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Tyler strode to the first taxi he spotted, stepping out of JFK’s international terminal. A few people stared his way. He was only a touch annoyed he hadn’t gotten the chance to change out of his military fatigues during his brief layover in Berlin. He had civilian clothes in his bag, though being forced to book it from one gate to another meant he didn’t have time to change. The strings he had to pull just to be in New York on this day had been numerous and by the end, every favor he had gathered during his decade or so of service to Uncle Sam was used up. He only had a few months left of service, thankfully. The taxi driver, a youthful Middle Eastern man with a short beard and a wry smirk, was quick to open the trunk and ask, “Where to, boss?”
“The Javits,” he replied, dropping his bag into the trunk. “I got an extra fifty if you get me there in 45 minutes.”
The driver glanced at the sluggish mass of cars and taxis, buses and trucks crawling away from the airport. After a few seconds, he turned back to Tyler and said, “What about 50? It might be the long way, but you’ll get there earlier than usual.”
He checked his watch, which read 11:35. It would be close, he knew, but after getting held up in customs, he needed to regain time wherever he could.
“Sure. That works.”
The driver grinned and raced them both into the yellow cab. He swerved his way into the traffic heading away from the airport.
“Whatcha in town for, boss?”
“Name’s Tyler. My wife is attending a convention in town. I had to fly civie to make it back in time.”
“Ah, so you are military.” The man grinned into the rearview mirror. “Name’s Hossan. What does your wife do?”
Tyler glanced out the window, staring out over Queens and Brooklyn and the hazy Manhattan skyline. “She’s a writer. A popular one. Mostly writes mysteries, though she tried her hand at romance.”
“Books?”
“Once tried to get her to work on a Broadway performance. She tied me up in her parent’s favorite rack and left me to suffer for a week.”
Hossan shot him a worried frown before swearing at a large SUV in Arabic. There was also a gesture, but Tyler hadn’t paid it any heed. He was already envisioning his impending reunion. The children would rush him, as usual. Francoise was seven now and little Jules was five. The youngest, Shelley, would be three before the end of the month. Over a year had passed since he last saw them in person; he was filled with longing thinking of them and their mother.
“What books are these? The mystery ones?” Hossan asked a couple minutes later. They were on a busy six-lane highway, pressing and pushing against the rest of traffic.
“The Viper de la Muerte ones.”
A wide grin broke out on Hossan’s face. “My sister and all of her friends love those books, though you never heard it from me.” He slapped his forehead. “They’re heading to the Javits Center to see her!” The grin on his face went even wider, and he turned about to face Tyler. “You gotta hook them up with something good, boss. Those women will have my hide if I don’t get something done for them.”
“Women are like that,” said Tyler, memories good and bad alike flashing in his mind. His skin crawled as he remembered Laurel Gates, of how his Hyde was unlocked. He felt anxious, remembering the faceless girls who had tried to bind him, to become his new master, when the Trinity had captured him. And finally, a wave of joyous relief came over Tyler as he thought of the day he finally bound himself to his wife, the macabre Wednesday Addams.
He wouldn’t have her any other way.
Hossan hummed, clearly agreeing. The man put on something with Arabic singing as they carved northward through Queens. Tyler had seen plenty of maps of New York City to have a rough idea of where they were. Given his destination was in Midtown Manhattan, he had assumed they would’ve turned westward by now. Instead, they continued on, veering around LaGuardia and Astoria before crossing over into Harlem.
Or, more accurately, down onto FDR Drive. Tyler leaned back and watched as they circled Manhattan, with Queens, then the Bronx, and finally New Jersey across the way; the Hudson River slowly replaced the East River as they came around to the western side of the island. A few of the skyscrapers were visible before them, but most were too far away to be spotted through the concrete jungle. They drove past the Heights, back down beside Harlem, and along the Upper West Side before finally the crystalline Javits Center came into view. A glance at his watch revealed it was 12:18, nearly inside the 50-minute window Hossan had predicted.
It ended up being 12:25 on the dot when the cab pulled up in front of the Javits. Tyler grinned as he handed Hossan the promised fifty-dollar tip along with the eighty dollars in fare. It was a little frustrating, having to pay so much, but the trains and metro would not have been enough to arrive on time.
He had also married into wealth.
Tyler had barely stepped out of the cab and reclaimed his bag when a familiar face made sprung up before him. “Oh thank you thank you! You’re finally here!”
“Good to see you as well, Enid.”
Enid squealed as she hugged him. A hug that felt both odd and familiar. He glanced down and blinked at her large belly. He did not remember hearing she was pregnant once more. “I was so worried you wouldn’t arrive on time. The number Wednesday gave me didn’t work when I tried to call and text—”
“My phone died over the Atlantic and I haven’t had a chance to charge it,” Tyler admitted.
“You’re nearly as bad as Wednesday,” Enid whined.
“Speaking of my wife, shouldn’t I be heading to wherever she is?”
“Oh, yes!” Enid handed him a plastic badge. It didn’t bear his name, though it had SPECIAL GUEST emblazoned on the top.
“BookCon, huh,” he commented, taking in the convention name. Wednesday hadn’t named it during their last call, though she hadn’t seemed to care at the time. She had been more invested in discussing their children and her newest book than prattling on about some event that would mean a lot more to her fans than to her.
“Yes, yes. It’s all fancy schmancy. Come on!”
Enid led him into the building. The ceiling was high; high enough his neck nearly strained peering up. They went past a long entry table, a few guards, and ticket-checkers, and took a left down an escalator. A few people stared at them, curious, but most went by without a second look.
“You wouldn’t even believe how many Viper cosplayers we’ve seen today,” Enid said as they got off. “Wednesday stared at them for a good ten seconds, shocked people would take the time to dress up as her—character!”
Tyler noticed the hesitation before adding that last word, and honestly, he didn’t blame Enid. There were enough similarities between his wife and her creative creation that he sometimes wondered if Wednesday had been more of a normal teenager than she’d like to admit. She had her quirks aplenty, most a product of being an Addams and a Frump—her mother was from a notorious outcast family as well—but to have something so down to earth and common had brought a wry smile to his face the first time he realized the truth.
Naturally, he said nothing about it to Wednesday. She would actually lock him in the massive iron maiden down in the basement. He hadn’t been coerced into it yet, though he had spent more nights than might be appropriate sleeping in a real doghouse in the backyard while she enjoyed the comfort of their queen bed.
“I don’t blame her,” Tyler admitted. “You know how nervous she was when the first book was being published.”
Enid grinned. “That was a fun night. I can’t believe you got her that drunk.”
“How else do you think Francoise came about? There’s a reason she went from ‘no children ever’ to ‘baby fever’.”
“Wait, serious? She’s never told me why she suddenly wanted children. I nearly fainted when I heard the news.”
He glanced down at her belly, then back to her face. Enid scowled, and for a moment he seriously feared she might try to castrate him with her neon-painted claws. There had been plenty of threats when they were teenagers caught up in plots and machinations that should’ve been the concern of the adults around them. That had been the price of being friends with Wednesday Addams. In his case, being even more.
“Oh, come on!” she ended up hissing. “This is only my fifth!”
Tyler nodded, uncertain how to respond. Enid was at her dangerous while sky-high on hormones, and nothing made them worse than being pregnant. How Ajax survived was beyond him. He assumed, at this point, it was only because Enid loved him that much.
That or he was a mythic legend in bed.
Enid nodded and made a proud noise, clearly pleased he wasn’t daring enough to push the matter. She led him down a long hall with doors spread out to each side. A dozen plus were already gathered in a line before one of the doors. Tyler glanced at the big placard beside the door and grinned, spotting Wednesday’s name among the short list of names for the upcoming event.
There was a pair of doors at the far end, guarded by a pair of tall men in black. They nodded to her, glanced at him, and back to Enid. She said, “He’s with me,” and that was that.
They opened the doors and allowed them to pass.
“Security had to be tightened up this year,” Enid began saying, guiding him down a plain corridor. “There’s several big names this year besides Wednesday.”
Tyler hummed. “She said the kids were going to be here. I’m assuming Ajax is around as well?”
“Plus a few others,” Enid said with a pleased smile. They came to a door labeled, WEDNESDAY ADDAMS. She pushed it open, and Tyler followed her in. He recognized every face; Pugsley and Eugene were off in a corner, talking quietly, while Bianca and Ajax were burning away the hours by teaching Francoise how to play poker. They grinned, catching his gaze, and his little girl turned around, wearing her mother’s intent curiosity across every inch of her small face.
“DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!” she screamed, springing from the seat with inhuman grace and speed. Her brown hair rippled in waves as she moved. Tyler had barely shuffled his bag off a shoulder when she leaped up into his opening arms. Her hands immediately latched around his neck as he pulled her close with a hand. Francoise squeezed tight, giggling all the while.
Eventually, she leaned back, resting upon the arm supporting her. “You’re home, Daddy!”
“That I am.” Tyler glanced around before asking, “Where’s your mother and siblings, Fran?”
“Mama took Jules and Shelley to get water. They should be back soon.”
He hummed. “Have you been enjoying New York?”
“Oh yes!” Fran said. When she grinned, he could spot where one of her teeth had been knocked out. Wednesday had sounded pleased that their little girl got two in exchange. “We even spent time with Auntie Enid’s kids!” She glanced over toward a pile of sleeping kids, all snoring as werewolves were prone to do. “They’re fun.”
“We’ll try and organize some more play-dates, then.” Tyler stepped away from the door as he said that, which proved timely. A second later, the door opened and a pair of dark-haired children raced in, each clutching a water bottle. They looked around—probably searching for Fran— before turning to find a pair of thick legs nearby. They looked up with those familiar dark eyes, bearing that universal confused child look before beaming smiles overcame their faces.
“DADDY! DADDY!” Jules and Shelley screamed. They raised their chubby arms, dropping water bottles in the process.
Fran blew a raspberry at them, perched in his arms.
“Amore mio,” came the soft, raspy voice that kept Tyler up on many a night. “Is that truly you?”
Tyler’s eyes found his wife as if she had been before him the entire time. Wednesday Addams had never grown taller after they met, yet her ascension from teenager to adult had transformed her from a gothic beauty into the haunting desire of his dreams.
“It’s me, piccola scarafaggia.”
She smiled in her own manner, the corners of her lips twitching up just enough to push her aristocratic cheeks against her soul-devouring eyes. Tyler shifted Fran to his left arm and embraced Wednesday with his right. He planted a kiss on each of her cheeks, then a soft one upon her purple lips. She responded with eager delight; were it not for Fran yelling, “Ew! Ew!” right into his ear, he may have allowed himself to carry on as long as he wished.
“Must you kiss in front of the children?” Enid asked with a bemused grin.
“I suffered my parents. They will suffer us,” Wednesday said flatly. “I imagine they shall horrify their children, just as an Addams should.”
Enid sighed, knowing well enough the argument was already lost. Tyler had never troubled to argue with Wednesday; if he could preload her with a better idea before she made up her mind, she would go along with it.
Naturally, the trick was having a better idea. Wednesday Addams was not a literary treasure without reason.
He squeezed his wife against him, reveling in the warmth he felt with her chilled form pressed so closely. She stared up at him through eyelashes and bangs; a suppressed longing swelled within, and he had to shift before anyone notice what Wednesday could do with a simple look. It didn’t help that it appeared she raided her mother’s wardrobe, with how silken and tight her black dress was.
“I should change,” Tyler told his wife while setting Fran between Jules and Shelley.
Unaware of what he said, they raised their arms and chanted, “Up! Up!”
“Let your father dress in something more appropriate,” Wednesday said. She glanced at Tyler’s bag, then back to him. “Hurry. My panel starts shortly, and I doubt they’ll push back the start on my behalf. There are others.”
He nodded and followed Ajax’s pointing finger toward a wide curtain blocking off the back corner. Tyler slipped behind it, tossed down his bag, and removed the first full change of clothes he could find. A few minutes later, he stepped out, dressed in a black and white flannel over a plain white tee, dark jeans, and a pair of black work boots.
Wednesday looked him up and down, impassive as always. “Passable.” From her, those were all but words of praise.
They were ushered from the room not a minute later by a frazzled BookCon worker wearing a headset. Enid, Ajax, and Bianca waved off the worker’s insistence, pointing out the sleeping werewolf children, along with Tyler and Wednesday’s trio, who had suddenly decided a nap was exactly what they needed. The woman didn’t know the outcast status of everyone present, though judging from her many rings and the pentagram necklace she might not mind learning the truth.
She gave Tyler a double look as they stepped out of the room, especially when he wrapped an arm around Wednesday’s waist. He spotted the moment their connection clicked and nearly chuckled at how her mouth fell wide open. She regained her composure and led them from the back area and towards the door where so many people had been waiting.
“I hope you don’t mind, Miss Addams—”
“Missus, if you insist upon a title,” Wednesday said in that bored manner that ended many pointless conversations before they could begin. “Or call me Wednesday.”
“Ah…of course, Wednesday. I hope you don’t mind me pulling your family from the green room. I imagine you’d want them to sit up front during this panel.”
Wednesday glanced at Tyler. “Do you wish to be right up there, front and center, amore mio?”
“For you, anything.”
She smiled, small and wry. Were they at home and not in public, she might have rolled her eyes as well. Tyler had learned all of her tells, and some days he wished he didn’t need to thank the fact he had lived a double life for months.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” the worker said.
They approached the door to the panel room. Those at the front of the line were now standing, clearly antsy to enter the room. A few glanced their way, paused, and began screaming. Tyler had to keep his grasp upon Wednesday tight, for she jumped at the burst of noise. Her instincts, honed by investigations into murderers big and small, had her thinking someone might be getting murdered or an enemy was attacking them. It took her several seconds to realize what the source was, and another few to come down from her spike of adrenaline.
“Sheltered?” the woman asked.
“I have survived thirty-seven attempts on my life,” Wednesday said as if that was normal. Tyler knew for a fact one of those attempts technically succeeded. “I prefer to remain ready for number thirty-eight.” She gave the worker, whose face had gone deathly pale, a long, piercing look. “I wonder if they will be the ones to succeed.”
They were ushered into the panel room shortly after that. It was more of a hall, with a few hundred chairs set up before a raised dais. There was a long table and spots for five people to sit. Four were occupied; two men and two women. The four chatted quietly, though between the microphone and his Hyde nature, Tyler could pick up on a few of their words.
“They’re complaining about you,” he whispered to his wife.
“Good.”
Given the smug amusement in her tone, Wednesday was more than pleased others were frustrated with her. She had an amusingly and frustratingly contrary nature, one that had drawn Tyler in as much as it made him wonder if courting Wednesday Addams was the same as juggling with scorpions.
Having experienced scorpions, he could say with certainty that juggling them was safer.
He ended up taking a seat off to the side, but close enough to the front to be supportive. Wednesday took her seat with the other panelists, and about then was when the waiting people were let in. Tyler didn’t pay them much attention until a pair of girls, dressed remarkably like a teenage Wednesday, took the seats beside him.
“He’s her husband,” one of them whispered.
“Really?” the other asked, looking him from head to boot. “You look too normal.”
The first girl shrugged. “I saw him with her when she showed up. I was surprised she came in the front way.”
“I mean, it is the Wednesday Addams. She could walk across me and I’d thank her.”
Remembering something Wednesday had said when he had first attempted to court her, Tyler leaned over and muttered, “She wouldn’t even notice if she walked over you.”
The girls jumped a good foot from their chairs, nearly falling to the ground. It took a great deal for Tyler to resist chuckling at their reaction. With how wide their eyes went, the effort to not laugh inched toward being something of a losing battle.
“How do you know?”
“She told me just that after I took her on a date in a crypt where we watched a horror film.”
The girls leaned in slightly. “What film?”
Tyler grinned, big and shit-eating. “Legally Blonde.”
The owlish blinks that met his response were enough to get a laugh from him. They laughed as well, though with how awkward they were, he expected them to scurry off to somewhere safer. Tyler turned his attention back to the front, where his wife was staring at him with the coldest gaze he had seen since that time she woke, chained and bloody within Crackstone’s Crypt.
“Someone’s in trouble!” one of the girls teased.
“Yeah,” Tyler grumbled. “Long night in the iron maiden for me.”
That shut them up, though they didn’t leave.
About ten minutes later, the panel finally began. The moderator—some underpaid hack journalist—introduced the authors. Tyler knew them; he did read their books after he found out they’d be on a panel with Wednesday. It would be rude on his part, as her husband, to not make the effort.
“I should not need to introduce myself,” his wife said when they reached her. “Everyone knows who I am and have read my books. Why should I bother?”
The other authors chuckled awkwardly while the moderator attempted, with obvious failure, to try and get her to conform to their system. She gave him a slow blink, as if he was being a fool, and then turned to the buzzing audience with that faint smirk of victory he oh so loved seeing upon her face.
The panel went well, though Wednesday’s obvious lack of social interaction came out more and more the longer it went on. Tyler was grateful they came to a question and answer section, though everyone was so interested in his wife that nearly every question got sent her way. She fielded them well, though she nearly violated the nondisclosure agreements made with the government that prevented him from rotting away in a maximum-security penitentiary.
A lot of people lingered behind afterward. Tyler, after stepping away from the other authors, who had decided to speak with him, cut straight to where his wife was after coming down from the panel table, already surrounded by curious, ravenous fans. The girls who had sat beside him were already there.
“Ladies! Ladies!” Tyler shouted as he approached. Not all of them were women—and he spotted a few that he couldn’t tell one way or another—but it did get Wednesday’s attention, and that was all he needed.
“Move,” she demanded of another ridiculous cosplayer. “I have a signing time for a reason.” She pushed past the dazed, startled girl. Wednesday turned her black gaze fully upon him. “I do not need you engaging in some patriarchal display of chivalric—!”
Tyler swept Wednesday from her feet and into his arms. Hers went around his neck on instinct, and her eyes were so wide he thought they might fall out. He smiled at her reaction before telling them, “Pardon me. I just got back from a deployment overseas and I haven’t had a moment alone with my wife.”
While the younger ones were put out by his actions, the older fans all smiled fondly, clearly understanding what he was experiencing. Tyler went to the nearest door, leading away from the public area, and barged through.
“You didn’t need to do this,” Wednesday mumbled. Her face was half pressed into his chest. “I could have walked away on my own.”
“I know,” he murmured into her hair. It smelled of rosewater and that Addams scent of sweet, fresh decay. “I only wanted to have my wife in my arms, and that did send quite the statement to those inconsiderate fans of yours.”
Wednesday turned further into his chest, grumbling and muttering. Tyler chuckled and enjoyed how she tightened her grip around him in response.
“I could always find us a spot where we can be alone for several minutes.”
She looked up at him, just as she had when they were reunited. A fire roared through his veins as she said, “You left your wife quite needy, Mister Addams.”
Thirteen minutes later, they re-entered her green room. Tyler shot Ajax a smug grin while Wednesday walked as if she floated. The children were still all asleep, and as Enid reported when they entered, there were still a couple hours away from when Wednesday would have to leave for her signing event.
“The reservations are sold out,” Enid said, standing a few feet away from them. Her nose twitched and Tyler was certain she knew exactly what they had done. “The people running the event have asked if you would be willing to spend an extra hour signing. I know you said you’d only do an hour, but—”
“Let them know it’s acceptable,” Wednesday said. “I can stomach another hour.”
Everyone, Tyler included, stared at her, befuddled by her decision. He couldn’t think of a time she had desired to spend more time with others outside of her Uncle Fester and his varied group of criminal associations. It only began to make sense to Tyler when he glanced at her face and realized her eyes were still half-glazed over from their activities on the way back from the panel.
He hoped the janitor didn’t mind the mess they made. They did try to put it back in order before slipping out.
Almost twenty minutes passed before the children woke up. They spent the time playing cards, with Wednesday acting as the dealer. Several times she was accused of cheating in Tyler’s favor, but nothing could be proven. The twins Remus and Romulus, named as the result of a prank gone horribly wrong, stretched and yawned, slapping their lips as Wednesday told him Enid did back during their Nevermore days. They looked around, their gazes passing him before pausing.
“Uncle Ty?” asked Romulus. His hair was shorn close to the head.
“I’m back,” Tyler said with a grin.
The twins howled and yipped, waking the rest. They were all exhausted and bleary-eyed, woken earlier than they would’ve liked. Fran nearly smacked them, a dark look in her eyes. Some days he swore she would be almost but not completely identical to her mother, if only because somehow, some way, she got his hair.
Tyler shifted around to be beside his wife. “I thinking about taking the children for a walk,” he whispered. “Stretch their legs after their name. Care to join?”
Wednesday considered his words for a few seconds. “They’ve missed you for quite some time. They’ll enjoy it more with only you.”
“They aren’t the only ones who missed me.”
She gave him a dark, unquestioning look. There was no need for words between them, for he knew what the look meant. Still, Tyler took a moment to lean forward and kiss her four times, once on each cheek, once on her nose, and then upon the forehead after spreading her bangs apart. By the time he drew back, her face had a warm rosy hue that drew out faint traces of her Mexican heritage. Her father had loved to boast about the family history, of the various events both in the Americas and back across the Atlantic they had been involved with. The way Gomez Addams spoke, if there were no Addams present, it didn’t happen.
Tyler scooped little Shelly into his arms while he directed the elder children toward the door. Fran, ever the responsible older sister, snatched Jules up by the scruff of his shirt and hog-marched him from the room.
He guided them out into the public area, in the wide hallway where the panel halls were. Some people lingered about in the center, while others were lined up along the right-hand wall, waiting to enter some other event. Nobody paid them any mind as they passed through.
That did not last terribly long after going up an escalator toward the entrance. A large group of cosplayers, all dressed up as Viper de la Muerte, were scrunched together for a photo. Most wore the plain black dress that was the character’s staple, while others wore various combinations of black and white clothing. A pair even wore tulle dresses reminiscent of the one Wednesday wore for the Bloody Rave’N.
All of them had black hair tied up in pigtails.
“Excuse me, mister,” one of them asked, holding a phone. “Could you take a photo of us?”
“Well—”
“Daddy! They’re dressed like Mommy!”
Tyler watched as nearly every cosplayer went bug-eyed at Jules’s innocuous comment. He closed his eyes, breathed out slowly, and opened them. The women were glancing around, whispering in a manner that set him on edge; the Hyde beneath his skin became irritated, though nowhere close enough to come out.
“Pardon me if I ask,” the woman with the camera began, clearly ready to ask her question, “but would their mother be Wednesday Addams?”
“That is my wife’s name.”
She blinked, something dawning upon him. A glance around the women revealed that the two girls he had sat beside at the panel whispered furiously about their encounter with him. A few others were now recognizable, having been part of the mob that cornered his wife.
Trying not to sound annoyed, Tyler said, “How about I take your photo and go on my way. I’ve been overseas for some time and want to spend time with my children.”
“That would be lovely,” the woman said with a brittle smile.
He ended up taking three. His children giggled at the sight of almost fifty women dressed as their mother, smiling in a way Wednesday never did outside of the house. Even then, she remained quite reserved; her smiles were a prize, the joy of his heart.
They thanked him profusely, and were it not for Shelley babbling in his arms, they might have insisted on a photo with him. A few, Tyler feared, would have asked regardless, had they any less sense. Eventually, he was able to shepherd his children onward.
Soon after, they found the main hall, packed to the brim with a roiling crowd.
“Stay close,” he commanded. “Best we don’t remind the masses the Addams name is feared in certain circles.”
Fran and Jules pouted, but complied. They did scurry forward several times, but returned the moment he recalled them. In the time he was away, they had both mastered the art of begging, for he found his credit card coming out at nearly every booth they stopped at. Shelley was more on his shoulder than in his arms, for a collection of several books, of both the picture and chapter variety, stacked up in his hands.
Halfway through their explorations, all done as his children chattered away about their classmates and their lessons and several incidents where the family peculiarities had leaked out, they came upon the booth selling Wednesday’s books. It was five tables long, taking up almost a quarter of a single lane, and one alone was dedicated to the Viper books. The trio manning it appeared frazzled, trading books for cards and cash often enough a fourth could be justified.
Fran and Jules took the sign as their cue to race forward, screaming. Tyler hurried after them, Shelley giggling as she bumped up and down. None of the books fell from his grasp, though he found himself regretting his decision to not accept a bag to hold them.
They had decided to merely linger before the table, oohing and ahhing as they stared at the covers. It would be years before either would read them, he hoped, though given Wednesday boasted she started her first book at age twelve, that day was perhaps closer than he liked.
“Sorry about this,” he muttered, gathering Fran and Jules back to him. They whined a little, though the devious grins on their faces expressed they had caused enough trouble. For now.
“Better than half the people we’ve dealt with,” one of the workers grumbled. He was a thin man with brown hair already greying. “I’m not even being paid to be here. Just like seeing people find books they’ll love.” He glanced at the books Tyler carried. “They must be quite voracious.”
“Their mother’s influence.”
“She read any of these?” the man asked, gesturing to the several titles, all bearing his wife’s name.
“She wrote them.”
Tyler received a gobsmacked blink before the man started chuckling. “Truly?” After Tyler’s confirming nod, the man shook his head. “Who’d think I’d meet her family here.” Grinning, he continued, “They thought I was mad when I requested funds to acquire the first Viper novel. My mentor, in fact, had rejected them years ago. Received a box of mousetraps in return. But I pressed forward and have been rewarded, hand over fist, for seeing the market they would have.”
“Well, thanks for taking the risk. It meant a lot to her, though between you and me, Wednesday would rather commit murder than admit so.”
“I’d guess that from her writing.” He nodded to the children before telling Tyler, “You have a good day. I fear a line will build up soon.”
That was true enough. Several people—including a curiously familiar trio of women in hijabs—were standing around, waiting on him to leave. Tyler remembered something from earlier and stepped close to the table, leaning in to whisper to his wife’s editor, “If you happen to find a woman whose brother Hossan drives cabs, perhaps gift her a copy of the next book. It’s a favor.”
The editor nodded, grinning. “Understood, Mister Addams. Take this and have a good day.”
Tyler accepted the large tote, bearing the image and title of Wednesday’s future book: The Nightmare Marshes Case. Her titles might not be the most original things in the world, but there were so many layers of cunning and guile baked into the books even the most hardened and experienced mystery readers would puzzle over it long after the book was published.
With the books safely put away in the bag, they continued around the floor. He purchased several more books, including a few that Shelley nearly screamed bloody murder over. His ears were still ringing when they returned to the green room, with only Wednesday waiting upon them, drinking tea. She poured them cups as Tyler settled them into seats around the table. A quick sniff revealed it was her prized bergamot and arsenic blend.
“Enid is off preparing the signing area, while Ajax is off with their children. Bianca has something to attend to—it’s why she’s in New York to begin with.”
“What about Pugsley and Eugene?” Tyler had his suspicions about them, but they were annoyingly discreet.
“Having coffee with my parents,” Wednesday said. “It appears there’s to be another Addams family wedding.”
Tyler blinked, then smiled. “Well congratulations to them, then.”
“Uncle Eugie and Uncle Pugs are getting married?” Fran asked. Jules and Shelley perked up at the news.
“Unfortunately so.”
That drew a cheer from the children. They shouted and argued about who would do what at the wedding. Tyler sat back, listening with a fond smile as they argued like normal siblings. Well, normal for an Addams at least. He knew well enough, seeing Gomez and Fester, Wednesday and Pugsley, just what kind of relationships were appropriate for the family. Given his own, it was refreshing and heart-warming, the kind of wholesomeness a boy who struggled to find his place in the world with a monster under his skin could find and call home.
Hours later, long after the sky had streaked red and violet with twilight, they returned to the family manor in Westfield. Tyler insisted upon driving the refurbished vehicle, one hand upon the wheel and the other rubbing smooth circle’s into the back of Wednesday’s hand. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile upon her lips. The children were in the back, slumped against each other like snoring dolls.
“We’re home, piccolo scarafaggio,” Tyler murmured, passing through the gate.
Wednesday opened her eyes, large pools of inky passion. “You’re home, with us.” The possessiveness of her words left him warmer than a night before a burning house filled with screams.