A Hawthorne did this.
“This isn’t him,” Lyra whispered. She knew she wouldn’t be able to take back what she was about to say, but she wrenched open Pandora’s box anyway, consequences be damned. “This man isn’t the man who took me—the man with the gun.”
Chapter 12
JAMESON
The old man’s map was a map to nowhere and nothing. Jameson had scoured it over and over again, and when that had proven a fool’s errand, he’d turned his attention to the Royal Suite itself. His grandfather had built the place; the wall-behind-the-wall, the pearls, and the map were a testament to that. There had to be something else here.
There’s always something else, Heiress. Another layer. More games. Traps upon traps. Riddles upon riddles.By four in the morning in Prague—seven at night for Jameson’s body, which was still back on Pacific time—he had hit a wall. He ended up back in the foyer, staring at the mural with its intricate, swirling lines. Carrying tension in every muscle, Jameson stepped back, willing the seemingly abstract design to solidify into something more concrete before his eyes. He’d been over and over this, but there had to besomething—
Yes. Do you see it, Heiress?If he fixed his blurring gaze just so, Jameson could pick out eight human figures, four male and four female, composed of those swirling lines. The objects were harder to decipher—at first.A wall. A lion. A tree. A horse. A ship. A harp-like instrument of some sort. A cavern. A snake.
Jameson had always had the ability to let a puzzle or mystery utterly consume him, the way light was consumed by a black hole. His focus unparalleled, he saw nothing but the wall.Every curve. Every swirl. Every figure.
Without warning, the mural split as the door to the suite swung inward, sending Jameson’s body surging intothreatmode—fightmode. He was already hurtling toward the intruder when said intruder called out: “I come bearing cranky pastries!”
Xander?Jameson stopped himself just short of going for his brother’s throat. Xander didn’t even bat an eye. He simply nodded to the mound of baked goods in his hand, impressive both in their number and the fact that he’d managed to acquire them before dawn.
“Cranky pastries?” Jameson repeated. His body was thirsting for the fight it had been promised, but this wasXander, so Jameson forced his pulse to slow and the red haze to recede.
“The pastries,” Xander explained in a lofty tone, “do not appreciate being kept in the dark, especially about things that matter.Peoplewho matter.”
“Did Alisa send you?” Jameson didn’t have time for this.
“Alisa doesn’t even know I’m here,” Xander replied. “Imagine a game ofWhere’s Waldowhere Waldo is devastatingly handsome, handy in a fight, and capable of visualizing in four dimensions and yetno one is even looking for Waldo. Or making use of his substantial skillset.”
In other words, Xander had found out that something was up and had gone rogue.
“You shouldn’t have come.” Jameson shifted his gaze back to the wall, to the mural.
Xander set his pastries down, and the next thing Jameson knew, he was airborne. He really should have seen that flying tackle coming.
“Not in the mood, Xan,” Jameson said, as they crashed to the floor and he tried to extract himself from beneath his younger brother, but Xander was tall, wiry, and had an advanced understanding of Newtonian physics, and it was suddenlyveryclear: For once, Xander Hawthorne was not playing around.
“She’s my Avery, too,” Xander said fiercely, once he had Jameson pinned. “I know she disappeared leaving behind nothing but a highly suspicious note, and I know the other thing I’m not supposed to know, too.” Xander, unlike Grayson, didn’t say Alice’s name. “I’m not afraid of you, Jamie. I’m not afraid of whatever this is. And youaregoing to deal me in, whether you want to or not.”
She’s our Avery.Dozens of memories hit Jameson all at once: Avery and his brothers, his brothers and Avery and all of them, together.Secret Santa. Hawthorne Capture The Flag. Hot Potato And Avery Is The Potato And The Potato Is Not Amused.
Jameson felt something give inside of him—or maybe break. “Fine, Xan. You can help.” Accepting Xander’s help was the smart thing to do. The Avery thing.
Xander held Jameson’s gaze for a moment, then let loose of him. “We shall seal this agreement, as all civilized gentlemen do, with baked goods.” Xander retrieved his pastries, took a giant bite of one, and handed another to Jameson as he turned toward the mural. “What am I looking at?”
Jameson stood, accepted Xander’s offer, and answered the question. “Something.”
The mural had to besomething, because Jameson didn’t have anything else.
“The old man’s work, I take it?” Xander executed a visual sweep of the wall.
“You have to let your focus blur and look for the images,” Jameson told him. “See there? A man. And that one’s a woman.”
Xander tilted his head to the side.
“That’s a wall between them,” Jameson continued. “And…”
“A lion?”
Xander sees it, too.That thought grounded Jameson. He wasn’t seeing meaning where there was none. He wasn’t just making things up out of desperation. That realization propelled him onward.A man. A woman. A wall. A lion.
