Chapter Text
An essay on superstition was the perfect excuse for Wednesday to perform something she had been putting off for a while.
Demon Summoning.
To summon an all powerful entity from the depths of the underground and bind them to your will. A mystical craft lost to time, but nothing the Addams family couldn’t restore for their personal uses.
Wednesday had heard stories of her ancestors easily forming contracts with the most deceitful of demons, as well as taking prizes from the kings themselves. They stand proudly like trophies in the Addams’ mansion, though they’ve gone horribly dusty and rusted as centuries stretched on. One tale her father had told her was of a distant uncle, who summoned the great duke Guison and got the demon to help him write a record of every existing Addams’ future during the uncle’s time.
But that's besides the point. Demon summoning was possible, and Wednesday wanted to find the most optimal way to perform the ritual. She refused to even touch a computer to conduct her research, no matter how much Pugsley made it seem tempting. As much as the answers were quick and easy online, Wednesday never wanted, never has and will never depend on technology.
The girl did it the only way she knew how, which was the correct and perfect way.
She took a trip to the Addams’ family library right after class had ended and began her search. To be greeted with the sight of such a vast expanse of knowledge burned her with a satisfying fire. What helped was that she knew every book like the backs of her hands, so it made finding what she wanted easier. She could move like lightning over the polished wood floor, past the towering bookshelves and the well crafted armchairs. Her hands easily slipped past the spines of unneeded books and grasped the ones she deemed as useful.
With Lurch standing by, it made taking more books back to the alcove of her room quite simple.
Hundreds above hundreds of books later, her room looks nothing like a bedroom and more of a psychotic wizard’s chambers. To say it was a mess was an understatement, and she could see it clearly.
Fallen pages were scattered across the wooden floor, slightly dirtied and some retaining the charred look after decades of preservation. Multitudes of varying piles of books in different heights were placed around the room too, along her bed and above her writing table. Old scrolls were stacked beside her window, where various unlit candles stood idly. A box of chalk sat on top of her typewriter’s box, with a matchbox right above it.
There’s a creak behind her, and a thud, but Wednesday can’t hear it. Not even the scuttle of fingers, and the disappearing ones right after.
The girl stands, straightening her spine and rolling her arm back to hear a satisfying pop.
The door to her room creaks open, and in comes Pugsley, who peeks inside timidly.
“Hey- uh, what exactly are you doing?”
“Guess correctly and I might not need to sacrifice you.” Wednesday deadpans, reaching for a hard leather book coated in maroon paint. It's rough to the touch, but a distraction.
Pugsley visibly squirms— a treat to Wednesday’s little black soul, “Summoning demons?”
“Correct.” She slams the book shut, “Now, what do you want?”
“Oh- um, I just wanted to ask if you know where Thing went?”
The girl wrinkles her nose, “How should I know where that appendage is?”
“Well… he stole mom’s nail polish again.” Pugsley grunts, scratching his temple with a frown.
Wednesday doesn’t blink, but she raises an eyebrow, “Has he?”
“Yeah. It was one of her favorites too…”
Of course Pugsley knew which shades of black their mother preferred the most. The boy was soft, stupidly thoughtful and infuriatingly kind. Had it not been for his prowess in collateral destruction, Pugsley would have been called a disgrace to the Addams’ name.
“Well, I’ll let you know if Thing scrambles his way into my room or passes by.”
“Thanks sis. Love you.” He says it with so much heartfelt sincerity Wednesday feels the need to puke. She stares at him and finds Pugsley’s smile to be a little lopsided, but it’s innocent and charming nonetheless. Disgusting.
Wednesday narrows her eyes, “Drop dead.”
Her head whips around and turns away from her younger brother. Only his receding laughter that bounces across the walls provide Wednesday with the knowledge that he is leaving the room. A disappearing sun in the darkness of the night. Poetic.
Another page is flipped.
Another book is taken, and the pages are flipped.
The cycle is a repetitive one. Take a book, read through its contents– all while memorizing the important things– and placing it in neat piles for Lurch to take back down to the library.
The moon is high when Wednesday finishes through all three hundred books. Armed with a near-perfect knowledge of the obstacles she’d be facing, as well as various wards for the demon she has in mind, a swell of confidence bubbles in Wednesday’s otherwise numb body.
There’s no shake in her hands, or any flaws in her summoning circle. All the candles were lit brightly and arranged in order by height; their glow casting dark shadows over Wednesday’s unlit room. Moonlight spills through the pitch black bedroom, bringing with it the silence of the night. The wards were unoriginal items, but her mother had passed by and said that those worked the best. As much as Wednesday loathed the holy water soaked crucifixes and pure salt as it was one of the overused items, she scattered them in their respective areas.
The sacrifice in the middle of the circle was a mountain of jewelry, rubies and diamonds stacked high. Sapphires that gleam with unnatural reds; carved obsidian statues that shine against the hues of the candles. All of these were drenched in pure, deep blood.
Wednesday circles through the summoning area for the umpteenth time, stalking the chalk like a vulture; finding any flaws that she would remove immediately. Binding the demon was unnecessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
She mumbles the incantation under her breath once more and huffs.
Nerves scramble through her, unorderly and chaotic. The tips of her fingers tingle like she had just been shocked by lightning. It isn’t as exciting as Wednesday had hoped. There’s disappointment, confidence and a menagerie of things deep within her bones. She tries, fails, and tries again to push those sickening feelings down. Pulling those nerves apart mercilessly in favor of clear focus.
Teeth grind together for the final time. All worries are thrown out the window whether they wanted to or not.
Her right hand clutches to the necklace her mother had given her a few months ago tightly, while her left grips a black notebook.
That night was clear, regal and bright. Clouds disappeared from the sky when the moon reared its head. Few brave stars shone brightly despite the light of the city. They watched the earth turn to slumber, an audience to the cities that sing, sleep and wake. They flicker, twinkle, but continue to watch.
Clouds begin to form.
Air crawls across the expanse of sky, dense and thick with rain. Pulling their heavy bodies across the night’s tide. Thunder rumbles within their airy bones, forming lightning that flashes within their dense bodies. Wind whips through forests of wood and concrete afterwards, whistling hurried tunes as they race past.
The candles of the summoning circle sway from side to side.
Yet, the incantation continues.
The incantation continues while lightning grows brighter and brighter.
Bright enough to crash her room with pure energy.
The incantation continues while thunder grows louder and louder.
Loud enough to shake her windows and reverberate through the walls.
There’s no rain to grace this horrible event. The wind grows more and more furious, fighting to win over the thunder’s voice. They fight with howls and yelling, screaming at the top of their lungs to destroy anything in their path. Lightning strikes a tree nearby, flames erupt from its body. Red gets poured into the mix of orange and white light.
Oh, this marvelous tempest.
The lone girl who stands in the middle of this storm does not waver. Her voice had grown louder, clear and calm against the unbridled rage of the sky. The candles burn even more brightly, and the necklace in her hand shakes with raw power. The black jacket she wears whips around the wind, unzipped and wild. All the bones in her body shiver delightfully, not even protected by the blacks of her attire. Her hardened, dark eyes stare a challenge into the eye of this tempest.
Let my words be the force that summons you here,
Clouds gather to be the audience of this sickening ritual.
As my voice gives you form with which to work my will,
They loom over her tower. It grows darker, darker.
Your Spirit is bound within.
Lightning crackles a final time.
The sky’s orchestra falls to silence.
Wednesday falters in her steps, stumbling back once. She breathes, hard, and grits her teeth. Her mouth is dry and empty after saying word after word of summonings and repetitions. The necklace is hot to touch, but her hands grip it even more tightly, even while it singes her skin.
Time has lost itself during the incantation. A flaw on Wednesday’s part, as her focus burned into speaking the summoning rite. The clearing storm had blocked the moon’s descent, and the tempest had challenged her voice. Her eyes flitted towards the clock in her wall.
It’s been two hours.
She straightens herself, closing the notebook in her left hand.
With a burst of red, the circle pulses into life. Humming with the faint sounds of an unholy choir, that sing a single note as crimson surrounds white.
Blood red light crawls through the chalk, staining it. A roar of a beast erupts from the room while the shadows turn to the returning moon.
They shape and form, until a figure emerges within the shadows.
The light of the candles disappears with a burst of wind.
The pile of blood soaked jewelry falls to the floor, dropping into a void that Wednesday can barely notice. From the same void, smoke flows out. It’s a strangely fragrant fog of deep pink, a torrent of frankincense and sage drowns her.
Wednesday staggers once more, but digs the soles of her shoes into the floor and pulls herself to stand regally. Brows knit in utter concentration, and teeth chew on the bottom of chapped lips.
What emerges from the void of spice and floral scents is a tall figure, who’s arms are raised to the night sky.
Wavy but impeccably styled blonde hair with streaks of color that dance around the wheat strands. Dutifully closed eyes and an easy smile on strangely angelic features. Gentle makeup, simple pinks that do so much more than highlight the demon's closed eyes. Fangs that could easily tear skin off with just a bite, dulled to be percieved as safe. A pristine white linen suit decorated with blue gems and gold linings on the collars and buttons of the suit. Rings on six of ten fingers, and on the right hand a bone scepter. White shoes shined to perfection, gleaming against the pinks of the smoke.
Beautiful, and strangely angelic. None of the stereotypical horns and tail appear in this demon. Instead, it’s feathery wings and a halo above the gold of their hair.
A girl.
Of course Wednesday Addams can summon demons flawlessly, but now confusion knits itself in the perfect loom of her mind.
The young lady’s eyes open while her pale head turns towards Wednesday.
The ocean scented in spice and earth she drowns in has color now.
Blue.
Just so much blue that it's a hammer to Wednesday's eyes.
Wednesday clears her throat, crossing her arms, “I was expecting necromancy, not twisted mimicry of angelic traits and drama.”
The demon laughs, a gentle breeze of calm that easily erases the tension of the storm and ritual.
“It’s boring if you don’t add a little flair. So,” The entity tilts her head to the side, “What’s your name, summoner?”
"Wednesday Addams. You are Lucifer, correct?” A part of Wednesday wanted this to be over quickly, but another part wanted to study this strange anomaly. A demon with the appearance of an angel. Perhaps this one was the most twisted of them all. Wednesday hoped this was true.
The demon looks almost taken aback, her blue eyes widening slightly.
Wednesday frowns, “What?”
“Being called by my boss’ name is a high compliment, but no, I’m Vassago.” She grins, now with teeth, “Prince Vassago, if you’re more traditional.”
Wednesday’s eye twitches.
Vassago.
“I called for Lucifer, not Prince Vassago.” Wednesday stresses, dropping her arms to let her fingers massage her temple. It just had to be Vassago. Out of all the demons- she summoned Vassago.
“A demon is summoned according to the sacrifices you give them. The Enn helps sometimes but it’s really unnecessary.” Vassago fires a cheeky finger gun on Wednesday, who glowers, “And you got me the Vassago Favorite offering!”
“Jewelry is a standard offering for all demons, what exactly do you mean, fiend?”
The demon snorts, “I’m not talking about the jewelry, Wednesday Addams. You got me nail polish, of course I had to come!”
“Why in the nine rings of hell would I offer something as trivial as nail polish to a demon?” Wednesday growls, pushing the soles of her shoes deeper into the wood.
This was stupid. Utterly, utterly stupid.
Vassago huffs, “If you’re denying it, it’s totally not working. Check your table.”
The dark haired girl turns, finding in fact one single bottle of nail polish on her writing table. A bottle of vantablack paint that stands proudly beside her typewriter.
The thud on the floor from earlier.
Oh, she was going to tear Thing’s fingernails off after this.
Wednesday turns away from Vassago with the gears in her mind springing into overdrive.
Obviously she had to reenact revenge against Thing later but with the wrong demon summoned, there were a lot of things she needed to change about her plan.
Originally, Wednesday was to interrogate the king of Hell and bind him to her will for a simple and quick way to get answers. The wards she used were specifically for higher classed demons like the seven demon kings, but not for a prince like Vassago. Though she could bind Vassago just fine, there was another complication with that.
Vassago was written in the Lesser Key of Solomon to be a demon of “good” nature. Records of summonings with Vassago often ended well if the summoner treated Vassago kindly, even being rewarded with great gifts if they entertained the prince thoroughly. The demon knew past, present and future, so fooling and tricking such a demon would be a hard task. This was exactly why Wednesday didn't want to summon her. Such a demon was an incredible pain to deal with, and an incredible annoyance.
Wednesday had no interest in playing as a good person and she wasn’t going to stretch her patience for a demon that liked nail polish.
But she was desperate and mildly intrigued.
However, that doesn’t mean she’s going to change to get on Vassagos’ good side.
“The nail polish was a mistake, it was not meant to be there.”
“Bummer.”
Vassago pouts.
“Now, I would rather banish you back to the underground, but I don’t have the time to summon another demon.” She eyes Vassago, who’s halo glows excitedly, “You will do for the time being.”
Vassago smiles so radiantly it blinds Wednesday. Regret crashes over her with the power of ocean waves. The sleeves of her jacket rub against her skin like coarse sand.
“Wonderful! So, our deal. I’m a very simple demon with very simple desires-”
“A demon with impossibly childish desires.”
“-So all I ask from you, summoner, is that you let me free and allow me to enjoy humanity.”
Wednesday just stares at the demon, unblinking.
“What? It’s not like I’m gonna do anything bad. I rather like doing legal things.”
“A pity. I would have accompanied you if you were to commit crimes.” She mulls over the thought, and yes, perhaps she might find enjoyment in murder with an all powerful being by her side.
Vassago pales, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead she stretches out an arm with expecting blue eyes. Careful enough not to touch the edges of the summoning circle, but carefree enough to singe a finger.
“And you, Wednesday Addams? What do you desire?”
What did Wednesday Addams desire?
The regrettably shorter girl crosses her arms, “Swear your undying loyalty to me for eternity, demon.”
Vassago cackles, throwing her head back with a loud roar, “You wish to enslave a prince of Hell?”
“If I have the knowledge to force Lucifer into my bidding, you are a far easier target.”
The demon wipes a tear from her eyes, it’s almost crystalline. It shines against the paleness of her cheeks. “Let’s face the facts. You don’t have the exact knowledge to bind Luci to your will. Even if you did, Luci will crush you into an emo sandwich. The only reason you’re alive is because I came here before my boss could take the offerings."
Wind blows through the wind, gently tousling Vassago and Wednesday’s clothes.
“If anything, you should be serving me.”
It was a well known fact Wednesday served no one.
Not to angels, not to demons and certainly not to humans.
It was why she could feel herself bristle with anger at such a ludicrous statement. Why she could feel her fists tighten until each knuckle turned bone white. Never had she felt such fury at simple words thrown at her, never to such a degree where crescents dig themselves into her skin.
Her heart tightened for just a moment.
Vassago covers her mouth with the same hand she had outstretched earlier, “You’re adorable when angered. It’s a welcome surprise, really, I was getting bored of your blank face.”
Just as it had begun, Wednesday clawed the feeling, grabbing it tightly and ripping it off her soul. Her fists loosened slightly, and the strain in her jaw lost itself.
Numb. She feels numb again.
Vassago pouts at her.
“I don’t have time for this.” The dark haired girl spat with every ounce of venom she could muster, ”If you refuse my generous offer of keeping you alive-”
Vassago stares at her like she's grown a head, but there's something in there. Wednesday prides herself in her ability to discern basic emotions quickly, but this one doesn't have a name. The blue of the demon's eyes looks almost woeful, or hesitant. Vassago almost towers above Wednesday, but here, she looks more of like a concerned friend. It's almost as if she's keeping something from Wednesday, something that Wednesday wants to ask about immediately.
She can just ask now-
“Oh, I didn’t say that. I accept.”
Wednesday blinks for the first time in four hours.
“What?”
“Are you deaf? I accept. You’re interesting, this ritual alone is the most fun I’ve had in centuries. That and also your mom has a killer amount of manicure sets I’d love to use.” Vassago says, idly picking the ends of her colored nails. The more Wednesday stares at the demon, the more she finds oddity in her.
“After your talk about how I wouldn’t have lived without you, I was inclined to think you’d decline.”
“Oh, that?” Vassago tugs a shoulder up, like a half shrug, “That was just to make sure you don’t underestimate me. This demon’s got tons of cards up her sleeves.”
Wednesday edges towards the circle, arms still crossed and obsidian eyes burning holes into Vassago’s blaring blue ones.
“Let’s make this deal official.”
The entity’s eyes flash, “Let’s.”
Once again, the whites of the circle turn into a deep red. Candles flash into life, burning with the oranges of the sun. The circle and candles glow, humming with power as shadows begin to crawl through the floor and dance in the walls. They circle around Wednesday and Vassago like cultists to gods, voiceless as they wail and turn across the dark room.
In this light, Vassago’s face is sinister. The blues of her eyes are unnatural to the reds of the room, and the whites of her clothes are painted light orange. All of her flawless teeth shine in her smile– a smile so wide her eyes curve into crescents.
Wednesday sucks in a breath, and grabs onto Vassago’s waiting hand. She tugs to it tightly while her eyes glare a silent message to the demon. Try anything funny and I will hunt you down until you are nothing but ash. The demon winks and only widens her smile. Irritating. Oh so irritating.
“I, Vassago, Prince of Prophecy, ask to exit this circle and be granted freedom to roam across the earth. I ask that I will be treated fairly by my summoner and by everyone she comes into contact with. I ask to be granted protection for the duration of this deal, as well.”
The dark haired girl’s eye twitches, “And I, Wednesday Addams, Summoner of this demon, ask for Vassago to swear her undying loyalty to me without question for an eternity, both in life or death.”
“Is this all, Wednesday Addams?”
“Yes.”
“Then the deal is done.”
A clap resonates across the entire room, and with a final burst of light, all light and shadow are dragged into the circle.
Vassago snaps a finger, and the room is brightened by a gentle white light. Smoke wafts through the air, no doubt from the candles. The gentle fragrance of lavender is easily choked by the demon’s frankincense.
The demon almost floats through the air, twirling with a grace not known within fiends and a regality only seen in royalty. Blonde hair bouncing as she skips a few steps in front of Wednesday.
“Oh, and by the way, dear summoner,”
She starts.
Wednesday squints, “What is it now?”
“f I am to mingle with humans, I should have a proper name right?"
"Where are you going with this?" Both of them stop fully to face each other. They're close enough for Wednesday to easily drive a knife into the demon's gut, but far enough that their breaths aren't mingling. It's almost shameful to the summoner to have to raise her head just to see Vassago's face.
Vassago's face is all smiles and colors. Regret continues to pool around the dark haired girl's stomach. "How does Enid Sinclair sound for a human name?”
“I suppose a horrendous demon should be matched with a horrendous name.”
Vassago grins, “It’s perfect then. Call me Enid.”