While Alex was at Uriah Heep, watching Enid — who had fallen into a state of hyperactivity after being invited on a date — Dean and Wednesday had already left Pilgrim World and headed to the Weathervane Café. They needed to find out where the old chapel depicted in the painting Wednesday had seen might be located.

As soon as they entered the café, Xavier immediately noticed Wednesday and tried to start a conversation with her. Dean calmly placed his order and took an empty table by the window. While settling in, he texted Alex, hoping he might have information about the Book of Shadows. His guess turned out to be correct.

A few seconds later, a reply came. Dean opened the file Alex had sent and once again found himself thinking how convenient and well-designed Alex’s technology was. Even the phone in his hands right now had been built by Alex.

As he skimmed through the document, Dean delved into an old report from one of the Men of Letters. There was a lot of information — and some of it was genuinely useful. But one thing was clear: the Book of Shadows didn’t promise anything good. According to the report’s author, it contained spells, rituals, and even resurrection techniques.

However, the final part of the document only made Dean click his tongue in irritation: the location of the book was listed as unknown.

What annoyed him more was that the members of the order had managed to lose the book that had been under their noses for almost FOUR HUNDRED years. And now no one even knew who had stolen it or why.

“Did you find out anything?” Wednesday asked, sitting down across from him.

“Not much,” Dean muttered, closing the file. “If those idiots from the order hadn’t let the book slip through their fingers, we’d have way fewer problems.”

“What order?” Wednesday raised an eyebrow, clearly interested.

“An ancient secret order of geeks who can’t do anything right. If you want details — ask Alex. Maybe he’ll satisfy your curiosity. Did you learn anything about the chapel?” Dean asked, putting his phone away.

“You’re looking for an old chapel? I can help,” a male voice said nearby.

They turned and saw a tall, thin boy with dark circles under his eyes. He smiled nervously, looking at Wednesday.

Dean raised an eyebrow: Tyler. Yet another teenager clearly interested in Wednesday. For a moment, Dean wondered what was wrong with the local boys if they seriously believed they stood a chance while Alex existed.

Xavier, standing at the coffee machine, also noticed Tyler approaching — and frowned even deeper. Alex had only lightly scared Xavier, but Tyler… Tyler had bullied him with his buddies, and far more cruelly.

Wednesday looked at Tyler, trying to remember who he was.

“Um… and you…?” she began.

“Tyler,” he answered quickly. “You helped fix the coffee machine. And you offered me twenty dollars to drive you out of town.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched. He looked away to avoid laughing.

Tyler’s words finally helped Wednesday remember him, though it didn’t add any interest to her expression. She saw no reason to keep people in her memory if she had no reason to interact with them.

Tyler, however, stood there with hopeful eyes, as if expecting Wednesday to remember him fondly.

Dean barely resisted the urge to say the obvious — Tyler didn’t stand a single chance if Alex was anywhere on the horizon.

Of course, neither he nor Wednesday knew that Tyler was the very monster everyone was searching for. Only Alex knew that.

“Do you know where the old chapel is? It was built in the seventeenth century. Is it still standing?” Wednesday asked, pulling out a map.

“Yeah. It’s in the Copperm Woods,” Tyler nodded. “But only ruins are left.”

“Show us where exactly,” Dean said, tapping the table.

“Right here…” Tyler pointed at the map. “But it’s dangerous. Sometimes the homeless and addicts gather there. My dad often drives them off. Why do you need it?”

“None of your business, kid. But thanks for the help,” Dean said, making it clear the conversation was over.

“You think that place is connected to the monster wandering in the woods?” Tyler asked, watching them closely.

“Thanks for the help,” Dean repeated more firmly, standing up. “And don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. It’s just an investigation. Nothing more.”

Dean cut off every attempt Tyler made to ask even one more question. He already had enough of a headache dealing with Wednesday — he definitely wasn’t about to let another teenager anywhere near this case. All Dean knew about Tyler was that he was the sheriff’s son. But that didn’t change a thing: Dean absolutely did not want help from teenagers.

Wednesday calmly put the map back into her backpack and stood up after Dean. She hoped that the old chapel would finally provide at least some answers to her questions. And the moment they stepped out of the café, Tyler caught up with Wednesday.

“Wait… Those ruins are not easy to find. I can take you there. My shift ends at two o’clock,” he called after them.

“Principal Weems will hang and quarter me if I miss the ceremony. So — no,” Wednesday replied dryly.

“Kid, that offer sounds tempting. But you said it yourself: the place is dangerous. And what can a teenager do? Yell at them? Stick to your job and don’t get in the way of adults working,” Dean said, throwing Tyler a dark look before walking out.

He was already gone by the time Tyler realized that Wednesday was also a teenager. He simply didn’t know that Wednesday was perfectly capable of defending herself.

Wednesday gave him an empty, icy stare and followed Dean outside, not even trying to understand why Tyler was so persistent in trying to talk to her or offer help. Her thoughts were occupied with far more important matters.

Once outside, she caught up with Dean and followed him toward the woods — on their way to find the old chapel. As they approached the forest edge, Thing leapt out of an alley, a dog chasing after him. But the moment Wednesday cast a cold look at the animal, it tucked its tail and ran away. Dean only snorted: compared to the things he had seen over years of hunting, a living hand was far from the strangest. After all, they had an angel living in their bunker who was addicted to morning TV shows.

At the edge of the forest, Wednesday took out the map and checked their route.

“I hope you know where you’re going. I spent several days combing these woods with the police — didn’t see any ruined chapel,” Dean said.

“I navigate the forest perfectly,” Wednesday replied calmly, turning her head toward him.

“Please don’t tell me you were in the Scouts. I really doubt that, considering your… not very sunny personality,” Dean said skeptically.

“I eat Scouts for breakfast. Actually, my uncle went to prison for that. This way,” Wednesday said without a hint of emotion, putting the map away and walking ahead.

“And here I thought my family was the weird one,” Dean muttered, following her.

She led him confidently deeper into the forest. Soon, a light fog began to settle around them, making the atmosphere even gloomier. After ten minutes, they reached the old burned chapel — the very one Wednesday had seen in the painting at Pilgrim World.

But the moment they stepped into the ruins, a homeless man who considered the chapel his home tried to chase them out. Dean was about to intervene, but Wednesday signaled to Thing — and he latched onto the man’s face. The homeless man screamed and, clutching his face, ran into the woods.

Dean slowly slid his gun back into his waistband and looked at Wednesday as she examined the ruins.

“I expected more,” she said with a frown.

“I don’t know what exactly you were expecting from an old chapel. But maybe try using your gift or… something like that?” Dean suggested, looking around.

“There’s no point touching the stones. My visions don’t work that way,” Wednesday said coldly.

“Then try touching some objects. Plenty to choose from,” Dean said, pointing at a charred old beam.

Even Thing began gesturing energetically, trying to talk to Wednesday. She watched his signs, and her expression grew even colder.

“I’d rather dye my hair pink than ask my mother for help,” Wednesday said, glaring at Thing.

“Your relationship with your mother is that bad?” Dean asked, noticing the irritation showing on her face.

“She wants me to be just like her,” Wednesday said calmly.

“Can’t say I understand. Me and my brother were raised by our dad. We didn’t get to choose what kind of life we’d live. Sam wanted out… he almost made it. But he still came back,” Dean said and shook his head, remembering things he’d rather forget forever.

Wednesday gave him an assessing look, noticing how sharply his expression had changed. Dean really had tried, once, to live a normal life: to forget about hunting, be with the woman he loved, raise a child. But the past found him anyway. Both the woman and her son paid the price. He’d had to make the hardest decision of his life — erase their memories of him, cut himself out of their lives so he wouldn’t put them in danger. Dean had lost too many friends. Too many family members had died. And he always blamed himself for it.

While Dean was trapped in his own painful thoughts, Thing kept explaining to Wednesday that she should at least try touching the objects in the ruins, since she was so stubborn about not turning to her mother for help. Seeing her friend’s persistence, Wednesday rolled her eyes and placed her palm on a charred beam, making it abundantly clear: nothing would happen. Then, keeping the same “I told you so” expression, she started touching different items in the burned chapel. After each attempt, she shot Thing a hollow look that silently said: I warned you — this is pointless.

Dean quietly watched her attempts until Wednesday touched the chapel door. The moment her fingers brushed it, her body jerked violently: her head snapped back, her knees buckled. Dean managed to catch her before she collapsed onto the earthen floor.

“Hey, kiddo, you alright?” Dean shook her slightly, trying to bring her back.

She was trembling, almost seizing. Thing scrambled onto Dean’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at Wednesday. Both of them could see her expression shifting — then twisting into sheer terror, as if she were witnessing something truly horrifying.

Dean had no idea how dangerous her visions could be. Sure, he’d met people who saw things before — headaches, dazed looks, that was normal. But what was happening to Wednesday now was something else entirely.

Meanwhile, in her vision, Wednesday saw what had happened four hundred years ago — back when Jericho was founded. She watched Joseph Crackstone drive all the Outcasts into the chapel, declaring he would judge them. Among them was Goody Addams — her ancestor. Wednesday saw the chapel set ablaze, heard the Outcasts screaming inside, watched Goody break free of the flames and flee into the forest. She followed — and there she came face-to-face with Crackstone himself.

His fanatical face, twisted by cruelty, filled Wednesday with a fear she’d believed herself incapable of feeling.

When the vision ended, she snapped her eyes open — and fear was still trembling in them. Dean let out a breath of relief, seeing she was back.

“Thank God. I don’t know what you saw, but you looked… terrified,” Dean said, helping her sit up.

“I saw the girl from my previous visions. My ancestor. Her name was Goody Addams,” Wednesday said, brushing dirt from her clothes.

“Not much… but at least it’s something. What else did you see?” Dean looked at her with a focused, serious gaze.

“Joseph Crackstone. He drove the Outcasts into the chapel and set it on fire. He burned them alive,” Wednesday said, frowning.

“Great. Just great,” Dean muttered. “So we’ve got a fanatical ghost who likes burning anyone who’s different. Plus an ancient spellbook gone missing. And a monster that snacks on tourists. I love my job. Why does something always happen in these small towns?”

Wednesday frowned at the mention of a possible Joseph Crackstone ghost and was about to ask a question when the sound of snapping branches echoed nearby. Dean and Wednesday immediately turned, and acting on hunting instinct, Dean stepped in front of her. He slowly drew his gun from his belt, his eyes fixed on the shadow from which the sound came. But a second later, everything went quiet.

“Maybe that bearded guy came back?” Wednesday whispered, trying to peek from behind his shoulder.

“Don’t move,” Dean ordered just as quietly.

She didn’t realize what he had spotted until she peeked and saw it herself. Beyond the charred beams of the chapel loomed a silhouette — the same monster that had killed Rowan. Now Wednesday saw it in daylight: its yellow, insane eyes flicking between the boards, and black mist swirling around its form.

Dean slowly lowered the gun and drew the Blade of Cain — bony, cold, almost alive. Thanks to Amara’s blessing, he sensed the darkness better than ever, and now it pulsed around Hyde. The joints in his hand cracked under the tension.

The monster didn’t take its eyes off Wednesday. She felt it had come for her.

“When I say run — run,” Dean whispered.

He didn’t even wait for a response. Wednesday already understood that arguing was pointless, though her gaze involuntarily flicked to the strange blade — where did the hunter get a weapon made of bone?

The monster stepped forward.

“Run!” Dean shouted, breaking into a sprint.

Hyde immediately dashed into the forest. Wednesday, as Dean had ordered, ran in the opposite direction, while he chased the monster, leaving deep impressions in the ground — he didn’t even notice his own increasing weight and strength.

Realizing Dean was catching up, the monster turned sharply and roared, swinging its paw. Dean stopped just in time and struck with the Blade of Cain, slicing through its paw. Hyde howled in pain and, as if dissolving, vanished into the swirling black mist. Even the drops of blood disappeared before touching the ground.

One thing irritated Dean — the mist hadn’t allowed him a clear look at the creature. He exhaled heavily, pulled out his phone, and dialed Alex.

Alex was at Uriah Heep when he heard the call. He grabbed his phone, saw Dean’s name, and immediately answered. Enid, chattering about something fun at that moment, fell silent when she noticed the sudden change in Alex’s expression. His smile disappeared, replaced by cold seriousness — and Enid suddenly realized that the look suited him in a frightening way.

When the call ended, Alex exhaled wearily and put the phone away.

He already knew what was happening… but he didn’t like how quickly everything was unfolding, and that Wednesday would inevitably start asking questions — about the monster, the black mist, and what was really going on in the town.

“Sorry, Enid. I have to go. See you at the fountain opening,” Alex said, rising from behind the counter.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“Nothing serious. Dean just needs help. Don’t worry about it,” Alex said softly, patting her head with a warm, reassuring smile.

Enid smiled and nodded confidently, fully trusting Alex’s words. He waved goodbye and left Uriah Heep.

Once outside, Alex lit a cigarette. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled smoke that mingled with the white steam and quickened his pace toward the forest, where Dean was waiting. To avoid drawing unnecessary attention, he moved through the alleys. Emerging from the last one, Alex immediately turned into the forest, navigating by Dean’s phone signal.

He ran with a single thought — just don’t run into Wednesday along the way. Fortunately, he managed to avoid her.

Finally, Alex saw Dean standing among the trees, hands tucked into his pockets. As he approached, he quickly scanned the ground: deep footprints — clearly Dean’s — led further down the path. He quickly realized that Dean, perhaps without even realizing it, had used Amara’s power again while chasing the monster.

As Alex inspected every detail and erased the remaining traces of Hyde, Dean described what the monster looked like. Even so, the description was too vague: it could fit a dozen different creatures, and Dean himself wasn’t sure if Hyde was alone or if there were multiple.

Meanwhile, Wednesday stood at the forest edge, debating whether to return to Dean to get the details or just do as he said and head home.

Her first thought was to find Alex and tell him everything. And maybe ask for help for Dean… in case he was in danger.

She hadn’t yet made a decision when footsteps sounded behind her — someone’s hand landed on her shoulder. Instinctively, Wednesday grabbed the hand and threw the person over her shoulder. They hit the ground with a groan.

Only after the throw did Wednesday realize it was Xavier. Xavier winced as he stood, slightly disoriented from the unexpected flight and rubbing his back noticeably.

“Don’t do that again,” Wednesday said coldly, letting go of his hand.

“Sorry. Won’t happen again.” He got up, brushing off his clothes. “But what are you doing here?”

“Running from a monster,” Wednesday replied in a steady tone.

“A monster?” Xavier’s eyes widened. “Are you okay? Were you hurt? Where did you see it?”

“Dean chased the monster,” Wednesday said more calmly.

“Dean? The agent you were with at Flueger? If he chased a monster, we need to help him! We should call reinforcements, or at least his partner!”

“No need to call anyone,” a calm voice said from behind.

Wednesday and Xavier turned to see Alex walking alongside Dean. Alex had his hands in his pockets, as if he were returning from a stroll rather than a supernatural hunt. His face wore that usual carefree smile, as if no monster had ever existed.

Wednesday knew exactly what he would say next… and already felt a twinge of irritation.

Meeting her frown, Alex simply winked serenely.

“There’s no monster. Just a hungry bear looking for food. Dean was trying to drive it away from the path,” Alex said calmly, a smile on his face.

“Oh, that’s it,” Xavier immediately relaxed, easily believing Alex.

Though Xavier didn’t particularly like Alex, he understood that someone like him wouldn’t lie about a monster.

Alex walked past them, lightly patting Xavier on the shoulder — a silent hint: don’t wander through the forest while a “hungry bear” is around. The hint was clear. Xavier was about to take Wednesday with him, but she still glowered at Alex’s back.

Wednesday and Xavier followed behind Alex and Dean as the two men quietly spoke to each other — so quietly that it was impossible to eavesdrop. Wednesday didn’t take her eyes off Alex’s back the entire time, and he felt it clearly.

Leaving the forest, the entire group headed toward the main square, where the residents of Jericho and Nevermore students were already gathering. Everyone was waiting for the unveiling of the new monument in honor of Joseph Cracklstone.

Alex stood behind the stands, leaning against a wooden beam, calmly finishing his cigarette while the last preparations were underway. He was looking up at the sky when suddenly someone grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down sharply.

In the next moment, he found himself face to face with Wednesday’s cold, displeased gaze.

“Why did you say the monster wasn’t real again?” Wednesday said in a cold tone, barely an inch from Alex’s face.

“My dear Wednesday, how many times must I repeat myself?” Alex replied softly. “No one should know it exists. You’ve seen for yourself how dangerous it is. I don’t want the morgue to suddenly get overcrowded. People are foolish by nature — if they learn about the monster, they’ll start hunting it. And it will end in deaths.”

He leaned slightly closer, almost touching her nose.

“Or haven’t you realized yet that the monster, the book, and Joseph Cracklstone are connected? And that at the center of it all… is you, my dear. Whatever happens, I will always be on your side.”

Alex’s tone was gentle, his voice almost affectionate, but Wednesday didn’t detect a hint of a joke in it.

“If that’s the case… then what was that black mist around the monster?” she asked, slightly softening her voice, though the chill in it remained. “No creature emits black mist.”

“I’m not ready to talk about that yet,” Alex shook his head. “We aren’t even sure ourselves. It’s just a theory… or the consequence of a long-ago event. When we are one hundred percent certain, I’ll tell you. For now, you can continue your investigation. And I’ll help. I’m curious how far you’ll go in search of the truth.”

Wednesday stared intently into his iridescent eyes, trying to detect even a shred of hidden truth. She knew perfectly well: Alex knew far more than he said. And he was hiding a lot — even from Dean.

But there was no proof. Alex knew how to hide the truth perfectly: not a single extra emotion, not a hint of what was going on in his head or what he was planning.

The real reason for his secrecy, however, was much simpler — even childishly silly. Alex simply wanted to spend more time with Wednesday and Enid.

How would she react to the truth? Either she’d feel satisfaction… or drive a knife into his chest. The odds were roughly fifty-fifty.

They were once again almost nose to nose, completely ignoring everyone around them — unaware that two pairs of eyes were already watching them:

Larrisa Weems, whose eye began to twitch nervously at what she saw, and Dean Winchester, who watched them as if observing a school drama about “the ice-cold girl and the overly kind guy.”

“Miss Addams, I’d prefer if you focused on preparing for the concert and left the flirting for later,” Larrisa Weems said, finally losing patience.

Wednesday released Alex’s collar and, casting one last cold glance, went to take her place.

Weems watched her go, then glanced at Alex, who was still smiling carefree, as if nothing had happened. The only consolation the director could take was that Wednesday at least showed some interest in the opposite sex, rather than causing another chain of disasters.

Once Weems went to Mayor Noble Walker, Alex returned to Dean — who looked as if he regretted not bringing popcorn.

“Dude, I still don’t get what you see in her,” Dean shook his head, looking at his friend.

“Cold on the outside, hot on the inside,” Alex shrugged, lighting a new cigarette. “She’s sweet in her own way. Even if she could stab you in the chest at any moment if you upset her. But that… is a charming trait.”

“You say that until the moment she actually stabs you in the chest. And don’t forget, you somehow have to live with both this little rainbow fluffball and the ice princess. Get them angry — you’ll get it from both,” Dean said, looking at Alex like he was a doomed man.

“I have experience. As they say, love can handle any problem,” Alex replied wisely, nodding.

“Except a knife in the chest… or when a werewolf girl sinks her teeth into your throat. Love won’t help you there,” Dean smirked, vividly picturing the scene.

“Oh, shut up. Don’t forget I feed you. Or do you want to switch to dry food?” Alex rolled his eyes at Dean.

“You’re hitting me where it hurts, dude,” Dean said, offended.

Alex just laughed, and Dean couldn’t help but smile too. While they traded quips, more and more people gathered in the main square. A news crew even arrived, hurriedly setting up their equipment.

Alex and Dean took a spot on the other side of the stands, making sure not to get in the cameras’ view. They definitely didn’t want to stand out.

Once everyone was seated, Mayor Noble began his speech — cheerful and showy, celebrating how the citizens of Jericho and Nevermore students had come together to witness the unveiling of a new fountain dedicated to the city’s founder, Joseph Cracklstone.

Leaning against a beam, Alex lazily scanned the crowd. His eyes quickly found Enid — she was sitting among the students, and upon seeing Alex, waved at him with a satisfied smile. Alex returned a slight smile and winked.

Turning his head, he spotted Wednesday with her black cello. She wasn’t looking at the stage — her gaze was directed elsewhere. Following it with his eyes, Alex saw Thing hiding under the stands. And immediately, he remembered how all this would end. He smirked, having completely forgotten that the unveiling of Joseph Cracklstone’s monument would end with that very event.

When Mayor Noble finished his speech, the orchestra began playing a lively tune. People smiled, journalists clicked their cameras, capturing Mayor Noble Walker and Larrisa Weems standing side by side.

Only Wednesday remained cold. And as she played along with the orchestra, her gaze met Alex’s again. In her eyes, it was clear: “I know what you’re planning.”

A thin smile flickered across Wednesday’s lips — as if saying, “I don’t care whether you know or not. You still won’t change anything.”

Alex had no intention of interfering. Sometimes chaos made the best spectacle. He formed his fingers into a heart and showed it to Wednesday. The girl even looked slightly surprised by the gesture.

At the same time, Thing, hidden beneath the bustling stands, lit the fuse. It caught instantly, hissing and devouring inch by inch.

It shot straight under Dean and Alex’s feet. Dean heard the hiss, smelled the smoke, looked down — and saw the burning fuse. He nudged Alex with his elbow and gestured downward.

Alex merely pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes sparkling mischievously — as if promising a show far more exciting than a boring monument unveiling. Dean raised an eyebrow and decided to just watch. The culprit was obvious — Wednesday.

The fuse reached the fountain. At that exact moment, the liquid inside ignited, and a pillar of flame shot skyward.

Panic erupted through the crowd — people scattered as the Cracklstone fountain blazed ever higher. The melody Wednesday played shifted abruptly: the cold wind of Vivaldi’s Winter from The Four Seasons filled the square.

Amid the screams, the music grew louder, brighter.

Watching it all, Alex decided to join in. One of the orchestra members dropped a violin, and Alex quickly picked it up from the grass, brushing off the dirt. Waiting for the perfect moment, he stepped into a duet.

The sound of violin and cello spread across the square — sharp, clear, hauntingly beautiful — while chaos raged around them.

Alex twirled, playing without missing a beat, a wide grin lighting his face.

Wednesday lifted her gaze — and saw him. In the strange light of the roaring flames, it seemed to her as if she was watching a dancing devil, surrounded by fire.

The light reflected in Alex’s iridescent eyes, making them shine with an almost unreal gleam — mesmerizing, hypnotic.

Dean, leaning against a beam, just shook his head, confirming that Alex was as much of a maniac as Wednesday.

Those who managed to turn around saw a frighteningly beautiful sight: a dancing devil with a violin and death itself standing beside him with a cello. Their duet was simultaneously eerie and breathtaking — almost impossible to look away from.

A faint smile appeared on Wednesday’s face. She hadn’t expected Alex to join her. But she liked it — liked how he played beside her, perfectly in sync with her melody.

Larrisa Weems, having reached a safe zone, also turned to look. She saw the duet playing against the backdrop of flames and ground her teeth. She was certain this was Wednesday’s doing, but had no proof.

Even she could not deny it — they looked… terrifyingly captivating.

But admiration quickly turned to anger. Very strong anger.

When the melody ended, Alex set down the violin gracefully and bowed deeply to Wednesday. She stood and returned the bow in kind — like after a real performance.

Weems, seeing this, nearly exploded with rage. All her previous opinion of Alex as “young but responsible” went straight out the window.

To be continued…

(I was thinking about how to end the chapter. And in the end, I decided to end it like this. I could have written more, of course, but hehehe. It’s better to end it like this than to continue writing this chapter. Next on the list is a date with Enid, and some small everyday trivia, and then the Raven Ball, which I won’t talk about much now.)

Early access to chapters on my patreon: p*treon.com/GreedHunter

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep