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If I’m going to stop him, I need to understand his true motivation, which will point me to his weakness.

Freya claims Arthur is driven by love.

But love for whom?

Is there a picture hidden among these records of someone Arthur is so desperate to reunite with that he’s willing to reshape the entire world?

Figuring I should start at the beginning, I reach for a binder labeledThe Lighthouseand a box markedThe Tarot Garden, and set them on the large, ornately carved wooden table that sits at the center of the room.

Slipping on a pair of fresh cotton gloves, I begin flipping through old documents and newspaper clippings about the missing lighthouse keepers. The stories are interesting, and if I had more time, I might linger. But, since I’m on a bit of a time crunch and they’re not of much use, I quickly move on to the box labeledThe Tarot Garden.

Impatient, I dump the contents onto the table and quickly sort through them. Drawings spill out—renditions sketched by the artist of the original Tarot Garden in Italy, Niki de Saint Phalle. There is a treasure trove of Gray Wolf history in these archives. But fascinating as it is, this isn’t what I’m looking for.

As I return the box and binder to their places, another label catches my eye:The Garden of Monsters.

A shiver runs down my spine. Is there a Garden of Monsters here? And if so, how have I never seen it?

Unlike most Renaissance gardens, known for their beauty and symmetry, the Garden of Monsters—or Parco dei Mostri, as it’s known in Italy—is filled with an astonishing array of grotesque sculptures. In a place like Gray Wolf—a place that’s devoted to beauty—why would Arthur go to such lengths to replicate such a place unless it held a significant, hidden purpose?

I mean, it’s so out of place, there must be a deeper meaning behind it.

Could this be a clue to Arthur’s true motives?

My mind races as I try to piece it together. The Garden of Monsters is a labyrinth of horrors, each sculpture designed to provoke and disturb. Is Arthur’s version meant to hide something, or perhaps reveal the darker side of his intentions?

One thing’s for sure, I need to find this garden. It could be the key to understanding Arthur’s true motivations, which in turn, just might give me the advantage I need to stop him.

As I’m reaching for the box, my slab chimes. Finally, a message from Braxton.

Braxton:Where are you?

Me:Library.

Braxton:I’m close. See you soon.

Heart thundering, I grab the box and dump the contents onto the table. More sketches, documents, and photos depicting a garden filled with bizarre statues—each meticulously crafted to mirror its Italian counterparts.

My gaze lingers on a photo of the statue of Orcus, also known as the Mouth of Hell. My skin prickles with chills as I study the image. The sculpture is of an enormous, formidable head with a gaping mouth forming an archway large enough to walk through, symbolizing the entrance to the underworld.

Orcus’s eyes are hollow and deep. The broad, flat nose and furrowed forehead make for a haunting, ominous look. But it’s the mouth—a massive black void with jagged teeth lining the entrance—that is the most striking feature.

A shiver of apprehension shoots through me, and I know in my bones that I’m on to something—that I need to find this place whatever it takes.

I’ve never used psychometry on a photo before, but I close my eyes and try to immerse myself in the energy this old slip of paper might hold.

I focus, feeling the texture beneath my fingers, trying to draw out any lingering impressions. I’m so engrossed in the process, I jump when the door bangs open and Braxton bursts in.

“Have you seen this place?” I ask, thrusting the photo toward him.

He glances at the picture, his eyes widening. “No,” he says cautiously. “What’s this about?”

“This,” I say, my voice trembling with excitement, “is so strange, so out of context, it just might be the key to defeating Arthur.”

32

We leave our slabs in the library, ensuring Arthur can’t track us. Arm in arm, Braxton and I quickly move down the hall, reminding me of the early days when Jago insisted we walk together like this.

Back then, I resisted, refusing to partake in what I saw as a dumb, outdated ritual. I vowed to reject all of Arthur’s antiquated rules, until Jago said:if you’re smart, you’ll choose your battles wisely, because there’s no use fighting a match that’s completely rigged against you.