Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lydia sighed and shifted in her seat, which caused the cheap plastic to squeak loudly. It was one of many such chairs in the gym, all of which reacted the same way to any user movements. If she didn’t have a headache she’d probably be amused by the cacophony of dying mice squeals as it was the most interesting part of this parent-teacher conference. The night had almost entirely consisted of diplomatically explaining to parents that their offspring either had no artistic talent and they needed to modify their expectations or that they did and that ought to be encouraged. Not that she’d suggest anyone go to art school—while it worked for a few, most wound up with a lot of debt and little to show for it—without a private fortune at their disposal. All she really wanted to do was slink home, maybe eat something, and pass out before she had to get ready for work tomorrow morning.

At last there was only another twenty minutes left in this event. Most of the parents had cleared out and even some of the teachers had snuck away—lucky bastards. Lydia hoped she could spend the rest of her time trapped in the gymnasium in silent contemplation. After all, no one really cared about what the art teacher thought and it wouldn’t drastically affect junior’s chances of getting into college. She shut her eyes and willed time to move faster.

“Pardon me, Ms. Deetz?” a woman asked.

Lydia’s eyes flicked open. A young woman in a black dress sat across the flimsy conference table from her. She hadn’t heard the chair protest, which had been her warning with every other parental arrival. Not that Lydia thought she was a parent; she was far too young to have a high schooler though she wasn’t a student at this school either. Lydia knew all the goth kids personally and besides the dress, the black braids and equally dark sensible shoes made clear that she was some flavor of kindred spirit.

“Yes, that’s me,” Lydia said, offering a hand. She accepted it with one quick firm handshake. “And you are?”

“Wednesday Addams,” she said. “My younger brother, Pubert, is one of your students.”

“Ah Pubert,” Lydia said. She leaned down and dug through a massive box of folders until she located the appropriate one then set it on the conference table. “This isn’t all his work, far from it, but a small selection to highlight a few things I wanted to talk about.”

Wednesday opened the folder to reveal three pictures, one in charcoal and the other two in pencil. All three were of deaths, one by hanging, one electric chair, and the third a possible suicide. She carefully examined each one and at least to Lydia’s eye her expression didn’t change in the slightest. Considering the stories she had heard about the Addamses from other teachers Lydia was prepared for this non-reaction. She was also ready to discuss Pubert’s work solely from an artistic perspective.

“What did you want to say about my brother’s work?” Wednesday asked.

“What he does well he does very well,” Lydia said, picking up the drawing of the hanging. “Look at that rope. It’s incredibly detailed with the fibers naturally fraying off the main three strands of the rope. However, it’s not photo realistic and I don’t think he was going for that, which gives the piece a dreamy quality.”

“I see.”

“He’s able to reproduce that level of detail in other media as well. Look at his charcoal suicide. While the direction of the cuts are simple enough to telegraph the intent of this death, Pubert has also managed to include light scarring on the arm to indicate previous attempts and individual hairs growing out of pores. He’s the best student I have in this particular medium.” Lydia did not go on to mention that he was better than her with it as well, she had a bad habit of smudging her charcoal works, but wouldn’t have a problem admitting it if the need arose.

“What about this one?” Wednesday asked, picking up the drawing of a man in an electric chair. “I appreciate the detail he’s gone to recreating the electric chair we have at home.”

“You have an electric chair at home? One that matches this one?” Lydia asked. She had spent some time looking up models online to try and figure out if Pubert’s design was original. In the end she hadn’t found anything similar and concluded that he had created his own fantastical elements. It was a little disappointing to hear he had simply copied something from home.

“Oh yes. My brother Pugsley built it with our Uncle Fester when we were children. I’ve thrown the switch on it many times to light him up,” Wednesday said. Her face still appeared the neutral mask it had been since they had met, but Lydia heard a fond quality in her voice.

“I’m sorry, you’ve lost me. Do you mean your brother or your uncle?”

“Both.”

“I see,” Lydia said. They stared at each other in silence.

“Was there more you wanted to say about Pubert’s work?”

“Yes! Content aside—I know the school and last year’s art teacher went into great detail on that—Pubert’s work has stagnated.”

“How delightfully dreadful.”

“I have his portfolio from last year and compared it to this year’s. There has been no marked improvement in technique, which isn’t that unusual considering the time frame, but he’s taking no chances, no risks with his work. I thought that electric chair was a sign of growth, of him translating something from his imagination onto paper, but if you have one at home just like it then he’s just churning out more realistic death drawings.”

“That is disappointing.”

“He’s young and while art is subjective, it’s also about taking chances and growing. I want to see him try new things. That’s the main challenge I’ve given him for the second half of the semester and that’s what he needs to do to get an A. As far as simply passing, I don’t foresee a future where Pubert doesn’t get at least a C, unless he stops turning in his work.”

“What do you hope he will produce?”

“Ideally? I want him to make something the school will allow me to put up on the walls. I want his talent recognized. However, considering his content choices I don’t see that as a realistic goal. Instead, I’d like to see him stretch his artistic capabilities and try a new medium—like painting, pottery, or photography. I’d like him to refocus his work. He never draws faces and I’d be fascinated to see what sort of portrait work he creates. Or color! Shades of grey are important and he’s done a lot with that pallet, but introducing even one more color could completely transform a piece.”

“A pop of color.”

“Exactly!” Lydia grinned. She leaned back in her chair. “I specialize in traditional black and white photography. It was my first brush with the medium and it made me fall in love with the art form. But I wouldn’t appreciate it half as much as I do now if I hadn’t tried my hand at color photography, digital work, and at least half a dozen other media. If grayscale drawings are Pubert’s niche, wonderful, but he needs to experience other things as well.”

“I completely agree,” Wednesday said. “I will encourage him to do as you suggest.”

“Thank you.”

Lydia was surprised. Both at how smoothly this last teacher-guardian conference had gone and that her headache hadn’t gotten any worse. As the other teachers were packing up their things, the conference must have ended. Yet Wednesday Addams still sat across from her with no sign of moving anytime soon.

“Can I help you with anything else, Ms. Addams?” Lydia asked, collecting Pubert’s work back into his folder.

“You said your specialty is photography. What is your preferred subject matter?”

“You’re going to laugh since it’s so on the nose?” Lydia said, unable to suppress a rueful chuckle of her own, “But I specialize in landscapes; specifically cemeteries and graveyards. They make for absolutely striking compositions and strolling among the quieted dead is comforting to me. Plus so many old school tombstones are wicked cool!”

“I can’t imagine a more pleasant place to spend an evening than in a graveyard,” Wednesday said. “If you are interested, we have a modest family plot on our property that you would be more than welcome to tour. I am unsure if you would consider any of it photograph worthy, but you may do so if you wish.”

“Deadly-vu! Family plots are great, especially if there are living relatives that know some of their stories,” Lydia said.

“I know every grisly death,” Wednesday said. Then she barred her teeth. Lydia thought that perhaps she was trying to be charming, so she smiled back. “Come any time. We will be delighted to host you.”

“Then I’ll try on my next free Saturday.”

“Delightful.”

With that Wednesday silently rose from the normally squeaky chair. She walked to the outdoor exit, opened a black umbrella Lydia didn’t realize she had, and stepped outside.

“Well you survived your first parent-teacher conference,” said Becky Martin-Granger. She was a preppy English teacher who seemed repulsed by Lydia’s style, yet compelled to try and take her under her wing as a new teacher. Lydia hoped to do as little as possible with her and her husband Gary. “And you even had to fend off one of those spooky Addams your first time.”

“She wasn’t that bad,” Lydia said. She decided not to mention that she found Wednesday rather attractive. Becky would flip and Lydia did not want a lecture on her immortal soul. Especially not when she was a new teacher and the Martin-Grangers had tenure.

“Was she inviting you to her house? I wouldn’t go if I were you. If you step a foot onto the Addams property you may never return.”

Lydia thought back to Wednesday walking away in her sleek black dress. She shrugged to herself. There were certainly worse ways to go out. She had just been going on about the importance of growth and trying new things. If there was a risk, which was dubious at best, she’d happily take the chance and roll the dice. Lydia couldn’t wait for her next free Saturday.

Chapter Text

Almost a month passed before Lydia took Wednesday up on her offer. Part of that was due to the fact Lydia didn’t actually know where the Addams family lived and she wasn’t about to put her job at risk looking it up in Pubert’s file. So she asked around and, while there was some confusion about whether the house’s address was at 001 or 1313, everyone agreed it was a big spooky mansion located on Cemetery Lane. Lydia couldn’t wait to see it.

She ended up strolling along almost the entire street before she found her destination. It was blindingly obvious as Cemetery Lane led up a hill to a large menacing gate with the family name welded into the ironwork. Lydia to come to a dead halt about ten feet away just to stare at it.

“Well that’s a little ostentatious,” she said. The gate shuttered, though there was no wind. She got out her trusty Nikon and snapped a photo. “Still, it’s excellent craftsmanship. I wonder when they had that done?”

To her surprise the gate swung open on its own. Looking around Lydia didn’t see any obvious mechanism that could open a gate remotely, it looked like it was entirely wrought iron to her, but she wasn’t in construction and seemingly magic gates were definitely a thing if you had enough money. She must have been right on the edge of whatever triggered it when she stopped, which explained why it initially rustled. In any case it was a neat effect. Once she walked through the gate swung shut again.

She took a few more pictures of the property as she walked up the last of the drive. When she reached the front door Lydia briefly admired the stained glass before ringing the bell. Eventually the door creaked open to reveal Pubert. Suddenly the fantasy of frolicking in a cemetery with Wednesday Addams that had been percolating in the back of her mind evaporated. She smiled weakly at her student and wondered how many boundaries she was crossing by being there. This was a bad idea, but it was too late to back out of it.

“Ms. Deetz?” Pubert said, clearly surprised to see her.

“Pubert, hi. Is your sister available?”

“You want to see Wednesday?” he seemed even more shocked by this request than he had been at her presence.

“Ms. Deetz, I see you have accepted my invitation,” Wednesday said. Lydia jerked her head up at the voice, as she hadn’t heard Wednesday arrive. Pubert looked up at his sister as well. She touched his shoulder briefly. “We shall be out in the cemetery.”

“Really? Can I join?” Pubert asked. He glanced once at Lydia.

“No,” Wednesday said.

“Why not?”

“Because Ms. Deetz is here as my guest to see the graves, not dig them up.”

They stared at each other for a little while before Pubert groaned and retreated into the mansion. Lydia wasn’t certain what had happened, but it appeared Wednesday had won a battle of wills. She had a feeling Wednesday rarely lost. Her host turned to her and gestured toward a stone path she hadn’t noticed.

“You may follow that path to reach our family graveyard. Shall we?”

“We shall,” Lydia agreed.

Once they reached the cemetery all thoughts of her student vanished from Lydia’s mind. Her jaw dropped as she turned around in a complete circle, trying to take in the entire scene. While she knew there was a family plot, she hadn’t realized the extent and simply assumed it would be a handful of tombstones as best. Instead she had stone statuaries as far as the eye could see. There was as much variation in them as she’d imagine there would be in bacterial strains off a cafeteria bench during a janitorial strike.

“Deadly-vu,” Lydia breathed. She pulled out her camera and got to work.

She quickly realized that there was far more she wanted to photograph than she had film in bag. Six spare rolls left her woefully underprepared. Either she could capture a feel of the cemetery by surveying the site or she could do a more in-depth examination of select subjects. The latter would likely yield more useable photos for her portfolio and potential sales, but Lydia couldn’t bear the thought of not immortalizing everything of interest. Missing out on the stories behind them would be even worse.

Lydia lowered her camera after taking a particularly nice shot of a couple with a pair of horses. Wednesday, who had been silently trailing her, raised an eyebrow.

“Is this a one time deal?” Lydia asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, there’s no way I have enough film or time before the light goes to photograph all the things I want to today. Is this my only chance or will I be allowed to return?”

“Mother and Father adore hosting and never have enough company. I cannot imagine them not welcoming you whenever you wish.”

“Does that mean I won’t see you again?”

“I hope to haunt your nightmares, but I imagine that with a little advanced notice we can meet during waking hours as well.”

“Good,” Lydia grinned. She nodded toward the tombstone. “What can you tell me about this statue?”

“It was erected in honor of my grandparents.”

“Do the horses represent anything in particular?”

“Grandfather Addams loved to race. His only regret in life would be that he didn’t die in a crash,” Wednesday explained. “Though who can complain about being torn apart limb from limb by an angry mob with the one you love?”

“I suppose there are worse ways to go,” Lydia admitted, though nothing came to mind at the moment. Okay, death by slowly dripping acid would be worse.

“Not all of the pieces were recovered and they’ve certainly never rested peacefully.” Wednesday tapped the base of the statue where there was a crest and a Latin phrase. “Perhaps this is more personal than I should be considering how new our acquaintanceship is, but I feel you ought to understand the Addams way. Our credo is sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc or ‘We gladly feast on those who would subdue us.’ Do you understand?”

“I think I’m beginning to. Did you eat the mob?”

“I was too little to participate, but the banquet lasted for days.”

Lydia raised her camera again and this time her focus was on the woman instead of the stone.

They strolled through the cemetery for hours. It was peaceful work, as Wednesday seemed content to simply watch her process, though she readily answered any questions Lydia had. Some of the answers made Lydia laugh and occasionally it was out of amusement instead of shock over whatever her host had just said. As the day progressed more and more of the laughter was due to the former cause and by the time she ran out of film Lydia had to admit she had found a delightful companion.

“I guess that’s it for today,” Lydia sighed, stroking the stone figurehead for Muerto, the pet vulture who died of loneliness. “I just finished off my last roll of film.”

“Already?” Wednesday asked. “But twilight gives some of the best views of the cemetery!”

“I know, right? I haven’t seen a single thing out here that isn’t simply gorgeous,” Lydia agreed. She smiled at Wednesday. “I have to admit, Wednesday, I wasn’t expecting much from your invitation. Most family plots consist of half a dozen tiny timeworn stones and I’ll use a roll of film at best. It’s why I prefer older county cemeteries, which have more variation. But this has been magnificent—undoubtedly the best cemetery I’ve seen in New Jersey! I’m sorry for underestimating your family.”

“I’ll forgive it this time.”

Lydia carefully stowed her camera alongside her used film. Looking around the cemetery one more time she sighed heavily. She hadn’t seen nearly enough of the place, despite spending the better part of the day in here, but there wasn’t much point in exploring further without the ability to document her findings. Besides, she had already used up a lot of Wednesday’s day when she hadn’t been expecting her and it would be rude to further monopolize her time. She didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

Her stomach growled and she lightly patted it, hoping hadn’t carried. Unfortunately Wednesday turned around and raised a single eyebrow. Lydia grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry, I should really get going. I was planning on having a late lunch after I finished up here, but I stayed longer than I thought I would. Guess I’m in need of a refuel.”

“Mother would be so disappointed,” Wednesday sighed. “You’ve been here for hours and I have yet to offer you subsistence. Please forgive my oversight and stay for dinner.”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly put you out like that.”

“I insist.”

“If you’re sure it wouldn’t be any trouble…” Lydia wasn’t ready to leave and she really didn’t want to go home and cook something, which would mean grocery shopping, or eating fast food again.

“I assure you we have more than enough. Lurch still cooks as if the entire family is in residence. As long as Mother and Father remain on holiday we have more leftovers than we can handle after every meal. Not even Cleopatra can keep up with the scraps and she’s developed a dozen buds to deal with the excess.”

“In that case I accept.”

That was all it took for Lydia to find herself seated on a checkerboard blanket for a picnic dinner in the back of the family graveyard. Wednesday was seated beside her as they watched a hulk of a man—literally the largest person Lydia had ever seen in real life—painfully shamble toward them. He bore a wicker basket. Lydia wondered if she should get up and pull the basket out of his hands, but one glance at Wednesday kept her in place. When he finally arrived the man slowly bent down and deposited the basket on the blanket. As he rose back to his full height she could hear popping noises.

“Thank you, Lurch,” Wednesday said. Lurch groaned loudly. She nodded and then said, “That will be all, Lurch. Please see that Pubert is fed inside.”

He groaned once more, slowly turned around, and stomped away. Once he was out of sight and the trembling ground stilled Wednesday turned her attention to the basket. She opened the flap and pulled out delicate china with matching silverware. This included a steaming teapot, which Wednesday then poured into the cups.

“Do you have any dietary restrictions?” Wednesday asked.

“Ah no,” Lydia said. “I mean, I’m allergic to wasp venom, but I wouldn’t expect to find that in any food.”

“Duly noted.”

With that Wednesday pulled a platter covered with dainty crustless sandwiches. Some were standard fare with cucumber or cheese on them, others had various spreads of dubious origins, while a few at the far end of the plate appeared to have a tentacle filling. Lydia noticed those in particular because the suction cups were still twitching. Those were also the first sandwiches Wednesday went for and she grabbed two before offering the rest to Lydia. She grabbed a cheese and a cucumber sandwich to start with and hovered a hand over what appeared to be chicken salad.

“Do you know what kind of salad this is?” Lydia asked.

“Yak salad. The orange ones are made with vulture filling.”

“Got it.”

She went for the yak, figuring that was adventurous enough for her today. It tasted a bit like beef and was surprisingly chewy. Lydia ended up having two more of those and tried a few of the other salads. She ended up not finishing a mushroom filled one that was surprisingly bitter and never touched the vulture or the tentacles.

While they ate they continued to discuss the ultimate demises of Wednesday’s various relatives—of which there was a remarkably painful variety. She couldn’t say she had a favorite out of the described Addams’ deaths, but Lydia learned of half a dozen ways she certainly didn’t want to go out. While debating which type of hoof would be the most painful to be trampled to death by Lydia trailed off midsentence. She had just realized it had been more of a monologue than a discussion and Wednesday was staring intently at her as she sipped tea.

“I’m sorry, I must be boring you,” Lydia apologized.

“Hardly. Please continue.”

“I’m not sure what else to say? I mean, this conversation has all been theoretical for me since I’ve never been trampled by anything, and I’d like to keep it that way, so I’m not sure what else I can add.”

“I see.”

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? What do you do when you’re not giving art teachers tours of your cemetery?”

“I read. I practice my archery and fencing. I torment my younger brothers, though Pubert is young enough it’s hardly sporting,” Wednesday said. She set her teacup down and reclined on the blanket. “Often when a person asks what one does they really want to know how one earns their money. I don’t. The Addams family has been independently wealthy for centuries and that will not change in the foreseeable future.”

“Huh.” Lydia wasn’t really certain what to say in response to such a statement. Wednesday shrugged.

“My family has always insisted I pursue my passions, chase my nightmares. As such I’m currently enrolled in medical school and plan to pursue a pathology residency once I finish, though I must admit a toxicology residency is tempting as well. I love a good poisoning.”

“Are you a fan of the classics or interested in those new untraceable ones spies are supposed to carry?” Lydia asked, unsure how the conversation had turned in this direction.

“I like animal based ones. Tetrodotoxin, the venom found in the blue ringed octopus is my favorite. It’s incredibly deadly and completely natural.”

“All the best toxins are.”

“Indeed,” Wednesday agreed. She was staring at her again and while Lydia couldn’t really read her host’s facial expressions, she had a sense she was being appraised positively. “I would offer you dessert, but after hearing about your allergies I must rescind it. I don’t like to poison on a first date.”

“You eat desserts filled with wasp venom?”

“With wasps. Granny often adds a hive to her cauldron while canning jam. Says it adds a kick of flavor to the process”

“Yeah, I’m going to skip your family’s jams and jellies. It’s nothing personal.” While she wasn’t that horribly allergic—stings had never previously affected her respiratory system, but did cause the affected area to balloon up—Lydia made a mental note to pick up a new epipen as soon as possible and carry it in her bag at all times. She had a feeling that if she continued to associate with any Addams she’d be running into a lot of weird things and she wasn’t ready to become a permanent resident of the Neitherworld if it could be easily avoided.

“I understand.”

“I should really get going,” Lydia said, checking her watch before she scrambled to her feet. “Wednesday, thank you so much for the tour and for setting aside all of this time for me when you didn’t know when I’d stop by.”

“It was my pleasure,” Wednesday said. She rose in one smooth motion like she had never made a single uncoordinated move in her life before offering her a hand. Lydia was a little jealous. “May I escort you to the main road?”

“Thanks.”

They walked back to the entry gate hand in hand. This time the gate silently swung open without any sort of reluctance the moment they got within fifteen feet of it. Wednesday didn’t even react to the gate’s motions, so Lydia wasn’t going to worry about it either, unless the thing attacked her. She hadn’t gotten two steps past the gate when the grip on her hand stopped her.

“We part ways here, huh?” Lydia asked, smiling at her again.

“Will I see you again?”

“Probably. I want to finish photographing your graveyard.”

“Then I look forward to your next visit,” Wednesday said. She lifted Lydia’s hand to her mouth and kissed the space between her index and middle knuckle before releasing her hand. “And await it in earnest agony.”

Lydia bit her lower lip and gave a half wave before turning around to begin her descent down the hill. Wednesday Addams was dangerous. That was more obvious than the blue rings on her favorite octopus. However, she also oozed the gothic class to which Lydia was highly susceptible. She was clearly interested in Lydia as well, which meant that Wednesday was a dangerous combination, but unlikely a deadly one. She’d for sure come back to finish photographing the cemetery and see if things naturally developed with Wednesday. It was the best course of action, just like Wednesday’s favorite toxins.

Chapter Text

It took an additional two trips to finish photographing the Addams Family cemetery. On her third visit Lydia finally met the much talked about Mr. and Mrs. Addams. At least, that was who she thought they were because as soon as she introduced herself on their doorstep her face was pressed into a double-breasted suit lapel.

“It’s so good to meet you, Ms. Deetz, Pubert says you’re his favorite teacher!” Mr. Addams shouted before releasing her. “Tell me, what brings you to our humble abode? Additional lessons, a frank discussion of Pubert’s grades, a school supply fundraiser?”

“Your graveyard. Wednesday invited me over to view it and said I was welcome to return any time to finish photographing it,” Lydia explained.

“Wednesday said that?” Mrs. Addams asked. “Our Wednesday?”

“I highly doubt she was anyone else’s Wednesday. However, if I misunderstood her solicitation or this is a bad time I can certainly leave. It was never my intent to intrude.”

“An Addams never withholds hospitality, I wouldn’t hear of it! By all means explore our family plot! Adore our family plot! Dig up our relatives for tea and the children will join you!” Mr. Addams expounded, even going as far as to pound his chest. Mrs. Addams grasped his arm and ran a hand up it as if to calm him.

“Dear, I love your Castilian hot blood, but I believe Ms. Deetz simply wants to finish photographing our graveyard,” Mrs. Addams said. “Though we would like to offer our hospitality as well. I know, as Wednesday is still at school I would be delighted to finish your tour.”

“Thank you Mrs. Addams.”

“Morticia, please, and this is Gomez,” Morticia said, lightly kissing her husband on the lips before releasing him and moving to Lydia’s side. If Wednesday moved as silently as a cat, then Morticia was more like a black fog rolling in and almost seemed to float.

“Of-of course. Please call me Lydia. I’m really just Ms. Deetz when I teach,” Lydia explained, earning her a nod from Morticia. Lydia gestured toward the path Wednesday had taken her along in the past. “I still need to capture the north side, where the plots start dipping into the swamp, so we should get moving before the light fails. Shall we?”

Morticia proved a more charismatic and loquacious tour guide than her daughter, but Lydia found she missed her original host. Still it was clear who Wednesday had learned the family stories from and Lydia was pleased by the additional information that had been previously excluded from her tours. She got the last of her photos just before they lost the light entirely. While it was nice to have finished the fieldwork for her project she felt a little regretful as she packed up her supplies. She wouldn’t have another reason to visit the Addamses and it stung a little that she’d never actually managed to get Wednesday’s phone number. Oh well, mutual interest didn’t matter if there wasn’t any follow through.

“Thank you so much for your generous hospitality,” Lydia said, giving Morticia a half bow. She felt silly as soon as she did it. “I imagine you want to spend more time with your family, so I’ll get out of your hair. I would appreciate it if you gave my regards to Wednesday.”

“If you stay for another hour you could give them to her yourself,” Morticia said.

“I’ll consider it,” Lydia said as she looked around uneasily as the shadows lengthened. There was an energy in the air that hadn’t been present earlier and it might have been her imagination, but some of the graves almost seemed to pulse.

This particular graveyard was delightful during the day, but she had a gut feeling it was more active than most during the night. Especially if Pubert’s in class comments about regularly digging up relatives was true. While she typically had no problem with the undead, they tended to be less stable outside of the Neitherworld and family plots could be downright unfriendly toward outsiders. She didn’t want to run into Wednesday while fending off a distant cousin for the right to keep her own kidneys—especially if Wednesday decided to put family first.

“My dear, misery loves company. Would you care to share?” Morticia asked.

“Your generosity has been exceptional, however I have a sense that some of your relatives will be… less welcoming of my presence out here after dark. On my own.” She gestured toward a grave adorned with an axe. “That one seems especially malevolent to me.”

“Ah Cousin Flint, he always did like to put his axe through things,” Morticia said with a smile at some past memory. Then she frowned as she fixed her gaze on Lydia. “But why would you be out here alone? We have a perfectly dreadful sitting room inside.”

“I’m sure your home is magnificent and one day I would love the chance to see inside. I imagine the view from your cupola after the fog has rolled in is otherworldly.”

“You speak as if you have never been inside our house. Did Wednesday not invite you?”

“Not explicitly?” Lydia tried to remember what exactly had been said during their last three encounters. “Her initial invitation was to see the family plot and she’s mentioned that the swamp is worth seeing as well, but we've never talked about the house. Which I completely understand! It can be extremely intimate inviting strangers into your home and she may not have been comfortable doing that. I don’t invite anyone into my place and the fact it’s a studio the size of a postage stamp is only half the reason.”

“Discomfort is encouraged in our family. I am disappointed Wednesday did not invite you inside. Of course you must come in and stay for dinner. In the mean time Gomez and I will give you a tour of our home.”

“I’ve already bothered your family so much this past month.”

“Think nothing of it. We would be thrilled to death.” Morticia latched onto Lydia’s arm and steered her into the house.

Before she knew it she was inside a greenhouse full of luscious plants. The foliage was so dense she could only see the glass of the structure when looking directly up and the humidity was cloying. It felt like she had stepped into another world; especially as some of the plants were wriggling in an almost animal-like fashion. Morticia quietly told her a bit about the plants as they walked past them—apparently she was the family gardener and had personally acquired most of these specimens on trips around the world—but Lydia found herself unable to absorb most of the information. It was a lot to take in and not all of it made sense.

“What is that?” Lydia stopped to point at what looked like a massive Venus flytrap, but it had palm leaves attached to the main stem and one of the traps was so massive it almost looked like a head. The hairs that would normally trigger the trapping function on that head were white and gave the distinct impression of fangs.

“That is Cleopatra, my African Strangler. I raised her from a seed,” Morticia explained. She reached out and stroked the head-trap, which seemed to lean into her touch like it was sentient. “She’s very affectionate, but mind your fingers as she will bite.”

“Got it,” Lydia said, making a mental note not to touch the plant.

After that they swept out of the greenhouse and into the kitchen. It was a long room with granite countertops and brass fixtures everywhere. Something soupy was bubbling in a large cauldron over the hearth. An older woman with a mass of frizzy grey hair was bent over the concoction stirring vigorously. Lurch stood beside her holding several bottles.

“Granny is helping prepare dinner,” Morticia said, gesturing to the old woman. “Granny, this is Lydia Deetz. She’s a friend of Wednesday’s.”

“It’s about time. Wednesday hasn’t brought anyone home since that sad little rabbit keeled over on Debbie’s grave,” Granny cackled. She sniffed and pointed a wooden ladle at Lydia. “Fashion sense isn’t terrible if you’re trying to be Wednesday’s gal Friday! Or did Wednesday decide to follow in Calpurnia’s footsteps and you’re a minister?”

“I’m a teacher,” Lydia said, crossing her arms, “and I’m dressed for comfort, not fashion.”

“That’s obvious!” Granny hooted and slapped her knee.

“Mother please,” Morticia said. “Lydia is our guest.”

“Not for much longer if she’s bringing her home! Now shoo, I have a roast to baste.”

“I can see exactly why you ensnared Wednesday’s interest,” Morticia said once they were out of the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, recognizing it as a compliment.

After that they swept through what had to be the sitting room and the main foyer. It was a mishmash of oddities including, but not limited to: unusual paintings, a bearskin rug, sabers, antique furniture, a harpsichord, a swordfish with a leg sticking out of it, and chalk outlines of dismembered bodies. She was sure there was a lot more she missed, but the collection made her grin. They didn’t spend a lot of time there before going upstairs to visit half a dozen bathrooms, twice as many bedrooms, a library, Gomez’s study, a playroom, and a room with model trains.

That was where they found Gomez. He had two sets of trains whirling around the track as he puffed on a massive cigar. Faster and faster the trains roared past carefully crafted buildings and foliage. It wasn’t quite as detail orientated as the model village in the Deetz’s family attic, but this one had people in it. As the train with four cars careened around a sharp curve the caboose’s wheels briefly left the track and nearly caused a derailment. Gomez flipped a switch on a remote controller and a piece of track jumped, switching the lone engine onto a new line. Before she knew it, the trains came together in a head-on collision at the station, setting half the town on fire. Gomez guffawed and then turned to face them, leaving the fire going.

“Marvelous, Querido,” Morticia said.

“Ah Tish, that was a brilliant crash and I didn’t even have to use the dynamite,” Gomez laughed, embracing his wife. They kissed long enough to make Lydia feel slightly uncomfortable before he turned to her. “Lydia, I take it Morticia is giving you a tour of the house. How are you enjoying it so far?”

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Lydia said, smiling. That was completely true as nothing even in the Neitherworld compared to this place. She hoped this wouldn’t be her only visit. “Can I see the copula?”

“Of course! Take a left, go up the spiral staircase to the attic, past the electric chairs, and you’ll reach a wooden ladder that leads to the copula. You can see the entire property from there. The children loved it when they were little,” Gomez said. “Go ahead, we’ll meet you when you come back down.”

Guessing that her hosts were going to make out Lydia gladly agreed to visit the top floor on her own. Once in the attic she came to an immediate halt at the sight of eight electric chairs arranged in a semicircle. One of them was sized for a doll. Perhaps most surprising was the fact that none of them matched Pubert’s drawing. Apparently there were more electric chairs on the premises. Lydia walked past the chairs, careful not to touch any of them as she was unsure if they were hooked up to voltage and she had never been interested in being grounded. The ladder was where Gomez predicted.

The copula was a tiny room consisting of four tall windows facing the cardinal directions. A small cushioned bench wrapped around the base of the windowsills. A few comic books, a headless teddy bear, and crayons lay on one of the benches. Pubert probably used this space now. Lydia looked out the windows and by the moonlight she could confirm the view was epic, but without fog it wasn’t as unworldly as she had hoped. Due to the difference in lighting she could see her face in the glass. After a moment of staring her image was replaced with that of a blond grinning corpse with poor dental hygiene. Before he could do anything else Lydia firmly turned away and headed down to rejoin her hosts. She wouldn’t summon trouble into this household.

After that Morticia took her down to see the basement. There were other subterranean levels as well, including a lake, but unfortunately there wouldn’t be time to see them before dinner. This was the same reason little time was spent near the bottomless pit or the wine cellar. They passed several empty cages and what looked like it might be a laboratory before entering a room that could only be described as a dungeon. It was the best-equipped dungeon Lydia had ever seen and she had seen a fair number of them over the years, mostly in documentaries. Their collection of devices was not limited by time period or culture, and included a few items that—she had on good authority—were never actually used historically.

“Gomez darling, would you run upstairs and tell Lurch to put out the good company china tonight?” Morticia asked her husband once she released him from a demonstration of the rack. “We have a very special guest tonight.”

“Of course, Cara Mia,” Gomez replied. He kissed her hand. “I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

“Impossible.”

“Watch me.” With that he ran out of the room.

Morticia turned to Lydia with steepled fingers. She seemed decidedly less warm than she had earlier. Lydia wondered what had changed, other than that her already healthy respect for Morticia had dramatically risen in the last five minutes after her expert demonstration of the rack. She was likely similarly accomplished with the rest of the tools in this dungeon.

“You two have an incredible love for each other,” Lydia said to break the silence.

“Indeed. It has always been our hope that our children find the same love as well.”

“An admirable goal.”

“I trust Wednesday. She is my eldest and most accomplished child. However, in matters of the heart she is still young and heartbreak is one of the strongest torments imaginable.”

“It certainly feels that way when you experience it,” Lydia agreed.

“Everyone has the right to experience every sort of pain and I would never deny them that,” Morticia said. She cranked the rack until it was back in its position before Gomez went for a ride. “I assume you understand the difference between pain and cruelty.”

“I do actually. I also understand terror and helplessness. None of these are things I wish to inflict on others.” Lydia took a deep breath and adjusted her camera bag. Being faint of heart had never helped her in the past and it wouldn’t help her now. “I don’t know Wednesday that well yet and maybe I never will. I can’t tell the future. All I know is that I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with her and we’d both like to get to know one another better. Will this end in heartbreak? Probably. Most relationships do. The question is will it be in weeks or months or decades.”

“Decades?” Morticia asked

“Someone’s got to die eventually,” Lydia shrugged. “You are her family and I understand that you love her, but I do not need to clarify what I’m doing with Wednesday to you. She is a capable adult who knows her heart and mind. Trust her on this. Know that we’re both still young enough that we have time to figure out what we’re doing without having to rush and mislabel it. Let us form our own conclusions.”

“Very well,” Morticia nodded. “Shall we join the others upstairs?”

“Please!”

As soon as they were on the ground floor Morticia returned to Gomez’s embrace. Lydia vaguely considered where Pubert was, but figured he was avoiding the adults. She hated being trapped around her father and Delia when she was his age and they weren’t a tenth as expressive as his parents. Checking her watch she wondered how long past an hour she ought to wait for Wednesday to appear or if she was trapped into dinner even if she never showed. Luckily that worry vanished the moment a familiar figure walked through the front door.

“Wednesday,” Morticia said.

“Welcome home!” Gomez added.

“Good evening, Mother, Father,” Wednesday said, nodding to each of them. She turned and froze when she spotted Lydia. “You’re here.”

“Yep, I came to get my last photos in twilight,” Lydia grinned. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

“Ah yes, I suppose you two would like a little time to yourselves,” Morticia said. She made a shooing motion. “Go have fun until dinner.”

With that dismissal Wednesday took her by the elbow and led her upstairs. They went down the hall and into a room that had been pointed out on the tour of the house, but into which they did not actually venture. Once the door was shut behind her Lydia wanted to look around, but one particular item immediately commanded her attention.

“You have a guillotine over your bed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It helped me wake up in the morning and fine-tune my senses when I was younger,” Wednesday explained. “I haven’t needed it in years, but my parents are rather sentimental.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Lydia laughed. “I admit you’re all very different from any other family I’ve ever met in this plane of existence, but I can tell you genuinely care about one another. Did you really spend your childhood trying to kill your brother Pugsley?”

“It helped mold him into the man he is today.”

“I suppose it would.”

Lydia glanced around, wondering if she could take in what was innately Wednesday in this room. Besides the decorative octopus carved into the footboard and the guillotine perched above the headboard the bed looked like a regular wooden twin frame affair. The wallpaper was fairly dark, but was spiced up with axes and swords artistically hung. She had several bookcases stuffed full of novels, some of the titles she recognized from the Neitherworld, and along the tops of each case sat dolls daintily holding their heads in their laps. It seemed Wednesday’s guillotine had gotten some practical use after all.

“I have something for you,” Wednesday said. She dug into her satchel and pulled out something that looked like a heavily insulated thermos. As soon as she unscrewed the top a fog wafted out.

“What’s in that?” Lydia asked. “Should it be smoking like that?”

“That’s simply the preservative. Here.” She pulled out an off red piece of meat slightly larger than her hand. The tubing at one end made the object undeniably identifiable. “This is for you.”

“You’re giving me a human heart.” She wanted it to be a question, but there was no denying what Wednesday held.

“You deserve it.”

“Did you steal that from your cadaver?”

“Hardly,” Wednesday scoffed. “I took it from another lab entirely. They were done with it, which I suppose devalues this gift in some ways, but I assure you that was not my intent in bringing you this heart.”

“I can’t accept this.”

“Because it wasn’t originally intended as a gift? If that is the case I can get you another one, a better one.”

“It’s not that. I’m just… not that big on dissections,” Lydia sighed. She could feel Wednesday’s gaze on her, compelling her to explain without hurting her feelings. “I’ve had too many people literally spill their guts on me and then walk away to accept a random organ from anyone. I appreciate the sentiment behind the gesture, I really do, but if I accept that heart I’ll have the original owner knocking on my door asking for it back before the end of the month. I don’t want to deal with that again.”

“Has that happened to you often?”

“More than you might think. Have you ever heard of the Neitherworld?”

Wednesday nodded. “Great Uncle Gaseous and Great Aunt Flo spent their honeymoon there in the Nasal Canyons.”

“I’ve been to that park. The runny creeks are absolutely gnarly, but they weren’t what I wanted to talk about.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and took a moment to settle her thoughts. “I spent much of my teens in the Neitherworld. Most of the people I associate with are dead people. My best friend, who is kinda gross so I’m not sure if I want you to meet him yet, insists he’s the ghost with the most. So if the owner of that heart wants it back I’d definitely run into them sooner rather than later.”

“Then I will return it and find you a more suitable gift.”

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“I insist. Anything your heart desires.”

“Then can I get your phone number?” Lydia’s suggestion was met with silence. “Our current system of me showing up at your ancestral home whenever I feel like it isn’t the best, since there’s no guarantee you’ll be here. And unless I can summon you whenever I say your name out loud three times, a cell number would be the easiest way.”

“The only cells we have are in the dungeon here and they’re unnumbered.”

“Then how should I contact you? Email? Smoke signal? The US Postal Service? I don’t have any messenger animals, though I’ve always wanted a raven—not that you should get me one, my lease doesn’t allow for pets—and I’m not inherently magical, so I can’t think of any other easy methods of contact.”

“The university gave me an email address, but I do not use it off campus,” Wednesday admitted. “I have a landline in my apartment. No answering machine, but Socrates, my ruby octopus, is willing to take messages for me.”

That was weird, but honestly one of the less weird things that she had experienced with the Addamses. Octopuses were smart and trainable. She could deal with that. This time when she asked for Wednesday’s landline number she gave it. Lydia carefully recorded the number in her phone and double-checked that she had entered it correctly. Once she slid her phone into her pocket Lydia sighed in relief. She finally had a proper way to contact her mysterious friend.

They heard a gong resound through the house. Wednesday rose to her feet. Lydia followed suit.

“Dinner is ready,” Wednesday said.

“Shall we?” Lydia asked, offering her a hand. Wednesday took it.

“We shall.”

Chapter Text

Lydia liked taking photos, but her favorite part of photography was development. There was something magical about crafting images in the dark by touch alone. Especially as she never knew for sure what exactly she’d get off any roll; every negative she had ever developed always contained at least one surprise. It was much more satisfying than the sterility of digital work, which was composed of far more immediacy and certainty than she liked in her art. Besides, Lydia had always been more of a craft girl at heart rather than a computer one.

However, there were some downsides to preferring traditional photography. Namely she needed working space in total darkness. That was Lydia’s utmost need, save only for guaranteed privacy—which took precedence, as she never knew when she had the dead dropping by and that had been hell on her college roommates. She picked her apartment in part due to the lack of windows in the bathroom, which made it easier to turn it into a makeshift darkroom. Though in her next space Lydia hoped to have more than a bathtub’s worth of space to process her photography. Still, it was enough for now as there was space to examine her new negatives.

So far the photos from the Addams Family estate were enchanting. Sure some of them had ended up a little bubbly or overexposed, a few were even bland, but most were pictures she knew would sell, and there were a handful she wanted to add to her portfolio. Yes, the negatives appeared a touch off cast due to the red glare of her safety light, but she had enough experience reading through that to compensate. Lydia also wanted to get a few images transferred onto her black and white photo paper before this session was over and that meant finding the right shots.

In her rush she almost missed an edit to her work and she had to go back to take a second look. Lydia had snapped a candid photo of Wednesday jauntily holding an umbrella with the swamp in the background. When she initially took that photo Wednesday had been alone. Now she was arm in arm with an unkempt man in a striped suit.

“Beetlejuice, that’s not funny,” Lydia frowned.

“What do ya mean, babes?” Beetlejuice cackled, the two-dimensional figure shifting to let go of Wednesday’s image and rest a hand on the edge of the negative. He jerked his hand away when a pair of scissors separated it from the next frame, which hadn’t been viable. “I’m laughing!”

“Well I’m not.”

“Oh come off it, Lyds, what am I supposed to do?” Beetlejuice whined. He flopped a hand across his forehead as if he were a swooning heroine. “You’ve been ignoring your best friend for weeks in favor of chasing some skirt. The least you could do is let me meet her!”

“You’re not going to meet her skulking in my photos,” Lydia said as she loaded the negative into her enlarger. With a bit of tweaking she had it projecting the correctly sized image for her loaded photo paper.

“But I can get a sense of her from these. I gotta tell ya, babes, she’s a bigger stiff than me and I’ve been dead for six hundred years!”

“Wednesday is perfectly expressive when she wants to be, just not with her face. She’s actually very dynamic in person,” Lydia explained. She carefully picked up her photo by the edges. Beetlejuice was no longer in sight, but she knew he wasn’t gone. She floated the paper in its final bath. “If you’re in the paper now instead of the negative try not to mess up my print, Beetlejuice. I don’t have that much paper left.”

“Hey, say my name one more time and we can make our own pictures,” Beetlejuice leered from the forming photograph. “I can show you much better sights than this Tuesday can.”

“Nice try Beeg, but I’m not even going to think about summoning you until I’m done processing these images. The sooner you let me finish, the more likely we’ll hang out later.”

Beetlejuice gagged, flopped around the confines of the photo as if he were undergoing the most dramatic drowning possible, and then vanished. He didn’t say it again, but an unvoiced ‘call me’ still hung in the air. Lydia sighed and pulled the photo out of the bath a minute later. It had actually turned out really nicely, which almost never happened on a first try. If putting a ghost through the final steps cut down the failed attempts she’d definitely add it to her developing process. Smiling, Lydia carefully laid the photo on her drying rack then started on her next print.

In truth Lydia did feel a bit guilty for neglecting her friend. It had been over a month since she had last summoned him and almost two since her last visit to the Neitherworld. Yes, she had been spending more of her free time with Wednesday of late, time she previously would have spent with Beetlejuice, but he’d been complaining about her lack of availability for half a decade. She wasn’t a kid anymore and she didn’t have the time nor the energy to hang out with him everyday. She couldn’t even reliably count on summoning him simply to hang out, as he’d invariably get restless and caught the sort of mischief that would get her evicted or worse. Overflowing an entire building’s worth of plumbing was a lot less funny when she had to clean it up.

Still, he was her friend and he had been there for her when she had needed it. That had to count for something and, even if she had outgrown certain aspects of the friendship, Lydia still had a lot of fun with him when they cut loose in the Neitherworld. She’d definitely make it up to him. For sure this summer they’d spend a week or two hanging out when she was on break and it would be just like old times. Well before that she would try to see him properly tonight, or failing that, tomorrow. Grading could always be pushed off for another day.

Lydia had only produced half a dozen prints when a buzzing resounded throughout her apartment. That was the doorbell, a sound she normally only heard when she was expecting a delivery. Cursing, she hurriedly stored the rest of her unused photo paper in a manila envelope, which was then tucked into a metal box. The bell rang again, which spiked her anxiety, but she resisted the urge to open her bathroom door until taking one final sweep of the room for photosensitive material. She had lost too much film and photo paper over the years from an errant door opening before she was ready.

To her surprise Wednesday had come a calling. She still hadn’t fully composed herself to this fact when the other woman reached her door, which was why Lydia was shaking a little as she opened it. Of course Wednesday looked as cool and composed as she normally did, though she did raise an eyebrow when she caught sight of Lydia.

Lydia felt herself flush as she looked down to see what she was wearing. Ratty old leggings and a baggy t-shirt that had been washed enough times that it had gone soft and grey from use. No socks because it was much easier to rinse and towel off her feet when they were bare if she got some fixer or another chemical spilled on them than it would be to track the fluid through the apartment. It was all perfectly serviceable for what she was doing, but not what she’d want for having company. Not even Wednesday. Glancing over her shoulder she realized her apartment was in a similar state.

“Wednesday, it’s good to see you,” Lydia greeted her, because that was still true, even if she hadn’t invited her. “I don’t remember telling you where I live.”

“You didn’t,” Wednesday said as she stepped into the apartment. She looked around, turning her head this way and that, reminding Lydia of an owl. Clearly, she was just as interested in taking in Lydia’s living space as she had been in memorizing the Addams Family home.

“It’s a lot messier in here than usual. I’ve been busy trying to develop all the photos I took of your family plot. Between that and the midterm projects I’ve… let my home life slide a little,” Lydia explained, feeling embarrassed. “I also wasn’t expecting company today.”

“No?” Wednesday turned to look at her. “Socrates wrote that you had called.”

“Three days ago. I thought you’d call me back. I left my phone number.”

“I see,” Wednesday frowned. “Most of the message had been obliterated by excess ink. I simply assumed… that was my mistake.”

“That’s okay,” Lydia laughed, relaxing. It was reassuring to know for sure that Wednesday also made mistakes. “Come in, take a seat, and give me a couple minutes to clean up. My bathroom’s still full of chemicals at the moment and I need to deal with them if I’m not doing any more work right now.”

“Please do not stop on my account, I didn’t mean to interrupt your creative process.”

“Nonsense! How many times have you dropped everything for me in the last month?” Lydia grinned. “The least I can do is return the favor. Hey, do you want to see the prints I’ve finished? Now that they’re fixed, I can show you all the negatives as well. You could even pick out a few you’d like printed. I mean, if that was something you found interesting. Most people don’t like being around the chemical smell.”

“When have I ever suggested I was like most people?” Wednesday asked. Her eyes gleamed and if it weren’t for the way her voice remained as monotonous as it typically did, Lydia might have thought she felt affronted.

“Never.”

“Show me your work. I’ll never rest peacefully if I don’t see it now.”

“Okay.”

Lydia cracked open the windows in her apartment to get some air circulation. Then she poured her loose chemicals into their labeled secondary bottles—she liked reusing chemicals for as long as she could and it never paid to mix new with old or have unlabeled anything in the house—before ushering Wednesday into her tiny bathroom. Sure, she could probably share the negatives in the living room, but she wanted to start with the finished product, which was still wet; hence the bathroom trip.

“Sure, the setup isn’t the greatest, but here’s my work. It’s still a little wet. What do you think?”

Wednesday bent down to peer at the photos. She carefully examined each one before freezing at the last photo Lydia had finished. She even seemed to stop breathing for half a minute. Then she slowly reached out and picked the photo up off the rack by its edges.

“This is me,” Wednesday said.

“Yes.”

“I’m smiling?”

“I’d categorize that more as a hint of a smirk,” Lydia said, crossing her arms, “but it’s my favorite picture I’ve taken of you so far.”

“What is this thing beside me? I don’t remember that.”

“What thing?” Lydia leaned forward to get a look over her shoulder. She didn’t remember anything beyond Wednesday and her umbrella worth commenting on in her finished print. “Where?”

“Here,” Wednesday said, finger briefly hovering over something in the foreground.

“Beetlejuice,” Lydia growled the moment she laid eyes on the back of his filthy head. There were few things in life or death that she recognized faster.

“And that’s three!” Beetlejuice howled as he stretched up out of the photograph. With a snap his feet popped out of the paper and he landed, large as life size, beside the women before immediately wrapping his arms around both of them. “I’d say you’re out, but we’re just getting this party started!”

“Beetlejuice,” Lydia groaned. She couldn’t believe she’d unintentionally said his name thrice before enough time elapsed to reset the summoning. That hadn’t happened in years.

“Woah, hey hey, no need for that now, Lyds,” Beetlejuice said, pulling his hand off Wednesday to slap it over Lydia’s mouth. “You don’t call, you don’t write, and now you’re going to send me off without a hello? I thought we were pals, but you’re not even going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“Is this… man bothering you, Lydia?” Wednesday asked. She twisted her neck, which made some cracking noises and flexed her fingers.

“She’s not my—we haven’t gotten there yet, Beej,” Lydia snapped once she had shoved his hand off her face. “Though maybe that would happen if we were allowed to spend some time together unsupervised.”

“You sure about that, babes? I mean, you’ve been in her family crypt,” he said waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Lydia laughed at that. He couldn’t be serious.

“You seem familiar with each other,” Wednesday said.

“We should be, Beej and I have been friends since forever,” Lydia explained. “He’s the one I told you about.”

“Wait a minute, you told her about me, but you didn’t tell me about her?” Beetlejuice whined. “I’m hurt! I thought we were BFFs.”

“He’s a ghost that you can summon by saying his name three times,” Wednesday said.

“Beetlejuice is dismissed the same way,” Lydia explained. She shoved his hands away before he could cover her mouth again. “Anyone can do it, if he lets you get the name out enough.”

“Interesting. He is how you spent all that time in the Neitherworld?”

“Yep. Beej is the best when it comes to clowning around in the Neitherworld. He may not look it, but he’s absolutely the person I want at my back when anything goes wrong over there. BJ’s never let me down.”

“Aww, Lyds, you’re making my head swell,” Beetlejuice squawked. True to his word, his cranium quickly grew until it was twice the size of his body and then exploded. Neither woman visibly reacted to this pun. Beetlejuice tugged at his collar and grumbled, “Tough crowd.”

“Do you want to visit the Neitherworld?” Lydia asked. She glanced at Beetlejuice. “He’s taken more people than just me there in the past, they just haven’t known where we were really going.”

“Are you serious?” Wednesday asked.

Bettelejuice glanced between them, now attentive to the conversation. Lydia couldn’t tell if he wanted to take Wednesday along or not, and if he did, if it was with good intentions in mind. Probably not. Still, when it came to Beetlejuice she was the one who dictated the terms of their friendship she reminded herself. Not because she was the more powerful one, but because she had standards and she’d miss him less than he’d miss her. Besides, he wouldn’t do anything to really hurt Wednesday and if he did… Lydia had a feeling Wednesday could handle herself.

“Yes,” Lydia said with a nod. She looked at both of them to see if they were taking her seriously. “It’s not what I had planned for the day, but I think it’s a good idea. Beej can get to know you and vise versa, while you can see some of my favorite haunts. Plus the Neitherworld is always good for a few laughs. So what do you say?”

“Fine,” Wednesday said.

“Beej?”

“It’s Showtime!” Beetlejuice cackled. He lifted into the air, briefly transformed into a zebra piñata before exploding into confetti, and resuming his natural form. “Lyds, do the whole bit for her!”

“Seriously?” Lydia laughed, but she knew she was going to do it. She reached over and plucked a few beetlebits of confetti off Wednesday’s shoulders then took her hand. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

“Though I know I should be wary, still I venture someplace scary,” Lydia chanted, the words effortlessly rolling off her tongue. “Ghostly hauntings I turn loose… Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!”

They were no longer in Lydia’s apartment. Instead they stood on a barren purple floating island drifting through a yellow-orange fog. Wednesday twisted around briefly to get her bearings then shuffled over to the edge and looked down. Lydia grabbed her wrist and gave it a gentle tug to make her take a step back.

“I wouldn’t get too close to the edge. The couple of times I’ve fallen, BJ’s had to rescue me, since there doesn't seem to be a bottom,” Lydia explained. “Anyway, welcome to the Neitherworld!”

Wednesday turned to look at her and stiffened. Eyes alert, nostrils slightly flared, tension filling her body, she was definitely looking at Lydia like she had never seen her before. Or at least in a completely different light, which was somewhat fair, as the light in the Neitherworld was completely different. They had types of radiation that had never been felt on Earth. Still, she looked livelier here than she ever had at home and that threw Lydia for a loop.

“Wednesday, are you okay?”

“Ma petite araignée.”

Chapter Text

“Huh?” Lydia asked. She was pretty certain Wednesday had just spoken French, but she had no idea what that meant.

“Ma petite araignée,” Wednesday repeated. She cleared her throat and seemed to calm down. Lydia let go of her wrist. “Excuse me, spider. I mean, your dress is spider-like.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely spider themed,” Lydia agreed, twisting to get a better look at her Neitherworld outfit. It was really a red poncho decorated with black spider webs and not a dress. However, it was her standard wear in this realm, as it kept the goo, gunk, and ectoplasm from sticking to her clothes. Plus it was absurdly stylish. “I wear this all the time over here.”

“You’re hauntingly beautiful in that,” Wednesday said. “It would be a delight to be tied up in your web any time.”

“You sure about that, Friday? Because Lydia’s clearly a black widow in that get up!” Beetlejuice said, pointing at the poncho. “You might not make it out again.”

“Black widows have a long and noble history in our family,” Wednesday said. She offered Lydia a hand. “I would be honored to dance with death. Would you care to tango?”

“Arg! You two are so mushy I could puke my eyes out!” Beetlejuice howled. A moment later he was doubled over and heaving until he spat out a pair of eyes, which bounced away. Lydia groaned the moment she saw the empty sockets in his head and started after the eyes. Beetlejuice’s puns had struck again.

“Grab him and follow those eyes!” Lydia shouted over her shoulder. “He can’t use his powers if he’s missing body parts!”

“How inconvenient,” Wednesday grumbled. Nonetheless, she took Beetlejuice by the sleeve and gave chase as well.

The eyeballs rolled slightly faster than Lydia could run, so that she never quite reached them. She thought she was going to as they had chosen to go uphill, which slowed them down enough that she tried swiping them, but then of course the blasted things decided to fly off the edge of the island. She stared down in dismay as they freefell hundreds of yards before landing on a much lower island. That was a major setback, but not an impossible one. Lydia knew that most of the Neitherworld was interconnected by roads and bridges. Even from this distance she could see the convoluted path they would need to traverse. However, that would take time, a lot of it, and she wasn’t sure they had any to spare what with Beetlejuice’s roving eyes.

“I’m not sure we can make that jump,” Lydia said. The eyes had really managed to soar a great distance before gravity took over.

“We could throw him over as a test,” Wednesday offered. “After all, he’s already dead and the only one who really needs to get down there.”

“Don’t let her do me like that, babes, you know I can’t fly like this!” Beetlejuice howled. He draped an arm across his forehead and dropped onto Lydia’s shoulder. “Is this all our friendship means to you? Am I to be tossed like yesterday’s trash?”

“You certainly smell like it,” Lydia said, shoving him off. “But no, of course we’re not throwing you off the edge. Look on the bright side, your eyes seem to have stopped moving. If they stay in one place we can get to them eventually.”

“If the incoming rain doesn’t wash them away,” Wednesday said.

“What rain?”

Wednesday pointed down at a set of dark grey clouds dropping buckets of water as they floated along the lower island. Under the clouds a pair of massive snails pulled a black carriage at a sedate pace. It came to a halt near Beetlejuice’s eyes. A young man stepped out of the carriage, shambled toward the displaced organs, and then stopped beside them to stare out into the void. Lydia immediately recognized him, as would any inhabitant of the Neitherworld.

“No, no, these are my eyes!” Beetlejuice snapped. Apparently he could see the man approaching them. “These are not abandoned eyeballs! You leave them alone!”

The man obviously couldn’t hear his protests from such a distance. Instead, Beetlejuice’s agitation was enough to cause his eyeballs to bounce, attracting the man’s attention. He scooped the eyes up and hopped back into the carriage. It took off at a minutely faster pace than it had previously been going. Beetlejuice and Lydia both groaned.

“That made our task more difficult. Is it even worth finding our way down there now?” Wednesday asked.

“No, we’d better head to where they’re going,” Lydia sighed. “How do you feel about meeting royalty?”

“Who are we meeting?”

“The biggest milksop in all the Neitherworld,” Beetlejuice grumbled. “Prince Vince himself.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” Lydia insisted, “though he is a bit… gloomy.”

“Intriguing,” Wednesday said. “Lead the way.”

The trip to Prince Vince’s castle was far too long to go by foot when they were leading a blind Beetlejuice. Luckily they weren’t that far from the roadhouse and Lydia was able to get them there to find Doomie. If there was more time Lydia would have liked to introduce Wednesday to Beetlejuice’s neighbors, but they only had a few hours to put him back together and she wasn’t certain what hoops they’d have to jump through to retrieve his eyes. At least Wednesday took the sentient car in stride and simply threw the ghost with the most in back before sliding into the front passenger seat. Lydia patted Doomie’s hood before getting behind the wheel.

“Can you take us to Prince Vince?” Lydia asked.

Doomie beeped an affirmative and off they went. Since he knew the way and the rules of the road better than she did, Lydia just had to sit back and relax. It was such a nice day for a drive she felt bad she couldn’t really enjoy it. Wednesday seemed to sense Lydia’s mood because she focused on her instead of the strange and interesting sights that flew past. She reached out and interlocked their fingers.

“If you want those eyes back we will retrieve them,” Wednesday promised.

It turned out the area around Prince Vince’s castle was so parked up that Doomie had to drop them off before the building was even in sight. He made his apologies for not getting any closer, but Lydia insisted the little car had done his best and that was all that mattered. The moment Beetlejuice was out of the backseat Doomie caught sight of a dog. This of course caused the little green dragster to double in size, turn red, and take off like a shot after the dog.

“Doomie!” Lydia shouted after him, but he was already gone.

“Should we be worried?” Wednesday asked.

“Naw, Doomie can take care of himself. He’ll change back after he’s lost the dog or eaten it,” Beetlejuice said. “I’m betting on the latter!”

“Are you always so crass?” Wednesday asked.

“I’m the grossest ghost from coast to coast!”

“My brother Pugsley would like you.”

Lydia had a feeling that wasn’t a compliment, but at least everyone was moving in the right direction. Before long they reached Prince Vince’s castle, which was a small stone citadel in the center of a steaming green moat. Normally the towers could only be described as droopy, but today they seemed a little more upright as the banners caught the wind. Perhaps that meant their ruler was in a better mood for once, as everything surrounding him always seemed in tune with his disposition. Since neither Lydia nor Beetlejuice had ever been one for ceremony, they just walked straight inside and found their way to a packed banquet hall.

“This is not what I expected,” Lydia said as she looked around. It appeared the castle was set up for a celebration; she just wasn’t certain what was the occasion.

“Who cares? I can see again, there’s a bubbling pot full of eyeballs. I think they’re in the kitchen,” Beetlejuice said before walking into a wall. “Let’s just get in and get out before anyone spots us.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, BJ,” Lydia said. Forgetting that he couldn’t actually see, she pointed at the young man across the hall from them who was staring directly at them. “Prince Vince has already spotted us.”

Indeed, Prince Vince had risen from his seat at the head table and was striding toward them. As he passed the room fell silent, focused on what their leader was doing. By the time he reached them they had the entire hall’s attention. There was no way for them to slink away from that.

“Is that Beetlejuice? And Lydia!” Prince Vince greeted them. He went as far as to kiss Lydia’s hand. “The ever present storms in my heart calm in your presence.”

“Now I get why you like Friday, she’s using the same playbook,” Beetlejuice cackled. Lydia elbowed him.

“It’s good to see you as well, Prince Vince,” Lydia said. “We heard there was a party and you know BJ, couldn’t stay away. What are we celebrating?”

“The unending march of time and our random demarcations of it,” Prince Vince sighed. “Or as my courtiers put it, my birthday.”

“Well happy birthday, your highness!” Lydia said. She shoved Beetlejuice forward. “Beej here is so thrilled for you that he’s going to put on his famous stand up routine. So just sit back and relax while Wednesday and I go check on the cake.”

Before anyone could respond Lydia grabbed Wednesday’s hand and pulled her toward the castle interior. She didn’t remember where the kitchens were, but she knew they were around here somewhere and they’d stumble into them soon enough. As for Prince Vince, he’d probably be perfectly willing to listen to the real reason they were here and even assist them in recovering the missing eyes. However, Beetlejuice had upset enough of his subjects over the years that at least one of them would have done away with his eyes out of spite, especially if it meant getting rid of him entirely. Besides, eyeball stew was all the rage this season and if they stopped to explain she couldn’t guarantee they’d reach his eyes before the cooks snacked on them.

“Remind me to check on the cake after we find BJ’s eyes. I don't want to lie to Prince Vince,” Lydia said once they reached the kitchen. She made a beeline to the massive pot of bubbling eyeball stew and started ladling through it looking for Beetlejuice’s eyes.

“Are you close to Prince Vince?” Wednesday asked as she started shifting through the eyes as well.

“Kinda? I mean, he’s a good friend and I guess he did propose when I was like sixteen, but we didn’t really know each other then,” Lydia said, not really focusing on her answer. “Does this look like one of Beej’s eyes? Or is it not yellow enough?”

“He proposed.”

“Yeah, but I said no.” Lydia stopped scooping eyeballs and turned to Wednesday. “Are you jealous? Because Prince Vince is just a friend. I mean, he’s not even my type!”

“Beetlejuice said the prince and I were the same type,” Wednesday said, sounding a little petulant.

“I love the guy, but Beetlejuice does not understand my taste in men, which is nonexistent or my taste in women, which is…” Lydia trailed off and flailed a hand at Wednesday, “well, you.”

“Which means?” Wednesday asked, tilting her head up. Lydia tried not to smile. Wednesday was definitely fishing for compliments now.

“Competent creepy women with excellent grooming,” Lydia said. “I don’t really care about my friends’ personal hygiene, I wouldn’t be able to get along with BJ if I did, but I’m not about to climb into bed with a bunch of beetles. In fact, I want clean sheets.”

“Noted.”

They continued digging through the eyes in silence. The soup was beginning to get rather thin and they still hadn’t found Beetlejuice’s eyes. Lydia really hoped they weren’t too late. She didn’t want her pal melting permanently.

“Shoot. I think that’s the last one,” Lydia said, as she dropped a beady little eye onto the plate with all the others. She whisked the ladle around the pot a few more times, but came in contact with nothing solid. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“Could these be them?” Wednesday asked as she offered Lydia a pair of yellow eyes. “They look approximately as snake-like as his do.”

“Yes, those are them!” Lydia grinned. She’d recognize that leering stare anywhere. She happily pocketed them. “Where did you find them?”

“There is a jar of eyeballs up on the shelf. I imagine they were extras that didn’t make it into the stew. It seemed worth checking,” Wednesday explained. “Now shall we rescue your friend and be on our way?”

Lydia picked up the platter of eyeballs and dumped them back in the stew. She glanced at the cake, which the chefs were putting the final touches upon, and decided it was time to wheel the cake up to the birthday prince. When they returned to the hall the crowd was booing at Beetlejuice. That was hardly surprising considering his usual routine, but at the moment he couldn’t deflect the thrown food the way he usually could. So Lydia pulled his eyes out of her pocket and threw them back to where they belonged.

Seeing his vision hurtling toward his hands must have been a weird sensation, but Beetlejuice deftly caught his eyes and popped them back into his head. “Does this mean I’ve only got eyes for you, babes?”

Lydia had to laugh at that. If he was punning that meant Beetlejuice was okay. Wednesday didn’t look particularly amused, but to be fair she really didn’t know anyone and that had to make the party awkward. It was time to go. She pushed the cake up to the prince’s side, turned to Beetlejuice, and nodded. His grin widened, which told her that he got the message.

“Lydia, let’s blow this pop stand!” Beetlejuice shouted, shooting across the room. He took Lydia’s hand and she grabbed Wednesday before he floated them out of the castle as its roof blew off. They landed safely in a nearby swamp.

“That was a blast! What do you want to do next, Lyds?” Beetlejuice asked. “Go catch a slime buffet? Watch the old boob tube? Go feed Claire Brewster to sandworms?”

“You’re kidding, right? I haven’t thought about Claire since high school. She’s not worth the effort,” Lydia said.

“You sure, because she was simply awful to you back then,” Beetlejuice insisted.

“How awful?” Wednesday asked.

“Sabotaged her science project, stole her part in the school play, eviscerated her with her words, tried to buy away all her friends with Daddy’s money,” Beetlejuice recounted. “I’d run out of fingers and toes trying to remember everything she did. Basically, Claire Brewster was a typical mean girl bully.”

“I vote we feed her to the sandworms,” Wednesday said.

“Hey, you’re not half bad, Sunday,” Beetlejuice said, nodding his approval. As much as Lydia didn’t like what had them in agreement, she had to smile at that. Anyone willing to protect her was okay in Beetlejuice’s book.

“It’s Wednesday and if you keep intentionally getting it wrong I’ll bury you ten feet under.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Nobody is injuring anyone today, sand worm or otherwise,” Lydia interceded. She was not in the mood to break up a fight. “Beej, it’s been great, but it’s getting late and we’ve got responsibilities. One of the downsides of living.”

“You could always end it all and then you’d have more time to hang with me,” Beetlejuice suggested, his tie briefly turning into a noose. “Literally!”

“I’m so not interested in becoming a civil servant. Teaching high school’s bad enough,” Lydia laughed. She wrapped an arm around Wednesday’s shoulders. “Can you even imagine her doing that job?”

Even Beetlejuice had to shiver at that. Still he didn’t want them leaving, despite Lydia promising she’d visit soon. He knew she kept her promises.

“We didn’t even get to watch any TV,” he whined. “You know bad television isn’t half as fun without someone to razz it with.”

“Is that really all you require of Lydia tonight?” Wednesday asked. “If so, then I might suggest a reasonable alternative.”

To this end Wednesday was the one who guided their return to the realm of the living. They appeared in a living room that was lit only by the glow of a large old-fashioned television. Across the room from the TV was an overstuffed navy couch with a scratched coffee table in front of it. On the couch sat a stocky man with a buzz cut and an orangutan. They didn’t seem the slightest bit troubled by three people appearing out of nowhere.

“Where are we?” Lydia asked.

“My brother’s apartment,” Wednesday said.

“What a dump,” Beetlejuice said.

“Lydia, the one with a charming smile is an orangutan that I have never met before. The other one is my brother Pugsley,” Wednesday introduced. “Pugsley, this is Lydia Deetz and her friend Beetlejuice.”

“Hiya,” Pugsley said with a wave. The orangutan smiled.

“As Lydia is highly important to me I imagine you’ll be spending a fair amount of time with Beetlejuice,” Wednesday said.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop saying my name!” Beetlejuice snapped. “Call me Beej or BJ or Mr. Juice.”

“You can get rid of him by saying his name three times,” Wednesday continued as if Beetlejuice hadn’t spoken. “I believe you two will get along like a house on fire. You have similar tastes.”

“Does that mean you want to stay and watch Slimed with me?” Pugsley asked. He grabbed a handful of something brown out of a large plastic bowl on the coffee table and popped it into his mouth. Whatever it was, it was crunchy. “Wednesday’s never had the patience for this sort of show, which is a bummer because I just got the special tar and quicksand season.”

“Are those beetles?” Beetlejuice asked, eyes zeroing in on the bowl, which was definitely full of some sort of crawling insect.

“Yeah. We usually get a termite-roach blend, but they were out at the bait shop. So I got an economy beetle variety pack instead,” Pugsley explained. “Are you staying or what?”

Beetlejuice sunk into the open spot on the couch and shoveled a handful of beetles into his mouth. “I’m in heaven,” he moaned.

“All set then, Beej?” Lydia asked. Beetlejuice gave her a lazy thumbs up and then turned his attention to the TV. He was definitely set. She beamed at Wednesday.

“Shall we?” Wednesday asked, offering Lydia her arm.

“We shall,” Lydia agreed, slipping her arm through Wednesday’s.

“I shall have to arrange our flight home,” Wednesday admitted as they strolled out of the apartment, “but I will certainly get you home tomorrow so that you can be well rested for work even if I have to charter a private jet. In fact, you deserve a private jet.”

“No no, first class would be more than enough,” Lydia joked.

“As you wish,” Wednesday acquiesced in a tone that Lydia was sure meant she couldn’t talk her out of it. “We have a night to ourselves in New Orleans. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”

“I have a few suggestions,” Lydia said. This time she got Wednesday to smile.

Lydia thoroughly enjoyed her night with Wednesday in New Orleans. They went on a walking tour of local cemeteries, had dinner at a jazz club, and then spent the night at a luxurious hotel. Wednesday was more of a gentlewoman than Lydia had really wanted, but she understood why. After all, they had known each other for approximately two months, been on a handful of dates and most of those were chaperoned to a greater or lesser extent.

At least she had gotten the chance to get to know Wednesday a little better. She mercilessly deployed this dry wit that had Lydia’s sides splitting all evening, which not even Beetlejuice could do when he was in top form. They shared a good number of interests including a love of horror films, nature walks, and murder mysteries, though at least with the last one their interests came from different points of view. Lydia liked the puzzle aspect of figuring out who the murderer was, while Wednesday preferred perfecting the crimes, at least to a bare minimum of an acquittal.

Before they retired for the evening Wednesday had offered to teach Lydia both fencing and archery, if she was interested. In exchange Lydia promised to help her buy then set up a cell phone, specifically to make keeping in contact much easier. This left Lydia in a good mood. It carried over to the next day, through their flight home, and even Lurch picking them up at the airport to drive them back to Assimilation, not that either one of them lived in the town proper.

“This was not at all how I planned to spend the weekend,” Lydia said after she got out of the limo. “Let’s make actual plans before we do it again.”

“Of course. Spontaneity has a time and a place,” Wednesday agreed.

“I still had fun,” Lydia said. She leaned down and stuck her head through the car’s open window to kiss Wednesday. “Why don’t you call me later this week and we’ll see about getting you a phone? I’m sure Socrates is perfect and I’d love to meet him, but I promise we’ll have an easier time scheduling things if I don’t have to go through your cephalopod secretary.”

“I will call.”

“Perfect.” Lydia retreated from the limo and went to her apartment building’s front door. As she patted her legs her face went white. She didn’t have any pockets. “Hey Wednesday, I think I’m locked out.”

That was how Lydia discovered Wednesday was an expert lock picker.

Chapter Text

Other than a short call from Wednesday on Wednesday the week went by uneventfully for Lydia. Due to the busy nature of med school and her own work obligations they couldn’t meet again until the weekend. Lydia planned to make use of the excellent public transit system that could get her from Assimilation, New Jersey, to the heart of New York City in a matter of hours on Saturday. She wanted to see Wednesday in her natural environment after last week’s surprise visit and meet the cephalopod secretary that had butchered her last missive, not that she blamed him. However, like most carefully laid plans, her life didn’t stick to it.

Friday afternoon Lydia was stuck late in her classroom as she tried to clean up the absolute mess left behind by her pottery students. There was muddy water everywhere with just enough clay left in the liquid that it stuck to every surface it touched. A lot of her wanted to simply walk away and deal with it on Monday, but if she did that the liquid would evaporate leaving behind a fine clay grit that exploded into silica dust upon contact. That was a health hazard, especially if it got into the ventilation system. So here she was stuck cleaning on her own because the custodial staff had sworn off touching anything in her room beyond the trash. She didn’t blame them for that choice either.

“What I wouldn’t give for a proper drainage system in this room,” Lydia grumbled as she carefully sponged down another workstation.

They only had four potter’s wheels, so most of her kids worked at the same tables she also used for drawing, painting, and printmaking. She’d love it if she could teach photography as well, but that would require a grant or a sizable donation just to get the supplies, much less develop a curriculum or build a functional dark room on site. It wasn’t going to happen, but a girl could dream.

“I couldn’t help with an entire system, but I understudied for a drain in college,” a man said.

Lydia didn’t know what exactly it was about his voice, but it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She slowly looked up to see a pale bald man with a long nose in a trench coat grinning at her from the classroom doorway. She didn’t recognize him, but she was certain he didn’t belong in the school after hours. Lydia definitely would remember a staff member who looked like him.

“Excuse me?” Lydia said. She reached up and touched the back of her head to reassure herself that she had used a pair of steel knitting needles to hold her hair in place this morning. She probably wouldn’t need them, but it was better to be prepared and he was blocking the only exit.

“I can help you with this muck,” he said, swaggering into the room. He meandered over to the nearest table, skimmed a finger through the brown water and popped it in his mouth. Then he let out a moan. “Oh, you went for the local stuff!”

“Uncle Fester, you cannot wander off on your own. We’re trying to find Lydia,” Wednesday’s voice floated into the room.

“But I’m hungry and I found something tasty,” whined the man. Lydia tentatively labeled him Uncle Fester.

“Teachers are overworked, overstressed, and overwhelmed,” Wednesday said as she entered the room. Lydia felt her stress levels drop dramatically at the familiar figure. “While we all aim for such working conditions, Uncle Fester, you must remember they are underpaid and also have limited supplies. You might be snacking on someone’s lunch. Hello, Lydia.”

“I’m not eating that,” Lydia immediately spat out before smiling. “Hey Wednesday.”

“More for me then!” Uncle Fester giggled. He bent down and ran his tongue across the full length of the table slurping up the slop. “Delicious.”

“He’s going to lick up all of the clay slurry, isn’t he?” Lydia sighed in resignation.

“Unless you have a problem with it,” Wednesday said.

Lydia shook her head and gave a dismissive wave. He was already going to town on a second table as he crawled around on his hands and knees. It was too late to bother stopping him. She was going to have to buy gallons of Purell and a pump sprayer to decontaminate her classroom Monday morning. Ideally she’d get in early enough to put down a couple coats of disinfectant before the students arrived.

“While I’m always happy to see you, what are you doing here?” Lydia asked, turning to Wednesday. “I thought I was coming to see you tomorrow.”

“That was the initial plan, but Uncle Fester was distressed he had not met you with the rest of the family and wanted to correct that.” Something crawled out of Wednesday’s bag and scurried up to her shoulder. “Thing too.”

“Thing,” Lydia said, looking down at the sentient severed hand. She had run into creatures like this in the Neitherworld, but never here. Thing offered her a finger, which she gently shook, before crawling onto her hand and then up to her elbow. “Easy there, buddy, you’re cute, but we don’t know each other.”

“He likes you,” Wednesday said. Thing tapped his thumb, which might have been agreement. Lydia smiled and gently pried him off her elbow to hold him in both her hands. Partly to get a better look, but also to keep him from crawling all over her body. He was a large rugged hand—callused in places, though no obvious scars, and had reddish hair growing along the knuckles. His nails were thick, but perfectly manicured.

“It’s nice to meet you, Thing,” Lydia said. “You have excellent grooming.”

Thing gave her a thumbs up and then hopped onto Wednesday before crawling back into her bag. Now that Thing was no longer visible Lydia looked back to Fester. He was on the floor ‘cleaning’ the tile. Lydia sighed again and felt a headache coming. She was so very done with this day.

“Are you unwell?”

“No more than usual. I’m just tired and he’s going to be at that for a while, isn’t he.” They heard Fester squeal that he had found hair and toenails. “You know what, we’re leaving. I’m sorry, I’m not up to playing host right now. Security can kick him out later.

“He wouldn’t have it any other way,” Wednesday assured her as she linked their arms. “Let us depart. We shall head to that suburban circle of hell called The Mall and you shall inform me which mobile telephone to purchase.”

They reached the mall in a shiny fast looking black convertible that Wednesday said she owned primarily to drive through night storms, though she also used it for commuting. Once at the mall Lydia learned that her significant other had no sense of money, as when she expressed she was interested in getting a kiosk slushie, Wednesday paid for it with a fifty-dollar bill. That on its own might not have been that unusual, as they waited for Candi the barista to highlight and then scan the bill with an ultraviolet light to ensure that it was legitimate, but then she tossed the entirety of the change into the tip jar. From the way Candi’s eyes widened, Wednesday had clearly made her day.

“A fifty?” Lydia asked. Far be it for her to tell Wednesday how to spend her money, but that still seemed worth commenting upon.

“Should I have made it one hundred?” Wednesday asked, raising her eyebrows. “Father would have put in at least that amount and then likely stuffed a wad of bills into the barista’s apron. His opinion is that money is meant to be spent.”

“Hey, I have no complaints.”

“Mother and I are more frugal.”

“Clearly.” Lydia drank some of her blue raspberry slushie and then held it out to Wednesday. “Do you want to try?”

“The almost glowing colors suggest it might be radioactive. Give it.” Wednesday took a short pull on the straw before her mouth twisted up in an interesting fashion and she returned the drink. “Sickeningly saccharine.”

“I don’t drink them often, but they’re a childhood comfort food,” Lydia explained. “Also, I wanted the sugar rush. Some varieties come with enough caffeine to wake the dead.”

“Have you used it for that purpose?”

“Once or twice,” Lydia admitted. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “What kind of phone do you want?”

“I have no preference. Whatever you think is best.”

“Then do you want to just get what I have? I can help you set it up that way and troubleshoot for you.”

Wednesday shrugged. That wasn’t a no.

That’s how they ended up at the Apple Store. Like every other time Lydia had ever visited the store it was composed of white and metal and glass then filled with as many sweaty bodies as the fire marshal would allow. Glancing around she tried to spot an employee, since there were usually ten or so of them milling about, but realized she didn’t know which shirt color the company currently used to identify staff. Figuring they’d eventually either spot an employee by the extra hardware they had to carry or else be approached, Lydia decided to push Wednesday to look at the merchandise.

“Do any of these appeal to you?” Lydia asked, gesturing at the dozen slim iphones sitting on clear plastic stands. Half of them seemed to come in candy colored pastels. Wednesday glared at all of them. “Or do any of them not offend your sensibilities?”

“A black one would suffice,” Wednesday finally sniffed.

“Okay… they all come in black. That doesn’t narrow it down. What do you want your phone to do?”

“Communicate with you.”

“Any cell phone can do that,” Lydia laughed. “I mean, if that’s really all you want there’s no point in even bothering with a smart phone. Are you sure you don’t want to be able to take pictures, search the net, use GPS, or I dunno text? Okay, you’re going to want to text because I text and it’s a pain to do that on a prepaid flip phone.”

“What do you use?”

“I have an older model they don’t sell anymore.”

“Then pick what you would want and I will buy it for both of us.”

“That’s not—” Lydia groaned and ran her hands through her hair. While she wouldn’t describe it as impossible, Wednesday was definitely difficult to shop for and Lydia was already dreading gift giving in the future.

“Wednesday? Wednesday Addams?” came a voice.

Lydia and Wednesday both turned to see a stunned woman in a navy staff shirt. She wore black lipstick, black mascara, and had a bob that was the too flat black Lydia instantly recognized as the result of a cheap dye job. She grinned. This was another one of her people, even if the employee only had eyes for Wednesday. Wednesday’s focus was on the other woman as well and her general demeanor almost imperceptibly lightened as she approached. Lydia idly wondered if this was a friend, an ex, or a mortal enemy.

“Parker Needler,” Wednesday finally said. “You changed your hair.”

“Yeah, while shaving half my head certainly gave me a dramatic look, the shock value wasn’t worth the upkeep,” Parker laughed, self consciously running her hand through hair on the side of her head Lydia assumed had previously been shaved. “It’s great to see you! How have you been? I never thought I’d run into you here.”

“Lydia seems to think I need a portable telephone. These are the same devices that captured your attention and ran roughshod over your emotional well being when we first met, aren’t they?”

“Wow ouch. I know you’re not one for kid gloves, but that got me right here,” Parker said tapping her chest. “My phone addiction isn’t that bad anymore, but I’m glad to hear you’re joining the twenty-first century. And that’s your doing?”

The last bit was directed at Lydia, who nodded. “Her current correspondence method isn’t working and resulted in an accidental road trip. Since I don’t want to wind up in Louisiana semi regularly, we need a better system. Hence the phone.”

“Hence the phone,” Parker agreed. “Do you know what you—”

“—Two of whatever model Lydia wants,” Wednesday cut in before Parker could finish. “I wish to leave this plastic pastel purgatory known as The Mall as soon as possible.”

“You know, you could be a little nicer,” Lydia gently chided. “Parker’s just doing her job and unlike the rest of the people on staff she genuinely cares that you end up with a phone you like.”

“I am not nice.”

“You’re nice to me.”

“I’m sorry, this is rude, but are you two dating?” Parker asked. “Did you get a girlfriend, Wednesday?”

“We are courting,” Wednesday said. She turned to Lydia. “Parker was my first friend outside of the family. Her mother gave the town its mannequin features, rechristened it Assimilation, and then entered into a realtor partnership with Uncle Fester twelve years ago.”

“Okay wow, you do not have to tell people that,” Parker hissed. “I wasn’t a willing participant.”

“It’s okay, my dad’s a realtor as well. He wanted to do the same thing to the town he and my stepmom live in, but the ghosts put a stop to that. It’s nice to meet you,” Lydia said, shaking her hand. “Let’s talk phones?”

Lydia tried to keep things short for Wednesday’s sake. In the end they settled on the model with the best camera that also more or less fit in her hand. At first she was going to get them the version with medium storage capacities—that was still more that what her current phone had and she was certain Wednesday wouldn’t need a tenth of the space—but then Wednesday set down a stack of hundreds, still with the currency strap intact, and announced that she wasn’t taking any of it home. The matter was out of Lydia’s hands.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Lydia said as she carefully carried the bag full of Apple products. She had toted the bag through a visit to a cellular carrier where Wednesday signed a contract and got a number to go with her new phone. Besides the phones, there were two laptops and a dozen other sundry items consisting of accessories and software in the bag. “Why did you insist on spending ten thousand dollars?”

“My father encouraged me to spend at least that much when I told him I was getting a new phone.” She blinked and patted her jacket pocket. “He actually gave me an additional two bundles for this trip, but I thought that would be excessive.”

“He gave you thirty thousand dollars for a phone. Does he have any idea how much a phone costs?” Lydia demanded, halting in her tracks.

This was completely absurd. She could roll with them being creepy and strange, she was creepy and strange after all. Even the fact they were more otherworldly than her Neitherworld pals wasn’t particularly disconcerting. In fact, it was kind of endearing. What she couldn’t handle was Wednesday taking half of Lydia’s annual salary—more than that actually, since she also likely had a stack of fifties on her—for a simple trip to the mall. Lydia set the bag down and sank onto a nearby bench.

“Wednesday, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Flatterer,” Wednesday said, sitting down beside her.

“What world do you live in where thirty thousand dollars is petty cash? I know teachers traditionally aren’t paid a lot, but that’s a significant figure for anyone in my friend group. Or even my family and my dad is pretty well off. That’s a new car or a down payment on a house or several years of groceries!” She turned to Wednesday, who had her poker face intact. “That sort of money can make a significant difference for just about any charity in the area. Just off the top of my head I know with that amount we could add a photography class to the course curriculum.”

“Would that make you happy?”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make right now, Wednesday. It’s just… I have never felt more different from you than I do right now. Do you at least make charitable donations?”

“The Addams Family believes in generosity. My father donates regularly to various widows and orphans funds because he strongly believes there needs to be more of them in the world. We also believe in environmental conservation. We have bought and donated vast tracks of swampland to vetted conservation groups and make significant contributions regularly. Pugsley sits as a board member on several of these charities to ensure that our family values are upheld. His favorite is the alligator sanctuary.”

“And it’s not simply to avoid paying taxes?”

“You would have to talk to our accountant about that, but it is rare for my parents to refuse to donate to charitable causes. Money is of no object to them.“

“I’m definitely getting that sense.” Lydia cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for prying. Your family’s finances are none of my business. I’m just used to talking about eating the rich with people online.”

“I have no secrets from you and in the near future I hope it will be your business,” Wednesday said. She stared intently at Lydia before the corners of her lips curled upward. “As for eating the rich… let them try. It was not how the family fortune started, but my great great great grandfather Grisley Addams grew it by doing just that.”

Lydia wasn’t quite certain what to say in response. However, before she had to reply they heard screaming and a group of women rushed out of a nearby nail salon. Lydia turned around to get a better look at what was going on and saw Thing standing forlornly in the middle of the now empty shop.

“Poor Thing. He must have gotten bored while we talked,” Wednesday said. She rose and walked over to the salon to offer Thing a spot in her bag. He quickly climbed inside. She turned back to Lydia. “I need to take him home before someone hits him with a broom again. Do you still wish to spend this weekend with me or have I disgusted you so much that you no longer wish to associate with me?”

“I should think the answer is obvious,” Lydia said as she got to her feet. She grabbed the shopping bag and joined Wednesday. “I’ll happily come if you’re willing to swing by my apartment so I can pack.”

“Of course.”

“Cool,” Lydia said. She wrapped her free arm around Wednesday’s waist. “One more favor, Wednesday? No more ostentatious displays of wealth this weekend. It’s a lot to get used to.”

“Anything for you, ma petite araignée,” Wednesday promised.

Chapter Text

By the time they reached Wednesday’s apartment the night before Lydia had been too tired to take in her surroundings. She simply remembered being tucked into a bed before Wednesday said something cryptic about sleeping elsewhere and vanished. Now in the grey light of a rainy morning Lydia was ready to explore.

Minimalist wasn’t remotely how Lydia would describe Wednesday’s living space, but it was far less cluttered than her parents’ home. However, the elegance of it certainly equaled their possessions. At least, that was her sense as she slid out of a comfortably sized bed with silk sheets so black Lydia couldn’t visually locate the pillows. Without really thinking about it she pulled on a robe that seemed to be waiting for her and stepped out of the bedroom.

Lighting in the living room was muted enough Lydia couldn’t make out a lot of the details, but there was one starkly eye-catching luminescent tank across the way. She was drawn to its glow like prey to an anglerfish’s lure and soon found herself ready to press her hands and nose to the glass. In fact, the only thing that stopped her from doing so was a protruding red tentacle that faintly waggled in front of her face.

“Hello there, you must be Socrates,” Lydia said. She held out a finger and smiled when the octopus curled a tentacle around it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Being an octopus meant that Socrates didn’t verbally respond. Still, the cephalopod was incredibly intelligent and definitely seemed to be taking in what Lydia said. It seemed prudent to continue talking to him, especially as she had come over to bother him. Socrates would make it clear when he no longer wished for her company or else Wednesday would arrive.

“I hear you handle most of Wednesday’s correspondence, which is a big job,” Lydia continued. “So I hope you don’t mind that I convinced her to lessen your load a little. She has a cell phone now, which has a built in answering machine and therefore wouldn’t need you to transcribe, but I imagine she won’t give that number out to too many people. You’ll still take messages for her on the landline if you want. In fact, I would love to see your penmanship in action later, if you’re willing?”

Socrates let go of her finger, dropped back into the tank and blatted out enough ink to make the tank go momentarily black. When the ink dispersed enough to be visible again a few seconds later—the filtration system on the tank had to be miraculous considering how fast it cleared—Socrates was nowhere in sight. Lydia sighed. That was a pretty clear refusal. Perhaps Socrates would warm up to her in time, but she wouldn’t hold it against him if that didn’t happen; she couldn’t win them all.

Lydia looked out the window at the New York Cityscape spread before her. It reminded her of a lot of views from her childhood back when her mother was alive and her father was still an active real-estate tycoon. Back then everything was too tall or too tiny depending on whether she was looking up at the adults surrounding her or down out the full scale windows of the rooms where she was left to ‘play quietly’ as the adults talked. It was lonely more than anything else.

She shook her head to dispel the unhappy memories and went to find Wednesday. Her host likely had plans for the day and even if she didn’t, Lydia had a hard time focusing on anything that wasn’t the here and now when she was with an Addams. They were attention grabbing in the best of ways, Wednesday most of all, and Lydia didn’t want to think about her past. However, she was nowhere to be found, as there was no sign of her in the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, or the bedroom where Lydia had started her day. She soon found herself checking the hall closet and peering through the cabinets in case Wednesday was practicing her surveillance skills, as she was wont to do. That proved futile as well.

Eventually she opened an innocuous door half hidden behind an oil painting of some Addams ancestor. Lydia assumed it led to a utility closet or perhaps an en suite washer and dryer. Instead she found a second bedroom that had been turned into an office. The bag of Apple products from yesterday sat on a magnificent wooden desk beside a typewriter and a literal quill resting on an inkpot. On the other side of the desk she could see a stack of medical textbooks. This was clearly where Wednesday got her work done.

Lydia stepped inside to get a better feel for this half secret room. Unlike the sleek feel to the rest of Wednesday’s living quarters, this room felt like a direct transplant from the family manor. In fact she would go as far as to describe it as having a homier feel. Lydia suspected Wednesday spent the majority of her time in this room. Perhaps the bedroom was only for sleep and storage. When she turned around Lydia reassessed her last thought to only cover the latter, as she had found Wednesday lying atop a bed of nails.

She lay very still with her eyes shut and her arms folded across her chest. Lydia couldn’t tell if she was sleeping, mediating, or lying in wait before deciding it had to be a combination of all three. She wouldn’t expect anything less of Wednesday. This proved accurate as Wednesday’s eyes opened the moment Lydia took a step toward her.

“Comfortable?” Lydia asked.

“Perish the thought.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I like comfort, though too much can become suffocating.”

“Really?” Wednesday’s eyebrow had peaked along with her interest.

“I’ve known a lot of people in my time who spend their whole life seeking comfort and it often leads to an empty shell of an existence,” Lydia said, shrugging. “That’s exactly the sort of promise Assimilation offers.”

“That would explain certain aspects.”

“It’s definitely not the life for me, but I won’t knock it. Too many people out there like it, or at least have convinced themselves that they like it. It’s certainly avidly sought for and I can respect that it’s a definable goal, even if it’s one that has moving goalposts.”

Wednesday nodded, conceding the point before arising from her bed. She ushered Lydia out of the office and then directed her onto one of the barstools along the outside of the kitchen peninsula. Wednesday pulled out a frying pan, cutting board, and a large mixing bowl, which she set on the countertop. From the fridge she produced peppers, mushrooms, a block of cheese, and a massive egg that must have come from an ostrich.

“Will omelets suffice?” Wednesday asked.

“Sounds great,” Lydia beamed. She grabbed the cutting board and the peppers. “Can I have a knife?”

Wednesday opened a drawer revealing at least a dozen knives and silently gestured for Lydia to take her pick. It definitely felt like a test. She examined her options, unsure what judgment her choice would bring before deciding to simply grab a knife that looked like it would get the job done and had a comfortable grip. Wednesday made a small noise when she saw the chosen blade, but Lydia couldn’t tell if it was approval or derision. She decided to ignore her and slice the vegetables instead.

As she cut Wednesday cracked open the egg and dumped its contents into the bowl. Lydia paused her work to peer into it. She had never seen the contents of an ostrich egg before and was vaguely surprised to see a bright yellow yolk like an oversized chicken egg. The bowl was half filled with egg white and Wednesday poured the viscous goo into a pitcher, which she then placed into the fridge.

While Wednesday beat and seasoned the yolk Lydia finished cutting the vegetables. She tossed them into the egg, which was then poured into the prepped frying pan. Once the mass of egg and veg had turned a golden brown Wednesday folded it in half then sliced the omelet into four parts, plating two of them. The first was set before Lydia along with a knife and fork. Then she pulled out a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass.

“To life. To death. To family. Not necessarily in that order,” Wednesday toasted before taking a sip of her drink.

That was a little unexpected, as Lydia didn’t normally drink in the morning, but she also didn’t typically have ostrich omelet brunch. She cut a corner of the omelet with her fork and as she lifted it to her mouth she could feel Wednesday’s eyes boring into her. It was with enough intensity to make her pause.

“Did you poison this?” Lydia asked, exasperated.

“No, but you are welcome to season it to taste,” Wednesday replied, pointing toward an overhead cabinet. “I have powders and liquids with suggested dosing guidelines.”

“I think I’ll pass. You know it will change the composition of the meal, even if it’s something tasteless, and I’d like to try your cooking for the first time unaltered. Especially since I’ve never tried ostrich-anything.”

This time she popped the bit of omelet into her mouth. It was warm and didn’t taste that discernibly different from a lot of other eggs Lydia had had over the years. However, she could tell a lot of real butter had been used in the creation and she liked the fact the vegetable bits were still crisp enough to crunch a little between her teeth. It wasn’t the best thing she had ever eaten, but it was a pretty damn good omelet.

“Mmm,” Lydia moaned, briefly shutting her eyes. Perhaps she was hamming it up a little, but she wanted it to be clear that she enjoyed her cooking.

“You know, if you married me I could make you breakfast every morning.”

Lydia promptly choked on her ostrich egg.

After what felt like minutes, but was likely only seconds, she hacked up her mouthful onto the plate. She loudly coughed for at least a solid minute before she could breathe again, though it still felt like a tiny bit of egg had made it into her lungs. Taking a few slow breaths to ensue that she was once again in control of her respiratory system, Lydia then picked up her wine glass and had a hearty swig as she tried to process what had just happened. Wednesday watched all of this with great interest.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“As serious as Ebola,” Wednesday said, “or ricin.”

“We’ve been dating for less than three months,” Lydia said. She sighed then shut her eyes and pressed her fist against her forehead. At least she’d been dating Wednesday for a couple months as opposed to her last two proposals, which came after knowing the person for a handful of days. Seriously, what was wrong with dead guys?

“My parents were married within three months of meeting each other. They knew they were destined to be together from the moment they laid eyes on each other.” Wednesday reached across the counter and clasped Lydia’s free wrist. This caused her to open her eyes and Wednesday quickly established eye contact. “My father says that when an Addams has found the one they know it with every fiber of their being. Lydia, you’re it for me. I can feel it in my very marrow radiating out from every bone in my body.”

“That doesn’t sound very scientific.”

“Consider it poetic license.” Wednesday’s lips had curled slightly at the edges, which Lydia now recognized was her version of an amused smile. She was getting to know her. “You make me surprisingly fanciful, ma petite araignée.”

Lydia smiled. She wasn’t quite certain how she had developed that nickname, but she liked when Wednesday used it. However, getting to know someone wasn’t remotely enough for what she wanted. “My father insisted he felt the same way on the eve of every wedding he’s had. I’ve told you about Delia, right? She’s stepmom number three and there were countless girlfriends between her and my mom. I was expected to bond with every single one of these women because she ‘was the one’ and as soon as Dad split with them I was supposed to forget and never talk about them again. I doubt his relationship with Mom would have lasted much longer if she hadn’t gotten sick and died so rapidly when I was nine.”

“I don’t think I like your father very much.”

“He’s gotten better! Delia’s stuck around for over a decade and he’s no longer trying to be the best real estate mogul ever, so I think he’s content with his lot. My point is that I had six very rough years as a kid because he made the same sort of hair trigger gut based decisions in his personal life that he did in his professional one. The fallout from the former was far longer lasting than anything in the latter. Do you see why I’m refusing?”

“Did he ever date an Addams?”

“No. I would have remembered that.”

“Then the point is irrelevant. We fully commit to our decisions.”

“You seem awfully sure of that fact,” Lydia said. If anyone else had insisted they were right in such a smug tone after she had just relayed her personal experience she would have decked them. Instead she simply felt a fond exasperation for her. Maybe Wednesday was onto something. “Where do you get your confidence?”

“Uncle Fester married a woman who spent every day of their marriage trying to kill him. He loved her and felt her actions added just the right sort of spice to keep their relationship interesting. She would have grown into a fine Addams if she hadn’t died during an attempt to off my entire branch of the family. She’s buried in the family plot.”

“Which one was she?”

“Debbie Jellinsky Addams. Wife and psycho.”

“Huh,” Lydia said, processing the information. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are the person I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with, you’re certainly unlike any other woman I’ve ever met, Wednesday. But what’s the rush?”

Wednesday simply frowned.

Lydia gently placed her other hand on top of Wednesday’s hand. “You have to understand, Wednesday, I’m not rejecting you or this relationship, but I will not consider marriage at this time. It’s completely off the table.”

“When would you consider it?”

“I don’t know, after a year, bare minimum? I’m not remotely ready to get married. Seriously, why are you pushing this? It feels like you’ve got a more specific reason for wanting this now than simply wanting to be with me for the rest of your life.”

“I am due to start my residency this summer and it is unlikely to be nearby. I would rather you came with me than enter into a long distance relationship.”

“That’s more than six months away! I understand being prepared, but that’s double the length of time we’ve been acquainted, triple the time involved. I’m not sure if I’d want to be in a long distance relationship with you, but I know I’d have to be at least willing to do that before I’d agree to marriage!” Lydia felt slightly hysterical. This was not at all the way she had expected the morning to play out. “And for that matter, why would I have to marry you to come with?”

“We would be living together.”

“So? Oh no,” Lydia said, sitting up to focus her full attention on Wednesday. “Please tell me you’re not trying to rush me to the alter because you’re one of those people who think sex should only happen after marriage. You know those two concepts aren’t wedded in that order, right?”

“I am aware,” Wednesday replied stiffly.

“But you consider it immoral.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“Is that something you expect at this point in a relationship?”

“Kind of? I mean, I’ve definitely dated women for longer without sleeping with them, but I was also a lot younger and not necessarily ready for sex. Or there hasn’t been anywhere near the same level of attraction as I’ve felt here. I’ve been assuming that was mutual?”

“That would be correct.”

“I’ve also had a couple of one night stands along the way, some of which were fueled by alcohol,” Lydia said. She leaned on a fist. “This wasn’t the conversation I was expecting to have this morning nor would I have thought it necessary before getting into bed with you, but reasonably comprehensive disclosure would be expected while discussing marriage. You learn a lot about a person from their past choices. Do you still want to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Would you be open to sex before marriage?” Lydia asked, genuinely curious. “I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, I just want to get into your headspace.”

“I believe that sex should happen with someone special, someone to which you are committed. There is no one I am more committed to than you and as there is little risk of an unplanned pregnancy in our circumstance, I am open to the possibility.”

“And would you be open to investigating that specific avenue right now?” Lydia asked, more than ready to assist in that particular field of study.

“Perhaps later,” Wednesday said, quirking an eyebrow. “Eat your omelet. You’ll need your strength for your first fencing lesson.”

“Today? I thought you said we were visiting the Met.”

“Tonight. There’s some charity event this evening, the details of which are in the invitation. I shall show you it later, as fencing comes first.”

“Are we doing that here or at a gym?”

“Ideally, when I am done with you, you will be able to fence any time anywhere. Today I planned on practicing on the roof. There is more room.”

“Can we start with foil or whichever one has the head out of bounds?” Lydia asked. “I know your family doesn’t believe in protective equipment and I’d rather not lose an eye because let’s face it, I know I’m getting stabbed at least a few times today.”

“We can certainly start with foil, though the family prefers saber. It’s a little more active and fits our spirit better,” Wednesday explained. She sounded amused again. “I believe you will enjoy it as well once you have the basics mastered.”

“Great.”

She noticed Wednesday said nothing to the contrary about a lack of mask or the impending stabbings. Still, she was looking forward to the day and was sure it would contain a lot of fun and exciting experiences, especially if later ever came. Lydia had a feeling Wednesday would continue surpassing her expectations.

On that she was right.

Chapter Text

Lydia spent winter break in Connecticut and spring break in the Neitherworld, but every weekend in between was with Wednesday. Since spring arrived they had to spend more time apart, as their respective school years were nearing their end. That meant Lydia had dozens of final projects to access, which kept her busy nearly every waking moment of the day. She didn’t actually know what Wednesday had to do to finish her final year of med school, but it was a lot, whatever it was, and she was also busy prepping for her upcoming residency.

Amidst the end of the year chaos there was one evening where Lydia took a break from the grading. It was because she had a different work function to contend with, but this was one in which she was proud to participate. They hadn’t done this at Assimilation High before, but as a way for the school to bring in extra money they were holding a silent auction primarily composed of donated student art. Sure, there were some raffles of things like season football tickets and extra bathroom passes or school bucks for the student store, but the lion’s share of the items were art. Somehow the burden of procuring auction items had fallen on Lydia, which was extremely stressful for a new teacher. It felt like the success of this venture fell on her shoulders.

Lydia had spent weeks gathering the auction items and donated a few pieces of her own that she thought might sell well to the general public. A lot of the art had been on display just out of student reach for a while, but she spent the last couple hours before the auction preparing the more fragile works, ceramics, for the event. She wasn’t sure how this night would go—especially as she wasn’t remotely involved with marketing the event, refreshments, or any part of the bidding and payment process—but she could say with certainty that the art was great. If this charity auction failed it wouldn’t be because of her students.

She was proud of all of her students, even the ones who were unwilling or unable to donate to the silent auction, but the one she was proudest of was Pubert. He had made some baby steps exploring his technique near the end of fall semester, but then he signed up for a spring semester class and hit the ground running. Not only had he been interested in exploring a different medium, specifically painting, but he’d been willing to paint with more than shades of grey. In fact, he had surpassed Lydia’s expectations and painted something the school allowed her to display.

It had hung above a row of lockers by the orchestra room for the past month and now it was one of the auction pieces. Lydia planned to bid on the piece herself as she was exceptionally fond of the subject matter: two women seated under an umbrella having a picnic in a cemetery. Most of the painting was in Pubert’s usual black and white and grey style, but he had made the sky violently violet. Lydia swore he plucked that hue directly from her memories of storm chasing with Beetlejuice in the Neitherworld, despite the fact she knew he had never been there, and the picnicking women looked rather familiar as well.

In any case she wanted that painting. Lydia was happy to loiter near it when she wasn’t making her rounds, talking up the art on behalf of the auction, to see what her chances for winning it were or in the worst case, soaking up a few more moments with it before it went away forever. From the way most families were ignoring it—parents tended to purchase their own progeny’s productions or the publically appealing pieces—she thought she had a fair shot at winning it. She had no idea where she’d hang it in her apartment if she won, but that wouldn’t be a problem for long.

“Mother, Father, look!” Pubert shouted, excitedly tugging his father along until he came to an abrupt halt in front of his painting. Morticia followed at a more sedate pace. “That’s my piece!”

“Querida, we have raised an artist,” Gomez laughed as he wrapped an arm around his wife.

“Oh yes, Darling,” Morticia agreed. “That skyline is simply distressing. We must have it.”

“We must!”

With the sort of fervor he used for everything in life, Gomez leapt forward and messily scrawled a ten thousand dollar bid onto the sheet with a fountain pen. Once finished he returned the pen to his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar, which went between his teeth. A moment later he had lit it and was puffing away merrily.

“Mr. Addams, tobacco products are not allowed on school property,” Lydia said firmly. Despite the fact his bid had just blown far past her upper limit she was still happy to see him. The money was for a good cause. “It’s one of the firmer rules.”

“My apologies. I have no idea why they would outlaw them, but when in Rome,” Gomez sighed. He dropped the cigar, lit end first, back into his pocket. After a few seconds the smoke went out, thankfully before it set off the fire alarms or the sprinklers. “Still, it is so good to see you, Lydia!”

“Likewise,” Lydia agreed as she was immediately enveloped in a hug that briefly took her off her feet.

“I take it we can thank you for Pubert’s artistic development?” Morticia said.

“Yeah, Ms. Deetz is the best!” Pubert enthused. “She taught me how to paint and color theory and negative space! I can’t wait to have class with her again next year!”

“Oh, buddy, I’m sorry, but that’s not happening,” Lydia said.

“What? But I already signed up for art next year. I’m taking it second period,” Pubert insisted.

“I’m sure you are, but I’m not going to be here next year. My contract was only for one year,” Lydia explained. Pubert’s expression fell into a gloomy frown that, due to his mustache, looked clownish enough Lydia wanted to laugh, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to further hurt his feelings.

“All new teachers only receive an initial one year term to determine if they’re the right fit for our program. It’s to separate the wheat from the chaff,” Becky explained with sugary sweet insincerity as she sidled up to join the conversation. “I guess Miss Deetz didn’t cut it, which is of course a shame. We’ll certainly miss having a spooky artist in residence.”

“This is an outrage!” Gomez announced. “Who do I have to call to fix this great injustice?”

“Actually Mrs. Martin-Granger, I was offered an extended contract and the opportunity to develop a photography course for Assimilation High after a sizable donation was made by a private donor to the art department specifically for that use,” Lydia said. She smirked at the look of surprise on Becky’s flummoxed face.

“Why wouldn’t you take such an offer?” Becky demanded.

“Don’t you like us?” Pubert asked.

“Of course I like you. Pubert, you’re one of my favorite students and it does physically pain me to turn down the chance to develop this school’s photography program,” Lydia said. She stuck her hands in her pockets because she had the sudden strong urge to ruffle his hair and she couldn’t do that here. Movement behind him caught her eye and she smiled when she realized who had arrived. “However, and I know this sounds incredibly trite, but I got a much better offer that I couldn’t refuse.”

“What would that be?” Morticia asked.

“She’s coming with me to Seattle,” Wednesday said.

“You’re getting married?” Pubert asked, rapidly looking back and forth between Lydia and Wednesday. Gomez cackled and shook his daughter’s hand before pressing his cigar into it. She simply pocketed the cigar.

“No, absolutely not,” Lydia said. She held up her hands like that could stop the Addamses from getting ideas. She knew it wouldn’t, but she was not about to be forced down the aisle before she was ready.

“Not yet,” Wednesday agreed, “but eventually.”

“We’re going to be living together. Wednesday has an apartment lined up suitable to both our tastes that isn’t too far away from her residency,” Lydia said. “I’m planning to spend the summer getting my certifications to teach in Washington State along with the more specific ones to the local district. I expect I’ll spend the next school year as a substitute, but I hope to land a more permanent position the year after. Even if I don’t, money really isn’t an issue.”

“Well I never,” Becky said.

“Is this the piece you told me about?” Wednesday asked, nodding at Pubert’s work of art. She completely ignored Becky Martin-Granger’s spluttering and Pubert shouting that he had painted it.

“Yeah, but it’s already out of my price range,” Lydia laughed ruefully.

“Money is of no concern, Lydia,” Wednesday said as she linked their hands. With her free hand she scribbled a twelve thousand dollar bid to surpass Gomez’s earlier one. “If you want it then it’s my job to get it.”

“Good show, old sport, but you’ll have to do better than that to best me,” Gomez laughed as he threw down a fifteen thousand dollar bid.

Lydia groaned and covered her eyes as Wednesday went to update her bid. She didn’t want to see what the final outcome would be because she already knew it would be something jaw-droppingly extravagant. They had already thrown at least a magnitude more of money at Pubert’s painting than any other item in the auction would garner. At least she had learned a valuable lesson: never compete with an Addams.

“Ms. Deetz, why aren’t you socializing?” Principal Macnamara asked. “You’re the one who knows these paintings best, I expect you to tell the parents about them so that it will get them to bid more.”

“I think my presence is doing the best good for the school if I stay right here,” Lydia said. She gestured toward the Addamses. “Wednesday is trying to win this painting for me by outbidding her father.”

“Hmm?” Principal Macnamara leaned in to look at the bidding sheet and his jaw slackened. “They-they do know they’re bidding in dollars, right? US dollars.”

“Yes, why do you want gold instead? Or jewels?” Gomez asked, pulling several unopened bundles of cash from his suit jacket and then a string of pearls. “This is an auction. We came prepared!”

“Carry on, Ms. Deetz, you’re doing just fine,” Principal Macnamara said, running a handkerchief over his forehead as he walked toward another group of parents.

The bidding intensified until Morticia had enough. She pulled Gomez away from the auction sheet and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Mon Cher, let Wednesday win. She’s trying to impress her lady love and this is the first positive interest she’s shown in anything Pubert’s ever done.”

“Tish, that’s French!” Gomez announced and away he went kissing Morticia’s arm.

“You really like it that much?” Pubert asked.

“Yeah we do,” Lydia grinned. She thought it would look splendid in their future dining room. She couldn’t believe she was about to move into an apartment with a dining room.

“How could we not? You captured our first date on canvas,” Wednesday said. She gently nudged her little brother. “Your espionage has improved. I did not even notice your presence. Or perhaps I was too distracted by my company.”

“I was up in the copula,” Pubert said shyly. “I had a bird’s eye view and you were both pretty tiny.”

“Such a vantage would not produce this painting.

“Ms. Deetz taught us about perspective. My favorite assignment was taking a photo and trying to recreate it from a different viewpoint. I like it because it uses the imagination, but it’s still real. That’s what I did here.”

“Pubert, I had no idea you put that much thought into this piece. I’m so proud of you,” Lydia beamed. He had already earned an A, but in that moment she wished she could give him a better grade or put some of that good karma toward his other classes. She turned her attention toward Wednesday. “Hey, since your father seems to have turned his attention elsewhere, shall we look at the rest of the auction? I’d like to show off my students’ work.”

“What if someone else outbids me?” Wednesday asked.

“I doubt that will happen, but we can swing back here for the final ten minutes of bidding. Deal?”

“Whatever you wish, ma petite araignée.”

They visited all the auction pieces arm-in-arm. Lydia told Wednesday every positive thing she could remember about each piece and pointed out the parts where her students had struggled in their work before eventually succeeding. Wednesday wasn’t the only avid listener as Lydia was pretty certain a number of people placed bids after hearing her speak. So she was doing what Principal Macnamara had wanted in the first place, just at her own pace.

After they looked at all the art—Wednesday bid on nothing else—they headed for the refreshments table. Lydia was thirsty after talking so long and went straight for the coffee before grabbing a lemon bar. Wednesday floated behind her, eventually acquiring a cup of something dark red. They joined a couple of other teachers, ones Lydia didn’t exactly get on with, but had always been pleasant enough to her. They were far better company than mingling parents.

“Do you want me to top off your coffer?” Susan Firkins, a history teacher, offered as she pulled a flask out of her purse.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Lydia declined. “Wednesday, these are some of my nicer coworkers, Susan Firkins and—”

“Ms. Gravely,” Wednesday said, staring at the older science teacher beside them.

“I’m sorry dear, did I teach you at some point?” Ms. Gravely asked.

“Ribbit,” Wednesday said. Ms. Gravely visibly paled and she shook half her drink onto the floor. “Did you know I’m a doctor now, Ms. Gravely? Or rather that I will be when I graduate in two weeks.”

“That’s simply horrifying.”

“Thank you.”

“I swore I’d never teach another Addams after you and your brother.”

“Are you sure? My little brother is a sophomore and I’ve told him all about you. I know he’d love to take biology with you.”

Ms. Gravely made a pained yipping noise and dragged Susan away. Lydia frowned as she turned to Wednesday. “What did you do that for? They’re some of the nicest teachers I know here and what was with the ribbiting?”

“I like Ms. Gravely. She reminded me of the importance of science and set me on my current path. As she didn’t remember me I simply reminded her of our first day together,” Wednesday explained.

“By croaking?”

“I brought all the frogs in the classroom back to life, which is what I had presumed was the assignment. Oddly that left an impression.”

“I’ll say,” Lydia laughed. She made a mental note to send Ms. Gravely a gift basket as an apology then ran a thumb over Wednesday’s cheek. “Oh Wednesday, what am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me.”

She’d probably do just that in the future, but she wasn’t about to let Wednesday know. Instead she laughed and lightly kissed Wednesday before going to mingle again. As promised they spent the last minutes of the auction by Pubert’s painting to ensure Wednesday’s bid wasn’t sniped at the final moment. No one had bid on it since her last volley with her father. In the end she won without having to further drive up the price and the school earned a cool eighty grand on Pubert’s piece alone.

“I can’t believe you spent well over my annual salary on one painting. By your brother! There are actual famous paintings by established artists that go for less than that!” Lydia insisted as Wednesday carried her prize to the car. After carefully stowing painting Wednesday turned to Lydia, caught both of her hands, and firmly kissed her. Once Lydia was good and breathless Wednesday pulled away.

“You’re worth it. End of discussion,” Wednesday said.

“But Wednesday.”

“Father would have spent far more bidding against himself if Mother had let him. I am aware I didn’t win this fair and square, but I did get you the painting you wanted. I simply want you to be happy.”

“I couldn’t be happier even if Becky Martin-Granger was run over by a bus,” Lydia said, wrapping her arms around Wednesday before holding up a warning finger. “Do not run over Becky Martin-Granger. Even if she deserves it. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good.” Lydia nuzzled Wednesday’s neck. “Come back to my place tonight? You don’t have to be anywhere until well after I leave for work tomorrow.”

Wednesday murmured in agreement. However, she stopped Lydia from getting into the car. Lydia was confused as she watched her open the door and climb halfway into the passenger seat. When she emerged she was holding a small black box. Lydia relaxed and smiled as Wednesday offered it to her. Despite being a small box, it was far too large to be a ring box and she wasn’t worried about any other gift. She opened it revealing a light blue egg covered with brown specks.

“What is this?” Lydia asked. “I mean, I know it’s an egg, but for what? Why are you giving me this?”

“It’s a raven egg. I know your apartment doesn’t allow pets, but it should hatch in approximately three weeks, just as you’re moving out. You love ravens and this one will think you’re its mother.”

“You want us to raise a raven. They live for decades, Wednesday!”

“They’re also brilliant, playful, and caring. I’ll be busy with work a lot over the next several years and I don’t want you to be lonely. Hence the raven.”

“Nevermore.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, you think you can give me a raven and not expect me to name it something pretentious and obvious?” Lydia laughed. She closed the warming box and hugged it to her chest. “I’m naming our raven Nevermore.”

Wednesday’s lips curled in amusement. She pulled Lydia in for another kiss, which was gladly returned before they got into the car. Lydia had never been more happy or excited for the adventure she was about to embark on with Wednesday. She couldn’t wait for the school year to end so that she could move in with Wednesday on the other side of the country. It was a drastic change, but Lydia had weathered far greater ones without someone at her side. She had never guessed that a parent-teacher conference would develop into a full-blown relationship, but she was glad it had. Her future held limitless opportunities, but the part Lydia was most excited about was that Wednesday was in every one.