Chapter 6: Nightshades' First Test
The Nevermore Academy library loomed like a gothic fortress, its towering shelves packed with tomes older than the town of Jericho itself. Moonlight streamed through arched, stained-glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of ravens and skulls across the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of aged leather, wax from dripping candles, and a faint, musty whiff of mildew that clung to the shadows. Adam Stiels slouched against a bookcase, his purple-striped uniform crumpled from a day spent dodging teachers and perfecting his latest quip. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back, smirking as he summoned his Copy System's HUD with a thought:
[System: 1 Ultimate Skill Card Remaining. Active Skills: Ultimate Immortal Body, Ultimate Illusion Creation.]
One shot left to grab something epic, he mused, fingers drumming on his thigh. His mind flickered to last week's Hyde attack—claws, blood, and his regeneration kicking in just in time. Wednesday's "Impressive" still echoed, a rare spark that fueled his growing crush. But tonight wasn't about romance; it was about proving he belonged. The Nightshades, Nevermore's secret society, had summoned him to their hidden chamber, and Adam was ready to play his chaotic-good card.
A low creak signaled the opening of a secret panel behind a shelf labeled Arcane Rituals. Adam slipped through, descending a spiral staircase into a subterranean chamber. The walls were rough-hewn stone, etched with occult symbols that glowed faintly under a chandelier dripping wax like a bleeding heart. Wednesday Addams stood at the center, her black braids sharp as daggers, her pale face a mask of cool authority. Her dark eyes pinned Adam, unblinking. "Stiels," she said, her voice slicing through the silence like a guillotine, "you survived the Hyde. Prove you belong."
Adam straightened, flashing a grin that masked his nerves. "What, cheating death wasn't enough? Hit me with the test. I'm all about extra credit."
Bianca Barclay leaned against a wooden table, her siren poise unshaken, arms crossed over her silver-threaded uniform. Her amber eyes narrowed, assessing. "We need a faculty ledger from Principal Weems' office. It's locked, warded with outcast-repelling charms, and strictly off-limits. Can you handle it, new kid?"
"Child's play," Adam said, his mind already spinning. Illusions are my jam. He focused, the HUD flaring in his vision:
[System: Ultimate Illusion Creation Activated.]
The air shimmered, and a perfect replica of Principal Weems materialized beside him—blonde hair pinned in a tight bun, lips pursed in that trademark disapproving frown. Enid Sinclair, hovering near Wednesday, gasped, her pink-tipped hair bouncing as she clutched her notebook. "That's creepy good!" she whispered. Xavier Thorpe, sketching idly in a corner, paused, his green eyes narrowing with suspicion. Ajax Petropolus, adjusting his beanie, muttered, "Freaky."
"Follow me," Adam said, his Weems illusion striding ahead with a click of imaginary heels. The group slipped through the library's back corridors, their footsteps muffled on the worn stone. Sconces flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters. Adam's heart pounded as he led them toward the administrative wing, the illusion-Weems "unlocking" doors with a wave—a trick masking his fumbling with a stolen hairpin. His fingers trembled slightly, the weight of the Nightshades' scrutiny pressing on him. If I nail this, I'm not just the new guy—I'm Wednesday's chaos buddy.
A patrolling teacher rounded the corner, her flashlight beam slicing through the dark. Adam reacted fast, conjuring an image of Weems striding away, her voice echoing, "All clear, carry on." The teacher nodded, distracted, and the group slipped into the office. The room smelled of lavender and polished wood, a stark contrast to the library's decay. Papers were stacked neatly on a mahogany desk, and the ledger—a heavy, leather-bound tome embossed with Nevermore's crest—sat under a glass case, its wards humming faintly.
Adam's illusion-Weems "opened" the case with a flourish, while he knelt, picking the lock with steady hands. Sweat beaded on his forehead, the wards' magic prickling his skin like static. The lock clicked, and he grabbed the ledger, its weight grounding him. "Got it," he whispered, tucking it under his arm. They retraced their steps, illusions fading like mist as they returned to the chamber.
"Done," Adam said, tossing the ledger to Wednesday with a flourish. She caught it one-handed, her fingers deft as she flipped through pages with surgical precision. "Hyde attack reports," she murmured, her voice low and intense. "Faculty signatures. Several recur—Weems, Kinbott, Thornhill. Interesting."
Adam leaned against the wall, smirking to hide his relief. "Authority's just screaming for a little chaos, don't you think?"
Wednesday's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that sent a thrill through him. "Adequate," she said, handing the ledger to Bianca, who raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. "You're in, Stiels."
Xavier snorted, setting his sketchpad aside with a scowl. "Your illusions are too good, Stiels. What's the trick?"
"No trick," Adam lied, meeting his gaze with a grin. "Just raw talent. Wanna compare notes?"
Xavier's jaw tightened, a spark of rivalry flaring in his eyes. "Maybe later," he muttered, turning back to his sketches. Thorpe's gonna be a thorn, Adam thought, filing it away for later.
Enid sidled up, her cheer a bright contrast to the chamber's gloom. "That was, like, superhero-level awesome! But how do you stay so calm? I'd be a total wreck."
"Years of dodging high school drama," Adam said, nudging her shoulder. "Still stressing about the wolf thing?"
She sighed, kicking the stone floor, her sneakers scuffing softly. "Yeah. It's like my inner wolf's on permanent vacation. Nothing's happening."
"You'll get there," he said, his voice softening, losing its usual edge. "You're Enid freaking Sinclair. Tougher than you think."
Her smile was small but genuine, a flicker of hope in her blue eyes. "You're absurd, but it helps."
The meeting dissolved, the Nightshades dispersing into the night. Adam wasn't done, though. He trailed Wednesday to the quad, the air crisp with the scent of fallen leaves, stars glinting through skeletal oak branches. "So," he said, falling into step beside her, "Nightshades, huh? Secret societies are totally my vibe."
"They're a tool," she replied, her boots clicking on the cobblestones, not breaking stride. "To find the Hyde. You're useful—don't ruin it."
"High praise from the queen of gloom," he quipped, undeterred. "Speaking of useful…" He focused, conjuring an illusion of Weems tripping over her own heels, sprawling across the grass in a comical heap of lost dignity. The illusion's skirt flapped dramatically, papers flying everywhere. Wednesday stopped, staring, her lips parting in a rare, dry chuckle that felt like a victory.
"Acceptable," she said, resuming her walk, her pace slower, almost inviting him to keep up. Adam followed, his heart lighter than it had any right to be. This is my shot, he thought, to prove I'm more than a sarcastic glitch in their gothic matrix.
Back in his dorm, he sprawled on his lumpy mattress, moonlight spilling through a cracked window, silvering the stone walls. The ledger's signatures gnawed at him—Weems, Kinbott, Thornhill. A faculty link to the Hyde? His memories were a mess, major plot points obscured like a corrupted save file. "Like playing a speedrun blind," he muttered, summoning the HUD again:
[System: 1 Ultimate Skill Card Remaining. Active Skills: Ultimate Immortal Body, Ultimate Illusion Creation.]
His old life—comic shops, late-night Arrowverse marathons, a dead-end job—felt like a distant dream. Here, he was a player in Nevermore's twisted game, chaos his superpower. The Nightshades, Wednesday, the Hyde—it was all real now. "Game on," he murmured, exhaustion pulling him under as the moon climbed higher.
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