Chapter 3: The Crypt of the Mind
The boys' dorm was a shadowed cage, air thick with old wood and a metallic tang of latent magic, echoing the library's residue and the dorm's anomaly. The gas lamp flickered, casting jagged shadows across peeling wallpaper, floral patterns curling like secrets.
Oliver stood frozen as the door creaked open, revealing Wednesday Addams, raven hair stark against her black dress, eyes piercing like obsidian blades. Her presence was a storm, sucking the air from the room.
"She's not human. A hurricane in a dress."
His fingers twitched toward his tie, a nervous tic, forcing a grin that felt like a grimace. "Nice coffin," he said, nodding at her luggage, dark wood gleaming menacingly.
The joke was a flimsy shield, landing like a stone in water, rippling tension. Wednesday's eyes narrowed, slicing through his bravado.
"Humor is a defense mechanism," she said, voice low, precise, each word a cut. "What are you hiding?"
The question hung, sharp, and Oliver's grin faltered, heart skipping. She sees through me. A chess game, and I don't know the rules.
The System stirred, cold, offering no help, its silence tying to the library's warlock magic, a thread of danger.
He shifted, boots scuffing, sound loud in the silence. The metallic tang sharpened, linking to the Serpent's warning, a puzzle piece in Nevermore's maze.
Wednesday's eyes flicked to the room—cracked mirror, cluttered desk, flickering lamp. Her posture was rigid, hands clasped, but a flicker of curiosity passed through her gaze.
She was a detective, Oliver her mystery. Her expression shifted, a micro-reaction, as if seeing beyond the room. Her psychic vision caught a glimpse—not of his modern life, but something darker: a mirror's glint, a shadowy figure, a whisper of death.
It was too quick to grasp, but it confirmed her suspicions. "His mind is a crypt. Something died in there."
She stepped closer, voice soft but cutting. "Where are you from, Smoak? Did your parents attend Nevermore?"
Each question was a probe, her gaze unyielding, searching for the lie. Oliver's pulse quickened, fingers brushing his tie, the fabric a lifeline.
"Just a normie from nowhere special," he said, forcing a laugh that sounded strained. "Parents? Total muggles."
The lie tasted bitter, his mind racing with fragments of a past he couldn't grasp. The metallic tang linked to the library's residue, a warning of danger.
[SYSTEM: Warning—Psychic Probe Detected. Maintain Mental Fortitude.]
The alert sent a chill down his spine, air colder, the metallic tang sharper, like a blade against his skin. She's in my head. How do I block that?
He forced another smile, deflecting. "You always interrogate newbies, or am I special?" Wednesday's lips twitched, not a smile but acknowledgment of his evasion.
"You're not special," she said, tone flat. "Yet."
Enid burst in, a whirlwind of pastel colors, her lavender perfume clashing with the room's staleness. "Wednesday! You're here!" she chirped, voice bright but strained, fingers twisting her sweater.
She gestured to the hall, toward her own dorm. "Want to see my setup next door? It's, like, super cozy!"
Wednesday's gaze flicked to her, cold and dismissive. "It's not a tour," she said, fingers tightening around her luggage handle. "It's a crime scene."
Enid's smile wavered, shoulders hunching, and Oliver caught the hurt in her eyes. She's trying so hard. His chest tightened, protectiveness clashing with unease, tying to Enid's warmth from the tour.
The tension shattered as a faint tremor rattled the window, glass vibrating with a low hum. Enid yelped, hands flying to her ears, eyes wide.
Oliver's heart lurched, the System blaring:
[SYSTEM: Anomaly Alert—Rogue Warlock Signature Detected. Location: The Weathervane. Priority: High. Threat Level: Growing.]
The message was a jolt, and Oliver glanced at Wednesday, her gaze fixed on the window, a spark of interest in her eyes. She's not surprised.
The air crackled, metallic scent overwhelming, linking to the library's residue, the dorm's anomaly, the Serpent's warning. Enid's voice trembled. "What was that? Earthquake?"
Wednesday's head tilted, voice low. "Not an earthquake. Something worse."
Oliver's fingers curled into fists, mind racing. The Weathervane. Warlock magic. It's all connected. He couldn't tell them about the System, but he couldn't ignore the alert.
Wednesday's gaze met his, a silent understanding passing between them. "We should investigate," she said, tone a command.
Oliver nodded, an uneasy truce forming. The dorm's gloom felt heavier, rain's patter a reminder of the stakes, tying to the mysteries ahead.
"Wednesday's a storm, and I'm caught in it. She knows I'm hiding something, but I can't let her see the System. Nobody can. That tremor, the warlock signature—it's tied to the library, the Serpent. Enid's scared, but she's here, trying to keep us together. I'm a wizard who can't cast spells, teaming with a psychic who looks at me like a lab rat. Great. The System's pushing me, but I'm not its pawn. I'll figure this out—without exposing the truth. Enid's smile, Wednesday's stare, they're real. The warlock magic, the Serpent, they're real too. Nevermore's a game, and I'm playing on my terms. I have to. If I slip, it's game over. For all of us."
"Wednesday's terrifying, isn't she? Serial-killer vibes, but I can't let her scare Oliver off. He's already so jumpy. That tremor—it's not normal, is it? My wolf senses are tingling, but I can't transform, so what good am I? Oliver's kind, but hiding something big. I want to help him, be his friend, but what if he sees I'm a failure? My parents would laugh if they saw me now, playing peacemaker. Wednesday's not making it easy. She's a black hole, sucking up all the light. That tremor, it's bad news, and I'm not letting it ruin everything. I'm Enid Sinclair, tougher than I look. I'll keep smiling, keep fighting, for Oliver. For me. For all of us."
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