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Chapter Text

Even over the sound of my typewriter I can hear Enid returning to our room long before she reaches the door. This was often true, in fact, given the rambunctious nature of the werewolf. Unlike usual the surprisingly mostly on tune pop song lyrics are replaced with various profanities and appeals to violence. Oh, some of those were quite. . . inventive. It seems I'm rubbing off on my "roomie."

The door rattles several times, Enid is having difficulties opening it. I wait the length of several more vulgarities before acknowledging that she isn't going to get it by herself anytime soon. As I open the door I take in Enid's appearance: her beret is askew, tears and mascara run down her blotchy cheeks. It was quite the clash with the stylish, even I could admit that, outfit she had so painstakingly crafted for her first date with the gorgon. Her claws extend from trembling hands, explaining the earlier issues with the door. The paint on her nails is chipped and jagged. She'd slashed them against something tonight. I hope it was bone, preferably Ajax's, but I doubt it. Not only is Enid too soft for such vengeance, but if she had taken her frustrations out upon the barely sapient boy she wouldn't be anywhere near as upset. 

I return to my typewriter but sit at a slight angle so my eyes can still occasionally flit over to the distressed blonde. Letting the click clack of the keys fill the room my mind returns to Viper's investigation. She's recently hit a snag as the murder she's investigating suffers from attempts at a cover-up. As I write I begin counting. One. Two. Three. Enid throws her hat against the wall and starts pacing the length of her side of our room. She hadn't deigned to close our door, but Thing scuttles over to it and pushes it closed. Our neighbors will enjoy a respite from the storm that is Enid Sinclair, even if I can't. Twenty. Twenty-one. Enid's coat joins the hat against the wall, and Thing now moves over to them, dragging them to a more appropriate place for discarded clothing. I personally would choose a fire, to rid the world of those garish eyesores, but Thing is much kinder than I and so brings them to Enid's hamper. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven. 

Around sixty-five I hear Enid sigh dramatically. It’s time for me to intervene. I turn my head towards her slightly and Thing gives me a brief thumbs up before climbing Enid's bed to sit next to her, patting her hand gently. Enid flashes him a small smile. 

"What did he do?" It was more statement than question. I know I will hear every detail regardless, but after our balcony heart-to-lack-thereof and some advice from Thing I've decided to attempt more actual conversations with my roommate and fewer arguments. Given that it made Enid more likely to assist me with my investigations by providing intel or distraction as needed and I've already burned through the goodwill earned by our Poe Cup victory, it was worth the investment. I turn back to my work and finish the current page before loading a fresh sheet.

"He stood me up!" Enid snarled. She was back to pacing, and the slight swish in the air informs me she still hadn't retracted her claws. Or perhaps they re-extended with her renewed pacing. "After the moment we had in that creepy AF antique shop with creepy AF squirrel-mushroom-tea lady and him FINALLY asking me out he didn’t show up and couldn’t even text me he wasn’t coming!"

Well, my interest is certainly now piqued about Uriah's Heap. If only my investigation had led me there instead of that whitewashed excuse for an amusement park. I doubt the proprietor there would allow Etsy to leave her blank book in place of Goody Addams’ grimoire. 

"And to be sure, he knew both the time and the location of your rendezvous? Your previous remarks haven't painted the best picture of his mental acumen. It's entirely possible he's in a janitor's closet right now very confused on why you're late." Click click click clack, my typewriter continued as we spoke. I am an Addams, it's nothing for me to spare a modicum of thought for Enid's plight while simultaneously maneuvering Viper around a small town detective and a crooked politician with delusions of grandeur. 

Another huff from Enid. "Yes, I told him five times and even texted it to him before heading out. Should have known when I didn't get an answer." The pacing stopped again, and I heard a quiet sob. "I just, I just thought something was finally going to go right, you know? I thought even if I can't wolf out, Ajax is a gorgon anyway so he wouldn't care and even if I get kicked out of the pack at least I won't be lonely, right? But I had to spell everything out for him and even that didn't work, and Bianca saw me coming back from the greenhouse and after the Poe Cup upset we pulled you know she's going to dig and find out what happened and she's being mean enough as it is. . ." Enid continued, wallowing in misery. I don't cut her off. I'd wallowed a time or two myself and didn't want to deprive her of the sensation. It's just too hard to get a good downward spiral going to ruin such a perfect one. I continue my writing as I listen to her rant. Click clack clack, another sheet done. Two more sheets join the stack before I turn toward Enid, giving her my full attention. This is interesting enough to end my hour's writing a few minutes early. 

"And then the topper on this absolutely wonderful evening," Enid gives a pathetic and forced laugh as she kicks a fallen unicorn back into her pile of stuffed animals, "I can't even open the damn door by myself because these stupid claws WILL! NOT! RETRACT!" The last few words are barked as she slashes her claws against the stone wall by our door. The scraping sound sends a delightful chill up my spine, and as my eyes trail the slight gashes left in the wake of her fury my mind turns briefly to how it'd feel for those claws to rend my flesh. Would I even feel it, sharp as they are? Enid's certainly living up to her statement that she's not afraid to use them. Perhaps I could convince her to use them on me. Just once, as a test. 

I sense it's my turn now in this back and forth. "Ultimately, he did you a favor. Your infatuation is based on nothing but appearance and a fear of solitude. On top of that, from your own admission the two of you have rarely conversed for any real length alone before Outreach Day. Obviously your interest in him lacks a solid foundation and he does not provide much to build on." A well reasoned argument. Surely with that she'll realize how ridiculous she's being?

Her laugh this time is at least slightly genuine. "You still suck at comforting people, Wednesday. Half of that was definitely insulting me." She sighs and falls back into the pile of stuffed animals as Thing climbs up the various toys and starts massaging her neck. "You should really learn from Thing, he knows how to make someone feel better. Thank you, Thing!"

Somehow the hand preens. While still giving the massage. How he does it is a mystery for the ages. 

"Enid. We both know my talents lie outside the realm of comfort. I'm not trying to offend you, I am stating a fact. Ideally you realize I'm right and move on. You can find someone better suited for you." I try to moderate the bite in my voice. Contrary to our first night she's not the worst option of roommates, and I want to maintain our mutual civility. Still, an Addams cannot change her bruises so I can tell my attempt at moderation was less successful than I'd hoped. 

Enid sighs again, lightly brushing Thing off her neck before standing once more, "Okay, I get this is your attempt at caring and I really appreciate it. I do! But I'm at the emotions stage right now, I'm not ready for solutions and honestly even if I decide 'just get over him' is the solution. . . that comes later. Right now I just want to feel better." By this point Enid's managed to retract her claws and she pulls her phone from her previously discarded coat and begins some kind of kpop music. Mercifully she turns it down from the usual level of noise into something more tolerable. "I know you don't like my music, Wednesday, but tonight I need it so you’re gonna have to deal."

I nod to show my acquiescence and the volume is raised slightly as Enid gives me a small, grateful smile at the lack of fight. "You know," I begin, "revenge always lifts my mood. You could get back at him." I state it as matter of factly as I can, even as part of me is excited at the possibility I might convince her to do something more in line with my own wheelhouse. 

Somehow she reads me. 

"I may be heartbroken right now, but I'm not going to let you talk me into killing him so don't even try." Enid kicks off her boots and ends up tripping over them on her way to her bed, landing face first. She's stock still for just a moment before flipping onto her back and pulling her blanket over most of her body. "I'm just going to ignore him like he ignored me. When he realizes he effed up he'll have to come to me and apologize before I even consider kissing him!"

She sounds oddly proud of that declaration. "You say that now, but I'm guessing you'll break before the night's over." I wanted to tell her that it's a problem that kissing him is even still on the table, but I know I wouldn't get through to her with that, so I decided to maybe push her indirectly. Something she said just now is also tickling my memory. I start going over the day's conversations to see if I can remember why exactly a bell is ringing. 

"Bet, Addams. Not only am I refusing to be a doormat for him, I'm even deleting his contact info so he'll have to explain who he is when he begs forgiveness!" Enid smugly taps at her phone. What does it say about the both of them that she doesn’t expect him to apologize in person? "And done! I'm not leaving our room the rest of the night, and I'm not gonna answer the door for anyone less than Ms. Thornhill." 

I don't answer her. I just remembered what I need to do. I quickly lace up my boots and grab my jacket. Thing moves to come with me but I shake my head at him. His place tonight is with Enid. She was right, he is much better at comforting people than I am, and she could use it tonight. Enid looks up at my sudden burst of activity. 

"Wait, Wednesday where are you going? It's almost lights out and Weems will flip if you're caught after what you did earlier." There’s real concern in her voice. For whatever reason she’s fond of me. I don’t understand it, and I don’t think I ever will, but it’s one more reason I need to do this.

I stop briefly at the window and look at her, "I won't be caught, and I'm going to fulfill my promise." I close the window behind me and sneak out towards the dorm I know houses the offending gorgon. I have business with him. After all, an Addams always keeps their word and I remember now what I said to Enid before she left for her ill-fated date. 

"If he breaks your heart, I'll nail gun his."

Chapter Text

As Grandmama liked to tell me, the first step of any successful kidnapping is reconnaissance. Usually this part would be performed by Thing, his nature and practiced skill making him best suited for stealth. Without him, I have to do this part myself. I know a little bit of the layout from sneaking into Xavier's room, but I don't know which of the many rooms belongs to the victim. I could just sneak in and try them one by one, but Nevermore is fond of big, open windows so instead I find a vantage point and pull out my spyglass. 

I scan each window in turn, looking for my prey. If there is one small mercy in the border school system, it's the separation of accommodations between genders. Contrary to popular belief, there are some horrors even I cannot bring myself to be fascinated by and the living quarters of teenage boys are one of them. It takes twelve windows before I identify the target, and eleven of those twelve showed such sights that I may have to actually discuss them with Dr. Kinbott. The contemplation of mental trauma, mine at least, will have to wait though. Like many of the school's stoners, the victim has his own room to prevent unfortunate accidents. This will make things easier. With the location identified, I scan the surroundings for angles of approach, noting a tree close enough to the dorm that I can climb it and move onto a ledge with access to the victim's window. Step one is complete. 

The second step of a successful kidnapping is preparation. A pole, tape, and a small mirror are the most important of the tools I'll need. Due to the nature of the victim rope will not be required during the extraction. On the one hand, this makes things easier as rope is bulky and I'll need my full range of maneuverability. On the other, there’s a certain joy in feeling your victim struggle as you drag them away, ripping apart the illusion of safety their room provided. Alas, my time is limited and so fun must be sacrificed for efficiency. Uncle Fester would be disappointed, but then again he prefers to get caught so isn’t always the best person to emulate. It'll still be needed for the torture proper, so at least during the actual act I'll still be able to enjoy his discomfort as his hands and feet lose circulation, slowly turning a lovely shade of blue as blood deprivation first numbs and later begins to kill the extremeties. 

The mirror I swipe from Bianca Barclay, a small hand mirror that's easily portable and more than large enough for my needs. The siren is once again visiting Xavier in the hopes of rekindling the cold, dead ashes of their romance and her roommate is sound asleep. There were easier options, but any chance to needle the Queen Bee is one I don’t aim to pass up. The tape is procured from the art room along with a few other supplies, and for the pole I use one of the oars from the Black Cat. The last thing to prepare is a suitable location. While I've been told Crackstone's Crypt is a common place for clandestine meetings of hormone addled teenagers during the weekend, a quick visit reveals the same doesn't hold true midweek. It will be a sufficient location, far enough away that the chances of the victim's screams being heard is low but not so far as to make transportation needlessly cumbersome. Step two is complete. 

The third step is execution. Not literal execution, that's step five, but the actual kidnapping. I start by preparing my main tool, securing the mirror to the flat of the oar's paddle with a generous amount of tape. Next, I once again use my spyglass to make sure the target is preoccupied. He's currently playing some sort of game on the television in his room and despite being alone his head is covered. Perfect. Next I climb the tree and carefully leap onto the ledge around the midpoint between the victim's room and the next, making sure I don't knock the mirror against the stone as I do. The distance allows me to land and brace myself without potentially alerting the victim, I'm not sure how loud his activity is and I don't have the time to risk discovery. The ledge is just wide enough for me to stand on while having the room to work, so I steadily make my way over to the victim's window and do another quick check, angling the mirror's reflection so I don't have to risk leaning. The victim is still preoccupied and so I move onto the next step. Placing the oar on the ledge I angle the paddle under the window, making sure the mirror is facing up and securing it with my foot. I then use another bit of tape to secure a piece of paper to the window, having written the simple message "Look down." I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, then knock on the window. 

Against anyone else I wouldn't try something so cartoonish. Against anyone else this would fail miserably. The victim isn't anyone else, though, he’s the “cute, but clueless” object of my roommate’s infatuation, and everything I've heard from Enid and witnessed myself  indicates his intelligence is particularly low, even accounting for his herbal hobby. I'll be more surprised if this doesn't succeed. 

A few seconds pass, the window opens, and suddenly his head is sticking out the window with his gaze pointed downward. Without a moment's hesitation I reach out, grab his beanie, close my eyes, and pull. There’s a short cry of "Not ag--" before silence again falls around me. I keep my eyes closed for a few heartbeats, and when I don't hear anything else from the gorgon I open them and chance the look. His petrified head hangs out from the window, hands braced on the sill. Everything went exactly as I expected. 

With the stoner living up to the epithet, my next task is to move him to Crackstone's Crypt. It's easier than one may think. First, the hour means that few are about outside of the various school buildings and second, the victim doesn't actually weigh much more petrified than he would normally and I'm used to carting bodies suffering from rigor mortis. Along the way I take a length of rope from the pier so I can secure him once the petrification expires. Once inside I pull his hat back over the stone of his head, making sure to cover his eyes as well as the serpents that serve as hair. Next I take the rope and wrap a portion around his legs. I don't use a particularly secure knot for this, it's only a temporary measure given the spacing his legs currently have. The goal is not yet to render him immobile, merely trip him as he regains motion so I can subdue him with more effective knotwork. Based on prior research, I still have a bit of time before he returns to flesh and so I leave him in the crypt while I move onto step four. 

Now that the victim is secure, the next step is torture. Like any good torture, things actually start long before the victim knows they're about to undergo pain indescribable. The crypt will provide a suitable ambiance once I allow him his vision again and I’m an expert in a variety of ways to inflict pain, but there are ways to improve things further. Using a knife I keep concealed in my left boot I hunt down a few small animals living among the surrounding forest. The majority of the meat will be left for the local scavengers, my gift for disturbing their nightly motions, but the blood and a good bit of the entrails will be coming with me back to the crypt. My spoils in hand, I get as far as pushing open the door when there's noise behind me. 

I stop dead and think things through. There's a chance this is just one of the animals in the area, drawn by the smell of my kills. There's a chance it's the monster, in which case I could be its next victim. It could be a teacher, or even the other Nightshades, finding one of their own missing and guessing what had happened. Based on the speed of approach, a person or animal is most likely. The noise continues growing louder, so I make my way just inside the crypt, concealed in the dark and ready to slam the door if it's a beast or hide if it's a human. 

After a few tense heartbeats I hear a voice call out softly. 

"Wednesday?"

I must amend a previous statement. Step five is now "get caught by Enid."

I slowly step out of the crypt and walk towards my roommate. Enid's changed out of her date night outfit, instead in a thicker set of sweat pants and one of her many fuzzy sweaters. Thing is perched on her shoulder. 

"Howdy, roomie," I say as I walk up to them both. The echo is only half deliberate. Despite my best efforts some of her verbal mannerisms have invaded my own. Even with all of my attempts at self isolation, I'm still human and humans are social creatures prone to mimicry of those around them. Especially those they live with.

"OH MY GOD! Wednesday you're covered in blood are you alright? Tell me that’s not–" Her frantic worries stop abruptly. Her eyes slowly trail down from my blood covered face to the pile of viscera still in my arms then roll up into her head and she promptly collapses. . . into a thorn bush. Thing manages to avoid being crushed and walks over to me. We look at each other. I can feel his judgment. 

"Help me further secure the gorgon, then I'll carry her back to our room," I sigh as I move to place the spoils of my kills in the crypt proper. With Thing's help I move the statue against one of the walls, remove the beanie, and secure the mirror-pole at eye height with some rubble so the gorgon will re-petrify himself immediately upon waking. Victim once more secure I return to the unconscious Enid and, with her in a facsimile of a bridal carry, I return to Ophelia Hall. 

I make it a third of the way through the building when Enid's friend Yoko happens upon us, the hour such that she's removed her near ever present sunglasses. She takes in the sight of me, covered in blood, carrying the limp form of Enid Sinclair and her eyes go wide. 

My own eyes roll in response. "She's fine. I was out hunting and she tagged along. Turns out she doesn’t have the stomach for it," I quickly improvised the partial lie, it wouldn't do for Yoko to get others involved thinking I'd killed my roommate. Despite contemplating it numerous times since arriving at Nevermore I knew better than to actually do it. It'd be too easy to trace back to me, which would reflect poorly on my workmanship. I can tell the vampire doesn't entirely believe me, but we've paused long enough she can identify the movement of Enid's breathing and possibly smell that the blood on me belongs to normal animals and not a werewolf. 

She lets out a held breath and slumps onto the wall, "Whatever, it's too late for this. She's alive, so promise me you won’t make a habit of this and you won’t just dump her on the floor in  your room."

I nod my affirmation and resume the trek back to the room, Yoko muttering about deranged nutjobs hunting in the middle of a school night. She doesn't know I can hear her, but I take the compliment in stride. Once we're back in our room I set Enid down gently on her bed and instruct Thing to get the smelling salts while I wash off the blood. It wouldn't do for her to pass out again immediately.

I return to find Enid conscious once more, Thing playing the masseuse addressing the various aches that no doubt come from her earlier fall. Enid winces as she turns her head to look at me, her discomfort sending a pang of pity through me. Her night really has been unenviable. 

"Please, please tell me you didn't actually kill Ajax!" Her eyes are wide with concern, and once more watering with tears. 

I contemplate toying with her, asking what she'd do if I had. Any other time I would, but right now she looks more pathetic than Pugsley after five rounds in the electric chair. That annoying sensation I get when looking at my brother or Euguene bubbles to the surface, urging me to reassure her. The truth it is. I gesture for her to sit up, and once she does I begin checking over her injuries, checking range of motion and cataloging scratches from rock and bramble. Thing leaves Enid to me while he drags over my first aid kit.

"I haven't hurt him. . . yet. The viscera was from the local animals, I was planning on using it to decorate the crypt while I worked. I don't actually have a nail gun though, so you'll need to settle for stabbing," I say while I continue looking her over. There's the occasional whimper as I start disinfecting wounds and bandaging them. You'd think a werewolf would have better pain resistance. 

"I don't want you stabbing or nail gunning or anything, Wednesday!" she exclaimed, "when you said that I thought you were just joking in your own morbid way and then Thing told me after you left you were serious. We went out looking for you to stop you. Wednesday, you can't do this. He's a jerk, yeah, but he doesn't need to die and you don't need to get expelled. I actually like having you around, you know! Even if I'm still half expecting to wake up with you smothering me." 

That's not something I hear often, that someone enjoys having me around. I stop my ministrations and look at her properly. 

"Enid, I never intended to kill him," I admit, "only scare him. . . maybe scar him.” She relaxes in relief and I go back to treating her wounds. “Not only does he need to be punished for your distress, but I need to teach him and his friends about proper kidnapping etiquette so I figured I could do both in the same strike." By this point the various cuts and scrapes from her journey to the crypt are cared for, so I carry the first aid kit back to where I'd stored it before. 

"Why would you need to teach the stoners how to properly kidnap someone?" Enid asks. It's obvious from her question she’s unaware of the Nightshades and her crush’s affiliation with them.

"That doesn't matter," I rebut, "the important thing now is addressing the gorgon petrified in Crackstone's Crypt." I make my way over to the door, but Enid calls out to me again.

"Wednesday, just let him go. Please? For me?"

"I still have a message to deliver, and don't you want him to suffer a little for standing you up?" I hold her gaze, the contact a battle of wills. She blinks. 

"Just. . . just don't actually hurt him, okay? He's a jerk but that's the extent of it, so just scare him a bit and let him go." Enid's staring at the floor as she says this, Thing squeezing her hand in reassurance. She looks like a kicked puppy. She'll be even more distraught if I harm him, and Thing will definitely inform my parents. . . I have no choice but to accept.

I give a huff in frustration, "Fine. Only mental scars and I'll let him go in one piece." I leave the room before she can wrangle any more sympathy from me.

Back at the crypt, the slight change in the statue's position tells me the vic– that Ajax re-stoned himself at some point while I was gone. The pile of organs is where I left it, so I begin placing them around him. Enid's words echo through my head as I work. I originally intended to trick the gorgon into thinking I gutted him, but my heart isn't in it anymore. My time at Nevermore is making me weak. No doubt this is exactly what Mother intended.

Once I’m done decorating I reposition him again so once he regains flesh I’ll be able to knock him into the offal and bind him while he’s distracted by it. I wait behind him with the rope in one hand, bracing against his back with the other and my right leg poised to kick. The stone eventually grows warm as the petrification wears off and as he shudders to life I kick in one of his knees so he immediately goes down into the bulk of the entrails. He shouts at the sudden pain and in his disorientation it's easy to pull his arms back and quickly tie them. I do the same for his legs, leaving him on his stomach like the snakes he calls hair. 

"What the fuck! Oh god what is this shit!" he calls out, realizing that he didn’t fall into normal ground. He continues crying out various vulgarities as I step back to admire my work. I let him thrash for a bit, trying desperately to get away from the gore surrounding him, before leaning back down and grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, pushing his face down close to the intestines. He gags but doesn’t vomit. 

"Good evening, Ajax. I hope you're ready to see how a real kidnapping works." I whisper it into his ear and can feel the shudder up his spine. His breathing quickens and he tenses up. He fears me. He should. 

"Tu-tuesday, I wasn't the one who did it, I swear! It was all Kent and Bianca!" he whines. I flip him over so he can see my glare. He's almost as pale as I am. 

"First, my name is Wednesday," I begin, "Get it right. Second, it doesn't matter which of you did it. You're all complicit. I could have taken one of the others, but tonight you saved me the difficulty in choosing. The stunt you pulled tonight volunteered you." I let the silence sit, giving him time to realize his mistake and beg forgiveness, but the wait is in vain.

"What do you mean volunteered? I didn't do anything! I don’t know what you’re talking about!" he exclaims. By now he's definitely noticed where we are, how far away help is, and his thrashing intensifies. His eyes are bulging out in panic, I wish I could scoop one out and make him look at himself. 

"Enid Sinclair. You had a date with her tonight. You stood her up."

He clenches his eyes shut tightly and lets out a hiss. "Fuck, right,  Enid. You’re roomies. I didn't mean to, I promise."

I scoff at him. "But you did. I was supposed to have a quiet evening, but instead she came back crying. No excuse you have can justify–" I say, but he cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.

"I stoned myself, okay! I was showering but the towel fell off the mirror so I got caught when I stepped out. One of the guys found me and covered it back up, but then when it finally came undone it was way past when we were supposed to meet and she wasn’t there anymore and I was so embarrassed I decided to just tell her tomorrow." His eyes are pleading, begging for me to understand. 

He stoned himself. Good lord, the boy is actually less dense as a rock. Sixteen years on this planet and he can't even properly take a shower in safety. He did Enid a favor by not showing up. 

"You get that that's worse, right?" I ask sardonically. "Cruelty I could respect, but such an utter display of incompetence? You're right to be embarrassed." I walk around him slowly as I speak. He cranes his neck trying to keep track of me, so I linger in his blind spots. "Don't worry, you won't have to worry about that for long."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, his voice shaking with fear. He's stopped struggling at this point, and is no longer trying to keep me in sight. He realizes he's at my mercy. 

"Don't you remember, Ajax, our first exchange? You were telling Enid that I was a cannibal and I corrected you that I don't eat the bodies, I feed them to my pets. They're hungry again, Ajax, and the little snack I brought with me won't be sufficient."

I reach down and grab some of the offal around him, then begin rubbing it onto his clothes and face. He recoils at my touch but can’t get away due to the bindings. Unlike me he’s not trained in the art of escape. I barely finish placing the first handful on him before he's crying out. 

"Please, just let me go! I won't say anything! I'll do anything!" He's crying. I'm surprised he hasn't pissed himself.

I pretend to mull it over. "Anything?"

"Anything," he agrees, nodding his head frantically. 

I stare at him for a solid minute, letting his nerves build. "You will tell your little club that the next time they try to mess with me a little spiriting away will be the least I do." He nods. "You will say nothing and I do mean nothing about this to anyone." I receive further affirmation. "And finally, you will leave Enid alone. If she talks to you, you will excuse yourself and leave. If she asks why you didn't show up you may tell her the truth, but under no circumstances should you give her even the barest glimmer of hope. You will let this crush of hers die in your place, Ajax Petropolus. Do I make myself clear?" I get another nod. "Use your words, Ajax. Say it. Swear it."

He gulps nervously before saying "Yes, Wednesday, I swear. I swear I'll tell the Nightshades what you said, I swear I won't tell anyone else, and I swear I won't give Enid any hope of us dating."

I repile the remaining viscera and ignore his pleas for freedom while I dispose of them in the nearby trees. His relief is palpable when I return and start undoing the knots. I untie him slowly, feet first so I can react faster if he tries to remove his beanie once his hands are free. Wisely he makes no move to do so. 

"You will stay here and count to one thousand, then you may leave," I tell him. "And I do mean one thousand. I will know if you cheat." He begins counting aloud as I finish retrieving my tools and return to the school. 

I return most of the items to where I found them. The remains of the tape I discard into the trash, and I leave Bianca's mirror by her door instead of sneaking it back in. Finally I return to my room where I find Enid and Thing waiting for me despite the late hour. Enid is worrying her lip while Thing is caring for her nails. They both turn towards me once they hear my approach, I ignore them and once again clean up before dressing for bed. 

"Well!?" Enid finally asks after I've stretched out on the overly firm mattress. Thing turns off the lamp, leaving us bathed in moonlight, then makes his way over to his pillow by my bed.

"I imagine he's back in his room by now. He won't be a problem going forward," I reply. 

Enid nods her head a few times to reassure herself as she says "Thank you, Wednesday."

I roll my eyes at her, "I didn't spare him just because you asked me to. I already said I wasn't planning on killing him."

"Yeah, I know," she begins, "but you did what you did for me right? Because he hurt me. That. . . that means a lot. I'm glad we're friends." Her voice wavers with emotion a bit at the end.

I say nothing. I cannot entirely refute her. Even if I had other motivations, I did act due to her distress. I suppose one could indeed call us friends at this juncture. I expected better of myself. I can hear the tension ease out of her breath when I don’t refute her. “Goodnight, Wednesday,” she calls out softly, and eventually her breathing evens out, signaling she's fallen asleep. I close my eyes and let it take me as well before her nightly growls begin.

Chapter Text

As the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. It's been nine hours since I went against my better judgment and let Ajax go, it's been four hours since I woke up to an Enid Sinclair feigning more than the usual amount of pep, and it's been ten minutes since she talked me into sitting with her and her friends for lunch. In that short span I've been subjected to more mind numbing gossip than the rest of my entire high school career combined. Who broke up with who and why, what teachers would look good together, guesses on the theme of an upcoming dance next weekend, are any of the normies worth asking out. Hell truly is other people.

The worst part, perhaps, is that I'm not allowed to simply sit and tune them out. Every few moments my newly official friend is pulling me into the conversation, sometimes literally. While Enid respects my space the majority of the time, she's the type of person that doesn't always realize how physical she is. I've come to accept that being near Enid puts you at risk of some kind of physical contact. Be it an arm around me when we won the Poe Cup or a tap on the shoulder when she wants to point something out, just like with Father and Pugsley I must accept some level of contact. It seems after the events of last night I can expect this level to increase, as for the third time a light slap on the arm pulls my attention back to their discussion.

Partway through lunch, around the point I'm considering if I should have lobotomized myself instead of Pugsley when I was nine, last night's near victim makes his way toward our table. He stops when he notices me and does an about face. Is it habit that had him about to defy me the very day after I exacted a vow from him or does he perhaps think he could get away with it? I'll have to keep an eye on him. "What did you say about Ajax this morning again? It was really funny," Enid asks a bit louder than warranted, and all eyes at the table turn to me. Enid's eyes are bright and shining, she noticed him just as I did, and is still angry. There's no reason to hold back.

"Which one? I said a number of things during our discussion this morning: he could drastically improve himself by tying a mirror to his face, he's the only person I met that's smarter as a statue, at least his family will save money on a headstone." To my surprise, they all laugh. Usually when I said something like that people backed away slowly while looking for an escape route. I'm most surprised that Yoko's laugh is sincere, given her shared affiliation with the gorgon. I must not be the only one who thinks it a poor match.

The conversation continues, now with me expected to make the occasional dark comment for everyone's entertainment. I almost feel like a zoo exhibit. It's cheering Enid up significantly though, her cheer moving from forced to genuine over the course of our meal, so I put up with it. She won't be able to use the "I'm sad, I need my loud noise" excuse now and I can make sure the others properly fear me again later.

When lunch ends I dispose of my waste slowly, letting the rest of them go ahead so I can finally have a moment to myself. Enid stays back with me. I shoot her an annoyed glance but as with the rest of my malice she's either oblivious or immune.

"So anyway, Yoko's having a movie night tonight, you should join us! It's gonna be a thriller, so like, even if it's not your usual thing it's something you might enjoy. Plus she and the other girls really want to get to know you better since you bailed on our victory party despite telling me you'd be there," Enid says rapidly as we walk a bit behind the others. She looks at me with an annoyed expression during the last portion, but it quickly switches to pleading. Enid's extracted a lot of concessions from me today, but beyond my lack of interest I have more important matters scheduled for tonight. 

"I didn't say I'd be at that party, I said I'd consider it. I considered it and decided not to show up. I need to pass on this as well," I reply plainly.

Enid pouts at me, "Come on, Wednesday! You've said that like the last three times I've asked you to hang with us. You don't even need to talk, you can just sit and glare. You love sitting and glaring!"

"I do like glaring, but I can't tonight," I respond, "I have a lead I need to follow and tonight's the only night to make my move."

"Ugh," Enid whines, "do you really need to do it tonight? The whole night?"

"Yes, you heard the news this morning, I need to investigate before anything's done that might destroy clues to what the monster is. I have to assume that whoever covered up Rowan's murder will attempt to cover this up too. I don't know how long it'll take so I need to get there early and plan to stay late."

"You're still on about that? Wednesday we saw him, we saw him leave after he was expelled and from what you've said he was probs expelled for trying to MURDER you! Just be glad he's gone, I know I am."

I roll my eyes, "Whether he wanted to kill or not, it doesn't change what I saw. Someone's trying to gaslight me, and I won't let them get away with it."

Enid rolls her eyes right back at me. "Fine, go do your various crimes, I'll just invite Thing to come with me, he knows how to have fun!" She gives me a look that's part smug part hoping I'm jealous Thing likes her more than me. I take pleasure in wiping it from her face. 

"I'm afraid Thing won't be able to make it. I need him to assist with my ‘various crimes.’" Which is true. Breaking and entering a school dorm is one thing, but for something outside Nevermore, especially a building that could be active at any hour, I'm going to need his help.

Enid huffs in exasperation, "Ugh FINE, we'll rain check it. . . AGAIN, but you OWE me, Addams. Promise me you'll make it up to me. An Addams always keeps their word, right?" She raises an eyebrow at the last part, daring me to deny it.

Thing must have told her to say that. I swear one day I'll remove his nails. "If it'll stop your pouting, yes I promise I'll make it up to you." I feel like I've just made a horrible mistake, but I don't feel like getting into an argument right now. With luck it'll be a night of lame movies and a manicure this weekend, a puerile waste of time but nothing I can't find a way to actually enjoy.

Enid's smile returns and she once again makes the motion to hug me, stopping herself when I step back. It's becoming a routine at this point. She mimed shooting me instead, which I found much more preferable, and ran to catch up with the others. The rest of the day passes, and I make my way to the Jericho county morgue. 

Dr. Kinbott tells me I should get out more, says I need to open my mind to new people and experiences. Who am I to argue with her professional clichés?

Investigating is so much simpler with Thing aiding me. Security systems are built around human sized infiltrators, so the significantly smaller hand can find more points of entry, like the air ducts. In addition, not many people would break into a morgue so security is light in the first place. The real danger comes from the chances it's in use after hours. When we arrive the parking lot is empty, that simplifies things. A few cameras are the worst we have to deal with and a bit of bubblegum is all Thing needs to render them useless and open a loading door for me to enter. 

I duck through the partially open mechanical door and turn to my accomplice. "While I do the autopsy, you find the files of the monster's other victims and make copies," I order him. He follows me over to the gurneys, countenance dejected. "Don't pout. Your scalpel skills are questionable," I begin while rolling out my tools, "Do you remember my thirteenth birthday, when Uncle Fester gave me that cadaver? You sliced right through that man's carotid." Thing shrugs and leaves to make the copies I requested. I start checking coolers, taking just a few moments to enjoy the smell of decay and the beginnings of some lovely decomposition. 

After a few tries I'm able to find the homeless man from before. I pull out my voice recorder and begin chronicling my observations, noting the visible injuries and locations. Thing scuttles back in while I notice the subject's left foot is gone, chewn off from the appearance of the damage. I ask Thing if he's noticed it anywhere, but his response is instead a frantic alert that people are coming. I quickly hop into one of the coolers, leaving the door open just a bit so I'm able to hear. 

The coroner enters with the sheriff, and they go over his findings from his examination of the subject. I note the mention of missing toes, so the foot is still in the lab. Good to know. Their discussion is short before the examiner starts making small talk about his pending retirement, he must be tired of the increase in work the monster is giving him. The sheriff leaves, but the sound of approaching footsteps tells me the coroner is still here and noticed the open door. I take a deep breath and let it out quietly before assuming a neutral pose with my eyes open. My typical pallor and colder than standard temp combine well with my ability to go long periods without blinking. I easily pass for a new corpse and he makes a joke about cutting me open in the morning. That might be the most romantic thing someone's ever said to me. Shame he's not my type. He closes the cooler, then takes his leave. 

With the coroner gone, Thing opens the cooler I'm in. Given Enid's seeming hatred even in sleep for quiet this is the most relaxed I've been in a while. Surely a little time to enjoy it won't hurt? "Five more minutes," I tell the hand, "I was just getting comfortable." He leaves me for fifteen, knowing this kind of claustrophobic space and bone deep cold are joys I haven't been able to experience since we were home. No one can understand you like family. 

Once out of the cooler I take a few moments to stretch then go over everything we've gathered. The other bodies have already been moved, but the pictures and notes Dr. Anwar made is enough to convince me nothing had yet been tampered with, so we leave with the copies Thing made. I'd managed to learn earlier about the dismemberments, but hearing that there were additional amputations, that specific parts were completely missing, has me intrigued. There are a number of creatures that take only certain parts from their victims, if I can find a connection I may be able to identify the monster.

When we get back to Ophelia Hall Enid is already asleep. I can't set up an investigation board without waking her, but I can still look over the photographs of the victims. I sit near the window so I can have a bit of moonlight, but shortly after I sit I feel Thing tapping my leg. He points to me and then to the bed. 

"Later, I just want to--" I start, but Thing just taps harder before repeating the gesture. "I will, after I go over these," I continue. Thing starts signing a more complicated message. "Yes, I know I barely slept last night either, but this is important and the few minutes in the cooler is enough to tide me." Thing grabs at the photos, dragging several away before I can catch him. He points again to my bed. "Fine, I'll do it tomorrow. If you're lucky it'll be before I cut off your thumb." He flips me off, he knows it's an empty threat. Maybe I should really break a finger at some point so he'll quit with the sass. He also manages to hide the photos while I’m getting ready for bed. There goes feigning sleep until he's not paying attention. With choice removed from me, I lay down and assume my typical sleeping position. I must be more tired than I thought, because one blink later it's morning.

It is a cruel truth that society values the morning, regardless of age or circadian rhythm. Numerous studies have shown that teenagers are more nocturnally inclined and that a later start to the day drastically improves performance. Add on the usual Addams family penchant for the night and an existing case of sleep deprivation and the result is a deep set misery through the majority of the day. I enjoy torture and suffering as much as the next girl, but there's no artistry in this, just a fog making my mind slightly slower and everyone around me much more annoying. I won't admit to Thing that he was right to force me to bed last night, I have my pride, but he'll be due for a restock on some of his skincare products soon and he might find a few new additions mixed in the lot.

After class and enough desperation to get coffee from the school cafeteria, Thing and I begin setting up the investigation board. We get everything pinned up, Thing is much more cooperative now that it's afternoon. Shortly after I start looking over the evidence I hear Enid approach from behind. 

"When I suggested giving your side of the room a makeover, I did not have Ted Bundy's pinterest in mind." She's grimacing at the display and hands are behind her back. I've noticed it's a habit of hers, likely developed to help hide her claws when stressed. 

I decide to take a playful jab at her, it's what friends do, right? "Still not as creepy as your stuffed unicorn collection," I say as I turn back to the board.

She doesn't rise to the bait. "Is this why you snuck out last night? I thought you were investigating the monster, not building a Hannibal Lecter cookbook."

"Thing and I made an unsanctioned trip to the county morgue to copy the files of the monster's victims. There’s more to this than wanton killing.”

I can hear her disgust as she replies, "Okay there are so many levels of EWW in that statement and I don't even know where to begin."

"I need to get inside its head," I say. Enid wants us to talk more, so I decide she can be my sounding board. "Discover any patterns or anomalies." I turn to face her in full, letting her see my enthusiasm. "I've already made a big discovery." I start collecting some of the photos to let her have a closer look. "It turns out all of the monster's victims have had body parts surgically removed." I bring the photos over to Enid and start handing them to her as I list them off, "The first one a kidney, the second a finger. . ." Enid takes each photo as I hand them to her. She says something but I can't quite make it out. My mind is rushing through everything I've uncovered while I explain. I hold up a finger to tell her to hold her thought while I go and grab the last few photos. "Third a gallbladder, and the bearded man from the meeting house. . . two toes. Do you understand what this means?" I can feel the mania I inherited from my father starting to grip me. If I can go just a bit further I feel like something will click. "These murders aren't madness, he's collecting trophies like a seasoned serial killer!" I start turning toward Enid, eager to share the joy of discovery with her, "It's quite impressive actually." 

I finish turning and look at Enid, hoping she'll understand how big this is. . . but Enid's not there. The subconscious part of my brain whispers to me, having caught something my conscious self missed, and I look down. Enid’s passed out again, lying on the ground. 

I turn to Thing, who shrugs at me. I recall belatedly that she also passed out when she caught me with those organs near the crypt. I'll need to remember in the future I somehow ended up being friends with the only werewolf that can't tolerate a bit of gore. "Fetch the smelling salts. . . Again."

I make sure the photos are out of sight while I revive Enid. She blinks steadily back into consciousness after a few moments and I help her sit up slowly. "I forgot your squeamishness. I'll have the board face my wall," I say. 

She blinks a few times at me in a dazed fashion before shaking her head. "Nuh-huh. I won't be able to sleep knowing those effed up photos are in here with me."

"Where am I supposed to keep them, then? They're on my side of the room and from your comments on my other interests they're not the most 'effed up' thing in here," I respond. 

Enid fixes her gaze on me pointedly, "First, I don't wanna know what that means and you're going to make sure I never do. Second, you'll find some place, I'm sure. You could keep them in Crackstone's Crypt! It's already your torture chamber, right?" She holds my gaze and I can feel myself making yet another concession before I even start to muster a rebuttal. One day I'll win one of these contests, Sinclair. One day.

I turn to the board and Thing's already begun removing things in an organized fashion. He could at least pretend he didn't already know I'd acquiesce. I help him finish pulling everything off, then place the documents in my bag and begin wheeling the board out.

"Thank you, Wednesday!" Enid calls after me. I roll my eyes. Perhaps Eugene will let me keep this in the Hummer's supply shack? He's spending the weekend with his mothers, so at the very least I'll have a few days before needing to rehome it again.

Come Monday I still lack any clear indication on what the creature is or why it picks the trophies it does. This combined with the fact I have to spend another hour with Dr. Kinbott after today's classes means I'm in a particularly bad mood when I arrive at the greenhouse for Carnivorous Plants. I know most of the material from helping Mother tend her garden, so my attention drifts in and out of focus as Ms. Thornhill lectures. As the end of class draws near I refocus on the teacher so I can note any assignments.

"While most plants reward their pollinators with sweet nectar, many carnivorous varieties turn to sеxual trickery or deception."

Xavier shifts and I recognize a grunt of pain. I look over and can just barely make out the end of a few gashes that had only just started healing. He notices me looking in his direction but misses exactly what I'm looking at. 

"I tweaked my back fencing," he lies. Does he not realize how easy those marks are to see or is he purposefully telling an obvious lie to emphasize that it's none of my business? This bears further investigation.

I turn my attention back to Ms. Thornhill. "The orchid produces a pheromone that mimics a female insect, luring the males in. Now, once the plant is pollinated, what do the male insects get in exchange?"

There's only a half second before Bianca answers, "Nada. Just like all the guys at the Rave'N." The rest of the class laughs at this and Bianca wears a proud smirk at the reaction to her joke. Even Ms. Thornhill cracks a small smile.

"Okay, okay," she says, trying to regain everyone's focus, "I know you're all excited about Saturday, which is why I haven't assigned any homework." This goes over as well as Bianca's comment. "But I do still need volunteers for the decorating committee. Anyone interested come and see me up here!" 

A few people head over to her while others start gathering their things. Xavier leans over to me while I pack away my notes. "You're not gonna volunteer?" he asks, his tone teasing and a bit sarcastic, "Aren't you pumped about disco balls and spiked punch? There's even a DJ, MC Blood Suckaz."

I put every ounce of interest I don't have in this stupid dance into the look I give him. "I'd rather stick needles in my eyes," I reply. He chuckles in a way that tells me my comment is very much expected. I stop and think for a second, it's been a while since I've done any acupuncture. "I'll probably do that anyway."

"Or," Xavier begins, "you could invite someone and have a little fun." He reaches down for his bag, grunting again in pain. The scratches are even more visible, long, angry, and definitely fresh.

As I get up, I turn to find Enid smirking at me, mischief plain in her eyes. "Howdie, Wednesday," she calls in a singsong voice. I close my eyes tightly, hoping desperately when I open them she'll be gone. There is no such luck. Enid's still there, she's still smiling, and I still have a sense of dread.

I decide to cut her joy in my misery short and cut straight to the point. "You're calling it in, aren't you?" 

Her smirk turns into a full Cheshire grin. "One hundo! Since I know a certain someone isn't going to ask after you worked your magic on him and I wouldn't say yes even if he did I find myself sans date to the Rave'N. Now that doesn't bother me, but what does is third wheeling Yoko and Divina. But if you're there too it goes from awkward girl hanging out with the couple to a group of friends. Much less embarrassing! And if they get all couple-y we can leave them to it and I won't be alone!" She says this like I'm such wonderful company. You'd think after fainting twice in as many days she'd realize my interests are anathema to her but the bubbly optimism of Enid Sinclair knows no such logic. 

Sighing in frustration I grab my bag as Enid hooks my free arm in hers and drags us back to Ophelia Hall to discuss the dance. I note the path Xavier takes is different from the one to his dorm. I'll have to see what's in that direction later.

Chapter Text

“The theme is climate crisis meets extinction event, but in a fun way!” Enid tells me once we’re back in the confines of our room in Ophelia Hall. Astute of her to assume I haven’t paid any attention so far to the dance. “Ms. Thornhill wants the Rave’N theme to feel relevant.” 

I give her a pointed star. “Only in a high school would an occasion of excess and decadence, which will produce unknown amounts of waste, be given a theme that by all intents and purposes should caution for moderation in today’s typical indulgences. Perhaps a better theme would be Masque of the Red Death. It’s more fitting to represent needless decadence while the world around us falls into ruin, and ties better to the school’s fondness for its favorite alumnus.” 

Enid stickers her tongue out at me. “If you wanna pick the theme of the next dance I’m sure Ms. Thornhill would love the help.” She smiles, daring me to accept her challenge. The smile only widens as I refuse to take the bait. Enid continues, “I already know I need to go dress shopping in town, but show me what you have to work with.” 

“There’s no need, I already have a dress,” I state. I don’t want the werewolf going through my closet, it’s already hard enough getting the smell of her perfume out of my clothes from all of the incidental contact. I’ll have to throw everything out if she starts rummaging through it all.

Enid’s expression jumps to alarm. “Not the one you showed up here in! That thing was a fashion emergency not even lightning could resuscitate.” I glare back at her. She’s one to talk when her wardrobe is a fairy tale dipped in a blender. “Thing, back me up here!” she demands and the traitorous hand agrees with her. 

Outnumbered, they begin going through my clothes. Sighing in defeat I leave them to it, starting my gramophone and getting through what homework we did get in other classes. I did in fact have more than the one dress, though all of them are of a similar style and as such were promptly rejected. “Okay, it’s decided,” Enid said as Thing began reorganizing my clothes, “We’re going dress shopping tomorrow. This is your first time really being social, you need something that screams ‘Stand back, bitches! I have arrived!’ and I know just the place!”

The next day, after classes end, Enid comes barley short of dragging me onto the shuttle bus into Jericho, running through the week to give students the chance to prepare for the dance. We run into some of Enid’s friends, the vampire and siren couple, on the shuttle so Enid spends most of the short trip talking to them. I take the time to decompress, pondering what Xavier is up to and when I’ll have the chance to see what’s out in the direction he went after class yesterday. When we arrive in Jericho we part from Enid’s friends, they have business elsewhere first, and Enid agrees to meet up later at the Weathervane for coffee. . . on my behalf as well. She ignores my muttered threats as usual as she leads us to this supposed perfect place for dress shopping.

Enid stops us in front of a building with a sign reading 'Hawte Kewture' emblazoned on the front in garish lettering. Several Nevermore girls file in, giggles trailing behind them. I look at Enid with disbelief. "What kind of dystopian hellscape is this?"

"This," Enid begins, giving me an excited and amused look, "is our first roomie shopping spree!" She hops a bit in excitement, her smile bright enough I have to squint slightly. "The dance committee's suggesting all white to match the theme, but that's not gonna fly with us. I like color too much to not have at least a little bit on me, and while white's a neutral you just wouldn't look like Wednesday in anything not based in gray or black." I eye her with trepidation, and her look takes a more sympathetic tone. "They've known our theme for a while now, there won't be too much color, I promise. I checked it out last time I was in town, there's more in my room than the entire store." Enid tugs gently on my wrist to pull me along but I stand firm. 

"I have more pressing business than to worry about a dress for a dance I don't want to attend. I'll trust you this once to pick something out for me and I can pay for it when I'm done," I say. I want to get back to Nevermore and find out what Xavier’s hiding. With everyone in town preparing for the dance it’s the perfect time to investigate.

Enid's grip on my wrist tightens just enough to become uncomfortable and her smile turns hard. "We're bonding," she says, her tone indicating this is very much not a debate. Like I'll let that stop me.

"I feel I'll only slow you down," I say, "You're a gazelle. I'm a wounded fawn. Cut me loose and go run with the pack." I nod over to the other girls, ones who actually enjoy picking outfits to be objectified in. We both know she'll have more fun if I'm not there bringing her mood down. Just accept it, Enid.

"You're a wounded fawn," she says, her voice trailing slightly and her eyes are looking longingly at the other groups. She considers my words for a second before turning back to me with a predatory look that sends a tingle of fear up my spine. "You're a wounded fawn, but I’m not a gazelle. I'm a wolf. That means you're the perfect prey."

I'm. . . I'm really having an affect on her, aren't I? I don't know if I should be horrified or proud. I was so close to finally winning one of these bouts. I sigh in defeat and that actually does more to tamper Enid's enthusiasm than my previous attempt. She turns pensive for a moment before pulling me away from the store. "Where are we going? I thought we were going to dress shop in the hellscape?" 

"We are, but first a compromise," Enid says with a small smile. "I told you we could look at the antique shop sometime, so we'll do that first. That way you'll feel better going into Hawte Kewture with me. Sure we'll lose out a bit on selection since the best dresses will be gone but honestly small price to pay if it makes you feel better. Like I said, we're bonding. It's not actually bonding if one of us hates it." We share a look and I let myself relax. She's let go of my wrist by this point, the absence of pressure keenly felt as a dull throb from now uncompressed flesh and bone. 

After looking at Hawte Kewture, seeing the storefront of Uriah's Heap feels like a breath of fetid air. I look into the left hand display and while the assortment of eclectic items don't stand out to me I can tell looking past them the shop itself has very low lighting. With the mention of various taxidermy displays from Enid's time inside on Outreach Day I'm confident this will be much more to my liking. I move to go inside, this time being the one to pull Enid by the wrist but before I open the door I feel Thing tap my shoulder. I look to the hand and he points to the other side's display. I step over to look at it properly. 

A dress, gorgeous and dark and deadly but also so much unlike anything Mother would ever wear sits as the center display. I imagine myself in it, at my typewriter during a cold and stormy day, finishing the final volume of Viper's tale. I imagine myself in it, on the day of my viewing, the members of my clan stopping one by one to say goodbye before I'm lowered into the hungry earth. I pull myself back to the present. It's a fleeting fancy, nothing more. 

"Oh wow," I hear from beside me. I look at the werewolf and she appears as captivated as I was. She turns to me, "It's perfect, Wednesday! This is your dress. It's gotta be. You HAVE to get it!" I look back at the dress. If I must attend this dance, then who am I to deny the taste of my date? I nod at her and march into Uriah’s Heap. 

A bell jingles as I enter the shop. My eyes sweep over the room, taking note of a large number of taxidermy displays spread throughout the interior. I’ll have time to peruse them in a moment, but first thing’s first. 

An older, plump woman with graying hair and an eccentric outfit steps out and towards us. She’s wearing several necklaces and bracelets of various materials, including bone, and her eyes have a subtle madness to them that makes me miss Grandmama. This must be the “creepy AF” proprietor Enid mentioned. Her gaze flickers from me to Enid and back, possibly shocked at the juxtaposition of us, before giving a small half smile that does nothing to diminish the crazy in her eyes and saying “Welcome to Uriah’s Heap, you must be the friend Enid mentioned when she was here the other day. Anything in particular you’re looking for? We’ve got a lovely selection of critters looking for a good home, all made local.”

“I will look at those momentarily. First, the dress in the window. I’m buying it.” I emphasize my point by walking over to it and gesturing toward my dress. The proprietor’s eyes flick over to it before she walks over to it and pulls the mannequin down. 

“Not even up for three hours, going to need to put the ferrets in something similar I think,” she says as she walks the full mannequin over to the register, “Of course that one’s my favorite so I might just leave it as is, they don’t all need to sell.” I follow behind her while Thing digs the credit card out of my bag. It was given to me explicitly for emergencies, but knowing my parents buying a dress for a dance is exactly what they consider an emergency.

The proprietor, I notice the name tag reads Connie, processes the transaction and begins demonstrating how to properly lace up the dress without damaging any of the delicate fabrics while she removes it from the mannequin for packaging. Partway through the bell rings, and when I turn to view the new arrival I feel a spike of annoyance. Dr. Kinbott stands in the doorway, carrying a small diorama of a family of squirrels in party dresses. 

The therapist looks at me, noticing where my eyes are focused before shifting to land on my purchase. “Hi, Wednesday,” she greets with her usual faux cheerfulness, “That dress will certainly turn some heads.” I’m not going to let her make this about me, she does that enough twice a week already.

“Offloading some of your office’s exotic trinkets?” I ask, staring pointedly at the taxidermy display in her arms. 

“No, the souvenirs in my office are from my travels. That’s how I step out of my comfort zone. This ,” she gestures with her head to the diorama in her hands, “is how I relax when I’m back in it!” She tilts her head and her smile widens. 

“Wait,” Enid interjects, “are you the local artist who makes all of these?” She gestures further into the shop where a large number of various animals are dressed and posed. Her face doesn’t hide her disgust very well, but Dr. Kinbott elects to ignore it. 

“Not quite everything, Connie’s made a few with me,” the therapist responds to Enid before turning back to me, “Wednesday, is this a friend of yours?”

“I’m not required to answer your questions out in the wild, am I?” I ask. While I’m loath to talk to her during our sessions, it’s even more annoying having to deal with her in public. Really she shouldn’t even acknowledge me unless I talk to her first, to maintain doctor/patient confidentiality. Dr. Kinbott and Enid both give me a look, and I decide it’s not worth the later fight with Enid. “Yes,” I sigh, “this is my roommate, Enid. One could say we’re friends.”

The look of victory on Kinbott’s face makes me wish I had a knife on me. “Well Enid, I’m Valerie Kinbott, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” They begin exchanging small talk, and I don’t have the patience to deal with two peppy balls of sunshine spewing rainbows back and forth, so I instead focus on Dr. Kinbott’s art piece. 

The outfits are well made, stitching barely visible. She would make a good tailor, provided her clients were all the size of a medium to large rodent. The subjects are all well stuffed, no awkward lumps or misshapen limbs. The eyes are glass, which is unfortunate. With a bit of work and some mortuary grade preservatives  it’s possible to keep the natural eyes, a bit of clear resin giving a much more lifelike look. Still, the work isn’t bad. 

“So since Wednesday’s buying a dress, I assume you’re both going to the Rave’N?” My head snaps back up upon hearing my name. 

“Yeah-huh!” Enid responds, “I had a little boy trouble earlier, so Wednesday’s agreed to be my date!” Dr. Kinbott shoots me a surprised look and I turn the full extent of my wrathful gaze upon my roommate. For once I succeed in flapping the unflappable, as Enid gives me a sheepish look in apology. 

“Well that’s very sweet of you, Wednesday! I’ll let you two get back to it. I need to get this new piece set up before my next appointment,“ Dr. Kinbott says. I eye her as she steps around us then quickly grab Enid and pull us out of the shop. I’m not going to let the opportunity to get away from her slip past me.

Since Enid kept her word and took me to Uriah’s Heap, even if the trip was cut short, I’m now obliged to actually enter the den of sparkle and vapid teenage fashion that is Hawte Kewture. Thankfully, Enid’s proclamation about the stock proves true–the various assortment of colors I expect to slash at my retinas are far fewer in number than expected and relegated to a small section. Instead, there is a large variety of whites and silvers adorning the racks which Enid happily skips to before I can even finish processing the shop. 

For an hour and a half Enid goes through dress after dress, constantly asking me for my opinion. “How about this one?” she asks while holding up a green dress with red stripes. She really should be asking Thing, he’s more in tune with her sense of taste, but every comment is directed at me since I’m her “date.” 

“I don’t believe Christmas trees are in any danger of extinction,” I tell her. She looks at it again before laughing. 

“You’re right, I totally would look like a Christmas tree in this! This is why I need your critiques! I don’t think of these things until it’s too late,” she says, winking at me. “What do you think about this one, it’s lacy like your dress. . .” It continues like that for a while, sometimes with Enid having me pick something out for her then explaining to me why it won’t work.

Contrary to her earlier statement, the dress she settles on is indeed white, with white faux fur trim, though the fabric had a reflective quality that gave it a silver sheen when the light hits it at certain angles. It’s meant to be worn loose, so alterations will be simple. Because Enid is as allergic to lack of color as I am to its presence, she also grabs a pink wig. “I can style it to look like my current cut, then I don’t have to worry about dying it for one night. It’s gonna look super cute!” Enid gushes. Thing agrees to alter both dresses for us, as he often assists my family with such work and can get it done faster than the shop. Enid pays for her items and we make our way to the Weathervane to meet up with Yoko and Divina. 

The seemingly only coffee shop in Jericho is much as it’s been every time I’ve been here. A number of adults with broken spirits sit drinking poor quality drip coffee as if it can fill the void in their lives carved out by meaningless conformity to a society that inherently hates them while a handful or more of Nevermore students drink slightly less poor quality cappuccinos, mochachinos, or the occasional tea. Tyler works behind the counter, taking orders without the typical false cheerfulness of other customer service workers. 

I spot the vampire and the siren waving at us in a booth and we make our way over to them. Both have recently made drinks and a bag from Hawte Kewture. I slip into the booth first, and Enid sets our purchases down next to me. “I’m gonna go order, you want anything, roomie?” Enid asks. 

“He knows my order,” I tell her and pass her a twenty. “Use this to pay. Yours as well.” At her arched eyebrow I add “Consider it my contribution to our bonding day.” She gives me a big smile, takes the proffered money, and skips over to the counter. I’ve never met anyone over the age of six who skips as much as Enid Sinclair. As I watch her put in our orders Tyler is looking over at us with an odd expression on his face. I turn away and stare out the window, too exhausted to try and figure him out today. 

“You’re right, I didn’t even have to ask before he started making yours. You must come here a lot.” Enid says as she sits my quad over ice and a pile of change in front of me. Her drink is a monstrous concoction of several types of chocolate mixed with espresso and what looks like half a can of whipped cream.

“I need something to make it through court ordered therapy. I also fixed his machine for him once when he couldn’t make my order, so he likes to show his gratitude,” I tell her.

“You don’t sound too enthused about that,” Divina chimes in, Yoko nodding next to her.

“He’s useful, but dealing with him is tiring. I feel like there are two conversations going on and I can only follow one of them,” I tell them. “He keeps offering to help me with things and waves off payment.”

The couple exchanges a look with each other and Enid, then Yoko says, “Pretty sure he has a thing for you, Addams.” The other two murmur their agreement. 

“Why would he? I’m terse and all of our exchanges have been transactional. I’m obviously just using him,” I respond. The idea that I have two boys interested in me is. . . off putting to say the least. Xavier’s obvious crush is annoying, but at least I can see why he has it since I saved his life when we were younger.

“You have a LOT to learn about boys, Wednesday,” my roomie says, “They’re completely oblivious when you’re actually flirting,” Yoko pretends to cough while saying ‘Ajax’ and Enid gives her a dirty look while the siren snickers, “or you’re just being nice and they take it as you pledging your undying love. You said it yourself, you helped him with his machine. That’s probably like ‘I love you, marry me!’ to him.”

I ponder her words. I always strive to be concise, to avoid ambiguity in my dealings with others, but if what Enid’s saying is true then there’s a subsect of people searching for hidden meaning in my actions and proscribing their own wishes when they don’t find it. This does explain my occasional bafflement at the way others respond to me. 

“I don’t want him thinking I’m in any way interested in him beyond information, his skills as a barista, and a possible ride. If my usual approach does not work, how do I communicate this to him?” I ask the werewolf. 

“You tell him no,” Divina contributes. 

I turn my focus to her and tilt my head in confusion. “But it was just said that my words are being misinterpreted. Won’t he misunderstand that as well?”

“Not if he has even half a brain,” the siren says, “that’s the one thing everyone should be clear on.”

“And if he’s not?” I inquire. 

“Then tell him off and if he tries to get handsy,” Enid says, leaning into my shoulder, “fuck him up!” She punctuates her exclamation by extending the nails on one hand, her hand in a claw shape. 

My eyes widen slightly and she answers my unasked question. “I allow myself one full swear a day.” The couple giggles at that, Enid joining in partway. I allow myself a huff of amusement. 

As we prepare to leave I hear my name being called, Tyler gesturing for me to come up to the counter. I wave the others off to wait outside and head over to the normie barista. He sets another quad down in front of me. 

“On the house, to go,” he says. The recent conversation gives new context to the small smile he wears, the light in his eyes. I pull out my wallet. 

“I can afford to pay for drinks, Tyler,” I say and hand him enough to cover the drink. 

“I know, I just like being nice sometimes. Machine would still be broken without you, so you’ve already earned it.” He laughs at his own statement. “So you guys have the Rave’N this weekend, right? It’s been all the buzz here today.”

I was hoping for information, maybe an offer of a ride to the train station, but I didn’t expect this. “I must be the only one not obsessed with this stupid dance,” I say. If even the normies are abuzz about it I might be the only sane person left in Jericho. 

Tyler’s face falls a bit. “So, you’re not going?”

“Actually, I’m being forced to go.” 

Tyler gives me an odd look. “Sure, that happens, I guess,” he says, “so you probably need a date, right?” Point to Yoko. The free drink was just an excuse to get me away from the group. Since Yoko was right, time to follow Divina’s advice. 

“Tyler. You misunderstand our interactions. I do not wish to be romantically involved with you. Any indication otherwise is the result of miscommunication.” Clear and concise, there’s no way he can misinterpret this, surely.

Tyler’s look turns hard. “Got it. Hope you have fun,” his tone insincere. 

“I’m not sure why you’re upset.” 

“That’s kind of the problem,” he barks. “I mean, call me crazy, Wednesday, but you keep giving me these signals!” And with that Enid’s remarks are also proven correct. Three for three, I’ll need to remember their knowledge next time I don’t understand social norms. 

“What signals, Tyler? Was fixing your machine a signal? I wanted my drink, the machine not working was a problem. I removed it. Was accepting your offer of a ride a signal? Not only was my stated goal leaving this town but, if you remember, I wanted to pay for your service, not get it in exchange for some fairy tale happily ever after. Or maybe it’s the conversations when I’m here? You give me information,” I think of my father’s police record, “sometimes information I’m not aware I need. At every step our interactions are transactional. You’re mistaking my acceptance of your usefulness as interest. That’s all this is. There are no signals, Tyler.”

He closes his eyes and I recognize him performing the breathing exercises recommended for emotional regulation. For some reason my last high school guidance counselor thought those same exercises would help me think through things logically, avoid lashing out with knives. . . or piranhas. I always think through things logically, sometimes the logical action is indeed piranhas.

“So we’re not even friends, I’m just a pawn in some game you’re playing?” he asks me. His gaze is hollow.

“Oh one hundo!” pipes in a cheerful voice. I turn to see Enid leaning in close next to me, her hands clasped in front of her. “Wednesday barely does friends with people she lives with,” Enid side eyes me with an amused look, “it’ll take a lot more than a ride and a few coffees to crack this shell.” Enid nudges me with her elbow and winks at me. I glare in return. 

“I’d like for her to answer herself, if you don’t mind.” Tyler replies, face starting to redden in anger.

“She already did, so BACK. OFF.” Enid snarls, showing a clawed hand in threat. The first time I saw Enid threaten someone with claws, it was me. At the time it was clear she was posturing, her threat as kittenish as she herself was. This time, however, it’s very clear that she’s a wolf, a predator. I take in her claws, in their various colors, and remember what they did to our wall. Once again I imagine how easily they’d go through human flesh. I’m tempted to reach out and drag one across my hand.

Tyler elects to ignore the angry werewolf, looking back to me. “I thought we were friends, I thought we liked each other.” The anger drained out of his voice making him sound small.

His words pull my attention back from my roomie’s claws. “Friends? Maybe eventually, but I’m dealing with a lot right now and I need to prioritize.” I grab the to go cup that’s been warming on the counter and turn to go. Enid joins me but after just a step turns back around.

“Oh, and for the record. I’m not just her friend, I’m her date to the Rave’N, so that role’s already filled. But it looooooks like there’s a bunch of people there waiting for a barista. Since you’re a barista, you should probably go bariste.” She points over to the counter, where a line has formed during the altercation. Tyler stares at her, dumbfounded, for a moment before looking over at the line. He glares at Enid but goes back to his job. “Come on, Wednesday, the others are waiting and the shuttle back to Nevermore leaves soon.” She grabs me by the elbow and leads me away.

The others don’t comment when we leave the Weathervane, but give me a sympathetic look. If I were them I’d be wearing a look of satisfaction at being proven correct so swiftly. We board the shuttle bus and Enid leads me to a window seat before dropping beside me. 

“I didn’t ask for your help,” I tell her.

Enid turns to me, studying my expression. She must notice the lack of hostility because she smiles and says “You didn’t have to, it’s what friends do. They don’t have to be asked. Just like I didn’t have to ask you to put the fear of you into Ajax. Did you know he still bolts when he sees me?” She says the last part like it’s a joke.

I let my lips twitch up, just slightly and just for a moment. “As he should. It’s by your mercy I didn’t do worse.” We fall into silence for a few minutes before I finally say, “Thank you.”

Enid nudges me playfully. “It was clear you were uncomfortable with him, and I’m not gonna let some normie coffee jockey do my bestie like that. I actually had to tell Divina and Yoko to stay outside, they were ready to barge in with me.” She looks at the couple two seats away with fondness in her eyes. 

I arch an eyebrow, “Why? They’re your friends, not mine. I’ve barely exchanged a word with either of them before today and those prior words weren’t exactly amicable.”

“They’re your friends now too, silly!” She sticks her tongue out in a teasing manner. “Besides, pretty much every girl will band together when a guy’s being pushy, ya know?”

“I do now,” I tell her. Enid hums softly before shifting the conversation to our new dresses and how we should style ourselves to fit them. I couldn’t really care less, but for what she did for me I decide to indulge her just this once.

Chapter Text

I wake up early the next morning. I missed my opportunity to investigate Xavier’s mystery destination yesterday, I want to get it done before any distractions can claim my attention today as well. Enid growls softly as I lace up my boots. I grab my bag and Thing then make my way across my side of the room, stepping gently to avoid waking Enid. Once out of our room I move swiftly to the greenhouse, orient myself in the direction Xavier was heading and begin trekking past where I lost sight of him. 

It takes a little over a quarter of an hour before I see an old shack. It’s uneven, as if the builder couldn’t decide if it should be an outhouse or a small barn. Thick chains are wrapped around the twin handles of the double doors, keeping it firmly shut. 

“Okay, Thing. Time for you to work your magic,” I say to my companion as he crawls out of my bag and onto my shoulder, “Xavier didn’t get those scratches from fencing. He’s hiding something.” I pull out his lockpicking tools and hold them out near the padlock. He races down my arm and begins inspecting it. He cracks his knuckles, picks up the first tool, and begins working. Thing’s learned a lot about larceny during his time as Uncle Fester’s accomplice, and it only takes him a scant two minutes before the lock clicks open.

It’s dark inside. I can see a myriad of drawings scattered across the shack, but I’m not able to make out any details. There’s just enough light for me to make out a lamp in the center of the room, so I make my way over and pull the cord, flooding the room with light. I look around, looking at each picture in turn. Each and every one is of the same creature. The one that saved me. The one that killed Rowan and presumably many more.

“I suppose every artist needs a muse,” I say to myself. I see a few smaller drawings laying on a stool in front of a large canvas. “Xavier, you just became that much more interesting,” I say as I look at them. Both are highly detailed, one is of the monster against a black background, but the other appears to have it in front of some kind of swirl, a possible clue. I pocket both of them. Xavier has some connection to the monster, I’ll need to keep a closer eye on him, but there’s only so much I can do alone. With these drawings maybe I can convince Sheriff Galpin to work with me. With new evidence in hand I take my leave, locking the shack up behind me. 

Morning classes are uneventful. I don’t have the opportunity to talk much to Xavier outside of Ms. Thornhill’s classes in the afternoon and those aren’t the best place for interrogation. I decide to treat lunch as a free period. Heading toward the Hummers’ hives I plan on adding one of the drawings to my evidence board, see if I can connect it to anything I’ve gathered previously. I’m still searching for hidden connections when I hear Eugene enter the club’s shed. 

“Hiya, Wednesday!” he greets me. He comes up beside me and looks at the board. “Wow, quite the setup you have here.”

“Enid wouldn’t let me keep this in our dorm,” I explain. 

He chuckles a bit, “No worries. Mi colmena es su colmena. I assume this is the creature that’s been rampaging in the woods?”

I turn to look at him. “You’ve heard about it before?”

Eugene nods, “Rumors. Mr. Fitts banned me from bug hunting until further notice. Claimed a bear was on the loose, which I knew was a lie. Didn’t match their hibernation schedules.” Eugene reaches behind us and grabs a jar of honey from our last harvest. “Speaking of monsters with sharp claws, could you give this to your roomie? Maybe put in a good word for me if she’s still sans date for the Rave’N?”

“Eugene,” I start. 

“I know the chances of her asking me are next to zero, but I don’t care,” he interrupts, “I’ll keep putting myself out there until Enid finally. . . sees me.” There’s hope in his eyes. I normally love crushing the hope in people’s eyes, but this is Eugene. It feels the wrong kind of wrong. 

“Enid already has a date, Eugene,” I tell him gently. 

He sighs, his mood dropping. “Ah, yeah I should have figured. Someone like her probably has a lot of people interested in going with her,” he says. 

“Listen,” I begin in an attempt to cheer him up, “people like me and you, we’re different. We’re original thinkers, intrepid outliers in this vast cesspool of adolescence. We don’t need these inane rites of passage to validate who we are.”

He perks up a bit. “So you’re not going to the Rave’N either?” He had to ask me that, didn’t he? 

“Actually, I am. . . with Enid.” I brace myself mentally, not sure how he’s going to react. If I’ve learned anything recently it’s that I’m not good at understanding how people work when it comes to things related to romance. 

His reaction is confusing. Instead of looking angry or dejected he perks up. “Oh, OH!” he exclaims. “That explains some things.” He extends the jar to me again. “In that case, let this be a gift for the both of you! I hope you have a great time!” He’s smiling as happily as Pugsley with a fresh stack of dynamite. 

I feel like I’m missing something, but he’s not upset so I’m going to take the win. I put the jar in my bag, making sure it’s positioned to avoid breakage. “Thank you, Eugene.”

“Sure! Anything for my fellow Hummer! The bees aren’t the only wingmen around here.” I’m definitely missing something. I’ll need to ask Enid about this later.

Not able to figure out Eugene, I turn back to the board. He buzzes around a bit before checking on me again, this time stopping at Xavier’s drawing and staring for several seconds. “That circle. . . I think I know where that is.”

“Show me,” I command. 

We end up needing to wait until afternoon classes are over. Unlike me Eugene isn’t willing to skip even for the sake of solving a mystery. His mothers would be disappointed in him, he says. Disappointing your mother is even more reason to do it, in my opinion. The location he’s thinking of is closer to Jericho, about a half hour hike from the school. It’s a cave, large and with erosion creating a swirling pattern that perfectly matches Xavier’s drawing. 

“It’s definitely a match. What were you doing out here?”

“Collecting specimens,” Eugene tells me, “This place is ground zero for horny gypsy moths. You think it’s in there?”

“Only one way to find out.” I walk up to the entrance. 

Eugene follows me. “I’m not a huge fan of enclosed spaces. I’m claustrophobic.”

Coward, the claustrophobia is half the fun. I decide to play with him a bit. “If you hear me screaming bloody murder, there’s a good chance I’m just enjoying myself.” I climb into the cave, Eugene reluctantly following behind me. Bones are scattered everywhere, picked clean of any meat. It’s either very thorough or it’s been a while since it was here. 

“Are those human?” my fellow Hummer asks me. 

I spot a deer skull and pick it up, eyeing the teeth marks covering the bone. “No, I think it’s got a taste for venison.”

I check for any bones that could be human while Eugene shines his flashlight around. “Check this out,” he calls, and I look to where he’s pointing. A set of manacles hang from the wall of the cave. It was being restrained. Perhaps the monster was trying to contain itself? I scan the area around the manacles. 

“Yahtzee,” I say as I find a major piece of evidence. There’s a fraction of claw embedded into the stone wall. I pull out a knife and begin digging it out. 

“What is that?”

“DNA evidence,” I tell him as I hold it up. 

We make our way back to base, where I part from Eugene then head back to Xavier’s hideout. 

I circle the shack quietly, peaking through the gaps in the walls to verify Xavier isn’t here. The chain is gone, so I doubt Xavier’s too far away, but I have an idea of where to look so this should be quick. Thing gets my attention to tell me to be careful. 

“I won’t be long. I just need to find something to match against the claw’s DNA,” I reassure Thing. I duck inside and head towards a trash can I noticed last time I was here. A few seconds of digging and I’m pulling out a cloth covered in dried blood. Bingo. The door opens behind me and I quickly hide the rag. 

Xavier immediately spots me. “What are you doing?” he asks. 

A valuable trick when you’re caught somewhere you shouldn’t be is to put the other person on the defensive. “How do you know what the monster looks like? Or are these all self portraits?”

He scoffs at me. “What, you think it’s me? I saved your life.”

“So did the monster,” I rebut, “Or was that you the night Rowan was killed?”

His expression flickers with anger and his voice turns cold. “You’re out of line right now,” he snaps. 

I stand firm. If I’m going to get him to reveal himself I need to keep pressing. “I’m trying to uncover the truth and your art seems to have a recurring motif.”

Xavier sighs and rolls his eyes at me. “Yeah. This creature’s been haunting my dreams for weeks. I try to block it out, but I can’t. So I just. . . come in here and paint it.” He walks over to the current work on the canvas. “When I was painting this one, claws reached out and took a swipe at me. That’s how I got these,” he says, pulling his collar down to showcase the marks I’m already aware of. 

“I thought you were able to control your ability,” I remark, trying to push for a slip.

He shakes his head, he seems a bit rattled. “Not when it comes to this.”

Impressive acting talent. I press further, “Maybe it’s your guilty conscience.”

He shakes his head more firmly. “No, I see what you’re doing. It’s not me, I’m just seeing it.”

“Seeing it so vividly you know about its lair in the woods?” I ask him. 

“And none of your visions are ever vivid? You never see things in so much detail you feel like you’re there?” I can’t refute him and so stay silent. “Yeah, I thought so,” he finally says, sounding hurt. 

If he’s trying to play to my sense of guilt, it’s not going to work. Only two people can pull that off. One of them’s on my shoulder and the other is probably blasting kpop in our room. “It’s nothing personal. I have to treat any lead objectively.”

Xavier leans back on the wall. “Yeah, I figure. If it were personal I’d probably be hogtied in Crackstone’s Crypt, right? Ajax told us what you did to him.”

“He deserved it,” I state. 

“Deserved it?” Xavier scoffs, “What did Ajax ever do to you?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Did you and your little club or did you not blackbag and confine me?”

“You were in our library!” he says indignantly.

I return his indignation in kind. “Well Ajax was in my way.” 

He gives me a confused look. “And how’s that?” he asks. We stare at each other for several moments. “Well? What did he specifically do that inconvenienced you so much?”

“He. . .” I grasp for the right words, “He was supposed to meet with Enid, but ghosted her,” I finally say. “Because of that my writing time was interrupted and I had to deal with an upset roomi–roommate.” I look away as I speak, for some reason unable to look at him. 

Xavier laughs and I feel he’s mocking me. Whatever kept my gaze away loses hold and I glare at him in full force. “So that’s what it was about,” he says once his chuckling has died down. “Didn’t take you for the protective type, especially not for someone so your polar opposite.”

The tension that built in the little shack disappates. Xavier picks up a bit of coal then goes over to the canvas and starts working. I watch him for a few moments in silence. When I first arrived here Enid described Xavier as the “resident tortured artist.” Watching him work now I can see that when he’s fully invested in making something might be the only time he’s not tortured. 

“You don’t need to expect retaliation,” the artist says after several minutes. He uses his power to make the creature shift poses a few times, then makes minor adjustments to his linework. “We pretty much all see it as one for one. You didn’t hurt him, and knowing the real –” he glances over to me to emphasize the word, “reason you did it I think most of us can respect that. It’d be nice if you refrain from entering our library in the future, since you didn’t pledge, but we’re not gonna try anything so long as you keep it a secret.”

I mull his words over. “I will refrain from entering without reason,” Xavier nods at me in thanks, “But I’m not going to ask permission if I feel the need to search the stack.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. Xavier grabs a rag, smudged with residue from charcoal, and begins blending some of the new lines into the existing work. I watch him for a few moments longer, but it quickly becomes clear I’m not getting anything further from the artist. 

With that settled I take my leave. I’m not certain Xavier notices my departure with how absorbed he is in his work. It’s possible everything he said is the truth, that he’s only seeing visions of the monster. If that is the case he may prove useful in the future. Between a psychic connection to the monster and my own visions there’s much we could find out working together. But first I need to make sure it’s not him. 

Sheriff Galpin has made it clear that he detests my family, especially my father. He believes him to be a murderer. Either my father has changed significantly in the past thirty years or they’ve never spent more than a minute in the same room before. My father may be clever, he may be one of the best fencers I’ve ever met, but let’s just say Pugsley didn’t get a penchant for being shoved in lockers from our mother. There’s something deeper to that story, but it’s for another time. For now I need Galpin on my side.

Despite the antagonism, I’ve gathered enough about him from our interactions, Tyler, and Enid’s bountiful font of gossip to know he’s a mostly level headed man with a strong sense of justice. He may be wary of me as an Addams, but I’m convinced he’ll work with me if I can prove it a beneficial arrangement. With this belief I head into Jericho a bit earlier than usual so I can speak to him before therapy. 

I stride confidently past the secretary of the Jericho county police department, who hardly has time to look up as I pass, and make my way toward the clearly labeled office of Sheriff Galpin. I don’t bother knocking as I walk in, he starts looking up before I even cross the threshold of his door. He looks up in exasperation and sighs as he realizes who his visitor is. 

“We both know that there’s a monster out there,” I start, “If we’re going to stop it, I think it’s time we both put our differences aside and began to work together.” I place the second drawing I took from Xavier, the close up of the creature, and put it down in front of him. 

The sheriff eyes the drawing, then pulls out a photograph and starts comparing them. I only get a brief look, but Xavier’s drawing is remarkably similar. Maybe he’s telling the truth after all. After a few moments he responds to me, “And this is your stake for me to deal you in? Nice detail, but you’ll need to do better than that.” He hands me the drawing back.

I take the picture and put it away. “I didn’t draw it.”

“Well I need to know who did.”

“Unless we’re exchanging information I’m not at liberty to say.” I pull out the claw and the bloodied rag, setting them down on his desk. “But I’ll give you this, since you want more. I have a suspect, who shall remain unnamed at this time, and a claw I found that belongs to the monster. Analyze the DNA. If it’s a match, I'll tell you who it is. If it’s not, and you agree to exchange information we pool our resources.”

He picks up the claw and examines it. “This is something I can work with, but tell me why should I share information about an ongoing murder investigation with a high school kid?”

“Because I go to Nevermore and you don’t,” I counter, “Don’t you want some eyes and ears behind those ivy covered walls?”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leans forward in frustration. “Listen, Velma, I’ll admit this is something I can work with, but you and the Scooby gang should stick to homework and leave investigating to the professionals.” He eyes my evidence again, he looks weary. “Here’s the deal, Addams. I’ll run this,” he points to the rag, “and I’ll tell you if it’s a match. Then  you’re going to tell me how you got such an accurate drawing. Now you’re free to tell me anything you hear or see at that school, I appreciate anything concrete you can give me, but I don’t want you out there playing detective. This thing is dangerous and I don’t care how tough you think you are, you're just a kid. It’s not your job to find this thing, and there’s a greater chance you’ll get hurt, or get someone else hurt, than there is of you pulling a Nancy Drew and saving the day.”

We stare at each other for several moments, each trying to get the other to back down and admit defeat. From my bag Thing taps to let me know it’s getting close to my appointment. Whether I want to or not, I have to blink for now. “I’ll be back to find out the results of that test,” I tell him, “and Nancy Drew has nothing on Poirot,” I finish as I sweep out of his office.

Ever since the encounter with Dr. Kinbott in Uriah’s Heap my typical level of dread for our sessions has increased exponentially. No doubt the therapist is planning to dissect every little moment of our out of office encounter. Perhaps if Enid had let me control the flow of conversation, hadn’t let slip both our friendship and that we are partnered for the dreaded Rave’N, I could approach today’s session with my usual level of wit and apathy. But she didn’t and now Kinbott has new ammunition to replace the long spent literary analysis of Viper and Dominica. 

On my way to Kinbott’s office, I risk a glance into the Weathervane. Unfortunately Tyler remains a near constant fixture, seemingly the sole employee. After the scene during my last visit any attempt to procure my favorite easily acquired, legal, and socially acceptable drug of choice without having to deal with even more emotional outbursts and exhausting pleas for ‘just give it a shot’ is as dead as Tyler’s chances with me. I sigh softly in disappointment. The only other places I’ve been able to find in town are drip only and have an air of even worse quality than a Waffle House at 11pm. The town’s resisted every attempt for even so much as a Starbucks, not that their over roasted and over priced swill is much better. I purposefully wait until Tyler turns his back to the window before darting past and make my way to therapy with a stomach full of disappointment instead of caffeine. 

Shortly after knocking on the office door, Dr. Kinbott answers in her typical manner: a polite greeting with an insincere smile. I walk into the room, heading to my usual seat, but after a few steps I notice a few new additions to the office. Sitting on each of the few tables and one of the shelves is a taxidermy figure. Each one is a type of rodent native to the area. Some bear obvious markings designating them as roadkill, some are so pristine I wonder if she captured the creatures herself and poisoned them to avoid a struggle. Each, however, bears the same skill and attention to detail. Instead of sitting I move to the closest one and begin examining it. It’s in the worst shape from what I can see. Usually a specimen this bad would be ignored.

“I call that one The Forest Guide,” Dr. Kinbott says from behind me. I turn to look at her, raising an eyebrow in question. “I found them shortly after moving to Jericho. I decided to take a hike in the forest but lost the trail. I wandered for a bit, knowing the general direction to go, when I spotted its remains. I went over to check the condition of the fur and skin when I noticed it was just off the trail. Since it ‘guided’ me back I decided to make it a special piece. Usually it’s on my mantle at home, but I decided to bring them and their friends in today.” She’s standing by me now. She reaches out a finger and gently brushes it along the neck tenderly. 

“And how are your other patients taking your new decorations?” I ask her. “I was under the impression most find this hobby and its products revolting.”

Dr. Kinbott raises her eyebrows and smiles. “They’re only here temporarily. I thought it’d be nice to bring them in just for our session.”

I give her a questioning look. “Is this some new scheme of yours? I admit a level of interest but I’m not certain how this pertains to your obsession with my relationship to my mother. . . Actually, you’ve been trained in mental science and theories, did Freud have anything to say about obsession with someone else’s mother?”

I expect a rebuke of my comment and for her to launch into some explanation of how my attempts at misdirection are related to the root of my ‘problem’ but instead the doctor laughs lightly. “Freud and his theories aren’t really relevant in today’s understanding of mental health outside of the historical importance. And there’s no scheme here, I’m not planning on discussing Morticia or Dominica today.”

“Then I’m at a loss on what your plan is.”

Dr. Kinbott gestures for me to take a seat, taking another close by after I sit down. The smile’s gone from her face, replaced with an expression of seriousness. “Before we get too far,” she begins, “I want to say something, Wednesday.” I wait a moment for her to continue, which she does after waiting long enough to determine I don’t yet have a remark. 

“First, I’d like to apologize to you. Since the first day you stepped through my door I’ve been failing you as a therapist.” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I didn’t have this on today’s court ordered therapy bingo card. “I was briefed, as you know, about the situation that led to your transfer to Nevermore and the results of other mental health evaluations. I let that color the approach I took, and it led to hostility. I know you see me as an enemy, and I want to acknowledge that I haven’t done enough to prove otherwise. I should have given you the courtesy of a blank slate first meeting, and I should never have read any of Viper’s novels without your permission. While I had good intentions, we both know what those are often used as paving for.”

I nod in acknowledgement of her apology. I do not forgive her. I don’t think I can. There was a violation of trust before we ever met and that isn’t something that can be washed away. 

“So you want to know what my plan is, Wednesday,” she continues, “my plan is to try and approach things differently. I truly meant it when I said I didn’t want you to see me as an enemy. Regardless of why you’re here, this is about how I can help you.” She folds her hands on one knee and sits back, waiting for my response. 

“What brought about this sudden change of heart? We’ve been playing this little game of yours for the past couple of weeks. Surely there’s no reason to change the rules now unless you’ve realized you’re losing.” I eye her warily, checking for any reaction that will give her away. 

She nods a few times. “What changed is what I saw at Uriah’s,” she replies. I was wondering when that was going to come up. I take a deep breath but before I can say anything she continues. “I didn’t expect you to have a friend so different from yourself. I didn’t expect you to actually attend the Rave’N. It doesn’t fit with anything I was told about you, or anything I’ve seen. I had a long think about why that is, and determined that if what I know has me surprised at the positive behavior you’re exhibiting then my knowledge is faulty.”

“I’m surprised you can admit it,” I tell her, “no one’s ever thought their opinion of me less than accurate.”

“And that, I think, is the problem. Too many people assume they know you perfectly, and since you’re expected to act a certain way that’s all you let us see. But obviously there are others who are treating you better and those people get to see the real Wednesday. If I’m going to do what the courts need me to do and if I’m going to do what you need me to do then I need to do my best to see the real Wednesday too. And so I brought my projects! I noticed you were enamored with the piece I brought Connie, so I thought we could discuss taxidermy today as a bit of a breather and something to connect over.”

“I agree that it’s a better point of discussion than our usual topics,” I admit. 

“I’m glad we agree! Oh, I notice you don’t have your usual coffee, were you running a bit late? We can walk over to the Weathervane and grab something before we get started if you’d like.” She prepares herself to get up while she waits for my response. 

“No. I don’t want to step foot in there right now,” I reply, the reluctance saying more than I would normally allow it. Yesterday must have affected me more than I thought. 

“Something happened there recently then,” Kinbott begins. I tense up, I don’t want her dissecting this especially right now. The older woman stands up. “We can talk about that at some point, if you want to. But in the meantime do you like tea? I can make us a chaga blend.”

I relax. It must be visible because she gives me a slight smile. I nod in acceptance and she goes over to a machine in the corner and prepares two cups of tea. Once drinks are in hand Dr. Kinbott starts telling me about each of the figures she’s made and we discuss our mutual hobby.

Chapter Text

“Please?”

“No.”

“But it’d look so nice!”

“It looks nice as it is.”

“But it’d look even better!”

“No.”

“You can’t just wear your braids to the Rave’N, Wednesday!” an exasperated Enid Sinclair says. It’s not the first time we’ve had this exchange in the past two hours. The werewolf’s own hair is pinned down tightly, secured with numerous pins and a hair cap so she can hide it beneath a pink wig. We’ve been preparing for the dance longer than I hope to stay for it and Enid’s been asking me to eschew my typical twin braids for almost the entire time. The only real reprieve I’ve had is when Enid was putting on her makeup, the red lipstick requiring her to hold her mouth closed during application and the rhinestones under her eyes requiring concentration. 

“Why do you want me to wear my hair loose so badly?” I ask her. Thing holds a compact steady for me while I apply eyeliner. My dress is spread out across my bed while Enid is already wearing hers. Since she actually wants to go to this dance I’ve let her go first in any situation where we’re unable to both prepare at the same time. 

“You always wear the same hairstyle, Wednesday,” Enid says. The wig’s now in place and she’s brushing it out a final time. If I didn’t know it was fake I’d think she just dyed her actual hair with how well she’s cut it to match her natural look. “This is a dance. This is the Rave’N! It’s our chance to let our hair down both figuratively and literally! Besides, your hair is gorgeous, it’d be a shame not to show it off more. Don’t you think so, Thing?” 

The appendage doesn’t respond. Thing’s been very neutral during this verbal sparring session. He’s known me my entire life, and he knows this isn’t a fight Enid can win. This time the victory will be mine, Enid Sinclair. 

I finish applying my lipstick and begin putting on my dress, Thing lending a hand with the lacing. Once fully dressed again I begin loosening my braids. While I still plan on keeping my hair braided tonight the usual style and rigidity aren’t adequate for what I want to do. 

“Oh my god, are you actually doing it?” Enid’s face is lit up and she’s struggling not to bounce up and down like an overly excited rabbit. 

I give her my usual unamused look, then begin pulling the loosened braids up to form a semblance of a bun, Thing handing me hair pins as I need them. “No, merely making it easier to move them out of the way. Having my hair swing about isn’t the best way to go about dancing, I could hit someone in the face and blind them. If I blind anyone I want to make sure I’m aware and that they won’t recover.”

Enid rolls her eyes at me before smiling. “Ya know, it’s a real shame Nevermore doesn’t have a theatre club. You’d be a perfect fit with how overly dramatic you are.”

“I’ve actually done theatre before, in elementary school” I say. Enid looks up in surprise. I let myself smirk just slightly. “I hear they’re still trying to get the fake blood out of the front row seats.”

“Fake blood?” Enid begins, returning my slight smirk with a full grin. “I’m surprised Addams. Fake blood seems beneath you.”

“What can I say? I was young, I didn’t know how to keep the real thing from coagulating too fast to spray properly.”

Enid giggles. “Well I’m sure you know how to do it properly now, of course.”

“Of course,” I agree.

Enid moves over and reaches for my head. I shoot her a warning glare and she stops, holding her hands out in a placating gesture. “I’m not gonna force the issue, I just want to help. I have a better view.” I eye her for a few seconds before nodding. She takes over the work, having to redo a part I wasn’t quite able to get by myself. After getting it fully pinned she runs a finger along each side, pulling a small portion out to frame my face. I glare at her again. “It’s not gonna kill you, and like 99% is still up,” she retorts. I roll my eyes at her but don’t argue. My hair’s still braided, I won.

After Enid takes roughly a hundred photos of us both, we make our way to the dance, the steady beat of pop music growing ever louder as we make our way through Ophelia Hall and out onto the school grounds. We pass through the “quad” where Weems is both shocked and exceedingly smug to see me as she and Ms. Thornhill welcome the slowly progressing horde of students to the Rave’N. I suppose she expects I won’t be able to do anything devious under the lax eyes of bored and likely inebriated teachers trying to keep track of far too many students. 

The school’s ballroom is decorated entirely in white. White curtains cover the walls, a few fog machines pump out white smoke, and a large ice sculpture of a yeti stands as a centerpiece, gazing down at us in judgment for the decadence that led to its extinction. Several round tables are spread around the edges, set with plates and cutlery to hold the refreshments stretched across longer, rectangular tables filled with various food and drinks.

The majority of people around us followed the recommendation and are adorned primarily in white, though several people have accented their outfits in various shades of blue and silver. A couple are like myself and completely outside the recommended color palette, mostly a few of the teachers chaperoning but one of the other students is in a dark gray top and black skirt. I spot Bianca Barclay walking in with Xavier, a shimmering arctic blue scaled dress paired with her usual necklace. The artist is in a simple white suit with his hair pulled back in a bun. Enid’s eyes dart to the pair and she perks up, enticed by this sudden new development in the world of gossip. Surely she’s already mentally writing her next blog post.

Enid nudges my arm and points over to one of the far tables, where someone is waving us over. We make our way to the table, and as we get closer I can see that the waving person is Yoko, eschewing her typical glasses in the low lighting of the ballroom. Her hair is brushed back and curled, eyeliner drawn across the lids to make her eyes appear far larger and with purple eyeshadow to finish the illusion of eyes reminiscent of the extinct creature whose statue looms over us. Her dress is a light blue with an iron colored girdle about her waist and a dyed leather choker around her neck. 

I look at the other occupants of the table. Divina is next to her girlfriend, and gives me a subdued yet friendly wave along with a small smile. I nod in greeting. Next to her is her brother, Kent. Both are in blue suits, Kent’s a darker blue shirt to Divina’s more sky colored one, silver pants, and white vests. Divina also decided to accessorize with a large blue ribbon around her neck. While Kent is in his usual hair style Divina’s extended her’s and tied it back into a braid entwined with silver cord woven through it to keep it neat and contained. Her eyes are shadowed in an icy blue and like Enid she’s wearing rhinestones around her eyes, though in a wing out from the edges of the lids instead of under them.

“Look at the two of you, absolutely gorge!” the vampire says. “Wednesday, I can’t even with that dress. Where did you find that? There’s no way I missed it at Hawte Kewture.”

“As if that pastel coated hellscape would have something I’d wear,” I reply. Yoko and Divina laugh, sharing a look with Enid I don’t understand. I continue, “Thing noticed this dress at Uriah’s Heap. Not the first place I’d expect, but certainly an establishment more in my vein.”

“What thing?” Divina asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“Oh, Thing! He’s part of Wednesday’s family!” Enid chimes in, “He’s hanging around this year to help Wednesday out. He gives the best skincare tips, I didn’t know hands could get that smooth.”

Kent tilts his head, “So one of your relatives just moved to Jericho? Seems a bit excessive, let alone expensive.”

I turn my eyes to the male siren. “My parents wanted him to spy on me, but I forced his fealty to shift. And it’s not particularly expensive, he lives with us so there’s no extra cost of accommodation.”

Both of the twins’ eyes go wide in alarm. Divina is the first to respond, “Wait so you just have a man living with you? Enid, how are you okay with that?!”

I look over to Enid, where I notice Yoko holding back laughter. It seems only the sirens are out of the loop on Thing’s nature. Enid’s eyes go wide as she realizes the misunderstanding. 

Enid raises her hands and waves them around, “No, no, he’s just a hand! No creepy, weird guy hiding in my stuffed animals or anything!”

The twins respond in unison, “A. . . hand?”

I nod in confirmation. “Thing’s been part of our family for as long as I can remember, and other than a smidgen of wrist he is indeed fully a hand.” I exchange a look of amusement with Yoko and she finally bursts out laughing. 

Enid giggles along for a few moments before grabbing her plate and turning to me. “Come on, let’s get some food before we dance. I do not intend to workout on an empty stomach.” I nod in agreement and grab my own plate, lamenting the lack of pockets to carry any of my cyanide stash. Dinner shall be as bland as an all white dance party, I suppose. 

The werewolf is still adding meat to her plate two tables down when I feel a presence on my other side. I look over and find Xavier eyeing the array of desserts spread in front of us. He notices my glance and gives a smile as he picks out some glacial looking confection. “Glad you took my advice,” he says. 

“I didn’t have a choice, I owed her a favor and she called it in,” I reply. 

“You did, you just didn’t want to upset her. Anyone else tried that and you’d have shot them down with the same precision you nailed that apple to my target. Don’t think I haven’t heard what Addams women do to unwanted suitors. My godmother had plenty of stories.”

“Perhaps,” I allow, “I do find myself expressing an unwanted amount of sentiment since enrolling here.”

“You mean any?” he asks, laughing lightly. 

“You’re not as stupid as you look.”

“What can I say? I keep trying, but somehow that last brain cell just refuses to die.”

There’s a dark chocolate mousse on the artist’s other side. I walk around him and take it. “Enough about my date, I’m interested to hear about yours. I heard you and Bianca had a falling out at the beginning of the year. I’m surprised to see you two together.”

Xavier grimaces. “I suppose your roommate is Nevermore’s biggest gossip, I shouldn’t be surprised you heard about that.” He sighs, “Yeah, we had a fight and broke up. Trust issues. You know how cutthroat she is, and dating a siren always comes with the question ‘is this really what I want or what she wants me to want?’ It got to me. We’ve been talking lately about it and decided to use tonight as a trial run of giving it another shot.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him and spot Enid trying to catch my eye behind him. She can tell we’re discussing something serious, so I expect I’ll be grilled at some point in the near future. And sadly I doubt there’ll be even the suggestion of an open flame.

I put my focus back on Xavier, might as well get as much gossip as I can. “So what’s different this time? Couldn’t she have siren songed you into this second shot?”

“She could have,” he agrees, “but sometimes when you like someone it’s worth the risk to trust them.” 

He leaves then. I watch him head back to the queen bee who scrutinizes him for a moment before his relaxed smile puts her at ease. I head back to the table where Enid’s already eating, but I don’t sit down. “I’m grabbing a drink, shall I grab one for you as well?” I ask her. Enid covers her mouth as she chews but gives up part way and just nods. I turn back and Yoko falls in step alongside me. 

I think back to what Xavier said and ask the vampire, “Are you ever worried about Divina using her siren song on you?”

Yoko responds through laughter, “Hell of a way to start a conversation, Addams. Why do you want to know? Got eyes on a siren?”

“Talking with Xavier about Bianca. It’s a hangup between them, I am curious if it’s common in the partners of sirens. Since I’ve been informed we’re friends and you’re also involved with one I decided to get your perspective.”

Yoko twitches her nose a bit before answering. “Yes and no. She’s done it before on accident, and I worry about that because it embarasses her, but I don’t worry about her using it on me intentionally.” She dons a wicked grin, “Sometimes when we’re alone I even ask her to use it when we–”

“Friend or no I will cut your tongue out if you finish that sentence,” I warn her. 

“Got it, shutting up about the sex life.” We both grab two bubbling unnaturally blue drinks the table has labeled as yetitinis. That’s certainly a name. “It’s such a shame this and iced Hi-C are all they have as drinks,” Yoko says, “I could have gotten the same effect with waaay more taste.”

“So you can do more than ‘killer virgin mojitos?’” I ask her as we head back to the table. 

She rolls her eyes, “Way more and with alcohol too, but it’s harder to buy in Jericho so that’s mostly an at home thing. Maybe there’ll be a chance over a break for me to mix you something. Absinthe or vermouth base, you seem like the wormwood type.”

“I do like a hint of poison in my drinks.” I sit one of the glasses down in front of Enid, who eyes me warily. I hold her gaze as I sip pointedly from my own glass and she gives a frightened look. 

“My drinks, Enid,” I tell her after a moment, “and I didn’t spike either. Of course having now tasted it, I wish I had.” The werewolf eyes the drink with some trepidation, but takes a small sip. She pauses, as if expecting to die at any second, before finally accepting it’s safe and taking a bigger sip. 

Yoko explains the context of my poison comment while I eat, relieving Enid and getting her excited at the possibility of a group hangout over one of the longer breaks. Friends or not, I intend to stay firmly at home during any and all breaks. I had more than my fill of rainbows the first day in our room and I miss the days when I was left well alone by the populace at large. The downside of a school for outcasts is an increased tolerance among the rabble for evil looks and harsh words. While at my previous schools I was “creepy and dangerous” here I’m considered just “shy, with a penchant for black humor.” I miss the fear.

I peck at my plate while the others talk, mostly about unexpected couples. This unfortunately gives Enid a way to segue into my conversation with Xavier. “Did he say anything when you were talking to him earlier? Seemed a bit heavy to just be chitchat.”

I take another bite and chew very slowly, signaling that I don’t want to be part of this inane discussion, but Enid, Yoko, and Divina just wait patiently. I make a point of not looking to the vampire for assistance. She knows the answer, but if she answered it’d reveal the question I asked which would lead to more inane questions. She’s uncertain if I’m willing to have that revealed–or unwilling to admit the topic came up in front of her siren lover, and so gladly lets me take the heat while she sits in silence and plays with Divina’s hair.

Kent at least has the good grace to excuse himself, heading off to the table where the couple in question are sitting next to Ajax and the gorgon’s date. The gorgon seems into her, so I doubt I need to enforce his vow with any kind of strictness going forward, but I make a note to sneak up on him later. He at least is still sensible enough to fear me, so it’ll be fun.

I can only masticate for so long, and so am forced to participate against my will. “He was insecure about their relationship. They discussed it. They’re giving it another chance,” I say, giving them as little as I can. If I have to participate in gossip I have to at least make them work for it.

“That’s all he said?” Enid asks, “or is that all you’re willing to tell us?”

“He can’t shut up around you, you have to know more,” Yoko chimes in with a grin. She sees my game for what it is, I didn’t exactly play coy with her about it earlier, and has accepted the challenge. “Is it love renewed or is Bianca just nursing his broken heart? I know for a fact he planned on asking someone else before learning she was spoken for.” Oddly her eyes flicker over to Enid for a moment, who just nods in agreement.

“I doubt Xavier wants me spilling his relationship drama all over the school. It seems in poor taste to ruin their renewed relationship on the first night,” I say. Several eyes light up at the slight morsel I provided, and they decide to push.

“Since when do you care about something like that?” Divina asks me, “Bianca’s been tightlipped about it even to,” her eyes flicker to the werewolf and she doesn’t miss a beat, “the rest of us scales. Of course we’re curious.”

“Maybe therapy is finally working,” I respond in the blandest tone I can muster, “maybe I’ve discovered the joys of respecting other people’s boundaries.”

“Come on, we’re your friends,” Enid pleads. The effect is somewhat ruined by her trying not to laugh at my joke. “And it’s not like I blog about things that can hurt people. If it’s serious we can keep it quiet. Pleeeeease?”

I down the rest of my drink before looking pointedly at the couple with us. “Since we’re at a dance, I believe it is time to do so.” I make my way to the dance floor, the DJ is occasionally playing music to my taste and such a song has just started. After finding a spot with a reasonable amount of room I turn and see that Enid followed me as expected. 

I let myself feel the music and begin dancing. Contrary to what most people think, I do in fact like to dance. Growing up with Gomez Addams as a father it’s near impossible not to. Tango, waltz, flamenco, mamushka, I know many types of dances, though I prefer to dance solo and in whatever fashion I feel like instead of a routine made by people long since dead. 

While surprised at first by my unorthodox movements, Enid adjusts quickly, her own dancing more structured at first but gradually loosening to better match my pace. “You really don’t have to worry about us saying anything,” she says when the music changes to something softer and my dancing becomes more constrained. We move a bit closer to each other both because of the slower pace and the increasing number of other dancers.

I let the mischief dance in my eyes. “I knew you’d want to know so got everything I could. I’ll tell you when we’re back in our room. Though I suspect you’re going to be the last to know.” I enjoy her confused look for a moment before continuing. “I discussed it with Yoko while we were getting drinks. I expect she’s already filling her girlfriend in.”

“You told Yoko before me!? I thought we were besties!” Enid pouts in an exaggerated manner, not truly hurt by it. I’ve learned enough by now to tell when she’s actually upset. 

“I was curious about what he said and she’s also dating a siren. I wanted to see if the experiences matched up,” I respond. Enid’s eyes flicker in understanding, figuring out the core of the issue. 

The music shifts again into a slow dance, I offer Enid my hand. “I thought you didn’t do touch?” Enid asks as she takes it. I put my other hand on her hip as she takes my shoulder.

“I don’t do hugs,” I respond as we begin a simple box step, “At least when I can help it. Not even a knife can stop my father and brother. This is dancing. It’s different. Besides, some degree of physical contact is unavoidable, it’s not practical to forgo it entirely.”

“So what I’m hearing is we should have a two point two person dance party in our room at some point,” the werewolf says, her eyes lighting up.

“Point two?”

“Well yeah, it’d be rude to leave Thing out. And he’s got some killer moves. Unlike you he can appreciate kpop, he’s even adapted some of the routines.”

“Mmm, perhaps then. But not to any of the drivel you usually prance around to. I’d sooner hobble myself than attempt to dance to that noise.”

“You realize if we stick to what’s on your gramophone it’ll just be slow dances, right?” Enid wiggles her eyebrows in a mock flirtatious manner.

I twirl her before responding. “You can find more on the internet. I know for a fact there are several songs that’ve played tonight with a faster beat we both enjoyed.”

“Dang, thought I was gonna trip you up with that one,” Enid responds with a wink.

“You’ll need to do better if you want to fluster me, Enid.” The song shifts into another slow one. With my confidence in Enid’s practical dancing strengthened I go into a more complex waltz. “I didn’t think you’d know any of the more classic styles, just your freestyle movements,” I comment. 

“I took a course in ballroom dancing over the summer. Werewolves usually like to stay active and there’s only so much you can walk around, even in a city like San Francisco, so I usually do gymnastics or join a sports team or something.”

“Ah. There’s usually enough chaos at home that a bit of fencing is enough deliberate activity for me.” Enid dips me despite my position as lead, smirking as I glare at her. When she pulls me back up she shifts us so I’m now the one being led.

“I’m surprised he has a date,” Enid says a few moments later. I don’t need to ask who she’s referring to. “I wonder if she had to spell everything out like a needy, pathetic, doormat like I did. Or maybe he actually likes her and didn’t have to be prompted to ask.”

“I suspect Xavier got Bianca to pull some strings for him,” I say. “I don’t think he’s cognizant enough to properly interact in a romantic fashion.” The music switches to something faster but I don’t let go. We come to a stop. “And Enid, being direct does not make you needy or pathetic. I’ve been told those kinds of signals are hard to grasp even for people better suited for interpersonal interactions than myself, so your blunt approach is admirable, not pathetic. As for being a doormat, a doormat would have asked him to this dance instead of their mentally unstable roommate. Nor would she have torn up two of our walls and a school bus.”

Enid smiles sheepishly, I’m unsure if the blush on her face is from my compliment or the reference to her destruction of school property. “Thank you, Wednesday. You’re right, that was just my mother talking.” The hand on my shoulder squeezes gently. 

“I find it best to ignore the words of my mother. I suggest you do the same for yours. It leads to a better life.” Enid laughs at my advice. 

She scans the crowd for a moment before pointing my attention to where the others are dancing in a small group. “I’m going to go dance with them for a bit, if you want to take a break, maybe find your beekeeping friend and see how his night’s going.”

“Eugene decided to skip the dance. He wasn’t able to find a date and didn’t want to go alone,” I tell her. We begin making our way to the group, dodging others as they dance with only a modicum of spatial awareness. 

“That’s too bad, he could have hung with all of us. Sure the constant bee trivia is a bit odd, but he’s sweet. He keeps giving me honey.”

“He wanted to go with you.” I’m not sure why I say it, but the words have already left my mouth so I commit. “The last jar was originally supposed to come with my ‘good word’ as he put it before I told him we were going together.”

Her eyes go wide and she stops moving, “Oh. Oh, I. . . huh. I uh, feel bad for him then. He must not have taken that well. I’m a little surprised, we’ve had like two non-bee related conversations and both were about you.”

“You’re pretty, popular, and according to him he has a proclivity for werewolves. It’s a mild crush at worst, and when I told him we are each other’s dates he was oddly happy with it. He said something about also having wings like a bee, I was confused. I meant to ask if you have any inkling what it could be about? You’re better at deciphering emotions than I am.”

Enid starts moving again, a bit slower while she thinks. “Uh. . . I’m coming away empty there. I don’t know what wings have to do with dates or rejection. Honestly I didn’t understand half of what he told me when I was covering for you that one time, I was focusing on not getting stung. Maybe he was just happy to see you having a social life outside of the hive? You def have a reputation as a loner. Well maybe less of one now you hangout with us sometimes.”

I’m annoyed that she couldn’t solve the mystery of Eugene’s odd acceptance, but it’s partially on me for not committing his exact words to memory. The case was more important at the time anyway. We join back up with the group. Divina is dancing with her brother while Yoko is turned away slightly dancing with a group of fangs next to them. The twins turn outward when they notice us, letting the dance of two grow to fit all four participants. 

We pass a couple songs like this before I hear the beginning of a song I recognize by The Cramps. Enough people are taking a break I decide to fully cut loose. As my dance partner Enid enthusiastically joins in, trying to generally mirror my movements as best she can without knowing what I’m going to do in advance. She doesn’t follow particularly well, but it’s clear she’s having fun nonetheless. Kent seems to have slipped off to yet another friend group, but Yoko and Divina are dancing next to us. Not quite as unrestrained but much more wildly than they’ve been doing previously. 

Once the song ends I excuse myself. I need a break from all of the noise and motion, and I’ve been on my feet long enough the discomfort has moved from enjoyable to unpleasant. I make my way out into the lobby, stumbling a bit as all of the footfalls of the night catch up to me at once. The nearest place to sit is also occupied by Bianca Barclay. Her shoes are off and her head is tilted back while she rests with closed eyes. I make my way over and begin removing the offending footwear. “Whoever invented high heels clearly had a side hustle as a torturer.”

The siren laughs, “The price we pay for a good time. I’m surprised you’re not happier wearing something that worsens your balance and hurts like hell.”

“There’s a limit to even the suffering an Addams enjoys. Speaking of suffering, I see you came with Xavier. Shouldn’t you be with him?”

She shrugs. “He’s doing guy talk right now with some of his friends. My feet hurt and I wanted to think for a bit so I came out here and left him to it. Much like I suspect you’re doing with Sinclair since she’s not with you. Interesting choice of date, by the way.”

“I owed her a favor, she called it in. An Addams keeps their word.”

“Xavier mentioned that. Also told us why Ajax had the shit scared out of him a while back. Who’d have thought you’re actually a softy underneath all the glaring and self importance.”

I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of glaring, so I just stare at her with a blank expression. She smiles in an annoying way that says she thinks she still won. “Speaking of braindead gorgons, he told me you were the one behind that little kidnapping stunt,” I tell her.

Bianca shrugs, “And he also mentioned Kent, I know. He told us. So what? You know why we did it and if you were going to do something to us specifically I doubt Kent would be dancing right now.”

I hold her gaze for a few moments before responding. “I mention it because if you’re going to play at secret society you need to do a better job. It may be more of a social club now but it shouldn’t be that easy to get someone to turn on the group.”

“We’ll take it under advisement,” Bianca says as she puts her shoes back on and stands up. She starts heading back into the dance, but turns and looks at me at the door. “Don’t go too hard tonight, Addams. I don’t want you using those heels as an excuse when I win our next fencing match too.” I glare into her back. Her victory was a mix of luck and my underestimating her. The latter won’t happen again and luck can only take one so far. 

I take a few more minutes to relax and stretch my arches, then put my heels back on. As I ready to return to the group I see Ajax’s date pulling him away from the dance. I’d been meaning to have a bit of fun with him tonight, and ruining whatever liaison he has going on here seems the perfect way to do so. 

It’s more difficult to move quietly in heels, but not impossible. I learned to do it back when I was a small child, stealing my mother’s clothes and playing dress up long before I realized I was playing directly into her dreadful plans. Still, it’s not a skill one loses once they’ve acquired it, and I make my way quickly behind them. Right before they head out on the “quad” I call out. 

“Hello, Ajax. I see you had no problem finding a date.”

He jumps, pulling the girl leading him back. She almost falls, only barely managing to catch the door frame. “Wednesday! Holy shit, you must be part ghost or something.”

I take a step toward him, then take another as he steps back. “You got my name right this time, I suppose you can learn.”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, “I was kinda panicking last time ‘cause of all the gore and stuff and I remembered it was a day of the week but my brain went to Tuesday Weld. Sorry.” Surprisingly he seems genuinely apologetic for getting my name wrong. His date mouths the word ‘gore’ behind him and moves to put Ajax more between us.

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Oh! She’s an actress, she was in–” he begins, his posture shifting into something more casual. That won’t do. 

“I don’t care to learn. I just wanted to inform you that your continuation of our agreement is noted. Continue to adhere to it closely, Petropolus, and you have nothing to fear. But if you break it. . .” He goes back on edge, taking another half step back. He backs into his date but she’s too wary to say anything, instead shrinking down to hide behind him further. “Now excuse me, I have to return to my date.” I turn on my heel and leave them just slightly unnerved. I can hear her asking him what he did, there’s an edge of panic in her poorly whispered tone. The edges of my mouth twitch upward ever so slightly. Ah Machiavelli, how right you were when you said it was better to be feared.

I spot Enid alone at the table we occupied earlier in the night, scrolling through her phone with half a glass of punch in front of her. I grab my own glass before taking a seat next to her. “You’ve been abandoned in my absence, do I get to stab them now?”

Enid looks up from her Instant Graham feed. “No, they wanted to chill with Bianca’s group for a bit and since she and I don’t get along I figured it was a good time for a break myself and it’d be easier for you to find me when you came back. Feet feeling better?”

“Not really, though the urge to saw them off is no longer overwhelming. I doubt I’m going to be moving very far from our room tomorrow, regardless.” I sip on the punch. It’s overly sweet but it’s cold and liquid, so suits my purposes. 

“Same, and I even wore flats. Still, there’s something so fun about everyone dancing together. It's worth the soreness the next day, don’tcha think?” Enid tilts her head towards me and smiles, mirroring me by taking a sip of her own punch. 

“There. . . can be an appeal,” I admit. “Though I’ve really only enjoyed family dances before now. The music selection is better by far and occasionally someone’s unable to catch the knife.”

Enid grimaces as she says “Oh god, remind me never to go to one of your family’s parties.” She perks up, “Wait, you said before now. That means you’re having fun! Yay! See, I knew you’d enjoy it!”

I roll my eyes at her, “Yes, yes, surprisingly not every song made my ears bleed and I enjoyed a chance to dance. You’ve thrown enough social interaction at me in the past two weeks something had to partially stick. Don’t get used to it. I’m a recluse, I want to be reclusive for a while after tonight.”

The DJ announces the final song of the night and Enid stands up, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet as Dua Lipa begins singing her one hit wonder. “Okay, fine, I won’t make you talk to your friends for a while. But you better have one last dance in you, it’d be a sin to sit the last one out.” 

I let her lead me onto the floor, and we manage to find the others. Bianca’s focused on Xavier and the scales and fangs have mixed, so it’s a much larger group than before that we join. Divina and Kent pull Enid forward to dance with them while Yoko gives me an exaggerated bow before launching into what I can only assume is a modern clubbing dance. I join the vampire, sticking to my own style but keeping my movements contained to avoid hitting the people around me. 

It takes a few moments before I notice the sea of white begin to turn red. I stop dancing and let my eyes trail upward to the active sprinklers. 

Slowly the others begin to stop dancing, some because they noticed my sudden halt and others because they too notice the crimson rain. I can only barely notice them as I appreciate the blood shower. I can feel myself smiling, Carrie always was a favorite of mine. 

Enid starts pulling at my arm, her eyes panicked. I look around and notice many others flailing around, slipping in the mess covering the floor. All of their whites and blues and silvers stained bloody red. I lead Enid gently away from the crowd, one of the scales slipping through the space she occupied only a few scant moments prior as they fall. I pull her to the side of the room, where she can brace herself against a wall as we make our way to the exit. 

Once out of the chaos I turn to her. Everything is dyed red. The white of her dress, the pink of her hair, even the whites of her eyes are dyed red. If it weren’t for the fear and disgust evident on her face she would truly look the fearsome wolf she’s hinted lies within during her bouts of anger. It’s a shame she’s not angry about it now, I’d love to see what she’d do with her claws in this situation.

I move to pull us back to our room and I decide to taste the blood. Myy face drops when I realize what truly happened. I turn back to Enid with a look of disappointment, “They couldn’t even spring for real pig’s blood. It’s only paint.” And here I thought they found the perfect way to cap the night. Of course they’d ruin it. 

Enid looks relieved, “Oh thank god. I was trying so hard not to be sick. I hope it comes out easy, I wanted to wear this dress agai– Oh no your dress is covered too! And it looked so good on you!”

I will never understand Enid Sinclair. “If anything I was going to give it a bit of blood spatter before ever wearing it again. Of course I do prefer the real thing to paint, so I may do that anyway. I’m sure we can get something to clean it but is that really your reaction? I’m surprised you’re not angry about it. They can’t even do blood from the sprinklers right, what kind of dance is this?”

“Umm Wednesday, I don’t think that was supposed to happen,” Enid says. She’s looking behind me, “And I was mostly relieved before, but yeah I think I’m mad now.” I turn around and spot the three normies that’ve been a repeated thorn in my side. They howl and cackle as they see us and the others trickling out of the ballroom behind us. 

“I suppose it’s time I finish them,” I say and begin making my way forward. I think breaking each individual finger along with their fibulas should be a sufficient lesson. I make it about five steps before I feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. “Let me go, Enid, they need to be punished.”

“Quite right, Miss Addams,” says a voice that very much does not belong to Enid. I turn my head then have to crane it up to meet the towering gaze of Principal Weems. Her usually perfectly coiffed hair is disarrayed, she, like the students, is covered in paint. And in her eyes burn a fury that makes it clear how she survived being roommates with my mother in their youth. “But that’s not for you to mete out. I do believe I will be having words with my Normie counterpart along with the Mayor, since his son so graciously decided to grace us with his presence this evening.” While all two of normies pale under the wrath of the sizeable woman, the mayor’s son looks like he’s going to be sick. I feel my approval of Weems tick up ever so slightly.

Chapter Text

“You don’t sound that upset that she stopped you,” Dr. Kinbott comments as I finish a brief summary of Saturday night. The therapist is sitting cross legged on the floor while I’m at an armchair with a table pulled in front. We’re both brushing out the fur on some of Kinbott’s taxidermy work. 

“Weems was livid and has connections, I know they’re going to suffer. It may not be by my hand but they offended her far more than they did me, vengeance is hers by right. Amazing what those in authority can do when they really care.” I don’t look at her while I respond, just as she hasn’t been looking at me. The work is more important than the conversation, and we both know it.

“So you’re okay with letting her punish them because it affected her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe she’ll only intervene if it involves her directly?” The question marks a shift. We’re moving from casual conversation back to therapist and client. I look over to her and she holds my gaze for just a moment before looking back at her brushwork. She wasn’t trying to hide the glance, merely acknowledging my own.

I sigh, not in exasperation but because I know I have to answer here and that answer will carry weight. “It’s how these things go. Lucas Walker is the mayor’s son, he’s in a position of affluence. He’s been tormenting the students of Nevermore for a few years from what I’ve heard and yet nothing’s been done about him until there’s paint on Larissa Weems’s face. I’ve seen the same kind of behavior at each of the other schools I went to. Teachers are willing to look the other way when their star students lash out at those around them but are oh so quick to invoke their precious zero tolerance policy to punish anyone that strikes back.” My hands have stopped. I glance back over to the older woman. 

Dr. Kinbott has also stopped brushing, sitting with hands folded in her lap and her eyes closed, analyzing my words for any thread she can latch onto to get me committed. After a few moments she nods to herself and asks, “Is that why you put the piranhas in the pool? You knew no one else was going to do anything to stop them bullying your brother?”

“Yes.”

Kinbott also sighs, though unlike mine her’s is a form of defeat. “Well, I can’t say I approve of your methods, but I can’t fault your logic. I also can’t blame you for wanting to protect your little brother.”

That’s an unexpected response. My eyes widen in surprise and I can’t think of anything to say to that. I go back to brushing. 

“I think something you should consider working on is proportional responses. Let’s try an exercise,” She stands up and walks over to her desk, pulling out pen and paper. She brings them over to me, pulling up another small table so I don’t have to move the figure I’m still brushing. “I want you to come up with a scale, one to ten. At one, we’re going to inform a teacher and at ten we’re going to put dump piranhas in the pool,” She writes out a numbered list and puts the corresponding actions at the one and ten spots. “You don’t have to finish it today, you don’t even have to start it this hour if you don’t want to, but I would like for you to fill this out before our next session. Are you willing to do this for me, Wednesday?”

I look back to the squirrel I’ve been brushing, then back to her. I pick up the piece of paper and fold it before putting it in my bag. Dr. Kinbott smiles, then goes back to her own squirrel. “So,” she says after a few moments of silence, “tell me about your brother.”

I consider the question for a moment. The question isn’t directly about me, it could be simple curiosity. More likely the way I describe Pugsley will be used as a springboard to ask about other members of my family, an attempt to casually gauge our relationships. I don’t exactly hide what I think of my parents and I doubt any number of taxidermy squirrels we discuss will ultimately change her opinion that I belong in permanent psychiatric detention, so really there’s no reason to spend effort avoiding the topic. 

“Pugsley is weak. He’s overly sentimental, prone to bouts of tears, and clingy towards members of the family. All things our parents encourage. This makes him an easy target, he’s been teased, tormented, and shoved into lockers for as long as he’s been going to school. I’ve had to protect him every step of the way.”

Dr. Kinbott purses her lips and looks off to the side while she thinks. After a moment she asks, “Are you worried about him?”

I expected her to latch onto my comment about our parents encouraging his weakness. I have to take time to think about where she’s taking this. Ah, she’s going to point out how my protection is also enabling his codependence. Well played, Dr. Kinbott. 

“I wonder if without me to protect him he may actually grow a spine,” I begin. “Or at least dig one up. Uncle Knickknack likely had a few spares. While I was loath to attend Nevermore, I can’t deny I’m enjoying only having to look after myself.”

“I’m sure you are,” Dr. Kinbott responds, “Older siblings have extra worries that younger ones, or only children don’t have to consider. Even those that don’t like their younger siblings often feel responsible for them in some capacity. At that point where lives diverge it’s common to feel a sense of freedom, like a weight has been lifted. You no longer have to be a role model for them, you don’t have to watch them when your parents are busy, or make sure they’re doing okay in school.”

“I’m surprised, Dr. Kinbott. I expected admonition, not agreement.”

She shrugs, “Based on our conversations and what I know of the circumstances it seems most of your expulsions were due to you trying to protect your brother, that tells me you care for him a great deal and I’m not going to admonish you for having a healthy relationship with your brother. But just because you care for someone doesn’t mean you can’t get sick of having to look after them all the time. You’re his sister, not his parent, and you’re at the stage of life where you both want and need independence. While you’re still causing mischief, don’t think Principal Weems and I don’t talk about your school life, none of it is on the same level as what you’ve done in the past. That’s improvement!” She smiles on the last part like not being expelled yet is some kind of achievement.

“That’s. . . not where I expected any of this to go.”

She laughs, “Well I’m glad I can keep you on your toes, Wednesday. Now time’s almost up, but there is one last thing I wanted to ask you.”

I eye her warily. “And that is?”

“Parents’ Weekend is coming up in a few days. With your permission, I’d like for them to stay a day or two longer to have a family session.”

“Why?” I ask. 

“Partly to see how you interact with them, partly to see what they’re like. A real discussion can allow me to see where I can improve how we communicate and possibly help them communicate with you better as well.”

It’d be an easy way to bring up Garrett Gates in a controlled environment and perhaps Kinbott can convince them to tone down their affection where I, Uncle Fester, eight PTAs, several store managers, and three preachers have failed. I doubt it, but I’ll get a kick out of watching her try. “Well if you want to watch my parents slobber all over each other for an hour, by all means. Just don’t expect it to be very productive.”

Kinbott rolls her eyes and begins, “I know you don’t like displays of emotion, Wednesday, but it’s a sign of a healthy relation–”

Dr. Kinbott stops speaking, her eyes going wide. She appears unsettled. Oh, I must have let myself smile at her naivety. I glance at the clock, the full hour has passed. I leave the worried therapist and begin the trek back to Nevermore. For once I’m looking forward to a therapy session.

Enid is pacing when I return to Ophelia Hall, her hands clasped behind her and a panicked expression on her face. I stand in the doorway watching her. After several seconds the door clicks shut behind me and the trance she was in breaks. 

“Wednesday! This is bad, very bad!” Enid says as she dashes over to me. She just barely stops herself from grabbing me by the shoulders. I’m not sure if she was able to think through her evident panic or if it was pure survival instinct that led her to realize in time the action is too close to a hug for me to permit. 

Side stepping the anxious werewolf I set my bag on my desk, opening it to let Thing out. “What’s wrong, Enid? Did Yoko spill your favorite nail polish? Did Bianca make fun of that Korean boy band you love?.” I click my heels as I whirl to face her directly. “Do I get to kill the gorgon?”

My words do as intended and she flips from panic to annoyance. “No, yes but that’s not it, and NO! Parents’ Weekend is coming! I still haven’t wolfed out and I know my mom’s gonna bring it up. Doesn’t she realize I worry enough about it without her making every conversation about it? I am so not ready for this.”

There’s a saying about birds and stones. My parents are going to be themselves regardless of any audience, so I may as well. . . “You don’t want your mother judging you. I don’t want my parents interacting with me at all. Perhaps we could point them at each other? Any perceived fault your mother can find about you will be utterly overshadowed by the displays of my family, and Father’s fondness for meeting new people mixed with Mother’s incessant need to insert herself into other people’s lives should keep them all busy for at least a few hours.”

Enid looks surprised. She leans toward me slightly, hands clasped behind her back. “Soooo you’re saying you want to hang out during Parents’ Weekend?” 

I hold eye contact, I’m not going to let her think I’m going soft. “I’m saying with luck our parents will kill each other and we’ll both be free of them and without it at least they’ll have something else to focus on. Perhaps I’ll lure Pugsley out to the lake and see if he’s learned to swim yet. If you decide to tag along with us I would not be opposed. But be warned he’s at the age where he’s fascinated with werewolves, so you’ll likely be inundated with questions.”

She contemplates my words for a few moments, walking up to the boundary line. I match her, my arms folded in front of me. “You said he’s ‘at the age where he’s fascinated with werewolves,’ does that mean you were too when you were his age? What is it you like best?”

I sigh. Enid’s going to be insufferable the rest of the night now unless I answer her. She’ll be insufferable regardless, but I think the satisfaction will be less annoying than repeated questioning. “I have an appreciation for the claws. Preternaturally sharp, retractable, more durable than steel. Nature’s perfect knife, and werewolves get ten.”

“Huh,” Enid begins, “I thought for sure you’d say the transformation, what with all the body horror that entails. I mean I’ve never wolfed out and I have the claws.” She flexes her fingers, each nail extending into a perfectly painted claw. My eyes flicker to them just briefly but it’s enough for Enid to put on a smug look. 

“It’s the real reason why you backed off that first night, isn’t it? I always thought it was Ms. Thornhill, but you got distracted by my claws!” Her smile is so bright I think my eyes will start burning soon. 

“I dropped the argument because it wasn’t worth doing anything to get myself monitored more closely,” I say, “You may remember I tried a few times to escape back then. While I appreciate the destruction you can and have wrought with those claws–” My eyes dart to them and then the gouges still in our walls against my wishes. I’ll have to pluck my eyes out, it seems. “–they haven’t changed the way I interact with you at all.”

Enid laughs. “Well good to know we’re not just friends because little Wednesday would be jumping for joy she’s besties with a werewolf. Or whatever it is that you did when you were an excited kid.”

I remember back to those times I’d learn Uncle Fester was visiting, someone at school got hurt, or the few times I got a point on Father while fencing. “Strangle things, mostly. Sometimes dolls, usually Pugsley. Our parents thought he naturally turned blue for a few weeks once after Cousin Itt taught us the proper way to use a garrote.”

Enid nods, then looks concerned. “Is it bad that you say stuff like that and I just accept it now? Like, yeah, that’s absolutotally something your family would teach a kid. Just like how it’s completely normal you have a crystal ball instead of a phone and Thing is wanted in several countries for grand theft. I feel like my sense of normal is skewed irreparably. I mean I even just used ‘irreparably’ and I know I’d never heard that word three months ago. I’m pretty sure I even used it right.”

I nod to confirm she did, in fact, use it correctly. “Normal is an illusion. What’s normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. I assure you I’ve had similar thoughts about how accustomed I am to the amount of color in this room, the sound of kpop, and talking with your friends.” Enid gives me a look. “Fine. Our friends. If you told me three months ago I’d be friends with a walking rainbow, willingly take part in a boat race, or dance with a group I’d have said you lost your mind.”

“I guess we’re both expanding our worlds, huh?”

“It appears so.”

Enid looks at me conspiratorially. “Our parents are going to freak each other out, aren’t they?”

I nod. “Absolu– absol– whatever you said earlier.”

“Absolutotally?” Enid asks.

“Yes, that,” I confirm. “‘Howdy’ is much simpler to remember. You should make up more words like that one.” 

Enid’s eyes widen in concern. “You know I didn’t invent ‘howdy,’ right?”

I hold her gaze until legitimate worry fills her eyes, then I roll mine. “Yes, I know you didn’t. It was a joke.”

“Holy crap, you totally got me. I thought you were one hundo percent serious.” The werewolf bursts into laughter. 

“Thank you, it’s the deadpan expression I always wear. It keeps people guessing.” I don’t quite manage to stop a small twitch of my lips. Therapy must have been more tiring than I thought. 

Enid stops laughing but her eyes are sparkling. “You smiled!”

I school my face, removing anything I may not have noticed. “I do not smile.”

Enid shakes her head at me, a grin stretching her face. “You smiled! It was just for a second but that was totes a smile!”

I glare at the werewolf. “You’re imagining things. Now let’s leave for dinner. I’m delayed enough already by your chit chat, I have a schedule to keep and I’m not missing my writing time nor my cello practice.” I put on my coat and move to leave. Enid hastens to put on her coat and shoes behind me. 

We’re abreast by the time we descend the stairs and leave Ophelia. Walking through the evening air Enid leans close to my ear. “If you admit you smiled I’ll let you paint my claws black,” she says in a singsong voice as we make our way to the cafeteria. I pointedly refuse to answer, and Enid hooks her arm in mine. I wonder idly if the questioning would actually have been more bearable. 

Chapter Text

Informing my parents of Dr. Kinbott’s request meant enduring an hour long session on the crystal ball. I managed to complete three assignments during the passion filled make out sessions spread between basic questions about my life at Nevermore, my recent therapy sessions, and updates about Mother’s garden, Father’s new train setup, and Pugsley’s own school life. I take a measure of satisfaction when my brother informs me that he’s being left alone now despite my departure from Nancy Regan High. The general population of Nevermore may not fear me as they should, but at least that hell hole shows me proper respect even in my absence. 

“Well my little tormenta,” Father finally says at the end of their interrogation, “as always it’s been a horror speaking with you, but we’ll let you go.”

“One moment. Father, Mother, my therapist wanted me to request you arrive a day early and attend a family therapy session on Thursday.” I feel a sense of satisfaction as Mother’s face fallsl slightly.

“I don’t thi–” Mother begins before Father cuts her off. 

“Oh I’ve always wanted to have my head shrunk, of course we will, my little spider!” Father is beaming. 

I glance at Mother and see the war between amusement at his antics and frustration knowing she’ll be forced to attend therapy as well, even if it’s only a session. Eventually she says, “It’s not that kind of head-shrinking, mon chéri.”

Father looks at her and deflates. “Well, that is disappointing.” His gaze returns to me, and it’s clear his mood is already recovering. “But anything for our little girl,” he says with one of his usual affectionate smiles. Mother nods in agreement, albeit reluctantly, and the ball clears as the connection fades. I cover the ball and pack it away. 

“Your dad’s adorable.”

I look over to Enid. She’s seated on her bed, resting against her mountain of pillows and stuffed animals with her laptop in her lap. Her gaze flicks back down to the screen in front of her after catching my gaze. 

“I believe a better word is simpering,” I counter, “though I’m not surprised you find him endearing. He has that effect on people. He’s aware of it, and uses it to great advantage in court.”

Enid looks back up to me, closing her laptop. “Oh yeah, he’s a lawyer, right? He must win a lot of his cases then.”

“Actually, he has a one hundred percent loss rate.” 

Enid eyes me in confusion. “He’s seriously never won a case? But you just said he’s super endearing and it helps him in court. How does that work?”

“It’s simple,” I say. Thing is tapping rapidly on my desk, his version of laughter. “It’s entirely his goal to lose.” I savor Enid’s vexation for a few moments before elaborating. “Father is a public defense attorney specializing in representation of New Jersey’s worst criminals. He only takes cases once he establishes guilt and then guarantees they lose. More than one hardened criminal has changed off their not guilty plea once learning they’ll be represented by Gomez Addams.”

Now in on the joke of Father’s win rate, Enid giggles. “Okay, I love that! It def explains your sense of justice.”

I stare at her. She grins back at me. “Enid. . . Enid you’ve seen me commit at least three crimes this week. ”

She shrugs. “But they were minor crimes and they didn’t hurt anyone. That’s like, not even a crime if you think about it.”

I arch an eyebrow. “And the piranhas? Someone very much got hurt.”

“Yeah, but knowing what they did to your brother they totes deserved it. Justice!” Enid winks at me and I roll my eyes at her. With a small amount of fondness. She’s been taking my lessons to heart. “Plus isn’t it unethical to purposefully try and get your client convicted?” I nod. “Well then there you go! You have the same sense of justice, he’s just better about finding the line and not crossing it.”

I ponder her words while Enid stretches her wrists. This lines up with Kinbott’s talk of appropriate levels of retribution. It’s odd that Father never discussed this with me before during any of the various life lessons he imparted during my childhood. Was this something I was supposed to glean from observation and failed to do so? Did it perhaps not occur to him given the restraint Pugsley and I inherently use with each other? Perhaps he doesn’t distinguish between family and outsider like I do, and so given that my brother always left our games mostly unharmed he believed the lesson learned. Or, perhaps, it is one of those things that cannot be taught but must be learned from experience. 

I look back to Enid. She’s gathering her crochet supplies into one of her backpacks. Right, it’s one of her club days. I wave her off and she leaves. When she gets back I’ll have to ask if she was ever given explicit lessons on social interaction.

Come Thursday afternoon I stand outside Kinbott’s office watching Lurch pull the family car up to the building. He catches my eye and the stiff muscles of his mouth twitch slowly into a small smile. I nod in acknowledgement to him, returning his gesture with a faint twitch of my own mouth, the closest to a smile I’m willing to give in public. 

Pugsley is the first to exit the car, not waiting for Lurch to open the door as our parents are wont to do. He’s grown a little. He makes his way over to me and forces a stiff, one-sided hug that he drops almost as soon as it starts. Father has stepped up now and gives a longer and more forceful hug, which I tolerate for him. Mother grips the air above my shoulders and kisses the empty space a few inches in front of my forehead. Without speaking I lead them up into the office. 

Once signed and shown in, Dr. Kinbott greets us with her typical overly large smile. Extra chairs have been added to the room and she gestures at them vaguely. “Sit wherever you like, and feel free to move things around. We want everyone to be comfortable while we talk.”

Mother chooses her seat first, only adjusting the angle inward slightly, and Father predictably takes the seat next to her, similarly angling it. Pugsley leaves an empty seat, presumably for me, then grabs a bowl of potpourri and after smelling it takes out a tiny piece and eats it. He sets the bowl in his lap. I take the chair he neglected, but move it so that it’s a bit further away, looking directly at the other three and Kinbott takes the last chair and does her best to position it to form a circle. I move my chair in response, moving more towards her side. This isn’t a sharing circle, it’s an interrogation. Kinbott gives a bemused huff but lets it go. 

“So, would anyone like to start? We can talk about anything the group wants to.” Kinbott looks at each of us in turn, still smiling. Silence rings out and her smile begins to slip. I decide to throw her a bone. She’s made a legitimate attempt to be a better therapist, I’ll make a small attempt at being a better patient. 

“I’ve invited Enid to dinner with us tonight. She’s a werewolf, so somewhere that serves meat rare or rawer is appropriate.”

Pugsley’s eyes light up at the mention of dining with an actual werewolf. I suspect Enid will be very busy humoring his curiosity throughout my family’s visit. Father lifts his arms in a pleased gesture and says, “Oh how wonderful, my little knife has made a friend! Of course, we will make sure she has all the bloody meat she can feast upon.” 

Mother appears shocked for a moment, but in a pleased manner. Her lips tilt upward ever so slightly. “I knew you’d find others more in tune with you, Wednesday. While it hurts having you so far from us, this is your opportunity to bloom.”

Kinbott lifts her hand slightly, raising a finger to indicate interjection. “Thank you, Morticia, for sharing that. So you miss having your daughter around. I’d like us to discuss that further, how the three of you feel about having Wednesday away from home.”

“I mean, for me. . .” Pugsley speaks up hesitantly. Mother smiles at him softly and Father places a hand on Pugsley’s shoulder for support. “It’s been hard not having Wednesday around. I never thought I’d miss being waterboarded so much.” He eats another chip, and Dr. Kinbott grimaces slightly at the sight. 

“So you miss playing games with your sister, that’s understandable,” Kinbott says, “What about school? I know Wednesday looked after you while you were both at Nancy Regan. How do you feel not having her there anymore?”

“It was hard at first. I was kinda considered open game when they realized she wasn’t coming back.” I inhale sharply and feel the sting as my nails dig into my palms. Mother gestures from across the room in an attempt to comfort me. It does nothing. “But I decided to try and do what she’d do, and after a few firecrackers and a box of spiders they leave me alone.” He smiles at me, proud of himself. The tension in my body loosens and I give him a look to let him know I’m proud of him for taking them on like a proper Addams. I’m sure it’ll make him much more fun to torture during the summer as well, now that he may just fight back.

Kinbott is less pleased, though tries to hide it. “Well I’m glad you’re not being bullied anymore, Pugsley,” she says, “but I’d like to caution you about measured responses. Isn’t that right, Wednesday?”

I side eye her, then say in the most faux cheerful voice I can muster, “Yes. There are in fact nine degrees between doing nothing and piranhas. Make sure you stop before fish.” Pugsley and Father fall into a fit of laughter, Mother tries to look disappointed but fails, and Kinbott has her head in her hands, regretting asking for my input. We may be building a better relationship, but what can I say? Rome wasn’t sacked in a day. 

Once the laughter dies down Kinbott tries to take back control. “Morticia, Gomez, how have you been coping with your daughter’s departure?”

“Oh, it’s been torture for us too,” Mother says. I roll my eyes at how inauthentic it sounds. 

Father takes her hand and adds, “Fortunately, my brother Fester’s rack fits two people.”

Mother gives him a coquettish look. “Nothing like a good stretch to bring out the best in each other.”

“Querida mía,” he whispers gently in reply, he begins kissing up her arm. 

I’m honestly surprised it took them this long.

They say those that have known each other well for a long time can communicate nonverbally, entire conversations occurring with only facial expressions and subtle gestures. The amount of time and interpersonal knowledge isn’t required, however, when the train of thought for both participants is so obvious. Dr. Kinbott and I experience such conversation in a scant few moments after my parents begin slobbering all over each other in earnest. 

I give Kinbott a pointed look. Do you see what I mean about them?

She raises an eyebrow. You mean they’re always like this?

I roll my eyes. I remember not a single day of my life in which they haven’t been this overly amorous, regardless of any surrounding company. 

Kinbott’s eyes soften and she frowns in concern with thinned lips. Oh my god, you poor child. This explains so much . 

With mischief in my eyes I give her the barest ghost of a smile. I’m surprisingly well adjusted, aren’t I?

Her eyes widen in panic. Oh god. . . you are. 

Dr. Kinbott leans forward and starts pushing my parents apart, ignoring their contemptuous looks. “Right,” she says, “remember we’re here to discuss Wednesday. Let’s keep things like that for private time, okay?” She’s wearing her faux cheery smile again, eyes flicking between my parents until they both acknowledge her request and settle back fully into their seats. Mother resumes her typical pose of grace and dignity, but surprisingly Father seems properly chastised. This is probably why Kinbott points her next question to him. 

“Gomez, while it’s admirable that you and Morticia,” she gives Mother a slight nod of acknowledgement, “are open with your affection, do you think perhaps there’s a lack of restraint?”

He glances at Mother and she nods. He’s allowed to answer freely. She may not like being here, but she believes it necessary. It’s the only reason she relented. “My wife and I, we are passionate people. The Addamses are a passionate family, for generations. Perhaps we do get swept away, but it is a disservice to our love to not acknowledge it.”

Kinbott’s eyes swivel to Mother, who immediately recognizes that it’s her turn to answer. “I do not believe we are doing anything wrong. We stay within the limits of decorum. We simply have more. . . enthusiasm than other couples.” Mother’s gaze turns to Father, a salacious look in her eyes. 

Dr. Kinbott nods. “Perhaps you do stay within the limits of what’s technically. . . ignorable on a social level. But you also need to perhaps consider what’s appropriate in front of your children.” Mother goes to interject, but a raised hand from the therapist stops her. “Not just on a socially, I understand how outcast families have suffered under prevalent social norms, but on a personal one. I’m going to be straightforward here. You’re making your children uncomfortable. Yes, there is an age where any display of affection might elicit cries of disgust, but they’re beyond that age. This isn’t a typical part of their development as they become aware of romance and sexuality, but them communicating a problem to you.”

Father looks between me and Pugsley with a look of concern. I catch his eye and nod once and I may as well have slapped him. He turns back to Pugsley, who refuses to look up from the potpourri bowl that’s served as his snack the entire session. Mother closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Well, it seems Dr. Kinbott might actually be a miracle worker.

She presses the advantage. “Furthermore, consider what lesson they may take from this. You may be trying to teach them not to ignore their emotions, but you’re showing them they don’t need to restrain them either. I’ve been working with Wednesday on measured responses, how to acknowledge feelings of anger or even happiness and display them at an appropriate level. Be it with words or even vengeance. While neither of you are my patients, I do recommend you also consider working on it in regards to your affection. Have a real talk with your children and determine how far back the line needs to move.”

We sit in silence for a moment before Father turns to Mother and speaks. “You said this wasn’t that kind of head shrinking, Querida, but I definitely feel smaller right now.” The tension that had been building since Kinbott interrupted the previously uninterruptible snaps and everyone other than myself begins to laugh. Pugsley coughs harshly a moment later, dislodging the potpourri that stuck in his throat after the unexpected laughter. I nudge him with my shoulder, giving him a look to remind him not to die before I can kill him. Pugsley smiles at me. 

I give Kinbott a questioning look, a request to take the floor. She nods assent. I stand up and move in front of my parents. “Now that we’ve addressed my parent’s biggest crime, I believe it’s high time they face the music for another. It seems they’ve been lying to me. Keeping secrets. Murderous secrets that need to be addressed.” Father closes his eyes and Mother glares at me. They know what skeleton I’ve dug up. I pull out the file the barista gave me, showing it to them. “Who was Garrett Gates, and why were you accused of murdering him?” My stare bores into Father’s closed lids until he opens his eyes. To his credit he holds eye contact without flinching. 

“Those charges were dropped!” Mother spits at me,“Your father is an innocent man.”

I hold her gaze. “Local sheriff doesn’t seem too convinced.” 

My parents stand as the tension rises. Mother’s using her height against me as an intimidation tactic. Typical. Father probably just stands up because we were.

“Wednesday, stop. This is neither the time nor the place–”

“Actually, this is exactly the place!” Kinbott’s attempt to wrest control from my mother are admirable, even if they’re doomed to failure. “These sessions are–”

“Doctor. This does not concern you.” Mother interrupts, jabbing a finger at the therapist. She’s not yelling, Mother rarely does beyond needing her voice to carry, but her anger is evident. She turns to me. “And I refuse to debate a decades-old witch-hunt with you right now.” She sweeps behind her chair and moves to leave while Kinbott is trying to find the words to diffuse the situation. 

Father tries to reason with her, “Darling, perhaps we should–”

Mother cuts him off. “No. This session is over.”

“Have it your way, Mother,” I say as I move to cut her off. It’ll anger her if I’m able to exit dramatically before her. Kinbott calls to me but I ignore her quiet pleas. “If you refuse to tell me the truth, I’ll just have to excavate it myself.”

I don’t look back as I hear her following me. Right now I have the power in this argument. 

“What were you thinking?” Mother calls, using her longer stride to catch up to me, “How could you ambush your father like that? Wednesday!” My name is smothered in false indignation. 

I turn to face her, accepting her challenge. “How could I? You insisted I go to this school. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out your secret?”

“You don’t know the full story. Your father did nothing wrong.” 

If that were true, Mother, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to hide this from me. “I’ll be the judge of that.” We hold each other’s gaze for a few moments, neither will cracking. I about face and leave them. I can’t avoid them forever. Even without the weekend events we have dinner tonight scheduled and I have no intention of leaving Enid as a possible outlet of Mother’s anger at me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take this time to rub in Mother’s face that I don’t need her to return to the school, that she doesn’t have the power over me that she wants.

Chapter Text

Perhaps the only benefit of Jericho hosting a theme park dedicated to the whitewashing of Colonial era atrocities is a wider selection of high quality dining establishments than a town this size would reasonably be expected to possess. Father succeeded in finding a place that catered both to his and Mother’s refined pallets while also providing high grade meats. Enid began salivating when I informed her of where we were going. 

“Hmm, veal or venison, venison or veal. . . ooh or lamb!” Enid taps her chin while she looks the menu up and down. The rest of us have been flipping through the menu, seeing the full selection of entrees but my roomie zipped immediately past salads, appetizers, soups, and vegetarian options and is content reading over each meat dish available. Out loud. Multiple times. 

I watch her trail her finger back and forth between two dishes as she worries her lip. “The tartare is off the table? Given how frequently you’ve been burning those scented candles I assumed you already decided before we even left.”

Enid looks up at me. “Oh I’m definitely having that with my family tomorrow, but I figure variety is the spice of life and people generally aren’t a fan of being around raw meat while eating.”

“Don’t let our presence dissuade you,” Father chimes in, leaning in close to stage whisper to her, “the Addams clan is no stranger to those kinds of things. Tartare, sushi, petty thieves stuck in our vaults, there’s certainly something to be said about enjoying meat fresh and unsullied by heat.” He gives Enid a conspiratorial wink.

Enid smiles and laughs softly. “Good, because I’m definitely getting whatever I decide with as rare as I can get it.”

As if on cue a waiter appears to take our orders. Father gestures for Enid to order first, as our guest.

“I’ll have the lamb. Extra rare, with veal stew, I’m guessing you can’t do that extra rare but that’s okay, and the caprese for the salad.” The waiter begins writing down her order as Enid continues, “And just to clarify,” she says, her usual smile and cheerful tone dropping, “when I say extra rare I mean let it look at the oven in terror and then bring it out to me.” The waiter, now unnerved by half-extended claws slipping out of her hands, eyes her with a new wariness. 

They quickly take our remaining orders, relief palpable at our comparatively mundane requests and lack of razor sharp implements protruding from our bodies. . . That’s certainly a new experience, I’m not sure how I feel about being considered the normal one. As they leave our table a bit more quickly than is typically polite Enid catches my eye and winks. I try to return the gesture, but I must not quite succeed because she bursts into a fit of giggles, the chime of her laugh making Pugsley look up from his bread in confusion and my parents exchange some kind of look.

“Enid.” Mother addresses my roomie, “I trust Wednesday isn’t too difficult as a roommate, yes? Only threats and near misses?” Though she’s addressing Enid her eyes are on me, searching for something. I hold her gaze without wavering. I’m certain she’s trying to get under my skin with this line of questioning, but I’m not seeing why it would. 

Enid screws her lips up to her left for a moment in thought. “I think there was really only threatening the first night, but I may have started that? I can’t remember, but it was just new space sharing things. There were some growing pains but I think we get along well! When I was stood up Wednesday even–”

I cut her off. “There’s no need to go into that.” The last thing I need is for them to learn about my little midnight kidnapping. At best they’d criticize me for getting caught by Enid at all and at worst they’d coo about ‘how much you treasure your first outside friendship.’

“I think there is.” It surprises me that it’s Father who speaks. “Unless Larissa is going to have a very interesting conversation with us tomorrow, I assume this bad date is still alive and relatively unmaimed. I’m surprised at you, little spider. In a good way.” He reaches over to pat my hand affectionately.

I purse my lips. Mother I could shrug off, but Father. . . “Enid was being loud and distracting, I needed to work on measured responses for therapy. Two birds.” I stare pointedly at Enid, willing her to understand she shouldn’t correct me. They don’t need to know how far I went or that Kinbott hadn’t talked about appropriate levels of retribution at that point. I decide to change the focus of the conversation and address my roomie. “I was impressed by your intimidation of the waiter. It’s not every day we’re upstaged in distressing normies.”

“Do you think he’ll bring you a live lamb?” Pugsley seizes upon my thrown hook. “It’s a fair bit more than the menu says but chops can’t feel terror so he’d have to.” He looks pensive for a moment. “No, that was a metaphor wasn’t it? We just learned about those. I doubt the meat’s that fresh anyways, there’s no butcher nearby.”

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t mean still alive. Oh gosh, I hope he realizes that. . . Wait, no I’m not letting you change the subject.” Her glare comes across more like a pouting child than an angry werewolf. I need to teach her how to do it properly, there’s no point in glaring if there’s no actual menace behind it. I decide to start via example, but instead of backing down like I expected she sticks her tongue out at me and turns to Father.  “I got stood up and Wednesday dragged him out to the nearby crypt and scared the crap out of him. Thing and I even checked up on her to make sure she didn’t take it too far. I mean sure there was a lot of blood and I passed out but they were animals, so like is that really–”

“Enough.” Now instead of a wolf she looks like a deer in the headlights. She thinks I’m more upset at her for telling them than I am. I. . . don’t like that. I exhale sharply. “Please.” I try to soften my gaze, it’s harder than I expect, and Enid relaxes slightly. Her eyes flick to Mother to see the extent of the damage. Either she’s picked up on their dynamic or the Sinclair household is similarly matriarchal. 

Mother surprises me. “I’m sorry, dear, did you say something?” Her eyes glide from Father over to Enid. “I’m afraid Gomez and I got caught up reminiscing about our first date here in Jericho.”

Father leans in towards Mother, taking her hand and placing the ghost of a kiss upon it. “We went to a restaurant called La Fiesta de los Muertos then strolled through the cemetery.”

“It was a clear night,” Mother continues for him, “I would have been disappointed if not for the crescent moon’s light illuminating just enough to read the headstones.”

Father looks away and sighs. “Such a shame it burned down the year we graduated. How I would have loved recreating that night with you, querida.”

I have to hand it to them. If I hadn’t seen them watching Enid’s babbling with my own eyes I would believe that they had been lost in their memories. It’s certainly in character for them. More impressive still, they behave themselves and keep their affection in check. I may go the entire weekend without feeling nauseous. 

“Uh, I was just saying that Wednesday is a really good friend and I’m glad we’re roomies!” Enid’s recovery isn’t particularly convincing, but my parents act as if it is. Pugsley was obviously paying attention to everything, but he knows better than to admit to it. Instead he pulls Enid back into conversation about life as a werewolf, and she’s glad for the distraction. 

I watch them for a moment before looking back at my parents. Mother gives me a small smile. So the act was a peace offering. I nod, acknowledging it. I’m not letting the mystery of Garrett Gates go, but for now we can enjoy each other’s company and perhaps I can show a bit more tact when the subject does come back up.

Enid had met us in Jericho for dinner, but my parents insisted she ride with us back. The trip was quiet, Enid and Pugsley tired from a full meal and my parents content to lean on each other in near silence. Only the gentle thrum of the radio and occasional soft humming from Lurch filled the car. 

When Lurch stops at the front of the school, I gesture for Enid to go ahead without me and stay seated. I watch her walk away, stalling for a bit of time. Even if it must be done, swallowing my pride isn’t easy. As Enid vanishes from sight I can’t delay any longer, so turn to face my parents. 

Father eyes me with curiosity, Mother with trepidation. “Wednesday.” She says it as a warning, and I hold out a hand to indicate my lack of hostility. 

“It’s not about that. I admit I could have brought it up in a better way, but we do need to discuss it. Later. First,” I take a breath. A small one that hopefully goes unnoticed. “I need your help.”

Mother’s face softens into neutrality, Father leans forward and places a hand on my arm in reassurance. “Anything, little deathtrap,” he says. 

“Enid has yet to transform. It’s a point of contention in her family, and it’s likely to rear its head this weekend. I would say she’s been driving me crazy worrying about it, but going mad would be a sweet relief. I’m hoping that when our families are together you can keep the Sinclairs occupied if things start heading in that direction. It will save me much unpleasant agony in the weeks to come.”

They look to each other for a moment before simultaneously nodding their cooperation. It’s honestly a little creepy how in synch they can be, but I understand it a bit more now that I’ve had nonverbal conversations with both Enid and Dr. Kinbott. 

“Thank you,” I say and get out of the car. 

I make it about five steps before I hear a door closing and the clicking of heels behind me. I consider maintaining my pace, but decide I should return the earlier gesture and stop until Mother is alongside me. We make our way slowly to the dorm. I can hear her hesitance in the clicking of her heels, so unusually loud in the cacophony of the unspoken. As we drift out of view of the car Mother gives a gentle huff and we both come to a stop. I turn to face her, patiently waiting for her to speak. Though she also turned in my direction she isn’t looking at me, instead her gaze has drifted back to the car. To Father. 

“He wants to tell you,” she says after a moment. “It was our first fight in eight years.”

I think dinner was too colorful, it takes me a moment too long to say, “I’m sorry I broke the record.”

Mother contemplates me for a moment. “You are,” she says, something I can’t make out in her tone. She moves to stroke my face, stopping short of contact as she always does, but with less distance than usual. “You seemed yourself tonight.”

I arch an eyebrow, “Am I not always myself? I don’t make it a habit to be other people.”

She smiles in a rueful manner. “Not as much as you used to be. It’s been long enough you might not remember. But I do.”

“I’m not following you. I was abrasive, composed, demanding, snarky, and stubborn, not unlike any other day and not to any greater extent than the day before.” I stare into her eyes, trying to puzzle why they’re so warm when they should still be iced over from this afternoon. I even had the gall to ask a favor of her. 

“Yes, Wednesday, you were all those things, but you were also unguarded.”

My eyes widen in shock. What could that possibly mean?

“Do you remember when you were a little girl when you’d help me in my garden?” We resume walking as she asks. 

“Of course,” I reply, “I remember every lesson you gave me on various toxins, proper feeding techniques for the more mobile carnivorous plants, how to check proper soil conditions–”

“I’m sure you do, Wednesday, but I was thinking of when I wasn’t teaching you. When we’d just talk or when we’d play. You were so free with your laughter then, as passionate as your father. But you grew cold, little spider, your laughter has hibernated for so long.”

My eyes narrow. What game is she playing with me? What’s the goal of this conversation? It almost sounds like an apology with undertones of relief. Is she apologizing for hiding the Gates story from me? What does that have to do with laughing in a garden? I’ve always been cold. Perhaps warmer around my family, yes, but if she’s trying to say I was an overly excited child at the age of five I fear she must be delusional. 

“I didn’t laugh today, Mother. I’m not certain what relevance your old memory holds nor what you’re expecting from me.”

Mother closes her eyes and sighs forlornly before her mood seemingly lifts itself up. “You didn’t laugh, no. But I saw a glimpse of that little girl tonight. She’s waking up after all these years, and I suppose I’m just relieved my mistake when you were younger didn’t rob you of her permanently. I’ve been afraid of that for a long while.”

“You’ll need to be more specific, Mother. I can think of many mistakes.” It’s hard to breathe, so my words lack the bite I wish them to have. I’ll need an antihistamine when I get back to my room.

She’s suppressing a smirk, no doubt enjoying the onset of anaphylaxis coursing through me. I knew I was growing too soft here, I let my guard down thinking Enid had been sufficient exposure therapy to color and now I’m paying the price at the worst time possible. We’ve stopped again, despite my increasing allergic reaction. We’re outside Ophelia now, it would be so easy to dart inside and down all of the benadryl Enid has.

The smirk vanishes. “We Addams celebrate death as we do life, perhaps moreso,” she says after several agonizing moments. “It wasn’t much different for the Frumps. More subdued, perhaps, but the reverence, the acceptance were both still there. It was your first death. It didn’t occur to me back then that you hadn’t learned to see things that way yet.”

Oh. Nero.

“You were heartbroken and my cavalier attitude came off as callous disregard. I should have known better, and I failed you.” Her eyes are wet, and the way she moves to hug me before stopping and dropping her eyes reminds me so much of Enid I almost do laugh. “I hope you can forgive your mother, Wednesday,” she continues, “even now I’m still learning how to be a parent and for all my faults now I was much worse at it back then.”

My chest is tight. I barely notice myself stepping forward in time to immediately step back. She watches me, making no move to take advantage of my state. Such a weird time to show mercy, when your prey is disoriented. I close my eyes, trying to steady myself.

“You are certainly not the best mother in the world,” I say after a few moments, “but you are far from the worst.” I force myself to look at her. She’s just barely smiling, her lips in an expression I’m used to wearing in the moments before actions that inevitably result in a new school. I must have learned it from her, though I can’t remember seeing her face like this. Perhaps it’s one of those family things that isn’t learned, but inherited. That would explain it. 

She mimes stroking my face again. “Hopefully one day this ,” she gestures to the space between us, “disappears. I would like to hug my daughter again.”

I don’t know what to say, so I turn toward the door and open it. Mother’s hand holds it from opening fully.

“I’m considering it. Telling you about Garrett. At the very least we’ll discuss it before the weekend is over, I promise. Goodnight, Wednesday.” She turns and begins walking away.

“Goodnight, Mother,” I respond just loud enough for her to hear. I close the door behind me before waiting for an acknowledgement.

Enid’s waiting for me in our room. 

“Is everything al–”

“Benadryl,” I cut her off, “where?”

She makes a surprised face but goes and fishes it out of her little pink backpack before tossing the bottle to me. I dig out four capsules and down them. 

“Uh, are you okay?” Enid asks, eyeing me with concern. 

I walk over and hand her the bottle. “I will be in roughly twenty minutes, assuming I’m still conscious. And my parents have agreed to run interception on any attempts at conflict your family may cause.” 

Her eyes go wide and she scrunches up her mouth. “Oh my god, you asked them? I thought they were just gonna be like that, you didn’t say anything about asking them for help!”

I nod at her, “If I had you’d have reacted. . . like this. My way is better.”

“Isn’t it enough that they bought me dinner? I owe them, like, big time now that they’re helping deliberately! What do they like? Should I take down a deer for them? Do they like Seventeen? I could make them a playlist!”

I stare at her in open bewilderment. “Seventeen what? And why would they want a deer? Enid, you don’t owe them anything. I’m the one who asked for the favor.”

She purses her lips to one side. “Then I owe you. I could crochet you something. In black, of course, or cover a few quads– oh but that would entail going to the Weathervane, wouldn’t it?”

She goes to start digging through her crocheting material, but stops when I place my hand over hers briefly. “Don’t worry about it, Enid. You’ve said before this is what friends do. There’s no need for us to keep score.”

She straightens up and her hands to the familiar motion that tells me Enid is resisting her urge to hug. “You know, Wednesday, you’re really nothing like I thought you’d be that first day. I mean okay, yeah, you’re totes a snarky goth girl who’s frankly a lil scary sometimes and you say you don’t care about anyone but, like, you also contradict yourself because you’re really sweet sometimes too.”

I smirk. “‘Very well then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.’”

Enid clasps her hands behind her back and leans forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Multitudes? Yes. Large? I wouldn’t say large. You’re actually rather small. Pocket sized, even.”

I grab the nearest stuffed animal and throw it at her. Enid starts laughing as I pelt her with another toy. I think back to those days in the garden with Mother, and while I don’t laugh I do let myself smile.