Chapter 8

An early morning breeze sailed between the towering pines, and molting oak trees, which had left blazing leaves, and curled up, dried ones littered over the wildly grown forest floor. They crunched beneath Lenore’s trainers as she navigated her way between the trees, and over the uneven ground, peppered by rocks. Her breath came calmly, leaving steam curling up from her lips and diffusing into the fresh forest air, which smelt of newly fallen rain.

She threw her head back, and light filtered onto her face through the gaps in the canopy, glistening softly in her light eyes. She rolled her shoulders, and picked up the pace, sprinting through the forest, and jumping effortlessly off rocks, and high ground. Ferns, long grasses, and newly sprouted trees brushed against her bare legs.

Her pace faltered momentarily as she passed by a tree; she turned her head, and against the tree, overgrown with moss, a slash mark curved around the trunk. It had calloused over. She shook her head, trying to pull away from the memories pushing through the fog in her mind. She pushed off again, and rushed through the forest, leaving whatever memories that lingered behind.

After running miles, over streams carved in the dirt, vaguely familiar land marks, and rolling hills, she slowed down, and as she pushed through a thicket of bushes and trees, she came to a house in the forest. She hesitated, and her footfalls came quieter, and she began to walk quietly around it.

It was a dark, pointed cottage, decorated by columns and sprandels, ivy crept up, and hung over the walls; it smelt vaguely of something—someone Lenore couldn’t place, but it made her guard raise.

“Who are you?” Lenore jolted, head snapping to a woman swathed in a black gown; she regarded her with curiosity, openly staring at her. “I could ask the same question.” Lenore replied carefully.

“Hm, but I asked first.”

“Fair enough,” she replied. “Lenore.” She tilted her head at the woman, then it hit her; she knew her, she had seen her with Wednesday, and she could see her features in her. “Morticia Addams. That’s who you are.”

“Oh, you know of me.”

“More like I know your daughter. I helped her out last year.”

Morticia’s face flickered, with something grave, almost akin to sadness. “You must be quite the girl if she’s kept you around, and if you’ve been able to keep up with her.” She mused, half a smile playing at her lips.

“Well, I try.” Lenore shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “She’s- uh certainly a character.”

“That’s one way to describe her.”

Lenore tilted her head, “how would you?”

“Stubborn.”

“You’re saying she gets in her own way?”

Lenore’s gaze met Morticia’s. “Exactly.”

Morticia cleared her throat, and smoothed her dress out, “so, how did you two meet?”

Lenore sighed fondly at the memory. “It was after her therapy session; she had escaped to the Weathervane, and I helped her fight off the local pilgrams. I had already had dealings with them before, so I was eager to help out.”

“You’ve had dealings with them before?” Morticia asked—amused.

“Yeah, a friend of mine, his brother was getting bullied by them. I put them in their place, and they didn’t try that again.” Lenore answered, scratching awkwardly at the back of her neck.

“What did you do?”

Lenore threw a glance down at her scarred knuckles, and sucked a breath sharply through her teeth. “It’s a little barbaric, but let’s say I taught them a lesson they didn’t forget.”

Morticia chuckled, and her eyes sparkled with a certain air of mischief. She fell silent suddenly, and her face flickered with something like recognition. She stepped forward, and raised a hand, jutting her finger at Lenore. “Are you the werewolf who fought Crackstone?”

Lenore swallowed harshly, and bit down on her lower lip; she nodded, looking at anywhere but at Morticia. “Yeah… that’d be me.”

Morticia hummed thoughtfully, and Lenore’s eyes flickered over her face, trying her hardest to get an idea of her thoughts, but she couldn’t; she was entirely expressionless. Lenore stepped back, and checked her watch. “I should go. It was nice meeting you; I hope to see you around.”

“Yes, I should be getting inside, too, before Gomez gets worried.” Morticia said, offering Lenore a small smile.

Lenore turned around, leaves crunching under her feet as she approached the trees.

“Do be careful, Lenore.”

—————

Lenore stepped into the quad, buildings stretching out above her, a jarring difference from the peaceful stillness of the forest. It was louder; the forest pulsed with life, and twigs would snap, leaves would crunch underfoot, and the faint sounds of animals played in the fresh air. Nevermore seemed to breathe differently, it may be still, but it had a certain history, and memories lurked around every corner; she was simply waiting for one to jump out, or for her relative peace to be broken when the school finally woke up.

She braced herself against the cold brick, and stretched her legs out, swinging them to loosen the muscles; she bent her knees, and pulled them as high as she could; they cracked as she moved, and pain lingered there from days earlier.

“What are you doing?”

Lenore turned around. “Oh, hi.” She muttered, face flushed as she realised Miss Capri had been watching her. “I’m stretching. I’m still a bit strained from the whole Prank Day thing.”

“You’ve really been out this early?” She asked doubtfully.

Lenore gave her a tilted look. “I run. I like going early. It means when I get back I don’t have to deal with the crowds.”

Ms Capri hummed thoughtfully to herself, and Lenore took in her appearance; she was wearing her typical leopard print, a skirt that hugged her hips, and a loose-fitting silk shirt. “I didn’t have you pegged as the type.”

“Why?” She asked through half a laugh.

“It seems very mindful for… you. I mean it seems to do you good, you aren’t glaring at everything that moves.”

“Excuse me? I’m just a morning person that’s all.”

“A werewolf who’s a morning person, that’s rare.”

“What can I say? I’m a real character.” Lenore said, unsure whether she should be amused or offended.

“That’s true.”

She dismissed Miss Capri’s comment.

“If you’re scrutinising me being up early. I’m curious why you are.”

She pursed her lips and played with the hem of her shirt. “Someone,” she started, a mutter pushed through gritted teeth, “decided to schedule a camping trip on the full moon, beyond me why. I’m having to put protective measures in place for younger wolves. It’s just hectic. I wanted an early start.”

“That’s fair, well, I’m your personal assistant for the foreseeable future, so… if you need help, I’m your girl.” Lenore shrugged.

“My girl, hm?”

Lenore shifted between her feet awkwardly, attempting to ignore the heat flushing over her. “Afraid so.”

“Afraid for which one of us?”

“Probably you. I tend to be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve dealt with worse.” Her hand brushed Lenore’s bare arm, stepping past her, and the younger werewolf walked beside her. “Hm, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Lenore muttered, mostly to herself, but Ms Capri sent her a look; she had heard.

They approached ornate wooden doors. “So, what are you doing today?” Miss Capri asked as they stepped into the building, door shutting behind them with a tooth shuddering slam.

“Just lessons, nothing all that special.” Lenore shrugged.

“No plans, then? Not a date, or anything?”

Lenore sputtered awkwardly, choking on her own saliva, earning a deeply amused look from the teacher. “Um, no. No.” She rasped out. “Considering my reputation, no one’s interested in me.”

“Hm.” Ms Capri mused. “I’ve heard otherwise.”

Warmth curled up Lenore’s cheeks, to the tips of her ears. She looked away. “I should go. I need to shower, and change, for lessons.” She managed to get out.

“Is the idea of someone being interested in you so jarring?”

“Yes.” Lenore responded shortly. She stopped at the stairs to her dorm, offered Miss Capri a wave, and quickly disappeared up the stairs.

—————

Lenore stifled a yawn, stretched, making her back crunch—she spun the pen in her hand, and stared down at her scruffy page of notes. It was labelled biology, and sectioned neatly, but to most, would be hardly readable. She tipped her head back, curls brushing against the shelf behind her.

“Lenore.”

She sat up sharply, finding Wednesday shuffling into the seat opposite her—the same seat Ms Capri had sat in prior. “Wednesday.” She arched a brow, visibly doubting the girl’s motives.

“Your hands.”

“Yeah, you can thank your personal psychopath for that.” She muttered.

“Will they take long to heal?”

“They’ll heal when I transform.”

Wednesday fell silent, not responding, and Lenore grew suspicious—it was never a good sign. “What is it?”

“Galpin’s funeral is today.”

“No, Wednesday.” Lenore snapped. “You did enough to that man. He wasn’t a great person, no. He lost his son. Don’t treat his funeral like a detective game.”

“He’s dead. What does it matter?”

Lenore claws clicked out, and dragged against the table, leaving pale scratch marks in the wood. She breathed in deeply and pulled them back. “It’s a matter of respect. I know that’s something you put little stock in, but if did, it would do you the world of good.”

“And who do you respect?”

“Lorelai, Mateo, Avery. Some teachers. Those who deserve it.”

Wednesday stared blankly at her. “I’m going.” She stood up, and Lenore sharply followed.

“Number one rule, perpetrators go back to the crime scene. You’re only human, Wednesday. You aren’t invincible.” She argued, grabbing the girls arm. She tried to pull away, but it was futile against Lenore’s strength, even in a relaxed grip.

“Why did you come to tell me this? To piss me off?”

“No. I wanted you to come with me; you proved… helpful last year.”

“Well, you’re not going alone. Come on, let’s get this over and done with.” Lenore muttered.

Wednesday’s lips twitched up ever so slightly.

—————

Lenore begrudgingly followed Wednesday into the graveyard, over bleached grass; they weaved between gravestones, and she was careful to avoid stepping on graves, earning an odd look from the gothic girl. She shifted her weight between her feet and picked at her bandages as they waited for the priest to finish the service.

She frowned upon noticing only two people stood before Galpin’s grave—a familiar sheriff, and Doctor Fairburn; she shifted uncomfortably. “Must you do a dramatic entrance?” She leaned down to ask. Wednesday didn’t respond, but something glimmered in her dark eyes.

“Of course you do.” Lenore muttered.

Lenore straightened up as the priest wordlessly walked away, and Wednesday stared blankly at them. “Two mourners. That’s two more than Galpin ever deserved.” She said.

Lenore gritted her teeth and slapped the girl’s shoulder—a sigh pushing through her tight lips.

“The department had to send an official.” Sheriff Santiago explained. “He was a former sheriff. I lost the coin toss with Ryken.”

“And I’m here representing Tyler. He rather grimly asked me to make sure his father was really dead.” Fairburn informed them distastefully, a subtle grimace playing her at lips.

“What’s your excuse?” Santiago asked.

Lenore glanced over at Wednesday, imploring her not to say something questionable yet again. “I’m mixing business with pleasure, funerals are a hobby, and she wouldn’t let me go alone, apparently it’s dangerous because killers have a habit of showing up to their victims’ interments.” Wednesday said.

“Dr. Fairburn tells me you both visited Tyler at Willow Hill. He won’t give you clues; he’ll send you down rabbit holes. It doesn’t take years of police work to see that.”

“Trust me, I’ve told her.” Lenore mumbled sternly.

“It wasn’t years of police work that exposed Tyler as a Hyde. It was me.” Wednesday countered.

“You got Xavier arrested first, and kissed Tyler, so…” Lenore commented quietly—Wednesday tried to stamp on her foot, but she moved before she could. Instead, she earned a steely glare.

Santiago seemed to ignore their bickering and slipped her hat on. “Then, I shouldn’t have to warn you to stay out of the crosshairs of another unhinged Outcast.” She gave Lenore a narrowed look, earning a subtle tighten of her jaw. “Whoever killed Galpin and Bradbury means business. Don’t tempt fate, Ms. Addams, and don’t get into anymore trouble, Miss Yuson.”

“Come on. It was two years ago. Let it go.” Lenore said. Santiago chuckled under her breath, and walked off, leaving the two Nevermore students and doctor to themselves.

“Did Galpin ever visit Tyler?”

Doctor Fairburn’s face flickered with a subtle disbelief, “you don’t really expect me to tell you that.”

Wednesday remained quiet, and stared blankly, off-puttingly at Fairburn, who quickly broke. “Once. Within seconds, Tyler transformed. Almost ripped through those titanium bars. It took five minutes with a shock collar before he returned to his human form. I had never seen anything like it. Pure, undiluted rage.” Fairburn informed them.

“Oh, wow, he has raging daddy issues. Shock horror. Apart from satisfaction what are you getting from this?” Lenore asked, earning another glare from Wednesday, and an amused look from the doctor.

“This killer, I think they’re an Avian.” Wednesday opted to ignore Lenore’s comment.

“The ability to control birds.”

Lenore’s brow lightly furrowed as she didn’t miss how Fairburn’s heartbeat jumped, and the subtle rush of her blood pulsing quicker through her veins. It set off something wolfish in Lenore’s mind, clawing at edges of her vision.

“Intriguing theory. Rest assured, we have no Avian patients at Willow Hill.” Fairburn said.

Wednesday seemed somewhat satisfied. “I appreciate your candor.”

Doctor Fairburn offered a forceful expression, tight at the edges, and it seemed to waver before disappearing completely. “Like you said, the only reason that Tyler is safely locked away is because of you.” She said. She swallowed harshly, like the words were hard to say. “I think that’s worth a little off-the-record quid pro quo.”

Wednesday tossed a glance towards the old sheriff’s coffin. “That’s more than Galpin ever gave me.” Then, she walked off, and as Lenore went to follow, her name was called.

“Ms Yuson.”

Lenore shifted her gaze, and looked down at Doctor Fairburn, her expression sober, and solemn—a sharpness in her eyes, which had swollen with darkness.

“Yes?” She asked.

“Why do you help her?”

“She needs someone with a different perspective.”

“And what’s your perspective?”

“It isn’t as simple as that. We see things differently, and I have capabilities she doesn’t; for example, I know when someone’s lying, or holding back the truth. The leap in heartrate, even subtle, and the quickening of the blood rushing in their veins.” She stepped closer to the doctor, and her voice fell quieter in subtle warning. She ducked her head down, breath whispering against the doctor’s ear. “Or the smell of sweat.”

Doctor Fairburn watched her gravely, fear flickering across her expression. “What are you suggesting?” She muttered.

Lenore shook her head, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and let out a wry laugh. “Nothing. No, not yet. I’ll warn you, though, I’ve- uh been known to be dangerous.” She cast a glance down at the vibrant scar on her forearm.

Fairburn followed her gaze down to the scar, and her eyes flickered from her bandaged hands, to her predatory expression, hulking figure, and back to her scar. “That’s a silver scar.”

“Let’s keep this between us, yeah?” She laid her hand on Doctor Fairburn’s shoulder; she drew her head down, smile hanging in the corner of the doctors vision. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get involved in our business.”

“Lenore!” Wednesday called out impatiently, and the werewolf stepped back, her expression fell blank again, and the faint spring green of her eyes returned.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Lenore left Fairburn alone, taken to her core with a fright so unholy, no mere girl could’ve been responsible.

“What did she want to know?” Wednesday asked.

“Oh, nothing much. I just told her to be careful, after all, there are monsters about.”

—————

“Do you think she’s the Avian?” Lorelai asked, sat on her bed, legs swinging inches from her floor, suitcase open by her feet.

“No. She smells human. Though, I’ve never smelt an Avian before, so I don’t know if I would know.” Lenore ran a hand through her hair, tangling a strand around her finger.

“You’re sure she was lying?”

“Lying, no. Hiding something, yes.”

Lenore stretched her body, hanging from the arch of her bed, and her entire body cracked—a familiar full moon ache had begun to play at her joints, and she couldn’t get comfortable. She dropped down.

Her bag, a simple black duffle bag, was half packed, clothing folded perfectly, and a plastic bag filled with toiletries sat on her bed beside the bag.

“Are you okay, Lee?” Lorelai asked suddenly, earning a tilted look from Lenore.

“Aching a bit, but fine.”

“That isn’t what I mean. You threatened somebody, you might play a good game, but you’re a softie at heart.” Lorelai said, her expression grave, an attempt at firmness, but it came across soft.

“Fine. I really am. No, I may not enjoy it but sometimes warning someone stops them before they start.” Lenore replied.

“You aren’t denying being a softie.”

“No. I simply opted to ignore it.”

Lorelai’s worried expression grew fond, and Lenore followed soon after; they laughed softly in the quiet, twinkling light of their dorm, which felt more like home than ever before; it hung with a warmth, and the setting sun, flurry of voices outside, and itch of the moon seemed so far away. She breathed freely.