The Nevermore library at 6 AM was a graveyard of knowledge nobody wanted.
Perfect for researching murders that didn't officially happen.
I pulled three volumes on Hyde manifestations, two on shapeshifter biology, and one optimistically titled "Peaceful Coexistence Between Outcasts and Normies: A History." The last one was fiction, but sometimes fiction told better truths.
The Hyde texts were useless. Victorian nonsense about moral corruption and split personalities. Nothing about the gray-skinned nightmare I'd witnessed. Either Hydes had evolved significantly, or someone had modified them. Neither option was comforting.
"Adrian?" Eugene's voice made me close the book too quickly. Suspicious. "What are you doing here so early?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Still?" He sat down uninvited, concerned. "You've been weird since Rowan left. Did something happen between you guys?"
"We didn't exactly talk."
"Yeah, but you've been all..." He made vague gestures. "Broody. More than usual, I mean."
Across the library, Wednesday Addams sat surrounded by similar texts. She didn't look up when Eugene arrived. Didn't acknowledge anyone existed. Just read with the intensity of someone dissecting reality itself.
"I'm fine, Eugene."
"You're researching Hydes." He read the spine of my book. "Why?"
"Academic curiosity."
"About monsters that supposedly don't exist anymore?"
I looked at him. Really looked. Sometimes I forgot how observant he could be when not distracted by bees.
"They're interesting," I said.
"Right." He didn't believe me. "Well, when you're done being mysteriously academic, the Hummers are doing hive maintenance at three."
"I'll be there."
He left, throwing concerned glances back. I'd have to be more careful. Eugene's genuine worry was harder to deflect than casual curiosity.
Wednesday turned a page with surgical precision. Still ignoring everything. Still researching the same impossible event.
During free period, I returned to the woods. The crime scene had been sanitized with professional efficiency. No blood. No claw marks. Even the broken branches had been removed.
Someone had worked very hard to erase Rowan's death.
"You're contaminating potential evidence."
Wednesday stood ten feet away, having approached silently. Impressive for someone who wasn't centuries old.
"The evidence has already been contaminated," I said. "Professionally."
She moved closer, examining the ground with clinical detachment. "The blood spatter was here. Arterial spray pattern suggests severed carotid. The body was dragged northeast."
"Someone used accelerated decomposition," I noted. "The soil pH is off."
"Lye-based, most likely." She stood, fixing me with that unblinking stare. "You have experience with crime scenes."
Not a question. Dangerous territory.
"I read a lot."
"Nobody reads about soil pH changes from body disposal for entertainment."
"I have eclectic interests."
She stared at me for twelve seconds. I counted. Finally, she said, "The shapeshifter replacing Rowan was flawless. That level of precision requires intimate knowledge of the subject."
"Or significant supernatural ability."
"Both." She started walking the perimeter. "Principal Weems keeps appearing whenever something needs covering up."
"You suspect her."
"I suspect everyone." She paused at a tree with barely visible scratches. "These claw marks were partially sanded down. Someone spent hours here cleaning."
"While everyone was at the festival. Perfect timing."
"Too perfect." She faced me again. "What do you want?"
"What?"
"You're investigating. Following leads. Researching. What's your interest in this?"
Good question. What was a centuries-old immortal's interest in teenage murder mysteries?
"I don't like coverups," I said. Truth, if incomplete.
"Personal experience?"
"Something like that."
She studied me with that unnerving focus. "Stay out of my investigation."
"We're investigating the same thing."
"No. I'm investigating. You're interfering."
"I was there too. I saw what happened."
"Which makes you a witness, not an investigator." She pulled out her phone, checking something. "I don't work with others."
"Neither do I."
"Then we understand each other."
She left without another word, moving through the trees like she'd memorized every root and branch. I waited five minutes before taking a different path back.
That afternoon, I had a scheduled check-in with Principal Weems. Routine for students with "special medical needs." Today, I paid closer attention.
"Adrian," she smiled, gesturing to the chair. "How are you settling in?"
"Well enough."
"Eugene tells me you're excelling in the beekeeping club." Her smile was perfectly measured. "He's quite fond of you."
Using Eugene as leverage. Subtle.
"He's enthusiastic about his bees."
"Indeed. It's wonderful he's found a friend who shares his interests." She made notes in my file. "Though I hope you're being careful with your evening activities."
"My insomnia is managed."
"I meant your walks. The grounds can be dangerous at night. We've had some wildlife issues recently."
There it was. The warning wrapped in concern.
"I'll be more careful."
"Please do. We've already had one student leave unexpectedly. I'd hate to lose another."
"Rowan seemed fine when he left."
Her smile never wavered. "Appearances can be deceiving. Mental health issues often manifest suddenly in teenagers."
"Even supernatural teenagers?"
"Especially them. The pressure of being different, of controlling abilities... it can be overwhelming."
She stood, signaling the meeting's end. "Do let me know if you need anything. My door is always open."
Her door was always open, but her secrets were locked tighter than any vault.
Back at the beehives, Eugene worked in focused silence. The bees seemed agitated, their usual hum pitched higher.
"They know something's wrong," he said. "They've been like this since yesterday."
"Since Rowan left?"
"Yeah, actually." He frowned. "Weird coincidence, right?"
Not a coincidence. Bees could sense environmental changes, chemical shifts. Like the massive amount of lye someone had used to destroy evidence.
"Eugene, do bees react to death?"
"Everything reacts to death. It's the ultimate environmental change." He adjusted a frame. "Why?"
"Just curious."
"You're lying." He didn't look up. "You've been lying since Rowan left. Something happened, didn't it?"
The kid was too perceptive for his own good.
"Eugene—"
"I'm not stupid, Adrian. I know people think I am because I like bees and get excited about stuff. But I notice things. You and Wednesday have been acting weird. Researching the same stuff. Avoiding each other but also kind of... parallel orbiting?"
"Parallel orbiting?"
"Like binary stars. Circling the same point but never intersecting."
Sometimes Eugene's analogies were disturbingly accurate.
"It's complicated," I said.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Probably."
"Are you going to tell me about it?"
"Probably not."
He nodded, accepting this. "Okay. But if you need help, I'm pretty good at research. And the bees tell me things sometimes."
"What kind of things?"
"Like right now? They're saying the forest smells wrong. Like something died but also didn't die." He tilted his head, listening to frequencies I couldn't hear. "It's confusing them."
Something died but didn't die. Even the bees knew Rowan's departure was wrong.
That evening, I compiled what I knew. The Hyde was real but modified. The shapeshifter was skilled enough to fool everyone. Weems was involved but careful. Wednesday was investigating with her typical intensity. And Eugene's bees could sense the wrongness that humans ignored.
Through my window, Wednesday's cello began its nightly performance. Tonight's music was mathematical. Each note precisely placed, building patterns that revealed and concealed simultaneously.
She was encoding her investigation in music. Clever.
I pulled out my phone, typing a single message to an old contact: "Need information on modified Hydes. Urgent."
The response came within minutes: "That's impossible. Hydes can't be modified."
"This one was."
A longer pause. Then: "If that's true, you need to leave. Now."
I deleted the conversation and looked back toward Ophelia Hall. Wednesday's silhouette moved behind her window, pacing while she played.
Leaving would be smart. Safe. Reasonable.
But Rowan was dead. Something impossible was hunting students. And two investigators working separately were more likely to miss crucial connections.
Tomorrow, I'd try again with Wednesday. Whether she wanted a partner or not, she had one.
Even if she didn't know it yet.