Note:
Fic ideal:
Mc's in a detective-esque world. Biological grandson of Hercule Poirot, relational nephew to Sherlock Holmes.
Am I buggin or am I cookin?
—-
Awoken and confused from the slumber of her vision, Wednesday wasted no time to leave the crypt. Millions of questions bludgeoned her mind, accumulating like virus with no cure. She hurried, leaving the worried voices of Enid, Adam, and the others.
She could not hear them, only the words of Goody, of the scream of the massacre and the howl of the werewolf. What did it all mean? Where did it all come from?
"To stop Crackstone, this place you must seek."
"Vengeance will come pouring out of his blood. When the sun surrenders, they will release a raging beast."
Wednesday murmured the words until she reached their room. Setting a paper on her typewriter, she wrote it down. The words looked even more real when stamped.
She tried to remember more details she might've missed, the gates of the manor— the tiny cracks and veins growing to its side. It looked familiar, like a distant hazy memory she must've forgotten. But that's impossible for she cannot forget once she's seen.
"The beast…" Wednesday muttered, who else could that be if not Tyler? Adam said the monster has grown stronger, more tenacious than before. She encircled the words, annotating it with her suspect's name.
Wednesday pinched her chin in thought. "The sun surrendering would mean nightfall like Rowan's mother's prophecy… from his blood could mean a kin or blood magic in a more literal sense…" It all looked so clear yet so wrong. Goody knows her not to be a fool yet why give her a riddle even an idiot could solve?
The simplicity of it all is boggling, a sense of a missing piece to build the image of what her prophecy entails. The only thing she could not make a conclusion of is the gate. There is only one manor of which that fits, frankly, the only manor here in Jericho.
"The Gates manor…" The same family again, coincidentally, Crackstone's descendants. But it's been abandoned, barred from trespassing tourists and possible raiders. "Unless it's not. Although it still needs confirming."
Wednesday pulled up an unused board under her bed. She set it up, tearing the words from the paper and pinning it to the surface. Along with that is the other notes she garnered from Tyler and his mysterious partner. She took a string from her table's drawer, tying it at the end.
A mystery board began to form. Each string had a corresponding evidence connecting it to another. Tyler to the beast, Crackstone to the Gates, the nightfall to the sun— but blood, who is—
.
.
.
.
.
.
Wednesday pinched the last string with no end. The tread felt like a key, unraveling the great beyond of this case. She tied it and took a step-back, surveying the perfectly organized board. She was engrossed in her discovery that Wednesday did not notice the creak of her door, nor did her senses felt the crawling of a hand above her shoulder.
She felt like a blind man seeing the sun, a deaf hearing Mozart. Wednesday clenched her hands, feeling coldness of her skin and the river of blood moving in her veins. A glimpse of a smile almost appeared in her indifferent face.
Wednesday's mouth opened like a whisper. "Crackstone's heir… is a witch."
The irony of it is hilarious! A witch-hunter's heir is a witch!
But that would mean Crackstone isn't coming back in a figurative sense. These series of murders… the missing body parts… they're planning to—
Before she could relish in her discovery, reality settled in. Wednesday felt a poke on her shoulders and the familiar scent of floral perfume in the air.
"Wends…" Enid muttered shyly, "are you okay?"
Wednesday turned, surprised, glancing at her curled figure, holding a bitten cake on one hand. "Yes." She replied.
"Ughh…" Enid groaned, placing the cake on her table. "Please don't blame Thing, the party was my idea! I thought everyone deserved to celebrate theirs and I guess I overstepped before asking you first. But it wouldn't really be a surprise if I asked you so I did it anyways. I didn't know you'd react like that, though. Are you okay? Please tell me you're not allergic to surprises too!"
"Calm. Down. Enid." Wednesday replied, emphasizing each word. Enid put her hands in her face, groaning even more.
Wednesday stared as her roommate anguished in her failed party. She glared at Thing, steady on her shoulder. "While I do not appreciate your enthusiasm with parties and birthdays, your… subterfuge, however, was impressive."
Enid's head snapped to her, clean of the guilt she just showed. "Really?! What worked?" Wednesday felt a twitch on her face and a sudden gust of coldness in her lungs. Should she crucify this wolf right here and now?
"Timing." Wednesday replied nevertheless. "Had I not been too fixated on calling Goody's spirit, I would've smelt the deceit the moment your poorly put-together note slipped through our door."
"I guess next time, I just gotta wait for you to do another ritual first." Enid responded victoriously.
"There will be no next time," Wednesday glared, "and it's called a 'seance'".
"Why?" Enid asked, tilting her head, "You looked like you're in a good mood, though."
Wednesday raised a brow, prompting a chuckle from Enid. "The Wednesday rule states that if you speak more than 2 sentences at once, you're in a good mood."
Wednesday's brows furrowed in an instant. "I am not in a good mood," she said flatly, returning her attention to the board. Enid shrugged. "Whatever. What's that, anyways? Last time you had something like that, there were a bunch of dead bodies."
"Nothing you should be made aware of." Wednesday said, covering the board. Enid scrunched her nose. "Wow, grumpy much."
Wednesday nodded. "Your pathetic soiree took all the 'mood' away."
Enid squinted her eyes before grabbing something from her bed. She walked towards Wednesday, handing a black gift-wrap.
Wednesday furrowed her brows but took it anyways. She untied the bow and reaxhed inside, pulling out what seems to be… a beanie? A hat? A sort of head-wear? "What is it?" She asked flatly.
"It's a snood, silly! In you signature colors." Enid excitedly replied. "Do you like it? And I got one too. We're matching! Maybe we could even wear it for class tomorrow."
Wednesday bit the inside of her cheeks, eyes droning around the room for possible escape routes. "Oh… a class, a far too normal occasion for such a… special, piece of clothing."
"Aww…" Enid pouted, obviously dejected. A heavy dragging sound caught both of their attentions. They turned, seeing Thing struggling to pull a case under Wednesday's bed.
"Ohh!" Enid enthusiastically exclaimed, "Your parents!"
Wednesday crouched down and helped, rotating it horizontally to face her. A taxidermy kit. She picked up a note stuck in one of its edge.
"May your 16th be as sour and misery-filled as your desire. — Your ever-doting mother and father."
"They asked Thing to hide it before they left on Parents' Weekend." Enid clarified.
Wednesday opened the box, the smell of preserving chemicals immediately assaulting Enid's enhanced senses. "Ew! That's so gross." She closed it after one look.
Enid turned to her side of the room, most likely about to rest. An idea popped up in Wednesday's head, one born from the vision she's had.
Wednesday glanced at Enid hesitantly. The image of the howling wolf coming to mind. The sun that rose in her mind now clouded again with storm. The massacre was vivid, and if the legitimacy of her visions were to go by, it happened.
But where? When exactly? Why did she see it? Could it be connected to Crackstone's crypt? His legacy continued?
"Enid." Wednesday called. "Do you know of any recent Outcast attacks? Severe ones, I mean."
The werewolf put her fingers on her chin, thinking. "Well, there's this faceless kid our age last year that got bullied. I think it was—"
"No. I meant…" Wednesday shook her head, pressing her lips tightly. "Never-mind." Enid stepped closer, glancing at her thinking face.
Wednesday's eyes drifted suspiciously to her roommate's again. "What?"
"Well," Enid responded, obviously beating around the bush. "Since you asked me a question, can I asked you one too?"
"Go on." Wednesday allowed. Enid fidgeted with her fingers, an awkward smile on her face. "What's with you and Adam? You guys looked… tense. Did something happen?"
Wednesday crossed her arms, gripping the edges of her elbows. She did not answer immediately. Her eyes shifted back to the covered mystery board, as if the web of strings could shield her from Enid's curiosity.
"Yes," she said finally, her voice measured. "One that I do not wish to expand upon. Does that satiate your curiousity?" Enid nodded and gulped under the pressure of Wednesday's gaze.
"Go to sleep, Enid." Wednesday added. "This conversation is done."
—-
The light of tomorrow came faster than their half-effective surprise. Adam went out of his room, wearing Nevermore's uniform on the way to his class. Outcast Biology comes first, then Fencing, and Botany to end the schedule in the afternoon.
He stirred clear of his peers' way, soon reaching the door to the laboratory and classroom. Adam could smell the chemical used to sanitize the place, the pungent smell of experiments in the apparatus on the shelves.
His arrival prompted some few heads to turn. Divina, Kent, Ajax, Xavier— Enid who waved at him to sit down beside her. Adam complied. He slid his bag beneath the sturdy lab table and adjusted his stool. The professor hasn't entered the room yet.
"Morning, Addy." Enid greeted, "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," Adam nodded before he glanced around, to Ajax in particular. "Why did you call for me?"
A silly smile adorned the wolf's face. "Needed a change, Ajax really isn't the brightest when it comes to studying."
Adam stared at her for a moment. Her blue eyes twinkling under the lights. "You're lying." He finally said.
Enid flinched before flopping her head on the table in dismay. She turned her face to him, hiding behind her arms from the rest of their classmates. "I wanted to say sorry… I didn't know you and Wednesday had a fight. Feels like I forced you to come."
Adam's brows knitted together, his gaze softening for a moment. "Who told you that?" he asked quietly, "Thing?"
The hand was the first to come to find, for Adam knows such circumstances will never come out of Wednesday's own mouth. Or so he thought.
"No one!" Enid whispered back, still hiding behind her arms. "It's just… the vibe. You looked… distant. Wednesday was all quiet but also… not? It's hard to explain."
Adam sighed, glancing towards the door, still waiting for the professor. "We didn't fight."
Enid peeked up from her arms. "About Tyler?"
Adam hesitated. He thought of Larissa, her compromised, his decision to keep it from Wednesday all while knowing. "Yes. Somewhat."
Enid's lips pursed, and she nodded slowly, understanding enough to leave it at that. But her restless fingers drummed quietly on the table. "You guys are so secretive, we're suppose to be a trio. Or quad…rio?"
A brow unconsciously raised from behind Adam's mask. "Quad-rio?" He asked, confused. Enid nodded, counting on her fingers. "Well, there's me, you, Wends, and Thing. So four."
"I don't believe 'quad-rio' is a word, Enid." Adam chuckled under his breath. "Doesn't matter." Enid replied, childishly sticking her tongue out.
The click of the door opening stirred their chatter to stop. Wednesday entered, cold eyes glancing at everyone in the room as she took her seat at the very end. The professor bellowed in right after, rigid and old, a werewolf as Adam found out before.
They talked about Siren biology this time, how when in contact with water, their scales separate from the thinner surface of their skin. Similar to how plants that exist in recurring opposites of climates gains the ability to survive both.
Their ability to sing you to death, on the other hand, is a product of a more magical force inherent to Outcasts. A magic that eventually fades as the siren turns old. Adam jotted down notes from time-to-time, especially when the topic at hand is truly interesting.
Soon enough, the lesson neared its end and finished. Wednesday left before the professor could say good-bye, before any of them could even pack-up. No one complained, however, as it's a quirk of the girl the moment she attended the school.
—-
Wednesday sat alone on a bench in Nevermore, probing at the deepest corners of her mind, creating hypotheticals in her head on what her 2nd vision might've meant.
In front of her was the same burnt yard days ago, the same words still written on it like a warning the idiotic staffs here won't remove. She wonders why?
Wednesday's fingers traced the edge of her note as she stared at the charred ground. The blackened soil, the faint smell of ash, and the dry crunch of leaves as some students passed by.
She could imagine the same feeling on her finger as that of the carving on Crackstone's crypt. The same words in Latin— "Fire will rain when I rise." No sane man would take a quote from a dead man's grave literally, but in this instance? Wednesday is sure it isn't just to scare grave-diggers off.
Footsteps approached. She did not turn. A shadow fell over the bench.
"You look like you're waiting for a ghost," Adam said quietly, hands tucked in his pockets.
Wednesday blinked once, slowly, before replying. "I don't wait for ghosts. They come to me."
Adam hesitated, then sat beside her. Silence hung between them like a heavy curtain. He watched her expression which leaves little for the eyes to deduce. "What did you see in your vision?" He finally asked.
Wednesday glanced at his figure— curious, troubled. Her jaw tightened, she let go of his eyes. "The answer to everything." She replied. A crow cawed in the distance, breaking the thin air of their secret conversation.
"Will you tell me?" Adam asked.
Silence lingered again. Noise of uncertainty, doubt. The pressure of now, unrequited trust.
Wednesday didn't answer.
Adam dimmed, he measured the tone of his voice, just enough to reach the both of them in the gap between.
"Have I lost your trust?" He asked.
Wednesday didn't answer.
The crease of Adam's gloves seems to etch deeper under the microscope of her disappointment.
"Wednesday," he called.
Wednesday didn't look.
"Will you never talk to me?" He asked.
Wednesday didn't answer.
The thread of this… 'partnership' could once hold all the celestial bodies in the sky by itself, like the palm of Atlas' hand. Now, it could not handle a simple conversation.
Adam pressed his lips, brows furrowing like the gentle crunch of a thirsting leaf. He could not travel into the kaleidoscope of time and space to change what has. He could only move forward.
"Wednesday, I would walk through the walls of Gehenna for you — and traverse by bare feet the edges of Cocytus — but if you tell it to me now and speak; if you tell me you do not want to see me again— I will go and leave."
Wednesday's gaze lingered on the blackened soil as if it could whisper the answers to her. The silence between them grew taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit, Odysseus' mistake.
A breeze stirred the lifeless leaves across the courtyard. It carried the faintest scent of, once again, ash. Her fingers curled over the note in her palm, crumpling it just slightly.
Finally, her voice broke the stillness—soft but deliberate. "I do not want to see you gone."
"Ophelia's Hall," she muttered. "If you want to know as well, go to our room."
Wednesday stood, her braids swaying lightly in the breeze. "You have your dues to answer for, Adam. I don't trust you."
—-