THE ONLY THING RUNNING IN MY MIND AS I STARED AT THE SCENE IN FRONT OF ME WAS: What the holy fuck?

Let's back it up a bit.

When Valdez Wannabe left us to explore my wing, which I still have some trouble accepting, I decided to skip the tour of all my fancy bedrooms the size of apartments, bathrooms that made luxury spas want to change careers, and closets having so many clothes, I started to question whether this was Barbie's Life in the Dreamhouse.

Instead, I made my way to my hall's fifth and final door. Enormous leather chairs-six- sat in a horseshoe shape, facing a balcony. Glass display shelves lined the walls. Evenly spaced on the shelves were items that looked like they belonged in a museum-geodes, antique weaponry, statues of onyx, and stone.

I stepped into the office of Tobias Hawthorne.

As I got closer, I saw a large bronze compass built into its surface. I trailed my fingers over the compass. It turned-northwest-and a compartment in the desk popped open.

Traps upon traps, riddles upon riddles.

I ran my hand over the desk. Beautiful, old, and dignified. Yet a touch of undeniable mystery. Was he like this too?

Behind the desk, there were shelves filled with plaques and trophies. I walked toward them. The first plaque had the words United States of America engraved on a gold background; underneath it was a seal. It took a little more reading of the smaller print to realize that it was a patent—and not one issued to Tobias Hawthorne.

This patent was held by Xander.
There were at least a half dozen other patents on the wall, several world records, and trophies in every shape imaginable. A bronze bull rider. A surfboard. A sword. There were medals. Multiple black belts. Championship cups—some of them national championships—for everything from motocross to swimming to pinball. There was a series of four framed comic books—superheroes I recognized, the kind they made movies about—authored by the four Hawthorne grandsons. A coffee table book of photographs bore Grayson's name on the spine.

"Holy..." I let it slip from my lips. This was no display. This was a shrine. Tobias Hawthorne's ode to his four extraordinary, genius grandsons. It made no sense. None of it. Four boys—three teens still—having such excellence. 

Or the fact that none of them were deemed worthy by Tobias Hawthorne for his fortune.
Instead some random girls from nowhere.

And then it caught my eye.

A knob. 

It was a pretty little thing in the middle of the sea of prizes. It must have been old. The green copper was dark and the intricate patterns of gold were dull. There were many little patterns. Leaves. Or maybe knives. The face of a girl with her eyes closed and her hands clasped together. And vines. Or chains.

I reached to gently press the knob and then the entire wall slides open.

Now let's come back to when the only thought in my mind was: What the holy fuck?

Twelve shelves high, filled to the brim with gold. Trophies, certificates, and medals gleamed in the light. Paintings, Crafts, and models so complex I couldn't even understand what half of them were. Yet in the back of my mind, I knew exactly what they said. The prizes were of everything; dance, arts, speaking, and ammunition control...?

If that display earlier had been a shrine. This place had to be a temple.

All belonging to one person.

Sarina Elizabeth Salva

·······•✦•······

"Woaaah!" There were stars in my eyes. They were bright.

Not as bright as his.

The old man in front of me gave a hearty laugh. He did that a lot. Whether it was just with me or the world, I had not a clue. Yet a good feeling that it was the former.

"So, tell me," his eyes scanned the shelves. The lowermost five of the twelve were adorned with prizes, artistry, and pieces, "who do you think will reach the top first?"

My gaze went to the three boys grinning behind me and then they took a swim in a pristine pool of silver. My little lips twitched up and my head was held high.

"Arina will."

·······•✦•······

I decided fresh air was the best remedy for Genius Babies Are Real Syndrome and I'm Having Random Flashbacks Again Syndrome.

The moon was lighting up the sky. The stars huddled around it.

I made my way down the stairs. My legs having a mind of their own. The night was cold and the air was chilly. Yet I felt no need for a jacket. When my legs decided that we reached our stop, I found myself in front of a pool. 

The soft glow of the lights and the movement of the water filled me with an odd sense of tranquility. I lost myself in the waves. 

And then in grey.

Gold clashed Silver.

Silver, who was once busy swimming laps in the heated water. Gold who was once busy wandering the shining night. 

Gold and Silver, who had the same question in mind.

"Who are you, Arlene Amira Grambs?"

·······•✦•······

The next day Ave was off to school. 

Some high and fancy school called Country Day or something. I woke up early to walk her to my SUV. The sleep still evident in my eyes. 

"You shouldn't have gotten up so early," Ave smirked at my groggy expression, "You look like a walking corpse. Did you even get any sleep yesterday?"

No. I didn't. The entire night I was tossing and turning. Random dreams, me waking up at the most bizarre hours of the night.

But of course, I said not a word to Avery.

"Yeah yeah," I yawned, "laugh it up. You don't talk about my shitty sleep schedule, I don't talk about your late-night visitor." My lips twitched up into a smug grin of my own. Last night, no matter how much Ms. Needs-an-actually-functional-lock denies it, Gameboy paid Ave a visit. 

Ave rolled her eyes, her face heating up for a moment, "Shut it."

Oren nodded towards the car, "Let's get going." I had practically pestered Oren crazy to be my sister's guard today. Highschoolers, rich or not, were some serious bad news.

Avery waved and got in the car. A while later Jameson was in too. I waved to them both, mainly Ave, as they drove away.

As the car soon disappeared from my sight I walked back into the house. I didn't bother having any proper breakfast, just grabbed an apple, a peeler, and a plate and went up to my wing. I sat down at Tobias' desk and started peeling the red skin of the fruit as my mind worked its plan.

Tobias Tattershal Hawthorne. 
Sarina Elizabeth Salva.

Two mysteries in my head.

I began to munch on my bald apple as my eyes went to that little knob again. I get myself up onto my feet and open the room again. My eyes scan and take in every trophy, certificate, prize, medal, or craft.

Something in me was telling me that there was a clue here... that there was something here. I had no idea why I felt so desperate about some genius princess, but my brain just would not calm down.

Then they caught my eye.

The trophies on the tenth row. 

They were oddly placed. All the others had been organized and sorted by rank and value. Yet after the eighteenth trophy in the tenth row from up, they were placed almost randomly. 

I would've brushed it off as just a poor display. 

But why only the tenth row? And why only after the other eighteen?

I got up from my chair and inspected the prizes. 

Seven of them. Seven of them were randomly placed. There was no reason as to why. I leaned in closer. There were many fancy titles on them. I couldn't even recognize half of what they said. But what I did get were names. 

Brookfield High.
Amber School of Excellence.
Marine Military.
Bayview Prestige.
Oakridge.

Laurance Institution of Arts.
Aurendal School of Science.

For some reason, my mind immediately went to the first letters of each name. B A M B O L A. Bambola. And almost the next second I whispered, "Doll." It was Italian. 

And that wasn't the weird part.
I was sure I had no idea why my brain did that.

And that I shouldn't know a word of Italian.

·······•✦•······

'I don't know'.

That phrase stuck in my mind a lot. I think if anyone asked me what my favorite phrase was for a slambook, it probably wouldn't be that.

It left you with a feeling of either emptiness or uncertainty. Do I know? I do know?  And sometimes it leaves you with both. How generous, am I right?

There were a lot of 'I don't know's in my head right now. 

I don't know why Tobias Hawthorne chose me.
I don't know why I feel a cruel sense of deja vu at this house.
I don't know what I feel about Jameson having a nickname for Avery.

I don't know what I feel about Nash calling Lib "darlin".

And my personal favorite as of now: 

I don't know what I'm doing staring at ducks in a million-dollar pond.

Okay, to be fair, it was more a lake than a pond. Still guessing on the million dollars though.

The gentle flow of current made my ears tingle. It was so clear I could see my reflection almost as if I was staring at a mirror. The Hawthorne House was not too far away from me. Its massive size and elegance even more pronounced with the trees, gentle hills, and misty skies.

The soft and pointy blades of grass poked my skin as I lay before the tranquil scene. It was quiet. Only the original comment from a duck in the tongue of ducks. 

I had no reason to come here. Yet this was where my legs left me. 

I was so into my thoughts and the scenery around me that I didn't notice the crunch of a twig behind me. But for some reason my instincts did. 

Before said Crunchy Feet could take another step, I was up and on guards. My stance ready to bolt and slash or defend if needed. My arms taut like a spring ready to give a sucker a kiss of my knuckles.

However, I doubt doing that to an old lady would exactly be in the legal category.

My shoulders relaxed and my eyelids blinked, "Nan?"

The old hag looked at me with a scrutinizing gaze, "Who taught you that stance, girl?"

My eyebrows shot up as I let my arms fall to my side, "Who taught—What are you doing here, old hag?" I tried to take control of the conversation by asking the questions. Also because I had no idea how to answer hers.

Nan shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. My tactic seemed to have been working, or maybe the old hag realized she was too ancient to give a damn, since Nan came to stand beside me, drinking in the scenery.

I tentatively existed beside her. A weird silence fell between us. It was uncomfortable, yet not so suffocating.

After what felt like an eternity, the woman said the randomest thing: "You should pick that up."

"Huh?" I tilt my head, "Pick what—" My phone rang.

Avie.

I instantly held the device to my ears, moving away from Nan a bit, "Avie, what's up?" I was met with unsettling silence, "Ave?"

When she finally spoke, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. But that was short-lived when I noticed the slight edge in her voice, "Meet me at the library."

"Which one?" The Hawthorne House had no shortage of libraries. Or opera houses. It took me a while to come to terms with that. Then again I am still trying to come to terms with literally everything happening right now.

"Yours."

·······•✦•······

Now, look.

That wasn't really helpful. Like at all.

In all technicalities, every library was mine. But judging from her tone, I had taken a safe guess it was the library in my wing. 

Tobias Hawthorne's wing.

The dead billionaire's not-so-dead mother had left me while I was on the phone. She was gone like the wind. Or maybe with it. 

I made my way back to my previously visited book heaven and was met by the sight of my sister and the one and only, Gameson Hawthorne. The tension between the two was palpable. Either they had been—channeling my inner Max—faxing each other, or they had been talking about some sensitive topics.

A little overprotective and, teensy bit obsessed, birdy chirped in my head: It better be the latter. Of course, it was the bird. Definitely not me.

I cleared my throat. When I looked up I met with emeralds. That pool of emotion was there again. And just as quickly was gone.

Jameson's foot moved as if to step closer to me but Ave beat him to it and took my hand and walked out of the room. We moved in sync and silence before Avery turned to me, not letting me say a word.

After what she said next I doubt I had the capability to.

"The last two girls that spent time in this house... have died."