Page 15 of Games Untold (The Inheritance Games #5)

Chapter 11

T he John Lennon Wall was full of bright colors. Spray paint was clearly the medium of choice—and just as clearly, the visuals looked to have been the work of more than one artist. Taking in the colors and angles and images, I wondered how many times this wall had been painted.

“Once upon a time, anyone could add their own paint to the wall.” Jameson walked up to lay one hand flat on the mural beside a vivid, neon depiction of Lennon’s face. “Now, visitors are limited to markers and specific regions of the wall. Only invited artists are allowed to pick up a can. Anyone else who tries to do so… well, they might find themselves on the wrong side of the law.”

If I knew one thing for certain it was this: Jameson was not a particularly law-abiding person. I scanned our surroundings. There was no shortage of cameras.

I could feel a dare coming on. I waited for Jameson to issue it, but he said nothing, and I read into that the obvious: Somewhere on this wall, there was clue.

Given the size of this larger-than-life canvas, finding it was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

I spent a full minute sorting out my strategy, then started at the bottom of the wall, in one of the sections where writing was allowed. I read message after message, in language after language, looking for something that appeared to be Jameson’s handiwork, and I found nothing.

Same in the next section.

Same in the next.

Eventually, I stopped focusing on the parts of the wall that people were allowed to write on and started looking at the parts where unauthorized graffiti was no longer allowed.

“I hope you weren’t caught on camera,” I told him. Alisa was not going to be happy if he had been.

Jameson smiled. “Perish the thought.”

Shaking my head, I got back to work. An hour ticked away, then two, as I lost myself in colors and symbols, writing, art . And then I heard the music—a busker.

She was playing “Do You Want to Know a Secret?”

I made my way to her. She smiled at me, a nearly Hawthorne kind of smile that had me following her gaze to the top of the wall.

Balanced on the very edge, there was a can of spray paint.