They slipped out of the mortuary as quietly as they had entered. The night air outside felt warmer by comparison.
Once they were clear of the building, Wednesday turned to Enid, who was still unconscious.
Without hesitation, Wednesday reached out and pinched Enid's nose shut.
Enid jolted awake with a sharp gasp. "—Ah! Wednesday!"
"You were unconscious," Wednesday said calmly. "I fixed it."
Enid sputtered, clutching her chest. "You suffocated me!"
"Briefly," Wednesday replied. "And effectively."
"Normal people use water," Enid said, rubbing her nose. "Or, I don't know—gentleness?"
"Use your brain," Wednesday replied. "It's the end result that matters, not the process."
Enid opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it.
Ethan stepped back, already loosening his shoulders. "Well," he said, "I should return to prison. I'll be out in two days—just in time for Raven."
"Wow," Enid said, forcing a smile. "That's… very you."
She waved anyway. "Bye."
Ethan gave a short nod, then his form dissolved into black mist. A bat emerged, wings snapping open as it lifted into the night and disappeared over the treeline.
Wednesday watched it go.
Her gaze lingered longer than necessary, sharp and intent, following the shape until it vanished completely.
"Wednesday," Enid asked slowly, "why are you looking at him like that?"
"What would happen," Wednesday said thoughtfully, "if a bat's wings were severed? What part would he lose?"
Enid froze. "No. Absolutely not. You are not cutting off his wings. How can you even think about that?"
"It's curiosity," Wednesday replied calmly. "Not intent."
She paused. "Though the distinction is occasionally flexible."
Enid stared at her. "You're terrifying."
"Yes," Wednesday said. "But thorough."
They walked back to Nevermore in silence.
Wednesday briefly thought of Ethan's invitation to the dance—but the thought withered and died almost as fast as it came. She had no intention of subjecting herself to such frivolous torture.
The next day began like any other at the academy—quietly, deceptively normal.
In the Botanical Sciences greenhouse classroom, humid air clung to the glass walls, and rows of carnivorous plants twitched lazily in their pots. Sunlight filtered through the ceiling panels, casting warped shadows across the worktables.
At the front of the room, Marilyn Thornhill lectured about poisonous hybrids and their adaptive traits, gesturing fluidly with her uninjured arm—as though nothing had ever been taken from her at all.
Wednesday barely listened.
Her attention drifted, sharp eyes scanning the room out of habit rather than boredom. Students leaned over their workstations, whispering, scribbling notes.
Then she saw it.
Xavier sat a few rows ahead of her, shoulders tense. When he shifted, the collar of his uniform slipped just enough.
Three marks.
Thin. Parallel. Angry red.
Claw marks.
They disappeared again as the fabric settled back into place, but Wednesday had already seen enough.
Her gaze lingered on the back of his neck, mind moving faster than her pen ever could.
Fresh. Poorly hidden. And definitely not an accident.
'Hmm. Those are definitely strange.No one gets wounds like that by accident. They're claw marks.'
'I should trail him. If he's linked to the monster, he'll lead me straight to it.'
When the class ended and students began filing out, Thing appeared at her side, hopping lightly onto the table. He signed quickly, efficiently.
He had found nothing unusual. No erratic behavior. No suspicious movements.
Except one thing.
Xavier.
Thing gestured: He sometimes goes to an abandoned shed. No one else uses it.
Wednesday's eyes sharpened.
"Hmmm," she murmured. "Where is it?"
Thing hopped down and scuttled ahead, leading her away from the main paths of Nevermore.
They stopped in front of a small, weather-beaten shed. Its paint had peeled down to bare wood, the hinges rusted, the windows clouded with grime.
Which made it a perfect hiding place.
Wednesday scanned the area once, confirming they were alone, then stepped forward and grasped the handle.
The door protested softly as she pulled it open.
Stale air rolled out to meet her. The shed was dim, its single bulb casting a sickly glow over shelves crammed with abandoned supplies—dried brushes bristling like dead insects, paint-soaked rags stiff with old color, canvases leaning together.
Then Wednesday saw it.
A painting board stood near the back.
Wednesday recognized the image instantly.
"Thing. This is it—the monster from the woods," she said, studying the painting. The details were unsettlingly precise—too accurate to be the product of imagination. It looked as though the artist had seen the creature first hand.
She turned around to see similar paintings of the monster staring back at her.
Thing signed a question—What are you thinking?
"If Xavier is the monster—or connected to it," Wednesday said, thinking aloud. "Why would he paint something this obvious? It practically begs for suspicion."
Thing signed again. Maybe it's just a hobby?
"Perhaps," Wednesday conceded. "But hobbies rarely incriminate their owners."
She turned away from the paintings, her eyes sweeping the shed. "Help me find a hair sample. Or blood. Brushes, rags—anything we can compare to what we found at the murder house."
Thing nodded and immediately got to work.
*****
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated to Chapter 70, so if you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join my Patreon
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