The dorm room at Nevermore was split in two halves as always—one drenched in light, with pastel throws, glittering fairy strands, and an explosion of color that looked like it had been dreamed up by a unicorn; the other side neat, severe, and starkly monochrome. Wednesday sat at her desk, quill in hand, writing with a deliberate slowness as if every word were carved into the page with a scalpel. Across the room, Enid flopped onto her bed, half-draped in a fuzzy pink blanket, scrolling absently on her phone.
Without looking up, Wednesday spoke, her voice as cool and measured as a surgeon’s.
“We’re going into the crypts tonight.”
Enid nearly dropped her phone. “The crypts? As in, underground, dark, cobwebby, filled-with-bones crypts? That crypts?” Her nose wrinkled as though the thought itself smelled of mildew.
Wednesday finally raised her eyes, gaze locking on her roommate like a predator indulging prey chatter. “Is there another kind of crypt I should be aware of? Perhaps one stocked with rainbow pillows and artisanal cupcakes?” The corner of her mouth twitched—the faintest suggestion of amusement. “No. The kind with the dead.”
Enid hugged her pillow tighter, torn between horror and curiosity. “And… why would we do that, exactly? Please tell me it’s not just because you think mildew is aesthetically pleasing.”
Wednesday stood, her long black dress whispering against the floorboards as she crossed to the window, staring out at the moonlit courtyard. “The crypts are older than the school itself. Older than the town. Which means they’re hiding things—things the living would prefer remain buried. I intend to uncover them.” She paused, a rare flicker of uncertainty brushing her features. “And for reasons I can’t quite explain, we’ll need to find vous and bring him along.”
Enid blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—vous? What does he have to do with this? He’s not exactly your… partner-in-creepy-adventures type.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharpening into conviction. “That’s the mystery. I don’t like mysteries I can’t solve. He has to come.”
Enid groaned, muffling her face in her pillow before peeking out again. “You do realize most people spend their Friday nights watching movies, eating pizza, maybe… not potentially summoning ghosts in dusty underground tunnels?”
Wednesday turned back to her, eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. “Yes. But most people are terminally dull. Fortunately, you’re not most people. Which is why you’re coming with me. And so is he.”
Enid’s jaw dropped. “Me? In the crypts? With you? With him? Do you even know how many spiders are probably down there? The kind that bite? With, like, fangs?”
Wednesday tilted her head ever so slightly, the light catching the sharp line of her profile. “You’re a werewolf, Enid. You could shred a dozen spiders without breaking a nail. As for vous…” She allowed herself the faintest pause, almost thoughtful. “We’ll see what he’s capable of. The crypts may reveal more about him than he knows himself.”
Enid’s eyes softened at that, even as she let out a dramatic sigh. “You know, for someone who claims to enjoy solitude, you’re strangely manipulative about keeping me—and now him—around.”
Wednesday allowed herself the faintest shadow of a smile. “Consider it a compliment. Now… bring a flashlight. And a sweater. The dead aren’t known for their hospitality.”
