Chapter Text
Something had gone wrong.
Terribly wrong.
The floor of Crackstone’s crypt began to shake violently, causing Wednesday to fall to the ground. She clutched her right hand tightly, blood oozing from the wound Laurel Gates had inflicted on her.
The jars around the tomb glowed as if electrified, and in front of her, Laurel Gates continued chanting in Latin, barely able to stay on her feet.
The crypt door burst open with a crash, and Tyler entered, his deceitful face marked by intrigue and worry.
“What the hell…?” The crypt shook again, sending the boy to the ground.
Wednesday let out a small groan of pain as the medallion around her neck began to heat up, burning her skin. Then, the jars exploded, and a blinding white light flooded the room.
When Wednesday woke up, she was no longer in the crypt. She was on the ground, the sun shining overhead, and autumn leaves lazily falling around her. She quickly stood up and looked around. Laurel Gates lay unconscious just a few steps away, but there was no sign of Tyler or the crypt. The forest around her looked different in a way she couldn’t quite define.
She approached Laurel, being careful not to make any noise, and drew the dagger she kept under her skirt. She raised the dagger, but before she could end the wretched life of the normie teacher, heavy footsteps disrupted the tranquility of the forest. Wednesday raised her weapon, expecting to find Tyler, but only heard two different voices approaching. She hurried to hide.
The men who arrived seconds later were complete strangers. They wore ridiculous religious fanatic outfits, but they were too old to be working at Pilgrim World handing out chocolates to tourists. One had graying hair, a prominent belly, and a poorly shaved beard. The other was burly, with a scar running down his right arm. His eyes were blue, small, and evil, and when he spoke, Wednesday could see one of his teeth was broken.
“Is she dead?” the gray-haired man asked, pointing at the unconscious body of Laurel Gates.
The blue-eyed man knelt down and turned her over, wrinkling his face at the sight and making himself look even uglier.
“Be careful, Pete,” the gray-haired man said again. “She might be one of those witches.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s wearing men’s clothing and has that red hair.”
From her hiding spot, Wednesday furrowed her brow.
“Let’s take her to the Reverend. He’ll know what to do.”
“Help me tie her up, Thomas. They’re like a plague; they never end.”
Wednesday watched as the men took the unconscious Laurel away and began to follow them. However, after a few meters, she felt a presence behind her.
She stopped and let the men get further away, then turned on her heels.
“I warn you, now is not a good time for harassment.”
From behind the trees emerged a shadow. The woman was small, just a few inches taller than Wednesday. Her blonde hair hung loose down to her waist, her face weathered by the sun, with wrinkles forming between her brows.
Wednesday took a step back, and the medallion around her neck burned again.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. “What do you seek?”
“Goody?”
The witch raised her hand, and a terrible headache seized Wednesday. Her vision blurred, and then her body fell back into darkness.
Chapter Text
Chapter Text
Goody paced around the room, her steps producing a muted thud that was wearing down Wednesday's patience.
— Are you going to say something? — she said through gritted teeth.
— Are you always this impatient? — the witch responded, crossing her arms. — You say that this Laurel Gates used one of my spells to bring Crackstone back to life, but you can't resurrect the dead.
— That's what I told her — Wednesday replied, suppressing her urge to roll her eyes — but she went ahead anyway, and instead of resurrecting him, we ended up here. I don't understand how she could mess up a ritual so badly.
Goody narrowed her eyes and remained thoughtful for a long moment until she noticed Wednesday's inquisitive gaze.
— Neither do I — she finally answered, diverting her gaze from the girl. — It seems education has declined greatly in the future.
— You have no idea. Anyway, there must be something in your grimoire that can send me back to my time — Wednesday said, standing up and adjusting her jacket.
— You can't leave — Goody responded sharply.
— What?
— If you're here, it's for a reason, — she said, approaching Wednesday. — Something that already happened in your future must happen in this present.
— Eliminate Crackstone — Wednesday murmured, and Goody smiled.
— Once the reason you're here is completed, you should be able to return to your timeline.
— What are we waiting for?
Wednesday grabbed her weapons from the table and walked briskly towards the exit.
— Wait. If someone sees you like this, they'll think you're a witch and capture you before we can do anything.
Goody opened a trunk at the foot of the bed and tossed her a faded dress.
— Try to look like you're from this era. I'll introduce you to the rest of the outcasts.
Goody left the room, and Wednesday looked at the yellowed, faded dress with a grimace of disgust.
Well, she hoped she wouldn't have to stay too long.
Tyler felt a bit... naive.
Something he hadn't felt since Laurel had torn away what little innocence he had left through torture, starvation, and threats.
Apparently, those hobbies ran in the family.
The rope he was tied to descended again, and his head was submerged in a tub of icy water that made his whole body stiffen.
Thanks to his swimming lessons, Tyler had great underwater endurance, but that didn't mean he enjoyed going through any form of torture again. So after a few seconds, he thrashed around like crazy and let out a controlled amount of air to make the pilgrims think he was drowning, so they'd pull him out quickly and return to their interrogation.
Jonathan Castel, the man from the market, had kept his word about taking him to the reverend for help. However, as soon as Tyler entered the town hall and saw who he recognized as Joseph Crackstone, he knew it wouldn't end well.
Jonathan spoke for him, telling the same story Tyler had mentioned, and when Crackstone's small, dark eyes gleamed with malice, he wanted to run.
One nod was all it took for two of the thugs to grab him by each arm and drag him to a torture room. While Tyler could transform into a Hyde and eviscerate everyone in the room, it didn't seem like a good idea considering he had returned to a time when outcasts were persecuted. So he tried to appear as normal as possible and not show any signs of having a psychotic alter ego.
— Calm down, Jonathan — he heard Crackstone say — we just want to make sure he's not one of them. Some can pass as decent people. Unnatural beings have an aversion to water.
Tyler let out a snort that quickly turned into a coughing fit, unfortunately drawing Crackstone's attention back to him.
— You say some werewolves took your father and they're here. Where?
— I don't know — Tyler quickly replied — they only gave me the address of these woods. Near the cliffs.
— We've already checked that area — said thug number one.
— Maybe you didn't check wel-
Tyler ended up with his head submerged again, and this time he didn't have to pretend to drown. When they pulled him out, he started coughing until his throat was raw and his eyes filled with tears. He barely felt them grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to sit in a chair, chaining him down.
Crackstone gestured, and a woman placed a cup of tea in front of him.
— Wolfsbane — the pilgrim explained — tonight is a full moon, we'd better make sure you're not one of them.
Tyler swallowed hard and slowly took the cup. He was new to this whole outcast thing and certainly knew little about his own species, so he prayed to all the normie and bestial gods that it wouldn't have any effect on him.
The liquid touched his lips, and a grimace of disgust appeared on his face. The potion was nauseating, bitter, with no sweetener, and highly concentrated. When it went down his throat, he felt a slight warmth, like taking a shot of cheap tequila, very close to rubbing alcohol.
Aside from the horrible taste, nothing else happened, and Tyler was sure he saw some disappointment on Crackstone's face.
— He'll stay in the dungeon tonight — Crackstone told Jonathan, as if the man had any authority over Tyler's life. — We need to make sure he's not a risk before integrating him. You've done the right thing. — He finished, and with a nod, he dismissed the good pilgrim.
When the cell door closed behind him, Tyler let out a sigh.
Somehow, he had escaped being imprisoned four hundred years ago, only to end up in a cold, damp, and smelly cell during the witch hunts. His luck had outdone itself with that change.
Maybe he should have helped Wednesday kill Laurel as soon as they woke up, coaxed her with a half-hearted apology, and figured out a way to return.
Because if Tyler was sure of anything, it was that Wednesday wouldn't rest until she knew how and why they had gone back in time.
And she would be his ticket back.
Chapter Text
The cells were damp, dirty, and made his father's station cells look like a luxury hotel room.
Tyler had seated himself in the corner farthest from the bars, with his head leaning against the wall, avoiding the straw cot he was sure was home to a family of rats or fleas. He had his knees pressed to his chest and had draped his jacket over himself like a blanket, but there wasn’t much he could do to keep warm on a cold November night, especially when his clothes and hair were still damp.
His body was shivering, and he wondered if Crackstone would think he was some kind of Outcast if he survived the night. Not that the old pilgrim was wrong in that assumption, but Tyler doubted he’d be breathing come dawn.
Not even in boot camp had he endured this type of torture. The closest had been with Laurel when she captured him in the cave, but that was to be expected. After all, she was his descendant.
Being a deranged psychopath must run in the genes.
Tyler couldn’t help but think about what must be happening in his time… what should have happened.
He knew very well he was nothing more than a tool or a loose end in Laurel’s plan, but he didn't know if, after helping her escape, she would kill him or force him to take the blame for the deaths of all those teenagers.
He could imagine walking into the station and confessing to his father and all the officers who had spent months hunting for the mysterious creature in the woods. Oh god, his father’s expression would be priceless. Surprise, disbelief, shame, maybe even fury? But it wasn’t as if he could hit him in front of the entire police force. Tyler was still a minor, at least for a few more months, and an act of violence in the station would immediately strip his father of his sheriff’s badge. If it weren’t for his chattering jaw, Tyler would have smiled at the mere thought.
What would they do with him afterward? It’s not as if Jericho’s cells could contain him. Was there a special prison for Outcasts? Or would they lock him in a psychiatric hospital, drugging him 'til the day he dies, like his mother?
Tyler hugged his body tighter, like he did during stormy nights as a child, before his mother would come into his room and stay with him until he fell asleep. What would his mother think of him if she were still alive?
Tyler hoped Laurel had planned to end him. It would be almost poetic, and the suffering his father would plunge into would be worth admiring. He was sure that idea would comfort him in his last moments, knowing that at least his death would be more notable than his life.
But even that pleasure had been taken from him.
The night was eternal. He drifted in and out of sleep, fearing he might die of hypothermia. His hands and feet ached from the cold, and his nose was red and congested. He curled into himself for warmth, but nothing was enough. In the middle of the night, he heard distant screams of a woman, but his head was so numb he didn't even have the curiosity to find out who it was.
Finally, a pair of thugs opened his cell and threw a clean, dry blanket at him.
“The reverend wants to talk to you. Move it.”
Tyler stumbled over his own feet as he got up, and the two idiots chuckled.
If only they knew…
They led him to a room where the fireplace welcomed him with more warmth than any hug he had ever received. His face must have given him away because Crackstone smiled upon seeing him.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to an armchair opposite his.
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the thugs, and Tyler approached cautiously, with a bewildered look and his shoulders raised, trying to appear smaller and more like the submissive villagers Crackstone usually terrorized.
“Relax, I won’t harm you,” he said, flashing a broad smile.
Tyler sat on the plush sofa, and his entire body appreciated the comfort and warmth it provided. Crackstone poured him a glass of watered-down wine, and with a gesture, a girl entered with a plate of bacon and freshly baked bread. The way the food caught his attention was a bit embarrassing, but at least it fit the role of a lost orphan he wanted to play.
“We had to make sure you weren’t one of those abominations,” Crackstone began, pleased to see Tyler eat. “And I must say you’ve passed all our tests.”
“Everyone in my family is completely normal. We hadn’t been near any of them until they took my father.”
Crackstone leaned in with curiosity.
“That’s what good Jonathan said. Are you sure that pack of werewolves was heading here?”
Tyler nodded.
“In the mountains past the lake, they told me there’s a series of caves they use as a hideout.”
Crackstone’s eyes lit up, and his face seemed to split between euphoria and the most visceral rage.
“Good, Tyler. Allow me to offer you the help and generosity for which the people of Jericho are known.”
He opened his arms as if inviting him to a hug, and Tyler forced the most awkward smile of his life before downing the rest of his wine.
Crackstone led him to Jonathan Castel's house. It was nothing more than a small wooden cabin, identical to the rest of the cabins built on either side. The roof was thatched, and upon entering, there was only one large room divided by curtains. It had a small window on each wall and a fireplace in the center, outlined by river rocks, with a small fire that filled the cabin with warmth, and above it hung a pot.
Jonathan greeted him with a broad smile, and behind him stood two women. One, the older one, he assumed was the wife, and the younger one couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. Both had ash-blonde hair, pale, weathered skin, and large, frightened eyes.
“Here’s the boy, Jonathan,” Crackstone said, giving Tyler a small push forward. Tyler furrowed his brow but said nothing. “I know you need a man’s help.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan replied with a slight bow of his head.
“We’ll organize a search party. Maybe we can find your father.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tyler said.
“We’ll call you when we’re ready.” Then Crackstone turned to Jonathan, “After the market, take him to the wall. We caught a witch lurking nearby, and we need to reinforce the guard.”
Tyler followed Jonathan all day. The kind man pointed out who lived nearby (something Tyler forgot almost immediately), and then they returned to the small market stall to sell potatoes and some herbs. Jonathan was amazed by Tyler’s quickness with numbers and told every customer who came by.
That day, Tyler showcased his customer service training, and people were delighted with him. Their defenses against the strange boy faded easily, and soon they began chatting with him.
By the end of the week, Tyler had gathered some information.
Joseph Crackstone had led the pilgrims on a relentless campaign against the Outcasts. He had locked them in the old meeting house and then set it on fire. The smell of burning flesh lingered for months, and the remains of those people were still there, which was why the town had moved to this new location. Somehow, a witch named Goody had escaped. According to all the pilgrims, she had the help of the devil himself to withstand the fire that consumed the others, and now she sought revenge.
Since then, she and Crackstone had been at war for years. Goody cast curses on the community, Crackstone killed some of the werewolves she recruited. Goody would respond, Crackstone would attack again. This went on until the man captured Goody’s only daughter and burned her in the town square, where four hundred years later, a statue of Crackstone would stand.
Tyler stopped in front of the place where they had burned that ten-year-old girl and remembered how Merlina had set the statue of the responsible man on fire. Maybe there was some poetic justice, even if Crackstone himself didn’t feel the kiss of the flames.
The war had stopped after that, but Crackstone was sure Goody would attack.
And he searched for her relentlessly.
His life mission had become hunting and killing the witch. A life mission he will pass to his descendent until Laurel.
After the market, Tyler would go to the wall. A two-meter wooden construction that marked the boundary between the fledgling town of Jericho and the dangerous surrounding woods. Sometimes, Tyler helped with repairs, other times with the guard. The work was led by Crackstone’s trusted men, and rumors said the witch they had captured looked like she came straight from hell, wore men's clothes, and was completely insane. Tyler couldn’t deny he was somewhat curious, but he couldn’t seem too interested either.
At the end of the day, Tyler had to fetch firewood and return to the Castels' cabin to eat a bland potato stew with a tiny portion of meat and sleep on a straw mattress that was as comfortable as the floor. By the end of the week, he was willing to kill for a slice of pizza and his bedroom pillow; and he could burn Jericho with all its inhabitants for an hour of internet connection.
Sleeping on the uncomfortable bed was terrible, but the worst part was the lack of privacy in the cabin. The first night he spent there, Tyler woke up in the middle of the night, not knowing where he was. It took him a few seconds to remember he was no longer in the 21st century, and a bit longer to understand he was not in danger either. It was only after calming his racing heart that he began to comprehend the sounds he was hearing. The bed on the other side of the room was creaking in rhythm with the quiet grunts of a man. Embarrassment washed over him, and he quickly squeezed his eyes shut, praying to fall asleep. He heard a faint moan from Mary Castel, Jonathan’s wife.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought, but that didn’t stop the blood from rushing to his groin.
Tyler turned, trying to block out the sounds. However, the pace increased, and the bed’s creaking grew louder. He felt his penis swell and dug his nails into his palm to distract himself.
He hadn’t had sex in a long time. To be honest, his sex life had barely begun when he was sent to the boot camp and returned as an outcast. And in recent weeks, between his job, Wednesday, Laurel, and school, he hadn’t had a moment for himself beyond the dreams that sometimes woke him up. It was no wonder his body was reacting this way, he wanted to think, and putting aside the guilt of feeling like a voyeur, he turned onto his back and brought a hand to his penis.
At his mere touch, it sprang to life, and Tyler closed his eyes in pleasure. His hand began to move up and down. Tyler opened his eyes, checking to see if anyone could see him. The firelight filled the cabin with warmth and a faint orange glow. The curtain separated his space from Wren Castel’s space, and her silhouette lay still. Whether she was awake or not, Tyler couldn’t tell.
In front of him was the marital bed. Shadows danced against the curtain, and Tyler watched, almost hypnotized, as they moved. Not that they were performing like porn stars, they didn’t even change positions, but in the absence of internet access...
Tyler felt his body heat up, clenched his teeth to stifle a moan, and increased the pace on his sensitive member.
He heard one last moan and saw Jonathan’s silhouette collapse onto the bed.
Damn it, he thought. He wasn’t even close.
He closed his eyes, and the memory of lips on his assailed him. Tyler clung to that sensation. He remembered the faint smell of wet earth and the feeling of a female body pressing against his. Suddenly, Tyler was back at the Weathervane, and Wednesday was giving him a tiny smile just for him.
Tyler’s lips met hers again, and his hand gripped her head firmly. He was guiding now, with a hunger he didn’t know he had. His hand gripped Wednesday 's waist tightly, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, touching him tentatively. That’s how it should have happened if Wednesday ’s untimely vision hadn’t interrupted them, and Tyler was sure he would have gotten the confession to end in his room or the back of his car if the truth hadn’t come to light.
Taking that memory, he gave way to his fantasy.
He imagined devouring her neck, pinning her against the wall. Tyler would have slid his hand under the uniform skirt, and his fingers would sink into her, into her warmth and wetness. Wednesday ’s eyelids would flutter, and her purplish lips would let out the softest and most enticing moans. He wouldn’t be able to resist and would bite her full lips until a trickle of blood dripped from them. He was sure that would drive her wild and shatter any doubts she had. Wednesday would wrap her legs around his waist, and Tyler would carry her to lay her down on one of the tables in the very center of the cafe. He would spread her legs and thrust into her forcefully, stealing a scream and her virginity at the same time. He wouldn’t wait; Wednesday liked pain, after all. He would enter again and again until the sound of their bodies colliding was so loud it echoed off the cafe walls, and the table would be drenched with the girl’s fluids.
Tyler’s body trembled, and his semen spilled, trickling down his hand and onto the sheet.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze locked onto the dirty cabin ceiling. Just two deep breaths were enough for him to fall asleep immediately.
Chapter Text
The knife fell forcefully, embedding itself in the table. Blood splattered her face, and the chicken's head rolled to the side.
Wednesday lifted her eyes and glared at her great-great-grandmother.
She hung the chicken from a rope and placed a bucket underneath. The dripping of the blood against the metal joined the symphony of the other decapitated chickens.
Goody continued stirring the broth diligently.
“I can feel your judgmental gaze,” the woman said. “What’s got you in a bad mood now?”
“It’s been almost a fortnight and we haven’t done anything against Crackstone. Laurel Gates is still out there.”
Wednesday lifted the knife and slit another chicken’s throat.
“You haven’t learned anything about not rushing. That’s why you’re in this time.”
“And what’s the terrible plan against Crackstone? Being the terror of the local birds?”
Goody approached one of the chickens and plucked some of its feathers.
“An army needs food. And their little hearts are useful for some spells.” She opened the bird's chest with a knife and pulled out the blood-soaked organ. “Hurry up. You’re too slow.”
Wednesday gritted her teeth until they creaked and grabbed the next chicken. A few minutes later, the cabin door opened, and a tall, thin man stepped across the threshold. His hair was straw-like, brown and straight, and an unnatural smile spanned half his face. When he saw Wednesday, his eyes widened.
“Who is she?” he asked Goody. “Why does she look just like you?”
“We’re family,” said the witch, wiping her hands on the apron she wore.
“I thought your entire family was dead,” the man responded, still in shock.
“Evidently not.”
“God! She could be your daughter.”
Goody glared at him, though the man seemed too astonished to notice.
“I thought you had something important to say, Viktor.”
The man, Viktor, ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it even more.
“Yes, things are a bit stirred up.”
Goody turned her face towards Wednesday, who had stopped decapitating chickens and was watching the two adults intently.
“That’s enough,” she said to her. “Go to the river and wash those clothes.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Wednesday's eyes widened, and she clenched her fists tightly.
“If it’s about Crackstone, I need to be here.”
“No,” Goody said sharply. “Now go, or I’ll make sure you’re not here. One way or another.”
Wednesday's necklace grew warm against her chest, and she felt a growing pain in her head, recalling the witch's power.
Reluctantly, she left the cabin. As soon as she closed the door, silence fell on the other side, and she assumed there was no point in trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.
Wednesday descended the slope where the cabin was hidden among rocks and trees, looking like a vengeful specter with her long dress and blood-stained arms. Branches snagged the hem of her skirt and tore at the frayed dress.
The afternoon was beginning to fall, and the wind was getting colder. Wednesday reached the riverbank and untied her apron. The river water was almost frozen, and her hands went numb as soon as she dipped them to wet the apron. For a few minutes, she vented her frustration by scrubbing the worn piece of fabric against the rock until all the chicken blood was removed, but it wasn’t enough.
Wednesday looked around, not a single soul approached Goody's hideout. She was not only trapped in time but also completely isolated from any possibility of returning to her life. How she missed her electric chair at that moment. Two or three shocks would surely lift her spirits, she was sure.
She sighed and decided to make do with what she had. Little by little, she began undressing. The dress fell in a heap at her feet, and then she started removing the ridiculous and oversized underwear. Finally, she untied the two strips of fabric that held her braids, and her hair fell in waves down her back.
The cold air raised goosebumps on her skin, and she slowly submerged herself in the water. Wednesday closed her eyes, feeling every bone in her body protest against the temperature, and her lungs expelled all the air in a trembling sigh.
With her head now clear and her emotions soothed by the mild torture, Wednesday felt she could better analyze the situation.
The biggest obstacle was Goody. Not only was she keeping her in the dark but also under close surveillance. She had to find a way to sneak out and track down Laurel Gates and Tyler and take them down before they found her.
She took a deep breath and submerged herself.
Tyler felt his heart stop and speed up at the same time. He took a step back, hiding in the shadow of the trees, and blinked several times until he believed that what his eyes showed him was real and not another hallucination from his mind.
Tyler had some trouble admitting to himself that he had masturbated to the memory of a simple kiss from Wednesday. Firstly, because he wasn’t twelve years old, and secondly, because Wednesday was his sworn enemy, his nemesis.
That didn’t stop him from using the memory again the following night… and the next. And although he tried to recall some of the videos he had seen at some point in his life, he always ended up turning the protagonist into her.
He hated the damn cabin with no privacy, he hated having to listen to Jonathan every time he fucked his wife, and he hated, more than anything, getting too aroused by the memories he had of Wednesday. He had no other choice, he told himself to quell the aggressive fury with which he masturbated. Besides, Wednesday was attractive, he wasn’t going to deny that. He wasn’t that stupid. The mere idea of dominating her and making the stoic girl moan with pleasure was exciting.
Tyler knew that what he was doing was wrong, but at least it was only in his head.
What he was doing now was worse and could very well cost him both eyes removed from his head and placed in jars that would adorn Wednesday Addams’ bedside table.
The other option was that he had finally gone mad. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Wednesday had cast some curse on anyone who used her image for… stimulating activities.
He swallowed hard, and even knowing the danger he was in, he stayed crouched behind the tree.
Wednesday emerged from the water, and Tyler watched as her black hair spread out in the water like spilled ink. Her skin looked paler than usual, and her lips had taken on a purple hue.
She looked delicious.
His gaze traveled over her bare shoulders, and without realizing it, he licked his lips. He thought about how good it would feel to bite them; surely Wednesday would enjoy it too. The water distorted the rest of the girl’s body, but by that point, he had imagined it so many times that he didn’t need much help to recreate it.
Tyler heard laughter behind him, and his heart jumped violently. He picked up a stone from the ground and threw it as far as he could. The rock hit the riverbank and caught Wednesday’s attention. Tyler watched as she tensed and retreated in search of her dress. He went to meet his small search party, distracting them and joining in their raucous laughter. When they passed near the river again, accompanied by the other three men, all traces of Wednesday had disappeared.
“This is a waste of time,” grumbled John, a burly man with brown hair and a round, flushed face. “Sorry, kid, but we’ve inspected this place many times. I don’t know why Crackstone insists on coming here. Goody must have left years ago.”
That name finally resonated in Tyler’s mind, and he looked up, intrigued. If his memory didn’t fail him, Laurel had mentioned Goody before. An ancestor of Wednesday or something like that.
He had to admit he felt disappointed that such an independent girl would turn to her grandmother for help.
The good thing was that now he knew where Wednesday was and, therefore, Goody as well.
Crackstone listened to the search report with a certain bitterness.
"That boy knows nothing," Pete said.
"Or he knows too much," Crackstone replied, taking a long sip of his drink. "Keep an eye on him and the Castels."
"Jonathan is too cowardly to help those freaks. He’d shit his pants if he had one in front of him."
"His ignorance is as great as his cowardice. I don't want any surprises. Outsiders always bring problems."
Joseph Crackstone stood up and dismissed his subordinate with a wave of his hand. He walked to the fireplace and stared at the flames for a long moment. He was in a large room made of stone and wood. He took the ring on his right hand and spun it around his finger. Attentively, he listened to the sound of a horse riding away, and then one of his servants informed him of Pete’s departure. Crackstone crossed the room to a large wooden cabinet and, with some difficulty, moved it away from the wall.
A tunnel descended, and he took a small torch before venturing into the darkness.
His steps echoed loudly in the narrow path, and the stone walls kept the place cold and damp. The cell doors appeared to his left and right. All empty, except for one.
Crackstone stopped in front of the bars and raised the torch. The floor was muddy, permanently wet from the drops of water that fell day and night. A wooden chair was placed in the center, and on it sat a woman with crimson hair, chained. One of the drops of water fell constantly on her head, and her soaked hair clung to her heart-shaped face. Blood dripped from her fingernail-less fingers, which were tied to each arm of the chair.
"So," Crackstone said, "how did you end up here?"
Laurel Gates looked up, enraged.
Chapter Text
Donovan closed his eyes and let out a slow, deep sigh. His hand gripped the doorknob to his son’s room tightly, and mustering all the strength he had left, he slowly opened it.
The room was exactly as Tyler had left it. The bed still had the wrinkles from the last time the boy had been there, his computer was open with the battery already drained, and a notebook lay in front of it with homework left unfinished. The window was slightly open, and the cold air from outside seeped in, stripping the small room of all human warmth.
The door opened fully, hitting the wall with a dull thud that echoed through the lonely house.
But Donovan remained in place, unable to cross the threshold.
His tearful eyes took in every detail. The wallpaper he had put up years ago, the bookshelf where one of the books hid the only photograph of Françoise that Tyler owned—and that Donovan pretended not to know about—Tyler’s backpack on the floor, and his clothes in the closet.
Donovan turned on his phone and for the hundredth time, searched for his son’s location.
The app showed an error once again.
Three days ago, Tyler had disappeared.
Crackstone’s backhand struck Laurel’s face, sending her glasses flying to the other side of the room.
She tasted the metallic flavor of blood in her mouth, and a low whimper escaped her lips. The drop of water fell on her head.
“Vile liar,” Crackstone said.
“I am not.”
Blood trickled from the corner of Laurel’s lips, as red as her hair.
“A witch in my lineage? Impossible!”
“I’m not a witch.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Goody tricked me!” Laurel screamed. Another drop fell on her head, reverberating through her skull. “She and her detestable descendant, Wednesday Addams.”
Crackstone snorted, his nostrils flaring with anger.
“We will find that girl, and if you’re lying…”
Crackstone brought the flame of his torch closer to Laurel’s bound hands. The fire didn’t touch her, but the heat seeped through the wounds on her nail-less fingers. Laurel twisted her fingers and screamed. The empty cells amplified the echo of her lament. Small and painful blisters formed on her tender skin.
Crackstone withdrew the torch, a smile of superiority dancing on his face.
“And the boy?”
“He’s mine,” Laurel said through gritted teeth.
The drop fell on her head again, stinging her scalp. Crackstone moved the torch closer once more, and this time the fire grazed Laurel’s skin. Her scream was loud and piercing, but everyone in the mansion ignored it.
“He’s a Hyde,” she finally confessed. “Bring him before me, and I’ll prove it to you.”
“Tyler!”
The boy stopped in the middle of the street, his heart skipping a beat.
“Pete, is something wrong?”
“Does something have to be wrong for me to look for you?” the man said, flashing a smile that made him look even crueler, revealing his broken tooth. Tyler chose to remain silent and put on his lost-child mask, which had worked so well for him there. “We haven’t given you a proper welcome. Let me buy you a beer.”
The offer truly surprised Tyler. He knew Pete was one of Crackstone’s trusted men and suspected he might be plotting something. However, Pete was more known for his brutality than his brains, and Tyler was confident he could handle him.
“Sure, I could use one,” he said with a nervous laugh, and the man grabbed him tightly by the shoulder, leading him to the only tavern in Old Jericho.
The sun had set just a few hours earlier, and the place was already packed with people. As soon as Pete entered, a table was quickly vacated, and they had barely sat down when a young waitress placed two mugs in front of them.
Tyler looked at the dark, frothy liquid and thought it was exactly what he needed. It would help him forget his embarrassing voyeuristic scene from that afternoon, and with any luck, he’d fall asleep so deeply that Jonathan’s moans wouldn’t wake him.
Jeez! Tyler had never felt like such a pervert in his life. Sure, he had watched videos before or imagined some girls while masturbating, but spying on a girl—especially Wednesday—naked was bringing out the worst in him.
And considering he was a Hyde, that was saying a lot.
He had tormented himself with it all day and blamed the lack of distractions. What was he supposed to do in this town where the only distraction was chopping wood? It was obvious he would lose his mind at any moment. Though he had thought that when his inevitable descent into madness arrived, he would end up committing a massacre, not becoming a sexual maniac. No doubt Freud would be proud of his behavior.
He brought the mug to his lips, and as soon as the liquid touched his tongue, he started coughing loudly. It was the most horrible thing he had ever tasted, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was another form of torture or a test to pass.
He watched as Pete downed his mug in one go.
“Strong, isn’t it?” Pete said, placing the mug on the table with a loud thud.
Tyler nodded, his eyes blurred with tears.
“I heard you had no trouble on your first scouting mission.”
“No, I used to hunt…with my father,” he quickly added, bringing the beer back to his lips without swallowing. “Have they found anyone?”
Pete grinned from ear to ear and leaned over the table.
“A fortnight ago, I found her myself. A witch.”
“What will they do with her?”
But before Pete could answer, a girl approached with a beer pitcher and refilled Pete’s glass.
“So, you’re the outsider, huh?” Tyler looked up at her, noticing her evident curiosity. “How long do you plan to stay?”
“Until I find my father.”
The girl gave him a once-over before smiling at him and refilling what little he had managed to drink of the beer.
“Hyacinth is a pretty girl,” Pete said, his beady eyes glued to the girl as she walked away, “but she’s just the innkeeper’s daughter. You know what I mean.”
Tyler didn’t know what he meant, but the lecherous smile Pete flashed cleared up any doubts. Tyler turned his head to look at the girl again, and she returned his gaze with a smile.
Indeed, Hyacinth was very attractive. Her hair was raven black, tied back in a braid that fell heavily over her shoulder, and her eyes were like a frozen lake, a crystalline blue. A multitude of freckles spread across her nose, standing out against her pale skin. Although her dress reached down to her ankles, it was clear she had long legs, and her bust stood out from her neckline.
Tyler finally finished his first beer, and the second didn’t taste as bad. Pete seemed to know all the drunks in the place and soon got bored of him, stumbling off to another table. Hyacinth brought his pitcher once more when Pete began singing loudly, and the next thing Tyler knew, they were in the grove behind the tavern, cornered against a tree with Hyacinth’s tongue down his throat. Tyler dug his fingers into the girl’s fleshy hips.
“Curfew will be soon,” she said, pulling away and yanking his shirt out of his pants.
“Whoa! Easy,” he said, stopping Hyacinth’s hands. It wasn’t that Tyler was against casual sex—God, no, especially now that he needed to get Wednesday out of his head at all costs—but he wasn’t crazy or too desperate, either.
He pushed Hyacinth against the tree trunk and slid his hands under her skirt. With a flick, the girl grabbed his arms tightly.
“What are you doing?”
In response, Tyler took Hyacinth’s hand and guided it to his throbbing member. He let out a loud sigh as the girl began to stroke him.
Well, maybe he was a bit desperate, but he remembered from his history classes the syphilis epidemic of those times. Though, to be honest, he didn’t recall much of the classes, just Lucas’s comments.
Damn! He probably should have paid more attention to his teacher. Who knew he’d end up four hundred years in the past?
Tyler buried his face in the girl’s hair. He felt her black strands caressing his face and wondered if Wednesday’s hair felt like that. No, he was sure it was much silkier, and it didn’t smell like smoke from a hearth either. Even so, Tyler inhaled deeply and pressed his thumb against the girl’s clitoris.
Hyacinth let out a loud moan, in a pitch higher than Tyler would have liked.
“Shut up,” he hissed, bringing his hand to the girl’s mouth.
He continued penetrating her with his fingers, feeling his hand get soaked as Hyacinth’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. He penetrated her twice more, so brutally it seemed full of anger, then abruptly pulled away from her.
Hyacinth fell to the ground, her legs trembling and her breathing ragged, while Tyler finished the job she had started. He pulled out his member from his pants, and seconds later, his semen spread across the ground between them.
Suddenly, Tyler heard the sound of a branch breaking, and his senses snapped to attention. He adjusted his clothes and looked up just in time to see a shadow moving among the trees.
Here is the translation:
“Go back inside”. was all he said to Hyacinth before chasing the intruder. Tyler moved through the trees and noticed how that shadow moved with elegant agility. They wore a hood that concealed them from head to toe, and if he wasn’t mistaken…
They reached the edge of the town, where a wooden wall rose to protect the normies from the terrible beasts on the other side. Tyler saw the figure stop, and he slowed his pace.
The person glanced over their shoulder, and in the dim light of the torches, Tyler recognized Wednesday's doll-like features. His heart skipped a beat, and in the blink of an eye, the girl slipped through some loose boards.
Chapter Text
When she was far enough from Jericho, Wednesday let herself collapse against a tree and placed her hand over her racing heart. The shadows of the moonless night sheltered and protected her. She heard the distant hoot of an owl and the soft scurrying of rodents and felt relieved knowing she wasn’t being followed.
That afternoon by the river, she had managed to hide in time before the pilgrims arrived. She had let them move ahead and then searched the ground for any tracks to follow. The footsteps of three people were clearly marked in the mud, and then another joined them. At first, she didn’t understand what intrigued her about the last pair of tracks until she tried to erase her own footprints and focused on the pattern made by her shoes. She compared the shape of the first three, which had smooth soles and small square heels, with the last ones, which were undoubtedly from a pair of sneakers.
‘Tyler,’ she thought and immediately reached for one of her daggers.
That night, sheltered by the darkness of the new moon, Wednesday had managed to slip away from Goody’s cabin and retraced the path left by the hunters.
She was prepared to face Tyler; to corner him, interrogate him, and torture him for his betrayal, his alliance with Laurel, and the cruel and venomous way he had deceived her. She was even prepared to kill him.
What she wasn’t prepared for was to see him with his face buried in the neck of a girl and his hand beneath her skirt. She froze, and her eyes couldn’t tear away from the expression of absolute ecstasy on the stranger’s face. The way her chest twisted and at the same time felt like a fist had punched her in the gut was also unexpected.
Wednesday was completely petrified, and each of the girl’s moans only fueled the embers of a growing, visceral hatred.
When Tyler’s semen splattered the ground of that small grove, Wednesday blinked, and her body broke free from the spell it had been under.
She turned away, and in her haste, she was careless and drew Tyler’s attention to her.
Once her pulse was steadier, Wednesday resumed her path to the old cabin, without rushing.
It was clear now that she could skip the interrogation and move straight to the part where she would plunge her dagger into the liar barista’s chest.
From the moment she discovered that Tyler was the Hyde she had been hunting, Wednesday knew that everything they had gone through together was nothing more than a way to deceive her and divert her attention. As if she were a pathetic lovesick girl he could easily win over with smiles and free coffee.
The worst part was that the ridiculous plan had worked, and now she felt the need to redeem herself by making him suffer as no one had ever done before.
Seeing him with his face buried in the girl’s chest (whom he had probably known for less than ten days) not only confirmed how much of a lie Tyler’s words were but also made her feel pathetic.
Unfortunately, she vividly remembered how her heart would violently come to life whenever their eyes met, whether it was at the café with her uncle, on the dance floor, or when she was healing him in her living room. The way Tyler’s smile managed to vibrate a chord she thought didn’t exist in her. Emotions she had never wanted to feel were there, because of him; and to Tyler, they meant nothing. Had he laughed at her and her inexperience? Had he gone to try his luck with other customers after their interrupted date?
Wednesday wanted to dig a six-foot hole and bury herself alive, and she would if it didn’t interfere with her plans for revenge.
When she entered the cabin, she lay down on her cot and crossed her arms over her chest. She closed her eyes, and as the darkness of unconsciousness embraced her, she remembered the first time she had encountered Tyler in the woods. She recalled how his arm had trapped her waist, his hand had sealed her mouth, and her nose had been filled with the scent of fresh coffee beans. She also remembered the smell of his body and the warmth of his toned torso. And as her mind slipped into the darkest corners of her dreams, she heard Tyler’s deep groans next to her ear.
Tyler handed the basket full of potatoes to the woman in front of him, who for some reason looked at him confused. Almost immediately, Jonathan snatched the basket from him and gave it to another girl standing next to the elderly woman.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said and dragged Tyler with him to the back of the stall. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry,” Tyler said, embarrassed. “I was… thinking about something.”
He recalled the previous night and the shame of knowing he had been caught by Wednesday.
“I heard they didn’t find any trace of your father in yesterday’s search.”
Jonathan placed a hand on his shoulder and flashed a condescending smile that took Tyler a moment to understand. He shook his head and pushed Wednesday out of his mind. Now, more than ever, he had to keep his web of lies consistent.
“No, we didn’t find anything.” He lowered his gaze and slumped his shoulders.
“I’ll handle everything today. Why don’t you go home? Mary will give you some herbs for the Reverend.”
Tyler nodded. He mounted the mare and left the main square. He was in no hurry and let the animal go at its own pace while in his head, he kept seeing Wednesday’s face bathed in torchlight.
He knew he had lost his strategic advantage and that sooner rather than later, she would show up to collect on every one of his sins. Tyler hadn’t even slept well last night, waking up every so often with the sensation of a sharp knife against his throat. His only comfort was believing that Wednesday wouldn’t kill him in his sleep. He was sure she wanted to look him in the eye when it happened, and he had to think of how he could use that to his advantage.
He let out a deep sigh and urged the horse to pick up the pace.
When he arrived at the house, he saw Wren, Jonathan’s daughter, approaching to take the reins.
“You’re early,” the girl said, taking the mare’s reins.
“I’m just here to pick up something Jonathan asked for.”
“The herbs?” Tyler nodded, and the girl’s smile faded. Her brown eyes briefly glanced at the cabin before quickly returning to Tyler. “Don’t let her touch your skin,” she said quickly in a whisper.
“What?”
The cabin door opened, and Mary came out with a basket in hand.
“Tyler? I thought Jonathan was coming.” The woman looked back and forth between her daughter and the boy as she approached them.
“I’m just here to deliver something.”
Mary looked him up and down. Her eyes, a greenish-yellow, were filled with distrust and fear. Tyler didn’t take it personally; he had noticed Mary was like that with everyone, even her husband. She finally handed him the basket, carefully holding it from the top of the handle.
Tyler took it and forced a smile before mounting the horse again. He glanced at Wren, but the girl had her eyes fixed on the ground. It wasn’t until he was out of sight of the cabin that Tyler dared to look at the basket’s contents. The smell of mint was unmistakable, but Tyler noticed there was a different type of leaf mixed in. He barely brushed the edge of the leaf with his finger and immediately saw it turn red. He furrowed his brows, puzzled, and had the urge to pull out his phone and put the image in the search engine. He cursed under his breath and continued on his way to the market. He had other ways of getting information and would make sure Wren told him everything she knew.
Jonathan greeted him eagerly, but instead of placing the mint with the rest of the herbs, he threw a blanket over it and ordered Tyler to load everything into the cart. Tyler loaded the sacks of potatoes and onions while the man quickly headed to the central square. Tyler lowered the curtains covering the Castel’s stall and secured them with a tight knot to the posts when suddenly the church bells began to ring incessantly.
Tyler noticed how the people around him tensed up and dropped whatever they were doing to head toward the church. When he looked in that direction, he saw Joseph Crackstone climbing onto a small platform in front of the building.
He couldn’t deny he was curious, but a part of him was also sure it wasn’t anything good. He walked with the crowd but made sure to stay in the back.
“Our efforts have borne fruit,” Crackstone said, raising his voice to the crowd, “and today we are safer than before. We must continue our mission and eradicate all of Satan’s spawn.”
A wide smile spread across the man’s face, and Tyler felt a shiver run down his spine.
Crackstone made a gesture with his hand, and they brought a woman up to the platform, her face covered by a dark sack. The men tied her to the pillory that stood on the platform.
“We found a vampire, an ally of the witch Goody, lurking in our forests, feeding on brave and righteous men,” Crackstone continued, and the murmurs spread through the crowd along with the fear.
With a sudden movement, the pilgrim ripped off the hood, and Tyler furrowed his brows at the sight of the girl. Her skin was white, like a sheet of paper, and her platinum hair fell over her shoulders, disheveled and dry. Only a nightgown covered her body, and her bare feet stood out on the wooden floor. Her cheeks were sunken, her lips chapped, and her fangs bared in a defiant grimace as she scanned the crowd with icy blue eyes.
Tyler had seen vampires all his life. God, he’d been terrified of Coach Vlad since he was six! He could spot them from miles away, and he would bet anything that girl was more Normie than he ever was.
Crackstone raised a bunch of leaves with a gloved hand and shook them at the crowd. From where he stood, Tyler could smell the mint, and his eyebrows drew together, forming several lines on his forehead.
Crackstone brought the herbs closer to the girl and rubbed them across her skin.
Her agonized scream rose above the murmurs. It was guttural, but then her skin turned red—right where the herbs had touched—and it looked like she was burning right in front of them.
Tyler clenched his teeth. He knew it was all a lie, and he had played a part in it. The bitter taste of guilt slowly crept down his throat. It wasn’t the first time, but it was easier to ignore when the victim was dead and not screaming desperately.
When Crackstone struck the girl’s face with the herbs, Tyler took a step back. He’d had enough. But a hand grabbed his shirt tightly.
“They’re watching you.”
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Hyacinth beside him, staring straight ahead, her face revealing nothing.
Tyler turned back to the platform, watching as blisters slowly formed on the girl’s skin. He saw her tears, heard her pleas, and remembered his own cries for help when Laurel had tortured him in the cave.
No one helped him, and no one helped the girl.
Chapter Text
Wednesday was trailing behind the small procession. Her body swayed with each step of the horse she rode, and her eyes registered every detail of the path. Goody and Viktor were seated in the cart in front of her.
The man had arrived that morning and had loaded all the supplies into the cart, while Wednesday helped him prepare the horses. To her surprise, Goody had shown up with an extra horse for her, and though she initially appreciated it, she quickly realized it was another way for the witch to exclude her from the information Viktor was giving her. The noise of the cart completely drowned out their words, and Wednesday had no choice but to memorize the path and go over the little information she had again and again.
They had followed the river until they reached the lake, then skirted around it, heading north where the trees had thicker trunks and the ground was covered in red and yellow leaves. They climbed up the mountain until they found a crevice in the rock.
The cart carrying Goody stopped, and Viktor tied the horses to a nearby tree. Wednesday dismounted as well and watched as Goody took a vial of blood from her bag and began drawing runes on the nearby trees. She marked three of them with her thumb, and when she was done, she positioned herself in the center and raised her blood-soaked hands, her lips barely moving to utter the spell, and the runes glowed for a second.
"What did you do?"
"Protection spell," Goody said, wiping her hands on a handkerchief.
"How do you know it worked?"
"How do you know the sun will rise tomorrow over the horizon?"
Wednesday rolled her eyes, and behind her, Viktor let out a soft laugh.
Goody entered the cave, leading the way, and Viktor motioned for her to follow.
"She doesn't like her spells being questioned," Viktor said, walking behind Wednesday.
"One of her spells brought me here; it's only natural I question them."
Viktor shrugged.
"What kind of spell was it?"
"A resurrection spell."
Viktor raised his eyebrows, and his silence caught Wednesday's attention. She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder.
"If Goody were to perform such a spell, I’m sure she wouldn't fail."
"To bring her family back?"
Viktor's brown eyes locked onto Goody's back, and the lazy smile he almost always wore had completely disappeared. Wednesday couldn't help but notice how strange his face looked without the smile that usually spread across half of it.
"One person would be enough. Agnes," he added, turning his gaze back to Wednesday, "her daughter."
Wednesday's eyes widened, but before she could open her mouth, howls filled the cavern. She reached for one of her knives, but Viktor placed a hand on her shoulder and slowly shook his head.
From a dozen nearby caves, men and women emerged, howling.
"Addams!" shouted a man, approaching them with his arms wide open. "I see you've brought us something to hunt this time."
His black eyes locked onto Viktor, and a wolfish grin spread across his face.
"Your jokes are getting old, Logan. Do I have to hear them every month?"
Logan walked up to Viktor and threw an arm over his shoulder.
"One of these days, I'll have my favorite normie for lunch."
"Enough," Goody said. "You can continue with your nonsense after the supplies are distributed."
"And who is this?" Logan asked, pointing at Wednesday. His green eyes regarded her with amused curiosity, and she felt the urge to stab him, reminded too much of another pair of eyes.
"Wednesday," Goody answered. "She's a raven."
Logan's eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing. He just nodded and, with a whistle, called the rest of the pack. Wednesday's eyebrows knitted together slightly as she noticed how the werewolves stared at her without hiding their amazement, then whispered among themselves before heading to the cave entrance.
She looked back at Goody, who kept walking, flanked by Logan and Viktor, and she knew her words held even more secrets.
Tyler ventured into what he knew as Cobham Woods, with an axe slung over his shoulder and a bundle of ropes hanging from his free hand. The forest was steeped in the dense darkness that appears just before dawn, and an absolute silence prevailed. He could hear the small footsteps of animals scurrying away as he passed, uncertain if it was due to fear of humans or simply because their instincts told them Tyler was something else—an ultimate predator of any creature.
Whatever the reason, Tyler advanced without haste or fear. His senses sharpened to detect anyone who might be following him, but so far, no one approached. Finally, he reached the old meeting house. It had been abandoned for at least a couple of decades; the roof had completely disappeared, but it was in better condition than the rickety house he knew. The remaining stone and wooden walls had a scorched color, the floor was covered in dirt, but you could still feel the wood beneath it. Tyler dragged his foot or stomped, searching for any trace of a hole in the floor. According to what he had been told, many outcasts had been captured there, and it was the same place where Goody Addams had escaped the infernal fire, earning the title of the Bride of Lucifer.
Suddenly, his foot hit something hard, and a clinking sound broke the stillness of the night. Tyler crouched down and looked at the chain fastened to the ground, pressing his lips together tightly. It only took him a short moment to find the first bone and more chains that crumbled under his touch. Tyler stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. He ignored the anger making his hands tremble and focused on finding how Goody had survived. There had to be something...
He searched every corner of the floor. Dawn had arrived, and a flock of birds was singing overhead. He had almost given up when his eyes fixed on the chimney, and his brows knitted together. Tyler walked over and moved aside the nest of straw and animal droppings with his hand until he touched a rickety wooden trapdoor. He opened it and jumped inside without any precaution.
The darkness of the tunnel swallowed him immediately, and Tyler took out the mobile phone he always kept hidden on him. He turned the device on, and the small startup sound seemed both unnatural and, at the same time, familiar. The light from the device bounced off Tyler's face, and he couldn't help but smile.
The phone still had no signal, logically, and Tyler had disabled all network connection functions to maximize its battery life. Why? He didn’t even know, but the mere presence of the device was an anchor that kept him tethered to his time.
He turned on the flashlight and watched as some rodents immediately scurried away from the bright light. The tunnel was deep enough to walk through without a problem, and he walked for several minutes until the space opened into a semi-circular cave that then branched into a series of tunnels.
Tyler’s smile widened.
Well, the fearsome Bride of Lucifer wouldn’t be the only one sneaking under Crackstone’s nose.
Chapter Text
Tyler was returning from the woods when he saw Wren approaching the cabin with a large basket of wet clothes. He quickened his pace to catch up with her and easily took the basket from her hands.
“Let me help you,” he said with a warm smile. The girl’s face was red from the effort, and she simply nodded.
Tyler accompanied her to the back of the house and held the basket up while she hung the clothes on a line of ropes.
“Thank you,” Tyler murmured, “for the other day.”
Wren gave him a quick glance before nodding and picking up another garment.
“Can I ask what that was all about?”
Wren showed no signs of having heard him; instead, she directed her eyes toward the cabin and then lowered her gaze.
“Poison ivy,” she said, turning to grab a sheet. “They always use it during trials.”
Tyler nodded.
“Why did you warn me?”
“Abigail was my friend. She isn’t a monster.”
“She’s still alive,” Tyler tried to offer some hope, but Wren’s look told him how absurd his comment was.
“She won’t be after Thanksgiving.”
Tyler had to swallow his next question when the cabin door opened, and Mary came out with her hands on her hips.
“Wren, hurry up. I need you here.”
Mary’s mean eyes landed on Tyler, scanning him with disapproval and even slowly shaking her head.
At that moment, Tyler felt as if his heart had stopped and considered an idea that had seemed impossible until now. Could Mary be one of the agents Crackstone had assigned to watch him?
He handed the basket back to Wren and watched her return to the cabin.
He carefully observed them both, especially the way Mary wouldn’t take her eyes off him. He knew that look; it was the same one his warden gave him when he first arrived at the boot camp, the same one his father had when he talked about the attacks in the woods. Distrust, suspicion, and hope of catching him in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In that case, Tyler knew it was necessary to build a network of allies—people who would be willing to put their hands in the fire for him, and given where he was living, that needed to be in the most literal sense possible.
And he had an idea of who could help him...
After his round on the wall, Tyler had stopped by the bar. His beer mug was filled only once; he barely tasted it, and his eyes stayed on Hyacinth until she returned his gaze, and he got up and took the back exit of the tavern.
Patiently, Tyler waited, hidden among the shadows of the trees. It wasn’t hard to tell when she was approaching; her steps weren’t subtle, and the hem of her dress dragged through the dry leaves.
“We don’t have much time before someone notices I’m gone.”
Hyacinth leaned over him, but Tyler grabbed her wrists and forced her to stay where she was.
“Not today. I just have a few questions.”
The girl seemed offended and crossed her arms under her chest.
“Oh, yeah? What questions?”
“You said they were watching me. Who are they?”
“Crackstone,” she replied quickly, “still thinks you might be one of them.”
“But I’ve passed all his tests.”
“Yes, but he never trusts outsiders. And you haven’t shown up at the worship hall either.”
Tyler wanted to curse under his breath.
“Why are you telling me all this? How can I trust you?”
“It’s not the first time Crackstone’s men have sent someone to me, but what you did, the way you made me feel… I’ve never felt that before. I just-”
Hyacinth leaned in, trying to kiss Tyler again.
“Whoa. Easy there,” he said, pulling away from her. “That was an orgasm, okay? It doesn’t mean you’re in love with me... or something like that.” He continued with a mix of embarrassment and pride in his voice. Hyacinth looked confused but took a step back.
“And could I be pregnant now?”
“No! No,” he added more quietly. “What I did was specifically to prevent that from happening.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Uh…” Tyler blinked a couple of times. “I don't Know. Pleasure, maybe? Look, I didn’t come here to give you a sex ed talk. I just want to know what I can do to earn everyone’s trust.” Tyler stepped forward and gently took Hyacinth's hands. “I want to stay here and not always be seen as an outsider.”
Hyacinth’s gaze was fixed on their interlaced hands, and a soft blush spread across her cheeks. Tyler stepped even closer to her.
“I could help you,” she replied softly, “but I have to be sure you’re not one of them.”
Gently, Tyler took her chin, lifting her face so she would look him in the eyes. Seconds later, he slid his hand along her jaw, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
He could see how the girl seemed to hold her breath, and he felt his pride swell. God, if he had managed to fool Wednesday, this girl should be easy.
“I assure you I’m not, Hyacinth, but I’ll do whatever you ask to earn your trust.”
Tyler watched her hesitate, saw her swallow hard, and he squeezed the hand he was holding a little tighter.
“Please.”
“Pete,” she finally said. “First, you have to make Pete trust you. He’ll take you to Cole.”
And in gratitude, Tyler gave her the best good-boy smile he had in his repertoire.
Despite still being trapped in domestic chores, stirring a pot of broth specifically, knowing Goody’s hideout had given Wednesday new possibilities.
Especially because the witch could no longer watch her every move. Sure, Viktor was still following her like a shadow, but the man wasn’t as clever, obviously.
“Why does everyone look at me strangely?” Wednesday asked the Banshee, who was placing vegetables in the stew.
“You’re the raven,” the girl said as if it were obvious. Her hair was curly, a reddish hue, and her round eyebrows gave her a perpetually surprised expression.
“Is that strange? Aren’t there more psychics here?”
“There are several: telepaths, dreamers, seers, doves…” she listed. “But you’re the first raven since the incident.”
“What incident?” Wednesday demanded, perhaps showing too much how hungry she was for information.
“Well, I wasn’t here when that happened" The banshee said. "The wolves were.”
Wednesday glanced up at the group of wolves who kept to themselves. They were loyal to Goody and always stayed close. Logan was the alpha.
“There’s a prophecy about the raven who will defeat Crackstone, and that’s why they captured and killed the last one. Agnes, her name was. She was just a child, but Crackstone showed no mercy.”
Wednesday raised her eyebrows slightly. Her gaze sought Goody and discovered how the witch kept her eyes fixed on her as if she could hear them despite the distance.
She went back to stirring the broth, lost in thought.
Could it be that this prophecy was the same as the one Rowan’s mom predicted?
No, the drawing was clear. She would be at Nevermore when her battle against Crackstone happened.
“Wednesday,” Viktor approached her. “Goody wants to introduce you to someone.”
Viktor led her through one of the hundreds of tunnels in that cave. The path was narrow and dark until it opened into a smaller cave. There stood Goody, and beside her, a boy of about twenty.
“This is Joshua,” she said. “He will help you with your powers.”
Wednesday looked at the boy, who didn’t seem to know much more than she did. He had a nearly stupid smile on his face.
“My mother said an ancestor would help me.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
Wednesday wanted to roll her eyes.
“But if you feel more comfortable in the kitchens…”
“Fine. What do I have to do?”
“Joshua and you will practice a couple of hours a day. You both have other assignments to take care of.”
“What other assignments?” Wednesday asked, bewildered; if she had to pluck another hen...
“You’ll go with Katherine.”
And as if that explained something, Goody left with Viktor at her heels.
“Shall we start?” Joshua said with a smile that showed his crooked teeth and revealed the dimples on his face.
Laurel Gates slowly opened her eyes when she heard the door to her cell creak open. She had been kneeling on the floor for a few days, her hands chained behind her back. Her head burned where the water droplet had been falling without ceasing, and now she also felt her legs tingling. She didn’t know how long she’d been in that position, but her clothes were covered in feces and urine, and the smells were intensifying in the confinement.
She didn’t know if it was the ammonia or the lack of sleep, but when the girl entered the cell, her heart froze.
“Wednesday?”
The girl wore a long black dress with a white collar that framed her angular face. Her hair was dark but tied in a strict bun, and her black eyes seemed devoid of life.
When Laurel blinked, Wednesday’s face disappeared, and she could see the differences. She was an older girl, taller, with thin lips and no freckles on her skin. Her hair wasn’t so dark either; it looked more brown. Although her eyes did seem always devoid of life.
“Help me,” Laurel whispered as the girl crouched in front of her. “I can free you…”
The girl placed a glass of water to her lips and forced Laurel to drink it until the woman started coughing deeply.
“Please…” she pleaded, using all her maternal charm. “Things can be better. You'll be free with me.”
The girl stood up, showing no reaction to her words, and exited the cell again.
“Don't leave me here!” she begged, almost with tears in her eyes, but when the girl turned around, her face transformed into pure hatred. “I’ll kill you; I’ll have your guts pulled out and hung right in this cell. Do you hear me? I’ll do it!”
Laurel listened as the door leading to the dungeons closed. She collapsed onto her heels, her eyes filling with tears of rage.
Chapter Text
Wednesday’s eyelids fluttered. She felt strong arms holding her securely and a distant male voice calling her.
“Tyler?” she thought, and her heart jumped in her chest.
Her hand flew to her boot, and before opening her eyes, she already had her knife pressed against the boy’s skin.
“Easy,” he said. Joshua, she recalled. “I don’t think you want to fall to the ground.”
Wednesday sat up, feeling uncomfortable. Tyler had been the only one who had ever managed to catch her like that. Having someone else do it felt… strange.
“Was the vision too terrible for waking with murder instincts?”
“No,” she replied curtly, sheathing her knife again. “But the last person who held me like that turned out to be a serial killer.”
Joshua’s brown eyes widened.
“I can assure you I’m no murderer.”
“That’s exactly what he would say.”
“Can I know what the vision was about?”
“A shipwreck. There was a baby in the boat.”
Joshua lowered his gaze to the necklace, with its dark pendant, that she still held. A sad smile crossed his face.
“It was my father’s. He sacrificed himself so that my mother and I could survive.”
Wednesday glanced down, unsure of how to proceed. She recalled something Enid had once told her: “You’re really bad at comforting people.”
“Try going back to the vision,” Joshua said suddenly, before the silence became awkward. “You know what you need to see now.”
“I’ve never seen the same vision twice.”
“Have you ever tried?”
Wednesday let out a scoff and glared at him.
“You sound just like Goody.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s not.”
Joshua chuckled softly and handed her the necklace again.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Wednesday took the pendant with an exasperated sigh and closed her eyes.
Gaining Pete’s trust didn’t seem like a difficult task. Tyler had casually arranged to adjust his guard shifts along the wall to increase their encounters. He had accompanied Pete to the tavern a few more times, and on other occasions, they drank together by the fire that the wall guards built. Tyler made sure to be friendly with everyone else, never complained about the hard work, and showed he could handle any task that was thrown at him.
Pete seemed satisfied, and according to what Hyacinth had told him, hadn’t lodged any complaints with Crackstone, though it was still too early to let his guard down. Pete’s partner, Thomas, hadn’t spoken against him, but he hadn’t spoken in his favor, either.
Thomas was someone who tended to be much more cautious when offering his trust.
Tyler glanced at Hyacinth across the tavern, and she responded with a slight nod.
“Well, well. The pretty boy’s falling in love,” Pete laughed, noticing the exchange, and the rest of the table laughed with him. “Keep it up, and maybe Crackstone will reward you with someone better.”
Tyler forced a smile to hide the disdain the comment stirred within him, said his goodbyes, and walked through the dark streets of Jericho. He poured out the rest of the disgusting beer and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black pilgrim trousers.
The weather was growing colder, and he wished he could pull out his brown jacket, tired of the constant numbness in his hands.
When he reached the town square, his steps faltered. Tyler looked at Abigail, tied to a stake where they likely planned to burn her. According to what Wren had told him, Crackstone typically executed an outcast during the Thanksgiving celebration, which Tyler found deeply ironic and utterly out of sync with the holiday’s supposed spirit. But he supposed that over 400 years, many things could change.
Once a day, a messenger of Crackstone approached Abigail to give her a cup of water, just enough to keep her alive for the time they needed. Every time Tyler saw this from his post in the market, his skin tingle, and the monster inside him growled in fury.
He knew he had to be smarter and not act like the bloodthirsty beast Wednesday believed him to be.
The gray clouds slowly swirled overhead. He’d overheard the farmers talking about the last of the expected rains, and he had decided that when the rains began, it would make its move.
And while he waited, Abigail remained tied, day and night.
From where he stood, Tyler could see the sores left on her by the sun. Her cheekbones were spotted with dark patches, as were her arms and bare feet. Her skin was covered in blisters from contact with poison ivy. Her flesh clung to her bones, making her appear as if she might snap at any moment.
Her white nightgown was stained with food that the children threw at her. One point if they hit her legs, three for her chest, five for her face.
Tyler clenched his teeth tightly.
“Disgusting, isn’t it?”
Tyler’s heart jumped at the sound of Crackstone’s voice behind him.
“It is,” he replied, though he knew they weren’t talking about the same thing.
He turned and watched as the old pilgrim approached, his hand resting on the arm of a man slightly older than Tyler.
“This is Cole, my eldest son.”
Cole had inherited his father’s small, cruel eyes. They were black and glistening. His brown hair was straight and long, falling on either side of his face like two dark curtains. He was tall, thin, and carried himself with an air of entitlement, as if the world owed him something. He reminded Tyler a bit of Xavier, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Of course, Crackstone’s right-hand man would be an idiotic snob.
“The famous Tyler Galpin. I’ve heard many things about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” Tyler replied with a sly smile.
Cole seemed pleased, exchanging only a glance with his father.
“We’ll be holding a hunt during the full moon. I expect to see you there.”
Tyler nodded, and Crackstone waved him off. Tyler continued on his way, a slight, satisfied smile spreading across his lips.
Finally, Wednesday felt like she was in the right place.
Goody had sought her out that afternoon in Katherine's quarters, a she-wolf who was close to giving birth and terribly bossy, and had led her to the center of the cavern. All the tunnels converged in that large, dark hole. Torches lined the area, and from the way they never seemed to extinguish, Wednesday assumed they had some sort of enchantment. From the ceiling, meters above her head, droplets fell, forming stalactites all over the floor. In the center was an irregular, long table surrounded by representatives of each species of outcast.
“Watch and be silent,” Goody instructed her before taking charge of the conversation. Beside her, Viktor smiled approvingly. “The full moon is a week away, and Viktor has informed us that Crackstone plans a hunt with all his men.”
“Good,” said Logan, eyeing the boy beside him. He appeared the same age as Logan, with deep jet-black hair and dark green eyes. “Then we won’t have to go looking for him.”
“Do you think that’s wise? Katherine will be in a very vulnerable state.”
“She’ll head north with a small escort.”
Goody nodded.
“I understand that there is an outcast captured by Crackstone. We should use this attack as a chance to rescue him.”
“The girl isn’t an outcast,” Viktor interrupted. “Crackstone claims she’s a vampire, but she looks nothing like you lot,” he said, gesturing toward a pair of vampires on the other side of the table. Their skin was pale, and their hair as dark as night. The man smiled, and Wednesday noticed one of his fangs protruding.
“If she were one of us, the entire damned town would be dead.”
“I’m not talking about her,” Goody clarified. “The one we must rescue is a powerful and strange creature. A Hyde.”
The murmurs around the table started immediately, some curious, others confused, but none more so than Wednesday.
“You can’t seriously be thinking of rescuing him. He’s a traitor,” Wednesday said, stepping forward. Goody shot her a piercing look.
“A Hyde is one of the most lethal monsters there is. If we have him among us, we’ll easily defeat Crackstone.”
“And if he’s so impressive, how is it that they’ve captured him?” Logan asked, a hint of irony in his voice.
“I’ve heard no word of anyone in the cells,” Viktor said, puzzled.
“A Hyde has both a monstrous and a human form,” Goody explained. “He likely hasn’t revealed himself.”
“Tyler is clever,” Wednesday admitted. “And he knows Crackstone is a genocidal maniac. He won’t show what he is unless absolutely necessary.”
“You know him?” asked a siren seated on the right side of the table. Her blonde hair was so long it reached her waist.
“Unfortunately.”
“Then you should go and identify him.”
“That’s too risky,” Viktor interjected quickly.
“Would you rather we capture any random normie without being sure?” the siren asked.
“I wouldn’t mind capturing a few,” Logan said with a shrug.
Goody raised a hand, and the table fell silent again.
“Wednesday won’t be going. Besides, every Hyde needs a master. We need to capture both of them separately.”
“You can’t be serious!” Wednesday couldn’t contain herself, and everyone at the table looked at her in astonishment. “Laurel Gates is just like Crackstone. She only wants to kill as many outcasts as she can. You forget she’s his descendant.”
“All the more reason to capture her. We can’t let her join forces with Crackstone. She’ll be surrounded by an army, and we’ll ensure her orders benefit us.”
Wednesday wanted to remind them that Laurel had already mingled among outcasts. She had lived in Nevermore for a year and a half, and it only served to help her meticulously plan her future massacre. Having her in that cavern alongside Tyler would only result in everyone’s death that very night.
Still, Wednesday said nothing.
The only thing more satisfying than proving Goody wrong would be killing Laurel the moment they found her. Maybe, she could even do it in front of her Hyde pet. With any luck, Tyler would lose his mind when the bond with his master was broken. What a delicious revenge that would be.
“If Crackstone hasn’t shown them to the townspeople, it’s most likely that they’re held in his house’s dungeons. It’ll be easy to find them.”
Goody spread an old map across the table, pointing to the forests that Wednesday knew well, which in the future would belong to Nevermore.
“I’ll lead the werewolves there, and we’ll search for the Hyde,” Logan said. “James can lead another group to the town and serve as a distraction.”
James, the younger wolf beside him, nodded.
“You’ll need more help. With the pack divided into three, you’ll be very vulnerable.”
“We’re more than enough to distract the pilgrims,” James replied. “Do they still think what you gave them is wolfsbane?”
Viktor smiled mischievously.
“They don’t doubt it. They’ve asked for three sacks of it for the full moon attack.”
Goody seemed pleased.
“I want sirens in the lake, enchanting anyone who gets too close.”
“We’ll station twice as many as usual,” the siren confirmed.
“I also want you to enchant the Hyde’s master. Under no circumstances should she communicate with him.”
Everyone nodded obediently.
“Good. Inform the others.”
With a wave of her hand, Goody ended the meeting, and each member left.
“Can’t you follow such a simple instruction as keeping quiet?” Goody said, turning to Wednesday.
“If you’d share your plans with me beforehand, I could point out your mistakes.”
Viktor, still at Goody’s side like the inseparable shadow he was, widened his eyes in astonishment and fear.
“You’ve been here less than a moon cycle and think you can solve a conflict that’s been brewing for years, when you can’t even fully control your powers. Don’t presume to lecture me, child.”
Wednesday felt furious. More than furious.
“You have no idea what Tyler is capable of,” she said, stepping forward, but the old witch didn’t look intimidated in the slightest. “You’re going to get everyone killed.”
“You’re wrong, but if you’re so afraid of him, you can hide when he arrives.”
Goody turned her back, intending to leave, but Wednesday was far from done with the discussion. She took a few steps to follow, but Viktor immediately grabbed her arm.
At first, Wednesday felt a slight tingling where Viktor’s hand had touched her. Then the sensation intensified in a second, and her body became rigid. A moment later, Wednesday found herself in the forest.
She looked around—it was night, and she heard the whispers of several men around her. Beside her was Viktor, looking much younger and shorter, without a trace of his usual smile. His rounder features were twisted in terror, and in his trembling hands, he held a pike. Wednesday moved forward with him.
Gradually, the screams grew louder. Wednesday saw the orange flames and the group of pilgrims surrounding them. Viktor stepped aside, and Wednesday watched as Crackstone entered the circle of attackers. A couple of men rushed forward, dragging another man. He had chestnut hair, and half his face was covered in blood. They threw him to the ground, and he didn’t even move. Crackstone looked at him with disdain and kicked him.
They heard a heart-wrenching scream, and Wednesday saw a young Goody being dragged in. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her clothes were in tatters. Beside her was a small child, also bound, sobbing uncontrollably.
Wednesday looked at the girl with curiosity. Though she had light brown hair, her skin was deathly pale, and her drooping eyes reminded her a little of her brother, Pugsley.
“Let them go!” Goody screamed with all her might. “It’s me you want.”
Crackstone looked at her with utter hatred and quickly approached to slap the witch.
“I want you to see exactly what will happen to anyone who sides with you, witch,” Crackstone spat, his voice a mix of rage and euphoria.
He grabbed the pike from one of his followers and drove it straight into the man’s chest. A weak groan was all he made before life left his body.
“No!” Goody’s voice broke, and tears streamed down her cheeks, washing away the grime and blood that covered her. “I swear you’ll regret this.”
She rolled her eyes and her lips began to move in a whisper. The air in the clearing became thick and strong, and the trees started to sway unnaturally. Wednesday watched as everyone around them grew uneasy. Some began to cough and fell to their knees.
Crackstone acted quickly, pulling the pike from the man’s chest and using the same tip to pierce Goody’s abdomen. Viktor’s choked cry beside her seemed to echo Wednesday’s as she watched in horror as Crackstone twisted the weapon, a sadistic smile on his face.
The witch’s eyes flew wide open, and she gripped the spear that impaled her abdomen. She fixed her gaze on the pilgrim, and one last curse left her lips.
The gusts of wind that had seemed hurricane-like struck Crackstone with force, and both the witch and the pilgrim collapsed to the ground.
A thunderclap split the sky, a flash of white light seeped through the windows of the cabin, and then the ground trembled with the impact of the lightning.
Tyler's eyes shot open, startled, almost muttering a curse. The small fire the Castels had made was snuffed out by the howling wind, leaving the cabin colder than ever. Another distant rumble of thunder echoed, fully waking Tyler.
He went to the nearest window and gazed at the storm hammering Jericho. He could barely make out the garden through the darkness and the sheets of rain falling over everything.
Hurriedly, he checked if Jonathan and Mary were still asleep, then arranged some bundles of clothing on his cot to cover his absence.
The little noise he made was completely drowned out by the relentless pounding of rain on the roof.
Tyler grabbed a dark cloak he had bought a few days earlier and slipped out of the cabin.
The wind hit him with such force that it managed to shove him back a few times, but at least the streets were empty. All the torches had been extinguished, but occasional lightning strikes illuminated the way ahead. Tyler moved cautiously, ensuring he wasn't seen, until he reached the town square and spotted Abigail, drenched and trembling.
“Don't scream,” he whispered in her ear, pulling out a knife and cutting the ropes that bound her.
Not that she would’ve said anything anyway. As soon as the ropes fell to the ground, Abigail's body collapsed. Tyler grabbed her quickly. His hands brushed against the raw wounds covering her skin, and a barely audible moan escaped her lips. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, revealing the girl's strange red eyes, half-open but unfocused.
Tyler adjusted her in his arms and, with less concern for stealth now, he hurried back through the village until he reached the loose boards in the wall he had loosened days before.
The heavy rain erased his footsteps almost immediately, and once Tyler reached a thick part of the forest, he laid Abigail down on the ground, wrapped her in his cloak, and transformed into a hideous and terrifying monster.
His agonized scream was muffled by the thunder, and his skin burned as his bones broke and twisted, reshaping him into a hyde.
He scooped Abigail up, and with the long strides of the hyde, Tyler tore through the forest and reached the old meeting house. The sky lit up, and Tyler leaped into the hole in the chimney.
Chapter Text
The pounding on the door made the cabin shake. Suddenly, the small door swung wide open, and Tyler jumped to his feet, startled.
He watched Jonathan emerge from behind a curtain, followed by Mary.
"Everyone outside, now!" Crackstone's voice boomed.
Tyler swallowed hard, feeling his heart galloped. A second later, the curtain on his side was drawn back, and one of Crackstone's men yanked him out of bed. He also heard Wren's soft cry and saw another man shove her into the center of the cabin.
Tyler clenched his teeth, suppressing the threatening growl forming in his chest.
The three Castells and Tyler huddled near what remained of the extinguished fire. Mary glared at him with resentment, while Tyler tried to look as confused as Jonathan.
Crackstone's men began tearing the place apart.
Tyler swallowed hard.
He had tried to be careful enough.
The pilgrims searched the ground for footprints, but Tyler had made sure to clean the place thoroughly before going to bed. They lifted the thin mattress off his bed, but the clothes he had worn were torn to pieces in the forest, and the cloak still covered Abigail in the cave. Tyler wasn’t even worried about them finding the clothes; with the storm from the previous night, they would have been lost in the mud by now.
The men opened and inspected each of the bundles Tyler had stored under his bed, pulling out the few belongings he had managed to accumulate over the past month. Another group went to inspect the back door.
The sheet he had used to wipe the mud off his body was several meters away and could have easily blown off by the wind. And the Hyde's footprints, which had led from the forest to the Castell cabin, had vanished in the storm.
Even knowing all of that, and that his plan had worked just as he’d imagined, he couldn’t help but feel genuinely nervous. Tyler glanced around. He noticed more men gathering outside the house, and his stomach twisted.
Thomas, the suspicious old man, entered.
“We found nothing, sir.”
Crackstone nodded, his eyes returning to Tyler.
“Search thoroughly.”
Thomas disappeared again, and through one of the windows, Tyler observed Crackstone's men searching every surrounding house.
“What did you do?” Mary grabbed his arm forcefully, digging her nails into his skin and startling him. Her eyes were wide, her lips pressed tightly together.
“N-nothing,” Tyler said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Enough, Mary,” Jonathan scolded her. “The boy hasn't done anything.”
But Mary’s sharp, angry eyes remained fixed on him.
“Nothing, sir,” one of the men reported again.
“Jonathan!” Crackstone marched over to the small group, ignoring everyone but the old man. “Go to the meeting hall. No one is to leave the house until you return.”
The old pilgrim left, more annoyed than when he had entered. His men followed shortly after. Jonathan sighed deeply.
“Something serious must have happened. Tyler, look after them, please.”
Tyler nodded quickly, but Mary didn’t seem pleased with the idea. She let out an audible huff and disappeared behind the curtain separating her bed.
For the rest of the morning, the tension in the cabin was palpable. Tyler tried to focus on his tasks, but he could feel Mary’s eyes on him, watching every tiny movement as if he would slip up and reveal his guilt at any moment.
To Tyler, it was more than ridiculous—it was stupid. If Crackstone's men hadn’t found anything, she certainly wouldn’t with her eyes glued to him. But he kept his thoughts to himself, maintaining a cautious demeanor, almost as if offended by the silent accusation.
Of course, Tyler had anticipated that something like this could happen, which was why he had left food and medicine in the cave. And all the entrances were sealed.
If Abigail were captured, he was doomed.
Tyler felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The last time he had done the right thing, he had killed Rowan, and the punishment that followed still made his skin crawl.
Wren had tried to get his attention a couple of times, but he had completely ignored her. The girl needed to wise up and stop being so obvious.
The door opened while the three of them were at the table, eating a bowl of the bland potato stew they always made.
They all looked up to see Jonathan enter, pale and frightened.
“The vampire escaped,” he said, collapsing into his chair. “We need to have everything ready before nightfall. They’re baptizing everyone who isn’t already baptized today.”
The man stared at Tyler, and it took a few seconds for him to catch on.
“Oh! I’ve already been baptized,” he said.
“Do you have proof?”
Tyler vaguely remembered seeing a certificate once in a family album stored in one of the files his father kept in the garage... four hundred years in the future.
“You should go to the square. Baptisms are at three sharp.”
Tyler looked down at the stew in front of him. After the water torture lesson Crackstone had given him when he first arrived in old Jericho, he preferred not to be anywhere near him and water again. But he knew he had to do it if it was all it took to convince them of his innocence.
In the end, it had been easier than he expected.
Tyler had stood in line in the town square, surrounded by dozens of mothers holding their babies. It could have been embarrassing if not for the way the villagers stared in terror at each infant that passed by, and how the Castells seemed genuinely anxious to see if he would start screaming the moment the holy water touched his skin.
Aside from the chill of the icy water, Tyler felt nothing. With all the superstition and fear, it didn’t seem strange to him that more normies than outcasts died in the witch hunts.
Tyler lifted his head, his wet curls dripping water down his neck. Crackstone, standing before him, looked almost disappointed, and Tyler couldn’t stop a nearly imperceptible smile from tugging at his lips.
Laurel’s eyelids fluttered before she opened her eyes. Darkness surrounded her, and the cold seeped into her bones. She tried to make out something, anything, but her eyes had not yet adjusted to the lack of light.
As her consciousness slowly returned, Laurel felt the hard ground beneath her. There was no more moisture, no mud, and her heart raced in panic.
"You're awake."
Laurel turned her head and saw Tyler standing, leaning against the rocky wall of the cave.
It had all been a dream. A horrible nightmare. Surely, she had slipped when entering the cave, and Tyler had watched over her while she slept.
She tried to move, but realized her hands were bound in shackles.
“This isn’t funny, darling.”
Tyler smiled.
“No, it’s not,” his voice sounded distant, distorted, as if coming from underwater. He approached her and bent down to look her in the eyes. "How many days did you keep me like this? Do you remember?"
“It was for your own good, you know that.”
“This is for your good too.”
Tyler opened a case she knew all too well and pulled out a syringe containing a glowing blue liquid.
“Tyler, sweetheart. I order you to release me.”
But the boy ignored her, raising the needle and slowly expelling the air from it.
“You’re my Hyde,” she said, with more authority this time. “If you don’t release me this instant, I’ll have you kill your father, Tyler. Do you hear me? You’ll murder him, and you’ll be locked up with him until nothing’s left but bones.”
Tyler shook his head slowly, unfazed by her threats.
“It’ll be quick, and then you’ll feel better,” he promised in a calm voice.
“No, Tyler! That will kill me, I’m not a filthy monster like you.”
“We’re all monsters, Laurel,” he said before plunging the needle into her arm.
Laurel felt as if her blood turned to fire, her eyes on the verge of exploding. She thrashed, screamed, and cursed, but no one came to her rescue.
“Easy, it’ll be over soon.”
She felt a caress on her face, but when she opened her eyes, Tyler was no longer there. The boy’s face had melted into a puddle on the ground, and now it was her holding the syringe.
Another Laurel stood before her, with perfectly styled hair, glasses masking her ravenous eyes, and a compassionate smile that made her stomach churn.
“Relax,” the other Laurel said again. “This is necessary…”
And she stabbed another needle into her leg.
The cave shook violently, and when Laurel opened her eyes again, her face was buried in the mud. The cave had vanished, and she could hear the cursed drip that never stopped. It was as if a bubble had burst in her head, and the pain she had felt in her dream multiplied. She wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh…
“You lied!”
Crackstone had slapped her hard enough to knock her to the ground. Laurel coughed, a trickle of blood spilling from her mouth.
“He was baptized, and nothing happened.”
He kicked her in the stomach, and she writhed in the filth of her cell. What seemed like spasms of pain turned into laughter that echoed through the damp, empty cells.
“Fool,” Laurel muttered without raising her head. "Idiot."
Crackstone's face contorted with rage, and with a wave of his hand, he signaled for Cole to grab her.
Laurel was nothing more than a shadow of what she once had been. Her body was a sack of bones, covered in excrement, mud, and blood. Bruises decorated her skin, and huge black circles framed her glassy, vacant eyes.
When Cole lifted her, she didn’t resist. Her head lolled back, and her laughter continued, manic and unhinged.
“How do we find out?” Cole shook her violently.
Laurel raised her head, and her laughter stopped abruptly.
“If you want to discover what he is, you have to bring him to me,” she said in a raspy voice. Her crazed eyes seemed to challenge him. “It’s the only way.”
Cole shoved her back to the ground. She fell against a wooden bucket, which splintered, and Laurel let out a scream of pain.
Father and son left the cell, locking it behind them.
“Make her presentable,” ordered the pilgrim.
Laurel's jailer nodded, her dark, emotionless eyes filled with disgust as they settled on Laurel. She quickly entered the cell. The men hadn’t even reached the next door when they heard the woman’s agonizing scream.
“Agnes!” Cole shouted, rushing back.
Laurel emerged from the cell, raising a bloodied wooden stake. She charged at Cole, her face twisted with madness, but the man managed to dodge her and land a punch that sent her flying backward. Laurel’s mouth filled with blood, and when she spat, a white tooth fell to the floor. Cole grabbed her by her faded red hair and dragged her back into the cell.
Agnes was sitting on the ground, clutching the wound in her side. She tried to stand, but her face turned green with effort. Cole hurried to her and lifted her into his arms.
“We need a doctor,” Cole said. “She’s bleeding too much.”
“Take her to her room.”
Cole rushed out of the dungeons, and Crackstone closed the cell door with a horrid screech.
“If the boy isn’t what you claim,” Crackstone said, glaring at Laurel with disdain, “you’ll be next.”
The tension in Jericho was palpable.
As Tyler made his way through town toward the tavern in search of a better lunch than a stew full of potatoes and onions, he noticed how people walked around with large crucifixes hanging from their necks and hung bundles of garlic on doors and windows.
At least they got something right, he thought.
Back when he worked at the Weathervane, they had always been very careful to separate the snacks with garlic from those without. "We must be Vampire-friendly" his boss used to say with far too much enthusiasm, and more than once Tyler had wondered if she realized the term was as offensive as if she were saying vampires were more like pets than a type of human. Regardless, everyone complied, not because they liked the arrogant vampires from Nevermore.
On one occasion, when Tyler had just started the job, one of his coworkers mixed up the empanadas and served a couple of garlic-filled ones. The reaction was immediate. The vampire couple didn’t die right there in front of everyone, fortunately, but they did start vomiting as if trying to expel everything they'd eaten in the last few hundred years.
That day, Tyler had learned that the myth was partially true—vampires had a severe allergic reaction when they ingested garlic.
In any case, those garlic cloves on the doors wouldn’t achieve anything, mainly because they were hunting the wrong monster.
He sat at the bar and ordered a plate of stew with mead.
At that time of the afternoon, the tavern was nearly empty. Old John, Hyacinth’s father, usually took care of the heavier tasks at that hour: fetching firewood, hauling sacks of ingredients, or barrels of beer. His daughters were usually in the kitchen, baking bread, pastries, or tending to whatever tasks Old John deemed necessary. There were three of them, and Hyacinth was the youngest. Her mother had died from childbirth fevers, and Tyler couldn’t help but feel some empathy for the girl—not just for growing up without a mother, but for being the cause of her death.
He knew that feeling all too well.
Hyacinth placed the stew in front of him and sat beside him.
“You seem far too calm about all of this,” she scolded him with an almost accusatory look.
“Is it that terrible?”
“Of course!” Hyacinth glanced around, fearful that she had raised her voice more than necessary, but the other pair of customers didn’t even bother to look up. “If they don’t find someone before Thanksgiving…”
She left the sentence hanging, but the worried look was all Tyler needed to understand. He swallowed with some difficulty.
If they didn’t find someone… the sacrifice would be the strange outsider everyone suspected.
Maybe being the hero just wasn’t his thing.
“They have no proof,” he murmured, feigning innocence, though he knew very well that wouldn’t stop Crackstone.
The tavern door burst open, and Hyacinth jumped off the stool. It was Pete, grinning from ear to ear when he saw him.
“Knew you’d be here.”
He gave the girl a lascivious look before dismissing her with a wave of his hand, taking the now-empty seat.
“Hurry up, Crackstone wants you at today’s meeting.”
Tyler’s stomach clenched, and he had trouble swallowing his mouthful. He downed the mead in one gulp and, with some regret, left the rest of the stew before getting up.
As they left the tavern, they met up with Thomas and Jonathan. They walked for several minutes, and Tyler quickly recognized the route. He had heard from Laurel that the outcasts had taken over some Crackstone properties and mockingly chosen the school’s location there, but he had never believed it.
Of course, Nevermore’s castle hadn’t yet been built, but the Crackstone house looked like a mansion compared to the cabins where most of the pilgrims lived. It was large, with two floors. Some walls were made of stone, but most were wooden. They passed through a pair of double doors and entered a central courtyard very much like one he had glimpsed during the Rave’n. They had a strange white wood tree, although there was no fountain.
As they crossed the courtyard, Tyler heard a high-pitched, agonizing scream that made his skin crawl. He paused for a few seconds and watched as a couple of women rushed by with water jugs and clean bandages. The door they had entered was left open, and he could hear voices inside.
Driven by curiosity, Tyler stopped and tried to see what was going on. The candlelight barely illuminated the room, but when the old doctor moved, Tyler could see a woman lying on the bed. She had long, straight, chestnut hair, her skin was deathly pale, and her features were sharp.
“What are you doing here?” Tyler jumped at the sound of Cole’s voice behind him.
“I didn’t…”
He looked around desperately, searching for someone from his group, but he was alone.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” The words tumbled out of his mouth. Cole stared at him sternly.
“The meeting is in the hall. Follow me.”
Cole entered one of the side corridors, and Tyler hurried to follow. He placed his hand on the handle of a large wooden door, but before entering, he turned back to Tyler, his small, dark eyes drilling into the boy.
“She’s my wife. Don’t tell anyone what you saw.”
Tyler nodded vigorously.
Cole gave him a once-over, and a thin line formed between his brows. Tyler’s heart pounded, and a light sweat began to coat his hands as the seconds ticked by, and the man still hadn’t opened the door.
Should he say something else? Apologize again? Offer his condolences?
Tyler was about to speak when he heard the distant echo of a curse. The words were unclear, but the tone was enough to make his skin crawl and his stomach drop ten meters below the ground.
As much as he wanted to forget it, that voice haunted most of his nightmares.
The Hyde within him stirred, alert to an order.
Tyler watched Cole closely, worried, but the man remained lost in thought. Suddenly, he released the handle.
“They hurt her,” Cole whispered, almost to himself. “One of those freaks.”
Cole continued until he reached the next door. He opened it, and Tyler found himself in a room full of men who served as defenders of the wall. Crackstone’s eyes landed on him for a few seconds before moving on.
“Viktor should be here in three days with the wolfsbane. Each man will carry a jug of the infusion.”
“Will the women and children stay in the meeting room?” asked Thomas, who stood near the central table.
“Yes,” said Crackstone. “I want five men to stay behind and guard the place.”
“It should be the youngest and the boy,” Pete said, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re the least experienced.”
“No,” Cole’s voice boomed in the room, and all eyes turned to where they were standing. “He’s coming with me.” Cole placed one of his hands on Tyler, who opened his eyes wide in surprise.
“Me?”
“Of course,” Cole said more quietly. “Unless you want my father to know you’re a peeping Tom. You owe me.”
Tyler swallowed hard, glancing around for help from his companions. Jonathan looked as surprised as he was, but Pete’s face had shifted from surprise to something resembling resentment.
“Old Thomas can stay in the meeting room,” Cole continued. “It’s good to have someone experienced leading.”
“Remember, once the moon dips below its zenith, the transformation ends,” Crackstone said, tapping his cane on the floor. “We have to surround them and hold out until that happens. Once they turn human, we’ll throw the wolfsbane at them and capture as many as we can. Without the wolves, those demons won’t be able to defend themselves, and soon, we’ll finish off the rest.”
A murmur of approval spread through the room, and Tyler noticed the optimistic and eager faces of the pilgrims.
Chapter Text
Wednesday winced as a sharp pain shot through her arm. A barely perceptible groan escaped her lips before she saw a shadow kneel in front of her.
"I'm sorry," it repeated, while she tried to refocus her vision.
The first thing she noticed was the orange glow of the flames surrounding her, and for a moment, her heart stopped. She remembered the dagger strapped to her thigh and, when she blinked, saw Viktor’s worried face.
It was no longer the young, fearful face from her vision—it was the man she knew, though without his usual smile.
"Are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to let go, but you caught me by surprise."
Wednesday glanced at the small, destroyed stalagmite beneath her and then at Goody’s expressionless face standing a few steps behind Viktor.
It felt almost surreal to see that aged, emotionless face after having witnessed one of the witch’s worst moments.
"You still have much to learn," Goody said. "Take her to her room."
Rooms, as such, didn’t really exist. They were a series of small caves branching off from twisted tunnels that seemed to snake through the entire mountain. It was easy to get lost and end up in someone else's cave, but most of the outcasts had lived there so long they could move even without torches.
Of course, Wednesday had memorized her own route immediately, but Viktor seemed intent on playing her personal babysitter.
"I saw you in the ambush Crackstone set for Goody," Wednesday said once they were near the branch that led to her "room."
Viktor's smile faded. The lines around his lips deepened, and suddenly he looked much older than he really was.
"Quite the raven, aren’t you," he said with a sort of ironic laugh. "Your first vision of me had to be the bitterest memory of my life."
Viktor lowered his gaze, sorrowful, and silence wrapped around them. She watched him closely for a few seconds, waiting for him to continue.
Viktor looked up, something in Wednesday's face urging him to speak.
"It was one of Crackstone’s hunts. The first one I took part in," Viktor said, his tone pleading for forgiveness. "I thought he was right, until I saw him slaughter a family without mercy."
Viktor raised a hand to his chest and pulled out a small wooden cross pendant.
"It was nothing like they preached in Sunday sermons. I saw that they bled, cried, and suffered like we do."
A hollow smile formed on his lips, and his gaze seemed lost in his memories.
"I went back the next morning to bury them. It felt like the least I could do. And that’s when I found Goody still alive. Sadly, Aldous had died instantly. I hid her and helped in any way I could."
"Have you been loyal to her since then?"
Viktor nodded.
"I couldn’t help Agnes. When I returned to Jericho, I heard that the girl had died. That day, I promised myself I had to do something to end it all."
Wednesday lowered her gaze, recalling the little girl from the vision. Goody’s daughter. The former raven Crackstone so feared. Her stomach churned, and she clenched her fists tightly.
"How is it that Crackstone doesn’t suspect you?" she asked, raising her gaze with curiosity. "It’s been years."
"He thinks I have a reason to hate them," Viktor shrugged, leaning against the cave wall. "We found a group of outcasts fleeing from Europe. They spent nearly a month in the dungeons, and then some escaped." Viktor’s eyes lit up, though his smile vanished. "Crackstone never mentioned it and executed everyone who remained in the dungeons. A few weeks later, people in Jericho started falling ill with fevers and chills. My wife was one of them; we had been married for only two moons. He said it was a witch's curse, but he didn’t know that those who reached here also fell ill. Goody managed to create an effective remedy and gave me instructions on how to apply it to the sick. Unlike Crackstone, and despite everything she’s been through, she still believes we can live together. Don’t you?"
Wednesday cast him a long look. She didn’t want to shatter his illusion and tell him that four hundred years later, fingers would still point at the nearest outcast whenever something went wrong.
"I still think bringing Tyler here will be a mistake."
"Why?"
Wednesday averted her gaze, crossing her arms over her chest. Just the thought of having him nearby made her blood boil, reminding her of his smug face in the woods with that girl...
"He’s a manipulator and a liar. A bloodthirsty monster."
"I’m sure Goody can control him."
"One mistake could kill us all."
Viktor’s face hardened as he pushed away from the wall.
"Goody would never put us in danger. Don’t insinuate that she takes things lightly."
"Is it forbidden to contradict her?"
"No, because as you’ve seen, she’s already lost everything in this war, and yet she doesn’t give up. We’ve saved hundreds of outcasts. You have no idea what we’ve done."
"Maybe not the most effective things."
Viktor pressed his lips until they turned white.
"You should go inside," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Wednesday took two steps into the narrow tunnel before she hesitated and turned back. To her surprise, her body collided with an invisible wall, and she could only listen in astonishment as Viktor’s footsteps echoed farther away.
"Hello?" James’s lively voice echoed through the narrow tunnel, and Wednesday closed her eyes in annoyance.
Isolation wasn’t truly terrible; in fact, it could be quite pleasant, but Wednesday had to admit Goody had a unique and subtle sense of torture. Her new jailer was proof of that.
James would appear now and then with some pathetic excuse: food, water, scrolls to study, a bit of conversation.
She began to wonder if that need to integrate others and fill every corner with incessant noise was a werewolf thing, because if not, she was certain he and Enid had to be related somehow.
Such optimism had to be a generational curse.
James’s sharp whistle began bouncing off the walls of her cell, filling it with a nauseatingly cheerful melody.
With more dramatics than Wednesday would ever openly display, she stood up and crossed the small space of her cave to enter the narrow, dark tunnel where, fifteen steps later, the werewolf awaited her, hands in his pockets, a confident smile on his lips, and his green eyes gleaming with the light of the veins.
"Is being a caged raven that bad?"
"As bad as a werewolf’s humor," Wednesday stopped in front of the invisible barrier that kept her captive and crossed her arms beneath her chest.
James didn’t seem offended; somehow, negative comments never seemed to reach him.
"You're our first and only prisoner. It’s normal for me to feel excited."
"How old are you? Five?"
James's eyes widened, and his grin stretched even further.
"What gave it away? I bet it was my youthful face."
"Your brain capacity, I’d say."
James burst into laughter, the sound amplified by the tunnel's echo. A distant voice cursed him, and another told him to shut up. Wednesday closed her eyes for a moment. Was this a good time to test if her knife could pierce Goody's barrier?
"Joshua asked me to bring you this," James extended the seer’s pendant. "He said he hopes to hear what else you see when he gets back."
Wednesday took the pendant with suspicion.
"Where did he go?" she asked, staring at the blue charm.
"He’s on a mission. Maybe we’ll find that Tyler before the full moon." At the mention of the ex-barista, Wednesday raised her head and saw James wiggling his eyebrows oddly, as if it should have some effect on her.
"I could easily do that."
"Yeah, well, you’re incapacitated."
James raised his knuckles and knocked on the invisible wall. A deep, gong-like sound rose from the ground, sending a tingling sensation through her skin. It wasn’t the first time; she had noticed this effect after her first escape attempt.
"Can’t you send him some kind of psychic message through that?" he asked casually.
Wednesday glared at him.
"It doesn’t work like that."
James let out a disappointed sound, and for a moment, Wednesday saw his confident demeanor falter. She frowned, studying the werewolf.
"You’re terrible as a spy," she stated harshly. "You should’ve sent Viktor."
The smile returned to James’s lips, full of arrogance and amusement.
"He’s not here either. I’m all you’ve got."
"Seems like you're comfortable being the second choice."
James’s chest vibrated with a restrained laugh as he leaned slightly toward her.
"It’s a comfy position, especially if I’m the pack’s beta."
"And you’ve never wanted to be alpha?" Wednesday raised her chin, her eyes silently promising that she could help him get there.
For the first time, James seemed at a loss for words. His eyes widened so much it seemed they might pop out of his head, but the surprise quickly gave way to denial.
"You psychics like to mess with people's heads, don’t you?" he said firmly. "Logan’s like my brother, more than a brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. And Goody—she’s like the alpha of all alphas. You won’t get the support you’re looking for."
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, evaluating his response. Without missing a beat, she launched her next verbal strike.
"Then you stand no chance against Tyler."
James looked at her with curiosity.
"You seem to have a lot of faith in the Hyde."
"I saw him tear someone apart in seconds."
"Was it a werewolf?" James asked, a slight hint of doubt in his voice.
"No, a telepath," Wednesday replied coldly.
James waved dismissively, his face relaxing again.
"Telepaths are like rabbits, easy prey. I assure you, it wouldn’t be the same with one of us."
Wednesday observed him with a mix of frustration and resignation. James’s self-confidence was an impenetrable wall. She lowered her gaze to the pendant she held in her hands, recalling the werewolf’s suggestion. Could she possibly contact Joshua? He’d surely be easier to convince, lacking the layers of pride clouding James’s reason.
She felt a tug in her stomach, a sensation that was becoming increasingly familiar. Her entire body tensed on the bed, and Wednesday gripped Joshua’s pendant tighter. She clung to the dizzying feeling, trying to extend it for as long as she could, just as Joshua had instructed her.
Suddenly, her body was thrown, and she stumbled, landing on the deck of a ship.
The storm rocked everyone from side to side, the waves as large as the sails, threatening to swallow the ship whole at any moment. Wednesday watched the captain, urging them to hold the wheel steady, while sailors ran to follow each command.
"You need to leave."
The deep voice startled her, and Wednesday looked behind her. A tall man with a prominent dark beard passed by her, guiding a woman completely covered by a hood, with a baby in her arms.
Wednesday knew that the child was Joshua.
"I'm not leaving without you."
The man stopped and removed a tarp that was covering a small lifeboat.
"Saoirse, there’s a reason I don’t appear in your visions anymore. It’s this."
"No..."
"Go."
"We promised we'd be together."
"We'll all die if you don't leave," he said, exasperated. He placed the bags he was carrying into the boat and held Joshua one last time. "Save him."
The woman turned her face away, tears filling her eyes.
"Come with us," she pleaded, and the man’s face softened.
He shook his head slowly. The ship gave a violent lurch, and Wednesday grabbed onto the railing to avoid falling into the sea.
"Saoirse, there’s no time left."
She covered her face with her hands in despair, tears blending with the storm.
With his free hand, the man cupped her face and kissed her, a final goodbye. Amid the violent swaying, Saoirse climbed into the boat and held baby Joshua. The man removed his medallion and placed it on the baby.
They looked at each other, and without needing words, Wednesday knew how much they loved each other. She had seen that longing gaze in her own parents, and without their usual theatrics, even Wednesday could recognize that it was moving.
The man stepped back and raised his hands. The ropes holding the lifeboat untied, and the small boat descended gently into the water. Despite the storm, the tiny lifeboat sailed across the sea, and when Wednesday turned back, she saw the tears streaming down the man’s face.
When she opened her eyes, Wednesday felt everything around her shift, as if she were still standing in the middle of a raging storm. It took her a few breaths to organize her surroundings and feel the bed beneath her once again.
She looked down at the pendant in her hands. The stone was a deep blue, with millions of tiny white and golden specks that made it seem like a fragment of the universe. She gripped the stone tighter and thought of Joshua, closing her eyes as her body tensed again.
She returned to the ship, and this time, Wednesday moved away from the couple and inspected the rest of the vessel. She saw a sail tearing and a sailor falling overboard. She repeated the vision over and over until Joshua’s parents’ farewell began to make her nauseous, and every last trace of empathy disappeared.
If anything defined Wednesday, it was her stubbornness, and for the next two days, she persisted with the same task.
James kept visiting her.
He informed her of the arrangements to rescue Tyler and mentioned that it had been agreed that Tyler would be placed in the cave next to hers, so they could become more familiarized. Wednesday threw one of her knives at him, and the werewolf just laughed as he dodged it. She regretted losing that blade—it had been a gift from her father.
"I don’t think this Tyler is as terrible as you say."
"Believe what you want," she said, crossing her arms. "But don’t blame me when he stabs you in the back."
For once, James fell silent and narrowed his eyes at her.
"Is that what he did to you?"
Wednesday’s breath caught in her lungs, blood rushing to her head. She turned and stormed off into the darkness of her cave, her hands clenched so tightly that her own nails cut into her skin.
When James returned, Wednesday didn’t come out. She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched Joshua’s pendant in her hands.
"I just came to say goodbye," James’ voice said. She tried to ignore him. "Your secret is safe with me."
She felt a tug in her stomach that had nothing to do with her visions, and her heart fluttered like a wounded bird.
She heard the werewolf’s footsteps retreat, and as she exhaled slowly, her body went rigid, and Wednesday landed in a dark space.
Wednesday’s ears rang as she looked around the infinite darkness. Slowly, she began to hear sounds, voices from different people. She heard Joshua’s father, Saoirse, and even a baby crying, followed by Joshua’s voice asking her if she’d ever tried this before. All the voices sounded distant and disorganized, and as she focused on one, the dark space began to mold into that vision, but when she concentrated on another, the space seemed to change.
"Wednesday!" she heard suddenly. Loud and clear.
In front of her, Joshua materialized. He smiled, showing his crooked teeth, and his brown eyes observed her with a certain warmth.
The boy took her hand, and Wednesday felt a shock course through her entire body.
A series of images suddenly assaulted her mind: the first time she had seen Tyler behind the coffee machine. His sad smile on the computer screen. His gaze full of admiration at the Raven and his words filling the air, "I knew there's a reason I like you" She saw Tyler wounded by his own claws, smiling at her like no one ever had. She also saw him at the station, his eyes glassy, falsely confessing everything. Wednesday felt the terror of that night again, but also the anger and the pain of betrayal reigniting her spirit.
When she opened her eyes, her entire body was trembling.
Wednesday heard footsteps enter the cave, and then Goody appeared, holding a torch in her hands. Her eyes scanned Wednesday’s chaotic state and quickly landed on the pendant in her hands.
A strange gleam appeared in the witch’s eyes, and for the first time, Wednesday saw her smile.
"Well done," Goody said, stepping closer.
She took the pendant from Wednesday’s hands, letting the stone shine in the torchlight.
"Azurite," Goody said. "It’s an excellent stone for catalyzing psychic powers and communication."
Wednesday inhaled sharply.
"This was your plan."
The witch rolled her eyes.
"If I had told you, you wouldn’t have done it," she said nonchalantly. "Come, it’s time to leave."
Approaching the gates of Jericho, Joshua’s eyes snapped open, and he let out an audible sigh. Viktor smiled without looking back, where the boy had been sleeping next to the bags of fake wolfsbane.
"Are you okay?"
Joshua composed himself and sat next to Viktor at the front of the cart.
"I just saw some really strange things," he said, his eyes wide, "but I know what Tyler looks like now."
Viktor turned to him, his grin widening.
"Right on time."
"Yeah," Joshua’s voice sounded full of doubt, but he returned a faint smile that quickly faded as he turned his gaze forward, with Wednesday’s memories imprinted in his mind and an uncomfortable sensation slowly gnawing at him.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On the first day, Donovan had felt furious.
That afternoon, he had lunch with Tyler at the station. The boy seemed sullen and distracted, but it didn’t surprise him, considering that less than twenty-four hours ago, Tyler had been kidnapped and tortured by the girl he liked—Addams.
When had it occurred to Tyler to fall for her? He had warned him from the beginning.
Now, in retrospect, Donovan wondered if he should have asked something at that moment.
Yes, of course he should have. However, he saw his son lost in his own thoughts and remained silent, just as he had done for the past ten years.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he finally said. “She’s probably on her way to Burlington by now.”
Tyler pressed his lips tightly before lowering his gaze to his food.
“I know,” was all he said before saying goodbye.
What Donovan would give now to know what was going through Tyler’s head at that moment.
Later, Donovan had left to drop off Thorpe somewhere where he could be dealt with. When he returned home that night, Tyler wasn’t there. The Weathervane was closed. He checked his tracking app, and for a second, it showed the location at Raven Island before updating and showing nothing again. He just shook his head, swallowed a curse, and shut his bedroom door.
The next morning, Santiago woke him up with an urgent call from Nevermore. Donovan passed by Tyler’s room and found it empty.
His bed looked the same as it had the night before, and it would remain that way for the following days.
He left for the academy with an awful feeling in his chest.
Upon arrival, it wasn’t Weems who greeted him but Coach Vlad, who took him to the greenhouse where a crowd of curious teenagers gathered while the police surrounded the area with yellow tape.
Donovan felt his heart in his throat as he approached, but he still wasn’t prepared for what he found.
Principal Weems’ body lay there, her eyes dilated, and her lips and tongue blue.
“We haven’t found Ms. Thornhill,” said Coach Vlad behind him in that eerie voice of his. “She’s in charge of the greenhouse.”
Donovan scanned the scene with his eyes and found some blood drops on the floor and nearby, a shovel stained red on one side.
“And Addams? Where is Wednesday Addams?”
Coach Vlad furrowed his brow.
“Weems took her to Burlington. We believe this happened after she returned.”
“I want to know if this blood belongs to Larissa Weems,” he told the forensic team before leaving, but he already knew it didn’t. The former principal didn’t have any injuries on her body. “And find that Marylin Thornhill immediately.”
That day, he called Tyler over thirty times, searched for him at the high school, at the Weathervane, and at home.
No one had seen him.
That night, Donovan came home early and sat at the dining table, waiting for the front door to open at any moment and for Tyler to come out with some bitter comment about eating as a family. He squeezed the beer can in his hands, his brow furrowed in a hard, angry expression.
He was still angry, but above all, he was worried.
The third day was even more unsettling. The DNA results from the blood came back negative. He called the Addams family to locate Wednesday and was informed that she still hadn’t arrived home.
“My little murderess,” said Gomez on the phone, his voice touched. “She warned us from the first day she arrived at Nevermore. The family is already informed. If she contacts any of us, we’ll let you know immediately.”
Donovan hung up and brought his hands to his head in frustration. Immediately, he ordered the blood to be tested for Wednesday and, much to his dismay, Tyler.
His stomach dropped as he said it out loud.
The new forensic technician didn’t understand the order until Donovan issued a missing person alert.
An hour later, they sent him a report informing him that Larissa Weems had died from nightshade poisoning.
That name resonated in Donovan’s mind, and he went straight to the Garrett Gates files to confirm his suspicions.
The Gates family again, but they were all dead... or were they?
He remembered Wednesday accusing Dr. Kinbott of being Laurel Gates.
Questions piled up in his head, and Donovan wiped the murder board clean, placing Tyler’s name at the center, then Wednesday’s, and finally, Weems’.
He didn’t know how, but he had a gut feeling that they were all connected.
That afternoon, they informed him that Wednesday’s suitcase had been found in Weems’ car, and the Burlington station cameras confirmed that the car had never come close to the station. They were sure Wednesday hadn’t left Jericho that day.
He stared at the board in front of him.
Could Addams have killed Weems? Or had she escaped from the principal before leaving town? In that case, it could explain why they hadn’t reached their destination. Weems might have returned for her.
What reason could Wednesday have had to run away?
His eyes fixed again on Tyler’s name.
He swallowed hard and drew an arrow from her name to his. "Revenge?" he wrote.
He sent a group of officers to search the principal’s office and Wednesday’s room for any clues.
Nothing.
When Nevermore’s board finally approved the start of interrogations, things began to get more complicated.
“During the first week, Wednesday was planning to escape with Tyler’s help,” said Enid. “I had my doubts about him, you know, because of the incident with Xavier last year, but I think Tyler really liked Wednesday, and she liked him too.”
Donovan couldn’t help but scoff.
“She kidnapped and tortured him,” he said.
“I know, but before that, Wednesday went to see him at the Weathervane after their interrupted date, and she didn’t intend to kidnap him then.”
Donovan growled.
“What if they decided to run away again?” Santiago vocalized a question Donovan didn’t want to consider.
Was that why Tyler had been acting so strange? Was he planning to follow Wednesday? After she had tortured him?
Despite the rumors of a romantic escape between a normie and an outcast that began circulating thanks to Enid Sinclair’s blog, Donovan wasn’t really convinced.
On his board, he drew another arrow from Tyler to Wednesday.
Next to Larissa’s name, he added "Nightshade" and "Laurel Gates."
He let out a frustrated grunt; nothing made sense.
That night, Donovan didn’t sleep. He drove home every hour, and as soon as he saw the lights off, he returned to the station. The officers looked at him with worried faces, and no one interrupted him with another case. Addicts, fights, dismemberments... everything could wait at that moment.
Things got worse when the DNA report confirmed that the blood belonged to Wednesday Addams.
And a new question arose...
If Wednesday never reached Burlington, where did she meet Tyler?
On the fourth day, the town was filled with missing person posters, and the news kept repeating Tyler’s name. His face haunted Donovan at every corner, reminding him of the terrible father he had always been.
Ironically, Donovan had taken refuge at home.
The place was even colder than before. The music Tyler used to play at full volume when he was angry was no longer heard, and the faint smell of food he used to cook was no longer present. He looked at a blue sweater hanging on the coat rack, raised his hand, and as soon as he moved it, Tyler’s scent stirred, and for as long as it took to inhale, the house came to life.
Donovan’s face twisted with the tears he couldn’t shed.
Santiago called. The Addams family had arrived.
The sheriff entered his office with his head down, sat across from the three Addams, and removed his hat.
Gomez seemed curious, even relaxed. He was reclining in his chair, caressing his wife’s hand. Morticia appeared more cautious, with that perfect posture that Wednesday had inherited and a gaze that conveyed she knew more than anyone. The youngest, on the other hand, looked almost distressed and confused.
Donovan let out a deep sigh and explained the disappearance.
“Oh!” Gomez exclaimed, touched. “A romantic elopement. Passion always runs through an Addams’ blood.”
Donovan rolled his eyes as the couple detailed the many times Gomez had “kidnapped” Morticia.
But Wednesday’s parents hadn’t seen the broken, fearful expression on Tyler’s face, nor did they know how vengeful and aggressive their son could be. If Donovan was sure of anything, it was that if Tyler had gone after her, it wasn’t for a romantic escape. Not after what she had done to him.
“So…” Morticia said, choosing her words carefully once he had finished reporting everything he knew, “my daughter believed your son was some sort of monster. What evidence did she have?”
With that question, Donovan’s throat tightened, and he looked away for a moment. For ten years, he had avoided talking about that topic, and now he had to face it with two complete strangers.
“Tyler’s mother… she studied at Nevermore,” the Addams’ surprise was almost comical. “Françoise.”
“I remember her,” Morticia responded in a dreamy tone. “She was very shy. What was she?”
“A Hyde. But Tyler… he’s never shown anything that suggests… he isn’t one. He’s a bit troublesome, but he’s a good kid. He couldn’t have…”
The words caught in his throat. Saying it would make it more real, and he couldn’t lose him too.
“Sheriff, what do you know about Hydes?”
The calm demeanor of Morticia had disappeared, and along with the condescending tone of her voice, it had set off all his alarms.
“Not much,” he confessed. “Fran didn’t tell me much. She assured me there was little chance that Tyler would inherit her condition. The doctors said the same.” He let out a deep sigh, and his gaze drifted to the window. “I remember she would go into the woods for days and come back injured. She had those mood swings… sometimes, she seemed like a completely different person.”
“The Hydes are horrendously magnificent creatures,” Gomez leaned in toward him, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Now I understand why Wednesday was so fascinated by him.”
“Mon chéri, I don’t think that’s the case,” Morticia responded coolly.
“Tish, since when has being a bloodthirsty beast stopped two people in love? If anything, it only stokes the flames of passion, wouldn’t you agree, Sheriff?” Donovan nearly choked. “Our little viper would never hurt Tyler just for being a Hyde.”
“No,” Morticia agreed, her head tilting elegantly. “Unless there’s another reason you haven’t mentioned yet, Sheriff.”
Donovan felt his heart in his throat.
Tyler was his son... his only son.
After the interview with the Addamses and the disheartening conversation about how the chances of finding the kids alive were steadily diminishing, Donovan took Elvis and walked through the woods. Other teams had already scoured the area, but he kept going, heading toward the spot the tracking app had shown him briefly. He knew he was nearing Nevermore’s grounds when Elvis caught a scent and bolted forward. Donovan ran after him, his chest tightening in pain. The dog stopped in front of Crackstone’s crypt, and Donovan entered cautiously.
His eyes widened as he realized what someone had tried to do there. The floor was cracked in the middle, thousands of extinguished candles spread across the ground, and chains with shackles dangled from the ceiling. Beneath them was a bloodstain. The crypt was filled with the stench of decay, and Donovan found the missing organs from the victims in the woods, scattered in various states of decomposition.
He felt bile rise in his throat, but all he did was cover his face with his hand.
Walking carefully, he discovered a heavy black book: The Book of Shadows.
“Santiago, I need you to send a team to Crackstone’s crypt immediately,” he said into his radio.
“Right away, sir. But you need to return to the station. We have a new witness.”
Eugene Ottinger, the boy who had survived the monster’s attack, recounted that Wednesday and Weems had come to the hospital to say goodbye. He also mentioned the cave, the shackles, and the person he had seen leaving—Marilyn Thornhill.
That night, Donovan gathered all the evidence and sat at a table at the Weathervane. Strangely, he felt closer to Tyler in that place. He could pretend that the boy in the red apron glancing at him from the corner of his eye was his son, and that Tyler wasn’t missing—that his photo on the bulletin board was there because he was employee of the month, not because it was above the words “Have you seen him?”
It was on the fourth night since Tyler’s disappearance that Donovan Galpin finally understood what the mayor had meant with the last message he sent before his accident.
Laurel Gates hadn’t died.
Laurel Gates was Marilyn Thornhill.
Notes:
Trying to make sense of the Hyde inheritance with the limited information we have, I decided to treat it as a recessive mutation. Therefore, the gene would only be expressed when both parents carry it. This is why the likelihood of Tyler being a Hyde was low or practically nonexistent if the mutation only existed in Françoise. In that case, he would simply be a carrier.
Is the only way i find that this make sense to Donovan did not have a clue about Tyler being the monster.Yes, I really like genetics.
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
At the end of that day, the full moon would rise.
It was almost unreal to think that he had been trapped in old Jericho for a month, living alongside pilgrims in an open war against the outcasts. And there he was, the most dangerous of all the monsters, sharpening a knife with which he planned to hunt down a werewolf.
It was silver, according to what Cole had said.
In recent days, Cole Crackstone had gotten very close to him, and although that had been Tyler's intention from the beginning, he couldn't deny that now it filled him with deep distrust.
Just recalling the agonized tone of Laurel’s voice made the Hyde inside him go on alert, his heart race, and his body tense, ready to receive an order.
The part of him that still owed blind obedience to Laurel wanted to seek her out; the part of him that remembered everything that woman had forced him to do wanted to run far away.
But Tyler knew he had to be smarter than that.
If they had Laurel, it was only a matter of time before they got to him. So, with more urgency than before, Tyler had to win Cole's trust and convince him to kill her before she could give him a new order.
The forest was completely silent, only the sound of metal against stone traveled through the trees. He had been sitting on that old stump for about half an hour. He hoped that time would be more than enough to shake off anyone who might be following him.
He raised the knife to examine it, and with its reflection, he scanned the surroundings.
Maybe he was starting to become a little paranoid, but he had no other choice.
Tyler stood up, stretched his back, and began to walk without any apparent destination.
In recent days, even before Abigail’s rescue, Tyler had made sure to visit that area during the dead of night. He didn’t want to be linked to the old meeting house for any reason, but there he was again, risking his survival for a complete stranger.
He still wasn’t sure of his plan, but if something happened that night, he couldn’t leave Abigail alone and locked in a cave. If he fell, no one else had to fall.
Tyler reached the old meeting house and put the knife away in a leather sheath.
Wren was waiting for him, hidden in a corner. She smiled in relief upon seeing him.
"I brought everything you asked for," she said, showing a basket.
She was nervous. The Hyde part of Tyler could feel it, and at that moment, she was the perfect prey. Tyler's own nervousness made the Hyde rise to the surface.
Instead of doing what he really wanted to, Tyler smiled at her and led her to the tunnel entrance.
They descended and walked in total darkness. Wren's steps were clumsy, echoing, and she tripped every two or three steps. Her physical condition wasn’t great, evident by the heavy way she breathed during the walk, and there was a faint smell of garlic around her that would give her away to any predator…
Like a Hyde.
Like him.
Tyler cracked his knuckles, pretending to release the tension from the hunt that was starting to consume him as he realized Wren was perfect prey. His muscles were tense as if that could prevent his body from transforming into the monster.
"But she’s not my prey, she’s my ally," he kept repeating to himself.
Finally, Tyler moved the stone from the entrance of the cave, and the warmth of a fire pushed away the dampness of the tunnels.
Tyler stepped aside, and Wren gestured behind him.
"Abigail," she said in a whisper. The girl ran and dropped down next to the makeshift bed where Abigail was lying.
Tyler half-smiled as he watched them, and something stirred inside him.
During the time he was held captive by Laurel in that cave, Tyler had often imagined that someone would appear at the entrance, run towards him, call out to him, and assure him that everything would be okay. Most of the time, he imagined it was his father, but sometimes he thought of his old friends: Lucas, Jonah, or Carter; or deputy Santiago, who had always been kind to him. At some point, it didn’t matter who it was—he would have been happy even if it had been Xavier Thorpe.
But no one ever came, and after that, nothing was okay.
Tyler had given up, surrendered, and let his will be taken by Laurel, because he knew he was alone and no one would care for him.
Abigail's red eyes found his, and Tyler could see the shimmer of tears and gratitude in them. The girl smiled at him for the first time. Tyler lowered his gaze, feeling his throat tighten and his own eyes sting.
God, if someone had done that for him...
"Tyler, come here," Wren said, more cheerful than Tyler had ever seen her. Her fearful eyes and controlled face had broken into complete happiness, and for the first time in that month, Tyler noticed the energy and youth the fifteen-year-old girl should have. "I brought something to eat."
The smell of an apple tart made his stomach growl, and his mouth watered.
Tyler approached them and helped Abigail sit up.
"I know it's your favorite," Wren said, locking eyes with the other girl.
She stuck a knife into the pie, and the apple filling oozed out as slowly as blood leaving a body.
Tyler didn’t linger long with the girls. It was an important day, and his absence wouldn’t go unnoticed. He stocked up on firewood and filled the water pitchers before saying goodbye to them. Wren would help treat the wounds the sun had caused on Abigail. The girl had only allowed Tyler to touch her bare arms and feet, but he knew she had injuries beneath the tattered dress. Wren had also brought some of her own dresses, though they would be too short for her.
He crossed the streets of old Jericho. The tension in the air was palpable, and Tyler felt infected by the same nervousness. Since Abigail’s escape, the whole town seemed to be holding its breath; the occasional laughter had disappeared, the children no longer screamed as they played, and every time Crackstone walked the streets, nervous gazes followed him.
Tyler knew that all that chaotic energy wasn’t doing him any good. His Hyde-heightened senses detected it, and Tyler knew he was reaching his limit. He had to get rid of that pent-up energy somehow, or he’d end up transforming at the slightest temptation.
He arrived at the market stall just in time to help Jonathan untie the curtains. As always, Tyler took care of the heavier tasks while the old man adjusted his apron, the money, and checked the vegetables for sale. Tyler went to the back to ensure the sacks were free of any animals and brought a few to the front.
The morning passed slowly, and every time someone passed by, they wished them luck for that night, almost as if it were a kind of farewell. Tyler couldn’t help but ask how many people died in those Crackstone hunts.
He was chatting with one of his regular customers when the sound of a cart caught his attention. It wasn't unusual, but it was the reaction of the people that piqued his curiosity. A slight wave of relief seemed to wash over the village, and Tyler even saw some daring to smile.
Two men sat at the front of the cart. The older one had straight brown hair and a sharp face; the younger one didn’t seem familiar, his hair was wavy blonde, and his features were more square but still showed his youth.
It was the younger man who noticed Tyler’s curious gaze among the crowd, and a look of surprise crossed his face. Tyler frowned in confusion, sure he had never seen this boy before. The uncomfortable, familiar weight of uncertainty settled in his stomach, and he quickly turned and slipped to the back of the store.
In the cart, Joshua turned to face forward. Crackstone's headquarters was just a few meters away, and the pilgrim came out to greet them.
“You must return soon,” he murmured hurriedly.
Viktor turned, confused, but before they could continue talking, they were already in front of Crackstone and his entourage.
"I thought you wouldn't make it in time," said the pilgrim, his beady eyes fixed on the sacks they were carrying.
"The roads are in terrible shape," Viktor replied, stepping off the cart and tipping his hat to Crackstone and his men. "We had to move slowly to avoid losing a sack."
He patted the nearest, and a pungent smell filled the air. Crackstone let out a deep sigh and then smiled. He opened one of the sacks, and long green plants with yellow flowers were revealed.
With a nod, a pair of men began unloading the sacks. Joshua helped too, passing them one by one.
“Come with me; I'll explain the plan.”
Crackstone put an arm around Viktor's shoulders, and they started walking back to the town hall. Joshua glanced over his shoulder, but the unknown boy at the vegetable stand had disappeared. He finished passing the sacks, took the reins of the horses, and headed to Viktor's old house.
He carried on with his usual tasks. He knew how important it was to maintain a routine in Jericho—he never knew when someone might be watching—so he removed the reins from the horses, placed water and hay for them, and then retrieved the small bag containing his clothes. He stopped at the entrance to the house and looked at the garlic cloves hanging from the door. He lowered his face to hide the smile creeping across his lips and couldn’t help but think how much Elara and Dan would laugh seeing that.
A thin layer of dust covered the inside of the house. Joshua set his bag on a square table and started lighting the fireplace so the place would warm up, chasing away the increasingly bitter end-of-year cold. Then, he filled the jugs with water from the well and washed his face.
Finally, Joshua went outside and began walking through the village. He lingered at the market, but when he arrived at the Castell vegetable stand, the new boy had disappeared. He sighed in frustration and kept wandering around, hoping to find him, but the boy seemed to have vanished into thin air. Knowing where he could get the information he sought, Joshua walked to the outskirts of the village, where the tavern stood, holding all of Jericho’s dirty secrets.
The place was packed, but a heavy atmosphere hung over all the tables. Joshua looked at the grim faces of the men who that night would march with the intent of killing his friends. His stomach churned, and he wished he could do more to end this war quickly.
"But look who brought the full moon," Hyacinth greeted him with a smile and sat down next to him. "If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you're a werewolf."
"You're going to get me stabbed in the chest," he replied, alarmed by the girl's words, but no one seemed to be paying attention.
Hyacinth laughed.
"You're Viktor's protégé; it's more likely they'll hang me before they touch you."
"I'm still an outsider, and we know how little he trust us."
"I'm sorry to tell you that you've lost that title," Hyacinth added with an intense look. "things like that happen when you're gone for too long."
“I noticed. I thought I saw a new face at the market.”
Joshua leaned closer and lowered his voice slightly. His hand rested briefly on the girl’s leg under the table, and when he pulled it back, he left several coins that she quickly hid beneath her apron.
"His name is Tyler Galpin, and he's been handed over to the Castells, for now."
Joshua couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise. So, he had recognized him correctly.
"For now?"
Hyacinth nodded.
"He's making a good place for himself here. I'm sure Crackstone will reward him soon, before the Castells try to take him for Wren."
“You sound very impressed with this boy,” Joshua replied with a crooked smile, and she shrugged.
“I’ve had the pleasure of knowing him… quite well.”
Joshua studied the girl's face and couldn’t help but think of the memories Wednesday had shown him. He frowned.
"Hyacinth, maybe you should be more careful."
She rolled her eyes.
“See? That’s why no one suspects you. You’re just like everyone in Jericho.” Hyacinth let out a deep sigh and glanced around the tavern. “Why don’t you tell me my future?”
Joshua’s eyes widened.
"Do you really want to end up in a dungeon today?"
"It's just a silly game," she complained, "everyone knows that."
"Crackstone doesn’t like those games."
"Every day you get more boring, Joshua."
With a deep sigh, the boy extended his right hand over the table.
"What do you want to know?"
Hyacinth smiled.
"Am I going to get married?"
Joshua looked at her, his eyes wide open.
"To Galpin?"
She shrugged again, and it was clear she was struggling to suppress a smile. Hyacinth placed her hand on his, and for a moment, Joshua saw a clear image in his mind. Blood—lots of blood—covered the girl’s legs and abdomen, soaking the mattress she was lying on.
He looked at Hyacinth's expectant face and blinked a few times before remembering that she was waiting for an answer.
Joshua cleared his throat.
“Yes, you will marry and become a respected lady of Jericho.”
She laughed and quickly withdrew her hand.
"You're a liar."
The tavern door opened, and Hyacinth stood up. Her eyes lit up, and a wide smile spread across her lips.
“Tyler!”
The boy gave a more restrained smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and for a second, his gaze shifted to Joshua before returning to the girl.
"I was thinking you wouldn’t come today."
"From what I’ve heard, this might be the last time I come."
Hyacinth's joy vanished immediately as she remembered the grim event that would take place that night. She shook her head and then looked at Joshua, quickly introducing them.
Joshua could feel Tyler’s assessing gaze as it swept over him from head to toe. He smiled kindly at him before Tyler walked off with the girl to a more secluded table. Joshua had seen him in Wednesday's mind—his pleasing smiles but also his threatening, resentful look—and couldn’t help but wonder who this boy really was, the one who had managed to fool everyone in the village. He frowned as he thought about all the warnings Wednesday had given them.
It wasn’t until night fell over Jericho that Viktor entered the cabin where Joshua waited impatiently.
“What are you doing here?” Viktor said as he walked in, looking at him, puzzled. “Everyone’s already at the square.”
“I found Tyler,” Joshua said, approaching. "He’s fooled everyone and has been taken in by the Castells."
Viktor stopped and looked up, completely perplexed.
“Seems he’s as clever as Wednesday said.”
“And I hope that’s the only thing she’s right about,” Joshua responded quickly. “We need to inform the others.”
"Why don’t you contact her through the pendant?"
"I tried all afternoon; I think she doesn’t have it anymore."
Viktor frowned and pursed his lips.
“It’s too late to leave Jericho; the first groups are already advancing into the forest.”
They looked at each other for a moment, and Joshua waited impatiently for instructions.
“We’ll have to do it during the battle,” Viktor murmured, almost to himself. “I’ll go get Logan—they’ll need to support here if we’re going to take the boy with us. You go inform James.”
Viktor handed him a bag with the fake wolfsbane that everyone carried, and with a nod, they left the cabin to start the hunt.
Wednesday watched the full, bright moon rise in the sky before the heavy stone of the cave blocked the entrance, leaving them in complete darkness.
They had climbed to the top of the mountain, walking for hours until her feet began to ache and her legs trembled. A complaint from physical exertion would never leave Wednesday's lips, but she had no intention of hiding her displeasure from the werewolves who walked near her at all times. The only thing missing was a pair of shackles on her wrists to complete the farce of her voluntary cooperation.
Goody had left her no other choice, as usual, claiming that Wednesday's knowledge of magic was too limited and that she needed to familiarize herself before attempting a spell that would return her to her own time.
Wednesday had wanted to protest, feeling offended. Her grandmother had been diligent in that regard, but Goody, as always, rejected whatever she had to say.
She had thought that once out of the cave, she could easily escape, reach Jericho, and take care of Tyler before they had him sleeping just a few meters away from her. However, as soon as she crossed the magical barrier, the wolves surrounded her as if waiting for the slightest order to tear her apart.
It wasn't until they reached the mountain's summit and all the women of the party entered the cave that the werewolves took a step back and kept watch.
Goody snapped her fingers, and a series of torches ignited, forming a wide circle that bathed every corner in its golden light. They brought Katherine to the center, and Goody began drawing a circle of salt around her. Then, she took the small chicken hearts that Wednesday had decapitated and tossed them one by one into the flames while murmuring words impossible to hear. Each torch Goody passed caused the flames to rise toward the cave's ceiling, and soon the atmosphere inside became stifling.
Finally, Goody pulled out an old knife made of black stone, and by its gleam, Wednesday knew it was obsidian. Her fingers traveled to the necklace her mother had given her, and a strange feeling settled in her cold heart. She recalled the almost caress of their last farewell and her mother's words of warning about Goody.
The witch passed in front of each of the women, making a small cut on both of their palms.
"Hold hands," she ordered.
Everyone obeyed.
Wednesday felt her blood mix with that of the banshee on her right and the siren on her left. Now she noticed that there was a woman of each species forming the circle.
Elara, the vampire, entered the circle. First, she placed a bowl of warm water and blankets at the feet of the wolf, then went to sit behind her, holding her arms and forcing her to recline. The wolf hissed, her face growing pale as a contraction indicated the start of labor.
Goody walked around the circle, giving instructions in the same manner a general would rally their troops.
"Under no circumstances should you stop the chant; it is the magic within you that will prevent Katherine's transformation tonight."
Everyone nodded.
The witch took her pitcher of blood, drew a rune on each of their foreheads, and lastly passed her fingers over Katherine's forehead. The symbol glowed on each of them, and Wednesday felt the heat emanating from it, resonating with the necklace on her chest, burning her.
Katherine let out a small cry, and between her spread legs, a clear liquid emerged.
"Now," Goody instructed, sitting in front of Katherine and spreading her legs even more.
The women began their soft chant, and as their voices grew louder, the flames of the torches strengthened.
Siste tempus, benedic vitam...
Siste tempus, benedic vitam...
Siste tempus, benedic vitam...
The wolves' howls outside joined theirs, blood dripped drop by drop, marking each second, and Katherine screamed and writhed. Her back arched, her eyes turned yellow, her fangs grew, her body was drenched in sweat, and the agonizing hours of labor were just beginning.
Tyler looked up at the big, bright moon rising overhead, bathing the forest in its cold silver light. The faces of the pilgrims appeared tense and ghostly, and everyone seemed to hold their breath at the same time.
Tyler glanced around, his eyes wide open. They moved in small groups of five: one person at each end holding a torch, three in the middle with weapons drawn. They took soft, slow steps, avoiding the crunch of branches and leaves scattered everywhere. Any shadow in the darkness made Tyler's heart jump. It wasn’t fear of death, of course not—Tyler knew that in the worst-case scenario, he could always transform and kill whatever stood in his way. His anxiety was precisely of losing control and revealing his nature in the midst of hundreds of armed pilgrims. The fear hanging in the air was intoxicating, and Tyler could feel the powerful sensation of taking a life with his claws flooding his veins with adrenaline.
The urge to kill was once again building inside him in an overwhelming way. That afternoon, he had visited Hyacinth intending to relieve some of the tension he hadn’t been able to shake on his own, and it had worked... for a moment, but the girl’s caresses didn’t seem enough to quell the Hyde's instinct.
Tyler let out a deep sigh and looked at Cole beside him.
The man gestured with his head, and the group began moving again.
They heard a howl in the distance.
Tyler felt the hairs on his arms stand up, a chill running down his spine. Then everything happened both very fast and very slow at the same time. They heard the terrifying scream from one of the nearby groups, and before he realized it, Tyler was thrown to the ground, dirt in his mouth, his knife knocked from his hands.
He heard the growl of one of the beasts near him, and lifting his head, he saw the massive animal cornering Cole.
"No", he thought.
Cole was his ticket to getting rid of Laurel, and more importantly, if anything happened to him under his watch, Tyler knew all fingers would point at him.
That night he had two main objectives: to earn Crackstone's trust and to capture an outcast for Thanksgiving.
He got up, grabbing the knife in the process, and with a growl, he clung to the wolf’s back, gripping it by the neck and pulling its jaws away from Crackstone’s fascist heir.
It was a large, adult wolf with sleek black fur and enormous green eyes. With overwhelming ease, the wolf threw him to the ground again, and Tyler quickly stood up, raising his silver knife between them.
A metallic taste filled his mouth, and Tyler spat without taking his eyes off the werewolf.
The wolf growled, baring its fangs.
For a moment, Tyler glanced at Cole, who was still behind the wolf, completely stunned, and he had the urge to smirk in smug satisfaction but held back, knowing that every one of his actions would be scrutinized.
He hoped that saving the pilgrim heir’s life would secure him a place in Crackstone’s inner circle. Quid pro quo.
Having accomplished the first step of his plan, Tyler could focus on the second: capturing an outcast.
The entire forest had turned into pandemonium. Pilgrims screamed and ran, wolves leaped on them and then disappeared back into the shadows.
The wolf in front of Tyler growled, and the boy's attention snapped back to it. He rolled on the ground to dodge the attack and swung his knife, tearing through the sleek black fur and drawing a painful howl from the beast.
Tyler wasn’t sure if it was his Hyde instincts manifesting even in human form or the irrational number of action movies he had watched in his life, but somehow he knew what to do—how to move, how to land.
And confidence began to inflate his ego.
The wolf’s fur bristled like an angry cat’s.
“What?” he said with a mocking smile. “You gonna come for me?”
Tyler turned and ran toward the darkest part of the forest.
“Tyler, no!” he heard someone shout, but he didn’t stop to find out whose voice it was; he just kept running until he was far away from everyone.
The ground seemed to tremble beneath Wednesday’s feet as her mouth repeated the incantation like an automaton. She could feel sweat sliding down her face and neck, the blood dripping from her fingertip, and the pain in her throat after hours of chanting without pause.
She tried to keep her lips shut, to release the bind on her hands, to take a step back and break the circle, but her mind went blank, and before she knew it, she was chanting the incantation once again.
Wednesday felt herself sway, and for a second, she closed her eyes, sinking into the darkness.
Katherine’s piercing scream snapped her eyes open again, though she wasn’t sure if only a minute had passed or ten.
Her consciousness seemed to want to drift away to a place she didn’t recognize. She fought to stay present with every fiber of her being. She looked at the other women in the circle, who seemed to be in the same catatonic state as she was—some with their eyes rolled back, others with their heads tilted back.
The incantation hung in the air like a poisonous morning fog, and Wednesday wondered if they were the ones casting the spell or if they had been drawn into it.
Meanwhile, her lips kept moving.
Blood dripped from her hands, and the earth eagerly absorbed it.
The symbol on her forehead glowed, and the flames rose higher and higher.
Wednesday looked at Katherine, her skin slick with sweat, her face twisted in agony. She screamed and cursed, her eyes reflecting the fire of the frenzied torches. The ecstasy of her pain was overwhelming and hypnotic, almost felt as if it were Wednesday’s own. Finally, drained of strength, Wednesday closed her eyes, joining the others.
The medallion on her chest burned fiercely. Her back went rigid, her head jerked backward violently, and she felt that familiar tug in her stomach that always transported her into a vision. However, instead of opening her eyes, Wednesday clenched them tighter as a pain she had never felt before seemed to split her body in two. Her head spun, numb, and she heard soft voices urging her to wake. She barely had time to catch her breath before another lash of pain arched her back and forced her to clench her teeth.
Vaguely, she wondered what kind of torture could cause such exquisite and brutal pain.
Euphoria flooded her, and she wanted to laugh and cry uncontrollably.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Wednesday felt her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hands and legs trembling, and a thin layer of cold sweat beading on her face.
Then she heard a distant, high-pitched cry, and her heart leaped, trying to escape her chest.
When Wednesday opened her eyes, she saw Goody lifting the newborn, wrapped in blood and amniotic fluid. Her black heart began to beat frantically.
Tyler could feel his heart pounding in his ears. His veins throbbed, and that predatory instinct filled him with a euphoria that threatened to cloud his mind.
But Tyler had a plan, and he intended to follow it to the letter.
Now that he had already impressed Cole, there was no need to keep the fight in plain view, especially if he wanted to make sure he caught an outcast.
Tyler glanced over his shoulder and saw the wolf’s green eyes shining in the dark. He spun suddenly and began running in a different direction. He heard the wolf’s frustrated growl, and a tree creaked under the beast’s claws.
It wasn’t personal, really it wasn’t. Tyler liked werewolves as much as any other outcast—which wasn’t much—but that one had just been unlucky enough to attack first. It was cruel, even for him, to have to capture someone just to fill the spot Abigail had left when she was freed, but Tyler had no other choice. His sudden sense of justice wasn’t noble enough to offer himself up instead.
What was done was done, and now he had to fix the problems that his momentary generosity had caused.
His steps echoed erratically, his lungs burned from the effort, and suddenly, Tyler felt a claw rake across his back, tearing through his shirt and skin. The scream ripped from his throat, straining his vocal cords. The cold wind stung the fresh wounds, and a growl rumbled in his chest.
The werewolf lunged at him again, knocking him to the ground, snapping its teeth dangerously close to his face. Tyler managed to kick the wound he had already opened with his knife, and the wolf whimpered, retreating.
It bared its sharp fangs and leaped at Tyler again. He rolled on the ground and slashed with the knife, wounding one of its paws.
Angry, the beast rose on its hind legs. Tyler swallowed hard and tried to run toward the trap he had set, just a few meters away. Once there, he would catch it and just have to wait for the moon to set and the beast to turn human again.
The wolf charged again, slamming him against a tree trunk. Tyler’s world shook, bile rose in his throat, and the animal’s putrid breath hit his face. Tyler remembered the bag of aconite hanging at his waist and quickly pulled out a handful, shoving it into the wolf’s open jaws.
He knew it should burn the wolf’s skin, weaken it, and, if the dose was high enough, turn it back into a human. If Jericho High School had done anything right in its failed attempt to bridge the gap between outcasts and normies, it was teaching them the characteristics of every outcast species living at Nevermore.
But what was supposed to happen didn’t, and Tyler had a terrible moment of hesitation due to the confusion.
The werewolf grew even angrier, raising its right paw. Tyler tried to dodge it, but the claws tore into his left leg. The animal clamped its paws around his ankle and threw him like a rag doll.
Tyler bounced against the ground. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and his mouth filled with blood. His leg turned to jelly, and the pain exploded in his ears, ringing sharply, blinding his vision and his mind.
"James, no! It’s Tyler. The Hyde!"
Someone was shouting nearby, but Tyler didn’t care.
The wolf leaped on top of him, and Tyler raised his hand. Not the one holding the useless silver knife, no. Tyler raised his other hand, the one where each finger had turned into a sharp claw that pierced through the wolf’s fur and drenched him in hot, viscous blood.
The wolf howled in pain, locking eyes with him.
Tyler pulled his hand out of the animal’s chest with an obscene sound.
For a moment, they stared at each other. The beast’s hot breath hit Tyler’s face. Slowly, the animal grew smaller, its fur dissolving, and Tyler found himself beneath a boy with green eyes and dark hair.
The boy coughed up blood, splattering it across Tyler’s face.
"James!"
Tyler recognized the blonde man from the tavern running toward them, and he watched as he cradled James in his arms.
"No, James," Tyler heard him moan, pressing his hands against the wound on James’s abdomen as if that could stop the blood from leaving his body.
Tyler crawled away from them. His whole body trembled, and the knife fell from his hands.
He hadn’t meant to kill him. He had wanted to capture him, and part of him knew they would have killed him anyway, but still…
He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched the life drain from James’s eyes, and the weight of guilt fell heavily on his shoulders.
Despite making Wednesday believe he enjoyed every death he had caused, the truth was that he was barely aware of them. It felt more like a dream—or a distant nightmare. What he remembered was the intoxicating taste of adrenaline and victory, but he hadn’t told her that afterward came guilt and remorse, which he hid by saying it was the Hyde, not him—not Tyler.
This was the first time Tyler had killed with his fully human conscience.
"I didn’t mean to..." he tried to say quickly, but Joshua’s devastated gaze silenced him. More footsteps sounded, and Tyler saw three wolves approaching him.
Joshua laid the dying body on the back of one of the wolves, and they all heard more footsteps rapidly approaching.
The wolves growled at him but didn’t attack, and when the rest of the pilgrims arrived, the beasts fled, taking Joshua with them.
"He killed one!" someone shouted. "He killed one!"
Cheers and whistles broke the night’s tension. The pilgrims crowded around him, and Cole approached with a huge grin on his face.
"Well done," he said, offering Tyler his hand and helping him to his feet.
His broken ankle sent a sharp surge of pain through him, and just before he lost consciousness, Tyler heard the distant, mournful howl of the wolves.
Notes:
This is the last chapter that I had previously done. The next updates will not be weekly.
Thanks for reading and commenting.
Chapter 15
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Notes:
The drink of milk, egg and brandy is known in my country as punch, it is traditionally drunk in the winter season and around Christmas. It is delicious, although it is not described that way.
Chapter Text
What Tyler remembered most was the pain.
So much pain.
He also remembered the blood all over his face and the twisted expression of the boy he had killed. Whether awake or unconscious, those empty green eyes seemed to follow him everywhere.
He had come to while being carried through the forest, only to pass out again almost immediately. Later, he awoke at the outskirts of Jericho, jolted by the commotion of people, falling to the ground as if his leg had shattered again. His agonized scream silenced the crowd. Finally, he opened his eyes in a makeshift local infirmary, where they had placed him on one of the beds.
Then everything became chaos.
Women stormed in, bringing hot water and bandages for the injured. The two overwhelmed doctors jumped from one patient to another.
“Help him!” Jonathan shouted, his pleas falling on deaf ears.
Tyler glanced down at his ankle, red and swollen, then shut his eyes tightly. His breathing was shallow, and a cold sweat drenched his entire body. A sharp pain shot through his leg as though a red-hot iron was piercing his bone. He tried to scream, but only a strangled whimper escaped. His eyes welled up, and his vision blurred.
Suddenly, Crackstone and Cole burst into the room, a whirlwind of arrogance. They strode across the floor until they stood at the foot of Tyler’s bed. If the pain weren’t clouding his mind, perhaps Tyler would have worried about their arrival or analyzed every gesture they made. But at that moment, all he could do was writhe in agony and grit his teeth.
Cole grabbed one of the doctors by the collar and dragged him to Tyler’s bedside.
“Treat him,” he ordered.
The doctor paled and nodded quickly. He cut away what was left of Tyler’s pants, calling for a nurse as he began cleaning the area. Exposing the wound, he brushed the most swollen part, and Tyler hissed through his teeth. His foot was bent at an unnatural angle.
“We’ll have to amputate,” the doctor said. “Bring the saw.”
Tyler’s eyes flew open wide.
“No,” he growled, trying to sit up, but the doctor pushed him back down.
“The wound is too deep and infected.” The doctor ripped Tyler’s pants further up, past his calf.
Tyler’s stomach plummeted as the nurse placed the saw on the worktable.
Without realizing it, Tyler grabbed the so-called doctor by the shirt and yanked him down.
“You cut anything off me, and I’ll kill you,” he snarled through clenched teeth. The man went pale, his eyes darting nervously toward Crackstone and Cole, who watched the scene unfold with amusement.
“He could die,” the doctor explained to the reverend, but Tyler shook him by the collar, reminding him where the real threat was.
A low growl rumbled in Tyler’s throat, and his expression must have conveyed exactly what he intended because the doctor swallowed hard.
“You want to cripple our hero?” Cole asked in a low, dangerous tone. “He saved my life. If that means anything to you, you’ll save him now.”
The doctor set the saw aside and pulled a small vial from a chest.
“This is to dull the pain.”
Tyler shook his head, convinced the doctor would amputate the moment he passed out.
“Just do it,” he said, clutching the sheets beneath him tightly.
The doctor glanced at Crackstone again.
“He killed a werewolf on his own. This should be a piece of cake,” Crackstone said, smiling in satisfaction.
The doctor sighed, finding no support from either man.
Taking Tyler’s leg, the doctor snapped his left foot back into its natural position with a sickening crack. Tyler screamed with every fiber of his being. His foot burned as if it were about to combust, sending waves of searing pain through his nerves. With a violent heave, Tyler turned and vomited what little was in his stomach onto the floor. The bile scorched his throat and nose.
When he lay back down, his body was limp and drenched in sweat. His eyes rolled back, and once more, he sank into his nightmares.
The sun gently bathed Tyler's face, and he felt a soft touch running through his hair, urging him to return to his comfortable slumber. He inhaled deeply, taking in the refreshing scent of pine, the sharp tang of dampness that lingered in the forest's depths, and beneath all of it, the faint, sweet smell of decaying leaves—an essence that always clung to Wednesday.
He drew in as much air as his lungs could hold.
"Are you planning to sleep forever?"
Tyler smirked and cracked one eye open. Wednesday’s expressionless face hovered over him.
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m quite comfortable here.”
He shifted his head, which rested on Wednesday’s lap, to emphasize his point and chuckled when she rolled her eyes in irritation.
“You’ll miss the celebrations.”
“Celebrations?”
“The ones they’ve organized for your execution. Congratulations, Tyler, you killed a innocent man.”
Wednesday stared into his eyes, but the light in hers dimmed abruptly. Blood seeped from her lips, and the hand tangled in his hair fell limp at her side.
Tyler's eyes snapped open, and he was greeted by Hyacinth’s warm smile.
“Hello,” she murmured, her long, slender fingers combing through his hair. “I thought you’d never wake up.”
Tyler swallowed hard and glanced around, utterly disoriented.
He was in a cozy room. A soft bed, a small table with a pitcher of water, and a chair where Hyacinth sat. A cold fireplace stood nearby. The chaos, metallic stench of blood, and crowded infirmary were gone.
Hyacinth must have noticed the confusion on his face because she added, “Crackstone ordered you moved to a private room. You’re the town’s new hero. You did it!”
She grabbed his hand enthusiastically, and he offered her a weak smile, though the image of the werewolf’s face as it transformed under his blows flashed in his mind.
Bile rose in his throat.
Tyler tried to sit up immediately, but Hyacinth pressed a hand against his chest to stop him.
“The doctor said not to move. It’s a shame you’ll miss the celebration in your honor. The party’s tonight.”
A heavy stone dropped in Tyler’s stomach, and his faint smile turned into an uncomfortable grimace.
“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”
“Of course, it is! You killed a werewolf with your bare hands. No one’s ever done that before. And they say they’ve captured two more outcasts,” she added in a hushed voice, her eyes sparkling. “Crackstone is thrilled.”
“Oh, yeah? What are they?”
“I don’t know. They’re in the dungeons.”
Tyler raised his eyebrows. Of course, Crackstone would be enjoying the opportunity to give those unfortunate souls a warm welcome.
The door to the room creaked open, and Hyacinth quickly pulled away. A nurse stopped at the threshold, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the girl.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Who let you in?”
The woman was older, her brown hair streaked with white and pulled into a tight bun. Wrinkles framed her stern face.
“No one,” Hyacinth replied, lowering her gaze.
“Out.”
“She’s my friend,” Tyler interjected. Hyacinth looked up, her eyes seeming to glow with gratitude.
“That doesn’t matter,” the nurse scolded, grabbing the girl by the arm and forcing her to stand.
“Hey!” Tyler protested. “Let her go.”
“It’s fine,” Hyacinth said, forcing a smile before hurrying out of the room.
The nurse pulled the chair closer to Tyler’s bed and began removing his soiled bandages.
“Let me give you some advice, boy. Women like her don’t have friends.”
“Because she works in a tavern?” Tyler quipped with a sarcastic tone.
The nurse shot him a withering glare before shaking her head slowly.
“They’re dangerous,” she muttered under her breath.
Tyler had the urge to laugh.
There was nothing Hyacinth could do to hurt him.
He opened his mouth to say so but closed it almost immediately. If the nurse wanted to believe that, so be it. In fact, it might be for the best. People would talk more about how Hyacinth might break his heart, keeping them distracted from digging into his past and discovering the real danger in Jericho—him.
He adjusted himself in the bed and noticed the pitying look the nurse gave him.
He let out a pitiful sigh, preparing to put on a performance, but the nurse poured alcohol over his wound, making him writhe in pain instead.
The nurse pulled out an amber bottle from her apron, using a dropper to measure twenty drops into the glass of water beside him.
“Here. It’s laudanum. It’ll help you rest.”
Tyler eyed the glass warily. He knew just how dangerous laudanum could be—Laurel used to lecture him about the effects of her poisons before injecting them, turning it into a twisted game of Russian roulette. This particular substance was one of the most perilous, thanks to the addiction it caused.
“You’ll be fine,” the nurse assured him. “Just sip it slowly.”
Tyler nodded and raised the glass to his lips.
It had a faint smell of alcohol, and though only a few drops had been added, it gave the water a bitter taste.
Within minutes, his body relaxed against the bed. By the time the nurse resumed cleaning his wound, Tyler was already fast asleep.
The laudanum-induced dreams were an incoherent amalgamation of the last months of his life.
The fireworks of the Harvest Festival masked the crunch of leaves under his clawed feet. Tyler ran through the woods, adrenaline coursing through every fiber of his being. It was the first time he transformed by his own will. Before that, his transformations were foggy nightmares, vague as a blur or a terrible hangover.
Now, however, he felt powerful.
As a Hyde, Tyler bent his legs and lunged at the distracted Nevermore boy. The boy's agonized scream filled him with confidence as Tyler slashed his claws repeatedly until the blood drenched his face, and Rowan’s scream faded into a distant echo.
When Tyler saw him again, Rowan wasn’t Rowan, and he wasn’t the Hyde.
Tyler raised his bloodied hands, and the feeling of power vanished.
Blood dripped from his hands, and he felt a heavy stone drop into his stomach.
Looking down, Tyler saw the black-haired werewolf at his feet. His abdomen was torn open, and his lifeless eyes seemed to glare at him in accusation.
Tyler stumbled backward, his trembling legs giving out as he fell to the ground. But the forest morphed into a dark, rocky cave where he was naked and shivering.
"I told you, darling," Laurel said, her voice tinged with condescension as a smirk graced her lips.
"It wasn’t me," he stammered, his tear-filled eyes pleading. "It was the Hyde. He killed him."
Laurel shook her head and placed a hand on his knee, squeezing it slightly.
"It was you, Tyler. You are the monster."
"But I didn’t want to do it."
"See?" Laurel cupped his face with her free hand, stroking his cheek. "You need me. Only I can help you."
Tyler stared at her, wide-eyed. Laurel’s hand on his knee slid slowly upward, and he recoiled in alarm.
When Tyler opened his eyes again, he realized he was still lying in the infirmary. His skin was cold and slick with sweat, and he felt a hand gently stroking his injured leg. Instinctively, he recoiled, pulling away from the touch; but the girl’s grip tightened, sending a wave of pain coursing through his body.
"It’s just me," Hyacinth said, her tone startled.
Tyler turned toward her. The room was dimly lit, save for a faint beam of moonlight streaming through the single window.
"Who’s Laurel?"
"What are you doing here?" he asked, ignoring her question as he tried to steady his racing heart. "You could get expelled again."
Hyacinth shook her head, sitting up straighter in her chair.
"Cole sent me. Everyone’s celebrating your great feat, and you should celebrate too."
Now that she mentioned it, Tyler noticed the distant noise from the streets that had reminded him of the Harvest Festival.
"I killed a man," Tyler said, averting his gaze and clenching his fists. "There’s nothing to celebrate."
"You killed a beast," Hyacinth corrected, emphasizing the last word. "And you’ve given us all hope."
Hyacinth stood up with determination and untied the knot securing her white bonnet. Her dark hair tumbled down her back like a cascade, blending into the surrounding shadows.
Tyler looked at her, perplexed. Then, Hyacinth untied the knot of her overskirt, letting the fabric drop to the floor and loosening the black dress she wore.
"What are you doing?" Tyler asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
"I told you, Cole wants me to take care of you."
"Oh," he said, finally understanding the implication of her "gift." "How thoughtful of him, but no, thank you."
Hyacinth stared at him, first bewildered, then her expression transformed into a simmering fury.
"You know I can’t tell him that."
"I’m not in the mood, understand? I don’t want to celebrate anything."
"If you don’t, he’ll start suspecting you," she countered quickly. "I thought you wanted to earn his trust."
"We don’t have to tell him—"
With a swift motion, Hyacinth shed her black dress, revealing only a long, translucent shirt that perfectly outlined her full breasts. Tyler’s gaze dropped to them instantly, noticing how her nipples hardened in the cold night air.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Hyacinth stepped closer, sliding her hand along the inside of Tyler’s thighs, brushing against his member, which began to stir and thicken. But the movement made Tyler relive his nightmare, and before he realized it, he had pushed her hand away in a sudden motion.
"I said no," he repeated, gripping her wrist tightly.
Hyacinth bit her lip hard, her eyes welling with restrained tears. Tyler closed his eyes and exhaled a long sigh. He loosened his grip on her wrist, his hand sliding almost gently until their fingers interlocked.
"Hyacinth," he said in a softer voice, "I’m hurt. My whole body aches... I’m sure Cole will understand."
"He might forgive you, but not me," she replied, looking away. "He’ll think I’m no longer useful. If I can’t convince you in this state, he’ll cast me aside and find someone else."
Tyler furrowed his brow, letting go of her hand.
"Why does he care about that?"
She rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious.
"To know that I can persuade you to do things he can’t ask you directly."
Tyler understood perfectly. A test of loyalty, a demonstration that Cole could control every aspect of his life at will—from who he killed to who he fucked. The fresh memories of Laurel sharpened his awareness of Cole’s plans, igniting the most visceral revulsion he had ever felt. His Hyde side longed to spill blood.
And yet, he needed to earn Cole’s trust if he wanted to survive in this world and rid himself of Laurel once and for all.
His eyes settled on Hyacinth—her doll-like face, her round, pert breasts. He had done worse things, he thought. Have sex with a beautiful girl shouldn’t be a big deal.
Tyler reached out, placing a hand on her offered breast, and rubbed his thumb over her nipple until it hardened.
"Fine," he said, ignoring the look of relief on her face. "But it’ll be on my terms."
Tyler sat with difficulty, positioning the girl between his legs. With his free hand, he grabbed her other breast, caressing it for a while as he felt himself growing harder.
"What are you doing?" Hyacinth asked, her breathing becoming shallow as she unknowingly leaned toward him.
Tyler lifted his gaze and stroked Hyacinth’s lower lip with his thumb before sliding it into her mouth.
"Suck," he ordered. Hyacinth frowned in confusion. "Lick," he said.
The girl complied, her face showing her uncertainty, but she didn’t stop.
"Good," Tyler said. "Use your tongue too."
Tyler felt the girl’s tongue trace the length of his finger and nodded softly. He moved the waistband of his pants just enough to free his erection, stroking himself until he was fully hard.
Slowly, he removed his thumb from the girl’s mouth, the sound echoing off the walls.
"Could you do the same?" Tyler asked.
"You want me to... with my mouth?"
Hyacinth’s face flushed.
"It’s not as bad as it sounds," Tyler promised. He placed a hand on the back of her head, gently guiding her face toward his throbbing member.
Hyacinth hesitated but placed her lips on him, tasting Tyler for the first time. She traced circles with her tongue over the tip, and Tyler closed his eyes.
"Open your mouth wider," he instructed, and with a firm grip, pushed her until she gagged.
Tyler let out a guttural groan that vibrated in his chest. He moved his hips a couple of times, showing her what to do, and once she understood, Tyler let go of her and grabbed the base of his cock, jerking off quickly.
Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t intend for this to last long, and as soon as he felt his release approaching, he didn’t hold back.
"Get off" he said quickly, but Hyacinth clung to his legs and took him deeper. The way her throat contracted was too much, and with a curse, he spilled into her mouth.
The girl swallowed, her fingers catching the fine trail escaping the corner of her lips, and Tyler collapsed onto the bed.
The relief of climax vanished with brutal swiftness, leaving behind a feeling he was all too familiar with. His mouth twisted in disgust as the bitter taste of bile climbed his throat. His skin burned, and Tyler clenched his fists tightly, resisting the urge to tear it off. He closed his eyes, desperate to sink into unconsciousness, but even there, he knew his nightmares awaited.
Chapter 17
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday descended through the cavern tunnels. The dampness clung to the surrounding rocks, and the cold felt almost spectral. The torch in her hand threatened to die and leave her in darkness, but like all the torches in this place, it burned with a magical and eternal flame, reborn like a phoenix.
She continued downward until the sound of the underground river echoed off the stone walls, then descended even further. Finally, the tunnel opened up, revealing the entire war council gathered in the cavern.
Magical symbols adorned either side of the threshold. Wednesday stepped tentatively inside, as if entering a bubble; all external sounds faded away, and the eyes of the council members fixed on her.
Wednesday quickly scanned the room. Twelve torches illuminated every corner of the small cave. Chairs were arranged in a circle at the center, and in the middle lay a large map of Jericho and its surroundings. Books and scrolls were piled against the walls in various stacks.
Goody’s eyes locked onto Wednesday as she rose slowly from her chair.
“We have decided to extend a permanent invitation for you to join this council,” Goody announced, gesturing to the chair opposite her.
Wednesday let out a dry laugh. She had never felt such an urge to mock the situation.
“The original Nightshades,” she remarked, taking her seat before muttering under her breath, “I didn’t expect to be invited back.”
For a fleeting moment, Wednesday had considered declining the offer, just as she had with Bianca’s social club. But this group at least served a greater purpose—a purpose that would lead her back to her own time.
The satisfaction of derailing Goody’s plans would have to wait for a more opportune moment.
Logan, seated to Goody’s right, smirked at her comment.
“You know more than you should, don’t you? That name has never left these walls.”
“Maybe now you’ll bother to listen to me,” Wednesday shot back.
Logan’s smirk sharpened, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod, the only reaction in the room. The others remained motionless, their eyes darting nervously toward Goody. The witch cast a warning glance at Wednesday before moving to the map, pointing to Jericho’s central square.
“In fifteen days, the Thanksgiving celebrations will begin. Crackstone plans to eliminate any Outcast he captures in the coming days.”
“Perhaps he’ll do us the favor of killing the Hyde,” Logan said bitterly. “Though I’d prefer to do it myself.”
The wolf’s rage tinged his words so dangerously that a slight shiver ran down Wednesday’s spine, though it didn’t stop her from observing the others’ reactions.
Katherine, now occupying James’ seat, clenched her fists tightly, wrinkling the fabric of her dress. Elara and Dan, the vampire couple, exchanged a meaningful glance. The faceless one and the gorgon looked to Goody, while the siren tossed her long blonde hair back gracefully and cleared her throat.
“Apparently, there’s no one in the cells,” the siren noted.
“And the Hyde’s master?”
“Laurel Gates,” Wednesday spat the name like a curse. “She has to be there. I saw the pilgrims capture her myself.”
“Perhaps she escaped, or Crackstone disposed of her,” Dan suggested.
Goody shook her head, pacing in circles.
“If she were dead, we’d know. The Hyde would lose control.”
“Good to know he’s holding it together,” Logan quipped sarcastically.
Goody’s jaw tightened, but she ignored him. “Send a message to Viktor, Ianthe, to confirm this information.”
The siren nodded.
“We must strengthen our borders. They’ll be eager to capture any Outcast in the next two weeks. Only sentinels are allowed in the forest.”
“They should go in pairs,” Logan said, standing. “Gorgons, telepaths, and sirens.”
“There aren’t enough,” Goody countered.
“Then we’ll make do,” Logan retorted sharply. “I’ll organize them in the morning.”
Ianthe looked perplexed, her gaze darting to Goody before she nodded.
“The rest of us will check provisions and protective spells. Does anyone have anything to add?” Goody’s piercing gaze fell on Wednesday, who raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.
It was fascinating, Wednesday thought as she returned to her quarters, to see how Goody’s once-firm control was slipping. Perhaps this was her opportunity to push for a more decisive attack.
Her steps faltered when she found Joshua waiting by her door.
Wednesday pressed her lips together, clenching her fists.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded through gritted teeth.
“We need to talk.”
“Why not just dive into my mind? It’d save us both the tedium.”
Joshua’s faint smile disappeared, his face growing somber. Wednesday tried to brush past him into her room, but he caught her wrist in a swift motion.
The irritation that had been simmering inside her found its release in that small gesture. In an instant, Wednesday maneuvered him against the cold stone wall, twisting his arm behind his back. A single tug would snap the bone.
“Dare to invade my mind again, and I promise you’ll regret it in the most painful way possible,” she warned.
Joshua clenched his jaw, wincing as she applied more pressure. Then she stepped back, retreating into the narrow tunnel leading to her quarters.
“I needed to know what he was like,” Joshua called after her, surprising Wednesday with his persistence.
She turned sharply, her face barely visible in the dim tunnel.
“Then I should’ve been the one to go to Jericho.”
Joshua reached out again, but she evaded him with ease.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his expression pained. “I regret deceiving you about the necklace, but I won’t apologize for keeping you from risking your life infiltrating Jericho.”
“I don’t need your protection. I can take care of myself.”
“And how would you have handled the Hyde? I saw what he did to James, and he wasn’t even fully transformed.”
Wednesday looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t need reminding of how helpless she’d be against a monster like that. She knew it all too well, and yet…
“I know Tyler,” she said finally.
Joshua let out a deep sigh, the silence between them growing increasingly uncomfortable.
“Come,” he said softly, leading the way into her quarters.
The torches lit up, revealing the dark circles under his brown eyes, which stood out against his pale skin. Joshua placed a scroll over the cave’s entrance, displaying a vertical line running through the parchment.
“It’s a rune,” he explained under Wednesday’s inquisitive look. “I had one of the witches make it. It’s for you.”
“What’s it supposed to do? Decorate this place?” she asked derisively.
"It’ll block prying ears. I thought you might appreciate some privacy.”
Joshua offered a faint smile, his eyes searching hers for a reaction. Wednesday glanced between the rune and him several times.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she declared.
“I truly am sorry, Wednesday. The plan was in place before I met you, and I never thought…” Joshua’s voice trailed off as he paced the room, guilt etched on his face.
“You didn’t think people would die in a war?”
“I didn’t think one of our own would work for them.”
“He’s a Hyde. He only follows his master’s orders,” she replied, the words escaping before she could think them through.Joshua’s stunned expression made her realize her slip.
“I saw how he deceived you. Was that on orders too?”
“I don’t know. But you did the same, didn’t you? Following orders?”
Joshua’s posture seemed to sag slightly.
“That’s not fair. You know it’s not the same,” he said quietly. “What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”
Wednesday stepped closer, her chin raised defiantly.
“Tell me everything you know.”
Joshua’s eyes widened, then he shook his head slowly.
““Logan wasn’t wrong about you. He’s the one you should meet if you want to know what’s really going on, but Goody knows an alliance between you two would be trouble for her.”
“So, will you be the messenger?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“If you can bring yourself to trust me again…” He left the sentence hanging, studying her closely.
“I’ll think about it,” she replied, though her expression betrayed her interest in the offer.
Joshua smiled faintly before removing the rune and handing it to her.
“I’ll be waiting for your answer.”
Notes:
I hope everyone had a nice holiday.
This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I ended up removing the other POVs so the next chapter won't take as long as this one.
I don't know how to put covers on this page so I opened an IG and threads to put the covers of the stories, give previews and talk about literature in general.
It's part of a larger project we are doing with my friends.
You can find me as Terpsi_19
Chapter 18
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Donovan buried his face in his hands. His world spun, and he felt that at any moment, he might throw up the meager sandwich he'd eaten that morning. His hands trembled, and the air refused to fill his lungs.
He had overseen the inspection of Thornhill’s office and quarters. Standing beneath the doorway with his arms crossed, Donovan’s eyes scrutinized each officer as they worked. Every single piece of paper, every damn trinket, had been examined.
Nothing.
There was nothing.
When he got home, he took his anger out on the dining table, which still lay overturned in a corner. Elvis whimpered sadly from the corner where he’d hidden. Donovan only managed to fall asleep after finishing all the beers in the fridge.
The next afternoon, once his headache had subsided, he drove alone to the old Gates mansion and began searching through each room, flashlight in one hand and weapon in the other.
The house was exactly as it had been during his last visit, when Wednesday had drilled him with accusations about the Gates family and the monsters that once resided there.
The dust tickled his nose, and the old wood creaked beneath his steps, but the house remained empty. Donovan stopped in the old family room, his flashlight illuminating the Gates’ worn portrait. He shone the light over Ansel’s corrupt face, recalling the man’s air of grandeur and swagger in a town he had once considered his own. Then his eyes settled on Garrett.
The boy had died at nearly the same age Tyler was now—all because of his deranged father’s genocidal plan.
All because of hatred and obsession.
Gates had driven his family to madness and ruin, and Donovan couldn’t help but think he had done the same to his own.
He swallowed hard, trying to dissolve the knot in his chest, and pressed on. Lowering his gaze, he silently prayed to whatever god might exist that this would not also be Tyler's end.
He finished searching the first floor, finding nothing but dust and rats that scurried away whenever the light caught their hiding places. On the second floor, Donovan’s stomach dropped when he opened the door to a pristine, perfectly clean room.
Laurel Gates’ room.
Donovan stepped in cautiously, the wood creaking beneath his weight. Without a doubt, this was what Noble had found and had been so eager to report to him.
He holstered his weapon and swept his flashlight across the space—from a vase holding a wilted bouquet of roses to the wardrobe and an old vanity. The bed was made, and there wasn’t a speck of dust. Donovan opened the drawers, which were filled with loose-fitting adult clothing in some and children’s clothing in others.
The place gave him chills.
On the vanity, he found a disposable phone and quickly bagged it as evidence. Then he approached the small table by the bed. He tugged at the drawer, but it wouldn’t open.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Donovan knelt and pulled a small knife from his back pocket. A deft twist of his wrist produced a sharp click, signaling his success.
The triumph was short-lived.
Inside the drawer was a collection of envelopes, some large, some small, which Donovan spilled onto the bed.
His heart stopped when a photograph slid out of one and landed on top of the pile.
Blood froze in his veins as he hastily gathered the small photos that had spilled from the open envelope.
There were many, and all focused on a single subject. Donovan stared at images of Tyler—at work, at school, even outside their home, with a picture of their dog among them. There was a copy of Tyler’s court-mandated anger management order, Dr. Kinbott’s appointment schedule, his class timetable, and a flyer for a camp.
A year. He thought. They had been following Tyler for a year, and he didn’t notice.
A bitter sensation settled in his stomach, but at the same time, his heart pounded at the prospect of finally getting some answers.
He opened another envelope quickly and found a copy of Françoise’s medical records.
The discovery made the ground beneath him feel unsteady.
Something inside Donovan broke as he saw her photograph again, her sweet smile that he missed so much. Slowly, he sat down on the bed and, with trembling fingers, traced the face he still remembered every time he closed his eyes. Her voice, however, he had long since forgotten—and he hated himself for it.
Forcing his gaze away, he saw the word “Hyde” circled in the file. His brow furrowed, and the knot in his chest tightened further.
He set the file on the bed and pulled out the last two envelopes. They were small, and his hands trembled as he opened the first.
The new set of photographs shattered his world.
Donovan felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. His shaking hands flew to his face as tears streamed down his cheeks and his breathing became ragged.
In his lap lay a series of photos of Tyler—chained, bloody, and unconscious.
His son...
His eyes locked on Tyler’s expression in one of the images, so scared and lost, so full of despair.
When?
How?
His trembling fingers brushed over the photograph as if he could reach him—as if he could do something.
A choked sob escaped his throat, burning as it came. And then, his scream shattered the perpetual silence of the Gates mansion.
He had failed Fran.
He had failed Tyler.
Tyler barely flinched when the doctor removed the bandages. His entire body felt like lead, sinking him into the bed as if he were part of it. Even the pain seemed unable to travel properly through his dulled nerves.
"Does it hurt?" the doctor asked, though his voice reached Tyler like a distant whisper.
"Give him more laudanum," Cole said, standing with his arms crossed in front of him. "I don't want him feeling any discomfort."
Tyler lifted his gaze toward them, wanting to say something, but his mouth felt heavy and gritty.
The doctor handed him a glass of laudanum. Tyler stared at it for a few seconds before lowering his gaze to his hands. He tried to move his fingers. He couldn’t.
He looked up, and the shadows in the room stretched toward him as the dead werewolf emerged from them.
Tyler clenched his jaw at the sight of the creature advancing calmly. Blood, still fresh, glistened on its lips. The gaping wound in its abdomen was impossible to ignore. Every muscle in Tyler’s back tensed.
"It's normal," the doctor explained to Cole. "Laudanum can cause hallucinations."
Tyler heard the words but quickly lost their meaning.
Cole frowned, crossing his arms as he studied Tyler intently.
"Hallucinations?" he repeated with interest.
The doctor nodded. But Tyler was no longer listening.
The wolf sat beside him. Tyler felt the bed sink under its weight. With great effort, he turned his gaze away from it and focused on Cole.
He’s not real, he repeated to himself. He can’t be here.
The nurse took the glass from the doctor and pressed it to Tyler’s lips, moistening them.
"Make sure he drinks it regularly," the doctor instructed her before continuing to remove the bandages. Tyler swallowed absently.
The doctor carried on with his inspection, explaining the details to Cole. Tyler wanted to listen, but the words felt so distant they couldn’t reach him.
When the bandages were removed, Cole leaned over the wound with a grimace of disgust. Afterward, they cleaned it with alcohol and replaced the bandages with fresh poultices that made Tyler’s skin crawl.
Even so, Tyler didn’t move.
"Well, he’s in better shape than I expected," the doctor remarked. "If he keeps this up, he’ll recover sooner than anticipated."
"Maybe was not so bad," Tyler thought. But then, Cole and the doctor turned their eyes on him, and Tyler realized his words had echoed in the room.
The werewolf leaned closer, its putrid breath hitting Tyler’s face.
"They’ll find the true," it whispered triumphantly. "You know that, don’t you? And when they'll do…"
It plunged a hand into Tyler’s chest as if to rip out his heart, and the boy jolted upright in bed.
"Be careful," Cole scolded the doctor. "Will he be able to stand by Thanksgiving?"
Tyler closed his eyes, his breathing labored and his heart pounding wildly. The werewolf kept laughing by his ear.
"With help, yes. Even if the wound closes, he has a broken bone," the doctor replied.
Cole nodded and, with a gesture, dismissed the doctor and the nurse. He dragged the chair the doctor had been using and sat beside the boy. Tyler barely turned his head to look at him.
"I have big plans for you, kid," Cole said. His smile was wide, but Tyler could see the malicious gleam in his eyes. It was so much like Laurel’s. "My father and I have given it a lot of thought, and we want you to be the one to carry out the execution at the gallows."
A shiver ran down Tyler’s spine.
"Perfect," the wolf celebrated, its bloody smile growing wider. "Another life to add to your record. What will you do when they find out and the outcasts hate you?"
Tyler forced a smile, locking eyes with Cole.
"I don’t know if…"
The words vanished.
He blinked. His mouth was open, but he couldn’t remember what he was about to say.
Cole leaned in, his shadow dimming the nearest candle.
"I…"
"You’ll do it," Cole said, closing the distance. "Just follow the doctor’s instructions, and that’s why I’ve decided my wife will help take care of you. Agnes!"
Tyler blinked slowly as the door opened. A slender, rigid figure entered the room.
Tyler furrowed his brow as he looked at her.
She was unnaturally thin, and the pallor of her face seemed neither healthy nor natural. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her lips were pursed in a disapproving expression. But it was her posture that disturbed him most. She stood upright but slightly hunched forward, her hands unconsciously holding her abdomen.
"You’re in the best hands," Cole said, patting Tyler’s shoulder roughly before leaving.
The door closed with a loud slam that made him flinch.
Agnes took the seat Cole had vacated, and Tyler watched her curiously. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she pulled a skein of yarn from her bag and began knitting silently.
"Hello," he managed to say, almost in a whisper.
Agnes lifted her gaze, and her stare made Tyler’s heart leap wildly.
It wasn’t the color or shape of her eyes—Agnes’s were brown and large. It was her expression. Though it seemed stern, a trace of fear hid behind it.
Tyler recognized it immediately.
He had seen it all his life.
It was his father’s look.
Every time Agnes entered the room, Tyler watched her with curiosity.
The woman could spend hours by his bedside, mostly knitting, but she rarely spoke to him. Her dark eyes held a severe gaze, but they avoided him in a way that only deepened his curiosity about her.
Whenever she entered, Tyler felt as though someone had driven a fist into his stomach. And every time she ignored him, he felt strangely disappointed.
The part of his mind that still functioned properly knew that it wasn’t about Agnes herself but about the person she forced him to think of.
His father.
The memories haunted him in his delirious hours. Sometimes his father appeared in his dreams. Other times, his voice came from Agnes’s lips, cold and distant, evading his questions. And the memories pressed him even harder into the bed where he lay recovering.
It was strange to remember him at all when he’d only mentioned his father to make his cover story more believable to Crackstone. Naturally, the ghost that lived in his head hadn’t wasted the opportunity to torment him with it.
—Your father knew what a monster you were, —said the werewolf, inspecting Agnes’s stern expression.— That’s why he was afraid of you. She’s afraid of you, too.
But that was impossible because Agnes didn’t know what he was.
Right?
One morning, when Tyler’s mind felt clearer, he finally found the words to approach her.
—How are you? —he asked. He vaguely remembered seeing her the day he’d visited Crackstone’s grounds. —Your wound, —he added, gesturing toward her abdomen.
The woman brought a hand to her side and stared at him, stunned. Her lips remained pressed into a thin line, but Tyler wasn’t sure if it was out of surprise or anger.
—What happened to you?
Agnes opened her mouth like a fish out of water. Her stern gaze flicked to Mrs. Miller and then back to Tyler before looking away.
—Nothing happened. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
She set her knitting aside and left the room in hurried steps.
Tyler watched the door close, a sense of unease growing in his chest. Mrs. Miller, the nurse, stayed silent, and they both listened to Agnes’s footsteps fade down the stairs.
Tyler glanced at the elderly woman, puzzled. His heart began pounding wildly as he tried to recall exactly what he had said—or if he had only thought it.
Suddenly, as if to increase his prickling anxiety, Mrs. Miller also stood up. She walked around the bed, picked up the laudanum glass that always sat there, looked out the window, and poured its contents away.
—You shouldn’t keep drinking this, —she said, refilling the glass with water. —Doctors these days just prescribe laudanum for everything.
Tyler looked at her in confusion, and the elderly woman let out a deep, weary sigh. She leaned over him and grabbed his jaw firmly.
—You won’t drink this anymore, do you understand, boy? — Tyler blinked. — Do you understand me?
Finally, Tyler nodded.
—Good.
Mrs. Miller grabbed the bandages and ointments. She dragged the chair to the foot of the bed and uncovered Tyler’s injured leg.
Tyler let out a pained groan, and the elderly woman shot him a glare.
—You’ll have to endure it, —she said. —Bite the pillow if you need to scream, but stop whining.
She removed the bandage. Some pieces of fabric clung to dried blood, and Tyler bit his tongue to stifle a scream. A cold sweat began to spread over his skin.
—If you scream, they’ll take her away, —the ghostly werewolf said, fascinated by the contorted expression of pain on Tyler’s face.
—Don’t, do it—his father said with that reproachful gaze from the doorway.
Tyler bit his tongue until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. The Hyde within him growled as if awakened by the taste of it. Tyler felt his muscles tighten, his breathing grow heavier. No. Not now. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths until Mrs. Miller was finished.
She had carefully cleaned the wound, and as she straightened up, she looked him in the eye. She gave him a firm nod. Tyler blinked, surprised. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him that way.
It took three days for the hallucinations to stop tormenting him, but when they finally disappeared, Tyler felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He didn’t need constant reminders to know his hands were still stained with blood.
Tyler let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes.
—Feeling better already? —Mrs. Miller asked from her chair.
Tyler sat up slightly in bed.
—Thank you.
The woman only nodded, her eyes fixed on her knitting.
—Will you get in trouble?
—Only if you open your mouth, boy, —she grumbled, cutting the thread she was working on. Tyler couldn’t hide his smile; Mrs. Miller’s gruffness felt strangely comforting. —I’ve seen men succumb to smaller doses than what you’ve taken, but all doctors know how to do these days is sedate their patients.
—Tyler. —Mrs. Miller raised her pale blue eyes, and the intensity of her gaze unnerved him slightly. Tyler cleared his throat and gathered his courage. —My name is Tyler.
For a moment, he thought the old nurse would ignore him. His stomach churned. However, Mrs. Miller’s expression softened slightly, and Tyler let out the breath he had been holding.
She stood up, poured him a glass of water, and then pulled a small amber glass bottle from her apron, placing a few drops of a clear liquid into it before setting it on the table.
—It’s just water, but it’ll fool them. Remember to refill it every morning... Tyler.
When he took the glass, the doors burst open, almost causing him to spill the liquid onto the bed. Cole entered, flanked by the doctor and his wife. Mrs. Miller quickly stepped aside and lowered her gaze.
“I’ve heard you’re doing much better.”
“The wound has healed completely,” the doctor responded promptly, but Cole didn’t take his eyes off Tyler, smiling with that sinister expression he had.
A shiver ran down Tyler’s spine, but he masked it by blinking slowly with a confused look.
“It’s like witnessing a miracle.”
Tyler forced a shy smile.
“I suppose God wants me to keep fighting to purify the earth,” he slurred, trying to mimic the effects of laudanum. However, he had to admit that he sounded more drunk than sedated.
His small error seemed to go unnoticed, thanks to the content of his words, which left no one indifferent. Agnes looked directly at him, surprised, before glancing at Cole. Her husband, meanwhile, approached Tyler, sat next to him, and nodded.
“I know, my father and I are certain of it. Although I’ll admit,” Cole glanced at Agnes and chuckled before shaking his head, “we had our doubts about your faith. We’ve rarely seen you in church.”
“I didn’t feel I had earned the honor,” Tyler said, adjusting his tone to make his words come out slower and more drowsy.
Apparently, the information Hyacinth had given him was accurate, and Tyler made a mental note to visit the church weekly once he was out of there.
He didn’t like the idea. Back in his time, Tyler had only visited the old church for his mother’s funeral and for Mayor Walker’s funeral. He remembered Lucas’s grief-stricken face and felt guilt twist inside him again.
“It wasn’t me,” Tyler repeated to himself as a sad consolation. “Laurel did.”
“But you’re an accomplice,” said another voice in his head, and this time it wasn’t the werewolf’s—it was his own.
Tyler shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind. If he let himself drown in guilt, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get out.
“Nonsense,” Cole replied, patting his shoulder, oblivious to the internal turmoil. “God welcomes into His house all those who are not abominations of Satan.”
Tyler tried to smile gratefully, but all that came out was an awkward grimace.
“So, I suppose I can go back to the Castel,” Tyler said.
“No.”
Cole’s response was decisive, and Tyler frowned in confusion.
“We’ve told you already. My father and I have discussed it. You saved my life and have shown us a loyalty that few possess. We want to make sure you have everything you need. Stay here as long as it takes for you to recover, and then we can think of something more permanent, like land and a house. It’s time for you to truly become part of Jericho.”
The doctor didn’t seem to agree with the idea, but he had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself.
Tyler raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised.
“I…” He lowered his gaze and slowly shook his head. “That’s too much.”
“Nonsense, boy. You’ve earned it.”
Cole patted his shoulder and fixed his small, gleaming eyes on him. Tyler swallowed hard and nodded. Cole’s smile seemed warm, but there was something about the way his hand gripped his shoulder that sent a shiver through him.
“Thank you very much.”
And although Tyler’s smile lasted only a few seconds, his eyes grew moist, and he quickly looked away. Well, he thought to himself, his acting skills hadn’t disappeared even under sedation.
Cole removed his hand from Tyler and took the glass he was holding. He added a generous dose of laudanum and handed it back to him.
“Good. Viktor will come to visit you to discuss some options. Now you need to rest.”
Cole patted his shoulder again, but this time, his hand lingered slightly longer. His fingers tightened, as if to make sure Tyler wouldn’t try to move. Only then, with a fleeting smile, did he rise and leave.
Mrs. Miller, Agnes, and the doctor followed him.
Once alone, Tyler let out a sigh. His eyes drifted to the glass in his hands, where there should have been a dose of laudanum waiting to sedate him.
Part of him wanted to drink the real sedative again, but he quickly shook his head. He drank the glass of water, then lay down. He closed his eyes but sharpened his hearing.
Wednesdays and Saturdays were worship days. Tyler woke to the tolling of the church bell, calling the faithful, and then the entire town sank into a stillness so profound it felt like time stopped.
These days had become a reprieve, the only moments he could be alone, sure that no one would disturb him.
He slid out of bed and placed his feet on the cold wooden floor. A shiver ran through him as his weight bore down on his newly healed leg. Closing his eyes, he let out a heavy sigh.
He took a step forward. His legs wobbled like jelly. He leaned on the table, then the wall, moving slowly, gritting his teeth with every stab of pain.
He had almost crossed the room when his legs gave out. He fell hard, the sound echoing off the walls. His heart froze for a moment. He held his breath, listening for any noise that might betray someone approaching.
Nothing.
He forced himself back to his feet.
Weakness wasn’t an option. He had to regain his mobility as quickly as possible. Vulnerability wasn’t something he could afford—not now that he had managed to get close to Cole and the Crackstones. One misstep and it would mean his end.
He need to reclaim his edge.
Only then could he focus on eliminating Laurel.
He froze.
Cole’s words about the upcoming execution echoed in his mind. He frowned, trying to focus, but the words slipped away like sand through his fingers. Tyler let out a frustrated huff, swallowing hard to dispel the lump forming in his throat.
There was no other choice. He had to keep obeying Cole… until he could rid himself of his “dear Master.”
He took another step, burying his guilt beneath the pain.
There was nothing else he could do, he told himself. Those people were already dead in his time, in his present. Maybe the wolf was meant to die that night… if something like destiny even existed, of course.
He managed to circle the small room once before sitting on the bed, his breathing ragged and his forehead slick with sweat.
At least he had done it. He allowed himself to revel in the small triumph. Catching his breath, he reached for the urinal under the bed. He emptied the laudanum bottle and refilled it with water. Then he began reapplying the poultices he had removed, wetting the bandages. The herbs reeked of decay, and Tyler stifled a gag as the slimy texture clung to his skin.
When he got out of here, he would sneak away for a proper bath.
A distant memory surfaced: Wednesday bathing a few feet away from him. It felt like years had passed since he’d last seen her. Tyler smirked to himself. Maybe he’d find her bathing there again. Maybe this time, he’d join her.
Tyler was so engrossed in imagining his former… girlfriend? Friend? Enemy? Almost-something?… that when the church bell rang, he jumped violently on the bed.
He hurried to stash everything and lay down, relaxing his face and practicing his vacant expression.
Not long after, the sounds of people filled the streets, and the building he was in seemed to come to life. The hallways buzzed with chatter and footsteps bouncing off the walls.
Tyler heard the stairs creak, then the door to his room opened.
Cole entered with that cruel smile of his, and Tyler felt a chill run down his spine.
“I have good news,” Cole said, holding up a pair of rustic crutches. “The doctor says you’ll be able to stand by Thanksgiving. You might want to get used to these.”
“Thank you,” Tyler said, carefully dragging his words to mimic the effect of laudanum.
“Everything’s ready for next week. We’ll hang the witches—my father doesn’t want to waste too much time on it.”
“Witches?” Tyler asked, blinking slowly with deliberate care. “How many?”
Cole’s malicious grin widened.
“You’ll find out that day. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Tyler felt a heavy stone drop into his stomach, forcing himself to smile, though it resembled more of an awkward grimace. Before he could reply, the door opened again.
Hyacinth entered, her radiant smile lighting up the room.
“Ty-”
Her voice faltered, and her eyes landed on Cole.
The man tensed. The girl’s gaze shifted from him to Tyler, who sat up with curiosity, then back to Cole.
Tyler tilted his head slightly, observing how Cole’s smile vanished, how his fists clenched tightly.
Hyacinth opened her mouth, but the words seemed to escape her.
“What are you doing here?” Cole was the first to speak, his voice strangely sharp.
“I-”
“The boy isn’t allowed visitors.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow, suppressing a scoff. Not allowed visitors? Curious, given how crowded his room seemed to get.
Hyacinth stepped back.
“I’m sorry. Ididn’tknow,” Hyacinth stammered, tripping over her own words. Her face had gone pale.
“I’ll take you to the door.”
Cole gripped her arm firmly and dragged her out of the small room. Hyacinth didn’t even look back at him.
Neither did Cole.
Tyler, however, stood and hobbled to the door. He arrived just in time to catch a glimpse through the crack as Cole shoved Hyacinth into one of the rooms.
Grabbing the crutches left for him, Tyler stepped out and crept toward the room, making as little noise as possible. The hubbub from the lower landing muffled the thud of the crutches against the wooden floor.
When he got closer to the door, he heard a loud slap, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. Tyler tensed. Rage began bubbling within him even before he peeked through the crack in the door and saw a scene that filled him with a deep sense of unease.
Hyacinth was sobbing at Cole’s feet. Her hands cradled her cheek, red and swollen.
Tyler’s hand gripped the doorknob. His arm trembled with fury, but then Cole spoke.
“I told you to stay away from him.”
Tyler froze in place. His dagger-like gaze bore into the man’s back.
“I’m sorry,” Hyacinth stammered, roughly wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Sorry?” Cole hissed through gritted teeth, his rage making him sound like a venomous snake. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re scheming? Do you think he’ll save you?” he sneered at the last word. Cole grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. Hyacinth let out a high-pitched yelp. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Cole, please. I’ve done everything you asked.”
“I’ve told you time and again to stay away from him,” he struck her again with the back of his hand, the ring on his finger cutting her lower lip. Blood trickled down her chin.
Cole let out a sharp exhale and paced back and forth like a predator stalking its prey. Tyler’s eyes never left him. His heart pounded in his chest, his stomach churned, and his mind raced to find meaning in what he was hearing.
Stay away?
But hadn’t she said…?
What the fuck is going on?
“I’ve been patient, Hyacinth,” Cole’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Tyler moved even closer. “I’ve let you toy with the boy.”
Tyler’s stomach plummeted to the floor. His feet moved clumsily, as if the ground beneath him had become unsteady. A paralyzing chill ran down his spine.
“I know,” she replied quickly. When Cole looked up at her, the girl recoiled with a shiver.
Cole grabbed Hyacinth by the jaw and pressed her against the wall, trapping her body between him and the wooden surface.
“You’re mine until I tire of you.”
Tyler stopped listening to Cole. His gaze darkened as he focused on Hyacinth—the little liar Hyacinth, who squirmed and squealed like a disgusting rat.
Bile rose in his throat as their last encounter replayed in his mind. His skin burned with anger.
He clenched his teeth until he heard them grind and, with utter disgust, let go of the doorknob.
Tyler turned around and, without a second thought, returned to his room.
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It went from being one of the shortest to the second longest. I don’t know how many times I rewrote it, but I’m finally proud to present it to you. I know it’s a bit dense, but I hope I managed to keep the tension for most of it.
Chapter 19
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Only hunters and gatherers have left the walls,” Logan reported at the Nightshades meeting.
“Any news of Viktor?” Goody asked Ianthe.
“Apparently, Crackstone hasn’t organized any expeditions,” she replied. “He keeps saying he captured a couple of Outcasts during the last full moon.”
“Maybe he just wants us to lower our guard,” Elara said lightly, crossing her legs with feigned disinterest.
“Or maybe he really has them,” Wednesday commented flatly, her eyes fixed on her.
Elara rolled her eyes.
“Last month he caught a sick girl and tried to pass her off as a vampire,” she said. “Crackstone wouldn’t know a real Outcast if it bit him, and he’s spent his whole life hunting us.”
“Exactly,” Wednesday replied. “They don’t have to be real Outcasts. I’m certain Laurel Gates is a prisoner.”
Goody frowned, thoughtful.
“Well, she must be very well hidden,” Logan said. “We didn’t find her in the Crackstones’ dungeons. There was a stench in one of the cells, but no sign of where they took her.”
“And in the dungeons of Jericho?” Goody asked.
“Viktor hasn’t been able to get in,” Ianthe said. “After the girl’s escape, they’ve grown more cautious. Only the Crackstone family has access.”
“She might already be dead,” Elara offered.
“Impossible,” Goody said sharply. “The Hyde would have reacted the moment his master died.”
This time, it was Wednesday who furrowed her brow slightly.
“He’s still in the infirmary?” Goody continued.
“Yes, they’ve crowned him the town’s new hero.” Ianthe arched her brows in irony, sharing an amused glance with Elara, who merely shrugged in silent conversation.
A low, dangerous growl rumbled from Logan’s chest. Ianthe and Elara immediately went pale, and everyone felt the hair on their arms stand on end. Wednesday felt her heart begin to race, as if Logan’s growl could pierce her skin and invade every nerve screaming danger. A few present glanced toward the exit, and she knew they all felt the same.
“That’s enough,” Goody reprimanded, the only one seemingly unaffected by the alpha’s growl.
Logan held her gaze for a moment before crossing his arms and turning his face away.
The pressure lifted, and Wednesday felt air rush back into her lungs.
Logan said nothing more, but his expression had darkened.
“Good,” Goody said, ignoring Logan and continuing as if nothing had happened. “That means he’ll be safe for now. We need to plan how to get him out as soon as possible.”
She fixed her gaze on Logan, clearly inviting confrontation. He remained still, his jaw clenched. Katherine placed a hand on his leg. Goody looked away, satisfied. Wednesday noticed Ianthe and Elara exchanging a cautious glance.
She knew both the vampire and the siren owed their loyalty to Goody.
“Have the watch groups pull back to the lake. If it’s a trap, he’ll make his move tonight.”
One by one, the meeting dissolved. Logan and Katherine were the first to leave. Goody remained standing, arms crossed, staring at the map of old Jericho. Wednesday was already slipping out of the enchanted zone when she heard her name:
“Wednesday,” said Goody, unfolding one of the scrolls over the map. “Stay a moment.”
Wednesday let out a deep sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the last of the Nightshades quicken their pace and vanish.
She walked forward cautiously until she was standing in front of Goody. The map of Jericho lay stretched between them, and as she approached, she deciphered the contents of the scroll the witch was showing her.
It was the resurrection spell.
She raised her eyes, surprised.
“Judging by your expression, I must have done it right. Do you know where each of the parts was found?”
Wednesday shook her head.
“And was the blood used to activate it yours?”
“Yes. He said you had damned his soul by killing him.”
“That’s what I intend to do,” she murmured. She rolled up the scroll and raised her black eyes to meet hers. “I understand you and the Hyde were close.”
“As close as a lion and a hyena.”
“Close enough to convince him to help us decipher the spell?” Goody raised an eyebrow. “If we can’t save the Hyde’s master, we need him to give us every possible detail.”
“I don’t trust him,” Wednesday declared. “But he’s not an idiot. If it suits him, he’ll cooperate.”
But did it suit Tyler to come back?
Wednesday hid her sudden doubt, fixing her gaze on the spell as a strange feeling stirred in her chest. Tyler was now beloved by everyone in Old Jericho. He had a new life. A new girlfriend. Coming back meant losing it all and returning to a miserable existence, with an absent father and likely a life sentence in a maximum-security prison.
Why would he return?
For his part-time job and minimum wage?
Wednesday clenched her jaw. She had to return—to her family, to uncover the mystery.
When she lifted her gaze, she noticed Goody’s inquisitive eyes and immediately composed herself.
“I’ll do it,” she declared.
“Good, because we’ll need him to gather all the organs again on the eve of the spell. We don’t have the tools to preserve them like in your time.”
Wednesday’s eyes widened in surprise.
“The same six organs, from different people?” she asked, almost feeling stupid for doing so.
“Of course.” Goody rounded the table, approaching her with soft steps. “Magic is based on balance. You can’t get anything without an equally great sacrifice.”
“And a life is the greatest sacrifice,” Wednesday murmured.
“Will you be able to do it?” Goody repeated.
Wednesday held her gaze. In Goody’s eyes she saw war carved with scars. Coldness, strength, resolve.
She nodded, curtly.
“Good.” Goody raised her hand and took the necklace Wednesday wore around her neck—the "W" her mother had given her on her first day at Nevermore, her name and her mother’s bound by a magical and familial link. “It’s obsidian. It enhances psychic abilities.”
“I know,” Wednesday replied, taking a cautious step back. The necklace slipped from Goody’s fingers and fell back onto her chest.
“It will serve as a conduit so we can communicate with him. Ianthe will make sure he receives it.”
“What?” Wednesday said in a whisper.
“I thought Joshua had explained his—”
“He did,” Wednesday cut in sharply. She took another step back, more decisively. “But I won’t allow Tyler to snoop freely in my mind.”
That Joshua had invaded her thoughts had bothered her. But just imagining Tyler sifting through her memories, watching everything from her perspective, made her blood boil. She could almost see his smug, mischievous smile forming on his lips and hear his stupid deep voice saying something like, “I don’t need a magic talisman to get inside your mind, Wednesday.”
“It’s the safest way to get him out of Jericho.”
“No,” she snapped. The blood pounded in her temples. “Find another way.”
“We don’t have time, Wednesday,” Goody said through clenched teeth. “You think I don’t know Logan is waiting for the full moon to hunt him down? We have to protect him.”
“He’s a Hyde,” she said coldly. “He doesn’t need a babysitter.”
With her firm refusal, Wednesday turned on her heel. She didn’t look back.
The hollow in her chest where her heart should be twisted strangely, and the memories Joshua had stirred returned to swarm her mind, mocking her foolish innocence in having been swayed by a little kindness and the attention Tyler had once shown her.
Wednesday clenched her fists as heat burned in her chest.
When she reached the great cavern, she found Joshua talking with Elizabeth.
She stopped for a moment, eyes fixed on them. Then, without a word, she brought her hand to the necklace around her neck.
The obsidian “W” glowed faintly between her fingers, and she remembered her mother’s voice—a distant caress… and a warning that now echoed more powerfully than ever.
“Her vengeance drove her to the edge… and not even she could save herself.”
Tyler stared intently at the small portion of street visible through his window. A bitter grimace shadowed his face. He no longer needed to pretend the effects of the laudanum. His mind was completely caught up in the conversation between Hyacinth and Cole, replaying every encounter in which he might find a crack in her lie. He barely heard what Wren was telling him so cheerfully.
"She's gotten much better, and we've explored some of the tunnels," she added in a low voice. "Tomorrow I'll go before dinner starts, while everyone’s at the gallows. No one will be guarding the walls. I’ll bake an extra pie to bring to her. I'm sure she'll love it. What’s your favorite pie?"
Tyler frowned.
He didn’t understand what Hyacinth was trying to achieve with her deception.
"Tyler?"
Why challenge Cole?
What did she intend to use him for?
"Tyler?!"
"Huh? Yeah, that sounds fine."
Wren blinked, confused. Tyler stepped away from the window and began pacing around his room, his mind still replaying every encounter with Hyacinth.
Wren watched him nervously, her hands clutching at the fabric of her skirt.
"I was asking about the pie..." she murmured. "I guess it doesn’t matter."
Tyler stopped in front of the window again. The sun was starting to set and the lamplighters made their rounds, lighting the torches on the streets. Tyler recognized Thomas, supervising the boys and followed him with his eyes until he disappeared.
Wren’s soft voice began murmuring again, but he still didn’t listen.
When Tyler looked up once more, he noticed Hyacinth moving through the shadows of the alley.
He frowned, and a low, growling sound rose from his throat.
Wren’s voice faded, but Tyler didn’t notice that either.
"Tyler, are you okay?" she asked in a trembling voice, getting to her feet.
Across the window, Hyacinth looked up and smiled at him. She gestured, asking if she could come up, and Tyler clenched his fists around the crutches.
He let out a heavy sigh and gave a curt nod.
As the girl crossed the street toward him, Tyler remembered Wednesday and the ambush she and her friends had laid for him in the woods. He closed his eyes, picturing her stoic, analytical face, and forced himself to swallow hard, pushing his emotions deep into his gut.
The door creaked open and Tyler slowly opened his eyes.
"You should go, Wren," he said, turning around.
Wren looked between the two of them, and her cheeks flushed.
"I’m sorry," she mumbled hastily, lowering her gaze and extinguishing what little brightness she had when they were alone. "I... I’m sorry."
Hyacinth gave Wren a smug smile as she passed by, and once the door shut behind her, she wedged it with a small piece of wood.
No one would interrupt them this time, Tyler thought. Perfect.
"Are you ready for your big day?" Hyacinth asked with a half-smile as she approached, swaying her hips.
Tyler’s gaze slowly swept over the girl’s body. The room was quickly darkening with nightfall, but he could still make out the bruised cheekbone and injured lip she was stubbornly ignoring.
"Yeah," he said quietly, leaning all his weight on one crutch. "Did Cole send you again?"
Hyacinth paused for a second, her smile frozen in a grimace. As quickly as a blink, she continued. She approached the nightstand and lit the small oil lamp.
"I get that you're confused," she said, "but it's not what you think."
The lamp's light flickered timidly, bathing Tyler’s eyes in fire.
"Then what was it?"
"You know Agnes, right?" she replied, folding her arms. Tyler nodded, slightly intrigued by where this was going. "Well, let’s just say she doesn’t like me, and Cole asked me not to come by when she might be around."
"Because you’re his lover?" he wanted to ask, but bit his tongue instead, focusing on analyzing every one of the girl’s gestures.
She was good—very good—but there was a small detail that gave her away. Or two, rather, painted right across her face for all to see.
Tyler set his crutches aside and stepped forward. His shoulders squared, his face unreadable.
Hyacinth’s eyes drifted toward the crutches, and her body visibly tensed. Tyler couldn’t help but let a small smirk curl at the corner of his mouth. He shortened the distance between them and cupped her face with one hand. Hyacinth’s eyes returned to him, her eyelids trembling as Tyler brushed his thumb across her bruised cheekbone.
The girl parted her lips slightly, leaning in toward him.
“It was more than just displeasure,” Tyler said, pressing the bruise a bit harder. Hyacinth let out a soft gasp of pain. She pressed her lips together and leaned back.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, turning her face away from the lamplight. “I hurt myself at the tavern,” she added, not looking at him, her gaze fixed on the floor, her lower lip almost trembling.
She was so damn good at it.
Tyler wanted to laugh right in her face.
“Please,” he said instead, in a condescending tone, tilting his head slightly; but his eyes, still lit by the fire, were as cold as ice. “I could help you.”
Hyacinth looked up at him, wide-eyed and shining. She lunged forward and hugged him. Tyler felt like his skin was burning. Bile rose in his throat, and in his mind the events of that room kept replaying. What he had agreed to, to help her.
He restrained himself and took her by the shoulders, pushing her away.
“You have no idea what Cole is like,” she went on, tears gathering in her light eyes.
“Was it him?” he asked, teeth clenched.
“Yes!”
“Just for coming to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Then how come he also sent you to congratulate me after the hunt?”
Hyacinth opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. The fake tears in her eyes vanished, and she stepped back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tyler.”
“Of course you do. He sent you here to sleep with me, but also told you to stay away. Which one is the truth?”
Hyacinth’s gaze darted around the room. Her face had gone noticeably pale.
“I think you misunderstood—” she muttered nervously, trying to walk past him. “You’ve probably taken too much laudanum.”
Tyler grabbed her arm tightly and shoved her against the wall.
“What’s the truth?” he repeated, his words slow and deliberate. He tilted his head to the side, and as he did, it seemed a shadow fell over him.
Hyacinth’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding so loud it echoed in the silence that engulfed them.
“Tell me!” His voice came out more like a dangerous growl that made her tremble.
“Fine! He didn’t send me. I came because I like you!” she exclaimed. Her face changed instantly, the quivering sweetness giving way to a hard, almost defiant expression.
Tyler let out a cold, brief chuckle. Hyacinth pressed her lips into a thin white line. The anger and humiliation were painfully clear in her eyes.
Not so good anymore, Tyler thought.
“You like me?”
“Yes. I love you, Tyler! Everything I’ve done has been to help you.”
“Help me?” In one sudden move, Tyler grabbed her face roughly, drawing a whimper from her. “From where I stand, you’re the one who needs my help. Get out.”
Tyler let her go abruptly. He turned around, fists clenched tightly. His chest vibrated with restrained rage, as if the Hyde wanted to burst out from under his skin. His hands shook. The images of Hyacinth on top of him, the reminder of Laurel... he felt—
Tyler felt sick. He closed his fists tighter, nails digging into his palms.His mind seemed blinded by a bright light, all he could think about was freeing his claws, destroying the bed in front of him until it was nothing but straw and loose feathers.
Suddenly, Tyler felt she grab his arm.
“No, Tyler. Please, you have to listen to me.”
A feral growl escaped his throat. Hyacinth let go of his arm as if it burned, her pupils dilating until the black nearly swallowed all the blue.
And there it was again—pure, unfiltered fear, just like in every one of his victims.
He could taste it.
Hyacinth took a trembling step back.
“I…”
Tyler stepped forward, firmly.
“You?” muttered
She stepped back again, her back hitting the wall with a soft thud.
“I…”
Her eyes darted rapidly around the room. Tyler could almost see that tiny brain of hers frantically searching for a way out.
He stepped forward once more. His shadow stretched over her. Another step, and the girl shook from how close he was.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, closing her eyes as if awaiting divine punishment. The phrase, so sudden and absurd, hung in the air like a cruel joke.
Tyler froze. He blinked, confused.
“What?”
“I’m having your child.”
Tyler stared at her, unsure how to feel—until a loud laugh burst from his chest and echoed off the walls.
“That’s impossible.”
“I took your seed,” she insisted, her eyes once again defiant as she placed a hand on her stomach and leaned toward him. "swallow-"
“You’re a stupid whore." he interrupted. "Don’t you know nothing we did could get you pregnant? Get. Out.”
“You’re not going to leave me!”
She tried to grab his arm again, clinging to him desperately. Tyler shook her off violently and cornered her against the wall, his hand closing around her throat. He wasn’t squeezing, but Hyacinth gasped theatrically as if the touch alone stole her breath. Her eyes shimmered with a watery gleam—perfectly calculated.
The damn girl was still playing her role, even though he knew the truth.
“Listen to me,” he growled. He leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “You’re not coming near me again. Do you hear me?”
She pressed her lips tightly together. Her eyes blazed with rage.
“Answer me!”
In a fit of fury, Tyler punched the wall next to her head. Hyacinth flinched, but her eyes never wavered, still defiant.
“I will,” she hissed. “But you’ll regret it.”
Tyler let her go, and Hyacinth ran to the door. She removed the board with trembling hands and left the door wide open behind her.
Tyler looked down at his hand and opened it. His claws had sunk into his palm, and blood dripped to the floor, echoing through the room like a funeral bell.
Notes:
I'm sorry for the long delay, but here's the chapter. I hope it's worth the wait.
Originally, this chapter had two more POVs, but I decided to split it into two. (I'll never finish if I keep doing this.) But the good thing is that the other chapter is almost finished and just needs a few tweaks. I hope to finish it this week.
Remember to leave me your opinions, theories, and kudos if you liked this. I really enjoy reading them.
I hope you enjoy the Easter holidays in the places where it is celebrated.
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday felt the cold air hit her face.
Her legs dangled over the edge of the cliff, while the trees—several meters below—swayed to the uniform rhythm of the November wind. The dim light of sunset reflected in her dark eyes, giving them an unusual glimmer.
From afar, Wednesday looked like a statue: motionless, impenetrable.
She let out a faint sigh and clenched her right hand, feeling the cold metal of the necklace against her palm. Her mind was far away, tangled in her mother’s words… in Goody’s warnings.
What exactly had the witch been willing to do to kill Crackstone?
Because if there was one thing Wednesday could discern from the whole plan, it was the lack of any maneuvers to rescue Laurel.
Laurel knew the spell.
Laurel was the Hyde's master, and without her, the monster would be uncontrollable, right?
So why wasn’t Goody as desperate to save Laurel as she was to acquire Tyler?
Could it be possible to bind the Hyde to a new master? Was that her plan against Jericho? Could that be the way to defeat Crackstone?
The idea gave her a strange feeling, and Wednesday couldn’t help but shift slightly where she sat.
She heard footsteps behind her, and when she turned, she saw Joshua emerging from the shadows.
"Not planning to join the celebration?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the rock.
"Is there harmony between natives and conquerors worth celebrating?"
"Actually, yes." Joshua smiled, tilting his head slightly. "There's a small group of Abenakis to the east. We've always had a good relationship with them."
Wednesday rolled her eyes.
"And occasionally, some nomadic Navajo find us. See? We're highly regarded."
"By witches and shapeshifters," Wednesday replied with irony.
Joshua let out a brief laugh before closing the distance and sitting next to her.
"Are you sending it?" he asked, nodding toward her closed fist.
Wednesday opened her hand, letting the sunlight glint off the obsidian. With her thumb, she traced the tiny stones that formed the letter “M.” Morticia. "W" Wednesday.
Could she use it to contact her mother?
"My mother gave it to me," she finally said, not looking up. "As a bond between us."
"Oh! I understand if you don’t want to part with it."
"Don’t insult me with that kind of sentimentality," Wednesday cut him off, her voice sharp as a knife. "She warned me about Goody. She might have more information."
Joshua frowned, visibly puzzled.
"I thought your mother was... dead."
"No," Wednesday replied, turning away. Though technically, she wasn’t alive either.
"And you want to talk to her?"
She nodded silently.
"It should be easy," Joshua admitted, lowering his voice. "Obsidian is a good conduit."
"Show me," Wednesday said, turning to him and holding out the necklace.
Joshua's eyes widened in surprise.
"Now? Wednesday, you should prepare yourself. And this isn’t the safest place." His gaze swept over the abyss before them. "Look, I’ll help you. But it’ll have to be tomorrow, in your room."
"Why?"
"Because Goody will send for us any moment now. Plus, Ianthe won’t hand over your necklace until after the celebration. Jericho is too dangerous tonight."
Wednesday suppressed a frustrated huff. With tense movements, she put the necklace back around her neck, holding it against her chest for a moment.
"I have a message for Logan," she said, fixing her eyes on Joshua. "I need Tyler alive… for a couple more days."
Joshua’s loose smile vanished. His face turned pale.
"You want the Hyde to live?"
"Just for a few days," she reiterated. "I need information only he can give me."
Joshua studied her silently, scrutinizing her carefully.
"Are you sure that's the only reason? I know what happened between you two. If you still feel something for him..."
The wound on his hand stung as the alcohol touched his skin.
Tyler gritted his teeth, holding back a grimace of pain as Mrs. Miller worked silently.
"Sorry," he murmured quickly when she shot him a warning look.
"I don’t want to know how you got this, but others will surely ask."
"It was a glass," he responded without thinking, and Mrs. Miller nodded, seemingly satisfied.
She finished bandaging his hand and stood up with some effort.
"Thank you. I suppose I'll see you at tonight's celebration."
She looked at him in silence for a moment before turning to gather her tools into her basket.
"Only at dinner. Don’t expect me to see your big show."
The disapproving tone twisted his stomach. Tyler lowered his gaze, ashamed of the excitement he had begun to feel for the evening’s event. Since morning, he had listened to everyone talk with enthusiasm, decorating the streets… and for the first time, the apprehensive faces of Jericho’s residents were turning into smiles.
There was something about it all that pulled him back to his time, to his world. And yes, he was being nostalgic, but he didn’t know how to avoid it.
He remembered the greetings from the elderly Howard couple at the corner of his street whenever he walked Elvis. Or the blueberry pie Mrs. Jackson left at his door every year since his mother had passed.
Thanksgiving had always been a bittersweet occasion. His mother favorite celebration. Over time, it became the only family dinner he and his father never skipped, even if it meant sitting in silence across from a turkey so big they couldn’t see each other—and then throwing most of it away the next day. No one mentioned the absent person, but her presence felt heavier than ever.
Tyler had a vivid memory of his mother smiling as she placed a pie in the oven.
"It reminds us that we can come together even if we’re different," she had told him when he asked why she liked it so much. Then, with a playful smile, she wiped his cheek and showed him the peach filling. "Even if it’s with a mischievous boy who steals pie filling."
That memory always brought a smile to his face. It warmed his chest with that unique comfort only home could offer.
Mrs. Miller left with her usual slow steps. Tyler stood up with a sigh. Though his leg was fully healed, he had to keep up the charade to avoid drawing attention.
He took the crutches reluctantly, trying to adjust them without hurting his hand. The wounds weren’t as deep as the night before, but they still stung enough to send a shiver down his spine.
As Tyler made his way slowly down the main street, he noticed how beautiful the town looked. The street was filled with torches and lamps that managed to ward off the November chill. The tools the men always carried were piled on carts or near the stack of logs that would feed the bonfire that night, kept neatly to one side of the central square.
The stage was already set, and a solitary rope swung in the breeze. Tyler let out a slightly relieved sigh. At least, with a hanging, his role in the execution would be minimal.
"Hey, kid!" Jonathan's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and almost immediately, he felt a pat on his shoulder. "Good to see you back on your feet. We need you at the market. Wren’s been helping me, but she’s not half as good with numbers."
"Maybe I could help her improve," Tyler offered, starting to cross the square toward the communal hall.
Jonathan waved a hand dismissively.
"Don’t waste your time. Women don’t understand these things. But I’d accept your offer with someone else."
Jonathan stopped, and Tyler followed suit.
"Mary is pregnant," he confessed with a broad smile. "If the Lord blesses us with a boy, we want him to bear your name."
Tyler nodded and, as he moved forward—reminding himself to keep limping—he noticed Pete standing next to old Thomas, his scowling gaze fixed firmly on him.
The square gradually filled with people. Tyler watched as Mrs. Miller shuffled along, dragging her feet, until she disappeared into one of the dark alleys. Wren was also gone, and Tyler remembered that the girl had planned to visit the cave that night. Others left as well. When Tyler stepped onto the platform, he saw many women leaving, especially those carrying sleeping children. Even so, most of the town remained, filling the square and eager to witness the execution of the captured Outcasts.
Then Tyler saw Thomas climb onto the platform, followed by Pete and three other men he didn’t recognize.
His stomach churned.
He searched for Cole in the crowd, but neither he nor Crackstone appeared.
“Come here, boy,” said Thomas. “You’ll stand here. All you need to do is pull this lever when the reverend gives the word. Understand? John and Viktor will handle the ropes.”
Tyler nodded, though Thomas’s voice began to sound distant. His eyelids felt heavy, his head floating with every word.
“Pete will stay by your side in case you need help,” Thomas added, frowning as he looked at him. “You all right, boy?”
“He’s fine,” Pete answered, clapping him on the back.
Pete grinned maliciously, flashing his broken tooth.
“No offense, kid, but you don’t look all that strong,” he added with a laugh.
Tyler forced a laugh in return and adjusted himself in his spot, letting his weight fall onto the crutches.
That’s when he spotted Cole in the crowd again. He was in the darkest corner of the square, arguing with Hyacinth. Tyler pressed his lips together tightly—he needed to know what that little fox was plotting before she ruined everything he had achieved.
To his relief, Cole seemed tired of her. He saw how Cole grabbed her face roughly and pushed her away. The girl turned in anger and stormed off, disappearing into the crowd.
Cole climbed onto the platform. A few minutes later, Crackstone joined him, accompanied by a lanky man with straw-colored hair.
Silence fell over the square as soon as Crackstone stepped forward.
“This is what awaits us in the future,” he said, raising his voice to capture everyone’s attention. “Harmony, peace, security. Tonight shows us what we will achieve when every one of Lucifer’s servants is defeated and cast into the flames of hell.”
The people cheered and clapped as if on cue.
“A world without abominations, without fear, without sin... a paradise!” he shouted, and the crowd howled even louder. “One that would not be possible without each of us capturing these demons. One by one, we will hunt down every abomination on this earth!”
Crackstone’s smile grew so large it seemed painful. His beady black eyes scanned the men behind him before gesturing for Tyler to step forward.
“Go ahead,” Cole murmured in his ear, a mischievous grin on his lips. “It’s your moment to shine.”
Tyler stepped forward. The wooden planks creaked under his feet.
“Tyler Galpin came to us with nothing,” Crackstone continued, “without a family, without a home, without anything…”
Tyler tried to smile and lowered his gaze bashfully—after all, he was supposed to be a shy boy. But the muscles in his face were beginning to go numb, and his smile looked more like a poorly executed grimace.
He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to clear the fog that clouded them.
Damn it, he didn’t remember laudanum affecting him like this before. He needed Crackstone to shut up and finish this once and for all.
“We gave him everything: a home, a family, a place in our community. And today, he stands before us as a hero.”
Crackstone stepped aside to gesture at him. His rigid smile didn’t reach his malicious eyes.
Tyler felt as though the world was closing in on him. The men behind him seemed closer. His breathing quickened.
He felt as if he might collapse at any moment.
He clenched his fists around the crutches and adjusted himself to place both feet firmly on the ground.
“…With extraordinary courage, he single-handedly defeated a werewolf, and today he will have the honor of ending the life of a powerful witch.”
Shocked voices rose from the crowd. The peasants’ faces turned—some with awe, others with disgust.
The crowd began to part, making way for a small procession dragging a woman in chains, her face covered by a filthy hood.
Agnes led the procession, ringing a bell, her eyes seemingly fixed on Tyler. The boy didn’t have time to confirm it, as Cole gestured for him to return to his assigned place.
“All you have to do is pull this lever,” Cole said, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him to his spot. “She’ll speak her last words, and then we’ll give you the signal.”
Tyler nodded and handed one of his crutches to Pete.
The woman struggled as she walked.
Tyler squinted at her.
She wore a filthy dress that reached halfway down her calves. Her knees were bloody, and her legs were covered in bruises, mud, and dried blood. The stench she emitted was so foul that people stepped farther away from her, some barely disguising their retching.
Even from a distance, Tyler could smell the fetid odor tainting the air.
In the crowd, a boo rose first, followed by someone throwing a piece of pumpkin that struck the woman in the chest. She stopped, and more people began hurling food and stones, tearing at the tattered fabric she wore.
Tyler grew increasingly uncomfortable as the woman drew closer. His chest tightened, and his breathing grew shallow.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Pete murmured behind him. Tyler felt Pete’s sour breath hit the back of his neck. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a woman.”
Tyler glanced over his shoulder and shook his head, too afraid to speak. His mouth felt like sandpaper.
They climbed onto the platform clumsily. The woman stumbled, and her captors merely shoved her forward. Tyler's heart was pounding so hard he could feel the vibration in his ears.
Finally, they placed her over the trapdoor, and the two men Thomas had mentioned secured a rope around her neck. Once it was fastened, the tall, straw-haired man removed the hood, and Tyler's heart stopped.
Laurel.
Her once-vibrant red hair was now dirty and dull, with several inches of blonde roots. She no longer wore her glasses, but her hazel eyes still burned with the same cruel madness Tyler knew too well. She locked eyes with him, and Tyler shuddered.
The boy took a step back.
The blood drained from his veins, and a cold sweat covered his skin. Tyler's body tensed, ready for any command she might give, while his mind frantically searched for an escape.
"...Interesting statements..."
Crackstone continued his endless speech, but all Tyler could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
He couldn’t let her speak. He had to finish her first.
He placed his trembling hands on the lever, but Pete stopped him, wedging his foot in place.
"Scared of a chained-up bitch? Maybe that’s why you still haven’t knocked up that tavern whore..." Pete growled behind him.
Tyler grimaced. He looked at Pete’s foot, then at Laurel, and finally at the crowd, still entranced by Crackstone’s genocidal sermon.
When the rational part of him began to take over, he realized Laurel was gagged. She couldn’t give any orders, despite the desperate look in her eyes. But if there was one thing Tyler was sure of, it was that he’d kill her before she uttered a word.
The fear began to clear his judgment, though his heart still raced.
He was going to kill Laurel.
He was going to kill that wretched bitch.
He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, regulating his breathing as Kinbott had once taught him.
His heart rate began to slow, the ringing in his ears subsided, and his hands stopped trembling—but the knot in his stomach tightened even further.
Slowly, his senses returned to him. First, he noticed the fetid smell emanating from Laurel and couldn’t help but revel in it, at least part of him. The wretched bitch had paid for every day she had tortured him, every blow, every injection, every night he shivered in the cold, unable to sleep... The only thing he regretted was that he hadn’t been the one to inflict all that pain. Because even though he wanted to, Tyler knew he was incapable. The Hyde was still loyal.
On the other hand, he would deliver the final blow.
He gripped the lever tighter. His fingers tingled.
Then, Tyler heard a gasp of surprise from the crowd that snapped him out of his thoughts. It was then that Crackstone's words reached him.
"...an unnatural abomination, born from the impure womb of a monster and the seed of one of our own. Hidden among us."
Tyler watched the crowd squirm uncomfortably and scanned for the other excluded one, but no one emerged.
It took Tyler a second to grasp the true meaning of Crackstone's words and his malicious gaze directed at him.
And when he did, it was too late.
Pete kicked away his crutch and grabbed both of Tyler’s arms behind his back. He landed a sharp kick to Tyler’s recently healed leg, sending him crashing to his knees on the platform. The abrupt movements made Tyler’s head spin, and he didn’t even notice when the burly man placed a blade to his neck.
The crowd let out a collective gasp of astonishment.
"...He deceived us and even killed his own kind."
Crackstone shouted with his face red with fury, waving his staff.
"No," Tyler said, his voice trembling. "You're making a mistake."
"There’s no mistake," Cole said, disgust etched on his face. With a swift motion, he slapped Tyler, striking his cheekbone with a heavy ring.
Tyler felt his mouth fill with blood.
Cole knelt beside him, fascinated by the sight of the blood trickling from his lips.
"To catch you, we must outsmart you, mustn’t we?" He nodded, and Pete twisted Tyler’s arms further. Tyler could feel his bones creaking.
"She’s lying to you," Tyler muttered through gritted teeth. "I saved your life!"
What the hell was happening?
"And now everyone will know the truth."
Tyler’s eyes widened as he watched Crackstone approach Laurel and remove her gag.
"No!" he shouted with all his strength, thrashing desperately. "Don’t do it! Kill her! Kill her now!"
But the cruel bitch was free and smiling like a psychopath.
"Speak," Crackstone commanded, striking her with his staff.
The entire village seemed to hold its breath.
Tyler felt his heart pounding wildly, ready to burst from his chest. He knew what was coming...
Laurel locked eyes with him, promising severe punishment.
Tyler looked at the lever. If only he could pull it...
He made a desperate move, attempting to throw himself against it, even if it meant Pete would break both his arms.
"Tyler," every muscle in the boy's body tensed at the authoritative tone of his master. His pupils dilated, his nostrils flared. "Transform and free me."
Laurel couldn’t continue speaking because the monster inside Tyler was already at the surface. He let out a guttural growl that sent a shiver through the square, and his body began to grow and grow.
His pilgrim clothes tore apart, and his once-pleasant face became grotesquely distorted.
"Kill him!" Cole ordered.
Pete drove the knife into Tyler’s chest, but the dull blade barely penetrated the monster’s thick hide. With a swift motion, Tyler—now fully transformed into the Hyde—spun around and slashed with his claw. Pete's chest was laid bare for all to see. The man staggered back a few steps, choking on his own blood, and the knife he had used to threaten Tyler clattered onto the platform beside his lifeless body.
The handsome, kind boy was gone, replaced by the Hyde standing tall before all the townsfolk of Jericho. His grayish skin, enormous eyes, and razor-sharp, bloodstained claws left no room for doubt.
For a moment, the entire village held its breath. Their disbelieving eyes stared at the monster on the platform—the one they had lived alongside, the one they had welcomed into their midst.
A scream shattered the fragile silence, and chaos erupted in the square. Screams, curses, and panicked footsteps filled the air. Women and children fled to their homes, while men rushed to grab torches, pitchforks, and hammers.
"Kill it!" Crackstone shouted, pointing at the beast with his gnarled staff.
Tyler roared at the old pilgrim. Crackstone’s men charged at him. Knives tore into his skin. The Hyde swatted aside those nearby, sending the elderly Thomas crashing unconscious onto the platform and the straw-haired man tumbling down the stairs into the square, where he remained motionless. With his claws, Tyler cut the ropes around Laurel's neck.
The woman fell to the ground, and at that moment, a knife buried itself in the monster’s side.
The Hyde let out a long, guttural howl, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Cole. The man pulled out the knife and lunged at the monster, aiming to drive the blade into his right eye.
But Cole had never fought a Hyde before. The beast grabbed his head with one claw and the arm holding the knife with the other. The poor man writhed in agony.
Tyler lifted him into the air, his sharp claws digging into the pilgrim’s skin, drawing a torrent of blood.
"You cursed abomination," Cole spat, his voice full of venom, even as blood poured from his wounds. He spat in the monster’s face.
Enraged, the Hyde roared. He twisted Cole’s head to the left and his arm to the right. The man screamed and kicked at the air until, with a sickening tear, his head came off, leaving his body hanging grotesquely. Hot blood drenched the Hyde from head to toe.
The beast hurled the remains away, splattering Cole Crackstone’s blood on the remaining villagers in the square. This triggered another wave of frenzied screams.
The Hyde’s eyes fixed on the elder Crackstone, but before he could attack, the man’s followers hurled torches onto the platform. Flames began to lick at the wood and the bodies. Old Thomas's shirt caught fire, and he awoke just in time to scream in agony. The flames also reached the Hyde’s skin.
The monster leapt down into the square, frantic. Roaring and mowing down anyone in his path, the Hyde stumbled away. He ran through Jericho’s narrow streets, jumping onto rooftops, some of which gave way under his weight, sending terrified townspeople fleeing.
The initial chaos subsided, and the villagers quickly organized into groups to hunt him down.
Tyler could feel them on his heels. The flames from the platform grew higher, illuminating the massacre he had left behind in just a few minutes and stoking the villagers’ fury.
The roof he was running on gave way, sending the Hyde tumbling into a pile of debris and straw. He crawled through a dark alley, only to come face-to-face with a familiar figure.
Mrs. Miller stared at him in horror, clutching a trembling knife in her hands, her wide, pale eyes fixed on him.
Tyler let out a pitiful sound, the monster’s chest heaving erratically. His hot breath made the old nurse tremble, but she didn’t look away.
“Northeast,” she murmured, her lips barely moving. “You have to go northeast.”
The villagers’ shouts grew louder, and the monster took off. He leapt over the wall and fled into the forest.
He let out one last growl that sounded more like a scream, and then his body fell to the ground, no longer as a monster, but as a boy.
And as had happened many times before, he was naked and covered in blood.
Tyler tried to stand, but his body was riddled with wounds. Half his face was smeared with blood—his own and others’. Burns marked his back and leg, and when he touched his side, he found the gaping wound Cole’s knife had left. Breathing was painful, and every exhale came with a strange wheezing sound.
But he couldn’t stop. He heard the gates of the wall opening and the vengeful voices of the hunters.
Tyler forced himself to his feet. Everything around him spun, but he kept running, glancing back occasionally. His feet were cut by stones and dry branches on the ground. Each time he fell, the ringing in his ears grew louder, and whatever Cole had slipped into his drink was slowly numbing his entire body.
He fell again, his head bounced against the ground. Dirt mixing with the blood in his mouth.
Damn it!
He was done.
He knew it.
The mob was getting closer. Their torches’ flames sliced through the forest darkness like knives.
He let out a desperate cry, his eyes filling with hot tears.
Clenching his teeth tightly, he dragged himself along the ground, his wounds tearing open even more.
He wanted to transform, to massacre every single inhabitant of that cursed town until not a soul remained, to make them pay…
Tears ran down his cheeks, mingling with blood and dirt, laden with rage and helplessness.
If only he could transform one more time…
He clenched his fists, dirt grinding between his fingers.
It was over.
He knew it.
Tyler stopped, panting. Every breath was agony, and his arms trembled from the effort.
There was nothing left to do, no place left to run. He was going to die in a forest in Jericho, four hundred years before his birth. And the only thing he had accomplished was freeing the damned witch who had tortured and abused him until he became her pet.
Damn it!
He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, trying to suppress a scream of frustration.
He had been a mediocre student, an average worker. He had lost his friends a year ago and Wednesday over two month ago.
Tyler let out a feral roar, summoning every ounce of strength to force his bones to break and his flesh to expand. The monster within him stirred, trapped in a body too weak to contain it.
Would his father miss him? Would he find his bones in some unmarked grave? Or would he simply bury himself in his work, forgetting he had ever had a son, just as he had forgotten his wife?
A sob tore from his chest, and Tyler buried his face in the dirt.
What he regretted most was that he wouldn’t be buried alongside his mother.
He heard footsteps approaching, and his body tensed.
Fine.
He was going to die, but he would take one more bastard with him.
He remained on the ground, listening intently to each step, ready to strike at the first opportunity.
It was just one person, their steps light, circling him slowly.
The leaves beside his head crunched softly. His muscles coiled, ready for a final attack.
Tyler felt the person kneel beside him.
His heart pounded furiously.
Suddenly, he felt a hand sink into his hair, yanking his head up.
He clenched his lips tightly and found himself staring into Hyacinth’s unflinching gaze.
Her eyes roamed over his face. Slowly, a mocking smile spread across her lips.
"Who needs help now, Tyler?"
Notes:
30 pages! You understand why I had to split the previous chapter.
Please tell me your thoughts! I wrote some parts of this chapter months ago; I had to change a few things eventually, but I couldn't wait to share it with you.
I hope it was all exciting to read.
Chapter 21
Notes:
This chapter contains explicit scenes of violence, coercion, and sensitive themes related to abuse and drugs. Reading discretion may be disturbing for some.
I've marked with a bold sentence where the most gruesome section begins and ends, in case anyone feels uncomfortable and wants to skip that scene.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hyacinth grabbed him firmly by the chin, forcing his face to turn from side to side. She shook her head slowly, a slight furrow forming between her brows.
“This doesn’t look good,” she murmured calmly. “You know, Cole didn’t want you to have a quick death. His plan was for you to bleed out slowly while everyone watched.”
Tyler barely heard her. His heart thundered in his ears, drowning out the world. The shouts of the villagers grew closer and closer. He tried to step back, but Hyacinth held him tighter and clicked her tongue.
“You can’t leave. Only I know what was in the poison he gave you...” She pulled a small amber vial from her blouse. “And only I have the antidote.”
Hyacinth smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously, as though this were some lighthearted tavern joke.
Tyler’s eyes darted from the vial to the girl. His pupils dilated, leaving only a faint ring of color against the black.
He tried to speak—perhaps to convince her, perhaps to threaten her—but he couldn’t decide, and it didn’t matter. He could barely part his lips. His tongue felt swollen and clumsy, his lips tingled unpleasantly.
Even though the instinct to survive had cleared his mind, the poison still dulled his body.
“But you killed Cole and ruined my plans,” she said, closing her hand and hiding the vial from view once more. “What punishment would be the most fitting...?”
Hyacinth blinked in confusion as Tyler spat in her face.
The girl’s beautiful features contorted into pure rage, and with a swift motion, she slapped him hard enough to knock him to the ground.
Tyler let out a faint groan of pain.
But Hyacinth wasn’t done. She stood and drove her foot into the wound Cole had opened in his side.
A strangled moan escaped Tyler’s lips. The pain fogged his mind, and dark spots danced in his vision. Bile rose rapidly in his throat, and with a sharp heave, he vomited blood and bile onto the forest floor.
Hyacinth crouched over him again, her eyes filled with nothing but cold contempt.
“You don’t understand your position here, do you? I only have to scream, and your life will end in a matter of seconds—”
“Tyler!”
Hyacinth turned sharply. Wren stood a few steps away, her face flushed with exertion, her chest heaving. “Oh my god! What happened?”
“You should head back to Jericho. I’ll handle this,” Hyacinth said smoothly.
Tyler looked at Wren and summoned all his remaining strength to shake his head from side to side.
Wren turned her face toward the village. She heard the voices, saw the glow of approaching torches, then looked back at Tyler’s battered body.
Her face paled as understanding dawned on her. Then, she met Tyler’s gaze in a silent exchange.
Closing the distance between them, she helped him to his feet.
“I know where we can go. Come on!”
Hyacinth clenched her jaw for a brief moment, but she quickly relaxed her expression and nodded.
They moved, seeking the thickest, darkest parts of the forest. Tyler could barely see where they were taking him—his world was little more than a blurred smear. The voices chasing them ebbed and flowed, sometimes near, sometimes far, and all he could do was focus on breathing, keeping his eyes open, and holding his head slightly upright.
More than once, Tyler had to stop to spit out the blood pooling in his mouth.
“We’re almost there,” Wren whispered anxiously every so often.
Hyacinth remained silent, but her grip on Tyler was unrelenting, her nails digging into his skin.
The night grew colder with each step. The icy wind lashed against their faces, and yet Tyler’s body was slick with a fine sheen of sweat. His muscles burned with every movement.
Suddenly, loud barking shattered the night’s silence. Both girls froze in place.
“Let’s go,” Hyacinth said, her face pale. “If they catch us, they’ll kill us with him.”
“No,” Wren pleaded. “We’re close.”
“There’s nothing here!”
“Yes, there is. We’re almost there.”
“If the dogs get any closer, I’m leaving.”
Clenching her lips tightly, Hyacinth resumed walking. Wren had been right—the old, crumbling meeting house was only a few steps away. The girl revealed the hidden hatch and descended into the tunnel first.
“You can lower him now,” Wren called from below.
Hyacinth, however, lingered. By now, Tyler was little more than a barely living body. His wounds wouldn’t stop bleeding, his normally sun-kissed skin was turning deathly pale, and his breathing was still labored. His consciousness had slipped away long ago. He muttered incoherent words, his unfocused eyes staring blankly.
Hyacinth’s lips curled as she shoved Tyler down the hole.
His body landed with a dull thud and a muffled yelp from Wren.
“Sorry,” Hyacinth said, peering down as Wren struggled to lift Tyler’s limp body.
“It’s my fault. I wasn’t ready. I’m so sorry, Tyler,” Wren muttered, her voice strained from the effort.
The impact briefly cleared Tyler’s fogged mind. He looked directly into Wren’s eyes.
“No. She... don’t...”
The black spots in his vision expanded, swallowing everything. The sounds around him faded into nothingness.
Hyacinth carefully climbed down, closing the hatch behind her. She dusted off her hands and looked expectantly at Wren.
“Where...?”
Hyacinth stopped mid-sentence. The barking above reverberated through the ground. Wren’s face went pale as she tightened her hold on Tyler.
Time seemed to stretch painfully in that moment. The footsteps drew closer, the barking grew louder, as if coming from the very earth around them.
If they were discovered, they were as good as dead.
Despite the tension gripping Hyacinth and Wren, Tyler barely registered what was happening. His eyelids threatened to shut completely, and his fever burned hotter than ever.
Something happened outside—the voices grew more frantic, and the footsteps retreated. Hyacinth exhaled deeply in relief.
“Help me,” Wren whispered urgently. “We’re not safe yet.”
“What is this place?” Hyacinth asked, moving forward without offering any assistance.
“Tunnels...” Wren replied, panting as she adjusted one of Tyler’s arms over her shoulders. “Tyler found them... Help me.”
Rolling her eyes, Hyacinth finally turned back. She grabbed Tyler’s other arm. They moved through the tunnels for several minutes, immersed in the darkness and cold. Only their footsteps and labored breathing echoed off the walls. Tyler’s feet dragged along the ground, his head lolling side to side.
The tunnel opened into a spacious cavern where the warm glow of a fire greeted them.
“Wren! What happ—Oh my god! What happened to Tyler?”
Abigail rushed toward them but froze when the firelight illuminated Hyacinth’s face.
“Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Tyler’s,” Hyacinth replied, watching Abigail with mild curiosity. “Crackstone is after him.”
Abigail let out a defeated sigh, her gaze full of pity as it landed on Tyler’s battered body.
“We need to treat his wounds. I have some things that might help.”
They laid Tyler down on Abigail’s makeshift straw bed. They cleaned the blood from his body and wrapped him in thick blankets while Abigail crushed herbs to make a poultice.
Tyler trembled, and it was impossible to tell if it was from the cold or his fever. His eyelids fluttered, barely staying open.
“I’m going back,” Wren announced, pressing a damp cloth to Tyler’s forehead. “I’ll see what I can bring.”
“No,” Tyler’s voice was barely a whisper. His hand clutched Wren’s with all the strength he could muster. “No,” he repeated.
Abigail focused on applying the poultice to each wound. Hyacinth seized the opportunity to fill a bowl with water, adding a few drops of the antidote.
“Make him drink this,” she said, handing the bowl to Wren.
Wren nodded obediently. In his delirium, Tyler drank the liquid without resistance, the antidote sliding past his lips unnoticed.
Wednesday looked around. There was nothing but a vast, dark void.
“Mother,” she called. Her voice echoed in the ethereal space, and its dimensions rippled like water disturbed by a stone. After a moment, everything settled back into stillness. “Mother,” she called again, louder this time.
The response was the same, and she furrowed her brows in frustration.
She stepped forward—or at least, what she assumed was forward—and although she couldn’t feel the ground beneath her, each step produced a deep, resonant echo.
She continued walking, calling out to her mother a few more times, until a glowing door materialized to her right. Without hesitation, Wednesday pushed it open and stepped through.
Suddenly, she stood before the gates of Nevermore. The students were nothing more than blurry shadows passing by her.
Her mother stood ahead of her, a gentle smile on her lips. Wednesday felt her black heart leap in her chest.
“I don’t want to be a stranger to you, darling.”
“Mother,” Wednesday interrupted hurriedly, “Goody. How did she defeat Crackstone?”
Morticia looked at her with confusion, and the memory shattered, falling around her like a collapsing curtain.
“No...” Wednesday gasped as she opened her eyes. Joshua was holding the other end of her amulet, and she noticed a thin trickle of blood running from his nose.
The boy wiped the blood away quickly with his sleeve.
“Let’s try again,” he insisted. “Maybe if I join you—”
“It’s useless.”
“She can’t be that far. Just one more time.”
Wednesday rolled her eyes and took the amulet. Before she could close her eyes, a chill ran down her spine, and her head jerked sharply upward. A series of disjointed images flashed through her mind.
An old woman with piercing eyes handed the amulet to Viktor. Horses galloped wildly. Blood. Crackstone. And finally, Goody holding the amulet among the organs collected for the ritual.
As quickly as it began, it ended. Wednesday snapped back to reality. Joshua barely had time to look surprised before she turned to him with a bewildered expression.
“Are you okay? What did you see?”
Wednesday blinked a few times before snatching the amulet from Joshua’s hands.
“I’ll deliver it.”
She jumped to her feet and stepped out of the circle of candles where they’d been sitting. Joshua followed her hastily.
“You’re serious? I thought you didn’t want the Hyde to get into your head.”
“I don’t like the idea,” she admitted, coming to a stop, “but it will give me the information I need for the ritual. Tell Logan our deal still stands.”
Wednesday removed the silencing rune from the wall and left her room with firm steps.
Most of the Outcasts were still asleep after the previous night’s celebration. The patrol groups hadn’t returned yet, and all outdoor activities had been suspended until there was news from Jericho. When Wednesday entered the large cavern, only about ten people were scattered throughout the space.
Among them was Ianthe. Her straight blonde hair fell like a waterfall down her back. Her long neck and upturned nose gave her a perpetually haughty air. Despite her old, tattered dress like everyone else’s, her poise made it look elegant. Her vibrant blue eyes contrasted with her pale skin and gleamed with triumph as she noticed Wednesday approaching.
“I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” Ianthe said, extending her hand.
Wednesday met her gaze, her expression betraying none of her sinister thoughts.
“Why would I? We have the same goal.”
“You’re always opposing Goody,” Ianthe said, shrugging as she placed the amulet around her neck. “It’s good to see you’ve come around. Dividing us won’t help us win this war.”
“My intention is to end it as quickly as possible.”
“I hope that’s true.”
Ianthe held Wednesday’s gaze for a few moments. Wednesday had to admit that the siren was bolder than she had imagined, and her loyalty to Goody was fiercely unwavering. Without another word, Wednesday turned and disappeared into the shadows of the countless caves, her eyes never leaving Ianthe’s every step.
Hyacinth hurriedly washed her hands. She could hear the horses' hooves approaching as she struggled to scrub away the dirt and blood lodged beneath her nails. Then, she climbed onto the barrels of ale stored behind the pub and leaped through the window of her room. The small space barely allowed her entry, but her adrenaline pushed her through on the first try.
Her room was tiny, containing just a bed, a table, and a wardrobe with a few dresses. They were all drab and carried the faint smell of pork lard her father used in the kitchen. The slanted ceiling was so low on one side that it nearly brushed her head.
Hyacinth hastily shed her dirty dress and pulled on a clean one just as her father banged on the door and flung it open.
"Crackstone’s men are waiting downstairs," he hissed, grabbing her arm roughly. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," she protested, trying to pull away.
"If you get into trouble with that family again, they’ll hang us all. Now get downstairs and do whatever they tell you."
The man stormed off, his heavy steps making the wooden floors of the tavern creak.
"Maybe I’ll be the one to get you hanged," she muttered under her breath before smoothing her dress and hastily re-braiding her long hair over her shoulder.
She let out a deep sigh, then descended the stairs slowly, her blue eyes wide and feigning confusion. Neither Pete nor Thomas was at the door. Instead, Viktor was waiting. She swallowed a curse and forced a hesitant smile.
Pete and Thomas were strong men who had slapped her more than once under Cole's orders, but they were nothing more than brutish lackeys. Viktor, on the other hand, was one of Joseph Crackstone's men. Quiet and shrewd, Viktor had risen through the ranks with his strategic mind. Hyacinth knew he was far more dangerous and had always made it a point to stay away from him.
"Even so, he never figured out that Joshua was a freak," she reminded herself. "Joshua managed to fool him."
Viktor greeted her with a curt nod, his somber expression far from reassuring.
“Come with me.”
He gestured toward the carriage waiting at the tavern's entrance with his right hand. His left arm was in a sling, and a purple swelling marred his forehead.
They squeezed into the carriage's seat. George Smith, a boy barely fourteen, held the reins. The ride was silent. Hyacinth stole glances at Viktor, but his expression revealed nothing of what lay ahead. Swallowing hard, she fixed her gaze forward, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt tightly.
As they traversed the streets of Jericho, Hyacinth took in the destruction Tyler had caused. Some houses were in ruins, bloodstains littered the ground, growing more frequent as they neared the town square. Fires had consumed several buildings, and when they arrived at the meeting hall, a row of bodies was laid out in front of the church. Some were slashed from end to end; others were completely dismembered.
Her eyes widened in shock, unable to tear her gaze away. She knew if Tyler survived, she might meet the same fate.
She hadn’t witnessed Tyler’s transformation. She’d left before the spectacle began. Cole had planned to celebrate that night, and she was supposed to wait for him to grow tired of playing the dutiful husband and join her in the room he’d designated for her.
As she looked at the strewn bodies, she wondered which one belonged to Cole.
"No, he wouldn’t be there," she thought. "Crackstone wouldn’t leave him with the trash."
Viktor's hand on her shoulder startled her.
"Don’t look at them," he advised, guiding her toward the door.
They passed through the communal hall, where the dining tables remained in disarray, and reached an interrogation room.
Joseph Crackstone stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, his lips pressed so tightly together they formed a white line. The scar on his face looked pale compared to his flushed, angry complexion. Kneeling before him was old Jonathan Castell. Tears streaked the man’s face, and his shirt hung in tatters.
“I don’t know anything,” he murmured between choked sobs.
With a nod, Johan, his executioner, swung a whip that lashed across the man’s back, ripping a scream from his throat. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling beneath him.
Hyacinth flinched at the sound of the whip. Viktor, still holding her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, as though to comfort her.
“Sir,” Viktor called, drawing Crackstone’s attention.
The man turned slightly, his beady eyes fixing on her for a moment.
“Take him to the dungeon,” he said, turning back to Jonathan. “And bring me his wife and daughter. They will cooperate.”
“No! No, please!” Jonathan cried desperately. “Mary is pregnant! Wren—Wren doesn’t know anything!”
Jonathan was dragged out of the room.
With deliberate calm, Crackstone washed his hands in a basin of water, and Agnes quickly handed him a towel. Crackstone nodded toward Viktor, who led Hyacinth to another room.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to an empty chair. He took the other while Viktor stood behind the older man. Hyacinth quickly lowered her gaze and complied.
“My son ordered you to spy on the monster. Tell me everything you know.”
Hyacinth stared at him with wide eyes, her lower lip trembling faintly. One wrong word, and she’d end up in the dungeon too—she knew that. Joseph Crackstone wasn’t Cole; he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
As she prolonged her act as a frightened damsel, she wondered who was more dangerous: Tyler or Crackstone?
Finally, Wednesday had secured the opportunity she had been patiently waiting for.
Joshua was busy entertaining Goody in the Nightshade’s hall, sharing parts of Logan’s plans to keep her interested.
The boy hadn’t agreed with that part of the plan, but Wednesday had skillfully played the emotional blackmail card, reminding him how he had used her first and stripping away the guilt Joshua claimed to feel.
“Besides,” Wednesday added with determination, “if everything goes well, Logan will have Tyler, and Crackstone will be dead by dawn, avoiding the bloodshed that could occur if Goody becomes the new hyde master. It’s a beneficial deal for everyone.”
Joshua let out a deep sigh and shook his head.
“Just find Viktor when you get there. He’ll hide you and tell you where Crackstone is.”
She gave a single nod.
“And Wednesday…” Joshua removed his family pendant and handed it to her once again. “If you need my help, don’t hesitate to use it. You know what to do.”
“Thank you,” she said, staring at the jewel in her hands.
Her eyes shifted to Joshua’s face, searching for any trace of deception, but found none. A strange sensation stirred in her chest, and a distant memory invaded her mind: fireworks, the scent of sweetness, a folder in her hands, and Tyler’s half-smile.
Wednesday abruptly turned away, tucking the pendant into her pocket and burying the feeling under layers of hatred and disdain.
The next step was even easier. Elizabeth didn’t ask many questions after Wednesday confessed her intent to kill Crackstone.
“I don’t see death close to you,” Elizabeth said. “So maybe you’ll succeed, and I can finally leave this hole.”
Banshees rarely left the refuge. Normies believed seeing one was an omen of death, and none would let one escape alive. They were among the few creatures who never ventured beyond the shelter.
Once Ianthe had departed with her medallion and other orders from Goody, Elizabeth went to the entrance and distracted the pair of gorgons standing guard.
Wednesday slipped out of the cave. She didn’t use the main path but entered the surrounding forest. When she passed the trees Goody had marked with runes, she felt a bubble of air pop in her ears. Looking back, the entire mountain peak where the Outcasts’ hideout was concealed had transformed into a dense forest. If she squinted carefully, she could see faint flashes in the air left by the use of magic.
With a half-smile on her lips, she resumed her descent, cutting through the mountain to find Ianthe more quickly.
If Wednesday had agreed to hand over her mother’s amulet, it was because she knew it wouldn’t reach Tyler. Instead, it would lead her to Crackstone and the spell she sought to cast.
Perhaps she wouldn’t even need Tyler and could leave him behind without a second thought—just as he hadn’t hesitated to leave her to Laurel’s mercy in the crypt.
Abandon him there, playing happy family with his new girlfriend, and once she returned to the present, she would erase his name from any history book about Jericho, ensuring his pathetic existence disappeared completely.
Wednesday shook her head, dismissing the thought. She approached the forest trail, searching for any sign Ianthe might have left. She followed the path a few meters further until the tracks in the mud disappeared into the undergrowth. Wednesday quickly realized where they were headed. The sound of the river echoed nearby.
She moved cautiously closer. Ianthe stood at the riverbank, discarding her dress and shoes. Her naked body glowed in the light of the setting sun for a few moments before she plunged into the river. Wednesday hurried forward, watching as Ianthe swam swiftly upstream. Her pale pink tail shimmered each time it broke the water’s surface.
Wednesday followed the riverbank. Ianthe was much faster, and by the time Wednesday reached the lake, the moon was already high in the sky. For a few minutes, Wednesday watched. Soon, the moon would be full, and in less than fifteen days, the wolves would howl again.
Her mind drifted to Tyler and the fate awaiting him. Her stomach twisted.
She let out a growl, mentally chastising herself for her thoughts. Refocusing on her surveillance, she saw Ianthe still swimming in the lake, indifferent to her or anyone else.
The moon had shifted across the sky when Wednesday heard the snapping of branches. She tensed, gripping one of her knives tightly as she crept closer, her steps slow and silent.
An elderly woman emerged from the forest. She carried a wicker basket in her hand, and her graying brown hair was tied in a bun. Ianthe surfaced from the lake, her long hair spreading across the water, her bare breasts glowing in the moonlight. The old woman rolled her blue eyes, and Ianthe smirked wickedly.
“You lack decency, girl,” the old woman growled.
“Don’t be jealous, old hag. It’s not my fault you didn’t enjoy your youth.”
“You grow more insolent by the day. Let me remind you that as your aunt, you owe me the same respect you owe your mother.”
“Half-aunt,” Ianthe corrected with a mocking tone. “So I only owe you half the respect.”
The old woman let out another growl.
“Stop playing, child. I must return soon. Things are not well.”
Ianthe approached the shore and handed her the medallion. Wednesday watched them closely—it was exactly as she had seen in her vision.
“Give it to the hyde,” Ianthe said. “We’ll contact him soon.”
The woman took the medallion, her face darkening.
“That won’t be possible. Crackstone discovered him.”
Wednesday’s heart skipped a beat, and she couldn’t help but glance toward Jericho.
Did that mean Tyler was dead?
Was that why the medallion never reached him?
“How?” Ianthe’s surprise was evident, her eyebrows rising to her hairline.
“They say a woman, a witch, betrayed him. She forced him to transform in front everybody and then… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The woman lowered her gaze. Wednesday could imagine what had happened—the massacre, the blood, the terror. She clenched her fists tightly.
“The boy,” the old woman said, closing her eyes and shaking her head softly. “Tyler,” she corrected, “killed Cole and a dozen others. Then he escaped. Tell Goody the woods are not safe. Patrols are permanent until he is found.”
“Did he leave with the woman who betrayed him?” Ianthe asked.
The old woman shook her head.
“When I saw him, he was alone.”
Ianthe’s relaxed expression faded, her brows knitting in concern.
“In that case… give the medallion to Viktor. If they find him, he’ll be among the first to know. Tell him to pass it to the hyde.”
The old woman nodded and tucked the jewel into her clothing.
Wednesday watched as the old woman returned to Jericho and Ianthe disappeared once more into the depths of the river.
Without a doubt, Goody would convene a meeting as soon as she received the news. She would notice Wednesday’s absence. Meanwhile, Jericho was weakened, and getting close to Crackstone would be easier.
Wednesday looked from one path to another, then into the forest stretching ahead of her.
Tyler was out there, lurking somewhere in that vast darkness.
Hyacinth jumped out of her room's window onto the empty beer barrels. The tavern was in complete darkness.
After the funerals, Crackstone had decreed three days of prayer and mourning for all the lives lost. Not a single laugh should be heard during that time, or the culprit would be flogged in the central square. Meanwhile, the search teams delved deeper into the forest, hunting the pair of freaks. Whoever found them had orders to kill them.
No captures, no mercy.
Once outside the tavern, the girl retrieved a small bag full of vials she had hidden in some loose boards and headed into the forest. Crossing the wall would be easy—between the dead and the searchers, the number of sentries had drastically decreased, leaving many areas deserted. She moved the same loose beams she had used earlier that morning and disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
In the cave, Tyler tossed and turned on the makeshift bed, still lost in his delirium. His body trembled with fever, his lips looked white and cracked, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced against the pallor of his skin.
Wren and Abigail hadn’t left his side. The cloths they used to wipe his body had a faint pink tinge from the blood that still oozed from his wounds. As the hours passed, their faces grew more despondent.
They had stitched up the wound in his abdomen with gut thread, applied poultices, and it was healing well, but the boy continued to babble incoherently.
“We have to go to Jericho for medicine,” Wren said, her voice sounding distorted.
“No. It’s too dangerous to go back now,” Abigail replied. “They must have realized you’re missing.”
“But what if he dies?” Wren lowered her voice. Tyler could hear the words, but he didn’t understand them.
“He won’t die,” Abigail assured her, gripping her hand tightly. “I’ve seen it—he’s not like any other fr... any of them.” She hesitated, unsure how to refer to him or his kind.
Tyler let out a weak groan, and his eyelids fluttered open slowly.
“Tyler, are you okay?” Wren jumped to her feet.
“Water. Get some water.”
But as soon as they brought the jug to his lips, he trembled and turned his face away.
“No,” he murmured unintelligibly. “Not anymore.”
His eyes were fixed on something only he could see, and his body shook at every touch until the girls decided to step away from him.
“Come on, we have to find something, at least,” Wren pleaded.
Abigail crossed her arms over her chest, glancing between Tyler and Wren.
“I’ll go,” she finally said. “They might be looking for you.”
“But if they find you, they might capture you again.”
“Wren, I owe it to him,” she replied. “Besides, I know which tunnels to use to stay safe.”
Abigail grabbed an old cloak that Tyler had brought to the refuge, slung a satchel over her shoulder, and was about to leave when the stone blocking the entrance shifted. The girls tensed, and Abigail gripped a nearby knife.
Hyacinth slipped into the cave, and Wren let out a sigh of relief.
“It’s you,” she said, clutching her chest.
“How is Tyler?” Hyacinth asked, approaching them.
“The fever hasn’t gone down. We need to give him something.”
“Yes, I brought some remedies, but there’s one thing I couldn’t find—vervain.”
“There’s no vervain in Jericho?” Abigail asked, surprised.
“Crackstone ordered it to be reserved only for the sick, but it grows in the forest, and it’ll be easy to find.”
Hyacinth began pulling out the vials and placing them on a table.
“What are these supposed to be?” Abigail asked again, picking up an amber-colored one.
Hyacinth snatched it from her hand brusquely.
“It’s what Tyler needs,” she said firmly. “Now, I need you to go get the vervain.”
Abigail clenched her teeth but relented after glancing at Tyler.
“I was planning to go anyway.”
She grabbed the satchel and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, hiding her platinum hair.
“You both should go,” Hyacinth said quickly. “It’ll be faster.”
“Wren can’t go,” Abigail argued again. “Crackstone will be looking for her.”
Hyacinth rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“He’s not looking for her. Besides, they went south.”
“I can do it alone.”
“You’ll be quicker together. Or do you want Tyler to die?” Hyacinth directed the last question straight at Wren.
The girl paled under Hyacinth’s intense gaze and quickly shook her head.
“I’ll go,” she said in a faint voice.
“No...”
“We’ll be quick,” Wren added to convince Abigail.
With great effort, Hyacinth suppressed the triumphant smile threatening to spread across her lips. However, she couldn’t resist handing them an empty water skin.
“And get fresh water.”
Abigail snatched the skin and left through one of the right-hand tunnels.
Once alone, Hyacinth picked up one of the vials and walked over to Tyler. She gently brushed his damp hair from his forehead and caressed his face.
“This is laudanum,” she said softly. “You’re already familiar with it, aren’t you?”
Tyler stirred weakly, letting out barely audible whimpers, but Hyacinth gripped his jaw firmly and poured the entire contents of the dropper into his mouth.
“And this will stop the bleeding for a few hours,” she added, dripping five drops from another vial into a jug of water.
This time, Tyler barely resisted when she forced him to drink. His eyes squinted as he tried to focus on her, but the girl’s silhouette grew increasingly blurry, her voice more distant. His eyelids fell heavily.
And when he opened them again… she was no longer there.
He was in a much smaller cave. The cold night air bit into his bones, and his naked body continued to bleed. He struggled against the shackles on his hands.
“Please… let me go,” he begged. His voice broke, and tears streamed down his cheeks. “I won’t say anything, I swear…”
“Of course, you won’t say anything.”
The woman’s voice was grating, sending shivers through his skin and churning his stomach. He felt long, thin fingers grip his face. A bitter liquid dripped over his lips.
He coughed. It burned his throat.
“Please…” he begged again, trembling. Hot tears streaked his fevered face.
Hyacinth watched him curiously as he writhed in his delirium. She pulled back the blankets covering him and began to clean the thin layer of blood still seeping from his pores.
“I always suspected you were one of them,” she murmured as the cloth became soaked with sweat and blood. She rinsed it in a jug of warm water. “Your strange… ways of possessing me. Is that what your kind does?”
She looked up. Tyler was still muttering incoherent words, completely oblivious to her presence. His glassy eyes, though open, seemed to focus on something else entirely.
Hyacinth set the damp cloth aside and dried her hands on the skirt of her dress. Her fingers trailed across Tyler’s chest, moving down the muscles marred by dozens of lacerations until they rested on the wound Abigail had recently stitched.
“Crackstone put a price on your head. Ten pounds if you’re delivered dead, but I think I could get twenty if you’re still alive.”
She stroked him again, and Tyler shuddered. Hyacinth’s smile widened. Slowly, she sat beside him on the bed. Her hands moved with ownership over his body.
“They paid three shillings for me,” she spat the words with disdain. “Crackstone said I was worth only one, but since I’d make his eldest son a man, he gave my father two more. You know, for any future inconveniences.”
She pressed her lips tightly together.
“But do you know something, Tyler? I think I deserve that entire damned town.”
Her blue eyes scanned the boy's body as her hands slid to the hem of the trousers he was still wearing.
"But Crackstone gave it to frigid Agnes. And there's only one way I can take it away from her."
She felt Tyler's slumbering member against the fabric.
"That worthless woman only managed to give him a daughter as scrawny as her. I was going to be the one to give him the son he so craved," she whispered, leaning down next to his ear. His warm breath brushed her neck. "Only not all men can have sons."
Tyler felt the touch. In the midst of the darkness, he thought he could make out a long braid, pale skin, familiar. His trembling hand reached out and brushed the girl’s chin, needing to confirm it wasn’t a hallucination.
“Wednesday?” His voice broke. “Wednesday… help me. Please…”
“Wednesday?” Hyacinth repeated, her brow furrowing. “Fine, I can be her if that’s what you want.”
She pulled down Tyler’s pants and straddled him.
Tyler shuddered, his breath catching in his chest.
“What are you doing? Laurel will be here soon.”
The girl placed a finger over his lips.
“No one is coming,” Wednesday assured in a strange voice, rocking her hips over him. “You’re safe.”
Blood surged so quickly through his veins that Tyler felt as though his world was spinning. Without thinking, he dug his fingers into her hips, realizing then that his hands weren’t shackled.
Tyler blinked once, twice.
He looked around.
He wasn’t in the cave.
It had all been a nightmare.
He recognized the familiar ceiling of his room above him. He glanced to his left and saw his computer and the wallpaper with tiny ships that had adorned those walls his entire life. His notebooks were open on his desk, with the homework he had been working on before Laurel called him to go to Burlington.
The lava lamp next to his bed cast a delicate orange glow, bathing Wednesday’s pale, bare skin.
“Holy crpa…” Tyler murmured under his breath, his eyes widening as he stared at her.
He let his head fall back, overwhelmed.
The questions crowding his mind lost their importance. The scattered memories of the past weeks seemed more implausible than the idea of finally having Wednesday.
Since the night in the crypt, she had infiltrated every one of his fantasies, no matter how much he denied it upon waking. Yet this time, it felt especially real. Too real.
Could it be…?
Tyler’s body trembled at the mere thought that Wednesday was truly in his room. Adrenaline pumped through his veins with such intensity that the haze covering his eyes lifted.
His heart pounded wildly, like a bird trapped in a cage.
No…
He shook his head from side to side, his desperation growing.
The room crumbled around him. The walls turned to stone, and the glow of a campfire illuminated the delicate features of another girl—Hyacinth.
“No…” he breathed in a strangled whisper.
The weak grip Tyler had on her hips changed; it tensed for a few seconds before he pushed her, trying to shove her away.
But Hyacinth clung to his shoulders.
“Stop,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice barely a whisper.
Hyacinth increased the force of her movements. Her fingers dug into Tyler's skin.
He struggled with all his might, but the pull only caused Hyacinth's belly to contract even more around him.
"Fuck!" he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.
Tyler felt a knot tighten in his abdomen. He bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping the pain would drive away any further sensation. A new layer of sweat covered his skin as he resisted with all his might.
No, no, no...
He couldn't be going through this, damn it!
"Stop," he said again. "I swear, if you don't..." Ah!
She dug her fingers into his stitched wound. The stitches gave way. Blood flowed.
Tyler paled even further, a stifled moan escaping his throat.
"No..."
Hyacinth let out a maniacal laugh as a warm torrent bathed her insides. She reached between her legs, and when she lifted it, the whitish liquid glistened on her fingers.
The girl's smile seemed to split her face, and without waiting any longer, she stood up.
Tyler sat up on the cot so quickly that his world spun. He clung to the blanket beneath him. His whole body trembled, his skin burned, and a part of him wished it would dissolve, erase what had just happened.
He clenched his jaw tightly, and when he finally opened his eyes, his gaze locked onto her with a repulsion that came from the depths of his soul.
“Why…?” he muttered. The words stuck in his throat as a single thought clouded his mind: kill her.
“This baby will give me everything that belongs to me,” she said, placing a hand on her abdomen.
Those words ignited all the fury inside him. Tyler let out a low, guttural growl, and using all his strength, he lunged at Hyacinth.
The girl let out a scream as she fell to the ground. Tyler wrapped a hand around her neck.
“I’m going to kill you…” he said through clenched teeth. The bones in his free hand cracked as they elongated. “I’m going to tear you apart…”
Hyacinth, gasping, reached for his wound and pressed hard. Tyler howled in pain as blood flowed freely.
She didn’t waste the opportunity. Feeling around, she grabbed a rock and smashed it against his head.
The boy collapsed to the side, a thin trail of blood trickling down his temple.
“Tyler!” Wren’s shout captured everyone’s attention.
The girl dropped the herbs they had collected and ran to him.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, horrified.
Tyler shoved her aside brusquely, staggering as he tried to get up.
“Stay back…” he growled through gritted teeth. “I’m going to kill her.”
Tyler swayed, and Wren caught him without hesitation. Abigail rushed over and grabbed his other arm.
“The one who’s going to die is you,” Hyacinth spat. “All of you! Crackstone is coming here.”
The girls tensed. Abigail took a step back, trembling.
Hyacinth slowly backed away, her eyes locked on the three of them, her knife raised. When she reached the tunnel, she turned on her heels and ran.
She didn’t expect Abigail to run after her. The girl, gripped by blinding fear, grabbed Hyacinth by the hair and slammed her head against the rock.
Hyacinth collapsed, motionless.
“Is she dead?” Wren asked, horrified.
Abigail lifted her gaze. Her dilated eyes locked onto Tyler. Her hands trembled.
“I think so,” she replied in a whisper.
Tyler clenched his fists tightly. His chest heaved violently.
What he wanted most was to rip apart every piece of that woman’s body, but...
He looked at the two terrified girls standing beside him.
He lowered his eyes to Hyacinth. Bile rose in his throat.
“Let’s go,” he finally said. “We can’t waste any more time.”
Notes:
And I've had a whole internal debate about the POVs.
From now on, we'll have some POVs of secondary characters.
I know you're not here for them, but I have no other way to present what happens in Jericho, although I'll try not to overdo it.
I hope with Hyacinth's POV I've illustrated what she's really like.We're already at 60,000 words, and this is already a whole novel! lol
Thanks for following this far, and I hope you continue reading this story.I hope you'll let me know if you like it, what you don't like, and your theories. You have no idea how many times your comments have inspired me.
Chapter 22
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viktor's brown eyes glowed in the torchlight. The shy dawn had only just begun to stretch its first rays across the horizon, as if afraid to reveal the devastation that had taken place in Jericho.
The dark circles under his eyes had stolen the natural brightness from the smile he once wore, and his lips were now just a pale, tight line across his face.
The previous night had been madness—and Crackstone was beyond furious.
With a subtle nod, Viktor signaled his men to proceed.
The men pulled on the ropes, and moments later, two bodies hung on either side of Jericho’s front gate.
A warning of what they were capable of.
Viktor swallowed hard.
To the right was the man. The skin on his back was raw and flayed. His face was nearly unrecognizable, but Viktor knew it was Jonathan Castell.
Naive Jonathan, whose only crime had been picking up a stranger on the road.
His eyes drifted to the left, where Mary Castell now hung beside her husband, despite the open distrust she had always shown toward that same boy.
This time, there would be no mercy. Crackstone had made that abundantly clear, as if there had ever been mercy in his actions. And Viktor couldn’t help but wonder if it was time to leave.
He let out a quiet sigh and turned on his heels. The forest stretched wide before him, and he could only hope that little Wren was far, far away—otherwise, her fate would be no different from her parents’.
Crackstone wanted them wiped out. His thirst for vengeance was unquenchable.
“We have to keep moving,” he said to young George, his new assistant. The boy couldn’t take his eyes off the bodies—not that anyone could blame him.
“Tell them to bring the hounds.”
George nodded, face pale, and ran toward Jericho, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he passed beneath the gate.
Viktor felt Goody’s medallion warming again in his pocket. He sat on a fallen log and released a tired sigh.
Carefully, he reached into his coat and closed his hand around the medallion. Tilting his head back, he shut his eyes.
Immediately, his mind was pulled into a dark space that wiped away the stench of Jericho’s dead. Goody turned at the sight of him and wasted no time approaching. Her tired eyes quickly scanned his injuries—from the arm in a sling to the bruise that colored his neck.
“What happened to you?” she asked, raising her hands to brush his shoulder wound. But in this astral projection, her touch had no warmth.
“They found the boy. Crackstone laid a trap and exposed him in front of everyone.”
Goody stepped back.
“Is he dead?”
“Sir, we’re ready. Sir?” George’s voice pulled him back, the boy shaking his shoulder gently. Viktor opened his eyes with a start.
George was watching him with concern.
“Sorry,” Viktor murmured. “I just need to rest. We have to keep going.”
Viktor led the group forward. The hounds caught a trail almost instantly, and once again, the medallion in his pocket began to grow warm.
Tyler watched as the light of dawn struggled to seep through the grimy curtains of the abandoned cabin they were taking refuge in.
During their frantic escape, they had managed to grab only the most basic supplies—clothes, knives… Abigail had wisely kept packs prepared in case she was ever found, and only added the few possessions Tyler had brought with him.
He curled beneath the brown suede jacket, still clinging to the scent of the pine detergent his father used to buy—mixed with the faint trace of air freshener from the Weathervane’s staff room.
He buried his face into the fabric and, just for a moment, imagined himself back there, standing in front of the monstrous coffee machine, trading quiet remarks with his coworkers. For a second, it worked. Tyler even heard the bell that rang whenever a customer walked in, and his stomach twisted as if he had skipped a step on a staircase. Then, he felt a soft caress on his hand—and Tyler jolted upright, his eyes wide open.
His heart caught in his throat. He sat up clumsily, trying to catch his breath. Without thinking, he wiped the back of his hand on his clothes, where he still felt the phantom of the touch.
He moved the dusty curtain a little and watched the mist shimmer in the soft rays of dawn.
For most of the previous night, they walked for hours through the tunnels. No torches, no light. Tyler doubted they had made much progress—he’d barely been able to stand, and the girls had to support him often, frequently stopping to rest in the cold, suffocating darkness.
When they finally surfaced, they emerged near the cliffs. The river sounded close by, and an abandoned cabin lay hidden among the rocks.
In the predawn blackness, they couldn’t tell where they were or where to go. So they had entered the cabin and waited for daylight.
Tyler had volunteered for the first watch, though he had no intention of waking the girls.
The dark rings under his eyes had deepened, the swirl of colors that used to light them seemingly swallowed by a black hole. His skin grew paler by the hour, his lips had lost their color, and the bruise on his temple had turned a deep, ugly purple. The area throbbed hot beneath his skin, but it was just one more ache on top of all the others.
He vaguely wondered if he would die here, on a stranger’s dusty mattress—but unlike the other times his life had been in danger, Tyler didn’t feel the urge to fight.
He was tired of struggling, of surviving only to end up in an even worse place.
He wanted to give up—but to what, exactly?
He’d already surrendered once—to Laurel. And now… to Hyacinth?
The mere echo of her name twisted his face in revulsion. A fire he thought long extinguished flickered back to life in his chest.
If only she were in front of him…
His fists clenched until his nails dug into his skin. He grit his teeth hard enough for them to creak.
The growl in his throat was deep and dangerous.
Abigail stirred behind him. Tyler turned swiftly. The curtain fell back, and the thin beam of light disappeared.
Wren and Abigail had fallen asleep on the floor, curled together for warmth. They had given Tyler the only bed, covered him with every blanket they could find, and left him one of the sharpest knives they had. Still, when his watch ended, he hadn’t had the heart to wake them.
Not that he’d been able to sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the mattress dip beside him. His skin would prickle, the heat of another body brushing against his… And then Tyler would snap awake, red-eyed and snarling, slashing the air with his knife to drive Hyacinth’s memory away.
Eventually, he gave up trying. He sat up in bed, staring at the window until the first rays of morning finally touched it.
“Girls,” he murmured. His voice was weak and hoarse, scraping out from his cracked lips.
The whisper was enough to wake Abigail. She bolted upright, eyes wide, and reached for the knife she’d left close at hand.
“What is it?”
“We need to keep moving,” Tyler replied.
Abigail blinked a few times, glancing around as the memories returned to her.
She looked down at her hands for a moment. Tyler could tell exactly what she was thinking. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago when he had come to terms with killing someone for the first time. He remembered the sensation vividly: the blood that wouldn’t wash off, the internal break so painful it felt physical, the helplessness, the overwhelming guilt…
“Abigail,” he whispered. Her eyes locked on his, filled with silent desperation. “Thank you. I mean it.”
He watched her swallow hard. The remorse faded slightly from her face. She nodded and got moving.
She gently woke Wren, who took a bit longer to fully stir. When she did, neither Tyler nor Abigail said anything about their exchange. Instead, they tried to look determined to press on. Wren tied her small sack across her shoulder and picked up Hyacinth’s vials from the nightstand. She sniffed them one by one until she chose one.
“I think it’s this one,” she murmured. “Take a little,” she added, stepping toward him.
Tyler instantly turned his face away, bitterness tightening his features. He clenched his fists and slid to the edge of the bed.
“I’m fine,” he muttered. “I don’t need it.”
“Tyler…”
Wren looked at him with a mixture of pity that made him feel sick. Tyler stood abruptly, his face pale as paper.
“Let me at least clean the wound,” she said gently.
Seeing the concern in her eyes, he finally nodded and sat back down on the bed.
Wren stepped closer, but the second her hand brushed the hem of his shirt, Tyler flinched. His stomach twisted violently, and goosebumps erupted along his neck.
She pulled her hand back, startled, and they both stared at each other, wide-eyed.
“I… I’ll do it,” Tyler muttered quickly, snatching the cloth from her with trembling hands.
He lifted his shirt and inspected the wound. The edges were blackened, and a thick layer of white pus had built up along the stitches.
Gritting his teeth, he cleaned away as much as he could. The pain obliterated any other thought.
When he was done and they stepped out of the cabin, the fog wrapped around their bodies as they slowly descended, following the sound of the river.
“We have to cross it,” Tyler whispered. “It’ll erase our trail.”
Wednesday hid beneath a massive network of roots. The heavy footsteps passed just above her head. She listened intently to each one. One, two, three distinct gaits. The men dragged harvesting tools in one hand and torches in the other. One of them was limping.
She peeked out and watched the three figures fade into the thick morning mist. Taking them down would’ve been easy, but unconscious bodies would lead to her capture quickly.
Adjusting the cloak over her head, she headed in the opposite direction, following the tracks the men had left in the mud.
A few meters ahead, Wednesday had to hide again. This time, the group was larger—five men combing the area thoroughly. She crouched beneath a bush.
“They say they found something at the old meeting house,” said one of the men. “The barmaid was telling the truth.”
“The barmaid,” another sneered. “Since when do we show that much respect? Everyone knows she’s Cole’s whore.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Want to get hanged too? At least the girl was smart enough—she gave up the information before Crackstone tossed her out of town.”
“She probably always will,” the man laughed. “One more month and he’ll get rid of her.”
“A month?” the third man, who had stayed silent until then, laughed. “A week, if not sooner.”
“You three! Move it! We need to find that witch unless you want to be whipped.”
The men moved away from Wednesday’s hiding place. She quickly crawled out, eyes fixed in the direction of the meeting house. Who had they found? Laurel? Tyler?
She clenched her fists tightly and forced herself to move in the opposite direction.
She was here for Crackstone.
She was going to end this. All of it.
A few meters ahead, the trees began to space out. Golden light from the rising sun filtered through the leaves, and Wednesday pulled her hood lower, shadowing her face completely.
In the distance, dogs barked. She quickened her pace.
The closer she got, the louder the pilgrim search parties became. She had to hide more frequently. The murmur of voices passed near her; footsteps snapped twigs underfoot. She heard dogs and horses joining the hunt.
But nowhere—nowhere—did she see Crackstone.
Coward, Wednesday thought, he was hiding behind his wooden fortress and human shields.
Finally, Jericho’s wall rose before her. Wednesday paused at the forest’s edge, carefully scanning the area.
She drew a dagger hidden beneath her skirt and gripped it tightly as she crept forward, keeping to the cover of the trees.
Between her and the wall stretched a wide clearing—about twenty meters—devoid of trees. Everything had been cut for firewood, clearing the sightlines for the sentries. Fog curled along the ground, masking the stumps of mutilated trunks.
Wednesday skirted the wall, staying just within the forest’s last row of trees, searching for a shorter crossing point.
But when she reached the main gates, she froze.
The gates were wide open for anyone to pass through—and the only “guards” hung grotesquely several meters above the ground.
Wednesday stared at the brutalized bodies, the man’s face unrecognizable...
And then—she heard it.
A muffled laugh behind her, sharp and dry, froze the blood in her veins.
She held her breath and sharpened her senses.
A twig snapped behind her. Footsteps squelched through the mud. The stench of something rotting—stripped of its humanity—hit her.
She spun and slashed with her blade, tearing the filthy fabric of a ragged dress.
“He killed them,” whispered Laurel’s piercing voice, unfazed by the attack.
There was nothing left of the carefully polished façade, the manipulative liar who had once haunted Nevermore.
Her skeletal body twitched unnaturally, greasy blonde roots clashing with the red dye of her false identity. Her skin was covered in cuts and bruises. A nauseating stench clung to her. She was less than a shadow of the woman Wednesday had once known—and still, it was her gaze that made the hairs on Wednesday’s neck rise and her muscles coil, ready to strike.
Her wide eyes darted around frantically, pupils dilated and glowing with madness.
“He killed them all,” she repeated louder. Her lips stretched into a wide grin, revealing a blackened tooth. “I told him to.”
Laurel burst into a chilling giggle that made something twist inside Wednesday. With a violent movement, she stepped forward.
Wednesday instinctively stepped back, heart pounding—but Laurel grabbed her hands. Her expression shifted again. The maniacal grin vanished in a blink, and for a second, Wednesday saw the carefully rehearsed maternal look Laurel used to wear.
She stroked Wednesday’s hair, and Wednesday noticed the raw, bloody skin around her nails.
“My monster killed them,” she whispered again, her fetid breath hitting Wednesday’s face. “And they’ll kill you too.”
Laurel laughed louder this time. Her shrill voice shattered the dawn’s stillness.
Wednesday pressed her lips tightly. Her blood began to boil. With a hard shove, she broke free of Laurel’s grip.
“Where is Tyler?” she asked, her teeth clenched.
“He’s coming for you. And when he sees you, he’ll tear you apart and bring me your rotten heart. Yes, yes—I told him to!”
Laurel looked at her with pure contempt and took a step back.
“Tyler would do anything for me. You foolish girl.”
She covered her mouth with her hands, giggling again.
Before Wednesday could reply, Laurel spun and bolted.
Just for a moment, Wednesday hesitated. Jericho’s gates stood open. Crackstone was waiting for her demise... but she couldn’t let Laurel reach Tyler.
She ran after the woman. Whistles echoed in the distance. Branches scratched her face, and she gripped her dagger tighter.
It was one thing to be sick enough to release a hyde; it was another thing entirely to have a hyde and have lost your sanity. As much as she hated Goody’s plan, Wednesday could see there was no other option.
She stopped in the middle of a clearing. Spun in place, searching.
Dogs barked closer now. Search parties shouted to one another.
Wednesday’s heart thudded against her ears. She narrowed her eyes—and then, heard the lunatic giggle.
Quick as a snake, she flung her blade.
It sliced through the air and landed with a dull thud in a tree trunk. Blood drenched Laurel’s shoulder, and her scream rang through the woods.
The woman clutched her left ear. Her mouth opened—but whatever she meant to say was drowned by the vicious barks of the dogs.
Wednesday watched as Laurel’s face paled and she began to shake her head wildly.
She stepped back, muttering something Wednesday couldn’t catch. Still—it felt satisfying to see the torment in someone who had once inflicted it on others.
If Tyler wasn’t just as guilty as her, Wednesday might have called it poetic justice.
Determined to finish the job, she stepped forward.
But hands seized her from behind and dragged her out of the clearing.
She twisted free easily—and found herself face-to-face with Viktor.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had Laurel,” Wednesday snapped.
“Where?” The man looked where she pointed—blood on the ground, but Laurel was gone. He scowled and turned back to her. “You have to leave. Now.”
“I’m going after Laurel. She can’t reach Tyler.”
“I know.” Wednesday noticed the pitiful state he was in. Had it been Tyler? What had happened?
The dogs barked closer. Voices rang louder.
“I’ll catch her. I swear,” he said. “But you have to go.”
Wednesday clenched her fists. To her right, Crackstone’s men drew near. To her left, Laurel fled.
Viktor grabbed her shoulder and shook her.
“Skirt around the village,” he whispered urgently. “Then head west. Follow the river upstream as far as you can—someone will find you.”
Wednesday let out a frustrated breath.
It had all been for nothing. She’d lost her chance...
“Now!”
Viktor shook her again, and she nodded. A second later, she vanished into the trees—but not fast enough to avoid the eyes of a child watching her go.
“Sir?” George approached cautiously.
Viktor’s heart sank. He swallowed hard and straightened his expression.
“The dogs, George. I’ve got a trail for them to follow.”
The boy obeyed, fetching the hounds—though he couldn’t help glancing toward the spot where Wednesday had disappeared.
Tyler's forehead was beaded with sweat as he walked along the riverbank. The sun was near its zenith, and the cold December air whipped mercilessly against his face. Even so, he felt like his body was burning.
His breathing became more labored with each step, and his lips were not only pale but also chapped, his throat feeling like he'd swallowed sand. He needed to rest, he knew, but it was a luxury they couldn't afford. They were still too close to Jericho.
Every few minutes, Wren turned to look at him. Her eyes scanned Tyler's body, her brow furrowing a little deeper with each glance. For the first few hours, she'd insisted he take Hyacinth's potions, but all it took was Tyler seeing the bottles for bile to rise in his throat.
Until, in a sudden outburst, she violently snatched his hand away. Two of the bottles fell to the ground and rolled among the stones.
"I'm so sorry," he said immediately when he saw the girl's pale face. Guilt weighed like a stone in his stomach.
"I'm sure they didn't even work," Abigail chimed in from a few steps behind. "We can't trust anything she gave us."
Wren looked at the three remaining vials and put them away with a defeated sigh.
"Maybe we'll find some medicinal plants along the way," she murmured. "I'll keep an eye out."
Abigail nodded encouragingly, and Tyler forced a half-smile.
From then on, every time Wren turned to look at him, Abigail nudged her, forcing her to continue forward without looking back.
Finally, they found a spot where the river was narrow enough to cross. The water was waist-deep, icy like needles. Tyler, at first, welcomed the cold; it kept him awake, grounded him, until his fingers began to go numb and his skin turned purple.
When they reached the far bank, they collapsed behind some bushes. Their legs barely responded after so many hours of walking. Abigail brought out some slices of stale bread and strips of dried meat, which instead of calming them, made them even more hungry.
"We need to find a place to spend the night," she said finally, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
Tyler lifted the hem of his shirt. The skin around the wound was burning, red and hot, and a sweet smell was beginning to emanate from it. He could feel it even without getting close.
"I've heard there are tribes to the north," Wren said, trying to sound hopeful. "Maybe we can join them."
"They're two or three days' travel away," Abigail replied sharply. "We need a cave. Something to light a fire."
Tyler wasn't listening to them anymore. He pulled out the bottle of brandy they'd forgotten in the cabin. He took a long pull, letting the heat burn down his throat before pouring the liquid directly onto his wound.
The pain tore a muffled grunt from him, as he clenched his teeth so tightly he thought they might break. The alcohol seemed to dissolve his skin from the inside. The world spun a little, but he didn't fall.
Tyler let his head fall back and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the forest stop spinning around him.
Abigail and Wren paused in their conversation to look at him, before exchanging anxious glances.
"Tyler, you need treatment," Abigail said.
"I'm fine," he mumbled weakly through his teeth. Tyler struggled to his feet. Black spots appeared in his vision. His forehead pearled with effort. "We have to keep going."
"Where exactly?"
From the shadows stepped a boy, maybe a year or two younger than Tyler. He had jet-black hair that fell over his equally dark eyes. His expression seemed somewhat haughty, and when he smiled, they could see his sharp fang.
Two more men appeared behind him. One with a turban on his head and the other with blue eyes that were hard to ignore.
Tyler gulped. Despite his pitiful state, he took a step in front of the girls.
"They're-," Wren whispered. Abigail quickly jabbed him with her elbow.
"It doesn't matter who we are," the black-haired boy said. "But who you are."
"My name is James," Tyler said quickly. The boy-leader visibly tensed, a wrinkle forming on his forehead and his shoulders squaring. "We're fleeing Jericho."
The three strangers exchanged a glance.
"What are you?" the black-haired boy asked again, looking him up and down.
Tyler swallowed.
It was obvious he was standing in front of a group of outcasts. Sirens and gorgons were easily identifiable, but the leader of the group could be anything else. At best, a simple shapeshifter; at worst, a psychic like Wednesday.
Involuntarily, he took a step back, trying to get out of his reach.
"I'm werewolf," he replied, and the boy's gaze sharpened even more. A painful shadow passed over them so quickly that Tyler thought he imagined it.
"Where's your pack?"
Tyler pressed his lips together tightly. Perhaps it would have been better to tell the truth, that he was a Hyde, but Tyler didn't feel confident exposing his trump card.
"I'm a lone wolf," he said with a tinge of disdain. The strength in his legs weakened, and Tyler stumbled.
The boy seemed less and less convinced by his answers, and Tyler cursed internally.
"Matt," the siren boy called, and the raven-haired boy nodded. "Show your claws," he ordered with his siren's song.
Tyler felt the words sink into his skin. For a moment, his mind went blank, and his lips moved without his consent.
"I can't do this," he confessed.
When Tyler blinked, the siren charm disappeared, and he had a vague sense of what had just happened. His anger grew quickly; the feeling was nothing new to him.
With that single command, the siren was already on his hit list.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Matthew raised his eyebrows in surprise, and in an instant his posture relaxed.
"Of course," he murmured to himself. "They expelled you."
"And them?" the gorgon asked. "It's obvious why they were after you," she continued to observe Abigail. When her sharp eyes fell on Wren, the girl trembled. "But I don't see anything different about her."
Quickly, Abigail put an arm around Wren's shoulders and pulled her towards her.
"She helped us escape," Tyler chimed in. "She can't go back."
"Yes," Abigail agreed. "You won't separate us."
Matthew laughed, but it only made his face look more pedantic.
"Separate you? Did you think we'd let any of you get away?" Tyler clenched his fists tightly. If only he wasn't so hurt, he could easily take out all three. "Come on, if you're really coming from Jericho, Logan will want to talk to you."
The siren stood in front of them, his blue eyes shining, and when he opened his mouth, a spell echoed in their ears.
— Follow us and don't try to escape.
They trailed behind Matthew the entire way, and although Tyler felt faint at times, the siren's charm kept him standing, with no choice but to keep moving forward.
Wednesday didn’t stop until she reached the lake.
It was already past noon, and despite the biting December air, her muscles burned from the frantic escape. The hem of her dress was soaked and weighed a ton. Mud clung up to her knees, and she knew she hadn’t been nearly careful enough to avoid leaving a trail.
Despite the head start Viktor had given her, Wednesday hadn’t stopped hearing the dogs barking behind her until she crossed the river. From time to time, she looked back toward Jericho, but no one seemed to be following.
Neither the pilgrims, nor Laurel.
Wednesday pressed her lips together at the memory. She couldn’t help but wonder what had been done to Laurel to push her that far into madness. How she wished it had been her who’d broken her like that.
Had they used the same tactics she’d used on Tyler?
Had she been chained? Of course she had. Her starved body bore the marks of her restraints.
How long had it taken to break her? Wednesday was sure she would have achieved it in hours—she would have shown Laurel every one of humanity’s worst tortures.
But Laurel’s insanity was a bitter consolation. A danger they couldn’t afford. And sadly, it proved Goody right once again.
Laurel had to die… before she could reunite with Tyler.
Tyler…
And as Wednesday retraced the path she had taken the night before and against her will, her thoughts returned to him. Would Tyler truly be forced to kill her when they met again? Or would he do it even without an order?
There was no way to know—and Wednesday wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. His memory made her skin crawl. She was ashamed of the naivety she had shown—and how Tyler had expertly taken advantage of it. And if being part of the plot to murder her hadn’t been enough, seeing him kissing some other girl in the woods, a girl she barely knew, had to be the final nail in that coffin.
The memory had snuck into her thoughts more times than she’d ever admit—just like she’d never admit what the heat in her blood truly meant.
There was only one thing left between them now: revenge.
And if he planned to kill her, then she’d do it first.
Wednesday quickened her pace. Her warm breath puffed into the cold air.
She had to convince Goody to change her plan. They couldn’t bring Tyler here. Not when his master had lost her mind and her last order had been to tear Wednesday limb from limb. If Tyler set foot in the hideout, he’d kill anyone who stood between them—just to rip her heart out, quite literally.
Finally, Wednesday caught sight of Goody’s magic glinting among the trees—like sunbeams dancing on raindrops.
The closer she got, the heavier her steps became. It was as if the very air thickened around her. A strange fatigue settled in, along with the urge to turn back. As if her brain had suddenly remembered something urgent she was supposed to do. The only thing that kept her moving forward was knowing this was the path she had to take.
She figured it was part of Goody’s enchantments to keep unwanted guests away.
She clenched her teeth and kept moving, her steps more determined now. When she finally passed through the glowing veil, the peak of the mountain revealed itself—like a heavy curtain being pulled back.
Wednesday felt like she’d entered a bubble. The sounds of the forest behind her dulled, almost as if she were underwater. The air became breathable again, and the tension in her muscles eased.
Her brow furrowed at the sight of the hideout’s entrance—unguarded. Even the two gorgons from the previous afternoon had understood how important it was to stand watch. Wednesday slipped a blade from her right boot and advanced cautiously.
The cave itself seemed to be holding its breath. A murmur hung in the air. No one stopped her, and when she finally reached the Grand Cavern, she found almost all the refugees gathered there. Some faces were fearful; others openly smiling.
Logan and his pack stood in the back, away from the others. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his brow was furrowed so deeply his eyebrows touched. His face was flushed with rage, and never had he looked more like the wolf he was. Katherine beside him looked utterly broken—her gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ground, unaware as little James stuffed her hair into his mouth.
Wednesday noted with curiosity that Matthew wasn’t with them. The young beta, always eager to prove himself, rarely strayed far from his alphas.
She headed straight toward them.
“What’s going on?” she asked. Logan barely spared her a glance before his eyes locked ahead. With the crowd and—unfortunately—her height, it was impossible for her to see what he was glaring at so intensely.
“The Hyde,” he spat the word like acid. Wednesday’s heart froze, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to whip around and scan the cave for him. “They say he nearly wiped out all of Jericho last night.”
In his tone, Wednesday didn’t just hear hatred for Tyler. There was a note of resentment and frustration that hinted at the true reason for his anger. Was it possible that a single Hyde had accomplished what an entire pack of werewolves hadn’t? Could Goody be right? Did they need him to win? Was he really capable of crushing the outcasts’ hopes of freedom—all for his thirst for vengeance?
Logan clenched his fists. His eyes were bloodshot, consumed by the weight of the implications swirling in his mind.
“You’re finally back. Goody’s been asking for you nonstop.” Elizabeth emerged from the crowd. The concern on her face made her usual wide-eyed expression even more intense. She glanced sideways at Logan and lowered her voice. “Did you make it to Jericho? Is it true he nearly destroyed the town?”
Logan snapped out of his trance and locked eyes on her. Wednesday could feel the tension crawling down her spine.
“I can assure you the town is still standing—but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a massacre last night. They found him, and Crackstone’s lost his mind trying to hunt him down. I saw two bodies hanging from the walls.”
Elizabeth gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.
Before she could ask anything else, the murmuring ceased. All eyes turned forward. Goody stood atop a table so everyone could hear her. The old woman wore a smile that made Wednesday’s blood run cold.
“The rumors are true,” she declared. “The Hyde has slain Cole Crackstone in a manner befitting someone like him! His shredded body now decorates the streets of Jericho—and our fallen kin can finally rest in peace!”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Logan cursed under his breath, and Wednesday heard Katherine trying to calm him down.
“He has proven his loyalty to our cause! He has earned his place at our table!” The crowd grew louder with every word. “I saw it in my visions,” Goody’s voice rose above them all, “with him at my side, we will seal Crackstone’s soul—and curse him and all his bloodline!”
Wednesday saw hugs filled with joy, even tears—as if the massacre in Jericho was the news they had long been waiting for.
She, however, blinked in confusion. It wasn’t Tyler’s blood that would seal Crackstone’s soul—it was Goody’s. And by extension, that of her descendants: the Addams family.
Tyler had no lineage. Which meant he was the only one capable of breaking the curse.
Was that why it hadn’t worked?
Is that why they had been dragged to that time?
Had Goody written the spell wrong on purpose, just to mislead them?
Of course she had. If anyone was capable of something like that, it was Goody.
Never in her life had Wednesday felt more like laughing out loud.
Laurel had possessed the key to the tomb all along—and used him as her human limbs reaper.
Suddenly, Matthew’s voice rang above the noise.
“We have an injured man!” he shouted. All eyes turned to the entrance of the cavern. “We need help!”
The scouting party entered—accompanied by three new people.
Wednesday’s eyes widened as the figures emerged from the shadows and the torchlight hit their faces.
Her heart stopped.
The blood in her veins turned to ice.
Her fingers clenched tightly around her dagger.
In front of her, Matthew and the gorgon Robert were carrying the barely conscious body of Tyler. Wednesday saw the dark stain spreading across his shirt, the gashes on his face, the dried blood matting his curls.
Tyler slowly lifted his head—and his green eyes locked onto hers.
The air caught in her lungs. A ringing sound tried to burst her ears, and her lips whispered his name without permission:
"Tyler."
Notes:
It only took 20 episodes for them to reunite. Lol
But at least it was before Season 2. There are only two weeks left and I can't hold back my excitement!
Chapter Text
"Tyler."
The whisper escaped her lips unbidden, and as if the name itself were a spell, it erased the world around her.
Her heart doubled its efforts, pounding so fiercely it seemed ready to tear through her ribs. Wednesday’s eyes studied every gesture of Tyler’s—the way his brows rose, the way his mouth fell open in surprise at the sight of her.
She swallowed hard. Laurel’s words echoed in her mind.
She had to act now, before Tyler could transform and his claws sank into her.
She stepped forward, fingers tightening around the dagger still in her hand—and then, a voice yanked her back to reality.
"Tyler?" Logan’s voice came from behind her. A chill ran down her spine, and her heart fluttered like a frantic bat. "The Hyde?"
The entire cave seemed to hold its breath; those nearest turned their heads towards the band of explorers.
Matthew’s gaze locked on Tyler, and his face contorted with rage.
With a swift move, he threw him to the ground. The boy’s groan was barely audible.
"Are you the Hyde?" Matthew demanded, his voice strained. "Do you think it amusing to mock your victims? To use his name?"
Wednesday raised a brow. It seemed Tyler’s habits hadn’t changed.
The boy only writhed on the floor. He rolled onto his back, clutching his side. The metallic scent of blood reached Wednesday’s sharp senses. She nearly smiled.
"What do you mean?" Logan growled.
"He told us he was a werewolf," Matthew spat, lifting his gaze to his Alpha, fists clenched, body trembling with fury. "Said his name was James."
A murmur rippled like a wave. The faces of the werewolves darkened.
With a violent shove, Logan threw Wednesday aside. Her knife clattered to the ground, forgotten in an instant. By the time the echo of steel faded, another, more visceral sound filled the cavern: Logan’s fist slamming into Tyler’s face—not merely with strength, but with hatred.
Tyler let out a muffled groan, quickly silenced by another blow. And another…
Wednesday’s eyes widened at Logan’s brutality. The sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed grotesquely, and Tyler’s face grew redder with blood at each strike.
He was nothing but a doll beneath Logan, and the most pitiful part was that he didn’t even attempt to defend himself. Wednesday furrowed her brows, unsettled by his passivity.
"Stop!" The girl’s cry cut through the cavern, drawing every gaze. Only then did Wednesday notice the rest of the newcomers.
Two girls, seemingly of similar age. One was unmistakably albino, hair almost silver and eyes glowing red. The other—the one who had shouted—was smaller, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Wednesday’s gaze briefly traced her slight frame.
But as soon as her eyes lifted to the girl’s face, Matthew’s hand closed around the blonde’s throat, lifting her off the ground.
"No, let her go!" the albino girl cried.
Another werewolf restrained her instantly.
"If you’re with him, you’re our enemy," Matthew snarled, hurling the blond girl beside Tyler with terrifying ease, as though she weighed nothing at all. "She’s a pilgrim." His voice rose, spitting the word like venom. "From Jericho."
Disapproving murmurs followed at once. Matthew stepped forward, lifting his hand to display his sharp claws.
The girl scrambled backwards.
"Leave her." Tyler’s voice was weak, but it made the hairs on Wednesday’s arms stand on end.
He pushed himself up slightly, wiping the blood from his mouth.
"Your quarrel is with me."
"You’re already dead," Logan growled.
The werewolf raised his claws. Wednesday stepped forward before she could think—and then the ground itself shook, throwing everyone away from Tyler and the Jericho girl.
As she rose, Wednesday saw Goody advancing, wielding a staff of thick wood that twisted like a serpent.
"He is under my protection," Goody declared, her voice reverberating through the cavern walls, echoing inside their very minds. "Neither you nor anyone else will harm him."
"You do not command me," Logan snarled, lunging for Tyler again.
Goody raised her staff; an emerald light burst forth, and Logan’s body slammed against the wall.
It seemed like no one in the cave was breathing.
"Cease this pitiful act at once," Goody said, stepping before Tyler. "Do you not see the harm you bring upon our cause?"
Logan glared at her, resentment and rage smoldering in his eyes. He rose slowly, scanning the crowd. Wednesday mimicked him, noting faces that ranged from shock to outright disapproval. But the werewolves were different—every one of them looked as offended as their leader, bodies taut, ready for a command.
Logan straightened, brushed off his clothes, and stormed out of the cave. A score of werewolves followed, shoving aside anyone in their path.
The rest of the outcasts exchanged anxious glances. Wednesday could almost hear their thoughts: Whom should we side with?
Goody extended her staff, and Joshua stepped forth from the crowd to take it with near-ceremonial reverence. The witch whispered something only he could hear, and he nodded firmly. Before leaving, Joshua cast his gaze over Tyler’s bloodied body—then sought out hers. Wednesday clenched her fists, her stare locked on Goody.
She knew what Joshua wanted: a reaction, some sign of where she stood now that he was here.
She clenched her fists until her knuckles cracked.
Nothing has changed, Wednesday thought.
Her objectives remained the same: to kill Crackstone and return to her own time.
Nothing had changed.
Goody knelt beside Tyler, swiftly examining his wounds. She pressed two fingers to his throat, then lifted his shirt to reveal the festering wound in his abdomen. Her face darkened, and she called for Elara. The vampire quickly ushered the two girls away.
Tyler said nothing this time, but his eyes searched for her. Against her own will, Wednesday met his gaze.
"Wed—"
The mere thought of hearing her name on those lips churned her stomach.
She turned sharply on her heel and vanished into the crowd.
Donovan had taken all the documents he discovered in Laurel’s room with him, but it wasn’t until the next day that he found the strength to continue reading them.
He carried with him the two books he had collected. The one from Crackstone’s crypt he recognized immediately. Noble had informed him of its disappearance in pilgrim world, and together they had conducted a discreet investigation that had led nowhere.
Codex Umbrarum—that was the name of the ancient book of dark magic they had found years ago on Raven Island. Donovan was not a man with much taste for local history, but he had heard the story so many times that he could recite it word for word.
There was something strange about that book.
Just letting his eyes rest on it made the hairs on his arms stand on end.
Donovan frowned deeper, the crease between his brows digging further.
He didn’t like at all where the investigation was headed. Dark magic, blood in the crypt…
The second book was equally old, but belonged to an outcast researcher, Nathaniel Faulkner. He had never heard the name before, but he jotted it down on a small list and promised himself he would go to the academy later that afternoon for information.
Donovan had been flipping through the pages of the journal while sipping his coffee at the Weathervane when he came across the image of the Hydes. His heart stopped, and his trembling fingers brushed the sketch of the monster.
With his heart clutched in a fist, he began to read. With every word, a stone of guilt dropped into his stomach, each one heavier than the last—until the final phrase made that fist tighten and the wounds of his distant relationship with Tyler begin to bleed anew.
"He becomes the willing instrument of whatever nefarious agenda this new master may propose."
He read the phrase again and again. He felt as if his ears were about to burst…
"Excuse me, Sheriff Donovan…" The girl’s voice abruptly pulled him back into reality.
He snapped the book shut.
The girl wore Jericho High’s cheerleading uniform, her blonde hair tied high in a ponytail. He recognized her as one of the Smothers girls, a classmate of Tyler’s since high school.
"Is it true that Tyler and the girl from Nevermore ran away because you forbade them from dating?"
Donovan tensed in his chair. Where the hell had they gotten that nonsense?
"Tyler didn’t run away," Donovan declared, his teeth clenched. "And certainly not with Wednesday Addams."
"That’s what they’re saying on TikTok," she explained quickly, raising her phone as proof, "but I don’t really think Tyler would run away with one of those frea—"
Chrissy Smothers shut her mouth under the sheriff’s furious glare, her face paling.
"Tyler did not run away," he repeated, this time with more force. "Who is spreading that?"
The girl swallowed hard and quickly showed him her phone, where Wednesday’s roommate promised to spill "The whole juicy story of the modern Romeo and Juliet."
Donovan felt the blood rush to his head.
"You’re interfering in a police investigation. Delete that at once."
Chrissy blinked, as though she didn’t quite understand.
"I can’t—"
"Delete it!"
"Yes!"
Chrissy jumped, snatching up her phone before scurrying back to the table where her friends sat gaping. Donovan turned toward them and caught sight of their phones pointed at him.
Shit.
He growled and began gathering his documents.
The bell over the door rang. Donovan glanced up and rolled his eyes as Morticia and Gomez glided into the café.
Perfect. Just his bloody lucky day.
The couple slid gracefully into the booth across from him.
"Sheriff," Morticia began, her voice velvet-smooth, "something rather curious occurred today."
"Oh, really?" was all his eloquence allowed, his brows lifting with heavy irony.
"Indeed," Gomez confirmed. "We were at Nevermore’s front gates, and Tish heard her name being called."
"Ah!" Donovan exclaimed, dripping sarcasm. "I imagine that must be quite rare."
"You do not understand, Sheriff," Morticia said. "The person who called me was not there. The voice—I heard it directly in my head."
Donovan exhaled heavily and shook his head.
"I don’t know what you expect me to do, but perhaps you should consult a different sort of professional."
"It was Wednesday," she interrupted.
The words froze him mid-breath. A shiver ran down his spine.
"Like a ghost? Is she… dead?"
The mere thought turned his stomach. If the Addams girl was dead, then Tyler…
"I do not know. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. But perhaps we should attempt to reach them by less… conventional means."
Donovan felt as though the air had been ripped from his lungs. No, Tyler couldn’t be…
"Did she say anything?"
Morticia inclined her head, her expression enigmatic.
"She asked after someone. But I believe you already know who."
Her eyes fell on the Book of Shadows.
Donovan slumped into the chair, defeated.
None of them noticed how the Jericho girls were secretly snapping pictures of the sheriff, then rushing to send them off with whispered gossip, feeding the narrative and the morbid curiosity that was steadily spreading throughout the community.
Wednesday couldn’t stop pacing in her room.
Her mind leapt from one thought to another as she flipped her knife from hand to hand. It was maddening, and only made her resentment toward Tyler reach new depths—for being the reason behind her lack of control.
How could he still hold such sway over her, after everything he had done?
"Wednesday? May I come in?"
Joshua’s voice froze her in place. She slid the blade into the folds of her clothes and smoothed the skirt of her dress almost unconsciously. She emptied her lungs of air before answering.
"What do you want?"
Joshua stepped forward hesitantly. The torchlight illuminated his face, and what she saw there displeased her greatly.
Wednesday pressed her lips together and averted her gaze to a spot just beyond him.
"Goody has called a meeting of the Nightshades. She’s waiting for us."
Wednesday nodded and swiftly closed the distance between them. Yet before she could slip past, Joshua caught her by the arm, forcing her to halt.
"Are you all right?" His voice was little more than a whisper, heavy with concern.
"Why wouldn’t I be?" she replied, lifting her emotionless face ever so slightly.
Joshua’s eyes searched her, scanning every inch for a crack he would never find.
"I wasn’t sure what you would do. In the Great Cavern, I mean."
"Why would I do anything? Whatever happens to Tyler is no concern of mine."
"You seemed… shaken," he confessed. "Are you certain that what happened between you two—"
"You’re mistaken if you think I’ll fall into cheap sentimentality," she cut him off coldly. "His return changes nothing. On the contrary," she added, wrenching her arm free and stepping back, "it makes everything simpler. I’ll get the information I need, and then Logan can do whatever he likes with him."
"And if Logan doesn’t want to wait?"
"Then I’ll have to move faster."
For several drawn-out seconds they held each other’s gaze. Wednesday could see the doubt swimming in Joshua’s brown eyes—she could almost hear the thoughts running through his head, the memories she had stolen from him.
She remembered them too. The softness of Tyler's fingers against her skin, the warmth of his breath upon her face, the fullness of his lips pressing against hers… But she also recalled the cold words whispered in her ear, the mocking tone in his voice, the icy cruelty in his eyes as he abandoned her to her death. That final encounter shredded any weakness she might have once harboured.
Wednesday straightened her back and hardened her stance.
She knew Joshua was thinking about that small lapse, the moment she had let down her guard in the intimacy of a café, and she was determined to show him that it had meant nothing to her. So she steeled herself more than ever, bracing for his scrutiny with stoicism.
It was already humiliating enough that Tyler knew of that mistake—but for Joshua to know, and in the way he had learned of it, was intolerable.
Her fists clenched at her sides. Her jaw tightened visibly.
"Has the inquisition ended, or have you found me guilty?"
"That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to know—"
Wednesday took a step back.
"Do not mistake me for some lovesick teenager. Now, I have a meeting to attend."
She brushed past Joshua and left.
Blood boiled in her veins, her ears threatened to burst.
Before she realised it, she was deep within the mountain. The torches of the Nightshades’ chamber flickered in her presence.
Wednesday slowly exhaled before entering and taking her seat without looking at anyone. There was no need. Goody’s eyes pierced her chest like stakes, following her every move. And in that moment, she wondered just how much the witch knew about the untold history she shared with Tyler. Was that why she trusted that Wednesday might persuade him to stay?
She fixed her gaze on the floor, fists tightening around the fabric of her dress. Humiliation pressed her into her chair.
Logan was the last to arrive, flanked by Katherine and Matthew. There was a shadowed arrogance in his expression, as though he longed to be challenged just to unleash his fury upon someone—anyone. A low, vibrating sound rumbled from his throat. It could not be heard, but it was felt: in the prickle of skin, in the rising sense of danger that set every nerve on edge. Wednesday noticed the others shifting uncomfortably; even Goody straightened her back, her fingers clenching around her twisted wooden staff. The emerald glow flickered.
Logan’s eyes narrowed at the staff, his stride faltering for the briefest second.
The weapon was old, powerful. Wednesday suspected its very presence signaled that diplomacy was over.
Better so, she thought. It was time to lay all the cards on the table.
"You should have called this meeting before granting asylum to that murderer," Logan said without delay. His hands gripped the arms of his chair with such force the wood seemed ready to splinter. "And before sharing your so-called vision."
Goody’s shoulders stiffened, her grip on the staff tightening. The green light pulsed brighter.
"My vision is real," she stated. "Though I admit I should have shared it with you first."
Logan scoffed. Goody narrowed her eyes.
"And the boy is under my protection," she declared again. "Does anyone disagree?"
It was mere formality. Her ancient eyes swept across each face. No one contradicted her—and Wednesday knew it was what the witch expected: blind obedience dressed up as leadership.
"He killed James," Logan rose to his feet, fists trembling with rage. "You cannot expect me to share space with him. None of us will," he added, pointing to Katherine and Matthew.
"We should hear his story," Ianthe offered, though her voice faltered and her gaze fell away.
"His story?" Matthew roared. "And how will we hear James’s story? How do we know he isn’t lying?"
"We know it happened during a mission," Thomas, one of the gorgons, interrupted. "We all know the risks when we leave this place."
Logan and Matthew’s eyes flared, lips curling back like rabid dogs.
"Let’s see how the gorgons fare without the wolves at their side," Logan spat.
"You’re destroying everything we’ve built," Goody countered.
"You’re the one destroying it by defending him!" Logan snapped. "Joshua was clear. He defended Cole Crackstone."
"And now he killed him," Goody answered firmly.
"And that’s meant to be some kind of comfort?" Logan sneered, teetering on the edge of his chair. "He knows nothing of loyalty."
"Logan’s right," Wednesday’s voice cut through the quarrel. Goody shot her a restrained glare, while Logan allowed himself a satisfied smile. I haven't know of anyone who hasn't been betrayed by Tyler."
"But there is a prophecy that ensures it will not happen again," Ianthe interjected quickly.
"Goody says there is such a vision," Logan replied, his words like a punch to the gut.
Fear rippled through the chamber as the witch slowly rose to her feet.
"You doubt me? You doubt my purpose?" she asked. She did not raise her voice—she didn’t need to. The edge of her tongue made their skin crawl. "I have sacrificed everything for this cause. And you dare to call your selfishness justice, to endanger all our futures to satisfy your bloodlust? That is not leadership, Logan. And it is not what is expected of an alpha."
Logan’s face blazed, his eyes turning yellow. Katherine tried to hold him back, but he shoved her aside.
"How dare you," he roared, lunging at her.
The staff struck the floor, and the chamber erupted in emerald light that blinded them all. When the glow receded, Logan writhed on the ground, shrieking in agony. Goody’s face had transformed, a wild gleam burning in her eyes.
Pathetic, Wednesday thought as she watched the wolf. He had just proved Goody right in front of everyone. That knowledge tasted bitter, and this time it was she who shifted uneasily in her chair.
The witch, however, was more dangerous than ever. Her gaze swept the room, and with the ease of a blink, she broke the spell binding Logan.
"I will leave the decision regarding Tyler in your hands," she said, looking at each of them. "But remember how you came to be here, and what you had to do to survive. Tyler has done nothing different."
Goody reclaimed her seat and with a gesture, commanded Dan to fetch Tyler. But it was only formality. Wednesday could see plainly in the faces of the Nightshades that the decision had already been made.
Chapter 24
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday waited patiently.
It was the witching hour, when the cavern lay drowned in silence and in the stupor of dozens of slumbering bodies. She slipped from her chamber and moved through the tunnels like one more shadow among many. Joshua had told her precisely where she needed to go.
A pair of gorgons slept at the entrance of the dormitory, victims of a valerian tea Elizabeth had sent them.
Wednesday rolled her eyes as she stepped over their collapsed bodies.
Pathetic, to succumb to something as feeble as a plant.
She advanced into the dark tunnel which, unlike the one leading to her own room, split before its end. She entered the first cavern and found two girls asleep.
The albino one sat slumped against the back wall, a weapon fallen from her hand —a clear attempt at keeping watch.
It didn’t surprise her that they did not trust the outcasts. Perhaps the only intelligent choice they had ever made.
Without wasting another second, she took the second path. Inside the cave, a torch still burned faintly.
Tyler lay stretched out on the cot. She approached on silent steps.
The fire illuminated every bruise and wound marking his body. And they were not few. Wednesday could not help but wonder what kind of violence it had taken to inflict such damage on a Hyde —and the carnage he himself must have unleashed on those who confronted him.
They are surely all dead, she thought.
She halted beside his bed and studied the broken body.
Tyler’s bare chest rose and fell slowly. The gash at his side had been stitched again, and a pair of leeches clung to his skin, feeding on the rotten blood seeping from the wound. The bruise around it spread up to his ribs and reached across his back.
He also had several stab wounds and scratches on his arms and chest, each covered with a sweet-smelling poultice that made her wrinkle her nose.
But it was his face that bore the cruelest damage.
The oldest blow was the one on his temple, its purple stain bleeding down from his forehead into his eye, with a thin cut above. Then there were Logan’s fresher hits, still red, still swollen.
His nose looked crooked, his right eye shrunken, and on his lower lip a scar split across from a deep cut.
Wednesday sat at his side. The boy’s breathing shifted slightly.
She swallowed heavily and slipped a small dagger from the sleeve of her dress into her hand.
“Are you here to kill me?”
His voice was rougher than she remembered, sending the hairs on her arms standing upright.
Tyler forced his eyes open, the left bloodshot, the right fully dilated.
“Yes,” Wednesday answered with certainty.
Tyler tried to curve a weak smile and shut his eyes again, as though her threat were no more than a childish tantrum.
“I knew you would. Watching you raise your hand to cast me out was… hopeless.”
Wednesday inhaled sharply, holding back the urge to betray what she felt. The way Tyler had looked at her when she voted for Logan —that silent scorn, that accusation of treason— still lodged in her memory like a poisoned thorn.
How dared he, of all people, speak of betrayal?
“What did you expect? That I’d greet you with cake and an embrace?” she replied with feigned indifference.
Tyler opened his eyes, mockery glinting in them.
“That would have been a nice touch.”
“I know Laurel ordered you to kill me,” she said abruptly, tired of the pointless exchange. “I won’t give you the chance.”
His mocking smile faded. The spark in his eyes turned into something darker. Defiance? Rage? It was hard to tell.
“I don’t need anyone’s permission to kill you.”
And to prove his point, Tyler shot out his hand with startling speed. His fingers closed around her throat, shifting into claws.
Wednesday was just as swift, her blade grazing his neck.
“If I wanted you dead,” he went on, the edge of his claws pressing into her delicate skin, her pulse racing, adrenaline knotting in her stomach, “you already would be.”
His claws softened back into fingers, trailing down the length of her throat with deliberate slowness.
Her nerves shifted into something unnamed —something burning, dangerous, twisting her insides and leaving fire on her skin.
She ignored her own treacherous body and focused instead on Tyler’s tells.
His transformation had lasted only a heartbeat; his fingers trembled as they descended lightly, and sweat already filmed his brow.
Beneath all his arrogance, he was dying.
“You think I’ll fall for your false benevolence?” Wednesday pressed her dagger harder, a thin thread of blood trickling down his neck.
“No. You made it clear you don’t want me here. If you’re going to kill me, do it. Otherwise—leave.”
Heat surged in her face. Did he truly believe she couldn’t?
Her hand slashed quickly. The blade scraped his skin, and a grimace of pain erased his smug expression. The line of blood thickened, though the wound was shallow.
A warning, she told herself.
“Didn’t anyone teach you not to play with your food?” Tyler asked through clenched teeth.
Wednesday arched a brow, the ghost of a smile touching her lips.
“Ironic, coming from you.”
“But unlike you, I finish what I start.”
Her vision burned red. With a deft twist of her wrist, she aimed the knife between his ribs. Just a bit of pressure and his heart would be pierced, his pathetic existence ended.
Wednesday tightened her grip and lifted her gaze to him.
It was then she noticed something curious in his eyes. Beneath the disdain, a flicker of hope hid.
Something inside her twisted uneasily. Her grip slackened.
“You don’t have it in you,” Tyler whispered, a crooked smile playing on his lips. Yet Wednesday had already seen through the act, and his provocation lost its sting.
“What body parts were used for the ritual?” Her sudden question caught Tyler off guard. He blinked several times, silent. “The ritual that brought us here,” Wednesday clarified.
His brows furrowed.
“Why would I tell you that?”
“Don’t you want to get out of here?”
He pushed himself up slowly. The dagger’s point sank deeper, a drop of blood catching the torchlight.
Wednesday had to pull her hand back before he impaled himself.
“Something tells me,” he said slowly, his gaze shifting from her to the blade, “only one of us is leaving this place.”
She withdrew the weapon entirely. Yet Tyler looked only angrier. His jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin white line.
“I thought you liked getting your hands dirty,” he mocked. “But I see you’ll let your new pup do the work for you. In the end, you’re just another spoiled brat of Nevermore.”
Wednesday shot to her feet, her chest rising and falling violently. It took all her will not to end him right there.
“I have other ways of getting information.”
Tyler widened his eyes in a false look of surprise.
“Don’t tell me,” he sneered. “You’re going to torture me?”
He let out a low laugh that chilled her blood.
“I warn you—there’s nothing they haven’t already done to me.”
“I’m very creative,” Wednesday retorted at once.
His face darkened. The mockery vanished.
“You can’t even imagine half of what I’ve been through.”
Wednesday raised a brow, stepping back.
“Is that what this is? Self-pity? You let Crackstone break you.”
Tyler stiffened. His lips sealed shut, veins bulging in his neck.
“You want me to end your pathetic existence because you can’t do it yourself,” she pressed on. And how she savored the way his eyes filled with true fury, almost tasting it. “No, Tyler. Letting you live will be a far better punishment.”
“Punishment?” he spat, venom in his voice. “You really think you can punish me? As if you were any better than I am.”
Tyler rose from the bed. The effort was evident, his skin paling as he closed the distance between them.
“You use everyone in your life without remorse. What makes you any better? Not being a monster? Not being a killer?” Tyler let out a dry laugh. “We both know that’s only a matter of time.”
He invaded every inch of her space, his body heat wrapping around her. The danger of his presence raised the hairs at the back of her neck. And still, she did not move back.
Tyler loomed over her, as menacing as the Hyde he kept caged inside.
With deliberate slowness, he lifted his hands to hers. He brushed them, and something inside him shuddered. If she hadn’t been watching closely, she might not have noticed. But in that moment, the boy before her was all that existed.
She saw him hesitate, if only for a fraction of a second, before touching her. Saw his muscles tighten as his hands closed over hers.
There was something about him she did not understand, something that unsettled her—but she had no time to find out what. Wednesday’s heart pounded violently as Tyler guided the weapon to the center of his chest.
His grip tightened. Wednesday felt her bones strain under the pressure, but she never broke her gaze from his.
“Do it,” Tyler whispered. Tempting her, daring her.
Wednesday swallowed hard. Her eyes dropped slowly to where the blade pressed.
“I know you want to,” he insisted again, his voice low, almost like an unwelcome caress. “To feel the hot blood on your fingers. To watch life slip away, uncontrollably. To win me…”
Wednesday lifted her eyes once more and, with all her strength, tore the dagger away, slicing Tyler’s palms in the process.
He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes against the searing pain.
“That’s not even a vital point,” Wednesday lied.
This time, sheathed the dagger and hid it beneath her clothes.
Tyler let his hands fall to his sides, fists trembling violently. Blood dripped onto the floor, one drop at a time.
It was he who turned away this time. Wednesday released the breath she had not realized she’d been holding.
“Your new friends will do the work,” Tyler spat with contempt, casting her that same condemning look he had used at the meeting. “And you—you’ll be trapped in this damned place for the rest of your life.”
He collapsed back onto the bed, his chest rising and falling with effort. Wednesday knew he had no strength left for his arrogance, let alone another attack. But she also knew she would get no answers from him tonight.
A grimace of displeasure crossed her face.
She didn’t know what had happened in Jericho, but some part of him seemed broken. The arrogance with which he had once flaunted his victories at the police station had cracked. Now only anger and defeat seeped from every pore.
Or was it a new mask?
Pretending to be the victim to earn sympathy?
Wednesday sharpened her gaze, searching for a fracture in his lie.
This time she would not fall.
She would not believe a word from him.
She turned on her heel and left with the same silence with which she had entered.
Tyler thought he could not be bought, but Wednesday knew it was only a matter of finding the right price.
Her steps halted in front of the cavern where the two girls slept. She studied them carefully, one by one. A bitter sensation churned in her stomach.
Whatever it was, she would find Tyler’s weakness—and she would make him bend to her.
She moved forward with firm steps, never looking back. Never seeing the silent tears that welled in the boy’s eyes, nor the way his lips trembled as he tried to hold them back. Tyler clenched his eyes shut, refusing to let a single tear fall.
Hyacinth adjusted the loose strands of hair that slipped from her bun before placing the white cap on her head and studying her reflection once more in the dull little mirror she owned.
She turned her face, examining closely the bruise that stretched across nearly half of it. From her temple down to her right cheekbone, its deep purple edges fading into a darker blue.
She smiled.
She wore it like a trophy, knowing that when they finally caught that abomination, her pain would be rewarded tenfold.
She finished lacing the strings of her dress and stepped out of her home, looking impeccably modest.
Crackstone had summoned her to a meeting at the family mansion, and she left with time to spare. She did not want to arrive breathless, like some peasant begging for aid.
No.
Hyacinth knew that one day all of it would be hers.
The Crackstone mansion, the farmlands, the lake, and the island with the wretched cabin Cole forced her to hide in. God, how she longed to tear that place down stone by stone.
And she would, once everything belonged to her.
Her hands drifted to her belly, her smile widening.
It was too soon to be certain, but she was convinced her plan had worked. She hadn’t endured that vile sarsaparilla tea for a month in vain. Just the memory of it made her gag.
The afternoon was fading when she arrived at the Crackstone mansion. She paused to admire it.
It was grand and comfortable—not like the hovel her father owned. This was what she deserved for giving Cole her virginity, not the pitiful coins her father had drunk away in a week.
Before knocking, she exhaled and smoothed all expression from her face.
The maid greeted her with a small curtsy. Hyacinth bit the inside of her cheek and lowered her gaze to hide her expression.
She still couldn’t believe it was all happening. She had planned it so carefully, and Tyler had arrived at precisely the right moment. Though she had to admit, at first, she thought it would be more enjoyable.
There were days when she touched herself in the same way he had, the sensation in her belly so astonishing it shook her. It was a shame he had not remained so eager afterward. Though, perhaps it was for the best.
Even so, she had achieved what she wanted, and Hyacinth knew the seed of a monster like him was strong.
They crossed the central courtyard, the maid leading her down a long hallway, stopping before a set of double doors.
When they opened, Crackstone and Viktor were waiting for her.
Hyacinth hesitated for a second, unsettled, before forcing a timid smile and stepping inside.
The maid closed the doors, the sound echoing through the room.
She crossed the distance, her steps ringing clearly in the silence.
Once Hyacinth stood before the fireplace, Crackstone dropped a pouch of coins onto the small table between them.
He didn’t even let her greet him. Hyacinth’s mouth opened in confusion.
“For your services,” Crackstone clarified, nodding toward the coins.
“That’s not necessary,” she said quickly. “I did it for Cole.”
Crackstone’s rodent-like eyes narrowed, and she felt as though a thousand ants crawled over her body. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
The man grabbed the coins and thrust them against her chest.
“Viktor will take you out of the village. Somewhere our name is not known.”
Hyacinth paled at his words. Her terrified eyes darted to Viktor.
“No…” she whispered. “You can’t do that to me.”
“How dare you—”
Hyacinth pushed the pouch of money aside and stepped toward the old pilgrim.
“I did everything for Cole.”
Crackstone’s hand moved swiftly, the blow echoing against the walls. Viktor, behind him, lowered his gaze.
“Do not dare speak my son’s name with your filthy mouth.”
Hyacinth tasted blood filling her mouth. It wasn’t the first time.
“And how will I tell my son of his father’s deeds?” she asked, meeting his eyes. The mask of vulnerability had shattered—only fierceness remained.
“Liar,” Crackstone bellowed. “That bastard you carry is not my son’s.”
“Yes, he is. And he will be a boy.” She stepped forward, raising her head with pride. “He is Cole’s heir. His true heir.”
The old pilgrim’s face turned crimson, as if he might strangle her, but Hyacinth knew she could not back down.
“Agnes could never bear someone strong like Cole. Only I could—”
Another blow struck her face, and this time she fell to the ground.
“If you are lying, I will hang you at dawn,” he pronounced.
Hyacinth turned to Viktor, silently pleading for help, but the man only shifted uncomfortably and looked away.
Crackstone rang a bell, and moments later Agnes crossed the threshold. Her judgmental eyes fell on Hyacinth, and the woman’s frail body tensed.
“Sir,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the floor.
“Bring the creature,” Crackstone ordered.
Agnes’s head shot up, her eyes wide. Her skin paled, and her mouth opened like a dumb fish.
“The creature?” she stammered.
Crackstone let out an exasperated snort.
“Stupid woman. Must I repeat everything I say? Go!”
Agnes crossed the room, taking a different door than the one she had entered. Hyacinth’s eyes darted between the two men, searching for a clue. What creature? What did it have to do with her?
A flicker of fear crossed her face, and Crackstone ordered Viktor to tie her to a chair. She didn’t struggle—she knew it was useless—so she let him bind her arms with quiet submission.
“What’s happening?” she asked in a low voice as Viktor knelt in front of her.
He shook his head, looking equally confused. “Who is the creature?”
Agnes seemed to take an eternity, but when she finally returned, the first sound was the rattle of heavy chains.
Hyacinth squirmed uneasily. Her eyes flicked to the pouch of money on the table, then to the exit behind her.
Could she take it back?
She opened her mouth, but at that instant the door creaked open again, and Agnes entered the room.
She was not alone.
The creature was a woman, pale-skinned with hollow, dark eyes. Her hair hung down past her hips, brittle and tangled. She wore only a shred of fabric for a dress, her body beneath gaunt and frail. Her hands and feet were shackled, the chains clattering with each step.
The woman’s gaze wandered lazily over the room until it fixed on Hyacinth—and then a spark of amusement appeared.
“Tell me if it’s true that she is with child,” Crackstone ordered.
The woman raised her hands.
“I must touch her,” she said, her voice sing-song, almost melodic.
With a dissatisfied grunt, Crackstone pulled a ring of keys from his trousers and unlocked her shackles. The chains fell heavily to the floor.
The creature’s eyes locked on Hyacinth, and a chill shot down her spine.
“Who is she? What are you doing? What—?”
The woman placed her hands on Hyacinth’s shoulders. Her body convulsed violently, her head snapping back with force.
Hyacinth let out a horrified scream.
An instant later, it was over.
The creature lowered her head with a wide grin, black tears streaming from her eyes.
“She is with child,” the woman sang, “and it is a boy.”
Hyacinth felt as though she were floating at the news.
It couldn’t be!
She had succeeded…
Her eyes swept across the room, now cloaked in deathly silence. First to Agnes’s stupidly confused face; then to Viktor, who looked as though he had seen a ghost; and finally to Crackstone.
The old pilgrim was livid. The veins in his neck bulged, his face burning red.
The creature stepped back slowly, hands clasped together as if still bound, a mischievous smile on her lips.
“Take them to the dungeon,” he ordered through clenched teeth. The words were barely a growl, but Hyacinth’s blood froze.
“What?”
“Now!”
Viktor rushed to chain the woman again.
“No—” Hyacinth whispered desperately as he advanced on her. She tried to run, but he caught her by the rope binding her wrists.
Hyacinth thrashed and screamed. She carried Cole’s child in her womb! They couldn’t do this to her!
Crackstone closed the distance and silenced her with a brutal slap, her mouth filling with blood.
“Go,” he ordered Viktor, gripping a girl in each hand. “And you,” he added with disdain toward Agnes, “you will not leave here until that child is born.”
The dungeon door shut, and darkness swallowed Hyacinth without mercy.
Notes:
With Chapter 23, I forgot to update it here. So, you have Chapter 24 before
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fullofwoe5321 on Chapter 1 Thu 28 Nov 2024 07:14PM UTC
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fullofwoe5321 on Chapter 3 Thu 28 Nov 2024 07:36PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 29 Nov 2024 01:58AM UTC
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Resisting_Moonlight on Chapter 6 Fri 16 Aug 2024 11:28PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 16 Aug 2024 11:28PM UTC
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