tricks of time ― grayson hawthorne [the inheritance games]

032. POETRY

"You decided to show up!" Jameson jokes. Grayson laughs, but I just scowl and move onto the room instead.

"Look for hidden compartments," I told them as I examined a wooden chest. "Secret drawers, loose floor panels, false backs to the furniture- thatkind of thing."

"Sure," Grayson said, drawing out the word as he watched me making quickwork of the wooden chest. "Absolutely. That is a thing I know how to do."

"If you don't, big brother, it's never too late to learn!"

I smile to myself.

It wasn't that I expected to hit payload immediately, but I knew how to look. I didn't find anything of note until I ventured into the closet. There were clothes hanging on the racks and sweaters folded on the shelves. None of them looked like things I would expect Skye to wear now. I went through the items one by one and eventually came to the ski jacket that Skye had been wearing in the picture on the stairs. How old had she been when she wore this? Fifteen? Sixteen?

Had these clothes been hanging in this closet that long?

"Why are we doing this so late at night again?" Grayson asks, yawning.

"Because," I say, pushing some clothes to the side, "by tomorrow, it's going to be chaos in this house again."

Instead of a response, a thump sounded on the other side of the closet wall, and then I heard a creak. Parting the clothes, I saw a crack of light at the back of the closet and found the source. There, cut directly into the wall, was a small door. I pushed, and the wall moved, allowing me to step into a narrow passageway beyond.

"Guys!" I exclaim, "I think I found something!"

A stampede of feet join me in the dark closet.

The passageway smelled like cedar. I felt around for the walls, then managed to locate a light switch. The moment I turned it on, I saw something scribbled messily on the wall, like someone was in a rush.

It was a poem. A rushed one, at that.

In the room next door,

deep in the floor,

you will find the bottle,

the answer, though quite awful,

is bottled up and hidden

for the answer is so, very, forbidden.

Thank me not,

I cannot

express my horror

and terror

of her, Ms. Lottie Laughlin,

she is a sin,

a monster from the deep pitfalls of hell,

I have always been able to tell.

The girl deserves to know

the truth

of her youth.

I pull myself out of the passageway and am immediately startled by Jameson's figure. "Jameson!"

"What?" he said with a small smirk. "Feeling jumpy?" Beyond her, I could see Grayson standing near a second doorway, identical to the one behind me.