Chapter 3: The Scalper's Lair
The dilapidated house sat on the edge of the woods like a broken tooth in a rotting jaw. It was a crumbling relic of a bygone era, its grey paint peeling in leprous flakes, its windows boarded up with a patchwork of sun-warped planks. The air was thick with the scent of rust and decay, and a low, guttural wind moaned through the gaps in the boards. This was the place. The coordinates from the map. The Scalper's lair.
"It looks… perfect," Wednesday said, her voice full of a dark, twisted appreciation, as she pulled on a pair of black leather gloves.
Ezra simply nodded, his breath a small, white cloud in the cold air. He felt the creeping tendrils of his Null Domain reaching out, a silent, unseen force that made the already dead air around them even colder. He could feel the stillness, a heavy, suffocating pressure that seemed to absorb all sound. It's the quietest place on campus, I'll give it that. But it's not peaceful. Not here. He reached out and touched the rusty lock. The metal groaned in protest.
He closed his eyes, focusing. The low hum in his ears intensified, a high-pitched whine that resonated through his skull. He channeled his lightning, a small, focused burst of pure energy. The lock sparked, then sizzled, the metal melting and fusing together.
The lock disintegrated with a soft hiss, leaving a small, blackened hole in the wood. Wednesday, without a word, pushed the door open. It groaned on its hinges, a symphony of decay, and the smell of rot and old things wafted out.
The inside was a museum of misery. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of moonlight that pierced the boarded-up windows. The floorboards groaned under their feet, and every step sent a shudder through the rotting wood. Strange symbols, etched into the walls with what looked like a bloody finger, were everywhere. They were the same swirling vortexes from the grimoire, the same symbols on the cloth. The guy's got a brand, I guess. He's into consistency.
Ezra, his eyes scanning the room, felt a sudden jolt. A thin, almost invisible wire stretched across the hallway, a tripwire. He grabbed Wednesday's arm just as she was about to step on it. His fingers, still cold from the Null-lightening pulse, felt like frostbite against her arm.
"Wait," he hissed.
Wednesday, her eyes as cold as a winter night, looked at the wire. "A primitive trap. A sign of a primitive mind."
"A sign of a prepared mind," Ezra corrected. He knelt down, using a small Null pulse to sever the wire without a sound. He didn't want to take any chances. The last thing they needed was a bell ringing or a light turning on. He just wanted to get in, get the intel, and get out.
But as they moved deeper into the house, a sudden, blinding flash of light caught Ezra's eye from the corner of the room. A second wire, hidden beneath a layer of dust, triggered. A loud, jarring claaaang echoed through the house. A heavy, iron cage, a monstrous, rusted thing, began to fall from the ceiling. Directly over Wednesday.
Ezra didn't think. He reacted. His body, fueled by a surge of pure adrenaline, moved with a speed he didn't know he possessed. A blur of motion. A flash of lightning. A sudden, sharp pain in his chest, as if his muscles had ripped themselves apart.
He slammed into Wednesday, pushing her out of the way. She stumbled, and he fell to the ground, his arm burning with a sharp, electric pain. The cage slammed down with a deafening CRASH, missing her by a hair's breadth.
Ezra lay on the floor, his heart hammering against his ribs, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "That… was close. Too close. My body hurts. My muscles are screaming. Why the hell am I saving her? This is her insane hobby, not mine."
Wednesday, her face a mask of shock, stared at the cage. She slowly turned and looked at Ezra, a flicker of something she couldn't name in her eyes. It was not gratitude. It was… a scientific curiosity.
"You move faster when you're afraid," she observed, her voice flat. "Your fear, it seems, is an excellent catalyst."
Ezra, still on the floor, managed a weak grin. "I'm a connoisseur of fear. And you, Wednesday, are a surprisingly easy person to save."
Wednesday's lips twitched. The moment of levity broke the tension. But as Ezra got to his feet, a low, guttural hum filled the air. A key, turning in the front door lock.
"We're not alone," Wednesday whispered, her hand finding his. Her skin was cold. Clammy. Ezra's hand was still burning, a sharp, electric tingle.
He looked around the room. The cage, the symbols, the dust… and then he saw it. A loose floorboard, a single patch of wood that looked newer than the rest. He knelt down, his muscles protesting, and used his Null-enhanced strength to pry it up. Inside was a small, hidden compartment. And in the compartment, a single, folded piece of paper.
"This is it," Wednesday whispered.
Ezra snatched it, just as the sound of footsteps on the porch grew closer. He grabbed Wednesday's hand and pulled.
"We have to go," he said.
"What about a confrontation?" she asked, her eyes gleaming.
"We have a clue," Ezra said, pulling her out of the house. "A single, tiny piece of information. Let's not get ourselves killed over a bonus level."
They ran. They ran through the woods, the key turning in the lock echoing in their ears. They didn't stop until they were back in the woods, the air cold on their faces, the sound of their heavy breathing the only sound in the dead stillness.
They found a large rock and huddled behind it. Ezra's hand still tingled from the lightning speed boost. Wednesday, her gaze fixed on him, seemed to be analyzing every beat of his heart.
He unfolded the paper. It was a detailed map of the Nevermore woods. A specific, ancient tree was circled, and next to it, a date. A date a few days from now.
"It's a meeting point," Wednesday said, her voice a low purr. "A… ritual, perhaps. A collection."
Ezra didn't answer. He just stared at the date. The Scalper was an Addams. He was coming back. And he was coming back for something. A debt. A collection. And Ezra, the unwitting debt collector, was in the middle of it all.
Wednesday's eyes, cold and calculating, met his. "We have a date. We have a location. We're no longer investigators, Ezra. We are… hunters."
Ezra's heart hammered in his chest, a drumbeat of dread and something else. Something he didn't want to admit. A flicker of excitement.
"We're going to need to train," he said. "I can't just rely on luck anymore."
Wednesday's lips curved into a tiny, almost-smile. "I have a few ideas. Things involving mannequins and a few well-placed sharp objects."
Ezra felt a new resolve settle in his stomach. The adrenaline was fading, but a new, quiet determination was taking its place. The Scalper was out there. And he was waiting. Ezra had a feeling he wouldn't like what came next. The discovery of the map was only the first step; now, they had to prepare for the inevitable confrontation.
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