Games Untold (The Inheritance Games #5)

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

One Day Earlier…

L aying out my own Hawthorne-style puzzle sequence confirmed what Jameson had said about Prague. There was just something about this city. It was made for our kind of game.

On the roof of the hotel, on top of the dome at the base of the spire, I gave Jameson four objects—the knife and the black light, recycled from his game, and two others: a steamer and a marker. With just hours to plot things out, I hadn’t been able to get that creative.

I had, however, managed to be sufficiently devious.

Beside me, Jameson gave each object its due. He started with the pen, examining the words embossed on its side in raised lettering. A VERY RISKY GAMBLE. Alisa hadn’t even asked me why when I’d requested she procure it.

Jameson uncapped the pen and lifted his eyes to mine. “A pen with your name on it?” A Very Risky Gamble , rearranged, was Avery Kylie Grambs . “Give me your hand, Heiress.”

I schooled my face not to show the stab of victory I felt when he interpreted those words the way I’d meant for him to.

“Which hand?” I asked innocently.

An hour and a half later, Jameson had ascertained that the pen wrote in invisible ink that was revealed by the black light. He had also ascertained that there were no clues inked onto my skin—anywhere—invisible or otherwise.

His search had been… thorough.

“You are fiendish , Avery Kylie Grambs. As far as distractions go, that one wasn’t even fair.”

I shrugged. “I play dirty.”

“You know what Nash says,” Jameson told me. “ There’s no such thing as fightin’ dirty if you win. ” Even just mentioning one of his brothers seemed to bring out Jameson’s competitive streak. He shifted his attention back to the pen. “Hypothetically speaking, what would happen if I asked you to write something with this pen?”

“Hypothetically speaking,” I told him, “that would depend on when you asked me to do it and how much time had passed since the start of the game.”

Jameson studied me and didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was doing so. He relished taking in the lines of my face, the tilt of my lips. “In other words: The pen doesn’t come into play yet,” he concluded.

With a twisted little grin, he set it to the side, then did the same for the black light. He spent five minutes on the steamer, then turned his attention to the knife. Inside the hidden compartment, he found a bronze chain. On that chain there dangled eleven small charms, each one a bronze letter.

Alisa also hadn’t asked why when I’d requested she help me find the right artisan to get them done in time.

As I watched, Jameson unhooked the chain, then held it up, allowing the letters to slide off, one by one, into the palm of his hand.

A

O

U

I

Y

X

W

V

T

M

H

The instant the last letter fell off, Jameson closed his fingers around the entire collection. And just like that, he had a plan.