The rest of the week passed without anything particularly noteworthy.
By the time the weekend arrived, so had Jericho’s annual Harvest Festival.
As night fell over the town, the festival grounds on the outskirts of Jericho came alive.
Rows of tents and wooden stalls stretched across the open field, with local vendors selling food, handmade crafts, souvenirs, and seasonal decorations.
Live music echoed from a nearby stage while the chatter of visitors blended into the cool evening air.
Since attendance was mandatory, Nevermore students steadily poured into Jericho — there were so many of them that, for the evening, they outnumbered the town’s residents around the festival grounds.
The Harvest Festival wasn’t just a tradition; it was one of the busiest weekends of the year for local businesses.
Nevermore had a reputation as a school for outcasts, but it was also an expensive private boarding academy, and many of its students came from wealthy supernatural families with plenty of spending money.
Hundreds of students buying food, drinks, souvenirs, and playing festival games meant a noticeable boost in revenue for almost every vendor.
That was one of the reasons Jericho continued welcoming Nevermore students during major events despite the town’s mixed feelings — personal prejudice was one thing, but a weekend that boosted nearly every local business was another.
“Well, not bad for a Harvest Festival in a small town,” Oliver said as he walked through the crowd, holding a cotton candy in each hand.
Wednesday glanced around at the brightly lit stalls, smiling families, and children running between the booths.
“This is the pinnacle of commercialized optimism. An entire town convincing itself that overpriced food and cheap decorations constitute happiness.”
Oliver took another bite of cotton candy.
“…You really know how to brighten the mood.”
“I’ve never understood the appeal of brightening moods.”
“Clearly.”
Wednesday lowered her voice.
“Did you arrange transportation to the railway station? My tolerance for Nevermore has reached its limit.”
Oliver gave a slight nod.
“There’s a bike hidden in the woods near the old trail.” He shifted his eyes past her instead of pointing.
“The problem is you have a fan club.”
Wednesday looked over her shoulder.
Principal Weems sat several meters away, outwardly occupied with the festival, yet her attention never seemed to drift far from Wednesday.
“Weems is persistent,” Wednesday said, turning back without the slightest change in expression.
“I’d worry about escaping them before escaping Nevermore,” Oliver replied.
A brief pause.
Wednesday’s eyes drifted across the festival before settling on a shooting gallery.
Without another word, she walked over to the stall.
“Twenty dollars for four shots,” the vendor said, handing her the air rifle.
Wednesday paid, raised the rifle, and fired.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Every balloon burst.
The vendor blinked before reaching beneath the counter and placing the largest prize — a stuffed bear — on the counter.
“Congratulations.”
Wednesday didn’t even glance at it.
She placed another twenty-dollar bill on the counter.
“I’d like another round.”
The vendor quickly reset the balloons.
Wednesday picked up the rifle again and subtly nodded toward Principal Weems, who was still watching from a distance.
“See the woman sitting over there?”
The vendor followed her gaze.
“…Yeah?”
“Take this.” Wednesday handed him the stuffed bear.
“Distract her.”
The vendor looked from the bear to Wednesday, thoroughly confused.
“…Why?”
“Because I’m paying you another twenty dollars.” She placed the bill on the counter.
Money was money.
A few moments later, he walked over to Principal Weems with an awkward smile, holding out the oversized stuffed bear.
“Uh… congratulations, ma’am. A customer wanted you to have this.”
Weems looked at the stuffed bear with visible confusion.
“For me?”
“A customer insisted I give it to you.”
Weems accepted the bear and turned it over in her hands.
There was a single bite missing from one of its ears.
Attached to it was a small handwritten tag.
Emotional Support Bear
For the single, overworked, lonely woman.
For a brief moment, Weems simply stared at the message.
***
Meanwhile, on the other side of the festival, Wednesday and Oliver slipped away from the crowd and headed toward the woods.
As they reached the trail, someone hurried around the bend.
Thud.
Wednesday collided with him.
The instant their shoulders touched, the world vanished.
She saw Rowan lying on the forest floor, his abdomen ripped open.
Blood spread beneath him as he gasped for breath before his body went still.
The vision ended.
Wednesday took a single step backward.
Rowan frowned at her.
“Watch where you’re going.” Without waiting for a reply, he brushed past them and continued deeper into the woods.
Oliver noticed the brief change in Wednesday’s expression.
“What happened?”
Wednesday watched Rowan disappear between the trees.