers. Yet another keyboard, this one obviously a wireless. Look at the way Jenny treated her equipment! I picked it up, and flipped it over, accidentally jostling the tracking ball as I did so. One of the screens flickered to life.

So much for security. The monitor displayed a webbrowser window open to the Phimalarlico webmail page. A “Compose” window lay open. I leaned into the screen.

From: Lucky-D177@phimalarlico.org

To: D177-Knights@phimalarlico.org

Subject:

I’m so sorry. By now, I know you are all very angry and I think you have every right to be. I don’t know if there’s any explanation for_ help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help help

The words filled the page. I pressed Return and they started up again—help help help—filling every screen in the room.

I sat there for a moment, blinking at the screens. The chaos around me took on a new, sinister meaning. Maybe Jenny wasn’t usually so messy. Maybe someone had been here before me, rifling through her stuff. Maybe Jenny wasn’t hiding. Maybe she’d been disappeared.

He’s out for blood, and we all know from personal experience the man doesn’t bluff.

No doubt about it: We’d found our leak. Now the only problem was finding out what had happened to her.

I hereby confess:

He was the last person

I wanted.

I grabbed Jenny’s cell phone and keys and got my ass out of the room. Who should I call? The campus police? The dean? The FBI?

First, I called Josh. “Jenny’s gone,” I gasped into the phone as I ran across the Edison College courtyard. “She’s not in her room and it’s been—trashed. She’s definitely responsible for the leak. Come quick.”

“How were you in her room?” Josh asked.

“I broke in with my prox card.”

Josh was quiet. “You broke into her room?”

“Josh! I think something bad has happened to her.”

“And you broke into her room? What were you thinking?”

I was thinking that if no one believed me about Jenny, I was going to get some proof. And now I was thinking she’d been kidnapped. “What does it matter? The point is, she’s gone! We have to do something. Should we call the police?”

“And report your breaking and entering?” he scoffed. “Amy, unless there’s blood all over the floor, I don’t think you’ve got much of an argument.”

The only people who leave blood on the floor are your girlfriend’s society, I wanted to snap, but held my tongue.

He went on. “She’s probably just studying somewhere. Have you tried calling her?”

“I’ve got her cell phone in my hand.” But that was a good point. I pressed the button for Recently Dialed Calls. Micah, Micah, Micah, Home, Sally’s Pizza, someone named Grace, two numbers in New York, and two more here in Connecticut. I’d call those later.

“You stole her cell phone? Broke into her room and stole her cell phone. Are you crazy?”

“You’re right.” I stopped running, and stared down at my contraband. “I shouldn’t touch anything until the police get here.”

“You need to go put her stuff back. And then you need to write a note to have her call you. Go home, wait for her, and hope she doesn’t get you in any trouble. Just because you’re a Digger doesn’t give you free rein to start breaking laws. I’m not a lawyer yet, but I’d say nothing you did tonight is cool.”

“But Josh, you’re not listening to me. I think she’s in trouble. There’s this half-finished e-mail on her computer and it says ‘help’ all over it. You said Gehry was out for—”

“Amy, I can see you’re really upset, but you need to chill out for a second and think. Where are you right now? Why don’t you come home so we can talk about this—”

“Come home?” I cried. “My suite is not your home, Josh Silver! My best friend is not your latest romantic mistake. And you are not my superior. I was there. I saw what her room looks like. You have to believe me that she’s in trouble.”