Tick read through the whole thing, then sat back in his chair, racking his brain. The poem seemed to offer no direction, nothing specific to grasp onto. At least the Twelve Clues had made it pretty clear that he was to figure out a date, a time, the magic words. This was a bunch of poetic nonsense.

Sofia flipped the page over where the second note was printed. “Who are Anna and Miss Graham?”

Paul leaned onto his elbows, resting them on the table. “Do you think it’s the same person?”

“Maybe,” Sofia replied. “We should start asking around here—see if anyone’s heard of her.”

“That’s the only thing I can think of,” Paul said. He stood up, almost knocking his chair backward.

“What are you doing?” Tick asked.

“Asking around, dude.” He reached out and tapped the arm of the first stranger to walk by, an older woman in a filthy black dress, her gray hair sprawled across her shoulders in greasy strings. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you know who Anna Graham is?”

The old lady recoiled, barely casting a glance at Paul before quickening her step to get away. He didn’t give up, tapping the next person, then the next, then the next, each time repeating his question. And the response was the same each time—a flinch, as if the name frightened them.

“Dudes, we don’t have leprosy, ya know?” Paul called out. Cupping his hands together, he shouted in an even louder voice, “Does anyone here know Miss Anna Graham?” The sounds of shuffling feet were all he got in return.

Sitting down with a huff, Paul shook his head. “This is ridiculous. What’s wrong with these people?”

Tick’s thoughts had wandered slightly. Something about Anna’s name bothered him, tickled something in the back of his mind. Miss Graham. Anna. Anna Graham.

“This phrase has to be the key,” Sofia said suddenly, pointing at the lines near the end of the poem: “All this you must ignore and hate, for you to find the wanted fate.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” Tick said.

“Maybe it means—” Sofia began, but stopped when Sally came bustling outside, clanging the door against the wall with his elbows as he balanced several plates and bowls heaped with steaming food.

“As promised,” he said, setting the meal on the table. He almost dropped one plate onto the ground, but Paul caught it and pushed it to safety. “Grab yer grub and eat. I’m as hungry as a one-legged possum caught in a dang ol’ bear trap.”