Chapter 247: Wednesday’s Diary II

[Wednesday’s POV]

Journal Entry – January 28

The days go by, slow and repetitive, at least during daylight hours.

At Nevermore, classes proceed as usual: theory and practice. Essays on ancient outcast history, group projects, unfortunately. Though in that regard, I’ve found another use for Enid: I can partner with her and avoid socializing with any other idiot in this institution.

Eugene would be the other option, but I must admit Enid… is smarter than him and talks less. Though in the psychic-specific subject, I have no choice but to tolerate Eugene.

We had a school event, celebrated as if we weren’t on the brink of a civil war, something our dreadfully dull outcast history teacher will no doubt add to his stupid, never-ending book.

But at night, things get interesting.

My real schedule begins when everyone goes to sleep.

Thanks to my family, I have permission to leave Nevermore.

My father holds a key position in the Outcast Council: Head of the Demon Extermination Department.

My mother, despite appearances, still retains considerable influence in the council’s political wing.

And my uncle Octavius, ever discreet, coordinates covert operations with legal gray zones that would terrify more than one lawyer.

So yes, I have authorization to act, and first-hand information.

Not every night involves a mission, but when it does… I won’t deny it’s entertaining to have a deadly sparring session. The adrenaline, wounding the enemy…

Still, I don’t let my emotions control me. I’m as efficient as possible.

Usually, if we capture suspects, they commit suicide before talking.

Instant lethal poison in a false tooth. It’s like their signature.

Enid accompanies me on each of these missions.

Her strength is useful, and improving with every outing. Most importantly, she’s reliable.

Unlike others.

During the day, while pretending to pay attention in class, I observe.

The students. Their gestures, their phrases, their silences.

Teenagers, yes.

But ideologies are inherited.

Principles trickle down.

And sometimes, the transparency of a child betrays an entire family.

I made a list, a side task. Unofficial, not urgent. But potentially useful in the future.

I write down names. Surnames. Behaviors.

Political hints dropped accidentally. Reactions when the name Spellman comes up… or Luke.

There are many students at Nevermore. The school functions as both Middle and High School.

All under the same gothic institution, large enough to comfortably house everyone.

It’s impossible to keep a complete and detailed record of everyone with my current schedule.

But when I do have free time, rare, but not nonexistent, I dedicate it to that.

My black notebook is divided by outcast races: psychics, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, gorgons, etc.

Then sorted by suspicion level.

Most are irrelevant.

Children with minor abilities, families without real power, hybrids with diluted bloodlines and values closer to normies than to any classical outcast tradition.

But there are exceptions.

There always are.

For example, Xavier Thorpe, descendant of a prominent psychic family, is here. He is Luke’s best friend.

Ajax Petropolus, the middle son of one of the four most important Gorgon families in outcast society, is also a close friend of Luke.

Both are useful, loyal, and far from untalented.

Being considered a true friend by Luke is no easy feat.

Luke holds a deep distrust toward nearly everyone he meets, his patience is limited, and his standard of loyalty… brutally high.

The fact that Xavier and Ajax have reached that level of closeness already says a lot.

Even I respect them for achieving it.

I know Luke still talks to them often, whether by message or playing video games when he has free time at Addams Manor.

And yet… I don’t trust them blindly.

Not because they’ve done anything wrong. But because their parents are not them.

So far, everything indicates that both the Thorpe and Petropolus families are loyal to the Council.

There are no traces of betrayal or signs of radical ideology.

Still, I remain watchful.

Enid, however, is different.

I trust her more than anyone here.

Friendship is a volatile emotion.

Enid’s obsession, on the other hand, is much more stable.

What she feels for Luke is a deep obsession to protect him, to help him in any way possible.

And in a werewolf, that means permanence.

It’s not a fleeting emotion. It’s an instinct.

A fixation embedded in the marrow.

As for her family, they don’t belong to the oldest or most powerful werewolf clans.

They come from a good middle-tier lineage, hardworking, without strong political ties or supremacist ambitions.

Her father and mother are moderate. Her older brothers, the same.

They neither sympathize with normies, nor despise them.

And with their only daughter actively assisting Luke, on missions that clearly oppose the Spellmans and everything they represent,

It’s almost impossible that her family could secretly be siding with the Spellmans.

Werewolves are fiercely loyal to their pack.

And having Enid on our side is like having the entire Sinclair family under our banner.

A biological guarantee, one might call it.

That’s why I keep her close. Not out of nostalgia. Not out of friendship.

Out of strategy.

Though I’ll admit, only within these pages, that her constant presence makes the room feel a little less empty.

As for Luke, ever since I returned to Nevermore and he began his training, we’ve had a video call every evening after classes, always at the same hour.

He appears from the stone-walled room in my house, usually with his hair a mess from recent training, and occasionally bearing signs of electrocution courtesy of Fester.

He told me, without much detail, but with a smile meant to look modest, that he finally got his revenge.

Not with words, of course.

With skill.

Progress, by his standards.

Dangerous, by mine.

He doesn’t tell me the specifics of his training regimen, but I know it’s madness, even by my standards.

Unfortunately, he’s incredibly stubborn, and since I’m not there, I can’t control him.

He’s always worried about me.

He doesn’t say it dramatically, but he always slips it in at the end of our calls.

He knows I’m not just attending classes. He knows I’m on missions.

And he always says that if I ever need help on a mission, I should call him.

I always say yes.

I never do.

It’s vital that he trains his fourth aura.

His power can truly tip the scale of this war; he’s already proven that by killing Elliot, Mortimer, and a mid-demon.

On the other hand, he doesn’t know I’m sharing a room with Enid again.

He doesn’t know she’s the one who accompanies me on every nightly mission.

He doesn’t know that while he trains, we fight against targets who, if defeated, self-terminate before they can be interrogated.

Self-destruction in seconds, poisoned tongues bitten off, internal explosions.

More than once, I’ve returned to Nevermore covered in blood and entrails.

Every confrontation is lethal.

I’m always with Enid.

Occasionally, we’re joined by trusted allies.

But usually, it’s just the two of us.

In many missions, we’ve come back wounded, but never seriously. Not yet.

I know it sounds hypocritical.

After all, I scolded Luke for going alone to confront an elder Spellman demon and a mid-tier demon.

But this… is different.

The enemies we face aren’t high-level. Dangerous, yes. Lethal… somewhat.

My specialty is calculation. Measured risk. Acceptable probability, you could call it.

I don’t tell him this.

I don’t want him to worry when he needs to focus on his training.

I finished writing and turned in my chair.

Enid was sitting on her bed with her laptop on her legs, headphones hanging around her neck, her face lit by the screen. She was typing quickly.

Didn’t look like schoolwork.

Most likely, she was editing a new post for her blog, which she had recently reopened.

“Enid. You’re friends with Yoko, right?” I asked directly, already forming an idea.

Her fingers froze on the keyboard and she looked at me.

“Yoko? Yeah, we’re friends. Why?”

“You should start investigating her,” I said.

“Investigating her?”

“Yes. Get closer to her. Learn what she thinks. How she was raised. What her family believes. The basics,” I replied in a monotone voice.

Enid frowned. “Why?”

“Because she belongs to the Noctaris clan. One of the seven oldest and most powerful vampire clans. Traditional. Reserved. They haven’t had any direct alliance with the Spellmans, not in the last eighty years, at least. But they also haven’t actively hunted them, despite having members in key Council positions. That kind of passive neutrality makes them suspicious. Even if only to a mild degree.”

“I don’t think Yoko’s a problem. I’ve known her for years. I’ve never once heard her speak badly about normies. Not once. Actually… she’s a lesbian. Her girlfriend is Divina, a siren. Same year as us. Do you really think someone like that could be hiding a radical ideology?” said Enid, shaking her head.

“I’m not talking about her specifically, though I have doubts, I’m more concerned about her family,” I said, trying to remain patient and persuade her.

“And you think the Noctaris clan would even allow something like that if they were extremists? They let her be who she is. That says a lot, doesn’t it?” Enid shot back.

I stayed silent for a moment. Then slowly shook my head.

“You don’t know how they truly see her, Enid. One thing is what Yoko shows. Another is what her parents actually think. Just because her clan hasn’t publicly disowned her doesn’t mean they accept her.”

Enid frowned deeper, confused, “Then why don’t they pressure her or force her to change?”

“Yoko, like most outcasts of our generation, grew up surrounded by normie culture,” I explained calmly.

“Cell phones. Social media. Shows with inclusive morals.

External stimuli that old clans and families can’t fully filter anymore.

Maybe her parents are more tolerant of normies, or maybe not. What I want to know is whether that tolerance is genuine… or just a façade to maintain reputation.”

Enid looked at me, still unsure.

“Besides…” I continued, “Being a lesbian doesn’t mean she’s free of radical ideology. Not having shown direct hatred proves nothing.”

“Are you saying Yoko might think like the Spellmans?” Enid asked.

“I’m saying you don’t know. And neither do I,” I replied, tone unchanged.

“It’s possible her family accepts her because, despite her sexual orientation, she has talent, decent strength by their standards, and… the right ideals.”

“She helped me during the blood moon, when the Spellmans tried to revive Crackstone… She got off the bus and helped me fight the zombies,” Enid said, still visibly conflicted.

I knew this was hard for her.

The reason behind the task: labeling someone as an ally or a potential enemy.

Not knowing if everything shared over the years had been genuine… or just part of a façade.

“You don’t know anything about her parents, do you?” I asked.

Enid blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been her friend for years, but you don’t know if her parents are moderate, extremist, neutral… how she was raised… That alone is reason enough to be suspicious.”

She fell silent.

That was my moment. I had no more logical arguments left—so I used the one thing I knew would work.

“If we get information on the Noctaris, it could help Luke. He’d win the war and finally get to live in peace, without killers chasing him.”

I saw it instantly.

That slight shift in her expression.

The way she pressed her lips together, then exhaled in resignation.

“Fine… I’ll do it. You brought up Luke to manipulate me, didn’t you?” Enid said.

“Did it work or not?” I answered, raising an eyebrow.

Enid rolled her eyes, closed her laptop, and muttered, “You’re the worst.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

She didn’t say it with hatred. Just that familiar mix of annoyance and resignation that had already become part of our routine.

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