[POV: Wednesday]
Watching my parents make out in the backseat was a crime against my retinas. Their excessive displays of affection were something I would never understand and, more importantly, never replicate. I observed them with the same detached revulsion one might reserve for an autopsy gone wrong.
Lurch drove on in stoic silence, his massive hands gripping the wheel as if bracing for turbulence. The road to Nevermore Academy stretched before us like a sentence being carried out.
From what I know, Nevermore is the largest Outcast school in America—thousands of students, sprawling grounds, and an infuriating reputation for "nurturing exceptional talent." Like every true outcast institution, it was founded by decree of the Original Outcasts—the First Fourteen. Their purpose: to educate and protect our kind from humans, and to ensure no outcast forgot who they were.
Nevermore is also a legacy school. Generations of America's most powerful outcast families have sent their heirs there. It's a tradition, a rite of passage… or in my case, a sentence. My mother attended as heir to the Frump family, my father as heir to the Addams. And now, I was next in line for this exhausting tradition.
"Darling," my mother finally said, breaking away from my father with a sigh of romantic satisfaction, "how long do you intend to give us the cold shoulder?"
I didn't answer her directly. I turned to Lurch, still focused on the road.
"Lurch, please remind my parents that I'm no longer speaking to them."
He grunted in acknowledgment—concise, effective, and refreshingly free of sentiment.
My father smiled at me with that infuriating warmth he believes will thaw my resolve. He laced his fingers through my mother's and said, "I promise you, my little viper, you will love Nevermore. Won't she, Tish?"
"Of course," my mother said, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "It's the perfect school for her."
"Why? Because it was the perfect school for you?" I interrupted, my tone flat but my words sharpened. Anger is useless unless weaponized. My mother, ever the predator, would only pounce if she saw it on my face.
I leaned back and delivered the facts like a coroner's report. "Captain of the fencing team. Queen of the Dark Prom. President of the Séance Society." I ticked off her former titles one by one. "I have no interest in following in your footsteps."
Mother didn't flinch at my words. She never did. Even when I was a child, she was forever finding ways to mold me into a reflection of herself—something I resisted with the same vigor as one resists a lethal virus. Her gaze was steady, almost predatory, as she said,
"I merely meant that finally you will be among peers who understand you. Maybe you'll even make some friends."
Friends. The word tasted foreign, like something one coughs up after being poisoned.
Father chimed in, ever the hopeless romantic.
"Nevermore is like no other boarding school. It's a magical place."
His voice softened as he turned to Mother, taking her hands as if they hadn't already been surgically attached since the day they met.
"It's where I met your mother… and we fell in love."
The way they looked at each other made me briefly consider opening the door and rolling out of the moving car. Instead, I aimed for the more humane option.
"You're making me nauseous—and not in a good way."
Mother only smirked, unfazed, and slid her dagger in with casual precision.
"Darling, we aren't the ones who got you expelled. That boy's family was going to file attempted murder charges."
Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes carried a flicker of maternal concern—though I suspected it was more for the family reputation than my well-being.
"How would that look on your record?"
I gave the only honest answer an Addams could.
"Terrible. Everyone would know I failed to get the job done."
Mother nodded approvingly, like a fencing instructor satisfied with a clean thrust.
I turned back to the window, letting their chatter fade into the hum of the tires on the road. That's when I saw it—a raven, black as midnight, trailing us from above. My parents didn't notice. I didn't intend for them to.
It was the same raven that had visited me a week ago, tapping at my bedroom window before dropping its gift onto my desk: a small wooden box containing a pair of glassy, grey-green eyes. Dalton's eyes with a letter saying:
You left behind your trophy, my poisoned apple
-C
I had kept that encounter to myself. If Mother and Father knew, they'd tease me relentlessly, weaving it into some romantic omen or family superstition. But I didn't believe in such a thing. Whoever wrote this was there and has been watching me but for how long and what do they want?
[POV: Corax]
It had been a week since I returned to Nevermore.
The school hadn't changed. Still a nest of pretentious misfits, posturing psychopaths, and the kind of wannabes who thought brooding in black was a personality.
By now, my gift should have reached her. Either it had piqued her curiosity or drawn her disdain. Knowing Wednesday, it was more likely the latter. She would never take it as anything romantic.
Which was fine. That was never the point.
It was bait.
A puzzle designed to pull her toward me—whether she liked it or not.
"Cor! You're spacing out again."
I glanced up to find Xavier blocking the dorm door, his usual art-student dishevelment clinging to him like an aura.
"What is it?"
He shifted his weight, voice dropping to something uncertain.
"I need advice."
A small, knowing smile tugged at my lips. When I'd come back, I'd discovered the inevitable: Xavier and Bianca were over. I'd seen that one coming from a mile away. Oil and water. And Xavier was just too much of a simp to make it work.
"Is this about Bianca?" I asked, my tone dripping with mockery.
He sighed, which was basically an admission of guilt, and stepped inside.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah. How do I move on?"
I leaned back, hand on my chin, pretending to give it deep philosophical thought. After a long pause, I met his eyes.
"I don't really know."
He stared at me for a moment, then collapsed backward onto my bed like a man mortally wounded. I could almost feel the melodrama radiating off him.
He was clearly hurting, which was ironic considering he had been the one to end things. But I didn't say that. Not yet.
"I think you just have to keep moving," I told Xavier, patting his shoulder in what passed for reassurance from me. "Soon enough, it'll be gone before you even notice it."
It was true, in a way. Pain fades. Or you bury it deep enough until it stops screaming. And while I'm very much a psychotic sadist, I still don't enjoy watching my best friend mope around like a kicked puppy.
I stood, stretching out the stiffness in my arms, then moved toward the door. "I'm heading to the quad. Come with me—it might take your mind off things."
He hesitated, then rose with the sluggishness of someone still nursing emotional wounds. I didn't press him. If nothing else, walking among the noise and chaos of Nevermore might keep him from wallowing too much.
As we stepped into the hallway, the familiar hum of the school wrapped around me—the gossip, the posturing, the unspoken rivalries. A familiar battlefield.
It wouldn't be long now. Wednesday Addams was on her way back, and with her return, the first pieces of Laurel Gates' plan would start falling into place. Crackstone's resurrection, the Hyde's rampage… all of it inevitable.
The thought tugged a slow smile from me.
I wondered how strong the Hyde really was. Hopefully, he'd have some bite—something to make the fight worth my time. If not… well, I'd just have to entertain myself.