Before heading out to meet Sofia Rivera, Wednesday decided to check in with Principal Weems.
Aleksander accompanied her, trailing silently as they entered the ornate principal office—polished wood panels and towering bookshelves exuding calculated authority.
Principal Weems sat behind her desk, her smile polished but eyes sharp, laced with subtle tension from Sheriff Donovan Galpin's recent visit. She'd mistaken his vague warnings about school incidents as a veiled threat, and now her gaze fixed on
Wednesday with probing intent.
Weems leaned forward, voice smooth yet pointed. "You had a psychic vision, didn't you? I realized you might be having them when we passed by the accident and you knew that poor farmer had broken his neck."
Wednesday held her ground, expression impassive.
Weems spoke up, her tone measured but edged. "Your mother started having visions around your age."
She continued, steepling her fingers as her gaze sharpened. "They were notoriously unreliable and dangerous. I remember at first, she thought she might be losing her mind. Have you spoken to her about them?"
Wednesday's silence spoke volumes, her expression flat and unreadable as irritation flickered beneath the surface.
"I can see you came into contact with Sheriff Donovan Galpin yesterday," Weems pressed, seamlessly shifting topics as if stacking concerns on a single ledger line.
Already annoyed by the mention of her mother and now the Sheriff, Wednesday cut in, voice clipped. "May I go now?"
"Not until you've picked your extracurricular activity,"
Weems replied firmly. "We want our students to be well-rounded."
"I'd prefer to remain sharp-edged," Wednesday deadpanned, not missing a beat.
Weems slid a neatly printed list across the desk. "I took the liberty of putting together a list of clubs that have openings."
"How thoughtful," Wednesday said dryly, the sarcasm hanging in the air.
Ignoring the barb, Weems went on, "You need to have picked one by the end of the day. I'll be keeping my eye on you."
Aleksander stood by the door, arms crossed, watching the exchange with quiet amusement.
Weems added, with a tight, polished smile, "No doubt you'll find something that tickles your fancy."
"The last person who tickled me lost a finger," Wednesday replied without hesitation.
Weems's smile thinned, but she lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture, waving them out.As Wednesday stepped into the hallway, Aleksander lingered a moment, turning back to Weems with a faint, knowing smile. "Principal Weems, you have to learn to control your emotions every time the subject of Morticia Addams is brought up. You are very similar to Wednesday—both dislike and love that woman."
Weems was taken aback by the remark, her composure wavering for just a heartbeat before she regrouped, the mask of professionalism sliding back into place.
While Aleksander quickly caught up with Wednesday in the echoing hallway, she glanced sideways, her voice cool and probing. "She seems to have some issues with my mother."
Aleksander frowned thoughtfully, matching her stride. "Well, when I first checked details about Principal Weems, it was stated that Larissa and Morticia were roommates when they both attended Nevermore and have a complicated relationship. Your mother, like you, constantly excelled at all aspects of school life, leaving Larissa in her shadow. Being roommates with Morticia forced Larissa to try to coexist with her. There seemed to be an aspect of hatred on at least Larissa's side of the relationship."
Wednesday absorbed it silently, her expression unchanging, a faint predatory satisfaction lurking beneath.
As Aleksander added, "Also, your mother seems to view her in a more friendly manner—it's just Principal Weems feels your mother stole her thunder."
Wednesday muttered, "So immature."
Aleksander sighed, shaking his head slightly at the tangled web of old grudges.
Just then, Wednesday questioned sharply, "What is the news from Tyler's side?"
Aleksander frowned, lowering his voice as they walked. "It seems Thornhill is very cautious about me—or at least the Morozova family. She only responded to Tyler to lay low, and she would take care of the other ritual parts. Thornhill didn't want to use Tyler to kill again, since she is very wary of his identity being exposed."
Wednesday narrowed her eyes, processing the intel like a blade honing itself. "Is she thinking of hiring someone to kill?"
Aleksander shrugged, glancing around the hallway. "Probably, but I doubt it's anywhere near Vermont."
Wednesday's jaw tightened, dissatisfaction etching her features—she hated loose ends, especially ones slithering free on technicalities.
Aleksander read her frustration, his voice low and pragmatic. "Catching Thornhill without proof is a dead end. After all, she did all the killing through Tyler; there's no evidence she's his master. The only thing we can nail her on is impersonation and abuse—she manipulated Tyler ruthlessly."
Wednesday exhaled sharply, mind already turning contingencies. "Then we force her mistake."
Aleksander hummed thoughtfully, his tone measured. "Possible, but with how cautious she is, it will take time to make her anxious—or something big has to happen."Wednesday's gaze sharpened, already calculating moves three steps ahead in the shadowed game.