𝕸𝖀𝕽𝕯𝕰𝕽 | 𝖂𝖊𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖉𝖆𝖞

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊

Aiyla surveyed the huge wax figure of Joseph Crackstone. He was sickly pale and morbid, with a strangely cold stare. 

She didn't like him.

"I'm not sure what secrets Crackstone's hiding," the Turkish girl noted, "But I have a strange feeling the answer to your future - to all of our futures - lie in the past."

Wednesday said nothing and kept exploring a room, eventually coming to an old painting that hung on the wall - of a meeting house and a huge group of people before it. "The Old Meeting House, 1625," Wednesday read out.

Aiyla turned to it, her eyes scanning the image.

Colonisers.

The crowd stood around a fire, with one man before it - Joseph Crakstone - he looked as if he were presenting.

Wednesday gave a start as she closely studied the painting; focussing upon one girl, away from the crowd. She looked guant as she stared at the painter, a black, leather bound book in her hands. She had braided blonde hair and a chilling stare.

Blonde Wednesday.

"That's the girl from my vision!" Wednesday exclaimed, "She's even holding the same book. That black one she had outside Crackstone's Crypt."

She turned and began to look around the room, until she found a glass case with the same book. "This is the book!" she grinned, opening the case and picking the book up. "Codex Umbarum."

"Latin for Book of Shadows," Aiyla translated going to stand beside her as she flipped through the pages.

But tension died down when all the pages turned out to be blank.

Aiyla swore in Turkish. "It's fake."

Wednesday looked at the back cover and studied the barcode sticker on the back, "I don't know who Etsy is but doubt he was an outcast settler."

"Etsy is an online platform where people sell homemade things," Aiyla explained, and sighed slightly.

Just then the door handle rattled, they heard a grunt and Arlene stormed in, dragging Eugene by his collar.

"Just what the fudge are you doing in here, young ladies?" she demanded

"Coloniser," Aiyla hummed jovially, "How now?"

"How now, indeed," Arlene mocked, she glared, "I proclaimed the meeting house is under repair. I know thoust heard me."

Aiyla shot a pointed glare at Eugene.

"I told her the door was unlocked," Eugene revealed, "And you were dying to know more about Crackstone."

Wednesday nodded, "Yes, and this display case was already open."

Arlene shifted uncomfortably as she looked at Wednesday holding the book, "That book's a replica."

"You don't say," Wednesday bit back.

"The original was stolen last month during the two o'clock witch trial," Arlene admitted, nervously.

"It was probably the only authentic thing you had in here," Aiyla noted, she scowled, "Besides the racism, of course. Yet you still charge $29.95 a ticket."