“They know what’s she leaked so far. Our initiation procedures and similar information. To tell the truth, I’m pretty sure most of that stuff has been leaked at various times in the last century or so. But unless you read the Black Books, you don’t know substantive information about the day-to-day of clubs that you didn’t belong to. Maybe they’re interested in discovering what she knows of those kind of details.” He paused. “Or maybe it’s even more than that.” Poe closed in and took me by the shoulders. “What else do you know?”

I brought my hands down on his forearms, karate-chop style. “Nothing. I only know what they’ve been saying at the meetings.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

What the hell was he talking about? “Of course I’m sure. It’s me you’re talking to, remember? I’m the most clueless Digger of them all!”

Poe didn’t respond, simply stood there for a moment, studying me. “You keep saying that, but you must know it’s not true.” His tone was soft, almost conciliatory. Or maybe it was just that he was whispering. “You have this way of…weaseling information out. Like last year…” He returned to the bench, and sat, staring at his shoes for several seconds.

Yeah, it was just the whisper. Weaseling information out? Please. Right after my initiation, when the patriarchs had barricaded the tomb, Poe had made an obscure slip of the tongue, and I remembered it long enough to figure out he’d do anything to support his club. It’s not like I’d had him locked in a room, interrogating him with water boards and finger screws. Weaseling!

Finally, he lifted his head, “Amy, there’s something…after you kicked me out of the tomb last month…”

“I’m not your confessor, James,” I said. The last thing I wanted was to fill in for his graduated Digger friends. “Once upon a time, I found your weakness, and I exploited it. End of story.”

Ah, the patented glare was back. Good. I was on firmer footing if Poe reverted to form. He lifted his chin. “Yes. You did. So now I’m not going to have any more weaknesses.”

“You’re still a devoted Digger,” I said. “You know it, and I know it. You’d do anything to protect the sanctity of this organization.”

He smirked. “Shows what you know.”

Yep, back on solid ground.

When you become a Digger, you take three oaths to the society. They go like this:

1) The oath of secrecy: I do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, never to reveal, by commission or by omission, the existence of, the knowledge considered sacred by, or the names of the membership of the Order of Rose & Grave.

2) The oath of constancy: I do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, to bear the confidence and the confessions of my brothers, to support them in all their endeavors, and to keep forever sacred whatsoever I may learn beneath the seal of the Order of Rose & Grave.

3) The oath of fidelity: I do hereby most solemnly pledge and avow my love and affection, everlasting loyalty and undying fealty. By the Flame of Life and the Shadow of Death, I swear to cleave wholly unto the principles of this ancient order, to further its friends and plight its enemies, and place above all others the causes of the Order of Rose & Grave.

And yes, I know those second two sound like synonyms. I didn’t name the darn things; I just swore by them.

After Poe and I took our rather chilly leave of each other, I grabbed dinner then headed off to the library to get started on the Humphrey Clinker clunker. But the words wouldn’t come, and the rereading-significant-passages phase failed to uncover any paper-worthy insights. This was going to be a painful one. After a few hours, I packed up and headed home. If I wasn’t going to be working hard, I might as well not be doing so in the comfort of my own suite. Persephone willing, I wouldn’t come face-to-face with Josh, because, frankly, ain’t exactly feeling the brotherly love at the moment.

Instead, I found Lydia, who’d clearly been waiting for me a while, to judge by the way she pounced the second I crossed the threshold. “Do you have a minute?”

“A minute.” I took off my bag and sat. “What’s up?” My roommate was looking rather less than happy at the moment. I hadn’t been hanging with her much lately. Things at the tomb had been so hectic. But were those dark circles under her eyes?

“Something weird is going on with Josh. He’s been acting strange all week.”

All week? Not since, oh, Wednesday? I nodded and looked thoughtful. “Hmm…”

“And I think I know why.”

I clapped my mouth shut. She did? She what? How? We’d been so discreet.

Lydia took a deep breath. “I—um—kind of let the L-word slip. The real one. Not the ‘I love your hair, I love your laugh, I love spending time with you’ one, but the nonqualified version. I think I freaked him out.”

Honestly, I thought so, too, but I remained unconvinced that this was the root of his personality shift. Unless…He had gone on the attack right at the beginning of the week. Could our little confrontation a few days ago have been caused by his own relationship woes? But I tried to keep my tone neutral. “Wow. When did you say it?”

“After Halloween.”

Bingo. “And the response?”

Lydia blushed.

In my opinion, there are several families of response to this statement:

1) “I love you, too.” (Or some variation thereof.) And you mean it.

2) Same, but you don’t.

3) “Thanks.”

4) An upfront admission that, no, you don’t love them, and you don’t think it’s a good idea they expend much energy loving you.

5) The coward’s way out. (Full disclosure: I’m very familiar with this strategy, having most recently used it on Brandon. He said he loved me, I zoned out, he caught my attention, and I insisted I’d been listening the whole time. And, at the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, it sucks.)

“Lydia,” I prompted. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He, um, did something. Something R-rated.”

Oh. I guess there was also a number six. “Was it an R-rated thing done with love?”

“Amy, I said it freaked him out. I don’t think he was trying to return the sentiment.”

Neither did I. And if I knew anything about Josh’s romantic history, which I did, I’d guess he was out trolling for some chick to turn into his escape clause. Dammit.

“You know, Lydia, I have heard some rumors….”

“What?”

“That Josh has a bit of problem…remaining faithful.”

She laughed. “Oh, that. There are rumors about that?”

I shrugged. “Well, you know, I did some digging, just to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“You did, huh?” She hugged me. “That’s sweet, but we’ve already talked about it. I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Wow. I’d been beating myself up all this time over nothing. Josh had told her himself. Maybe I hadn’t given this guy the credit he deserved. Telling the other Diggers didn’t mean he was barred from telling the woman he was dating.

Or maybe he told her because he was afraid I would.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Lydia continued. “Not me, not you, not Josh. If we had perfect track records, we wouldn’t be single and available for new relationships, would we?”

“Well, yeah, but considering recent events…do you trust him?”

“Yes. I guess I trust him. I trust him until he gives me a reason not to. That’s how love works, right?”

Maybe that was our club’s problem, as Ben had hinted at last night. We weren’t hanging out because we loved one another, and letting the trust grow from that. We were hanging out because we’d promised to, and were expecting it to turn into love. None of the Diggers had been acting very trusting of late. It was because, ever since the rumors of the traitor surfaced, no one had trusted anyone else.