The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (70 page)

“Apparently. But she’s lying about it, and he won’t return my e-mails,” I told him. “They were in Mitchell Hall that night, and Josh went there. He hangs out in the art cemetery sometimes when Thomas gets . . . got . . . you know . . .”

“Wasted,” Dash said, clenching his jaw.

“Yeah.” I looked away. I could hear a few girls whispering nearby but couldn’t tell if they were getting closer.

“So you’ve tried to get in touch with Blake?” Dash asked.

“Yeah, but nothing.”

“Asshole.” Dash crossed his arms over his chest, and his perfect brows knitted as he paced to the vending machines and back again. “Okay, I think I know a way we can get Blake’s ass up here so we can talk to him in person.”

“You do? How?” I asked, my heart starting to pound.

“We have to use Lewis-Hanneman. Blake would do anything for
that woman,” he told me. “Although I don’t know why. She always seemed like a frigid bitch to me.”

A lot of people would have described his girlfriend the same way, but I refrained from pointing that out.

“I told you, she won’t help.”

“Doesn’t matter. We just need to figure out how to get into Hell Hall after hours.” Dash paused in front of me, racking his brain.

“Oh, I know a way,” I said, preening just slightly. I had, after all, been forced to break in there a couple of months ago in the dead of night. I could do it again, no problem.

“You do?” Dash asked.

“Piece of cake,” I said. “When do you want to do it?”

“As soon as possible,” he replied, psyched to have a clear task at hand. “Tonight.”

“Okay, meet me there at—”

“Well, well! What’s this? Should I be concerned?”

Noelle strolled over to us, still in her coat. I felt all the blood rush to my face and took a step away from Dash. Couldn’t have been more obviously guilty if I’d had the word stamped across my chest. Dash’s eyes met mine and I shook my head ever so slightly.

“Dash was just giving me some pointers for my modern civ project,” I said quickly.

“Really?” Noelle arched her brows at her boyfriend.

I silently prayed that he would go along with my story, not thinking for a second that he would. They were Dash and Noelle, after all—the perfect couple against which all other perfect couples were
measured. If she found out what I knew she would certainly interfere.

“Yeah,” Dash said, slipping his arm over her shoulders. “You know how much Kline loves me.”

My jaw dropped in surprise, but I quickly snapped it shut. If Noelle noticed, she didn’t let on.

“How very generous of you,” she said to Dash. “Reed could use a little help, considering all she’s been through.”

“Yeah. That’s what I figured,” Dash said with a grin.

“Thanks again for all your ideas,” I told him, edging away. “I think I’ll go get started on the research.”

Noelle kissed Dash on the lips, then hugged him, turning her back to me. As I stepped away, Dash wrapped his arms around her but looked at me.

Midnight,
he mouthed.

My heart skipped an excited beat and I nodded before quickly walking away. My palms itched like crazy as I grabbed my books and made my way to the computer lab. For now I would try to get some actual work done on that project—both to keep up appearances and maybe even save my grade. But I could hardly wait for later tonight when I would break and enter for the second time since arriving at Easton. For the first time, I was grateful for my Billings hazing period. At least some of it was about to be put to good use.

We had to be out of our minds, because breaking into Hell Hall in the middle of the night after cameras had been installed all over campus and the security staff had been doubled? Not too smart.

Still, I didn’t even think about turning back as I snuck out of Billings House that night. I had long since learned that the back stairs were far less squeaky than the front (this from many nights of listening to my sister Billings Girls tromp up and down, in and out), so I tiptoed down the hall, past Noelle and Ariana’s room, and held the door of the stairwell until it clicked closed quietly. Then I jogged downstairs on my tiptoes, crossed the deserted lobby, and paused by the door. Already I could feel the biting grasp of the winter night. I lifted the hood of my black hoodie, buttoned up my black coat, and slipped out into the cold.

The moment I was outside, I ducked my head and ran. My white sneakers cut an eerie streak through the pitch-black night. No stars. No moon. The weather had cooperated with our scheme by
giving us serious cloud cover. Still, I sprinted as fast as I could. By the time I reached Hell Hall, my lungs burned from the frigid air and I really had to pee. Nerves. They do it to me every time.

“I’m here,” Dash whispered, stepping out of the shadows.

I could have laughed when I saw him. Black turtleneck with a little
RL
embroidered into the neck. Black skullcap by A/X. Flat front, black wool pants. Very high-end skulker. Did the wealthy have a catalog for everything?

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked. He was, after all, God’s gift to Easton. This type of thing could be bad for the golden boy’s reputation. I, however, couldn’t tarnish mine much more without a blowtorch.

Dash nodded resolutely. “I’m sure. Whatever happens is worth it if it helps Josh.”

I smiled. This guy was so pure he practically glowed. I hoped he never went into politics. He’d get slaughtered. Or just corrupted, which would be sad. My heartbeat started to return to normal, which made me feel ready for the next step.

“Okay,” I said. “This way.”

I crept along the stone wall of Hell Hall until I found the basement window, the one that had slid open so easily the last time I’d committed this particular infraction. Back then, I’d been stealing a test for Ariana. A test it turned out she didn’t even need. The memory tasted bitter in my mouth. If I’d known then what I knew now. Where all of this would lead . . . Well, I couldn’t think about that now. I crouched next to the pane and Dash followed, breaking
a couple dozen azalea branches with his bulk. I slid the window open.

“That was absurdly easy,” Dash said.

We both stared at the three-by-three-foot opening.

“Physics was not my best subject, Reed, but I don’t think I’m fitting through there.”

Like he didn’t get an A in everything.

“Good eye,” I replied. “I’ll go. Meet me at the front door in thirty seconds.”

Dash stared down at his watch. “I don’t have a second hand.”

“Just . . . count it,” I told him.

Then I slipped through the window feet-first and landed with a bang on the metal desk below.

“Shhhhh!” I heard Dash hiss.

Alone in the darkened storage room, I rolled my eyes. Like there was anything I could do about the noise now. I hopped to the floor and navigated my way around the stacked desks and chairs. The frigid air in the basement was already freezing my sweat to my skin, and I shivered as I crept out the door. Once in the hallway, I raced up two sets of stairs to the front entry. Dash was already at the window, standing in full view under the security light. I opened the door as quietly as possible and let him in.

“I counted to forty-five,” he said through his teeth.

“You’re very literal. Anyone ever tell you that?” I asked.

He looked perturbed by the comment. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine by me.”

We took the stairs to Dean Marcus’s office two at a time. In the upper hall, the faces of illustrious Easton graduates through the ages stared down at us disapprovingly from their ornate gilded frames. Their glares lent to the paranoid feeling that someone was going to step out of the shadows at any moment and read us our rights. Somehow, by the time we got to the outer door to the dean’s office, I was clinging to Dash’s arm. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“Ready?” he said.

“Let’s just hope Lewis-Hanneman didn’t decide to work late,” I joked.

All the color drained from Dash’s face.

“I’m kidding!” I told him. It was past midnight, for goodness’ sake. I reached out and opened the door.

The place was empty. We both breathed a sigh of relief. Dash crossed to the desk in two long strides and pulled out the leather chair. When he touched the mouse, the screen lit up.

“Nice. She doesn’t power down. That saves us a couple of minutes,” Dash said. He pulled out the keyboard tray and it smacked his knees. Automatically he reached around to adjust the chair and I jumped.

“Don’t!”

Dash froze. “What?”

“She’ll know someone was here,” I told him.

Slowly, Dash grinned. “You’re good.”

“Thank you.”

He pushed a bit further back and started to type. “Okay . . . e-mail system . . . password . . .” Quickly he keyed in something that involved a bunch of random characters and numbers. I think there was even a percent sign in there. He hit “enter.” “Voilà. We’re in.”

I came around the desk. Sure enough, Dash was logged on to the Easton Academy e-mail system as Cara Lewis-Hanneman. The cursor blinked away, just waiting for us to type up a bogus message.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“Lance Reagan,” Dash said proudly. “Kid figured out the universal password his freshman year. He’s gonna be the next Bill Gates. Okay. What’s Blake’s e-mail?”

I pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of my coat pocket and placed it on the pathologically neat desk. Unlike Dash, I didn’t trust myself to memorize key information, even though my key information would have been a lot simpler to remember than his apparently was. This was just too important.

Dash typed in the address, then sat back. “Right. Now what do we say?”

Yeah. The hard part. How to do this without giving ourselves away.

“We have to keep it simple,” I said. “If we try too hard to think like her, we’ll screw it up.”

“Right.” Dash clicked on the subject line and typed in,
Meet me?
He looked up at me over his shoulder. “How’s that?”

“Good, but get rid of the question mark,” I said. “Makes it sound more urgent.”

He deleted it without question. He moved to the message box and typed
Blake.

“Wait. What if she doesn’t call him Blake?” I said.

“What else would she call him?” he asked.

“I don’t know? A nickname? Baby? Snookums? I have no idea,” I replied. “But I know that I never put my brother’s name in our e-mails. If I did, he’d know something was up.”

“Okay. But what if she
always
puts his name in her e-mails? Won’t not putting it there tip him off?” Dash said.

We stared at each other for a long moment. Outside the wind whistled and the windowpane behind the desk rattled in its frame.

“We’re overthinking this,” I said. “Just think urgency. She’s worried. She needs to see him. Pretend you’ve been away from Noelle for a couple of weeks and you need to make her come to wherever you are.”

Dash turned to the keyboard. Nothing happened. Not sure what that meant, but it had to mean something interesting.

“Here. Let me,” I said.

Dash got up and I took his seat. I deleted the “Blake” and thought of Thomas. Of how the simplest words from him had made me long to be near him. I typed up the first words that came to mind.

I need to see you. Don’t call, just come. Please. Friday night, 11 o’clock. The art cemetery.

I leaned back, satisfied. Dash hovered over my shoulder to read my masterpiece.

“That’s it?” he said.

“That will do it,” I replied confidently. “And I put in the ‘don’t call’ so that he wouldn’t try to get in touch before then. That could be bad.”

“Brilliant,” Dash said. “All right then.”

He reached over my shoulder, moved the mouse, and clicked “send.” My heart gave a lurch as the message disappeared from the desktop. The plan was in motion. There was no turning back now.

Then Dash opened up another screen. The “sent mail” screen. He quickly deleted the message we’d just sent from the folder.

“No evidence,” he said.

“Wow. You’re good too,” I told him.

“Thank you,” he said, preening.

I grabbed the paper with Blake’s e-mail address on it and shoved it back into my coat pocket, then logged off the e-mail system. All bases now covered. I hoped.

“Just one question,” I said, spinning the chair around to face Dash. “How is he going to get on campus with all the new security and the new rules?”

Dash stood up straight and lifted his shoulders. “He’s Blake Pearson,” he replied.

As if that answered everything.

Ariana’s desk was not normal. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that I was sitting at it, attempting to study, I couldn’t help making a few mental notes. One, it was completely devoid of memorabilia of any kind. There were no photographs, no ticket stubs, no party invitations or concert flyers, no pictures clipped out of
InStyle
magazine. The bulletin board was new and the only thing pinned to it was her class schedule, right smack in the middle. Near the corner was a cup full of natural wood pencils. A votive of fresh flower buds stood on the other corner. There was a stack of white, lined pads within reach and a light blue satin box with a lid. I could only imagine it contained paper clips or something equally innocuous. That was it. I glanced across the room at Noelle’s desk, piled as it was with books, CDs, cosmetics, and small bags of all shapes and sizes, with eyeliners and pens and iPod and bottles of perfume sticking out of them. Photos both loose and in frames. Just tons of crap. It was a disaster area, but at least it was normal.

“How’s the English lit coming, Reed?”

Ariana’s voice sent a chill down my back. I looked over my shoulder at her. She sat on her flowered bedspread with her back against her throw pillow collection, her ankles crossed. On her lap was her history text and next to her was a notebook. Her pencil pressed into the page. She looked right through me, like she knew what I’d just been thinking.

“Fine,” I said quickly.

“Good,” she replied. Her lips formed a smile. Her eyes did not. I returned to my work.