"Outreach Day," Principal Weems announced with the enthusiasm of someone selling cemetery plots, "is our chance to give back to the Jericho community."
Translation: mandatory unpaid labor disguised as character building.
The assembly hall buzzed with resigned acceptance. Students passed around assignment envelopes like draft notices. Eugene bounced beside me, somehow excited about forced community service.
"I got Pilgrim World!" he said. "Same as Wednesday! We're partners!"
"Congratulations on your historical reenactment torture."
"It won't be that bad," Eugene said optimistically. "Maybe the pilgrims will be friendly."
Sweet, naive Eugene.
I opened my envelope. Weathervane Coffee. Could be worse. At least caffeine would be involved.
"Uriah's Heap," Enid groaned nearby. "A whole day sorting musty donations? My allergies can't handle this."
Wednesday appeared beside her roommate. "Trade with me."
"You want Uriah's Heap? Why would—" Enid's eyes widened. "Oh! You want to work with Eugene! That's so sweet!"
"I want access to Pilgrim World's historical archives," Wednesday corrected coldly. "Your assignment serves my purposes."
"Sure, Jan." Enid handed over her envelope. "Have fun with your 'research.'"
Wednesday took it without acknowledging the implication, already walking away. She paused near me. "Weathervane has newspaper archives in the basement. 1990s editions might interest you."
Then she was gone, leaving me with the realization that she'd just shared useful information voluntarily. Progress.
"She's intense," Eugene said, watching her leave.
"You're partnered with her all day. Good luck."
"I don't need luck! I have bees!" He patted his pocket where he apparently kept bee pheromones. "They're very calming."
An hour later, I stood behind the Weathervane counter while Tyler Galpin explained the coffee machine like it was nuclear physics.
"The steam wand needs to be at exactly this angle," he demonstrated. "Otherwise, you'll spray milk everywhere."
"Fascinating."
"You could at least pretend to care."
"I am pretending. You're just not very observant."
He glared but continued his tutorial. Sheriff's son trying to be responsible. Admirable, if tedious.
My phone buzzed. Eugene.
"Wednesday is amazing! She scared off bullies! But now she disappeared and I can't find her and the pilgrims are coming back help"
"I need a break," I told Tyler.
"You just started—"
I was already gone.
Pilgrim World was a monument to historical revisionism and bad costumes. I found Eugene near the meeting house replica, surrounded by three normie kids in letterman jackets. Lucas, Carter, and Jonah, according to their jackets. The same ones Wednesday had apparently already dealt with once.
"She said she'd only warn us once," Lucas was saying, looming over Eugene. "She's not here now."
"Actually," Eugene said, trying to sound brave, "she's probably watching from somewhere. She does that."
"Nice try, bee boy."
I stepped into view. "He's not wrong. Wednesday does enjoy surveillance."
The trio turned, evaluating the new threat. I probably didn't look like much. Thin, pale, wearing a Weathervane apron I'd forgotten to remove.
"Coffee boy? Seriously?" Carter laughed. "What are you gonna do, burn us with espresso?"
"Cappuccino, actually. Tyler was very specific about the difference."
Lucas stepped forward. "Walk away. This doesn't concern you."
"Eugene's my friend. That makes it my concern."
"Your funeral."
Lucas swung first. Telegraphed from a mile away. I sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past. Used his forward motion to help him trip over his own feet. He went down hard, face-first into authentic Pilgrim World mud.
Carter and Jonah exchanged glances, then charged together. Tactical error. I ducked under Carter's grab, swept Jonah's legs, and watched them collide into each other. They joined Lucas in the mud, a tangle of limbs and wounded pride.
"That was amazing!" Eugene exclaimed. "You were like—" He made elaborate martial arts gestures. "Where did you learn that?"
"YouTube."
"I must be watching the wrong channels."
Wednesday emerged from behind the stocks, having apparently been watching the entire time. She studied the muddy bullies with clinical interest.
"Efficient," she said to me. Then to them: "I warned you once. This is twice. There won't be a third time."
The way she said it made everyone, including me, believe her.
The bullies struggled to their feet, murder in their eyes but fear winning out.
"This isn't over," Lucas spat mud.
"It never is," Wednesday said. "Bullies lack imagination."
They retreated, dignity as damaged as their clothes.
"You were both incredible!" Eugene beamed. "Wednesday, how did you do that thing earlier where you just stared at them and they ran?"
"Practice."
"Can you teach me?"
"No."
"Oh." Eugene deflated slightly, then bounced back. "Still, thank you both. I should get back to my assignment before someone notices."
After he left, Wednesday turned to me. "I didn't need assistance."
"Neither did Eugene, apparently. Yet here we are."
"You fight like someone with experience."
"YouTube's very educational."
"Your number," she said abruptly.
"What?"
"Your phone number. For coordinating investigation purposes only."
I rattled it off. She typed it into her phone with the same precision she did everything.
"You'll receive one text to confirm. Don't expect conversation."
Her phone was already away before I could respond. "What's your—"
"You'll know it's me."
She vanished back into the crowd of tourists, leaving me with the surreal realization that Wednesday Addams had just asked for my number. For investigation purposes. Obviously.
I returned to find Tyler stress-cleaning the coffee machine.
"You can't just leave—"
"Eugene needed help."
"What kind of help?"
"The kind that's none of your business."
He wanted to argue but a customer arrived, ending the conversation. I spent the rest of my shift in the basement, photographing newspaper articles about mysterious deaths, missing hikers, and "bear attacks" that bears couldn't have caused.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
"This is Wednesday. Delete this after reading."
I saved the contact immediately.
At 4:30, the town gathered in the square for Mayor Walker's fountain dedication. A bronze Joseph Crackstone stood atop cascading water, looking noble despite having burned innocent people alive.
"We honor our founding father," Walker droned, "who brought civilization to savage lands."
Eugene found me in the crowd. "Wednesday says he was a genocidal maniac."
"Wednesday's not wrong."
"Joseph Crackstone protected this community from evil," Walker continued. "His legacy lives on in our values of law, order, and prosperity."
That's when the fountain exploded.
Water geysered skyward. The statue cracked and toppled. The crowd screamed, scattering. I pulled Eugene behind a bench as bronze fragments and water rained down.
Through the chaos, I spotted Wednesday at the edge of the square, watching with deep satisfaction.
"Did she—?" Eugene started.
"Probably."
"That's so cool."
Sheriff Galpin arrived within minutes, Mayor Walker ranting about vandalism and terrorism. Wednesday had already vanished.
My phone buzzed. Wednesday: "Library. Midnight."
Definitely saved that number.
That evening, I found her in the library as planned.
"Productive day?" I asked.
"I destroyed a monument to genocide and traumatized the mayor. Yes, very productive."
"I meant the research."
"That too." She placed photocopied pages on the table. "Crackstone didn't just hate outcasts. He believed they were literally demonic. His writings describe them as 'Satan's spawn' that needed cleansing."
"Charming. The newspaper archives show Hyde-like attacks going back decades. Always covered up as animal attacks."
"The pattern's older than we thought."
"Or cyclical." I showed her my notes. "Every generation, someone picks up where the last left off."
She studied the dates, mind visibly working. "The Hyde's just a weapon."
"We need to find who's wielding it."
"Someone who knows Nevermore's history. Someone with access to students. Someone who's been here long enough to continue the pattern."
We looked at each other, reaching the same conclusion.
"Faculty," we said simultaneously.
"This is becoming a habit," I noted.
"An unfortunate one." She gathered the papers. "We need to investigate the staff. Carefully. If the Hyde's master knows we're looking—"
"They'll accelerate their timeline."
"Or make us the next victims."
We sat in silence, processing the implications. This wasn't just about Rowan anymore. It was about systematic murder spanning generations.
"Eugene thinks you're amazing," I said suddenly.
"Eugene thinks bees are amazing. His judgment is questionable."
"You protected him today."
"Bullies annoy me." She stood to leave, then paused. "You arrived quickly when he texted."
"I was already on break."
"You left Tyler alone with the coffee machine to help Eugene."
"Your point?"
"You care about him. That's dangerous here."
"Caring about anyone is dangerous anywhere."
She nodded slowly. "Tomorrow night. Same time. I'll text you if plans change."
"So we're texting now?"
"For investigation purposes only."
"Obviously."
"Don't read into it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
After she left, I sat alone in the library, surrounded by evidence of historical horror repeating itself.
My phone buzzed. Eugene: "Best Outreach Day ever! Wednesday said she might visit the hives! And you did that amazing ninja thing! Can you teach me?"
I smiled despite everything. The kid's optimism was infectious.
Another text, this one from Wednesday: "Stop smiling at your phone. It's disturbing."
I looked around the empty library. How did she—?
A third text: "Educated guess. You always smile when Eugene texts. It's a liability."
I typed back: "Thought you didn't do conversation."
"This isn't conversation. It's tactical assessment. Delete these messages."
I didn't delete them. Neither did she, probably.
Tomorrow we'd investigate the faculty. Tonight, I had coffee-stained clothes, Wednesday Addams' phone number, and the satisfaction of seeing bullies covered in mud.
Not the worst Outreach Day possible.
Though the exploding fountain definitely added style points.