Chapter 9: Outreach Day
Outreach Day at Nevermore meant forcing supernatural teenagers to perform community service for the normies who barely tolerated their existence. The irony was lost on exactly nobody, but tradition demanded we smile and pretend this fostered mutual understanding rather than mutual surveillance.
"You're assigned to the Weathervane," Principal Weems announced, consulting her clipboard with the satisfaction of someone who'd successfully arranged a minefield. "Mr. Bason, Mr. Ottinger—you'll be assisting with inventory and customer service."
Perfect. Exactly where I need to be.
Eugene bounced beside me with characteristic enthusiasm. "This'll be fun! I've always wanted to see how normie businesses operate. Bet their organizational systems are fascinating."
Fascinating wasn't the word I'd use.
The Weathervane looked different in full daylight—less like a potential crime scene, more like a generic coffee shop trying too hard to be quirky. Local art covered the walls, mismatched furniture suggested deliberate charm, and the smell of overpriced coffee masked whatever darker currents ran beneath Jericho's surface.
Tyler Galpin emerged from the back office wearing his customer service smile and an apron that made him look harmless. The perfect disguise for something that tore people apart with its bare hands.
"Nevermore volunteers!" He spread his arms in welcome. "Great to have you guys. I'm Tyler—we met briefly during all that piranha excitement."
We did more than meet. You marked me for reasons I still don't understand.
"Aron," I said. "This is Eugene."
"Awesome. So today we're doing inventory in the back, prepping for the evening rush, maybe some customer interaction if you're up for it." Tyler's gaze lingered on me just slightly too long. "Sound good?"
Like I have a choice.
The morning passed in mundane tasks that felt surreal given what I knew about our host. Tyler was charming, efficient, completely normal in ways that made my skin crawl. He joked with Eugene about bee colonies, helped elderly customers with heavy bags, and managed the lunch rush like someone who genuinely enjoyed hospitality work.
Either he's an incredible actor, or the Hyde transformation leaves his human personality intact.
Around noon, I needed access to Sheriff Galpin's case files. They'd be stored in the back office, probably locked, definitely off-limits to teenage volunteers. But desperation bred innovation.
Tyler's in the bathroom. Manager's at the register. Window of opportunity.
I approached Sarah, the middle-aged manager who'd been running the place since before Tyler was born. Sweet woman, probably had grandchildren, definitely didn't deserve what I was about to do to her mind.
Focus on belonging. On being trusted. On being someone she'd naturally help.
The sensation was immediate and intoxicating. Sarah's expression shifted from polite distance to warm familiarity, like I was her favorite nephew visiting for the holidays.
"Aron! There you are. Could you grab those inventory sheets from the office? Keys are in the register drawer."
Holy shit. It worked.
The power felt incredible—people seeing me exactly as I wanted them to see me, trusting me without question, treating me like family. For ninety seconds, I was whoever I needed to be.
The case files sat in a manila folder marked "CONFIDENTIAL - SHERIFF'S DEPT." Police photographs, autopsy preliminaries, witness statements. I photographed everything with my phone, hands shaking from adrenaline and guilt in equal measure.
Claw patterns consistent with large predator. Toxicology pending. Time of death estimated between 9:30-10:00 PM.
Then the Familiarity Mode effect faded, and Sarah looked confused about why she'd sent a teenage volunteer into restricted areas.
"I... sorry, did I ask you to get something from the office?"
"Inventory sheets," I said, holding up random paperwork. "All set."
Violation. Complete violation of her autonomy.
The guilt hit like a physical wave. I'd just manipulated someone's mind without consent, made her trust me for reasons that had nothing to do with who I actually was. It was effective, useful, and absolutely revolting.
Power corrupts. This is how it starts.
Tyler's behavior grew stranger as the day progressed. Twenty-minute disappearances at odd intervals, returning with dirt under his fingernails despite working exclusively indoors. His pupils dilated when discussing Rowan's death, and twice I caught him staring into space with an expression that belonged on something hunting.
Building evidence. Document everything.
I activated Unnoticed Mode during his third disappearance, following him to the alley behind the Weathervane. Tyler stood perfectly still for several minutes, face tilted toward the sky like he was scenting the wind. When he moved, it was with fluid grace that didn't quite look human.
Checking territory. Predator behavior.
My phone captured it all—timestamps, locations, behavioral patterns that painted a picture of something wearing Tyler Galpin's skin. Not enough for legal evidence, but plenty to confirm my suspicions.
When Wednesday entered during the afternoon rush, Tyler's reaction was immediate and disturbing. His pupils dilated, nostrils flared slightly, and his grip tightened on the coffee cup he'd been cleaning until the ceramic cracked.
Prey response. Or mate response. Both options are terrifying.
"Wednesday," Tyler said, voice carefully controlled. "How are you adjusting to Nevermore?"
"Adequately." She ordered black coffee with the kind of precision that suggested she'd considered the philosophical implications of cream and sugar. "I trust the investigation into Mr. Laslow's death is proceeding efficiently?"
Testing him. Good strategy.
"Dad doesn't share details about active cases, but..." Tyler leaned closer, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "Between you and me, the evidence suggests something big. Really big. Maybe not even natural."
Truth wrapped in misdirection. Classic manipulation.
Wednesday accepted her coffee without visible reaction, but I caught the micro-expression that meant she'd filed Tyler's response under "interesting developments."
After she left, Tyler watched through the window until she disappeared from sight. The intensity of his focus was predatory, possessive, wrong on levels I couldn't articulate.
He wants her. Not romantically. More like a hunter wants prey.
"Hey," Tyler said suddenly, appearing beside me with unsettling quiet. "You've been watching me all day. Something on your mind?"
Shit. Cover blown.
"New environment," I said. "Trying to understand the social dynamics."
Tyler studied me with the same intensity he'd shown Wednesday. "You're not like the other Nevermore kids. More... observant. Less dramatic."
Is that a threat or an observation?
"I prefer watching to performing."
"Smart." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Performers draw attention. Watchers learn secrets."
The conversation felt layered with meanings I couldn't decode. Tyler was either suspicious of my surveillance or impressed by it. Either way, I'd definitely made an impression.
Mission accomplished. Also possibly fatal.
"So," Tyler said as Eugene and I prepared to leave. "Wednesday mentioned she might stop by tonight. After hours. Research project about local history."
The date. Canon event incoming.
"Sounds educational," I said neutrally.
"Yeah. Should be... illuminating." Something in his tone made my shadow recoil instinctively. "You guys have a good walk back. Woods can be dangerous after dark."
Threat. Definitely a threat.
We left the Weathervane as the sun touched the horizon, painting Jericho in shades of gold and crimson that should have been beautiful but felt ominous. Eugene chattered about inventory management and customer psychology while I processed what I'd learned.
Tyler is the Hyde. Wednesday is walking into a trap. My powers can manipulate people in ways that terrify me.
"You're doing that planning thing again," Eugene observed as we reached campus. "The expression where you're calculating eighteen different scenarios."
He's not wrong.
"Just thinking about Wednesday's research project."
"She's investigating Rowan's death, isn't she? And Tyler's somehow involved." Eugene stopped walking, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Don't try to deny it. I've seen the way you watch him. Like he's a bomb waiting to explode."
Perceptive. Dangerously so.
"I think he's dangerous. I think Wednesday's walking into something she's not prepared for."
"Then we help her prepare." Eugene's voice carried unexpected steel. "Whatever Tyler is, whatever's happening here—we figure it out together."
We. Not I. We.
"Eugene—"
"No." He held up a hand. "Rowan died because nobody saw the danger coming. We see it now. We do something about it."
Found family. Chosen obligation.
"This could get ugly."
"Good thing we have someone who can become invisible and another person who commands fifty thousand flying scouts." Eugene grinned with manic determination. "Let's go save Wednesday from whatever stupid thing she's about to do."
That evening, I photographed the stolen case files and pinned them to the evidence wall I'd been building in our closet. String connected Hyde sightings to Tyler's schedule, Rowan's timeline to witness statements, Wednesday's investigation to official police reports.
Conspiracy board. Like something from a crime thriller.
Eugene discovered my handiwork during a late-night snack raid. He stood in the closet doorway, staring at weeks of accumulated evidence in silence.
"Holy shit," he said finally. "You're actually trying to solve it before someone else dies."
No point denying it.
"Yeah."
Eugene studied the board for another minute, then pulled out his bee journals. "You need better organization. Color coding, cross-referenced timelines, probability matrices." He grabbed colored string from his craft supplies. "Let me help."
Partnership. Real partnership.
We worked in silence, reorganizing evidence and building connections. Eugene's organizational skills transformed my paranoid speculation into something resembling professional intelligence analysis. By midnight, we had a comprehensive map of the threat facing Nevermore.
Tyler Galpin. Hyde transformation. Targeting Wednesday specifically.
Tomorrow night, I shadow their date and try to prevent a murder.
Tonight, I just try to sleep knowing I've violated someone's mind and made myself a target for something with very sharp teeth.
My shadows rippled restlessly across the walls, agitated by proximity to the predator. The notebook entry was three words: "Tyler knows something."
He knows, and tomorrow I find out how much.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them (20+ chapters ahead!). No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1