The problem with investigating the same mystery as Wednesday Addams was that she left very little for anyone else to find.
Every lead I followed, she'd been there first. Library records about Nightshade societies? Already checked out under her name. Historical accounts of secret Nevermore organizations? Missing from the shelves, with W. Addams on the withdrawal card.
Girl was thorough. Annoyingly so.
I'd spent the morning in Ms. Thornhill's class, pretending to care about photosynthesis while actually studying her. Normal teacher behavior. Normal teacher appearance. Nothing to suggest she'd been here for decades longer than claimed.
"Adrian," she called as class ended. "Could you stay a moment?"
Eugene shot me a worried look but left with the others. I approached her desk, where she was organizing papers with practiced efficiency.
"You seem distracted lately," she said. "Is everything alright?"
"Just adjusting to Nevermore."
"Hmm." She pulled out a folder. "Your previous school records are interesting. Very... sparse."
"I moved around a lot."
"I noticed." She looked up, and for a second, something flickered in her eyes. Too quick to identify. "Wednesday Addams was asking similar questions earlier. About historical societies at Nevermore."
"Was she?"
"Yes. I helped her identify a watermark on an old drawing. The Nightshade Society." She smiled, warm and helpful. "Are you researching the same thing?"
Trap or genuine question? Impossible to tell.
"Just curious about Nevermore's history."
"Curiosity is wonderful, but be careful. Some histories are better left buried." Another smile. "Edgar Allan Poe's statue might interest you. He was supposedly a member."
She turned back to her plants, dismissal clear. I left with more questions than answers.
In the quad, I found Wednesday already at the Poe statue, studying its base with intense focus. She held something carefully—glasses, broken and covered in dirt.
"Found them in the woods with that Galpin boy," she said without looking up. "Rowan's. Had a vision when I touched them."
"Vision?"
"He broke into somewhere. Stole a book." She examined the statue's inscription. "Ms. Thornhill helped me identify this watermark. Nightshade Society."
So Thornhill had helped her too. Interesting.
"There's supposed to be a riddle," Wednesday continued. "Something about showing your true face."
I looked at the inscription again. Latin hidden in the decorative script. "Give a man a mask and he'll show you his true face. But mask in Latin—"
"Can mean a sharp sound." Wednesday finished. "Snap."
She demonstrated, snapping twice in front of the statue.
The base shifted. Stone grinding against stone as a hidden door revealed itself.
"Predictable," she said, already descending the revealed stairs.
I followed because the alternative was letting her investigate alone, and she'd already proven that was dangerous.
The hidden library smelled like old paper and older secrets. Bookshelves stretched into shadows. Portraits of students from decades past watched from the walls. And in the center, a table with an open book.
"The Nightshade Society," Wednesday read, already absorbed in the text. "Founded 1821. A society for outcasts within outcasts."
"Redundant."
"Necessary." She turned pages with careful precision. "They were the ones who actually did things. While the school played politics, the Nightshades protected Nevermore from real threats."
I examined the portraits. Familiar faces from different eras. Including—
"Your parents were members," I said, pointing to a photo from the '90s.
Wednesday looked, expression unchanged. "That explains their irrational nostalgia for this place."
"Mine too, apparently." Though the man in the photo wasn't actually my father. Just another identity I'd worn decades ago. Hopefully Wednesday wouldn't notice the resemblance.
"This book," she said, returning to the text. "This must be what Rowan stole. The vision showed him taking something from here."
"Why?"
"Because of this." She showed me a page. Detailed accounts of Hyde attacks throughout history. Methods of control. And most interesting, a section on "induced transformation."
"Someone's making Hydes," I said.
"Someone made the one that killed Rowan."
We looked at each other, both reaching the same conclusion. This wasn't random. This was orchestrated.
That's when the lights went out.
"Seriously?" I muttered. "Dramatic lighting cues?"
Hooded figures surrounded us. Because of course they did. Nothing said "secret society" like unnecessary theatrics and poor fashion choices.
"Wednesday Addams and Adrian Blackthorne," a disguised voice intoned. "You have trespassed on sacred ground."
"It's a library," Wednesday said flatly. "The only thing sacred here is the late fee structure."
Someone snorted under their hood. Probably Ajax. He always broke character.
"You will come with us."
"Will we though?" I asked. "Because this whole kidnapping aesthetic feels very community theater."
"Just follow us," another voice said, definitely Xavier. "We need to blindfold you first."
"Absolutely not," Wednesday and I said simultaneously.
We looked at each other, surprised by the synchronization.
"Fine," the first voice sighed. "But act surprised."
They led us deeper into the library, to a ceremonial room that someone had decorated like a Gothic fever dream. Candles, skulls, the works. The hooded figures revealed themselves: Bianca, Xavier, Ajax, Divina, Yoko, and Kent.
"Welcome," Bianca said, trying for mysterious but achieving mildly constipated, "to the Nightshade Society."
"The defunct secret society that hasn't existed for thirty years?" Wednesday asked.
"We're bringing it back," Xavier said. "Nevermore needs protectors."
"From what?" I asked. "Cafeteria food?"
"From whatever killed Rowan," Bianca shot back. "We know something's wrong. Rowan's expulsion story doesn't add up."
So they'd noticed too. Points for observation.
"Join us," Xavier offered, looking primarily at Wednesday. "We could use people with your skills."
"I don't join," Wednesday said. "I lead or I leave."
"Same," I added, though mostly to annoy them.
Bianca's expression soured. "Then leave. But know that we're watching. Whatever you're investigating, we're investigating too."
"Inefficiently," Wednesday noted. "Your library security is pathetic."
We left together, the Nightshades' irritation following us out.
"They mean well," I said once we were outside.
"Meaning well and doing well are entirely different things." Wednesday walked with purpose, though I noticed she'd pocketed something from the library. "They'll interfere with my investigation."
"Our investigation."
She stopped, turning to face me. "We're not partners."
"We're investigating the same murder. Following the same leads. Finding the same evidence." I shrugged. "Call it whatever you want, but we're going to keep crossing paths."
"Then we need rules."
"I'm listening."
"No sharing information without reciprocation. No following me without permission. No involving others, especially not Eugene." She paused. "And no heroics. If you see me in danger, assume I planned it."
"That's a terrible rule."
"Those are my terms."
I considered. Working with Wednesday would be complicated. But working against her would be worse.
"Fine. But I have conditions too. No withholding evidence that could get someone killed. No testing theories on yourself. And no assuming I'm just another teenage amateur."
"You're not a teenage anything," she said. "I don't know what you are, but seventeen isn't it."
"You're not exactly typical either."
We stared at each other, two people with too many secrets trying to establish trust without revelation.
"Ms. Thornhill," she said finally. "She helped both of us find this place."
"Convenient."
"Or calculated." She pulled out the item she'd taken—a photograph from the 1990s showing the old Nightshade Society. "She knew exactly what that watermark meant. Immediately."
"She's been here longer than she claims."
"Or she's studied Nevermore's history obsessively." Wednesday pocketed the photo. "Either way, she bears watching."
We both turned toward the conservatory, where warm light spilled from the greenhouse windows. Where Ms. Thornhill was probably tending her plants, looking as harmless as ever.
"Tomorrow," Wednesday said. "We compare notes properly. Midnight, the library."
"The regular library or the secret one?"
"Regular. The Nightshades will be watching the other one now."
She left without goodbye, disappearing into the shadows like she'd been born to them.
I stood alone in the quad, processing the last hour. I'd broken my rule about getting involved. Worse, I'd agreed to actively investigate alongside someone who attracted danger like flowers attracted Eugene's bees.
But Wednesday was right. Someone was controlling a Hyde. Someone with intimate knowledge of Nevermore's history. Someone who'd been guiding us toward answers that might be traps.
Tomorrow at midnight, I'd meet Wednesday in the library. We'd share information, compare theories, and probably uncover something that would make everything worse.
I headed back to my room, already knowing sleep would be impossible.
At least I had a good excuse for my insomnia now.