Secret Histories

building had been in Old Town forever. The Order was secretive about its activities and purposes and membership. One thing everybody knew: It was

veryselective about who it accepted. Every once in a while a newcomer to town would try to join, only to learn that membership was by invitation only

—you had to be asked.Nobody knew what the qualifications were. Rumor had it the membership included some of the state’s most influential and

powerful people.

“How do they know he was with the Lodge?” Jack said.

“Because he had some unrotted skin left on his back and the Septimus Lodge’s seal had been branded into it.”

Mom gasped, Dad winced.

Everyone knew that seal: an intricate starlike design that made you a little dizzy if you looked too close. A huge model of it hung above the Lodge’s front

door.

Smiling, Kate raised a hand before Jack could speak.

“I know how your mind works, Jack, and the answer is no: He wasn’t tortured with the brand or anything like that. The medical examiner said it was

many years old. Probably some sort of rite they go through.”

Jack hesitated to ask his next question. He didn’t want to seem too morbid, but he had to know.

Final y he cleared his throat and said, “What about the ritual?”

Kate shook her head. “I asked Tim about that and he says they’re holding the details back for now.” She smiled. “But don’t worry. I’l find out. Jenny

Styles from Cherry Hil —you’ve met her, Mom. She’s a year ahead of me at med school, but guess where she’s externing.”

Jack and his mother shrugged.

“The ME’s office. She’s been assisting with the autopsies. I know I’l be able to get it out of her. She lovesto talk.”

“Cool.” Jack could always depend on Kate. “I wonder if they stuffed his mouth with the fake diamonds.”

Mom said, “Jack!”

“Wel , the Mafia stuffs a dead bird in a stoolie’s mouth, so I just thought—”

“That’s not exactly a ritual,” Kate said.

A ritual … Jack figured the possibilities would haunt his dreams tonight.

“Any other news?”

She laughed. “Isn’t that enough? Don’t worry, I’m on the case.” She lowered her voice to a mock announcer’s tone, like Walter Cronkite’s. “News

bul etins wil be reported as soon as they’re received.”

“Great.”

He scooped up the unshel ed pistachios and dropped them back into the bag. Tom’s theft had stolen his appetite for them.

“I’m heading over to Steve’s.”

Steve had been cal ing al day, saying Jack had to come over tonight because his father had something to show him.

Dad said, “How’s that computer coming along?”

“Okay, I guess. The instructions aren’t very clear.”

“Wel , my hat’s off to you for trying. I know what I went through with that Apple One.”

Jack wondered if they’d ever get finished, what with Steve Brussard getting half smashed every night.

8

“So you saw only the head?” Mr. Brussard said.

He and Jack and Steve sat around the kitchen table—the boys drinking Pepsi,

Steve’s father sipping some sort of mixed drink. He’d started quizzing

Jack the instant he arrived.

Steve’s expression was avid. “Was it gross?”

“Majorly.”

Steve was a reduced Xerox copy of his father—same round face, same hazel

eyes, same thick, curly reddish hair that clung to the scalp like a bad

toupee.

“So that was it?” Mr. Brussard said, leaning closer. “You didn’t see the rest of the