“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.”