As Wednesday returned to her room, the door closing behind her with a soft click, she immediately noticed Enid sprawled across her bed, flipping through her phone.
The moment Enid saw her, she squeaked and practically launched herself off the mattress.
"Wednesday!" Enid blurted out. "Why did the principal call you?"
Wednesday set her bag down with deliberate calm.
"Because Jericho prefers its atrocities commemorated, not corrected," she said.
Enid blinked. "So… then?"
"She wanted an explanation," Wednesday replied, removing her coat. "I provided one she didn't enjoy."
Enid hovered closer, eyes wide. "You're not expelled, are you?"
"Disappointingly, no."
Enid let out a relieved gasp. "Oh thank goodness—because for a second there I thought—wait. Was this about the statue? Because everyone's freaking out. Like, full panic mode."
Wednesday glanced at her. "As they should."
Enid hesitated. "You didn't… you know… do anything, right?"
She winced, lowering her voice. "I mean—what kind of psychopath ruins an event like that and turns a statue into that?"
Wednesday regarded her calmly.
The kind you asked to Raven, Wednesday thought. And the one currently standing in front of you.
Outwardly, she said nothing.
Instead, she removed her coat and placed it neatly on the back of her chair.
"Jericho has a long history of honoring psychopaths," Wednesday replied. "One more shouldn't surprise you."
Enid stared at her. "That is not an answer."
"It wasn't meant to be," Wednesday said, sitting down at her desk.
Enid sighed and perched on the edge of the bed. "I was thinking of going shopping in Jericho for my Raven dress, but now…" She trailed off. "I don't even know how people are going to react when they see us."
Wednesday didn't look up. "Their reactions are irrelevant."
"That's easy for you to say," Enid muttered. "You like being stared at."
"I tolerate it," Wednesday corrected. "There's a difference."
She finally glanced at Enid. "You're not doing anything wrong by existing. If they choose to glare, that's their failure, not yours."
Enid hugged a pillow to her chest. "And if I don't like being glared at?"
"Then ignore them," Wednesday said flatly. "Or stare back. Most people crumble when confronted with their own hostility."
Enid blinked. "You make it sound so easy."
"It is," Wednesday replied.
Enid's phone buzzed. She glanced down, eyes lighting up as messages from Yoko and the others flooded in.
"Oh. Group chat's already exploding," Enid said. "Everyone's freaking out."
Wednesday barely acknowledged it. Her attention had already shifted.
She turned toward Thing.
"Thing," Wednesday said, lowering her voice, "search Nevermore. Watch the students. See if anyone is behaving… unusually."
Thing paused, attentive.
"According to Ethan, someone from Nevermore stole the Book of Shadows," Wednesday continued. "And the monster is human. That makes a student the most likely suspect."
Thing signed quickly.
You think the thief and the monster are the same?
"Yes," Wednesday replied without hesitation. "The book was stolen a month ago. The murders in town started shortly after. It's possible they're the same entity—or working together."
"Either way, the pattern overlaps too neatly to ignore."
Thing flexed his fingers, eager.
"So keep an eye on everyone," Wednesday said. "No exceptions."
Thing gave a sharp, decisive nod.
On it.
Wednesday had already begun forming another plan.
If the monster was choosing its victims deliberately, then the pattern wouldn't be random. She intended to visit the Jericho mortuary and examine every victim herself—ages, injuries, locations, circumstances. Something had drawn the creature to them.
Something consistent.
***
Across the academy, in a room far less composed, Marilyn Thornhill was unraveling.
She paced back and forth, fury radiating off her as she grabbed the nearest object and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor.
"Those wretched outcasts," she shouted, breath sharp with rage. "How dare they do that to my ancestor?"
Her good hand clenched into a fist. The other—still injured—hung stiffly at her side, a constant reminder of past failures.
"And that blood mosquito," she spat. "He's going to be a problem."
She stopped pacing.
Direct confrontation wasn't an option.
Marilyn's expression shifted as a thought took shape. Her anger cooled into something sharper—more dangerous.
A smile crept onto her face.
"Yes," she murmured. "That will work."
If she couldn't confront him outright, she would corner him another way. Put him somewhere he couldn't interfere. Somewhere he couldn't act.
Somewhere he'd be forced to watch.
Her gaze hardened.
Plans didn't have to be loud to be effective.
They just had to hurt.
Back in his room, Ethan noticed a box resting on his bed. The return label caught his eye.
Uncle Mike.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Looks like Uncle Mike sent what I asked for."
He opened the parcel.
Inside were neatly packed glass tubes, cushioned in foam. Each one was sealed, labeled, and filled with dark liquid.
Blood.
The blood of many outcasts.
"It's time for my Blood Points rise," Ethan thought, staring at the vast amount of blood ready to be recycled.
*****
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated to Chapter 63, so if you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join my Patreon
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