Chapter 11: Laurel's Trail
The Nevermore Academy faculty wing was a gothic labyrinth, its stone corridors lined with portraits of long-dead headmasters, their eyes glinting in the moonlight streaming through arched, stained-glass windows. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood, old parchment, and a faint trace of lavender from Principal Weems' nearby office. Shadows danced across the floor, shaped like ravens, their wings flickering in the silver light. adam Stiels moved silently beside Wednesday Addams, her black dress a stark silhouette against the gray stone, her braids swaying like twin pendulums marking time. His purple-striped uniform was rumpled, one sleeve rolled up, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he summoned his Copy System's HUD:
[System: 0 Ultimate Skill Cards. Active Skills: Ultimate Immortal Body, Ultimate Illusion Creation, Ultimate Lightning Body.]
No cards, three skills, and a villain to bust, he thought, his fingers twitching with nervous anticipation. The Nightshades' ledger, stolen last week in a chaotic heist, had pointed to Professor Thornhill—aka Laurel Gates—as the Hyde's puppet master. Tonight, they were infiltrating her office, a high-stakes mission to uncover her secrets. Wednesday's dark eyes burned with cold purpose, and adam's crush sparked, a persistent ember he buried under a smirk. Focus, Stiels. Save the rom-com daydreams for after we nab the evil diary.
"Her office is warded," Wednesday said, her voice a sharp, low blade slicing through the silence. "Outcast-repelling charms, layered with detection runes. Can you bypass them without triggering an alarm?"
adam grinned, his confidence a shield against the mission's weight. "Laurel's cooking up evil like a Marvel villain, but I'm the glitch in her plan." He focused, the HUD flaring in his vision:
[System: Ultimate Illusion Creation Activated.]
The air shimmered, and an illusion of Laurel Gates materialized—blonde hair tied back, glasses perched on her nose, a disarming smile that screamed "trustworthy teacher." The fake Laurel strode ahead, her footsteps echoing convincingly on the stone floor as adam and Wednesday followed, their forms cloaked in an illusion of empty air. The wards hummed, a faint buzz of magic prickling adam's skin like static electricity, but the illusion-Laurel "disarmed" them, her hands tracing runes in the air while adam mimicked the motions with a stolen piece of chalk, his fingers trembling slightly under Wednesday's scrutiny. If I botch this, I'm relegated to comic relief in her deadpan saga.
The office door loomed, heavy oak carved with floral motifs that felt like a cruel joke given Laurel's true nature. adam's illusion-Laurel "unlocked" it, masking his fumbling with a hairpin, the lock clicking after a tense moment that stretched like a horror movie jump scare. Inside, the room was a study in deception—botanical charts pinned to the walls, their diagrams of poisonous plants curling like threats; a desk cluttered with papers and vials, the air heavy with the scent of soil and ink. A glass case in the corner held a leather journal embossed with "L.G.," its pages yellowed and thick with secrets. adam's pulse quickened as he conjured a fake Laurel to "open" the case, while he picked the lock, sweat beading on his forehead as the wards pulsed faintly, threatening to unravel his illusion.
He lifted the journal, handing it to Wednesday, who flipped through it with surgical precision, her pale fingers tracing diagrams of chemical vials and cryptic notes scrawled in tight script. "Hyde transformation protocols," she murmured, her voice low and intense, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the details. "Serum enhancements to amplify the beast. She's controlling Tyler, bending his will."
adam whistled low, leaning against the desk, the wood creaking under his weight. "That's some mad-scientist-level evil. She's got a PhD in villainy, and Tyler's her lab rat."
Wednesday's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that sent a thrill through him, her dark eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment. "Your dramatics are almost bearable," she said, her monotone laced with a hint of warmth.
A creak echoed from the hall—Principal Weems, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness like a blade. adam reacted fast, conjuring an illusion of Laurel leaving the office, her voice echoing, "Just forgot my notes, Principal." Weems paused, her blonde hair glinting in the moonlight, her eyes narrowing but accepting the ruse. She moved on, her heels clicking down the corridor, and adam exhaled, his heart pounding like a drum. Close call, but I'm not getting detention tonight.
They slipped deeper into the office, adam's flashlight beam catching a loose floorboard. He pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment with a glowing vial of Hyde serum, its green light pulsing like a heartbeat, casting eerie shadows on the walls. "Jackpot," he muttered, tucking it into his jacket, the glass cool against his fingers. Wednesday's eyes narrowed, a nod of approval, and they retreated, illusions fading like mist as they made their way to the Nightshades' chamber.
The chamber was a cavern of shadows, its stone walls etched with occult runes, the chandelier dripping wax like blood onto the floor. Wednesday pored over the journal, her focus absolute, her fingers tracing the pages as if decoding a puzzle. adam leaned against a wall, the cold stone grounding him as he processed the night's haul. Laurel's got a master plan, and my brain's stuck on a loading screen. Time to hack the script.
Later, in the art room, adam found Xavier Thorpe sketching under a flickering bulb, the air sharp with the scent of paint and charcoal. "Thorpe," he said, leaning in the doorway, his grin mischievous, "ready for a spark of inspiration?"
Xavier glared, his pencil pausing mid-stroke, his green eyes narrowing. "What now, Stiels?"
adam smirked, conjuring an illusion of Xavier's sketchbook catching fire, blue lightning sparks dancing across the pages, the flames licking at his drawings of ravens and gothic figures. Xavier yelped, flinging the book to the floor, then cursed as the illusion vanished, leaving it untouched. "You're a jerk," he said, but a laugh escaped, his shoulders relaxing. "Alright, that was kinda clever."
"Gotta keep you sharp," adam replied, winking, his heart lighter. One less rival, maybe a friend.
In the dorms, Enid Sinclair sat on her bed, her pink sweater a bright spot under the warm glow of fairy lights strung across the room. Her face was pale, her blue eyes clouded with worry as she rubbed her arms, where raw claw marks lingered from a failed transformation. "I'm so close to wolfing out," she said, her voice trembling, "but it's like my body's fighting me."
adam flopped beside her, the mattress creaking under his weight, his grin softening. "You're tougher than this wolf nonsense, Sinclair. Channel that inner X-Men vibe—you're basically Storm with claws."
Enid smiled faintly, her eyes meeting his, a spark of hope igniting. "You're absurd, adam, but it's helping."
Back in his dorm, moonlight spilled through a cracked window, silvering the stone walls and casting raven-shaped shadows that seemed to watch him. The journal and vial churned in his mind—Laurel's experiments, Tyler's Hyde, the shadow of Crackstone's prophecy. His memories were a glitchy mess, key plot points obscured like a corrupted save file in a game he couldn't pause. "Like playing a speedrun blind," he muttered, checking the HUD:
[System: 0 Ultimate Skill Cards. Active Skills: Ultimate Immortal Body, Ultimate Illusion Creation, Ultimate Lightning Body.]
He was deep in Nevermore's twisted game now, tied to Wednesday's hunt, to Laurel's schemes. "Time to crash her villain arc," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as sleep pulled him under, the moonlight fading into darkness.
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