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Chapter Text

As Wednesday left the infirmary, the cut on her forehead stinging dully, she began to plot her revenge. She had been planning to escape the prison of nostalgia her parents had subjected her to as soon as possible, but now her pride would not allow her to. Wednesday was not subject to the social pressures her peers were. If she disappeared after the humiliating defeat in the fencing hall the only opinion that would matter to her was her own. Although. She had personally never dealt with a siren before. There was perhaps some merit in sticking around to see how a well-matched rivalry between them would play out.

Just over the rain, a scraping sound caught her ear, drawing her attention to the birdlike gargoyle hovering over the archway just ahead of her.

She realized too late that it was more than hovering. It was falling.

“Wednesday!”

∞

The first thing she saw when she came back into consciousness was Xavier Thorpe, towering over her as though he’d been watching her sleep. Unsettling. 

“Welcome back.” His mouth quirked into a lopsided smirk.

She sat up abruptly, taking in the dreary familiarity of the infirmary, light filtering through the window behind him. The rain had stopped.

“Just take it easy,” he instructed, settling into a chair. “Nurse said you don’t have a concussion but you probably have a nasty bump, huh?”

“The last thing I remember, I was walking outside feeling a mixture of rage, pity, and self-disgust,” she recalled. He gave a halfhearted scoff. “I’ve never felt that way before,” she assured him pointedly. 

“Losing to Bianca has that effect on people, I think,” he mused aloud in counterpoint, lips tugging to that asymmetrical grin again. 

“Then I looked up and saw that gargoyle coming down and I thought ‘At least I’ll have an imaginative death’.” Voicing the thought aloud, she felt the pleasant shiver run down her spine again. “You tackled me out of the way. Why?”

He sat back, tensely shrugging. “Call it instinct.”

Instinct. The word cut through her like the untipped end of Bianca’s foil. It rankled her to her core. That anyone should have instincts involving her person was disturbing, especially when those instincts overruled her own. “So you were guided by latent chivalry, a tool of the patriarchy to extract my undying gratitude?” she snapped. 

He nodded along to the cadence of her barbs, sucking in his cheeks, irritated. “Most people just say ‘thank you’,” he prompted her, standing up and snatching his blazer from the back of the chair before seeing himself out.

Wednesday threw herself back onto the pillow, clamming up the scream that was stuck in her throat, scrubbing at her arms through her shirt sleeves. The fool had waited so patiently at her bedside, probably expecting her to fall into his arms thanking him. 

Pathetic.

There was a bump at the back of her head. It was tender where her fingers swept over it. For once, she dreaded gaining a bruise, not wanting the reminder of this particular memory.

∞

During dinner that night, she could feel him staring at her. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of returning the attention, even when Enid whined about it, demanding details about the gallant rescue. She had no intention of opening her mouth, knowing that whatever she said would end up misconstrued online on the werewolf girl’s gossip rag. Enid was already sinking her claws into a stupid love triangle theory.

“At least she knows what an actual love triangle is,” she muttered to herself once she was back in her dorm room, the comfort of her typewriter keys back under her hands. Enid had stayed behind, so she was free to stew and pound out prose to the looping, lightly scratched voice of her gramophone, Chavela Vargas wailing the forlorn lament of La Llorona. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the quilt move. Rising from her chair, she peeled the linens back, triumphant. “I knew it,” she declared, staring down the variegated, stitched-together appendage. “Hello, Thing.”

Frantically, he attempted to escape, crawling under the quilt and grasping at the iron bedframe. Wednesday seized him ruthlessly towards her. “Did you think my highly trained olfactory sense wouldn’t pick up on the faint whiff of neroli and bergamot in your favorite hand lotion?” she sneered, slamming him down on her desk against his struggles and holding him down firmly. “Surrender?”

All but the thumb trembled and tapped out.

“Mother and Father sent you to spy on me, didn’t they?” she guessed, letting him rise to his fingertips. He waved a single digit in denial.

“I’m not above breaking a few fingers,” she threatened. The hand trembled again. “That they thought I wouldn’t find out proves how much they underestimate me.” More flutters and flashed signals. “Oh, Thing, you poor, naive appendage,” she scolded him, the barest whisper of pity escaping her lungs, “My parents aren’t worried about me. They’re evil puppeteers who want to pull my strings, even from afar.”

Not for the first time, she fell into a spiral of confusion over her parents’ decision to send her to the gauntlet of mediocre schools she’d had to endure before ultimately landing here.

“The way I see it,” she said, bringing herself back to the present moment, “You have two options. Option one:” she grabbed him by the stump and held him over her open desk drawer in a calculated bluff. “I lock you in here for the rest of the semester, and you go slowly insane trying to claw your way out, ruining your nails and your smooth, supple skin.” An enviable fate, honestly. “And we both know how vain you are.” He clung to the edge of her desk, giving it a delightfully erratic scratch along the surface in panic. There was more vanity in his single pinky finger than in Wednesday’s whole body. “Option two: You pledge your undying loyalty to me.” The obvious choice. Thing would want to fulfill his obligation to her parents, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get some use from it.

Nimbly, he bent all his knuckles to her in allegiance.

“Our first order of business is to escape this teenage purgatory.”

He tapped out a probing question.

“Of course, I have a plan,” she assured him, feeling the weight of the past three days melting. “And it starts now.”

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

The whimsical lyrics that jarred her out of her sleep the next morning were coming from Enid’s side of the room. She sat up straight, making the other girl jump, face cream dripping from her fingers. Her hair was held back by a fluffy headband tie dyed a vomit-inducing array of colors.

“What are you, half zombie, half jack-in-the-box?!” her roommate screeched.

Wednesday blinked. “You said that yesterday morning.”

Enid tilted her head. “No, I didn’t.”

The song circled back to the main chorus. A sickening feeling of déjà vu came over her. “What day is today?” she asked.

“It’s Wednesday, Wednesday,” Enid replied, giggling at the joke.

“Yesterday was Wednesday,” she argued, anxiety rising.

Enid rolled her eyes and walked over, displaying the screen of her phone. October 5. Again.

∞

The rest of the morning was tense. Wednesday went about the same motions as she had yesterday, looking around suspiciously at anyone who seemed interested in her movements. 

Last night she had referred to Nevermore as a purgatory, and a time anomaly was a creative and monotonously torturous manifestation of it. There were points when she wanted to do something different, actively fighting against her consciousness, but the opportunity was always just out of her grasp. The reality of being stuck at this school, having to bear the weight of her parents’ expectations, her choices already made for her, by her, was exquisitely vile.

She didn’t even hold herself back from challenging Bianca. After all, if she was going to be tortured by reliving her own mistakes time in and out, she wanted to learn from them.

At least the second time she managed to look less humiliated at the defeat.

She endured the pointless conversation in the infirmary with Rowan and headed out into the rain.

She’d almost forgotten about the gargoyle, but when she heard the scraping, she immediately halted her steps, a jarring pull like falling in a dream.

“Wednesday!”

The gargoyle crashed down and she was aware enough to feel Xavier push her back, watch and hear the snap as the weight of the fixture fell onto his neck, killing him instantly.

She fell against the scaffolding tucked against the building, rattling it, but unharmed. She crawled over to the wreckage, shocked at how quick, how inches from death she’d been and how stupid he had been to get in its path. She did him the dignity of taking off her coat and throwing it over his mangled upper body before getting to her feet and walking back to the infirmary to alert the medical staff.

Classes were canceled for the rest of the day.

Enid came back into the room close to lights out, having spent the evening with a few other girls. Her eyes were red and her face was incredibly dry.

“What is wrong with you?” she yelled in a whisper. “Xavier literally gave his life saving you and you haven’t shown any emotion all day. I get that you have this whole emo girl thing going on, but he mattered.”

Wednesday pushed the ribbon aside with a satisfying deftness. “I didn’t know him.”

Her roommate let out a strangled groan and dug her nails into the nearest stuffed animal. “I can’t believe I have to sleep in the same room as you. You are so cold-hearted.” She stomped off and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Thing emerged from his hiding place behind the typewriter and flashed her a few choice signals that had her rolling her eyes. “Option one is still on the table,” she muttered.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, ninety degrees.

“What are you, half zombie, half jack-in-the-box?!” her roommate screeched.

She expected it, but the confirmation still burned through her like a virus. Again.

“Is today Wednesday?” she asked.

“Yes, Wednesday,” Enid sing-songed, resuming her morning skincare routine.

As though her limbs were made of Jell-O, Wednesday pushed her covers aside and began preparing for the day in robotic motions. Everything was the same. Walking from one class to the next, she saw Xavier crossing the pentagon, surrounded by friends. He did not see her. She frowned, watching him until he was safely out of her sight.

When she entered the fencing hall for the third time, he acknowledged her, removing his mask and pausing his bout. She didn’t remember that from the first time, but so far no one else seemed to be affected by the time irregularity. It was a cruel representation of how Wednesday generally perceived the world, revolving around her.

“Coach – coach, she tripped me.”

Again, Rowan pathetically refused to accept that while Bianca was ruthless, she fought fair. Wednesday felt her lip curling. She was beginning to feel less and less sympathetic to him.

“It was a clean strike,” she said at the same time as the coach. Bianca stared at her, taken aback at being defended. “Want a real challenge?” Wednesday added, turning her gaze to her rival.

The siren narrowed her eyes and nodded firmly.

Just like before, they crossed foils, the snapping metallic sounds the same rhythm. Wednesday took the first point, but despite quick footwork, Bianca once again landed her own point. Wednesday’s grip tightened on the grip of her foil and removed her mask, glaring. 

“That first point was clearly beginner’s luck,” Bianca smirked, removing her mask to meet her eyes. “Let’s finish this.”

Twice before she let her temper get the better of her. The back of her neck itched, warning her of the butterfly effect. But she hated butterflies, and this rewinding ribbon was hers.

“For the final point, I would like to invoke a military challenge. No masks, no tips. Winner draws first blood.” 

Around them, everyone closed in, excited at the prospect.

Wednesday sprung into action, whirling around Bianca as she thrust and parried, determined to commit the defensive pattern to memory. To her credit, it went on longer than the last two times, and she surged forward, emboldened, but Bianca’s steps were too quick and she found herself mirroring the fall Rowan suffered earlier, with the added pain of her weight colliding onto her wrist. The crunch and shooting pain made her stomach roll.

“Get yourself to the infirmary, Addams,” the coach sighed.

Xavier’s eyes followed her as she all but dragged herself out.

As she pulled her coat on awkwardly over her splinted and bandaged wrist in the infirmary, she contemplated her next move. Hesitate, and Xavier would die. Let the scenario play out, she would be subjected to the uncomfortable fate of that conversation. She made sure to double her pace as she stepped out into the rain. At the last second, she scolded herself for not taking an alternate route. 

“Wednesday!”

Her foot slipped but she managed to hold on to him as he ran at her, using the momentum to pull them both back. The gargoyle smashed down, bits of stone sprinkling over them, hard as hail. Xavier was sprawled over her lap. Gingerly, she poked at him, relieved when he pulled himself away from her, groaning.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I could be worse off,” she huffed, standing and looking around for her umbrella. When he didn’t immediately get to his feet, she saw it. A large chunk of stone was crushing his leg.

“Are you insane?!” she rushed to remove it, hoisting him up by slotting herself under his arm.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” he said at her ear, his laughter soft and breathy.

Thankfully, he didn’t, and a nurse came to her aid two steps in the door. Wednesday begrudgingly helped get him to a bed in the infirmary, shot him a look of pained disgust, and didn’t even look back when she walked out, despite his protests.

∞

“OMG is it true that Xavier broke his leg saving you from being crushed by a gargoyle?” Enid gushed, entering the room on her heels after dinner.

“If you report that, word for word on your blog, you'll wake up surrounded by fluff.”

Enid squeaked and sunk down onto her bed, pulling her softest stuffed animal to her chest.

“Thing!” Wednesday snapped, pulling her blankets aside. “I know you’re hiding here, fiend. Come out.” The hand slunk out from under her pillow, chagrined, tapping out greetings and useless preamble. “I know you think my parents are worried about me,” she hissed. “You’re desperately naïve.”

On her bed, Enid’s eyes grew wide. “What. The fuck. Is that?”

Wednesday sighed. “Enid, Thing. Thing, Enid. Thing is a familiar of my father’s and sometimes a right hand to my Uncle Fester.”

“Where’s the rest of him?”

“Who knows. One of the great Addams family mysteries.” She considered asking Enid to give them the room, but her roommate sprung to her feet unprompted and voiced her need for a mani-pedi gossip session with Yoko, probably to gripe about how weird her new roommate was.

Wednesday roughly plucked the hand from her mattress and deposited him on her desk. “You’re going to pledge your undying loyalty to me and we’re going to flee this hormone-infested hellhole, but first we have to figure out why I’m stuck in a time loop so that I can escape it and actually put my plan into effect.”

She pulled out a notebook, ignoring his frantic fluttering and flicking.

“I’m going to write down everything I remember, first,” she explained. “Whoever or whatever has caused this is determined to make me relive today over and over again, but to what end?” She made three columns, one for the timeline as it stood, another for clues, and a third for suspects. “Nevermore itself could be a cursed wormhole,” she muttered, writing down the school in her suspects column. Directly underneath, she wrote Xavier Thorpe, no explanation necessary. 

Once she’d written down the timeline as accurately as she could remember, Thing scuttled over and tapped the timeline column sharply. The gargoyle.

“We need to examine the scene of the crime,” she agreed, gathering her coat and flashlight. It was still light out, but dusk was approaching. Thing perched on her shoulder and they went out.

It was difficult to see from her limited height, but after close to an hour of observation, Wednesday determined that despite the construction in the area, the archway she’d failed to pass under earlier was not in need of repair. She’d assumed that the gargoyle falling forward was the result of poor, deteriorating stonework, but everything seemed stable, bringing her to the chilling conclusion that the gargoyle had not fallen. It had been pushed.

She went to bed with a sense of dread intermingled with anticipation. Now that she knew, she would be prepared.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

The song was as saccharine and repetitive as every other time. Wednesday took a moment to let the absolute loathing of each note permeate her skin in her own care ritual before shooting into a sitting position, arms crossed over her breast.

“What are you, half zombie, half jack-in-the-box?!” her roommate screeched.

“Jury’s still out,” she deadpanned in response.

Enid shot her a disparaging look before turning back to her vanity mirror.

“Have a great Wednesday, Wednesday!” she chirruped as they parted for separate classes for the morning. Unfortunately, her notes from last night were gone, or else she would have added ‘day of the week pun’ to the timeline, as it always held true.

Xavier crossed the pentagon again with his group of friends, perfectly whole, perfectly unaware of what awaited him later in the day. Unless he’d planned it that way. She waited a beat too long and saw that he was watching her, too. Her hands curled into tight fists and she made an abrupt about-face, blending into the crowd heading away from the courtyard down the south hallway. Suspicious.

To humor Thing, she spent the morning looking around to see if anyone else was paying any particular attention to her, but everything went as mundanely as before until she walked into the fencing hall for the fourth time. She was slow on the uptake to challenge Bianca, but the other girl caught her staring and issued the challenge herself.

“Interesting thing about bees,” Wednesday seethed, taking her place at the other end of the mat, “Pull out their stingers, and they drop dead. Even the queens.”

“Give it your best shot,” Bianca shot back, her eyes alight with triumph when she earned the first point.

Wednesday almost forgot herself, leaping forward with intensity and parrying out of the way, thrusting in to score a point for herself.

All around them, the other students leaned in, whispering. Bianca glared at her through the mask. Waiting. Wednesday whipped her mask off. “For the final point, I would like to invoke a military challenge. No masks, no tips. Winner draws first blood.” 

Bianca tossed her mask into Rowan’s arms, cocking her foil. “Let’s see if you bleed in black and white.”

Wednesday spared one glance to notice that Xavier was watching her again. Had he been watching her the first time? All the other times? She spun, grunting in rage, but to no avail. Gasps went up around the room when she wiped the blood from her forehead.

“Your face finally got that splash of color it so desperately needed,” Bianca smirked, savoring her victory.

“Rowan, Wednesday. Infirmary,” the coach barked.

She slotted her foil away roughly and didn’t even wait for the other boy, snatching up her bag with her uniform on her way out. Rowan faltered behind her, calling her name a few times before giving up. The nurse suggested Wednesday change back into her uniform before cleaning her cut and patching her up. She made stilted conversation with Rowan for the second time, not engaged. Even in two run-throughs he was boring and needy. Initially, she had been drawn to stand up for him because she deeply detested bullies who picked on weak prey, but Bianca could certainly be justified in taking what little pleasure there was in tormenting Rowan.

She slung her coat over her shoulders and headed out again, wary. It seemed highly unlikely that what or whoever wanted her dead was equally as responsible for throwing her into a time cycle of torment. She had the upper hand here. Before she stepped out into the rain she looked up at the gargoyle. Nothing seemed different about it. She couldn’t see anyone behind it, either. It would have to be a reckless murderer to climb up there, though there was a window nearby where one could access the stone arch if they were tenacious enough.

Thankfully, she had stalled enough that the fixture fell right in front of her when she got there. It exploded into rubble between her and Xavier, fresh on the scene, his face panic-stricken. She stepped neatly over the mess and brushed past him without a word.

“Wednesday!” he called after her.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

No.

Impossible.

Wednesday sat bolt upright, raking her fingers down her face.

“What are you, half zombie, half jack-in-the-box?!” her roommate screeched.

Five. This was the fifth time starting this day. She hated at once that she couldn’t change Enid’s reaction. It would always be the same. She started ransacking her side of the room, frustrated that she’d neglected to ask Thing where he’d been all day before she found him the other times.

“What’s wrong?” Enid tapped her phone and cut off the song. “Did you forget something important at home?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She kicked the mess aside and started hunting down her shoes. Once she was dressed, she made a tight beeline for her morning class and spent it writing down everything she remembered, ignoring teachers when they tried to employ her or coax her into participating.

Contrary to what people perceived about her on first impression, Wednesday did experience fear. It was a rare thing, but the most common trigger was the unknown, that which she couldn’t puzzle out. Something or someone wanted her dead, and it seemed like no matter what she did, she would be doomed to repeat the day until death finally claimed her.

Xavier stepped back when she entered the fencing hall, his gesture nauseatingly gentlemanlike, the mask removed, a slight incline of his head. He’d probably been trained in exhausting etiquette classes to defer to women and young ladies, at least insomuch as to prove the weight of his blood. Wednesday scoffed under her breath.

This part of the day was exciting. At least every turn was a new opportunity to best Bianca, to learn something from her previous shortcomings.

“Maybe if you whined less and practiced more, you wouldn’t suck.” Bianca’s words sliced like acid. “Seriously, Coach, when am I gonna get real competition? Anyone else want to challenge me?” Wednesday considered for a beat longer than before, her fingers twitching.

The rest of the room exchanged nervous glances. Clearly, outside of the time glitch, this was a regular occurrence. May as well knock her down a peg if she could.

“I do.”

“Oh, you must be the psychopath they let in,” Bianca grinned. When she tilted her head, the light catching her smile made her look as monstrous as she could be.

“And you must be the self-appointed Queen Bee,” Wednesday quipped, taking her place at the end of the mat again. She let her breathing even out as she pulled the epee over her face.

“En garde,” the coach called out.

The foils snapped, footsteps in deft morse code on the mat. Wednesday blocked out everything and imagined death.

“Point, Wednesday.”

And again.

“Point, Wednesday.”

Bianca ripped her mask off and glared.

“Enough of a challenge for you?” Wednesday drawled, giving a slight bow. Bianca returned it stiffly.

When Wednesday went to put up her foil, she caught Xavier watching again. She scowled at him and took a different route to her next class when the drills were through, avoiding anything overhead that could be used against her, suspiciously casting her eyes around every corner she turned. It was a tense way to live, but it seemed the best way to get through the day.

She was pleasantly enjoying the rhythm of her typewriter keys, Thing paging through the tome on time travel she’d checked out of the library, when Enid entered for the evening, looking frazzled. “This is an absolute disaster!” she said when she saw Wednesday there.

Something not unlike dread pooled in Wednesday’s stomach. “What?”

“Xavier just got taken to the hospital. He got into a fight with his roommate and got thrown out a window!” She sat at her desk, flipping her computer open and firing up her gossip mill.

Normally, Wednesday would have rather chewed on glass than ask for information that was going to be published on her roommate’s blog, but Xavier was a suspect. Why else would he feature so heavily in each iteration of her looping torment?

“What was the fight about?”

Enid’s shoulders tensed. “I heard a rumor that it was about you.”

Thing slipped on the page he was reading, nearly falling off the desk. Enid shrieked. “What. The fuck. Is that?”

Wednesday sighed. “Enid, Thing. Thing, Enid. Thing is a familiar of my father’s and sometimes a right hand to my Uncle Fester.”

“Where’s the rest of him?”

“Who knows. One of the great Addams family mysteries.” She sat delicately on the other girl’s bed, taking care to fold her skirt so that the motley-colored quilt wouldn’t touch her. “Who is Xavier’s roommate?”

“Rowan.”

“Rowan threw Xavier out a window?”

“Rowan has telekinetic abilities.”

She looked over at Thing to see if he had the same thought she did. The gargoyle.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Why did Rowan want her dead? She sat up, her eyes opening like a baby doll with weighted eyeballs balanced by thick lashes.

“What are you, half zombie, half jack-in-the-box?!” her roommate screeched.

“Probably.” She went to her closet straightaway and found a set of stealthy, form-fitting clothes. “I need you to cover for me today. Tell Thornhill I’m sick and staying in bed.”

“You’re skipping? What for? You’re going to get into so much trouble! We’re going to get into so much trouble!” Enid wailed, knotting her fingers together, the nails springing into sharp, colorful points.

“I’ve been the target of multiple murder attempts. I need to get into the mind of the person responsible.”

Enid’s face went ashen. “What?! We should tell Thornhill. Or Weems.”

“I prefer to come to my own rescue.” She looked around the room, pensive. “I’ll need to borrow some of your plush animals.”

Several minutes later, Wednesday saw herself out through the side door that lead to their balcony. Enid agreed to tell Thornhill that Wednesday was not feeling well and they both crossed their fingers that their dorm mom would be too busy to check on her until lunch when Wednesday planned to be back. She conveniently left out any information about the time anomaly and went in search of Thing first, finding him loitering around where her first class was meant to be.

Silently, she scooped him up and stuffed him in her bag, ducking into an abandoned corridor outside of Byron Hall. Her first order of business was to comb through Rowan’s – and by extension, Xavier’s – room for clues. She briefed Thing and then found her way in through an air vent.

Finding the right room proved to be something of an obstacle until she remembered that each dorm had its own mail room.

From there, it only took her a few seconds to pick the lock and get inside. “As soon as I am free of this torment,” she swore under her breath, “I’m going to track down Uncle Fester and hold him to his promise of making me his accomplice in crime.”

It was a typical boys’ room. Pugsley’s had more nails on the floor and dead things hanging from the ceiling than this, though. She searched Rowan’s side first, carefully overturning whatever she could and replacing it just as gently. She found nothing of note, hesitated, and crossed to Xavier’s side.

Enid had referred to him as the resident ‘tortured artist’ that first day. His side of the room, his desk, was littered with art; sketches, half-finished pieces, pencils, and shavings rolling across the surface of the desk, a palette knife being used as a bookmark. A leather sketchbook sat almost at the edge. Cautiously, she flipped it open. It was mostly empty save for several pages of cross-hatching and shading and one mostly complete image of the gargoyle.

∞

When Ms. Thornhill came to check on her, Wednesday was worked up and feverish. She refused any medication, instead requesting to stay in bed. And since she did nothing, Xavier was once again thrown out of the window.

On pass seven she lost to Bianca again, spraining her wrist and struggling to carry Xavier back to the infirmary. His leg was spared, but part of the broken stone bouncing off the ground hit him in the head, rendering him bleeding and half-conscious.

“You’re a fool,” she scolded him.

“You’re a bitch,” he snarked back before passing out.

He died on loops eight and nine and on the latter turn, Wednesday took the time to reach over and close his eyes for him before throwing her coat over his lifeless face.

The tenth time, he broke his arm and she took her scarf and used it to make him a makeshift sling. His eyes watched her softly and with measured reverence even as he gritted his teeth against the pain. In none of these loops was she ever hurt aside from rolling her ankle during fencing or the too-familiar cut over her eyebrow.

She woke up on the twelfth cycle and screamed, startling Enid enough to override her usual morning greeting.

“Did you have a nightmare?” her roommate asked her once she was done.

“My existence is a nightmare,” Wednesday growled. “And this song is stuck in my head already.” She considered skipping class to search Rowan’s room again, but she had already written down and cataloged everything she’d seen the one time. In some past runs, she’d taken to stalking him between classes and found nothing of note.

If there more pertinent evidence was to be found yesterday, why she was being put through this day over and over again?

To spite fate, she didn’t bother opening her umbrella, bolting straight across the stone flagstones in the rain, immediately soaked. She crashed straight into Xavier, knocking her name out of his lungs even as the gargoyle crashed down behind her.

He held her steady by the elbows. “Wednesday.”

She pulled away, suddenly electrified by a thought that hadn’t occurred to her. “Why does Rowan want to kill me?” she asked.

He gaped down at her. He was too tall even for hyperbole. “How do you know Rowan’s trying to kill you?” he asked.

“I’m psychic.”

He grinned. “Figures.” He started down the hallway, out to the edge of campus. “He said something about you being a harbinger of destruction for Nevermore.”

She faltered in her steps. “When did he say that?”

“Yesterday, when he saw you in class. He spent most of the night obsessing over you, saying that you shouldn’t be here.” There was a tightness in Xavier’s voice she didn’t like. His jaw was set and he averted his stare from her when she cut her eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to defend me.”

“You’re kind of a bitch,” he said, impressed. For some reason, it flared over her, making her aware of every cold drop of rain staining her skin. She turned and walked resolutely in the other direction. for all she knew, he was leading her into another trap.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

She sat up with less abruptness than usual. Day thirteen.

“What are you, half zombie, half jack-in-the-box?!” her roommate wondered aloud, not pausing her skincare routine. Wednesday didn’t even dignify the question with a response.

She walked into the fencing hall, unable to keep her eyes from seeking Xavier out. He’d caught her eye that morning, too, crossing the pentagon with his friends.

“Coach – coach, she tripped me.”

She curled her lip at Rowan, disappointed in herself for being duped by this act even once.

“It was a clean strike, Rowan,” the coach said, his tone exasperated. Wednesday briefly entertained the idea that every day surrounded by teenagers was his punishment.

“Maybe if you whined less and practiced more, you wouldn’t suck,” Bianca added. “Seriously, Coach, when am I gonna get real competition? Anyone else want to challenge me?” she glanced around the room.

“I do.” Might as well.

“Oh, you must be the psychopath they let in," Bianca cooed.

“And you must be the self-appointed Queen Bee,” Wednesday sighed. “Interesting thing about bees. Pull out their stingers, they drop dead.”

“Rowan doesn’t need you to come to his defense. He’s not helpless, he’s lazy.”

Far from it. His façade betrayed multitudes, as well as dormant raw strength. Wednesday wondered why the boy didn’t send the siren out the window in his room if he hated her so much. “Are we doing this or not?” She pulled the epee snugly over her head.

“En garde.”

Striking her first point, she noted out of the corner of her eye, through the mesh, how Xavier followed her paces from his distance.

Bianca took the second point. Wednesday’s blood boiled. If she hadn’t suggested doing away with tips before, it was certainly at the forefront of her mind now.

Despite the defeat, she welcomed the pain as her forehead split open, pushing everything to that point so that she could walk calmly out of the room, pride intact.

“My mother promised me I’d finally fit in somewhere,” Rowan mused, sitting across from her as a nurse cleaned and patched it. She made a mental note to research his mother later. “I never thought it was possible to be an outcast in a school full of outcasts. But it looks like you’re gonna give me a run for my money.” The smile was meant to be one of comradery. She knew better now.

She never wanted friends. She expected that at some point in her life, she would have to endure and participate in some semblance of workplace solidarity with collogues, but that was ahead of her. The telltale gurgle from the water tank outside the door gave her pause.

“Thing.” The disembodied hand was good enough companionship, and adequate enough. She held her bag open for him. “Get in.”

She took her time stepping out into the rain. After all, Rowan was watching, waiting for her.

By now, she could time the steps it took before the sound of scraping stone prompted her to look up.

“Wednesday!”

She came to briefly, rainwater on her face. Thing was tugging at her braid. “She’s going to be okay,” Xavier’s voice said, sounding murky and far away. His hand was cradling the back of her head and he lifted her easily. Blackness faded in. Had he carried her every other time?

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was his face.

“Welcome back.” His mouth quirked into that lopsided smirk, a dimple forming in his cheek.

She sat up abruptly, taking in the dreary familiarity of the infirmary, light filtering through the window behind him. The rain had stopped.

“Just take it easy,” he warned her, settling into a chair. “Nurse said you don’t have a concussion but you probably have a nasty bump, huh?”

“The last thing I remember, I was walking outside feeling a mixture of rage, pity, and self-disgust,” she recalled. He smiled softly, exhaling harshly in a barely suppressed guffaw. “I hate feeling that way.” 

“Losing to Bianca has that effect on people, I think,” he assured her, lips tugging to that asymmetrical grin again. 

“Then I looked up and saw that gargoyle coming down and I thought ‘At least I’ll have an imaginative death’.” The fact that no one would know it had taken thirteen attempts filled her with mingled rage and relief. “You tackled me out of the way. Why?”

He sat back, tensely shrugging. “Call it instinct.”

She stared at him long enough to make him uncomfortable. He looked down at his lap, color blooming over the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you,” she said. It was surprisingly easy to say, even though it left a bitter aftertaste.

He looked up, startled but pleased. “Let’s just say I returned the favor.”  She blinked. Did he… know? “Xavier Thorpe?” he prompted. She blinked again. “You probably don’t remember me,” he continued. “Last time we met, I was about two feet shorter, 40 pounds heavier.”

“What happened?”

“Puberty?” he guessed, shrugging.

“What happened the last time we met?” she clarified.

“Oh. Uh.” He squirmed in the seat, embarrassed. “Yeah, it… it was my godmother’s funeral. She was friends with your grandmother, and they spent their twenties in Europe, swindling the rich and notorious. We were ten, and we were bored, decided to play hide and seek.” He inched the chair a bit closer. “I had the inspired idea to hide in her casket. I got stuck as it was headed to the crematorium.”

She felt suddenly as she did then, a thin thread of connection hooking around her pinky finger, weak enough to jolt her. She’d been so jealous that he’d managed to get it open for the chance to share space with a fresh corpse. “I heard muffled screams. I just figured your godmother had cheated death and was trying to claw her way out.”

He nodded. “Either way, you hit the big red stop button and saved me from being flame-broiled. So… now we’re even.” He stood up, grabbing his blazer. “Watch your back, Addams.” It was less threat and more caution. Thing waved a mock salute from the edge of the bed and Xavier acknowledged him.

Silence.

Wednesday opened her eyes. Near the apex of her head, Thing sank into the pillow, crawling around to squeeze her shoulder. She sat upright, making Enid jump.

“Are you going to do that every morning?”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday. It’s Thursday, Wednesday.” She went back to scrolling through her phone to pick a song.

Wednesday fell back onto her pillow. Finally. Thing tapped and flicked a reminder. Her first therapy session was today. She would almost rather be stuck on Wednesday again.

Chapter Text

Principal Weems drove her into town personally in a non-descript soccer mom van the color of goose turd. Wednesday was not naïve enough to think of it as any sort of special, preferential treatment. She knew she was a flight risk, and she intended to take advantage of the newly unlocked area. They pulled into town under a banner advertising the 74th annual Harvest Festival. Weems was wearing a chic, oatmeal-colored, glittery wool coat, a silk scarf over her head, and gloves poised perfectly on the steering wheel.

“Dr. Kinbott’s office is on the second floor,” Weems informed her, pulling the van into park outside a quaint storefront building with gold lettering in the window. “Other Nevermore students swear by her.” As if Wednesday cared about the glowing reviews given by the populace of her parents’ alma mater. A better form of credibility would be publication in any reputable journal of psychiatric medicine. Wednesday was an avid reader of several and had never once heard the name Valerie Kinbott . 

“You’ll be here until I’m done?” she asked.

“Perhaps afterward we can visit the Weathervane for hot chocolate.” Her blue eyes twinkled under her perfectly curled eyelashes, patronizing.

“Principal Weems, this feeble attempt at bonding is beneath you,” Wednesday scoffed, exiting the vehicle. “And chauffeuring your students around is below your pay grade.”

“Given your history, I’m sure you’re intent on running away,” Weems stopped her, one hand on the car door. “I’m here to prevent that from happening.” The patronizing smile melted into an intense stare, seeing right through her.

“I wish you luck,” Wednesday said, gripping the strap of her backpack tightly.

Her trepidations about her new therapist were confirmed when she was introduced to the woman: a willowy, full-figured, blonde echo of her mother. “I read the notes from your school counselor,” the doctor said as they entered her office properly.

“Mrs. Bronstein,” Wednesday recalled wistfully. “She had a nervous breakdown after our last session and had to take a six-month sabbatical.”

The office was light and airy, painted and draped in whites and creams punctuated by soft colors and decorated liberally with authentic-looking artifacts and overpriced macrame that smacked seriously of the type of personality that made it to the top 0.1% of a pyramid scheme.

“Go ahead and have a seat.” The chaise was white, at least. “How did you feel about that?” she continued, referring to Mrs. Bronstein’s failure.

“Vindicated. Someone who crochets for a hobby isn’t a worthy adversary.” She doubted the woman’s credentials for many other reasons, of course. 

“Adversary?” Kinbott echoed. “I hope we can forge a relationship based on trust and mutual respect.” Wednesday scoffed. This sultry, sincere voice probably worked on her other clients, but she had heard all of these platitudes before. “This is a safe space, Wednesday, a sanctuary where we can discuss anything: what you’re thinking, feeling, your views on the world, personal philosophy.” The unrestrained eye contact was unnerving. 

“That’s easy,” she supplied, “I think that this is a waste of time. I see the world as a place that must be endured, and my personal philosophy is kill or be killed.”

“So, for instance, when someone bullies your brother, your response is to dump piranha in the pool.”

“You know the old saying. Never bring a knife to a sword fight. Unless it’s concealed.”

“The point is, you assaulted a boy and showed no remorse for your actions. That’s why you’re here.”

Right. Court-ordered. 

“He lost a testicle ,” she sniped. “I did the world a favor. People like Dalton shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.” Besides, he hadn’t shown any remorse. Dalton and his cronies made sport of tormenting her brother. They weren’t even creative about it. “I’ve answered all of your questions.” She stood up stiffly.

“We’re not done yet.” Kinbott stared her down. “Therapy is a valuable tool to help you understand yourself. I can teach you new ways to deal with your emotions. It can also help you build a life that you want.”

“I know the life that I want,” Wednesday retorted. A life free of restriction, a solitary life. No disturbances, and no social interactions of any kind. A quick, interesting, and mostly painless death. The means to haunt from beyond the grave if she so chose.

“Tell me about it,” the therapist prompted. “What are your ambitions for your career? What sort of partner do you imagine sharing your space? And how will you bring meaning to your life?” Wednesday frowned. No one had ever dared ask her such questions before. None of them felt like they could apply to her, especially the last one. She had an odd itch to ask what it meant. She’d never wanted to ask anything of a therapist, risk allowing them to think she was surmountable, that this was anything other than a one-sided chess match. “Everything said in these sessions is strictly confidential.”

Another platitude. Kinbott was playing what she thought was an amicable game between two vulnerable strangers in a park. Wednesday couldn’t wait to trample all over her.

“Do your plans involve becoming an author?” Wednesday narrowed her eyes, mentally hovering her hand over the next piece she planned to play. “I understand you’ve written three novels about a teen girl detective, Viper De La Muerte. Can you tell me about her ?”

She had an inkling that the question was a trick, but she almost couldn’t stop herself from answering: “Viper is smart, perceptive, and chronically misunderstood.”

“Any luck getting your work published?”

The shade was not lost on her. Wednesday was certain by this line of reasoning that the good doctor was probing for some emotion behind her literary rejection. It didn’t hurt, not really. All great writers went through a series of rejections before finding success. “Editors are short-sighted, fear-based life forms,” she drawled. “One once described my writing as gratuitously morbid.” An unintended compliment, for sure. “It was suggested I seek psychiatric help.” She pressed her lips together in a thinly veiled attempt at a smile, hoping Kinbott could appreciate the joke.

The older woman’s eyes sparkled and she shook her head, amused. “How did you take that?”

Wednesday wondered how long it would take before it became apparent that she was more complex than the level of client who fed off such simple, probing questions.

“I sent her a thank you.” She let the doctor take that as she pleased. “I’ve always been open to constructive criticism.” She blinked innocently.

“I’m glad to hear that. I was sent the manuscripts as part of your psych evaluation,” Kinbott admitted.

A single chord of panic struck Wednesday’s lungs. Of course she had.

“The relationship I found most intriguing was that of Viper and her mother, Dominica. Why don’t we dig into that?”

Part of Wednesday wanted to throw back in the woman’s face the absolute disgust she should feel for picking at such low-hanging fruit. Tell me about your mother. The other part wanted to bolt from the room. She could feel her hackles rising and anger starting to show on her face. Kinbott clearly knew she’d touched a nerve because she immediately took a gentle step back. “Wednesday, part of this journey requires us going to uncomfortable places emotionally.” Big mistake.

“I don’t travel well.” Dr. Kinbott heaved a sigh, a resigned gesture Wednesday was all too accustomed to in adults. “Would you mind if I use the powder room first?”

The doctor made a short gesture toward a door behind her and Wednesday went to it gratefully, feeling escape clawing at her. She did not want to be uncomfortable, especially with an unqualified shrink in a strange town that reeked of close-minded life. It was too small to weigh her down. She had to keep telling herself that.

“Nail file,” she muttered, holding her hand out. From her satchel, Thing delivered the tool and she picked the bathroom window lock easily, stepping out onto the roof and sliding down a drainpipe onto the sidewalk below, hurrying away before Weems could spot her in the rearview mirror. Unfortunately, she collided with an apple crate in the hands of a local and felt her spine tug sharply. Her eyes flew open and she saw as well as felt the impending death that awaited. Before she could warn him, though, he grimaced at her, noting the crest on her uniform. “Who let you out? You goddamn weirdo.”

She looked over her shoulder to make sure that her guardian hadn’t noticed the commotion and stalked off. Let the hick die.

∞

She made it down the street to the corner where a bakery and coffee shop’s smells enticed her to come inside. Greenery dangled from a rustic wooden frame in the rafters and the large windows accepted bespoke jar lighting, filling the space with light. Several walls showed exposed brick. It was unquestionably quainter and more hipster than she would have liked, but there was at least an espresso machine. It steamed and hissed as she approached, as though guarding the gates of Hades.

Behind the smokescreen, a young barista nervously tried to calm it. He jumped when he saw her, clearly too engrossed in his task to see her approach. Pitiful. He wouldn’t last two seconds out on the street.

“Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?” he demanded.

“It’s more of a hobby,” she deadpanned, honest. Uncle Fester had helped her perfect it at the age of six.

He scanned what he could see of her, wide-eyed. “You go to Nevermore,” he concluded, wary. “Didn’t realize they changed up the uniform."

“I need a quad over ice. It’s an emergency,” she said, trampling over his attempts at small talk. He looked gobsmacked. “It’s four shots of espresso.” Was he worthless at his employment, as well? Typical.

He attempted a smile. “Yeah, I… I know what a quad is, but spoiler alert: the espresso machine’s having a seizure, so all we have is drip.”

“But drip is for people who hate themselves and know their lives have no real purpose or meaning.”

The barista stole a sympathetic glance over his shoulder at the customer pouring himself a cup.

“What’s wrong with your machine?”

“It’s a temperamental beast with a mind of its own, and it doesn’t help that the instructions are in Italian.” 

Refusing to admit defeat, Wednesday circled to the other side of the counter, nimbly snatching the booklet from him. Asswipe couldn’t even read Italian. “I need a tri-wing screwdriver and a four-millimeter Allen wrench,” she decided after sweeping a cursory glance over the troubleshooting section.

“Wait, you read Italian?” The unnecessary ‘wait’ made her seize up. 

“Of course. It’s the native tongue of Machiavelli.” The boy was unmistakably naïve. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the time or discipline to make the necessary adjustments that would give him some leverage in the world. Still, she could at least ensure he kept his apron, and maybe she could get something out of this. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to fix your spastic machine, then you’re going to make my coffee and call me a taxi.”

“Uh, yeah. There aren’t any taxis in Jericho. Try Uber?” he handed her the tool she’d requested.

“I don’t have a phone,” she replied. “I refuse to be a slave to technology.”

He scoffed, smirking. “Says the girl fixing an espresso machine so she can drink a quad.” She twisted the screwdriver in a tight motion, imagining that it was a knife between his ribs. “Where are you going, anyway?”

“That’s on a need-to-know basis,” she snapped. What entitled him to ask? Clearly, he had a death wish. “What about trains?” 

“Nearest station is Burlington,” he supplied, watching her work on the machine, fascinated. “It’s half an hour away.”

She swallowed subtly, hating the direction of the conversation, and how much energy she was expending interacting with what was by all accounts a glorified NPC. “You have a valve issue,” she said, addressing the machine. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Where? You have one of these monsters at home?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation into a light banter.

“Steam-powered guillotine,” she corrected, firing up her iciest stare. “I wanted to decapitate my dolls more efficiently.” His expression melted from friendly to horrified and she took that as a win. If he’d outworn his usefulness already, she might as well abandon the conversation, take her coffee and go. There had to be some way to get to Burlington undetected. She did know how to hotwire a car, after all, even if she was somewhat unpracticed at it.

With the Allen wrench, she made another minor adjustment, lightly shaking the valve to release any blockage before setting it back. The machine eased into a silent whirr, steam dying down.

“Wow. Thanks. I never met a Nevermore kid who got their hands dirty.” Narrow-minded and possibly as intolerant as the asshole with the apple crate. Wednesday had no desire to defend any of her schoolmates, but the compliment seemed back-handed in a way she wasn’t able to pinpoint. “I’m Tyler, by the way. I didn’t catch your name. Or is that on a need-to-know basis, too?”

She scanned him again, narrowly. She had very little experience with boys, but she knew enough to reason that he was giving her an opening that she could manipulate to her favor if she played it right. “Wednesday.”

He smiled, open and ridiculously trusting. “Okay, Wednesday. To show my appreciation, how about I drive you to Burlington?”

There. She mentally congratulated herself. Though she could give little credit to feminine wiles, she supposed that like any boy, Tyler was eager to do her a favor, perhaps even open a cycle of give and take between them. So you were guided by latent chivalry, a tool of the patriarchy to extract my undying gratitude?

Struck again.

“Perfect,” she said to derail her thoughts. “Put that quad in a to-go cup.”

“I don’t get off for another hour.”

“I’ll sweeten the pot,” she offered, holding up a folded bill between her index and middle fingers.

“Twenty whole dollars…" he mocked. "Tempting, but no.”

Exhausting. “I’ll make it 40.”

“Listen, Wednesday, one fun fact about me… I can’t be bought, so either wait or find someone else to drive you.”

The nerve . He was allowed his pride, she supposed. Still, it was inconvenient. Asking someone else would involve another tedious social interaction. It was that, more than anything, that made her nod and resume her place at the other side of the counter, reigning in her impatience while he made her drink. She chose a booth and sat facing the direction she’d come so that she could see Weems approaching and silently began to make adjustments to her plan. The last communication she had with her uncle placed him on the east coast, so she could check any of his hideouts in New York and Massachusetts. She could probably even disable the security at the Addams property in the city and crash there for a while. The safe there had backup passports for the whole family, and foreign cash. She would have to ditch Thing, of course. He knew too much now.

A trio of boys entered the establishment, dressed in ill-fitting pilgrim costumes. They looked like the flat, lifeless cartoons she’d been forced to color back in grade school. That was the first school she was kicked out of, more for the arson than for the lecture on colonialism she treated her classmates to at snack time. She abhorred Thanksgiving as a commercial holiday.  

“Hey, boys, check it out.” One of them snickered. She looked up at them as they approached, putting her guard up in case the interaction became violent.

“What’s a Nevermore freak doing out in the wild?” 

“This is our booth.” Naturally, because there were no other empty seats in the establishment. She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink.

“Why are you dressed like religious fanatics?”

“We’re pilgrims .”

“Potato, tomato,” she countered.

“We work at Pilgrim World.” One of the boys actually slapped a flyer down in front of her, probably a reflex instilled in him in his training. Always take the opportunity to market to potential customers.

Right. Welcome to Jericho, Home of Pilgrim World . She would never understand why small towns like this felt the need to uphold one thing about their limited scope of culture to put them on a map. “It takes a special kind of stupid to devote an entire theme park to zealots responsible for mass genocide.”

“My dad owns Pilgrim World,” the dark-skinned boy of the group sneered, defensive.

“Who you calling stupid?” his friend backed him up.

“If the buckled shoe fits,” she said, sensing a fight and getting to her feet.

“Guys, back off.” Tyler appeared behind her, nervously looking between all of them.

“Stay out of this, Galpin."

“Yes, stay out of this.” If he was going to be any use to her, she needed him intact. She had very little faith in the boys’ ability to do any harm, but anything had the potential to slow her escape. She put herself squarely in between them and Tyler and easily defeated one boy after another without much effort, mentally thanking Uncle Fester’s training. Once she found him, she would recount this as proof she could hold her own in the world to convince him to take her along with him.

The door to the shop swung open, the bell jingling. The local sheriff took in the scene, incredulous.

“Dad!” Tyler pushed past her, pathetically attempting damage control. Wednesday’s stomach lurched. This was twice unlucky. 

“Tyler, the hell’s going on in here?”

“They were harassing a customer, and she put them in their place.”

“This little thing took down three boys?” He eyed his son suspiciously. “Did you help her?”

“Dad, I swear, I wasn’t involved.”

To make matters worse, Weems entered at that moment, the boys on the ground still groaning in pain. She cut her eyes at Wednesday, blood boiling.

“Apologies, Sheriff,” she said, dangerously calm. “This one slipped away from me. Come on, Miss Addams, time to go.” She actually held her arm out in a protective gesture, as though she would swoop Wednesday under her wing. It made her recoil instantly.

“Wait a minute, hang on. You’re an Addams?” The sheriff interrupted. “Don’t tell me Gomez Addams is your father? That man belongs behind bars for murder. Guessin’ the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Even law enforcement was poisoned by bigotry, though it wasn’t surprising in the least. Wednesday didn’t bat an eye. She’d grown up waiting up until all hours of the night to hear that her father had been acquitted yet again. “I’m gonna keep my eye on you,” the sheriff swore.

“Your first day in town and you’re already on Sheriff Galpin’s radar,” Weems scolded as they walked back to the van. “A word of advice. Stop making enemies and start making a few friends. You’re going to need them.”

The drive back was silent and uncomfortable. Weems’s hands on the steering wheel were tight, her mouth pursed into a sour expression. She doubtless had a hundred things she wanted to say but was holding them back, avoiding the risk of driving angry and distracted. Wednesday contemplated opening the car door and bolting out into the woods.

Outside of town, their way was partially blocked. Wednesday saw the truck from town, apples spilling over the road.

“Looks like an accident,” Weems murmured. “I hope the driver’s alright.”

“He’s dead,” Wednesday said, remembering the vision she’d had, the warning she failed to give. “He broke his neck.”

“How can you tell from this angle?”

She kept silent.

∞

The moon was in a gibbous phase that night. Wednesday took to the balcony with her cello and let Thing turn pages for her. It had been a tiresome and unsuccessful day and she was still weary from all the extra stress added to her psyche after her fall through time, loathe as she was to admit it. She sawed at the strings artfully, letting the constant and steady rhythm push and pull at her until she was loose enough to think straight again.

Enid joined her on the balcony when she finished, giving Thing a wide berth. They’d met officially that morning and her roommate was still wary of him. Wednesday balanced her bow carefully on the music stand and watched as the other girl went to the thick stone balcony railing, looking up at the moon.

“What is it like?” she heard herself ask.

“What?” Enid looked over her shoulder.

“When you change. Transform.” Truthfully, she’d been curious since meeting her roommate.

Enid’s face took on an odd pallor. “I wouldn’t know,” she said stiffly, turning her back. “I haven’t done it yet.” She held up a hand, fraught with tension, the nails springing to sharpness. “This is all I’ve got.”

Wednesday stood up and joined her, keeping a distance between them. “Is that normal?”

“I’m a late bloomer is all,” Enid shrugged, but no sooner had she said it than her body was shaking, wrought with deeply suppressed sobs. “My mom says it happens, but I’ve been to the best lycanologist. In Milwaukee . They said there’s a chance I might never…” She glanced over her shoulder. “You know.”

“What happens then?”

“I’d become a lone wolf,” Enid confessed, sighing. 

“Sounds perfect,” Wednesday said. What she wouldn’t give for such a fate, to be ostracized from others for the excuse of being left alone.

“Are you kidding? My life would be officially over. I’d be kicked out of my family pack with no prospect of finding a mate.” 

What sort of partner do you imagine sharing your space? Wednesday crossed her arms tightly across her chest. Enid wanted that. Someone to share her space with. She thought back to the vehement promise she’d made her mother at the beginning of the week, to never fall in love. Of course, love was different for everyone. She knew that. Deep down, she was even curious to know if such a thing existed for her in any form. “I’m failing to see the problem here,” she said, if only to cover whatever was showing on her face.

“I could die alone!” Enid’s eyes went wide. For once, Wednesday understood her. No one should pass without someone to witness their final moment, share their last breath and vow to take revenge for them if necessary. That was romantic. Still, it was a very painfully personal thing.

“We all die alone, Enid.”

“You really suck at cheering people up.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

The other girl snorted, turning to go back inside. “No kidding.” 

“Enid. I need to borrow your phone.”

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday opened her eyes slowly. It had only been a couple of days since she last heard this song, but the earworm it had awakened was stirring, anticipating every word as it came.

She sat straight up.

“Sorry! I know you hate this song. I hit shuffle and it just started,” Enid apologized. “Tyler texted back, by the way, and I feel obligated as your roomie to tell you that the boy gives me the ick with his Nice Guy vibes.”

Wednesday ignored her and crossed the room to see the text message.

She committed it to memory, deleted it, and blocked the number. “Satisfied?”

“Very,” Enid smirked, plucking her phone back. “Any song requests?”

∞

Attendance at the Harvest Festival, in an effort to improve relations between the school and Jericho, was mandatory. Wednesday found Weems’s attempts at political relations transparent and pitiful. From her limited interactions with the normies, as her classmates called them, she saw little hope for any real coexistence between them. And yet, she had plans of her own at the festival that hinged on being able to coexist with Tyler in the same space for the length of time it took to get to Burlington.

He'd declined payment, too, which Enid deemed suspicious. Wednesday reminded her that she would have her single room back to deter her from impeding her escape.

The carnival was a riot of light and color. It was nauseating. She wished she had time to take it all in.

“Are you sure you trust that normie?” Enid asked, a wavering note of disgust under her distrust.

“I trust that I can handle myself,” Wednesday assured her.

They parted ways and she wandered through the carnival games to avoid Weems’s eyes, seeking out the agreed-on meeting point. 

Part of her itched to look back and wish the other girl luck. It was a foreign feeling, and she shook it off, stepping up to a dart-throwing booth. The attendant watched with disinterest as she hit every target. She had seen Tyler out of the corner of her eye earlier, arguing with his father. It was an ill omen that the sheriff was there. She didn’t like the odds.

“Jeez, you get any better at this, you’ll be taking home a whole pack.” Xavier sidling up to her side felt as easy as a wisp of autumn air. In the back of her mind, she even felt relief to see that she would be leaving him intact, the memory of each broken limb or the feeling of his eyelids and she shut them haunting the lining of her membrane, just under the bright, clear tone of Robert Smith’s voice.

“Pandas don’t travel in packs,” she lectured him. “They prefer solitude.”

“Alright,” he agreed, laughing to himself. “Subtle hint taken.” 

“You should know, I’m waiting for someone,” she said to push the point further, although as soon as she said it, she felt mortified, though she thought she did a decent job of schooling her features into a cool expression. She’d never felt the need to explain her actions to anyone before. He glanced at her sidelong, his jaw tightening. Something about the expression was familiar. There had only been thirteen repetitions of the day before yesterday, and this expression had only been in one, but she remembered it.

“Oh yeah, who’s the lucky guy… or girl?”

Jealousy.

Wednesday took in his expression, not sure how to answer. She had to bite back the immediate instinct to clarify that his assumption was wrong.

A crowded feeling at her back alerted her that no explanation was necessary. The look that passed between Tyler and Xavier was tense; Wednesday wondered at it, the history it suggested. “You ready?” Tyler asked. She turned her back on Xavier and followed.

“You should let me give you gas money, at least,” she muttered as they wove through the crowd.

“I’m good on gas,” he assured her. “I told you, consider this a freebie.”

“Why?” It wasn’t as if he owed her. There was no score to settle between them.

“I wish I was going with you. At least one of us will get out of this hellhole town.” It was believable enough an explanation, but why didn’t he? Not that she would welcome his company. The thought of having to endure him on the train as well was physically exhausting. And as a sheriff’s child, there would probably be an uproar if he went missing. Maybe that’s what held him back. She couldn’t imagine such a prison. “Here,” he handed her a folder. “I wanted to make sure to give you this. “It’s your dad’s file. I thought you might want to know why my dad hates him.”

She was at a loss for what to say. Most people just say thank you.

“Thank you,” she managed. “I’m not used to people engaging with me. Most see me coming and cross the street.” He smiled softly down at her. “We’re burning moonlight,” she warned him. “My train leaves in an hour.”

They headed for the makeshift parking lot, only to find their way blocked by the boys from yesterday, no longer dressed in their work uniforms.

Tyler grabbed her and pulled. “Wednesday,” he warned. “Let’s go. We can lose them in the crowd.” She wrenched her arm away, shooting him a warning glance against handling her, but took his word. There was too much of a chance that another fight would summon the sheriff.

Running past the Ferris wheel, she collided with someone hard enough to be knocked off her feet. Her eyes snapped open wide and she had to focus to register each image as it flashed into her consciousness. The last image was of Rowan’s face, covered in blood. When the vision released her, she saw him, running away into the woods behind the fair. She didn’t hesitate more than a few seconds before following him, despite Tyler yelling behind her.

“Rowan, wait!”

He took a long puff of his inhaler, sweating. “What do you want? Why are you following me?”

“I know you have some sort of vendetta against me, but you should know. You’re in danger.”

His expression shifted too easily from uneasy to predatory. The ground was pulled out from under her as she flew backward, her back hitting the trunk of a tree, several feet off the ground.

“Who do you think you are, warning me? You’re the danger here.”

“Why?” She struggled against the invisible hold. “You tried to smash me with that gargoyle when you barely knew me.”

He briefly broke eye contact with her but held her firmly in place with his mind, looking down at his pocket. A piece of paper floated out, and unfolded in midair in front of her face. In the semi-darkness that filtered through the trees, she couldn’t see very well, but he explained it. “The girl in the picture. That’s you.” Before he pulled it back, she recognized in the lines what looked like the fountain in the pentagon back at Nevermore, the background aflame behind the figure wearing pigtail braids. “I have to kill you.”

“You want to kill me because of some picture?”

“My mother drew that picture 25 years ago when she was a student at Nevermore. She was a powerful seer. She told me about you before she died. It’s my destiny to save everyone from you.” He was trembling with emotion and the exertion it took to keep her there.

“Rowan put me down.”

He pushed her back harder and she felt her ribs press inward.

Suddenly, the pressure was released. Out of nowhere, a huge, malformed creature with bulbous eyes ripped Rowan off his feet and slammed him into the damp, leaf-mulched earth. Wednesday fell to the ground, too. She watched as the beast tore at his insides, splashing his face with warm blood. 

When it was done, it turned its bloodshot eyes on her and bolted away, swallowed up by the trees.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday opened her eyes and took a gasping breath. 

She sat straight up.

“Sorry! I know you hate this song. I hit shuffle and it just started,” Enid apologized. “Tyler texted back, by the way, and I feel obligated as your roomie to tell you that the boy gives me the ick with his Nice Guy vibes.”

Wednesday sprang out of bed and snatched the phone, swiping the messaging app away to reveal the home screen so that she could tap on the calendar. Friday. October 7. Again.

She opened up the messenger app, hovering over the keyboard. Like before, she deleted it and blocked the number, handing it back. Enid watched her with wariness. “I’m not sure I like the idea of him giving you a ride anywhere.”

“I can handle myself,” Wednesday assured her, then took to pacing her side of the room. She elected to skip breakfast in favor of writing down everything she remembered again so that she could find what had to be changed in order to stop the madness. “These anomalies are obviously tied to Rowan’s attempts to kill me,” she said to Thing. “I have to confront him as soon as possible. And it would help if I had more knowledge about his mother.”

During her history class, she was allowed access to the library, and the teacher suspected nothing of her asking about alumni records. Unfortunately, the class period didn’t last long enough for her to find enough information besides a name and picture.

As the day wore on, she grew more anxious. She discreetly packed a knapsack with only the essentials and chose her biggest sweater to hide it or make it less obvious. No matter what happened, she was going to make her escape. The farther she was from Rowan and Nevermore, the more likely she would be to escape the curse. 

At the festival, she parted ways with Enid once again and managed to stiffly wish the other girl luck in the coming days. The moon would peak soon. Enid shot her a grateful smile, ducking her chin into her chest. Wednesday adjusted the weight of her knapsack on her back and walked toward the row of chance games, picking the darts again. She briefly entertained Xavier’s inevitable suggestion. Enid’s side of the room would be bright and pastel, with unicorns and rabbits. Her side would be eerily decorated with a multitude of black and white panda clones, plastic eyes staring out and following you wherever you were in the room.

“Jeez, you get any better at this, you’ll be taking home a whole pack.” Xavier entered her field of vision and leaned against the counter of the stall.

“Pandas don’t travel in packs,” she said before she could stop herself. “They prefer solitude.”

“Alright,” he agreed, laughing to himself. “Subtle hint taken.” 

“I’m meeting someone here,” she added, watching his face for signs of jealousy, for an indicator that this recurrence was the same as last time. 

“Oh yeah, who’s the lucky guy… or girl?”

“Tyler Galpin,” she humored him. The expression became darker and he opened his mouth to say something about it when she felt the boy himself appear behind her. She took a step out of his space to be able to observe the interaction between them. “Do you know each other?”

Xavier scoffed and walked away.

Weems had her eye on Wednesday from a nearby picnic table. Ignoring Tyler for the moment, Wednesday picked up another round of darts and emptied the board. The attendant pulled down the largest prize.

“You see that sad, lonely woman over there? She needs this pathetic validation more than I do.”

“Distraction?” Tyler asked as the man shrugged and went to deliver it.

“Exactly.”

They headed toward the grassy parking area in search of his car, Wednesday keeping an eye out for the three boys. “Hey, wait.” Tyler pulled at her. She spun around, glaring at him. He had a bad habit of coming up behind her like that. 

“I wanted to give you something before I forget,” he held out the file from before. “It’s your dad’s police record from when he was at Nevermore.”

“Did you read it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I was curious.”

“We’re wasting time,” she reminded him, but the boys were already there, waiting for them. She pushed Tyler away. “We can cover more ground if we get them to split up,” she hissed. “Circle back to this spot.”

To his credit, he actually listened, baiting one of the boys to run after him. 

She avoided the path that led to the Ferris wheel at first, but a knot of people around the food court and the possibility of running into Weems again drove her to double back. This time she saw that the person she collided with was Rowan himself, which made sense. Her visions were always triggered by touching things or people related to the vision. This time, though, Tyler was not on her heels, so she fell to the ground. Panic colored the vision, but when she came out of it, she realized she was unharmed, the frame of Xavier’s shoulders hunched over her, shielding her from being trampled.

He eased away from her slowly. “You okay?”

“You need to stop making a habit of coming to my rescue,” she said. “Thank you.” She scowled and he smirked, knowing that he’d been the one to influence her manners in this direction. He offered his arm so that she could pull herself to her feet and she took it.

“Did you see Rowan?”

“He ran off into the woods,” Xavier sighed. “He looked distressed.”

She nodded. “I’ll go after him.” 

“Wednesday.”

“He’s in danger,” she insisted. “You need to go find Weems.”

“I don’t think you should confront him alone.” She thought back to every iteration of the day before yesterday when Xavier ended up hurt or dead because of her.

“Go find Weems,” she repeated. He held her stare for a full minute before giving in and agreeing.

She ran off after Rowan, catching up to him in the same clearing as before, startling him as he tried to control his breathing.

“Rowan! There’s a monster in these woods. We have to get away from here!”

He rounded on her and hurled her up and back. “ You’re the monster.”

She pushed down her frustration. “I know you want to kill me – think it’s your destiny or whatever, but listen – “

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

“Let me down and we can talk about it as soon as we’re out of these woods. Rowan, we’re in danger here.”

The crushing pressure on her ribs started, creeping up her throat.

This time, she saw the beast’s shadow, speeding in from behind Rowan. She fell to the base of the tree, snapping her ankle as she tried without success to land on her feet. She let out a cry of pain but the beast continued, Rowan’s screams pulling her under as she passed out.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. A third time. 

She sat straight up.

“Sorry! I know you hate this song. I hit shuffle and it just started,” Enid apologized. “Tyler texted back, by the way, and I feel obligated as your roomie to tell you that the boy gives me the ick with his Nice Guy vibes.”

“He’s harmless,” Wednesday assured her, deleting and blocking him from the phone without even reading the message.

“Still…”

“Enid. Don’t worry about me.”

Unfortunately, Wednesday didn’t have any classes with Rowan on Fridays and she had no idea what his schedule was. She was able to find more about his mother; an article written at the time of her graduation that detailed all of her successful predictions during her time at school. She still didn’t recognize the face, but the name was clearer to her now after asking Thing about the seer’s collective her own mother was part of. She had not been as well connected as Morticia and therefore avoided publicity, but they had briefly been a part of the same circle, as far as she understood. Maybe she could convince Rowan to hear her out on that front. Having a mother like that could be difficult for anyone. 

During lunch, she attempted to track him down but heard from multiple people that he’d been sent to the nurse for an asthma attack and then to his room. Since little else had changed, she assumed he would be at the festival; but unfortunately, they weren’t on the same bus.

“Wednesday?” Enid prompted her. “I thought I saw Tyler over there with his dad. Aren’t you going to meet him?”

“I have some unfinished business, first.” She reached out tentatively and pinched the thick pink brocade of the girl’s coat. “If I never see you again, good luck.”

Enid beamed.

∞

She passed Xavier twice as she made her rounds, searching for Rowan. Both times he was unaware of her. She hadn’t noticed before that his hair was completely down. It made his face look less peaked.

She pushed her way through the throng of people waiting for corndogs and soda and saw Tyler confronting his friends at the edge of the fair. She contemplated for a moment going to help, but overhead, the familiar cue of the fireworks had started and at that moment, Rowan ran past.

She didn’t even need the vision to know what would happen if she let him go into the woods.

“Rowan!” she called. “You have to turn back.”

Startled, he threw his hand out in front of him, clutching at the air, but she had tailed him close enough to knock him over and pin him to the ground, sitting on his back. “I’m going to let you up,” she said as he struggled, pressing her knuckles into his neck, “But first, you need to listen. I know you think I’m a danger to the school. I assure you I’m not, nor do I have any intentions of being a danger to the school. I’d actually planned to run away tonight. You’re going to go back to the festival and I’m going to get to the train station.”

He went still under her and she got up slowly, but the next second her legs had been swept out from under her.

“I can’t let you outlive tonight,” Rowan gasped, pulling out his inhaler at the same time he threw her back with the force of his mind. He took a second to puff on it and then the constricting squeeze on her lungs started again. She kicked her legs out, struggling. She felt her ribs puncture her lung and everything started to fade away.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday opened her eyes slowly, drinking in the new knowledge she had gained. The monster hadn’t saved her that time. Rowan had succeeded in killing her .

She sat up.

“Sorry! I know you hate this song. I hit shuffle and it just started,” Enid apologized. “Tyler texted back, by the way, and I feel obligated as your roomie to tell you that the boy gives me the ick with his Nice Guy vibes.”

“You can delete the message,” Wednesday allowed. “I don’t need to see it.”

“Are you sure? Does this mean you’re not going to meet him tonight?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

“I’m going to have to push my escape plan back a bit.”

∞

During her morning class, Wednesday asked to be excused to the lavatory but snuck into the infirmary, instead. She took a scalpel from one of the cabinets in the nurse’s storage room and waited. Less than an hour before lunch, she heard Rowan enter, wheezing.

“You can wait here, Mr. Laslow. I’ll get your doctor on the phone,” she heard the nurse say.

Wednesday waited until she heard the door click close to spring out and press the sharp instrument to his throat, making his breaths more labored. “I should slit your throat for trying to murder me,” she hissed. For succeeding in murdering her, even though he didn’t know it. “I’m going to give you one last chance to listen to me.”

He pushed out with his mind. The scalpel nicked his throat, spraying blood down his front. Wednesday flew into a medicine cabinet.

“It’s my destiny to protect Nevermore from you,” he spat, pushing her up into the corner of the ceiling.

The door flung open and two nurses rushed in, restraining him.

∞

“If neither of you is willing to explain yourselves, you will be put under strict in-house suspension. You will be banned from the festival tonight and under the strict supervision of each of your dorm parents.” Weems said from behind her desk.

Rowan had a bandage around his neck. Wednesday fully expected him to tell their principal about his mother’s vision, but he remained silent. She, too, refused to open her mouth. She didn’t know his reasons but she needed to assume that she would wake up to this nightmare again, and she wouldn’t even try to warn Rowan about the monster. She would adjust her plans and make her escape sooner rather than later.

“Very well. I’ll start the paperwork.”

Ms. Thornhill came to escort Wednesday back to her room and stay there with her for the rest of the day. “I’m very disappointed in you, Wednesday,” she chastised. 

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

For once, she was relieved to get a do-over. The last attempt had been a disaster. 

She sat up.

“Sorry! I know you hate this song. I hit shuffle and it just started,” Enid apologized. “Tyler texted back, by the way, and I feel obligated as your roomie to tell you that the boy gives me the ick with his Nice Guy vibes.”

She crossed the room wordlessly and dialed the number attached to the message.

“Wednesday?” Tyler’s voice was groggy.

“We need to make an adjustment to our plans.” She made a face at Enid when the other girl tried to protest. “Don’t tell your father you’re coming to the festival. Wait for me in the parking lot.”

She hung up and handed the phone back. 

“I don’t know if I like the idea of some random normie giving you a ride anywhere,” Enid said.

Wednesday sighed. “Nothing I say will assuage your worry, will it?”

Enid shrugged. “I know you can take care of yourself, but have you ever really been out in the world on your own? I mean, aren’t you basically an heiress? Have you ever done anything for yourself?” From the bed, Thing tapped out his agreement.

Wednesday turned away, defensive. Just because she hadn’t before didn’t mean she couldn’t. She was smarter than most people gave her credit for. “I have resources at my disposal.”

She got through the rest of the day, outlining her plans, packing just the essentials once again and boarded the bus. Xavier looked at her over the back of the seat in front of her. "Don't look so excited, Addams," he smirked. 

Enid elbowed her. Wednesday elbowed her back. "No comment," she said, addressing both of them.

When they disembarked the students dispersed, Rowan melting into the throng. Xavier looked over his shoulder at Wednesday before he followed Ajax and Kent to the food stands. 

“Good luck, Wednesday,” Enid said.

Wednesday again reached out and tugged at the too-pink coat. “You, too.”

She walked over to the dart game and busied herself, needing the distraction for Weems.

“Going to leave any prizes for the rest of us?” Xavier sauntered over. She blinked. That was different from before. She froze, the script in her head jumping.

“You should know, I’m meeting someone.”

“Who’s the lucky guy… or girl?”

“It’s not like that,” she said without thinking.

His expression relaxed. “Like what ?”

She felt heat rush to her face. “I just need help with something. Do me a favor and distract Weems? She’s watching me like a hawk.”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t even wait to see his reaction to that, making for the parking lot. 

Tyler had described to her what the car looked like, but there were so many cars and she was short on time. Finally, she saw it, but as she made her way there, she tripped over something. A body. Just ahead of her, another body. She had only seen the monster from before attack twice, but she recognized its work. To make matters worse, she spotted Tyler’s car, the door torn off the frame of the car. She didn’t bother to keep looking around to see if his body was among those scattered over the grass.

She scrambled back to the festival, back to Weems, engaged in conversation with Xavier.

“You have to alert the sheriff!”

The next three loops were similar. No matter how she adjusted her plans, she could not find Tyler. Most of the time, his car had been gutted by the monster. Other times, she came across dead bodies no matter how the night ended. Sometimes they were Tyler’s friends. Mostly they were random normies. the festival always went to hell under the fireworks, the Nevermore students shepherded back to school and Wednesday being forced to make witness statements in Weems’s office until the late hours of the night. Enid was always waiting up for her. 

“I’m glad you weren’t able to run away,” she confessed on the third loop as they turned out the lights. Thing patted her shoulder in agreement.

Wednesday was beginning to think she would never escape. It took her a while to fall asleep. The second she felt comfortable, the song floated up from the back of her memory like a jumpscare in a bad horror movie.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday reached for Thing and perched him on her shoulder as she sat up in bed. 

“Sorry! I know you hate this song. I hit shuffle and it just started,” Enid apologized. “Tyler texted back, by the way, and I feel obligated as your roomie to tell you that the boy gives me the ick with his Nice Guy vibes.”

Wednesday took the phone and texted back a short confirmation, deleted and blocked the contact. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I haven’t been able to escape yet.”

“What?”

Wednesday shrugged at her. Enid disappeared into the bathroom, humming the song.

“I have lived through this day seven times already and I never get to the train station,” Wednesday muttered under her breath as she dug through her underwear drawer. Thing ran across the top of the dresser, signaling frantically at her.

“I have determined, after careful consideration, that I have to leave the timeline as intact as possible to the original. I’m obviously meant to learn something. I still suspect that Rowan’s mother’s prophecy has something to do with it. I don’t care enough about this school to destroy it. I would not mourn it happening, but to actively plot it and carry it out myself would be a waste of time. Whoever is in that picture is not me, or there is a misunderstanding. I need to question Rowan further.”

She went through the motions of the day, taking care not to alter anything. Easy enough. The glitch in time seemed to apply to the Harvest Festival specifically. As they headed out to the buses, she crossed over from her assigned line, keeping her eyes on the back of Rowan’s head. Xavier stepped up beside her, shielding her from his roommate’s notice.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm following Rowan.” She hesitated. "I need to talk to him."

He looked at her, concerned. "He wants to kill you."

"I know." He stared at her and she sighed. Right. "Psychic," she explained. Then, “I know you had a fight with him about me.”

“Enid?”

“Obviously.” She slid into the bus seat and didn’t bat an eye when he settled in beside her, ducking down so that the teacher wouldn’t register his face, just the top of his head. “Just because we knew each other as children doesn’t mean you have to defend me.” He stared at her, expression unreadable. Wednesday squirmed. “Did he mention anything about what his mother said about me?”

“I don’t think Enid would have heard that detail,” he said, impressed. “No, he didn’t. Just that you’re a harbinger of death.” He smiled fondly. “I wouldn’t disagree.” 

The bus jolted over a pothole, slamming their side of the bus down for a beat. Wednesday slid into him. He held her firmly until she could adjust herself, gripping his knee as her toes found the floor and she was able to straighten her back against the seat.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

“Your hair looks better tied back,” she said without meaning to.

He pulled a hair tie out of an inner pocket and pulled half of it up. The tension at his forehead sharpened his cheekbones. She turned and looked out the window for the rest of the drive.

When they disembarked, she followed Rowan. He disappeared into the crowd and then into the house of mirrors. Wednesday was not afraid of that particular attraction, but it was too close quarters for a fight. Not enough space. Rowan would send her flying through glass and she wouldn’t be able to question him. 

She walked around to the exit of the attraction, hoping to cut him off, but several minutes went by. She was caught in a throng of people outside of it as a group of jugglers and fire eaters went by.

“Wednesday.” Tyler pressed against her back as the crowd let him through. She shrunk away from him, following the flow as the crowd released. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I need to take care of something, first.”

“If you’re looking for Rowan, he went that way,” Xavier said, appearing at her side, staring Tyler down. “What’s new, Galpin?”

Tyler’s face made that same jealous expression that Xavier’s had sometimes. 

“I’ll be right back,” she swore, looking where Xavier pointed and seeing the back of a green hoodie.

She caught up to him in front of the Ferris wheel. “Rowan. We need to talk.” There were enough people around that he must have felt it was wiser not to immediately attack her. “You tried to kill me. With the gargoyle. I don’t think you’re a bad person. You don’t have to be afraid of me. Let’s reason it out.”

He took the paper from his pocket again and held it out. There was better light here, so she could see better. It was her. “Before she died, she told me that it was my destiny to stop you.” His hand trembled, holding it out.

“What else did she say? How specific was she?”

“What more do you need?”

She shook her head. “It just doesn’t make sense. That picture could mean anything.”

“My mother was a powerful seer, and her accuracy rate was better than the vastly more popular, shallow Morticia Addams .”

“Rowan, I don’t care enough about the school to burn it to the ground.”

“But you will .” He looked around, wary of the many watchful normie eyes on them. He turned and bolted for the woods.

Wednesday took two steps and hesitated. No matter what happened, one or both of them would die in those woods, and it had just occurred to her that in the first sighting, the monster had essentially come to her defense .  

She forced her legs to carry her back to where she’d left Tyler and Xavier and found neither of them, then ran back to the woods. Just behind the thicker tree line, deadly quiet, Rowan lay, his chest ripped open. Wednesday carefully pulled at his jacket and extracted the drawing from the inner pocket.

Chapter Text

“How could you miss a dead body?”

“’Cause it wasn’t there?” The sheriff humored her. “No footprints, no blood, no sign of a struggle. Nothing. Nada.” Principal Weems took up the rear of their procession. Wednesday could feel the leash she was trying to fasten onto her. “My search party looked all night.”

“Well, your search party must have left their seeing-eye dogs at home,” Wednesday insisted. “I saw the monster that killed Rowan.”

“Get a good look at this thing?” he asked gruffly.

“It didn’t stick around to chat,” she replied tersely. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, pulling at the vague formation of her theory. She’d been almost disappointed when she woke up to a completely different bright and floaty pop song. 

After finding Rowan’s body – and taking evidence - she’d run into Bianca and asked her to get help before passing out. She remembered coming to halfway back to campus in the back of Weems’s minivan while the principal and Ms. Thornhill had a heated, whispered argument.

She searched her memory, rethinking each time loop carefully. He had died in almost every one, she was certain. Definitely the last one. There was a drop of his blood on the paper in her pocket. None of the adults were willing to hear her out about the monster, and she had a sinking suspicion that she would be forced to talk it out with Dr. Kinbott come Monday.

“Maybe it was one of your classmates,” the sheriff suggested as they ascended into the foyer outside Weems’s office.

“Sheriff, I find that assumption offensive,” Weems fired back.

“I have three other bodies in the morgue and little regard for what you find offensive. Hikers just ripped apart in the woods.” He made a frustrated gesture. 

“The mayor said those were bear attacks,” Weems dismissed. Wednesday kept silent, hoping that they would forget she was there and reveal even more information.

“Well, the mayor and I disagree on that.” She could at least respect that the man had enough common sense to know that a bear couldn’t have done that. 

“You automatically assume a Nevermore student is the murderer even though there is no evidence a crime was even committed.” Weems raised a single, elegant eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry. I forgot, you only teach the ‘good’ outcasts here, right?”

Weems fixed him with a withering glare and led them through her office doors. “My guess is Rowan ran away,” she theorized. “State troopers have put out an alert, and I’ve contacted his family, but they haven’t heard from him, either,” she lamented, sinking into her chair. Rowan’s mother was dead. Who was there to contact?

“Dead people are notoriously bad at returning calls,” Wednesday challenged her.

“What were you doing out in the woods with him, Ms. Addams?” the sheriff asked, wearily taking a seat across from the principal’s solid, imposing desk. 

“I heard a noise and went to investigate,” she lied easily. “I found his body. Right where I told you. Right where you and your search party seem to have overlooked.”

“Then what happened?” he prompted. 

“Then I went for help. I ran into Bianca Barclay and told her what happened just before I passed out.” She bit back her pride. “Next thing I knew, I was waking up in my dorm.” It had been the middle of the night and she had been uncertain of what day it was, and where in time she could be. Enid had not been in her bed and she had felt very lonely, at least until Thing came out from under her bed and informed her that she’d been carried in less than an hour before.

She had paced the room until her roommate came in, anxiously and furiously texting, so distracted that she nearly jumped out of her skin when Wednesday grabbed her and pulled her in, shutting the door behind her and demanding answers.  

“And just to be clear, this monster wasn’t a bear or some other wild animal?” the sheriff broke into her thoughts.

“I’ve hibernated with grizzlies. I know the difference,” Wednesday informed him coolly.

Principal Weems made a disapproving noise behind her. “Thank you, sheriff. I believe Miss Addams is done now. She has been as helpful to you as we expected.” 

Wednesday easily hid her reaction to the thinly veiled barb. “Actually, I would like to speak to Sheriff Galpin. Alone.” 

Weems drew herself up to her full height. “I’m not sure I can allow that.”

“I could take her to the station and get a formal suggestion,” the sheriff interjected, surprising Wednesday. She did not expect his cooperation or interest in granting her his audience. He stared at Principal Weems and a very brief standoff ensued in which she crumbled easily under the threat of his bluff.

“You have five minutes and everything is off the record. Play nice… or I will call the mayor,” she smiled tightly in that patronizing way. Wednesday knew better than to imagine the hostility was born from affection for her. Rather, it was more obvious now when faced by an authority with clout in Jericho among normies, Weems would do anything to uphold the reputation of the school. If forced, Wednesday would have to admit that it was admirable of her. 

Nevermore, as constraining as it was – she would never see institutions of education as anything more than glorified prisons – was a safe haven for outcasts. She had only been able to survive other public schools because she was strong enough. She shuddered to think what would happen to Enid in the halls of Nancy Reagan High School.

Weems left them there in her office, but from the way she watched them when she closed the door, Wednesday knew that the five minutes would be strict and tight and that Weems’s ear would be pressed against the thick door.

“Rowan is dead. I know he is. Someone is trying to cover it up. That’s the only explanation for his body to be missing, along with any immediately discernible evidence.”

“Is that your professional opinion as the daughter of a murderer?” the sheriff fired back.

“My father is twice the man you are.” She balled her hands into fists at her side, too loyal to say more than that.

“It’s been a long night, Addams, and I’m not up for one of your mind games,” the sheriff sighed. 

“This isn’t a game. I’m telling the truth.” At least as far as she knew it. She didn’t want to think about what the curse of being yo-yoed through time was doing to her sanity. The terror that gripped her hissed in her ear, asking if she was certain of anything. “Admit it. You can’t reject my claims, can you? You and I both know that there’s a monster out there.” That couldn’t be in question, at least. She had seen it or evidence of it more than once. 

The door opened and the deputy interrupted them. “Sheriff. You’re going to want to see this.”

The thick wooden door swung open and Rowan walked in, completely whole. He even had the audacity to smile and wave at her.

∞

Finding out Rowan was still alive felt like someone had poured gasoline down her throat and set it on fire.

She hid her distress as best she could, but Weems insisted on taking her to see Dr. Kinbott.  

Wednesday was tense the whole ride into town. There were no circumstances under which she would allow herself to reveal anything that was happening, even if she had any trust or felt that her psychiatrist was competent. Something about this was starting to feel more supernatural than psychological to her, but she wasn’t sure how much time she would have before she was thrown into it again.

“Help me understand why you claim to have witnessed a murder. Was it to gain attention?”

Wednesday stared her adversary down as icily as possible. It was bad enough to have endured an uncomfortable exchange about her behavior during the first session. Dr. Kinbott had exaggerated her disappointment and reiterated that her office was a safe space. Now, Wednesday felt her whole body seething with rage. Attention? How shallow. She would never.

“Why should I bother telling you anything? You’ve already decided that I’m lying.” 

“Your life’s had a lot of upheaval recently,” Dr. Kinbott soothed. “It’s okay to be confused about things.”

What exactly was in her medical file? As far as Wednesday was aware, she had never been diagnosed with anything that would lead to such delicate handling. Her previous counselors had certainly tried, but she had outsmarted them. Not that a stint in an institution would be shameful or unheard of for an Addams – the older generation saw it as a rite of passage – but she had too many important things to lose time, even if it meant indulging in slipping into madness for a while, which had always sounded appealing.

“Don’t try to lure me in with one of your psychological traps.”

“No one is trying to trap you.” But they had. Someone or something had effectively trapped her. Twice. “I’m here to help you process your emotions.”

“Emotions are a gateway trait,” Wednesday retorted evenly. “They lead to feelings, which trigger tears.” She made herself stone. “I don’t do tears.” 

Dr. Kinbott smiled wryly, then sat up straight as if giving herself a boost of courage. She’d need more than that. “Tell me how you’re adjusting at school.”

Mentally, Wednesday held back. Adjusting was not a word or concept that applied to her. She was the invasive plant species in any crowd. Either people adjusted to her, or they perished. That’s how it had always been. “Sartre said, ‘Hell is other people’,” she quoted. 

It was always easier to fall back on the words of others to explain her relationship to others. Emotions were not her strong suit. Besides, he had been her first crush. She had very fond memories of writing fanfiction for The Roads to Freedom and writing Mrs. Jean Paul Addams-Sartre on the wall behind her headboard. She had been devastated and then delightfully titillated to learn that he’d passed in 1980. Her parents had taken her to Paris that winter to visit his grave and she had enjoyed herself throwing withered stems onto it and wailing her little heart out. She was no Simone de Beauvoir, after all. He never would have looked twice at her.

Dr. Kinbott sighed. Wednesday imagined a series of walls between them or a goblin king’s labyrinth. “Wednesday, part of the reason your parents sent you to Nevermore is so that you could find your people, and become part of a larger community.”

If she truly believed that, then her parents were more manipulative than she gave them credit for. That lie was embedded in a more sinister truth. Her parents wanted her to become just like them . She just wanted to be herself, and no one wanted to understand or allow it.

“I like being an island,” she insisted. “A well-fortified one surrounded by sharks.”

Dr. Kinbott’s eyes narrowed. “Have you considered that your antisocial tendencies might be motivated by fear of rejection?”

You’re a bitch.

Wednesday recoiled, hating that she remembered that dismissal. “If you were to reject me, I would not be upset.”

Caught. Kinbott’s traps were so inelegant and simple that sometimes they sprung. The doctor set her hands primly on her knees and leaned forward, ready to execute a final barb. “I’m not your peer or your equal, Wednesday. It would be unprofessional of me to operate as if you had to gain my favor. But someone your age or anyone you wanted to form a connection with? That would be worth pursuing.”

Wednesday felt her hackles rise.

On the wall, the clock chimed. “And look, you made it through an entire session without trying to escape.”

A snarl curled at the back of her throat, touching her lips.

∞

Outside, interrupting her inner monologue that recited a calculated and sympathy-laced speech over the doctor’s casket, Tyler approached her.

“So I guess you decided to stick around Jericho?” He looked over her shoulder, noticing where she had emerged from. “Wait, you see Dr. Kinbott, too?” Again, with the weird verbal tic. Wait . She wasn’t even moving that fast, though she would have to pick up her pace to avoid small talk with him.

“You should know, I’m legally required to be here.”

“Uh, me too. Court ordered.” He tucked his hands into his sweater and fell into step behind her, that uninvited familiarity with her person. Was that normal in small towns? With boys? Did she unintentionally lead him to believe that they were friendly acquaintances? She glanced quickly over her shoulder to ensure Dr. Kinbott wasn’t watching. This would be excellent fodder for her.

“Look at us, a couple of teenage tearaways,” she muttered. 

Behind her, he chuckled at her humor. “Hey, when you ran off the other night, I wasn’t sure what happened, and then I heard…” she turned to face him, taking in the concerned look on his face. It occurred to her that she had no idea what Tyler had to contend with, growing up with outcasts in his backyard, his father the sheriff. “Kinda crazy,” he finished lamely.

“Everyone, including your father, believes that I made it all up,” she accused roughly. 

“Yeah, I know, I…” his cell phone went off and he glanced at it. “For what it’s worth, I believe you,” he offered before walking away. She scoffed at his back. Unless he had a lead for her, it wasn’t worth much.

∞

When she arrived back on campus, the south lawn was ripe with activity. She scanned the crowd for Enid. Her only lead was still Rowan, and since she didn’t trust that he was actually alive, she needed more information. Since she didn’t trust Weems, her only option was Enid and her gossip blog sources.

Enid was frantically barking orders at her fellow dormmates, circling a black canoe. “If Bianca Barclay wins again this year, I will literally claw my own eyes out,” she heard her roommate vehemently declare. 

“I would pay money to see that,” she deadpanned.

Enid spun around, way too chipper, and bounced over to her. “Howdy, roomie!” she sang. “I’m so glad you decided to stay.”

“I thought you liked the idea of having your single room back?” Wednesday lifted a single eyebrow, amused in spite of herself.

“I actually don’t like living solo?” the other girl volunteered. “Plus, Thing gives a killer neck massage. It’s a win-win.” She smiled, her eyes shining. It was irritating. “So… why the change of heart?” 

Wednesday crossed her arms tactfully. “I refuse to play the role of a pawn in someone else’s corrupt game.”

Enid’s smile turned sour. “You mean Rowan?”

“He was murdered , Enid.”

“It’s just… we all saw him this morning… very much, like, not dead.” Enid hitched her shoulders up, offering an apologetic smile.

“I know. Which leads me to believe that I’m losing my mind.” She had the brief, intense need to explain herself further. “It’s not nearly as fun as I had anticipated,” she mused aloud. “You’re Nevermore’s gossip queen. What’s Rowan’s story?”

“Other than being a weird loner?” Enid shook her head. “Uh… Xavier Thorpe is his roommate?” she offered, grasping at straws. Not new information. If she was in her right mind, Wednesday had been in Xavier and Rowan’s dorm room at least once. “If you had a cell phone, you could text and ask,” her roommate suggested, her eyebrows jumping up suggestively. Wednesday wrinkled her nose in distaste. She despised technology, and her limited experience with texting had been draining. Tyler’s grammar was seriously lacking. Her best bet would be to ask Xavier directly; she was startled to admit that she was not unopposed to the idea.

“Yoko!” Enid spun around, doubtless sensing that her vision was not being realized. She proceeded to ream the vampire out for not being severe enough on the flare of the Black Cat’s whiskers. Looking at the canoe, Wednesday surmised that the inspiration had been taken from Poe’s short story. “The Poe Cup droops for no one!” Enid declared; her eyes were intense, on the verge of a tantrum. If Wednesday stuck around a little longer, she might not have to wait for the competition to see those rainbow nails at work. She should have brought popcorn.

“What is the Poe Cup, anyway?” she asked, curious about what had the normally bright and cheerful girl on the verge of a breakdown.

“Only my sole reason for living! Part canoe race, part foot chase. No. Rules.” Enid’s smile was devious. Wednesday found herself intrigued by it and even thought she might feel a prick of fondness for her over it; she was incapable of transforming into her true form as of yet, but there was still something predatory and vicious about her. It might even be worth sticking around to see. “Each dorm has to pick an Edgar Allen Poe short story for inspiration.” She gestured to the paints and supplies. “Want to take a stab at being social?” 

“I do like stabbing. The social part not so much. And it would cut into my writing time,” she said. Even the prospect of engaging in a social activity was draining.

“No worries,” Enid said easily. “As long as you’re lakeside cheering us to victory on race day. Or you can just glare uncomfortably. Whatever. Do you.” The invitation was followed up by a wink. Wednesday took half a step back. It occurred to her suddenly that Enid was doing the opposite of rejecting. Enid’s default nature was welcoming. 

“Thank you,” she managed. 

Enid grinned, seeming to know what she meant. Wednesday was at once relieved that she didn’t have to explain herself but also irritated that this girl already had such an understanding of her that no words were needed.

∞

She spent the rest of the afternoon attempting to make headway on her novel, hating everything she wrote. She never had formal instruction or training in writing; public schools were woefully underfunded and understaffed. Even if she’d had a teacher that was competent enough to mentor her, they wouldn’t have had the time. Wednesday prided herself on learning from the masters, anyway, and listening to her inner voice. She was the smartest person she knew, after all. 

In life, in her craft, she only trusted herself.

Her failure during this writing hour was especially painful, and she had too much else on her mind to enjoy the torment. 

The half of Rowan’s mother’s picture sat at her elbow, completely distracting. She held it up against her desk lamp, examining it again. Faintly in the corner, she thought she saw something different. Blinked. No. It was certainly there. She looked closer. a barely visible watermark. All she could make out was the ghost of a charming little skull.

∞

The next morning, she was summoned to Principal Weems’s office. She entered on a mission, completely disregarding whatever the true reason for the summons was.

“I need to speak with Rowan. I can’t find him.”

In the past loops, she’d made some effort to learn his schedule and knew more or less where he should be. She had wasted the morning and felt somewhat humiliated, much to her annoyance.

“Impossible, I’m afraid. He’s been expelled.”

“Expelled,” Wednesday echoed. “Why?” 

“A concerned student had reason and evidence to prove that he was a danger to himself and others around him.” She flicked her gaze up from her computer screen. “Namely, you. Why didn’t you tell me he had made an attempt on your life?”

Anger flared in her stomach and she clenched her mouth closed. Xavier .

“He’ll be on the first train out this afternoon.” She finished off the email she was writing with a flourish and looked up. “Your statement the other day might have placated the sheriff, but you can’t fool me. You had a psychic vision, didn’t you?”

Her anger extinguished immediately, a cold rush of panic overwhelming her.

“I realized you might be having them when we passed by the accident and you knew that poor farmer had broken his neck.” Her face softened into an almost sympathetic look. “Your mother started having them around your age, and they were as volatile and unreliable as yours appear to be.”

Wednesday immediately resented the implication that her visions – and therefore, her own mind – were playing tricks on her. Weems was doing little to gain her trust, not that she would ever have breathed a word about the time curse she was under. As for her mother? As far as Wednesday knew, Morticia’s visions were fairly accurate, if unexciting. Part of her wanted to reason that with age, her own visions would also hit a plateau and no longer plague her as they did now, but that would mean acknowledging that she was like her mother in more ways than she wanted to be.

“At first she thought she might be losing her mind,” Weems murmured, echoing her own thoughts to Enid from the other day. “Have you talked to her?”

Torture. Actual torture. “May I go now?”

“Not until you’ve picked your extracurricular activity,” Weems said crisply, all business. “We like our students to be well-rounded.”

“I prefer to remain sharp-edged,” she countered, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She was slowly growing respect for the woman but balked at the idea that they could be building a rapport . 

“I took the liberty of putting together a list of clubs with openings.”

“How thoughtful,” Wednesday muttered, eyeing the clipboard with distaste.

“You need to have picked one by the end of the day.”

Wednesday snatched the clipboard and stormed from the room before she was compelled to engage in another exchange of wits.

Once outside, she let Thing out of her bag and studied the list. If she was being forced to think about it seriously, she would have to choose the club that would be the least conspicuous, one where she could blend in without being overwhelmed by a crowd.

“Weems is clearly trying to keep tabs on me. See if you can find Rowan.”

He bent his knuckles to her and scuttled off.

Wednesday’s first stop was Nevermore’s glee club. She had less than zero interest in it, but she made her way to the pentagon. Bianca was the club president.

Her rival had the decency to look surprised. “Weems said you might show up,” she said. “But to be honest, after your performance at the Harvest Festival, the drama club might be more your speed.”

Wednesday remembered the look on Bianca’s face as consciousness slipped away from her. “After I passed out, who did you tell? The sheriff?”

“You think I’d trust normie cops?” Bianca sneered. “I went straight to Weems and let her handle it.” The self-assuredness of that, the unspoken promise that even a psycho like her – Bianca’s words – was worthy of protecting from normies, started an odd heaving between Wednesday’s lungs. When the siren suggested they start the audition, she spun on her heel and headed straight to the next interrogation on her list.

Xavier was alone when she found him on the archery field.

He was as surprised to see her as Bianca had been. 

“You actually showed up.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His hair was pulled all the way back. “Ever shot a bow and arrow before?”

“Only on moving targets,” she said, staring him down with a very serious stare.

He was not intimidated and proceeded to give her a very basic rundown of a classic stance and shot. He at least hit the target, though she expected more from him with his height and arm span advantage, especially just standing still.

“Any questions?” he asked. 

“When was the last time you saw your roommate?”

“You mean the one who was killed by a monster?” he snarked. She bristled. “The Harvest Festival. I haven’t talked to him since. This morning I just missed him. His side of the room was packed up when I got back from breakfast. Dorm master told me he got expelled.” He looked at her questioningly. 

“You told Weems he was trying to kill me.”

He nodded. “When the bus brought us back to campus that night, I got pulled into her office.”

“I’m grateful that you saved me from him before, but I can handle myself.” 

“This isn’t all about you,” he assured her. “Rowan is my friend. Was. The last couple of weeks he’d been more erratic. even before you showed up. I was worried about him, and I regret not saying anything before. Telekinesis can mess with your head. A lot of psychic powers can.”  

He looked away, back at the target. She had the distinct feeling that he was talking as much about himself as he was about her. He knocked another arrow. “So what’s the deal with you and Tyler?”

 His jaw was tight again and his arrow missed the center mark. She glared at him. “I’m sorry, were you the only one who got to ask non-archery questions?”

“There is no deal. He was doing me a favor driving me out of town.” Again, she didn’t know why she felt the need to explain herself to him.

“Yeah, word of advice? Steer clear.” He handed her the bow and a fresh arrow, correctly gauging her itch to shoot at something.

“Why? Because he’s a normie?” she drawled.

“Because Tyler and his friends are jerks.” The bitterness in his voice was palpable. She hadn’t been wrong when she guessed the boys knew each other. “They can’t stand that this school’s propping up their Podunk town.”

“Says the boy whose life was served on a silver platter,” she snarked back.

“How much did those shoes cost?” he scoffed. “Girls in glass houses…”

If she had a stone to throw, she would. Her eye caught the apple sitting on the hay bale at her side. She started to reach for it, but hesitated. Something very uncomfortable had just occurred to her. If this was her only shot – literal and figurative – at this conversation, how would she want to leave it? She was an excellent markswoman with any weapon. She had several kills under her belt, all impressive. Xavier wouldn’t be surprised. He wouldn’t even flinch. It would most certainly further his opinion that she was kind of a bitch. 

She blinked. Not that she cared .  

“At least I’m not an elitist snob.” On that note, she plucked the fruit from its perch and tossed it, pinning it directly to the center of the target, a single bead of juice dripping down.

Xavier’s posture loosened, relaxed. He scoffed under his breath. “Ouch.” 

She couldn’t decide if the way her mouth was twitching was because she was annoyed or because a rare smile was fighting its way to the surface. Either way, she elected to leave before either of them found out.

∞

The next stop on her clipboard list actually looked promising. It was out on the outskirts of the campus, away from everyone else. If she actually kept up the pretense of joining the beekeeping club, it would be a good cover on the principle that it would take ages for Weems to come out and check on her or send anyone in her stead.

The buzzing was unsettling, and therefore a comfort. It was dense enough that she almost didn’t sense the boy coming up behind her. “Are you interested in the ancient art of beekeeping?” She turned around. “Eugene. Eugene Ottinger,” he extended a gloved hand. “Founder and president of the Nevermore Hummers.”

She returned the greeting. “Wednesday Addams.” She glanced around. “Am I late or is it only you?” 

“The hive life isn’t for everyone,” he explained. “Most kids are afraid of venomous insects.” 

Wednesday was not afraid. “I think this will be a good fit for me,” she murmured, eyes shining. Eugene grinned widely. 

∞

She almost regretted it as Eugene started to drone on about hive structure, but luckily Thing came to find her, signaling a development in the case. She slipped away as if on the wings of a honeybee, shedding the outer protective layers of her beekeeping outfit as she went. 

Rowan was out in front of the long staff driveway getting into a bruised purple Volkswagen. 

“Rowan!” she called. “We need to talk.” 

“Wednesday, I’m not allowed to speak to anyone.”

“You had a lot to say at the Harvest Festival.” 

“Wednesday,” Ms. Thornhill chided from the other side of the car. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Yeah, back off and leave me alone,” Rowan spat, getting into the car. Wednesday held back, noting that she had stalled enough to allow Thing to grab onto the bear bumper of the car.

∞

“How did you lose him in a bathroom with no windows?” Wednesday hissed. She had been waiting on pins and needles for hours for Thing to get back. Not literal, of course. That would take too much time to set up. Now she had to get through her afternoon classes before she could get back to her room, her desk, where she could be alone. 

The appendage shrugged by lifting a single thumb. 

“A lefty wouldn’t have failed me,” she bit out. her only lead. Gone. He flattened himself, shifting to hide behind the potted Venus flytrap. “Don’t sulk.”

“I see you finally made a friend,” Bianca sneers from her left. Her companions cackled. “Even if it is a plant.” 

“I go for quality over quantity,” Wednesday retorted. The sirens exchanged glances and went to find their seats in the conservatory, the class arranged in a semi-circle facing Ms. Thornhill’s desk. Unfortunately, there were no empty seats at the back of the class, forcing Wednesday to the front. 

Xavier looked up from his sketchbook. “There’s an open spot next to me,” he offered. “If you can stand sitting that close to an elitist snob.”  

Because she could feel Bianca glaring a dagger into her back and because she needed to prove to herself that he had no bearing on her choices, she took it. As a weird olive branch, he held his hand over the sketch of a spider he’d been shading. Wednesday watched, curious. As if shifting perspective, the drawing suddenly had a third dimension. It crawled off the page onto the table between them.

“I doubt Wednesday is impressed by your tricks, Mr. Thorpe,” Ms. Thornhill said archly, adjusting her glasses. 

It wasn’t… unimpressive. Still, the way the rest of the class tittered made her feel as though she were being left out of a joke. Normally, she didn’t mind. Other people had base humor that she found beneath her. But she didn’t understand who was the target of the joke. Certainly, she didn’t understand why she would be.

“Admit it, you’re a little impressed,” Xavier smirked. Oh . She felt her nostrils flare. The joke was that he was trying to impress her. Because he liked her.

She smashed the illusion into charcoal dust. He nodded, mentally scolding himself, probably, shut the sketchbook, and did not speak to her for the remainder of class.

Good.

∞

When classes were over for the day, Wednesday’s feet automatically carried her back to her roommate; the lupine girl was putting finishing touches on her Black Cat canoe alone on the south lawn.

“I have to go back to the woods,” she said without preamble. “But Weems is watching me like a vulture circling a carcass.” Admirable of her, really.

“Let me guess, you want me to cover so that you can return to the scene of a crime that didn’t happen?” she said loftily, teasing. Wednesday frowned. She was starting to dislike the way everyone here could get a read on her.

“I have beekeeping club this afternoon. I need you as a decoy.”

Enid’s face scrunched up. “Sorry. Two strikes,” she warned. “I’m busy, and bees totally creep me out.” She painted a few strokes before perking up and suggesting, “Why don’t you ask Thing? Oh wait, you can’t because he’s mad at you.” She made a mock grimace. It was a well-placed and truly vicious barb. The pinprick of respect she had for Enid was widening into a realistically sized moth bite in the fabric of her armor. 

“He’s the one that screwed up,” Wednesday muttered.

Enid shrugged. “All I know is that we spent an hour giving each other manis and he really opened up. He feels like you don’t respect him as a person.” 

“Technically he is only a hand.”

Enid gave her a pointed look. “He’s your family . Go apologize to him and I might reconsider helping you out.”

The gall . Few times in her life had Wednesday ever followed orders, but she was on a time constraint and lives were in the balance. She grudgingly went and had a sincere conversation with Thing, nearly breaking out into hives over the emotion it elicited, however fleeting. Afterward, she led Enid to the hive, helped her dress in the beekeeping outfit, and had the assurance of hive code from Eugene that he would also keep up the ruse. Only then was she free to go back to the woods in search of evidence. The entire day had been draining. The solitude alone would serve her well.

The woods were quiet. Wednesday let it sink into her bones. She loathed color, generally, but she didn’t mind the muted greens here. She picked carefully through the terrain. A lot of the ground was undisturbed, but the late fall foliage made it hard to make out tracks and footprints. 

She was lost in thought when the sound of people approaching, the low panting of a dog. A hand clamped around her mouth and she was pulled out of sight. He pressed too close against her back, but she bore it until she saw the uniform walk past with the dog, then pushed with all her might, glaring at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t want Elvis to pick up on your scent.” He put his hands out in surrender, eyes wide. 

“How did you throw them off?” He pulled something out of his pocket. “Coffee grounds.” Stupid enough to be brilliant.

“Deer hunting hack,” he explained.

“Why is your father out here?” 

“He doesn’t tell me shit.” He looked her up and down warily. “You must think it’s weird I’m stalking him.”

“Not at all. I consistently stalk my parents.”

“What really happened at the festival, anyway?” he asked as she resumed her search. “I swear I won’t tell my dad.”

She looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at him. In one or two of the inconsistencies, he’d stolen a police file just because he thought it would placate her curiosity. This didn’t mean she trusted him. 

“Rowan was trying to kill me. He nearly succeeded twice, but something else got to him first. A monster.” 

“Did you see it?”

She felt her steps falter. His presence at her back was starting to irritate her, raising her every mental alarm. She couldn’t tell him she had, because technically, the final timeline she’d ended up in was not one where she’d seen it.

“I came here to find something that can prove he was murdered. And that I haven’t lost my mind,” she explained, murmuring the last part to herself. Something on the ground caught the fading afternoon light. 

“These are Rowan’s,” she said aloud, mystified. His glasses. She knelt down and examined them. They were real. Proof that whatever curse was plaguing her was real, that the monster was real. She reached out to pick them up.

So much flashed before her eyes, and too fast. Xavier and Rowan fighting. Xavier flying into the wall, thrown by Rowan’s power. The gargoyle. Rowan’s face twitching in contorted pain. A book.  

She dropped the glasses, shuddering. Tyler made to help her up but she shot him a vehement look.

∞

After dusk, she knew Xavier would be out of his room, most likely on a run. She had sent Thing ahead of her and waited for his signal from the hallway window outside of the room. It was easier than before to sneak past the Housemaster and pick the lock since she’d done it before. She barely had time to take in the empty side of the room before she heard someone out in the hallway. Hissing a curse at Thing for getting their timing wrong, she ducked into what she knew had been Rowan’s bathroom. It was just as empty, with nowhere to hide. She turned out the light and clicked the lock closed as silently as possible, calculating what the fall damage would be from the tiny window and how likely it would be that there was something she could scale down from outside of it. 

On the other side of the tiled wall, she heard the shower spring to life, the old pipes groaning and shuddering. Thing tapped at her boot, questioning if she would risk it. She flicked her foot, annoyed, and opened the door, shifting into the room and beginning a cursory search. The book from her vision earlier had to be here. It had flashed in her mind so quickly, but she knew it had a dark cover and a skull stamped into it with the word ‘Nightshades’ embossed under that. That book had to contain the other half of Rowan’s mother’s picture.

Thing opened a sliding cabinet and rifled through some books and found nothing. The sound of the shower was distracting, white noise growing louder as she combed every inch of the empty side of the room. On instinct, she snapped the light off and turned on her blacklight flashlight, letting the beam direct her under the bed. A tight set of fingerprints over a loose floorboard yielded another mystery – a mask molded in what appeared to be leaves or feathers. 

She had no reason to search Xavier’s side of the room now, but the sketchbook on his desk dared her to look again, remembering the gargoyle.

There were more sketches now, including several half-finished sketches, what she thought might be an unkindness of ravens, and an impression of her own face. 

The portrait was strikingly symmetrical, her eyes unsettlingly blank. Something about that gave her more pause than necessary. What it implied was almost frightening. Earlier, during class, she had taken this and shelved it, shoved it far back. Someone having a crush on her was an anomaly rarer than being bounced through time on a loop. Wednesday was not appealing. She didn’t actively work at that; it was a natural part of her character.

If pressed, she would admit that she had never given thought to this aspect of herself, that anyone would be… interested in her. It burned, and she wasn’t sure if it was unpleasant or not. 

The bathroom door opened. Wednesday held her breath.

“You picked the lock, didn’t you?” he guessed, toweling at his hair. The look on his face was somewhere between betrayal and embarrassment. No steam emitted from the open door behind him; Wednesday realized that it meant he’d taken a cold shower. 

“I needed to see if Rowan left anything behind,” she said, mortified at the break in her voice.  

“Did you check under his bed?” he asked, throwing the towel aside.

“I found this,” she took the mask out of her bag.

He nodded, and seemed to consider for a moment, his jaw set in a completely different way from when he was jealous. “What is secure, between the heart and life of the tomahawk man, unlocked by the crack of index and thumb?” 

She blinked, a smile starting to form on her lips before she could stop it. Two knocks at the door saved her from saying something ridiculous, or worse, standing there like a dumbstruck fool. She loved a good riddle, and the solution to this one was already forming just under her consciousness, mercifully pushing out the image of Xavier standing under the cold spray of the showerhead in his bathroom.

Xavier looked at her, panicked. “We’ll both be in trouble if you’re caught here.”

Without even considering it, she dropped to her knees and shimmied under his bed. She heard him sigh, but then his feet moved to the door, interrupting whoever was at the other side mid-knock.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” he said. Wednesday inched forward on her stomach to the foot of the bed to peer up and saw Bianca. Her back molars ground against each other.

“Good to see you too,” she returned sarcastically.

“How did you get past the Housemaster? Use your siren powers?” he suggested, heavy with bitterness. Enid had mentioned their history, and now it was clear that while they seemed amicable in public, the breakup had not been smooth.

“Not while wearing this,” she said, clearly offended. Wednesday couldn’t tell from the limited scope she had from her vantage point what the other girl was referring to, but it was probably a charm of some kind that dulled her powers. Interesting. “Would it kill you to not think the worst of me for once?”

“What do you want, Bianca?” 

“To see how you’re doing. I’m sorry about Rowan. I know you used to be close.” The tone of her voice was soft but sly. Xavier noticed.

“Since when did you give a damn about Rowan?” 

“You were the one he’d do something to Wednesday. Isn’t that why you’ve been following her like an eager-eyed puppy?” she snapped. “Or is there something more?” The silence that followed was weighty and Wednesday wished she could see his face. “What do you see in her, anyway?” 

“ Bianca ,” he warned.

“She thinks she’s better than everyone else. I can’t wait to crush her roommate at the Poe Cup this weekend.”

A rueful sigh. “I hate to think what you’ve got planned.” 

“My game has already begun,” she said, triumphantly. “I like to win. Is that so wrong?”

“And you wonder why I broke up with you,” he murmured almost too softly to be heard. “You need to leave.”

Bianca’s feet were rooted to the spot for a second too long before heading toward the door. “Just remember, she isn’t your dream girl. She’s the stuff of nightmares.” 

Wednesday waited for a beat after the definitive sound of the door closing before coming out of her hiding place. She refused to be cowed by what she’d heard. Xavier was obviously of the same mind because he stared at her openly, probably cataloging her micro expressions for another portrait. To her horror, she felt herself blushing, wondering what that would look like.

He shrugged, completely relaxed, his eyes deep and honest. “I’m more comfortable with nightmares.”

Wednesday didn’t have a coherent response, so she left, not looking back. Thing trotted smugly at her heels the whole way.

∞

When she entered the room, Enid was face down on her bed, beating her fists against the quilt, sobbing in frustrated bursts. Why was everyone in this school so full of emotion? Was it catching ? Wednesday scrubbed lightly at her arms.

“Where have you been ?” Enid screeched. “I’m literally having a heart attack right now.” Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes hard. The overgeneralized use of literally was one of the things that got under her skin about her roommate. Enid’s face was swollen and deep pink, her eyes wet. “Yoko is in the infirmary.”

“What happened?”

“Garlic bread incident at dinner. It’s bad. Major allergic reaction. The nurse says she’s out of commission for the Poe Cup.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Wednesday muttered, remembering Bianca’s catty remark. “Bianca’s behind this.”

“How do you know?”

“Doesn’t matter. You and I are going to take her down.”

“Wait. You’re joining the Black Cats?” Enid hiccoughed. “You’re willing to do that? For me?”

“I want to humiliate Bianca so badly that the bitter taste of defeat burns in her throat,” Wednesday swore.

“Yeah, but mostly you’re doing it because we’re friends, right?”

Wednesday inched back half a step. Enid had covered for her today, even though she had an aversion to bees. She had forced a reconciliation between herself and Thing. She braced herself.

“Yes, Enid. We’re friends.”

The blonde girl squealed and dove at her. Wednesday sidestepped easily, but didn’t hide a smile.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

The first sound that came out of her mouth was a note only detectable to dogs. Her own roommate flinched and put her hands over her ears, glaring at her, mouthing ‘good morning’ with an eye roll. Wednesday cursed in Spanish. She threw her twisted quilt and sheets aside in a rage and began to pace her side of the room. 

Enid watched her for a few minutes, engaged in a brief rock-paper-scissors with Thing, lost, and approached her cautiously.

“I’m going to say something crazy, and I need you to believe me.”

Enid frowned softly, but nodded. “Ok.”

Wednesday took a deep breath. “I’ve already lived through this day. Eight times.”

A puzzled look crossed Enid’s face. “You’re… having déjà vu? Or a vision? You had a vision of how this day is going to go already?” 

Wednesday shook her head. “No. I’m cursed, I think. It’s happened before. I’ll go through today and if I do something wrong, I’ll wake up and the day will start over again.”

Enid’s eyes went wide. “You’re Groundhog Day cursed?”

Wednesday furrowed her brow. “It’s October.”

Enid shook her head. “No. Groundhog Day the movie. It’s about a guy who is doomed to keep living the same day over and over. There are other movies and shows and stuff with a similar plot, but that’s like, the trope.”

“Yes. I have been Groundhog Day cursed.” She stopped her pacing. “Can you please shut that off?”

“ The song ,” she whispered.

“The song seems to be tied to it. It played as I woke up last Wednesday morning, Then Friday last, and now today. What is it, anyway?”

“ Friday I’m in Love by The Cure.”

Wednesday went to her bed and threw herself on it, groaning into her pillow.

“Wednesday?”

“ Friday is my middle name .” Enid broke into a fit of giggles. “It’s cruel ,” Wednesday snapped. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

Enid dropped her phone mid-post. “Okay, so care to share with me what’s going to happen?”

“We’re going to participate in the Poe Cup. You’re going to make me wear a ridiculous costume. When I run for the flag at Crackstone’s crypt, I will be struck by a vision. We will win the cup.” 

“Okay, except for the vision part, that sounds pretty good?”

“Xavier will die.”

“What? How?!”

“So far it’s happened four different times, in one of three ways: drowns by accidental stoning, snaps his neck when he springs a trap outside the crypt, or takes a spear to the gut.”

Enid’s face contorted in pain. “You have to save him, Wednesday.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m trying. He’s recklessly competitive.” She refused to let that endear him to her.

“We have about four hours before we have to report to Coach Vlad and take our canoe to the shore. Let’s talk strategy,” Enid decided. 

∞

Just like every time before, Wednesday’s sight pulled her consciousness into a gloomy, mirrored reality tinted in cool coloring.

She whirled around. Her pale doppelgänger seemed to stare right through her at first.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “If I am the key, what is the lock?” 

The girl shook her head, the blonde pigtails stiff. “You are the key,” she intoned again. It was useless. No matter what she asked, the apparition ignored her. Even with the advantage of a time loop, she couldn’t gain the upper hand.

The vision fell away. She came to with Bianca standing over her, taunting. She snatched the flag and ran for it. Xavier was still alive, as far as she knew. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d managed to find another stupid way to die.

When they touched down on shore without incident and she was once again able to savor Bianca’s defeated look as she crawled up onto the dock, she shot Enid a relieved look and nodded. The curse was lifted. At least for now.

∞

“The first Poe Cup took place in 1897 as a way to not only honor Nevermore’s most famous alumni, but to celebrate those values that all outcasts share: community, perseverance, and determination,” Weems announced before the whole school as she presented the massive trophy. “And we certainly saw those values on display today.”

Everyone gathered in the pentagon cheered, except for Bianca and her fellow Gold Bugs.

“Congratulations to Ophelia Hall! As a former resident, I will be happy to see the cup back on the mantle after all these years.”

Wednesday did her best to wander away from the crowd, growing wary and suspicious of anyone who smiled at her. Enid was soaking up the attention in the middle of the fray, but she tore herself away from everyone to walk at her side for a minute.

“The girls wanna know if you wanna hang out later.” The look on Wednesday’s face must have shown how horrified and sick the suggestion made her. “Oh, come on, it won’t kill you.”

“I’ll… think about it,” she said, barely hearing herself. They’d just walked past a statue of Poe she’d barely given a second thought to any other time she’d seen it. What is secure, between the heart and life of the tomahawk man, unlocked by the crack of index and thumb? 

She looked around to make sure no one was watching her first and examined the statue more closely. Poe held a book in his hand, the spine even on his open palm between the heart and life lines of his stone hand. On the cover of the book was the same emblem she’d seen on the book in her vision.

Chapter Text

Enid was still curled up around the trophy when she got back from the abysmal kidnapping attempt. At least she had the book she needed. Before she went to bed, she lined up the torn edges of the pages. It made less sense to her now that it was complete. If this was her, why was she facing off against a pilgrim?

At least she could infer from the composition that she was engaged in combat, and probably not the cause of the blaze in the background.

∞

The next morning was the start of a three-day outreach event. When Wednesday first heard about it, she had been annoyed that she was expected to freely give her valuable time volunteering in Jericho. But as the curse and its mystery persisted, she realized the value in having more access to the town. It would be too easy to sneak off from her assignment; Jericho would be overrun by outcasts she could blend in with and use as a cover.

“All students will report for their volunteer jobs at 10 am sharp,” Principal Weems called out over the commotion in the pentagon. “Community lunch will be held at 1 pm.” She clasped her gloved hands together in excitement. “As you all know, this year’s outreach event will culminate in a very special event: the dedication of a new memorial statue in the town square, which will also include performances by Nevermore students.”

Up front, Enid seemed thrilled by the announcement, as did a scattered group of glee club members. Wednesday shuddered, relieved she hadn’t joined. 

“I trust you will all put your best face forward,” Weems concluded. She caught Wednesday’s eye, her mouth pressing into a firm red line. Wednesday favored her with a rare sarcastic smirk of her own. Weems scoffed and waved a hand dismissively at the staff below her, granting them permission to start handing out the envelopes that contained assignments. 

Enid bounced over to her with an envelope in her hand. “Yes! I got Pilgrim World. I have natural people skills and a love of performing, so it’s kind of the obvi choice.” She swung up on her heels, smug. “What’d you get?”

Wednesday glanced down at the envelope she’d opened but barely regarded it with a second glance. “Uriah’s Heap, whatever that is,” she grumbled.

Enid made a face. “Ew. It’s this weird, creepy antique store.” She attempted a reassuring smile. “You’ll love it though?” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m crossing my claws Ajax and I will be outreaching together.”

Several feet away, the gorgon boy looked in their direction. Xavier was standing beside him, looking distressed. They apparently shared the same thought that this event was a waste of time. 

Principal Weems found Wednesday as she boarded the bus and handed her a folder of sheet music. “You will be performing with the Jericho High Marching Band during the statue unveiling,” she informed her, making it very clear that it was not a request. “A show of harmony between schools will be the perfect button on a successful Outreach Day.”

Wednesday tucked the music away. It was easy enough to sight read; she wasn’t going to waste any practice time on it while her investigation was active. After the bus dropped them off, she saw Xavier standing in front of a blank, painted-over wall. If he was thinking of vandalizing it, she didn’t exactly disprove, but thought she should at least advise him against doing it in broad daylight.

“Why are you staring at a blank wall?”

He didn’t even flinch at her being suddenly at his elbow. “It wasn’t blank last Outreach Day.”

There was a story there, but he elected not to volunteer it. She felt the dullest stab of disappointment, but suppressed it as deftly as closing a storm cellar door. She didn’t need fodder for the earworm of Xavier’s crush on her.  “Are you still stewing because I rejected your invitation?” she asked, referring to the other night and the suggestion they allow her to pledge.

“I did go out on a limb for you.”

She considered that. She hadn’t won favor with any of the other Nightshades. If the society was anything impressive, she might have even entertained it. She would have insisted on a very elaborate initiation ceremony, of course. “Please. I’m just cannon fodder in whatever cold war you’re waging with Bianca.” She kept her head down and out of his line of vision so he wouldn’t see the expression on her face. A question rose in her throat, but she shoved it down into the storm cellar. “I have more pressing issues.”

“Like what?”

“Tracking down the monster that killed your roommate,” she withdrew the book she’d taken from the Nightshades library.

“Don’t let Bianca see you took that. She’ll be livid,” he warned. 

She scoffed. Bianca she could handle. She opened the book to the page with the picture on it. Xavier leaned toward her.

“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” she said quietly.

“Yeah. A couple of days before the Harvest Festival. It was open on Rowan’s desk. I assumed he stole it after we kicked him out of the Nightshades. Then I confronted him about it, and he kind of went ballistic on me.”

Wednesday thought back to the vision she’d had of him being thrown into the wall. 

“It’s weird that you’re in this,” he said, interrupting her thoughts just in time. “This journal is like, what, 30 years old? What’s Crackstone doing in the picture with you?”

“You know who that is?” she looked up at him. He was dizzyingly tall. It was criminally offensive. She was cautiously optimistic that he could be helpful on this lead, and without any cajoling on her part, a natural progression of their conversation.

“Yeah, it’s Joseph Crackstone. He’s, like, Jericho’s founding father. He’s a big deal around here.” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and jerked his chin over at the banners being hung overhead. “That’s him.”

The pilgrim on the banner had the same hat and wide cape as the one in the prophecy picture. Above him, the words ‘Visit Pilgrim World: Where History Comes to Life’.

She was suddenly struck by the knowledge of what she had to do, and it wasn’t pleasant.

“Do you happen to know what Ajax’s volunteer work assignment is?” she asked.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yeah, actually. He pulled Uriah’s Heap. What did you get?”

She glanced back up at the banner. “Pilgrim World.”

“Watch your back,” he warned her, smirking and indicating the text at the bottom of the banner. Witch Trials daily at 2 & 4! She blinked at him. Was he… flirting?

She was not a witch, though she dabbled in brujeria when necessary. He smirked, probably waiting to make some stupid remark about knowing for a fact of at least one person she’d bewitched. It would kill her.

She spotted Enid’s bright pink, fluffy backpack in the crowd and made an immediate beeline for her instead, leaving Xavier behind.

“Enid,” she called out. “Switch volunteer assignments.”

Her friend looked horrified. “What? No. Uriah’s Heap is definitely not my bag.”

“It’s an emergency. I need to check out Pilgrim World.”

“But Wednesday, this is so not a fair trade. Why would I agree to spend the entire day at some dumpy emporium of crapola?”

Wednesday felt an actual smile coming and knew her eyes had to be glinting. Despite everything, she relished the opportunity to hold something tempting over Enid’s head. “Because Ajax is volunteering there.”

Enid snatched the proffered envelope and squealed. “You’re the best !” she declared, handing over her assignment.

Wednesday felt the moth hole widen into a gaping maw. It wasn’t so bad, really, to have a friend. She let herself melt into the crowd heading to the outskirts of town to the amusement park. It was relatively authentic-looking, except for a few touches here and there. She spotted a group of Nevermore students and approached cautiously. It was important to be counted at the start of the day so that she could slip away without raising alarms.

Eugene waved her over, excited to see her even though she’d ditched him during their first official club meeting and thrust Enid at him as a decoy the next day. “Hey, Wednesday, want to grab a Hummers group photo?”

She ignored him, looking around for where her lead could potentially take her first.

“Guess not,” the boy sighed.

The Nevermore students were herded into a tight group and brought before a stately woman with red hair, their supervisor for the outreach program. “Good morrow, my young Nevermore kin. I am Mistress Arlene. A real OC.” She smirked at her little joke. “Original colonist. Now prithee, put your cell phones on vibrate and make haste, for you are about to travel back in time to the year of our Lord 1625, to Jericho’s first pilgrim settlement.”

Most of the forced volunteers looked mildly entertained by the act, but they remained respectful. “Yonder,” Mistress Arlene indicated. “Behold, the meeting house. Inside is a collection of artifacts related to Jericho’s most beloved and pious founder, Joseph Crackstone.”

Wednesday’s ears perked up. “I haveth a query.”

“Pray, be quick, child,” Mistress Arlene grinned, delighted that someone was playing along. So quaint.

“In the meeting house, which of Joseph Crackstone’s artifacts are on display?”

“It is truly a treasure trove, including original farm tools, tableware, even the Crackstone family chamber pot.”

“Sounds fascinating. I volunteer to work in there.”

Mistress Arlene shook her head, clucking disapprovingly. “Pray, no. That exhibit is being renovated. Thou will all be working at the beating heart of Pilgrim World.”

“Fudge is the lifeblood of our humble community. And samples equal sales, so grab a uniform and a box and make our forefathers proud,” Mistress Arlene indicated the building behind her. Wednesday scoffed. Capitalism. Of course.

The torturous humiliation was almost enjoyable. She was forced to wear one of the costumes those normies from the café had worn and shill fudge all day. There was little opportunity to sneak away for her investigation, even after the community lunch, because in a twist of deliciously evil irony, the place she wanted to investigate was at the site of her volunteer job.

They were herded back onto the buses at five pm sharp and all dorm parents led their students directly to the dining hall.

∞

The entire populace was buzzing with excitement during dinner. It was so loud in the dining hall that Wednesday could barely hear her own thoughts, let alone Enid’s whining. Her day had been equally as vexing. The owner of the antique store had not left her and Ajax alone for a second, insisting on giving them a tour of the shop and then a very detailed tutorial on maintaining the fur of several kitschy taxidermy pieces.

“If I had a do-over for today, I’d definitely take advantage of it,” Enid muttered under her breath. At Wednesday’s glare, she put up her hands in surrender. “I know it’s like you’re cursed, but I think it’s such a blessing in disguise. There have been so many times I’ve wished for another opportunity to say or do something different…” she glanced over at Ajax. “That jawline ,” she groaned. “I know I can say this to you because you probably won’t think it’s weird, but I kind of want to scrape my claws along it?” 

Wednesday glanced down at her roommate’s hands and noted with amusement how they twitched. She grinned. “We still have two outreach days left,” she reminded her. “Tomorrow, lean into your werewolf instincts.”

Enid nodded, encouraged. 

“Anyway,” Wednesday pressed, “The curse is obviously connected to the prophecy with Crackstone. I wouldn’t waste it on redoing a conversation with a boy .”

Enid tilted her head and blinked. “But… didn’t you? Why else have you been trying to keep Xavier alive?” On the bench between them, Thing tapped out his assent and started to launch into his theory. Wednesday flicked him away crudely.

“He only died in two of the three loops,” she reminded the other girl. “And on reflection, the Poe Cup incident was clearly a fluke. The deaths were stupid. Even the times I sabotaged the other teams so that he would win he managed to impale himself on a discarded spear twice when he pulled up to the dock and once die instantly when Ms. Thornhill misfired the cork of the celebratory champagne bottle. Stupid. Because feelings are stupid.” She was so heated from the rant she didn’t realize what she’d said until Enid’s eyes went wide. Shit.

“Feelings?” Enid prompted, grinning.

“This is entirely different from you and Ajax,” Wednesday snapped.

“Spill.” Thing clambered back onto the bench between them and tapped a knuckle with her in a micro version of a fist bump. 

Wednesday’s eye twitched. She had no idea how to articulate it. It basically boiled down to her being human and weakened by the strain of time. As it turned out, she did have hormones and they were not immune to a tall, gaunt boy with sharp cheekbones and beautiful, sunken eyes. Worse, they also had a shared history in which he was perfectly willing to crawl into a casket with a fresh corpse just for the sake of winning a game of hide-and-seek. Wednesday stabbed at her dinner. And his hair .

“He’s a blight on my every waking thought,” she said. 

Enid nodded, cutting herself a large bite of steak. “You’re down bad. Got it.” She shoved the meat in her mouth.

Wednesday scowled at her, surmising what that meant. 

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday shot up from her sleep, instantly on her guard. Enid was frantically reaching for her phone.

“Sorry! I was listening to this playlist last night and I accidentally set it off just now!” Enid cried, swiping through her phone and cutting the song off mid-chorus. “Are we in it again?”

“I won’t know until ‘tomorrow’.”

Enid groaned. 

They both got dressed and rushed through breakfast before boarding the bus again. Wednesday walked with Enid to the antique shop, wishing her luck and handing her a thermos. “Chaga. For your supervisor,” she explained. “Tell her you were inspired by her brewing skills.” At Enid’s horrified look, she rolled her eyes. “It’s harmless.” At best, it would keep her in the bathroom for a while. 

“And if anything goes wrong, you can help me correct it the next go around!” Enid said brightly.

Halfway out to Pilgrim World, Wednesday caught sight of the back of Eugene’s head. “Howdy, Hummer,” she greeted.

He looked relieved to see her. “Wednesday.”

“I might need your help today.”

He heaved a resigned sigh. “Anything for my fellow hummer.”

She blinked. Her new life had no shortage of boys willing to do her bidding. She just hoped that for Eugene’s sake, it was out of friendship. “I really did pick the beekeeping club because it suited me best, you know. I’m just in the middle of an investigation right now.”

He nodded. “Fair. Hive code. I promise to ask no questions.” He held one hand over his heart. 

“During our break today, I have to get into the meeting house. Meet me at the stocks so that you can be my lookout.”

After a few grueling hours in which she was forced to pack and hand out samples to tourists, Wednesday earned her break. Mistress Arlene was exasperated with her, especially after the very helpful lecture she’d given in perfect German about the actual origins of fudge. She made her way to the stocks to meet Eugene, determined. If the song was actually a trigger for a new time loop, she would have to observe very carefully and take advantage of it. 

She showed up just in time to watch Eugene vomit all over the normie boys who’d given her trouble her first day in town. She felt an odd stab of affection and pride in him for it even though it was accidental, stepping up to the platform when the boys grabbed him and shoved him in the stocks.

“Howdy, Pilgrims,” she greeted. The boys had the good sense to recognize her and look abased. “Let him go.”

“You want to end up in the stocks too?” one of them jeered.

“Remember what happened the last time we did this dance?” she stopped him from locking the stocks down and fixed him in place with her most severe glare.

She dispatched with the bully just as easily as the first time with the added benefit of knocking him clean into the stocks. The other boys fled the scene after determining it wasn’t worth the trouble and Wednesday took Eugene aside, looking for a spigot to get him cleaned up.

“Nobody’s ever stood up for me before,” he said. “I know this might come as a shock, but I don’t have any friends.”

“You said Hummers stick together,” she reminded him. Unintentionally, she had made another friend. She wasn’t sure how useful he would be, but he was loyal.

“You remind me of my brother, sans the desire to strangle him every waking moment.” He seemed touched by the admission. “Now follow me. I need to know more about this Crackstone. We have a meeting house to break into.”

They snuck around to the back of the building. Wednesday picked the lock easily. Jericho really needed an upgrade in security, she lamented. There were too many secrets that needed guarding. She could access anything she wanted to.

“What if Mistress Arlene catches us?” Eugene whispered urgently.

“Hive code, deny everything,” she said with the barest hint of a smirk.

“That’s not hive code!” Eugene wailed. “What’s the big deal anyway? The fudge is definitely the best thing about this place.”

“Stop talking. Keep watch.” She snapped and pointed to the spot where she needed him to be. He sighed and moved.

As far as she could tell, the building didn’t appear to be in need of any renovations. The exhibits weren’t even stored or moved out of the way to protect them. Something was afoot. It brought to mind the dicho her Abuela used frequently, the one about secrets being like zombies. They never truly died.

“I’m not sure what secret Crackstone is hiding, but I have a strange feeling the answers to my future lie in the past,” she said to Thing, letting him out of her bag. She stopped in front of a painting. “The Old Meeting House, 1625. Thing, this is the girl from my vision. She’s even holding the same book. That black one she had outside Crackstone’s crypt.”

Thing scuttled around and eventually found his way over to a glass case where he beckoned her over.

“This is the book!” she exclaimed. “Codex Umbrarum. That’s Latin for ‘Book of Shadows’.” She lifted the lid of the case and took it out gingerly, not knowing what would happen if she touched it. She half-hoped for another vision. Nothing happened. She turned it over and noted a visible and practically new barcode sticker on it. “Great. It’s a fake.”

The main door burst open and Mistress Arlene thundered in, Eugene on her heels. “Just what the fudge are you doing in here, missy?”

“Mistress Arlene. How now?” Wednesday attempted to be casual.

“How now, indeed. I proclaimed the meeting house is under repair. I know thoust heard me.”

“I told her the door was unlocked and you were dying to learn more about Crackstone,” Eugene offered. It was a valiant try.

“Yes, and this display case was already open.” Wednesday blinked innocently.

“That book’s a replica.”

“You don’t say.”

“The original was stolen last month during the two o’clock witch trial.”

“It was probably the only authentic thing you have in here, yet you still charge $29.95 a ticket?” she scoffed.

“Hold thy tongue.” She crossed her arms tightly. “I’m reassigning you both to fudge-churning duty.”

“The original meeting house, the one in that painting, where is it?” Wednesday pressed.

Mistress Arlene pursed her lips, irritated. Her eyelashes fluttered in extreme irritation and she dropped her OC façade to say “How the hell should I know? I only moved here from Scottsdale in April.”

∞

To make up for his abysmal performance as a lookout, Eugene offered to cover for her in the fudge churning room while she slipped away to gather intel on the location of the actual meeting house. Unfortunately, there was only one person she could think of who might be able to help her.

The bell above the door in the Weathervane was too loud and cheerful for her liking. Tyler was nowhere in sight, so she made her way over to the community bulletin board to see if anything posted would generate a lead.

“I thought you were supposed to be at Pilgrim World,” Xavier’s voice behind her was bemused.

“I deserted it while my sanity was still intact,” she quipped, turning toward him.

He relaxed, smiling at her. “Oh yeah? You want a coffee?” he offered, leaning against the counter after setting down the tray he’d been bussing. It didn’t escape her notice how his eyes scanned her. Maddening. It made her brain stutter when she realized what it could be about. Xavier was an artist. He drew her, wanted to know her figure and composition as much as he wanted to know her mind. “It’s one of the many perks of this wonderful assignment.”

“I’m actually here for Tyler,” she deadpanned. It had the desired result. His jaw tightened and she couldn’t help it. She loved this little display of jealousy, the discipline it took him not to get possessive.

“I told you he was bad news.” His restraint was crumbling . It felt good to know that this was as torturous for him as it was for her. The difference was that it showed all over his face. He looked morose and swallowed hard. She had to resist the urge to track it, the swell of his throat.

“Who I talk to is my business,” she warned him, touching the service bell on the counter.

Tyler appeared almost instantly. Xavier scoffed wordlessly and went back to work.

“Want the usual?” Tyler asked, not surprised to see her.

She shook her head. “Just some help. You know the original pilgrim meeting house, the one from the 1600s?” He nodded. “You know if it’s still around?”

“What’s left is out in Cobham Woods, but it’s pretty much a ruin.”

She took out the map they’d been given as part of the Outreach Day festivities and spread it over the nearest table. “Show me.”

“Uh… There,” he pointed. “But, look, it’s kind of sketchy. Squatters and meth heads use that place as a crash pad. My dad has it cleared out every couple weeks. What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” she said tersely.

“You’re becoming obsessed with this monster in the woods thing,” he teased.

She sighed and glared at him. “Would you rather I develop an obsession with horses and boy bands?”

“Hey, listen, the ruins are kind of tricky to find. I could take you this afternoon. My shift ends at 2:00.”

“I’d prefer to keep a low profile. Besides, I know my way around the great outdoors.” She folded up the map and headed out.

∞

The sky was gloomy and overcast as she headed into the woods, calming her. She reminded herself to keep alert and observe as much as possible. She still had no idea how to alter a vision or manipulate information out of one, so her best bet would be to remain vigilant while in it.

As Tyler described, it was sketchy. No one had taken care to look after it as a historical site. It was rotting and dilapidated. 

Thing took to exploring the areas she couldn’t reach, occasionally coming out to give his commentary.

“No, I can’t just touch something,” she snapped at him after a few minutes. “My visions seem to happen spontaneously.” He made another suggestion and her eyes went as wide as they could go. “I would rather dye my hair pink than ask my mother for advice.” Although, between the unpredictability of her visions and the unpredictability of the time inconsistency, she was coming up short every time. If she was still alive by the time parents’ weekend rolled around, she might seriously have to reconsider the vow she’d just made.

A sound outside put her on alert. She peered through the gaping slats and saw an unhoused man stumbling toward the meeting house, an antique film camera winging from his wrist.

“Thing. Distraction please,” she said lowly, but in the next instant, it became unnecessary. The monster charged at him and tore into him as easily as if he were made of paper. The screams were blood-curling and exquisite, the exact thing her soul needed after all the mush Enid and Eugene had put her through, but she needed to move. She only had a theory that the beast was protecting her and why, and the evidence was stronger now.

The instant her hand touched the swinging barn door her body jerked to attention, her consciousness shifting through time. It was night, aflame with torches, the kind that came with pitchforks and bigotry. Wednesday stumbled until she found something to hide behind.

The citizens of original Jericho were screaming murderously, circling. “Burn her!”

Wednesday didn’t need to see who was in the center to know. “Devil spawn!” “Witch!”

It had to be the girl from the picture, from her previous vision.  

A tall, venomous figure tore through the crowd and called out her name like a curse, like a spell and a signature on a lethal document. Wednesday felt her blood run cold and suddenly she was seeing through Goody Addams’s eyes, looking up at Joseph Crackstone. 

“You have been judged before God and found guilty,” he spat. “You are a witch, a sorceress, Lucifer’s mistress herself.” The citizens around clamored, jeering and thirsting. “For your sins, you will burn this night, and suffer the flames of eternal hellfire.”

“I am innocent.” The words were far away and reverberating in her own throat at the same time. “It is you, Joseph Crackstone, that should be tried. We were here before you, living in harmony with nature and the native folk. But you have stolen our land. You have slaughtered the innocent. You have robbed us of our peaceful spirit. You are the true monster. All of you!” Pain and rage scorched through her and try as she might, she could not hold on to the vision to see more. 

She was slammed back into her own body and ran back for town without a second thought, looking over her shoulder every few paces for the monster. It started to rain, cooling her ire. The vision felt like a hangover, Goody Addams’s emotions running out of her and into the mud.

There were tracks in the mud, too. Monster tracks. She followed them back, trying to beat the rain from washing them out. Halfway back to the edge of the woods she made a sickening discovery. The tracks slowly transitioned from beast to human in reverse. The monster was human. A human was the monster.

∞

She was scolded for abandoning her job post and made to take dinner in her room. It was a petty price to pay for what little information she’d gathered.

When Enid got back, she was bursting with excitement and immediately launched into a detailed play by play of her day with Ajax, thanking her profusely for the chaga. “I’ve never seen someone run for the bathroom so fast.”

“Did you lean into your werewolf instincts and make your move?” she asked. At least one of them should be successful.

Enid grinned. “I did! He’s meeting me behind the greenhouse tonight.”

While she busied herself choosing an outfit for her date, she listened to Wednesday explain what she’d seen. She seemed concerned that Wednesday had gone out into the woods alone, but reasoned that she could hold her own.

“Still, if the day resets, you should seriously consider taking someone with you. Not Tyler. He’s still giving me the heebie jeebies.” She made a theatrical show of shuddering.

Wednesday watched her leave for her date and wished her luck. “If he breaks your heart, I’ll nail gun his,” she swore without looking up from her typewriter. Enid giggled in response and waltzed out. Thing climbed up to the desk.

Part of her saw no point in making headway on her novel if it would just be erased when the day restarted. Instead, she typed out everything she remembered from the vision. Afterward, she carried her cello out onto the balcony with Thing’s help and played until she was due to cover for Enid, stuffing several stuffed animals under the colorful quilt for effect and getting into bed herself to wait.

An hour or so after bed checks, their door creaked open and Enid entered, sobbing. Wednesday sat up and checked the clock. It was only eleven.

“What happened?”

“Ajax stood me up!” Enid wailed, throwing herself on her bed. One of the stuffed animals deep within the lump squeaked.

Wednesday growled. “He’ll pay.”

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday shot up from her sleep, instantly on her guard. Enid was frantically reaching for her phone.

“Sorry! I was listening to this playlist last night and I accidentally set it off just now!” Enid cried, swiping through her phone and cutting the song off mid-chorus. “Are we in it again?”

“Yes,” Wednesday confirmed. “Today is the second playthrough of this day.”

“What went wrong the first time? Did Ajax reject me?”

Wednesday kept her face stoic. “It’s nothing to do with you.” She found the tainted chaga she’d made and handed it to her. “Follow your werewolf instincts. It worked the first time. If you need to get your supervisor out of your way, offer her this. It’ll have her running for the toilet.”

∞

This time, Wednesday didn’t bother breaking into the fake meeting house, though she would have liked another look at that painting. She did sneak away earlier than she had the first time to go to the Weathervane. She already knew where the real meeting house was, but she had another motive. She had to make sure Xavier was in earshot when she mentioned to Tyler that she was going.

Xavier was the monster. It made the most sense. It hadn’t ever attacked her. It had protected her from Rowan, because Xavier knew Rowan was out to kill her. 

When she left the Weathervane, she saw him watching her, tracking which direction she went when she crossed the street. As she passed Uriah’s Heap, she collided with the unhoused man she’d seen get mauled to death. Thinking quickly, she saw a deputy writing a parking ticket and pointed, shouting, “Stop, thief!” The bearded man panicked and ran in the opposite direction, the deputy following. Satisfied, Wednesday ducked into an alley and took it straight back to the edge of town until she hit the woods.

It took some more sleuthing around before the vision triggered this time. She focused on Goody Addams, remembering the vindictive pain that charged through her ancestor’s veins. She had to be her ancestor. 

“I am innocent.” The words felt like pure power in her throat. “It is you, Joseph Crackstone, that should be tried. We were here before you, living in harmony with nature and the native folk. But you have stolen our land. You have slaughtered the innocent. You have robbed us of our peaceful spirit. You are the true monster. All of you!” Something solidified in her hand and she shot her arm out, springing forward like the predator that she was, slicing across Joseph Crackstone’s sallow face, his jowls trembling with fear. 

Triumph washed over her, but her grasp on the vision was pulled away like a rug out from under her feet.

She came to, gasping.

Rain was falling through the roof. She looked out every wall that she had a vantage point out and sent Thing out to scan the perimeter. The monster was not about. Relieved, she used her stealth to traipse out and down the path. She hugged her arms around her, letting the cold sink in. There was something about Goody Addams’s pride at spilling Crackstone’s blood that was unfamiliar to her. She couldn’t place it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The rain overhead was cut off. Xavier’s deep red umbrella was over her, warmth radiating off him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I overheard you say you were checking out the old meeting house. It’s lucky I showed up when I did. Why’d you come out here in the first place?” he asked as they started to walk back, rain pelting his umbrella.

She sighed, without energy to be anything but honest. “I was trying to learn more about Crackstone, figure out how he’s connected to this.”

“You were trying to use your psychic abilities, right?” She scowled at him and he smirked, vindicated for having read her so easily. “When did they start?”

“About a year ago,” she confessed, surprised at how easy it was to confide in him. “When they happen, it feels like I’m touching live wire.” She tightened her hands into fists. “I usually enjoy that sensation.”

“Yeah, but you can’t control it and that freaks you out.” She quickened her pace, but he kept up with her. “My dad’s a psychic. Vincent Thorpe.”

“My brother’s his number one fan. He’s watched his Vegas Special so many times I’m surprised it’s not imprinted on his eyeballs,” she complained. 

Xavier tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and smiled bitterly. “I’ve lived with a self-described master. The first thing he’ll tell you is that visions can’t be trusted. They only show one part of the picture.”

She stopped, fuming. “I saw Joseph Crackstone in front of me as clearly as I’m seeing you now.”

“Wednesday, it was 400 years ago. It’s got nothing to do with now.” Far off, thunder rumbled.

“But what if it does? You saw Rowan’s drawing. Crackstone was standing in the quad.”

“You’re creating a story in your head and using visions to back it up. They’re telling you what you want to see.” 

Wednesday didn’t know how Vincent Thorpe’s Sight worked. She had never had in-depth conversations with her mother, either. She glared at him. Recklessly, she grabbed his wrist and stood practically on tiptoe to hiss accusingly at him, “Are you mansplaining my power to me?” 

Tension held her trembling in place, at first from rage and misplaced anxiety over that word – it wasn’t entirely accurate to call her visions a power when she had no control over them – before it faded into something embarrassing . Xavier had let himself be pulled down; his head tilted just so. His lashes were wet from the rain. The fact that she noticed was drawing her breath viscerally ragged. His gaze shifted in a flicker down to her mouth and she was appalled to feel her own eyes slowly dragging down his face to mirror the action. 

She wrenched herself away as if burned, landing back on her feet. The mud made a squelching noise under her feet and she slipped enough to draw notice. He reached out to steady her and she let him.

For once, she hoped that the day was going to repeat itself. She would kill to have the chance to restart it right that moment. She could feel her face melting off. He was staring at her because he knew . She scrambled for something to say, anything. When it was clear she was at a loss for words, Xavier decided to be gallant and press on with the conversation as if nothing had happened.

It was maddening. They could be kissing right now . She immediately pushed that thought away, the intrusiveness of it, the regret that laced it.

“All I’m saying is my dad, the expert, would warn you that psychic ability isn’t rooted in logic. It’s triggered by emotions. And let’s be honest, emotion isn’t your strong suit.” The look he shot her was vulnerable. Wednesday turned sharply away, his hand slipping from her shoulder. They walked back to the waiting buses in silence. It was the most uncomfortable she’d ever felt around him.

She would have her vengeance on who or whatever was responsible for this. It would be slow and painful. 

During dinner, she could feel him watching her. Enid pestered her with questions, but Wednesday managed to turn the conversation around.

“How did things go with Ajax?”

“He was so oblivious at first! I was so frustrated. I ended up blowing up at him. He wasn’t turned off, though, and we’re supposed to meet up tonight behind the greenhouse.” Enid was so excited she had barely touched her food. “The moon is in a perfect phase, too. Waning crescent. My mom’s Lycan astrologist said that it was the ideal time for me to mark a mate.”

Yoko heard that declaration and suddenly the whole Ophelia Hall table erupted into a gaggle of girl talk over boys. Wednesday pushed her half-eaten dinner away, disgusted. Ms. Thornhill thankfully caught her and allowed her to be excused from the table early.

Instead of practicing the Fleetwood Mac piece for the next day, she settled on something darker and more frantic. She was as ashamed that she remembered everything that transpired in each iteration of the cursed day as she was grateful. While she would like to forget what had happened – her memory immediately flashed back to that moment in the rain, the softness of Xavier’s breath on her lips – she was desperate for the chance to redo it. 

Enid came in from dinner, completely oblivious to Wednesday’s distress, and picked her outfit for her date again. 

Wednesday cursed under her breath. She’d been so caught up in her emotions – ones Xavier accused her of being out of tune with – to go investigate and strongarm the gorgon boy into showing up for the date. She wasn’t sure if she would be in time to fix it; she could only go through the same motions as before until lights out.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday shot up from her sleep, instantly on her guard. Enid was frantically reaching for her phone.

“Sorry! I was listening to this playlist last night and I accidentally set it off just now!” Enid cried, swiping through her phone and cutting the song off mid-chorus. “Are we in it again?”

“Day three,” Wednesday confirmed. 

“Shit,” Enid breathed. “Have you learned anything? Wait. First, tell me about me and Ajax.”

“You and Ajax will be fine,” Wednesday assured her. “I think there’s more to the vision I have today. I have to strengthen myself to unlock all of it. It keeps being torn from my grasp.” While they ate breakfast and boarded the bus, Wednesday contemplated what she could do to strengthen her psychic muscle. Before coming to Nevermore, she’d only had a few visions, and they had been brief, fleeting. They were always vivid, though, so she never questioned them. They always showed her pain or other intense, negative images. Her Abuela had taught her some meditations that could be performed before casting curses to focus her energy, and she knew her mother often prayed after a vision. 

She reached for the chain around her neck and stroked the circle of obsidian. Morticia said that Aztec priests used the stone to conjure visions. It was worth a try.

During her shift, she tracked down Eugene and warned him not to eat so much fudge before asking him to cover for her.

“I can’t help it. It’s the only perk of this job.”

“I had a vision that you’ll barf all over some normie and get thrown in the stocks,” she lied.

“You’re psychic? That’s so cool.”

“Stay away from the fudge, Eugene. I’ll buy you as much as you like tomorrow.”

He put his hand on her arm tentatively. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Hummers stick together,” she said automatically. He smiled. Since no one was looking, she put her hand over his and gave it a brief squeeze before slipping away.

∞

Her feet felt like lead as she walked to the Weathervane. Technically, she didn’t have to go. She had proof that Xavier was the monster. But no one would believe her word. She had bought a simple wind-up disposable camera at the pharmacy as soon as the bus dropped them off that morning. She was going to get a picture of the tracks, maybe even a picture of him, if she was lucky.

“I thought you were supposed to be at Pilgrim World,” Xavier greeted her.

“Eugene is covering for me,” she said, not daring meet his eye. “And I’m here to see Tyler. Where is he?” 

The half-formed smile on his face slipped. “He’s out back signing for a delivery. I told you he’s bad news.”

“I told you that you don’t need to look out for me,” she shot back. The way this conversation was going, she was going to end up two inches from his face again. It was a major blow to her pride that she had to grit her teeth and find refuge in the bathroom for a few minutes until she heard Tyler’s voice. She was terse with him and left immediately after getting the information she needed and already knew, not even checking if Xavier was watching.

∞

When she arrived at the true meeting house, she settled into a meditative position and tried her best to banish all thought of Xavier from her mind, but a few thoughts were linked and circling there like snakes eating their own tails, round and round. Xavier was the monster. She was sure. He was protective of her because of his feelings for her and their childhood encounter. He’d wanted to kiss her that time. She’d wanted... she had been compelled to want, and it had been completely out of her control. He had seemed so happy to see her the first time he’d seen her there in the Weathervane. No matter how cold she was to him, she seemed to brighten his day. It was nauseating . No one was ever that happy to see her, not even… her friends.

She latched onto that. Crackstone clearly hated outcasts. If the prophecy meant he was returning, he would go after her friends. She had to focus, to protect Enid and Eugene. She traced the circle of obsidian over and over, breathing in and out, fueling it with her focus the way her Abuela had taught her to pin it over the components of a curse. When she felt calm enough, she stood and started her investigation anew,  

“Goody Addams!” Crackstone thundered. “You have been judged before God and found guilty,” he spat. “You are a witch, a sorceress, Lucifer’s mistress herself.” The citizens around closed in, leering, hungry. “For your sins, you will burn this night, and suffer the flames of eternal hellfire.”

Goody Addams’s body felt small but tight, wound up like the hair trigger on a gun. “I am innocent.” Wednesday injected her own animosity into the words, searching her ancestor’s mind for answers. “It is you, Joseph Crackstone, that should be tried. We were here before you, living in harmony with nature and the native folk. But you have stolen our land. You have slaughtered the innocent. You have robbed us of our peaceful spirit. You are the true monster. All of you!”

She lashed out with the knife. Hands restrained her and she held onto the sensation even as disgust clouded her.

“The Devil ne’er sent such a demon,” Crackstone accused. “And I will send you back!” His hand snapped out and struck her. Wednesday held firm. The hands holding her pushed her forward. The doors of the meeting house flew open, and Wednesday lost her hold. She convulsed on the ground for a long time, racked with guilt and pain over what she had seen.

Screams outside snapped her back to reality. The man! She’d neglected to distract him. She crawled over to the nearest wall, flattened herself against it and pulled out the camera with shaking hands. She pressed it close to her clothes to muffle the sound of the winding and aimed it as best she could through the slats. She left the flash off, hoping that she would be able to capture enough. The sharp snap made the monster pause its attack and she inhaled, covering her mouth with her hand and slowing her senses, turning her body off the way uncle Fester taught her so that she would be a corpse. It was an important skill for any Addams to have and she performed it well. The monster slashed once more, cutting off the screams and leaving only a gurgling mess before disappearing. 

Wednesday waited a full minute before giving chase. She needed to catch it shifting back. 

She saw the tracks and fumbled for the camera, but the rain had made everything muddled and weighed down. It refused to wind and the tracks washed away again. Wednesday shrieked, irritated.

“Wednesday?”

She whipped around. “Xavier.” He moved to shield her from the rain but she stepped back, pulling out her own umbrella. She’d nearly forgotten that she’d packed it.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I was following the monster,” she said.

“You saw it? It’s here? Do you have a death wish or something?” he glanced around, doing a very convincing job of looking panicked.

She studied his face carefully, anticipating a reaction. “I did learn one thing. The monster is human.” His brows knitted together. “Its tracks turned from monster prints to human ones.”

“Show me.”

She faltered, taken aback. “The rain washed them all away.”

He gave her a pointed look. “I know what I saw,” she insisted.

“I’m trying to keep an open mind.” 

“How big of you,” she sneered, starting to walk back. She kept her head down. “You didn’t need to come looking for me. I can handle myself.”

“It’s not exactly safe out here,” he warned her. “There’s this crumbling old building that used to be a historical site. It’s pretty much a nest for all sorts of suspicious creeps.”

She stopped and stared at him. “You know about that place?”

“The Nightshades played a pretty intense game of truth or dare out here last summer. Kent stumbled on it and Ajax had to stone the guys that tried to jump him. It wasn’t pretty.” He fell into step with her as she forced her feet to keep moving. “I do think you might be right about Rowan,” he said to break the silence.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she probed. Why the change of subject ?

“I texted him again today. I said maybe we could meet over spring break and go snowboarding like we did last year. This time he texted right back, and said he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“Only you never went snowboarding last year,” she said, understanding. Clever. It was a good way of making her think he was on her side. 

“Part of me wanted to blame his recent weirdness. I didn’t want to think something bad had happened." 

“The cover-up is always worse than the crime,” she muttered.

∞

During dinner she asked to be excused early and broke into the groundskeeper’s shed, taking the pneumatic nail gun and a pair of safety goggles. Thing tailed Ajax the second he stepped out of the dining hall and reported that he was in the boys’ showers. Wednesday frowned. Somehow, that behavior seemed so unlike that of someone intending to stand up their date. She braced herself and snuck in. When she saw the towel covering the mirror slip, she suddenly understood and immediately aimed the nail gun at it, and then at every other mirror for good measure.

She slept well that night and didn’t even hear Enid return.

A different song was playing when she woke up. Enid bounced over to her, shoving a stuffed panda in her face.

“It’s Wednesday !” she crowed. “Officially October 19. You did it.”

“What about you?” Wednesday asked, reaching under her pillow for her knife and stabbing the plush toy squarely in the stomach to get it out of her face. Enid pouted until Wednesday promised to stitch it up.

“I was successful, too,” she grinned.

During breakfast, a group of boys from his dorm was crowded around Ajax, teasing and congratulating him over the crescent-shaped mark under his ear. There were a few fresh scratches on his jaw, too. Wednesday was impressed.

Enid nudged her as she passed her the coffee pot. “He told me what you did, by the way.” Wednesday caught Ajax’s eye and jutted her chin at him. He’d yelped something awful from behind the shower curtain until she promised that she wasn’t there to hurt him .

“I didn’t want to upset you over it,” she said, pouring herself a cup and adding nothing to it before taking a sip. It was rich and scalding. Perfect.

They boarded the bus for the last event of the Outreach Day celebrations. Thankfully, their mandatory volunteer work was done and they only had to endure a few speeches and the unveiling of the statue in the town square. Wednesday’s cello had been brought earlier and tuned for her by the Jericho High School band director. 

On disembarking from the bus, she released Thing after ensuring that their plan was still in motion. 

“It is my honor to celebrate our town’s history and Jericho’s noble forefather, Joseph Crackstone,” the mayor announced to the assembly. “Now, he believed that with a happy heart and an open ear, there was nothing our town couldn’t achieve. So together as one, our community and our friends at Nevermore Academy, we’ve built a monument to celebrate his memory.” Wednesday settled her singers over the strings, the agreed-upon signal. She didn't intend to play more than a few bars of the peppy ‘Don’t Stop’ arrangement. “Now, may the spirit of Joseph Crackstone be memorialized for eternity.”

As the music started to build, he and Principal Weems posed for a photo op, pushing the button to start the fountain under the statue.

Moments later, hellfire blazed. Wednesday threw herself into a more fitting piece, sawing away. Whenever possible, mischief was always a cure for whatever ailed her. 

∞

“That was a disaster . The mayor is furious!” Weems railed from behind her desk. “I’ve lost count of the angry phone calls, emails, and people in the town, alumni and parents. They want answers and so do I.”

“I would lead the inquisition, but I left my thumbscrews and rack at home,” Wednesday said calmly. She was in a good mood. Enid’s date had gone well. She had more context on who Crackstone was and the threat he posed. Best of all, she had thwarted anything happening between Xavier and herself and the loop had closed. Even though she had no tangible proof that he was the monster, that was enough for her. She was obviously meant to puzzle it out.

“Miss Addams… you’re already on thin ice. Wafer-thin ice.”

“I assure you, my hands are clean.”

Principal Weems leaned over her desk; her eyes narrowed to slits. “I may not have hard evidence, but I see you. You’re a trouble magnet.”

“If trouble means standing up to lies, decades of discrimination, centuries of treating outcasts like second-class citizens or worse…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jericho. Why does this town even have an Outreach Day? Don’t you know its real history with outcasts? The actual story of Joseph Crackstone?” She felt her body start to convulse again and held it back.

Weems straightened, chastened. “I do. To an extent.” She came out from behind her desk and moved to face off against Wednesday in front of the fireplace.

“Then why be complicit in its cover up?” Wednesday demanded. “Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.”

“That’s where you and I differ. Where you see doom, I see opportunity. Maybe this is a chance to rewrite the wrongs, to start a new chapter in the normie-outcast relations.” Spoken like a true politician. Not for the first time, Wednesday wondered what the woman’s true motivations were. She was playing some sort of game where her support for the mayor was on full display, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Weems made a play for that position herself in the future. It was all in her hand gestures, as if she had fantasized about making this speech in front of a camera.

“Nothing has changed since Crackstone. They still hate us. Only now they sugarcoat it with platitudes and smiles.” She crossed her arms and stood firm. “If you’re unwilling to fight for truth…”

“You don’t think I want the truth? Of course, I do. But the world isn’t always black and white. There are shades of gray.”

“Maybe for you,” she said, vibrating with rage, the pain of those outcasts shackled to the floor in the meeting house flowing through her. “But it’s either they write our story or we do. You can’t have it both ways.”

“You’re exhausting,” Weems spat after a brief standoff.

“I know,” Wednesday agreed, proud.

Weems dismissed her with an exasperated sigh and a wave of her hand. “Goodnight, Miss Addams. You should know… I don’t tire easily.”

Wednesday nodded, truthfully looking forward to testing the limit.

∞

When she returned to the room, she was surprised to find Enid on the floor, a mess of papers crossing over to her side. Thing was paging through something and her roommate was furiously typing away.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Don’t get mad,” Enid prefaced. Wednesday slowly sank to the floor and picked up the nearest sheaf of papers. “The other day when you mentioned Goody Addams, it got me thinking.”

“You have my attention,” Wednesday admitted. The report she was holding looked like a genealogy study.

“So we both know that ‘Goody’ or ‘Goodwife’ is a name assigned to females who are married, kind of like Mrs.” She turned her screen around to show her what she’d been looking at. There were a few grainy pictures on the screen. One looked like a certificate of some kind of record. “Delores Addams,” she said, pointing to a shaky signature. “Not your direct ancestor. It took some digging, but it looks like she married into your family when she was just seventeen. Her husband, and actual Addams, was lynched shortly after.”

Wednesday put her hand over her heart and felt it. Heartbreak. That was what had driven the fire in Goody Addams’s gut when she lashed out with the knife. She’d been aiming to kill. 

“All of this is public record, but it was buried deep. I had to use some of my social media connections to find all of this. I printed it all in case you wanted to look through it without staring at a screen.” She gestured to the piles.

Wednesday started sorting through them. Most of the information was repeated, and not all of it was about Delores. Some of it traced the direct line to her father. It was a treasure trove of information.

“Enid,” she said after a moment, “Thing and I caused the arson today. I know you were disappointed that you weren’t able to perform your dance.” She swallowed. This was going to be torture, but well worth it. “We would like to see it, if you’re willing.”

Chapter Text

When Wednesday returned from the morgue the next evening, Enid was pacing the room. She was frantic.

“You nearly missed the bed check!” she whined. Wednesday ignored her, hurriedly kicking off her shoes and dumping her bag, peeling back the covers in one motion and tucking herself under. Enid squeaked and dove under her own quilt, snapping her bedside light off. Less than a minute later, Ms. Thornhill stuck her head in and whispered goodnight. 

Once they heard her footfalls fade down the hallway, Wednesday got out of bed and turned on her desk light, then disappeared into her closet to change. When she returned, Enid was sitting cross-legged, clutching a large stuffed unicorn to her chest and scrolling through her phone, pausing to occasionally text Ajax.

Neither of them slept well that night.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday groaned. Two days. She’d been granted only the shortest reprieve from the curse.

“I swear I didn’t even touch my phone this time!” Enid said.

“It’s a curse. You don’t have to,” Wednesday explained. “This is the first time around today.”

Enid nodded solemnly. “Do you have any theories on what triggers it?” She wrinkled her nose adorably. “And when I suggested giving your side of the room a makeover, I did not have Ted Bundy’s Pinterest in mind.”

“Still not as creepy as your stuffed unicorn collection,” Wednesday bit back in retaliation, though it had little heat. “As for theories, I have only one,” she confessed, sighing heavily. “Something important is happening today. Something related to the prophecy or the monster.” 

She went over to her vision board. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. How are the body parts related to any of this?” It seemed too far out of the realm of possibility for Xavier to want them. In monster form he seemed wholly focused on eliminating his victims, gaining no benefit from it other than keeping her alive. “Theoretically, the harvest might not even have anything to do with Xavier,” she muttered.

“Xavier,” Enid echoed in a hollow tone. “Wait. What?”

Wednesday went to the closet and kept her back to her roommate as she changed. “Xavier is the monster. I saw the tracks on outreach day out by the old meeting house after he attacked that man. And then Xavier showed up.”

When she turned around, Enid was staring blankly at her. “Full offense, but that is the stupidest fucking thing you have ever said to me, and I actually believe you about the Groundhog Day thing.” 

Wednesday had the sense that she was looking in a mirror, somehow. Enid’s expression was passive, but her eyes burned. A glance at her hands confirmed that the claws were out.

“Enid?”

“Do you even have any proof?” 

Wednesday marched over to her, crossing her arms. “I just told you. I saw the tracks. They were human and monster, blending into each other. Not to mention the monster has saved or defended me twice now. Xavier is stupidly protective of me.” 

Enid’s murderously calm expression melted into her usual gleeful one and Wednesday realized too late what she’d said.

“Okay, that makes total sense.” She crossed back to her side of the room and started digging around under her bed. “That is so you.”

“What is?”

“Accusing Xavier of being a monster to deny the fact that you have a massive crush on him?” Enid winked at her over the side of her bed, producing what she’d been looking for. “I’ve known Xavier since we were twelve, Wednesday. I think I’d know if he was a monster.” She held out a worn scrapbook covered in glitter and stickers. 

Wednesday refused to touch it. “Would you?”

Enid sighed and flipped it open. “I repeat , I’ve known him since we were twelve . You didn’t start at school with us so you never took the classes we did. We learned all about the history and even basic biology of all major and minor outcast species, including human-passing, like witches and psychics. It’s biologically impossible for Xavier to be the monster.” She held the open scrapbook out. “Does that look like the face of a killer to you, Bella?”

Wednesday studied the picture. She faintly recognized Xavier, a few years older than when they’d met at the funeral and a few years younger than he was now. He had started to grow taller and the fat was starting to drain from his face. His hair was only to his chin. 

She must have looked at it a moment too long because Enid’s grin grew wider. “I have lots of pictures,” she offered.

Wednesday withdrew her traitorous hand as it reached to turn the page. “I don’t have any proof yet ,” she clarified stiffly, refusing to back down from her earlier accusation.

Enid rolled her eyes and snapped the scrapbook shut. “Well, maybe you need to investigate .”

“What are you implying?”

Thing seemed to know what it was about. He bounced from the bed onto her chair and scrambled onto the desk, signing and signaling rapidly. Wednesday’s face flushed. “I would rather swallow glass. Swallow it,” she declared, even though both scenarios sent a certain thrill through her.

“Totally,” Enid nodded in agreement. “Know your enemy. If you think he’s the monster, you should definitely spend some time with him, getting to know him.” 

“ Enid .”

“You told me to lean into my instincts with Ajax. I’m putting that back on you,” her friend threatened. “At least think about it.”

∞

Wednesday did, unfortunately, think about it. She thought about it so hard that during science she couldn’t focus. She didn’t even dare look at Xavier, though a few scratches on his neck had immediately drawn her notice. He made a lame fencing accident excuse to brush her off, but her curiosity had been piqued.

“While most plants reward their pollinators with sweet nectar, many carnivorous varieties turn to sexual trickery or deception,” Ms. Thornhill lectured. “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?”

“Nada. Just like all the guys at the Rave’N,” Bianca quipped before Wednesday could even raise her hand. The sirens gathered around her table snickered. The whole class found it distractedly amusing. Wednesday felt her soul withering. It was bad enough that her own hormones were suddenly active. That she would have to be stewing in the middle of a cesspool of others’ was unbearable.

“Okay, okay. I know you’re all excited about the dance on Saturday, which is why I haven’t assigned any homework. But I do still need volunteers for the decorating committee. Anyone interested, come and see me up here.”

Wednesday reached for her notebook and started packing her things. A school dance. She’d never been to one. Aside from the fact that she’d been burning through schools at an alarming rate in recent years, no one had ever been brave enough to ask her. Enid and Thing’s encouragement poked at the back of her mind. Theoretically, she could do the asking. Since when did she need anyone to set the terms for her? 

“You’re not gonna volunteer?” Xavier asked sarcastically. “Aren’t you pumped about disco balls and spiked punch? There’s even a DJ. MC Blood Suckaz.”

“I’d rather stick needles in my eyes,” she scoffed. Anything to dispel the revolting feeling that was crawling around her chest. “I’ll probably do that anyway.”

“Or you could invite someone and have a little fun,” he suggested. There was something underneath the sarcasm that reached out and shook her ribcage.

She shoved the rest of her things in her bag and snapped it closed.

∞

She tailed him after class, keeping her distance. Despite Enid’s suggestion, stalking was a much preferable alternative. 

He eventually wandered out to the woods behind the school, where Wednesday presumed his makeshift art studio was. It was a small structure with a pair of uneven barn doors, their windows too dirty to see through. A shame, since she was eager to know what sort of nightmarish things he painted. She waited, figuring that once he left it would be the best place to find evidence.

Thing perched on her shoulder, squeezing impatiently.

“Xavier didn’t get those scratches from fencing. He’s hiding something,” she whispered.

She imagined that the transformation was excruciatingly painful for him. His already too-long limbs stretching, bones realigning themselves. He’d probably lost control recently and ended up clawing at his own neck in a fit of despair. What she wouldn’t give to see it for herself. It was as distracting a fantasy as the cold shower. When one of the doors opened, she moved to hide deeper behind the treeline, but Thing tugged at her braid, drawing a sharp and high-keyed protest from her before he took off, making as much noise as he could tearing through the dry, fallen leaves.

“Wednesday?”

“Xavier. Hello.” She straightened herself in an attempt to regain some dignity. She was going to pull off Thing’s fingernails later and have the satisfaction of doing so again once the day reset.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I just saw you come out this way. What is this place?”

“It’s kind of my private art studio. I cleared it out and fixed it up, so Weems let me use it.”

“How very entrepreneurial,” she forced herself to compliment. “I would love to see inside. Why don’t you give me a tour?”

He stared at her, suspicious. It was deliciously ironic. “Not right now. It’s a total mess.”

“I shadowed a crime scene photographer last summer. I’m not easily fazed.”

“Maybe another time. Were you looking for me?” His expression turned hopeful, once again triggering her lungs to squeeze around her heart. 

“Of course not.” She glanced just once at the scratches along his neck before following Thing’s sloppy path back to campus, not looking back.

Enid was disappointed with her and refused to hold Thing down to receive his torture. “You’re really ruining the spirit of WWWD.”

“WWWD?”

“What would Wednesday do. It’s my new mantra,” her friend said. “You’re the ballsiest person I know. You literally have no Fs to give. What’s the big deal? It’s just Xavier. Do I need to take the scrapbook out again?” she threatened. Wednesday glared at her. “No one will make fun of you for liking a boy.”

“You have.”

“I’m teasing .”

“Same difference.”

Enid frowned. “Truce? I’ll stop meddling and you’ll follow your instincts?” she proposed.

Wednesday considered it seriously, weighing the pliers in her hand. “I could torture him into transforming,” she said.

“Not those instincts.”

Sighing, Wednesday tucked the pliers away. She’d long since abandoned her plans to flee Nevermore. She had no idea where her uncle was and she didn’t even have a plan for what she would do if she left. Her brain was too crowded with strings attempting to connect clues to solve the murders and uncover the mystery of the prophecy.

Loathe as she was to admit it, she even felt torn about leaving Enid and Eugene behind. As promised, she’d bought him all the fudge he could carry the day of the statue arson and spent the next morning in the hive with him. She met her roommate’s eyes. “Truce,” she said stiffly. She’d never in her life uttered that word.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday groaned. Predictably, the day had reset. She regretted not trying to break into Xavier’s art shed after dinner. 

“I swear I didn’t even touch my phone this time!” Enid said.

“It’s a curse. You don’t have to.” She got out of bed and went straight into the closet, dressing hastily. “This is day two.”

“Do you have any theories on what triggers it?”

“I’m currently working on a theory,” she confirmed. “I initially thought that it had something to do with this school, maybe even the prophecy.” She went to her desk and took out the Nightshades diary, examining the picture for the umpteenth time. It was still her. “But last night as I fell asleep, it occurred to me that this is obviously my mother’s fault. Or my Abuela’s. She’s the witch in our family. This can only be part of my parents’ scheme to make me just like them.” 

But how? She thought back to the day she left home to come to Nevermore. Her Abuela had performed a standard bendición, anointing her with goat’s blood. She’d done that so many times before that Wednesday never thought to question it. 

“Okay, that’s the stupidest thing you have ever said to me, and I actually believe you about the Groundhog Day thing,” Enid snarked as she continued her morning skincare routine.

Wednesday smiled wryly. “You haven’t even heard my theory about the monster yet,” she mumbled under her breath. 

∞

They were late to breakfast after Enid had to reargue her case and support for Xavier. It took Wednesday renewing the truce to get her to calm down but she aborted the conversation before she would be forced to admit what had transpired during the first attempt of the day, leaving Thing behind and giving him strict orders to stay out of the way.

Unlike the day before, she allowed herself to be seen when he emerged from the shed, looking disheveled and distrustful. She hadn’t noticed before. Her interest in exploring inside was heightened; he was hiding something.

When he saw her, his demeanor softened. He pushed his hair out of his face. “Wednesday.”

“Xavier. Hello.”

“What are you doing? Were you looking for me?”

“I wanted to go over Ms. Thornhill’s homework assignment,” her brain supplied unhelpfully. It was not the first time the word pretty came to mind when looking at his hair, but it was the first time she nearly said it out loud.

“She didn’t give us homework, remember? Why are you really out here?”

“Where did those injuries actually come from?” He stared at her, shocked. She grinned, triumphant at gaining some power back. “I’m insulted you’d think I was stupid enough to believe they came from fencing.”

His hand went up to his neck, pulling at his collar. He’d done a terrible job of tending to his wounds, and they definitely looked self-inflicted. 

“Why do I feel like your motives for asking aren’t out of concern?”

“You’re being very suspicious.” It was the wrong thing to say. His expression closed off immediately and he stormed back to the shed, his strides too long and fast for her to keep up with. She waited nearby for over an hour, listening to the muffled sounds of his music seeping through the old boards until it got dark and a glowing yellow light began to pulsate inside.

Her ire cooled. Her stubborn hold on her suspicions slipped. Crouching down behind the treeline, she was finally able to uncover the thing that was really bothering her. She hated failing at anything, and her parents set an insurmountable standard for relationships. Xavier was always so thrilled to see her and have even a scrap of her attention, but she would inevitably disappoint him. 

She found her way back to campus in the dark and was silent as stone all through dinner. Enid rightly inferred that she’d been unsuccessful and didn’t bother her once Wednesday reminded her about the truce. 

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday actually listened to the lyrics this time, wondering if there was anything in them of value, but it was more likely that the curse had just latched onto the song that first day.

“Wednesday?” Enid crossed the room and shook her shoulder lightly, her voice wavering. “I didn’t even touch my phone. I swear.”

Wednesday opened one eye and glared at her with it. “I know. I’m cursed, Enid. This is the third attempt at today.”

“Do you have any theories on what triggers it?”

Wednesday sighed, sitting up. “A few. I have to do more research so that I can confirm or eliminate, though.”

She briefly filled them in on what had transpired up until now, doing her best to downplay the interactions with Xavier, but Enid pulled her trepidations out from under the surface as easily as Wednesday pulled teeth. “I can’t agree to a truce unless you uphold your end,” she said sharply. During class, she cleared her throat very loudly at Wednesday’s back when Xavier suggested that she could ask someone to the dance and maybe have fun.

Thing tugged at her braids as they followed him out to his shed and she had to drop him in the hallway, reasoning that she would lose her nerve if he was there.

He made a series of frustrated signals.

“I do not need a chaperone,” she hissed.

They argued heatedly for a while until she warned him that this was eating into her time to catch him alone on the grounds.

She was so behind, in fact, that the shed was nowhere in sight when she happened upon him. He was as distracted as the other times, looking over his shoulder and kicking at the ground. He nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw her.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“You seem stressed,” she observed. His shoulders drooped crookedly and he sighed, nodding.

“It’s nothing.” The scratches were irritated. He’d been needling them. Maybe he was concerned because he was losing control over his transformations. She reached up and pulled at the collar of his shirt.

“This isn’t ‘nothing’, Xavier,” she scolded. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, leaning down to her to allow her access. Unfathomable. She should have thought it was pathetic, the way he was willing to give in to her, but when he opened his eyes and set them into hers, she realized that wasn’t it at all. He was fully aware of what he was doing, making himself seem vulnerable so that she would manhandle him. She loved it.

“I’m at a very unfair disadvantage in height here,” she murmured. He smiled softly and her heart jumped, thudding unnaturally. She had not meant to say that out loud. She was going to have to let the day reset for this. Erasing it meant she could make the mistake anyway, so she let his gaze linger on her mouth for just a moment before arching up on tiptoe.

The kiss, brief as it was, stung pleasantly. It was violently good. She held her breath, expecting a vision to wash over her. The sensation that clawed through her was just as raw, but without the psychic element. She dropped her hand, letting her thumb press into one of the scratches so that he hissed lightly.

“ Don’t follow me,” she warned coldly.

∞

Enid found her pacing her side of the room, having skipped dinner. She’d tried without success to work on the investigation, reciting ‘kidney, finger, gall bladder, toes’ over and over. Thing rushed over to Enid’s bed to engage in conversation with her, each speculating what her mood was about. When Wednesday could no longer take it, she marched over.

“The first time you kissed Ajax, did you want to pour acid down your throat and dive into a pit of needles?”

Enid gaped at her, glittery eyeshadow blinking rapidly. “You kissed Xavier.”

“That was a hypothetical question,” Wednesday corrected, but she could feel her face heating up, betraying her.

“Spill,” Enid commanded, crossing her legs and pulling out her phone.

“You are not allowed to post about this,” Wednesday grit out, murderous.

“I have the feeling that you’re going to let the day reset because you chickened out, so I’m totally going to post about this. Spill.”

∞

The second time they kissed, Wednesday let herself linger a moment longer, wanting to feel Xavier’s breath hitch against her lips when she dug her thumbnail into a scratch before she pulled away. She expected him to lash out at her, maybe showing signs of shifting into his beastly form, but instead, his eyes darkened with need, making her brain stutter. It was criminally unfair. 

The third through fifth times, she raked her hands through his hair, eliciting quiet moans and prompting him to actually touch her, hands steading her waist. She ran every time, sick from her sudden desire to cling to him.

On the sixth, he actually lifted her with one arm, tilting her head back with his other hand to mark her throat with a kiss. She kicked shallowly at him, tortured by the sweetness of it, that she wanted to beg for more. She balled her fists in his shirt when he put her down, not daring look up at him.

“This didn’t happen,” she warned, staring down his beating heart, so loud it drowned everything else out, followed her back to her room and lulled her to sleep.

∞

She took her time picking her way through the backwoods of the campus on her way to the shed for the seventh time, mulling over her crush. 

She was early enough that the shed was still in sight when he emerged and to her embarrassment, she was sure that the exact same expression Xavier had on his face was mirrored in her own features. His distress from whatever he was dealing with in the shed – be it as innocent as a piece he was struggling with or as sinister as the missing body parts – faded, replaced by relief and excitement, hopefulness.

“Wednesday,” her name sounded like a prayer on his lips.

“Hello, Xavier,” she fought to keep her voice even.

He looked behind his shoulder. “My art studio,” he explained. Then, with a thoughtful frown, “Were you looking for me?”

“Yes,” she said before she could stop herself. The timing was all wrong. He had the upper hand now. He wasn’t even backing away from her glare.

The admission lit up his face. He fidgeted with his hair, leaning toward her. “Is this about a certain dance that makes you want to poke needles into your eyes, perhaps? I’m all ears.”

She considered it. It was good enough an excuse to have followed him out here. She reached up and pulled his collar back. “This needs treating,” she said flatly. “Even from my height, I can see that you’re risking infection.”

“Are you offering to nurse me back to health?” he teased. 

She rolled her eyes and pulled him down a fraction more. “You wish .”

He let himself be handled, relishing it. Masochist. “I dreamt this,” he whispered suddenly, breaking her out of her reverie, his hand suddenly caressing her cheek. “But it was raining.”

Horrified, she shoved him away. “You’re creating a story in your head and using visions to back it up. They’re telling you what you want to see,” she quoted back at him, though he didn’t remember that he’d said it. Her skin ached where he’d touched her.

Xavier’s expression curdled, hurt. Wednesday ran. 

∞

Enid found her in their room, wildly scribbling pages of notes.

“Xavier knows,” she explained.

“You told him?” Enid gasped.

“No, but his psychic ability connected him to the loop. He remembered something.”

“What did he remember?” The end of the sentence tilted up, bordering on teasing.

“Irrelevant. I think I know how to break this cycle.” She looked up from the timeline she’d drawn out of October 20th. “I have to ask Xavier to the dance.”

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

“Why are you really out here?” He grinned. “Is this about a certain dance that makes you want to poke needles into your eyes, perhaps?”

Wednesday squirmed. “Are you really going to make me ask?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Would you…” she faltered, blinking. “Would…would you possibly consider going to the Rave’N dance with a certain…” What was wrong with her? She tore her eyes away from his mouth, determined not to remember their last kiss. “Would…”  He nodded, leaning in and encouraging her. “Would you go to the dance with me?” There.

“Yes, Wednesday, I would love to go to the dance with you. I thought you’d never ask.”

Neither had she. 

∞

They walked back to campus together in companionable silence, the back of his hand brushing against hers, and parted at the dorms. Wednesday watched him go with mixed feelings, still hovering around suspicion.  

She went back to her room and studied the board while she waited for Enid to come back from Yoko’s room, but impatience wore at her. She had wasted enough do-overs. “Thing, fetch the flashlight and my lockpicks,” she instructed, changing out of her heavy platform loafers into stealthier shoes.

Dusk was settling when she found herself in the studio. It hadn’t even been locked. The air was stagnant, the smell of linseed oil faint. She tugged at the cord hanging from the industrial lamp hanging over a large canvas and looked around. Dozens of images of the monster surrounded her. The style was chaotic and bold. Some of the lines mimicked the scratches that marred Xavier’s neck, making her shiver when she drew the connection.

She picked through a small pile of sketches and rough studies on the worktable, stuffing a few in her bag for evidence, but the best treasure came from a waste can on the floor, a bloody rag. She had brought a plastic bag in case of such a find, her hands trembling as she sealed it away, tucking it almost lovingly in with the drawings. She would have liked to keep it, but DNA evidence was more important to the investigation. 

The door swung open.

“What are you doing in here?’

“How do you know what the monster looks like?” she countered, her voice wavering. “Are these all just self-portraits?” she knew even as she asked how irrational that sounded. She couldn’t reconcile it with what she knew about him. What she thought she knew.

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

“So did the monster. Or was that you the night Rowan was killed?”

“You so are out of line now.”

“I’m trying to uncover the truth. And your art seems to have a recurring motif.”

He took a step back. “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 gestured to the work in progress directly under the light. “When I was painting this one, claws reached out and took a swipe at me. That’s how I got these.” 

“I thought you were able to control your ability.”

“Not when it comes to this.”

“Maybe it’s your guilty conscience,” she theorized. Even if he was a monster, maybe he didn’t want to be.

“I told you I’m not the monster, okay?”

“You just happened to draw pictures of it, down to the location of its lair in the woods?” she looked away from him, pulling out the sketch she’d slid into her bag, a spiraling cave. “Those are some pretty vivid dreams.”

“Before, when I caught you outside. That’s the only reason you asked me to the Rave’N, isn’t it? To try and cover.” He scoffed wordlessly. “You are unbelievable .” He snatched the picture from her hands. There. He was disappointed and betrayed. She’d done it. It felt as bad as she imagined it would. “Get out.”

The day rolled over. 

Enid patted her back sympathetically. “I won’t say anything,” she promised. “The truce stands.” 

She went to beekeeping club in a sullen mood, but it lifted when she replicated the spiral cave drawing for Eugene and he recognized it. “That circle… I think I know where that is.”

“Show me,” she pleaded.

“Grab your hiking gear,” he advised.

They went out almost two miles outside of campus, Eugene prattling the whole way about how they should document it as part of club activities. Eventually, they got to a strange rock formation and he led her around to the open side of it.

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

“Collecting specimens. This place is ground zero for horny gypsy moths.” He edged toward it, nervous. “You think it’s in there?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I’m not a huge fan of enclosed spaces,” he said, rooted to the spot. “I’m claustrophobic.”

She shrugged. “If you hear me screaming bloody murder, there’s a good chance I’m just enjoying myself.” She crouched down and eased her way in, lighting her flashlight. Only the barest, weakest light filtered in from the opening.

“This is definitely its lair,” she murmured.

“Are those human?” Eugene’s flashlight swept over the floor of the cave from behind her.

“No, I think it’s got a taste for venison.” Her beam landed on the skull of a deer.

“Check this out.” He beckoned her over to the wall, where a pair of shackles hung. Scratch marks framed it, a broken claw snagged in. Wednesday pulled it out.

“What is it?” Eugene asked.

“The other component for the DNA test I need to run,” she muttered.

Enid had gone into town already to shop for her dress. Wednesday had another destination in mind. She took the bus and rode it to the stop nearest the sheriff’s office, both DNA samples in her bag. She had to wait longer than she would have liked for her audience. Something that felt a lot like guilt tugged at the back of her neck. She brushed it off the second the secretary admitted her.

The meeting was tense and left her feeling drained, but at least the sheriff had taken the samples and agreed to run the test. Jericho was a small town, so she anticipated it wouldn’t take long. She exited the station hastily, not wanting to miss her bus back but also calculating if she had time to stop for coffee. 

Tyler was at the corner, watching her.

“Your father’s in a particularly frustrating form today. Avoid,” she said in lieu of a greeting, walking past him.

“Yeah, welcome to my world,” he agreed, falling into step with her. “You guys have the Rave’N this weekend, right? It was all the buzz at the Weathervane today.”

“I must be the only one not obsessed with this stupid dance,” she grumbled, quickening her pace.

“So, you’re not going?”

“I briefly slipped into a state of madness where I actually considered it, but no.” she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Don’t even think about asking me.” 

“Why not? I mean, call me crazy, Wednesday, but you keep giving me these signals. I thought we liked each other, but then you pull something like this, and I have no idea where I stand.”

She stopped short. “What signals?”

“J-just…” he stuttered, not expecting her to question him.

“Tell me what they are so that I can stop ,” she spat. “I tolerate you. You had intel for me and provided means of escape. I definitely didn’t intend for you to imagine there was any sort of connection between us. You have no respect for my boundaries and think you’re entitled to exist in my personal space.” Truthfully, they could have been friends, but he was so single-minded it was irritating.

She left him without another word, secretly pleased that he was too shaken up to fight back.

Thing crawled out of her bag as they passed Uriah’s Heap, signaling her to look at the window display. The dress on the mannequin was the color of dark penumbra. If she had been attending the dance, that was what she’d wear. She saw the bus approaching out of the corner of her eye and hurried to catch up with it to make it back to campus in time for dinner.

Eugene sought her out afterward, looking sullen. He didn’t have a date and actually wanted to go. She did her best to cheer him up even though she had never attempted it before and got him to agree to stake out the cave with her instead. 

“Sure,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t want you going alone.”

∞

Saturday night, she reluctantly helped Enid choose accessories for the dance and glared ominously at Ajax when he came to pick her up, even though he didn’t flinch and just waved at her. After they left, she started packing her bag for the stakeout, jolted out of focus when the knock at the door came a lot sooner than she expected.

“I’m coming, Eugene!” she called. “Hey, did you grab any extra batteries for the flash… Tyler.”

She blinked in confusion at seeing him there, dressed on theme for the dance.

“I got your invite. Guessing you had Thing drop it in the tip jar?”

She looked over at her desk, where Thing was busying himself with a nail file. She narrowed her eyes at him. Xavier is going to be there. With Bianca , he signaled back smugly.

“After our last conversation, I wasn’t sure I’d even get to speak to you again, but… Well, your note was so genuine and… sweet. Totally took me by surprise.” She could feel Thing snickering, his knuckles cracking. “Do you… need a minute?” he prodded.

“Several,” she snapped. “Wait downstairs.”

She closed the door and went to her closet, frustrated by the last-minute turn of events, despite Thing’s accurately placed intentions. He snapped, drawing her attention to the foot of her bed, where the dress from earlier had materialized.

“How?” He flipped a thumb in a shrug and tapped out his confession. “Five-finger discount, of course.” She reached out and squeezed his index limb. “Thank you.”

Without Enid there to consult, she put her hair up in a crown of braids, figuring the occasion deserved some effort. She didn’t want to confront Xavier and Bianca on Tyler’s arm looking the same as she always did.

He complimented her, of course. Beautiful. She opened her mouth to set ground rules for the night. Ideally, they would only make an appearance. 

“Wednesday, what’s going on?” Eugene interrupted. “What happened to staking out the cave?”

He looked between her and Tyler and drew the wrong conclusion. “Sure, I get it. Guess I’ll check out the woods myself.”

“Don’t go alone,” she warned him. “It’s too dangerous. Stand down.”

He looked ready to argue, but ultimately nodded and dragged his feet away, hopefully to throw a silent tantrum in his own room. He really was like her brother. She would have to track down Enid inside as soon as possible and text him from her phone to explain. If she timed this right, she could make an excuse to end the evening early and still make it out to the cave. 

Inside it was loud and too bright. Wednesday hated it on principle. She wanted to retreat into a dark corner and stay there. Unfortunately, Enid found her first, smiling a forced and tight smile at Tyler before dragging her into the bathroom.

“Why are you here with him ?”

“Thing meddled and invited him for me.”

“You could have said so!”

“Thing read on your blog that Xavier was going to be here with Bianca.” she didn’t even care that she was so obviously jealous. She couldn’t think of any other explanation that would be believable, anyway.

“Normally I would hate you manipulating and jerking my childhood friend around like that, but – “ Enid sighed. “At least you’re admitting that you have feelings for him, in a roundabout way.” She fluffed her pink hair in the mirror. “You need Xavier to notice you. Get out on the dance floor with Tyler.”

She reached over and fixed some of the pins in her braids and pushed her out the door.

Wednesday grudgingly picked a song to dance to that didn’t require her to hold frame with her date for the evening. Even so, it seemed to work. Xavier looked as though he wanted to disembowel him. Maybe he would .

At the beginning of the next song, blood began to rain from the ceiling and Wednesday finally saw the appeal of school dances. Screams pierced the air and she was separated by the flow of the crowd. It was the perfect excuse to make her escape. The blood wasn’t even real. The floor was saturated in it, slick and slippery. Caught up in the sardine-tight crunch of people trying to leave as Principal Weems shouted instructions, she collided with someone as if they were made of brick and snapped back, her spine shot through with electricity.

When she came to, Xavier was supporting her, shielding her against the wall. He was covered in red paint, too.

“Wednesday.”

“Eugene,” she grabbed at him to help herself up. “He’s in danger.”

“Where?”

“The cave.”

They pushed past the last group of people and bolted for the woods. Xavier activated the flashlight on his phone and handed it to her. The bright light bounced over the uneven ground.

Near the cave, they heard it, a fierce, high-pitched roar and then, a scream.

Xavier bolted ahead of her. Panicked, Wednesday struggled to keep up. Her ears were ringing, the blood pumping and flowing erratically. She tripped over an exposed root and went flying down a low embankment. When she crested the hill, she heard an agonizing rip and screams. Her eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to see her friend brandishing a flare, sticking it in the monster’s side. It wailed and bolted off into the night.

“Eugene!” she cried, recklessly sprinting toward him, breathing labored.

On the ground between them, Xavier twitched, his breathing labored. Wednesday fell to her knees. She’d dropped the phone back when she’d tripped, but she didn’t need light to see that his chest was torn open, dark red staining his white suit.

“He saved me,” Eugene gasped.

Xavier’s eyes found hers and slowly went blank.

Wednesday struggled to get to her feet, staggering only a few feet away before she started vomiting.

∞

Several hours later, Enid escorted her back to their room and turned on the shower for her. It was close to midnight when she came out and got into her nightgown, her fingertips numb.

“You should get some sleep,” Enid said quietly. “They said you have to give another statement in the morning.”

Wednesday ignored her and went to her desk, pulling out her notes on the time curse. Most of it was frantically scrawled, but after reading it through more than three times, she caught something from October 7th, at the festival.

She remembered dispatching Xavier to distract Weems while she slipped away. They had only just arrived. He couldn’t have been responsible for the attacks in the parking lot. And now this. She’d been too caught up in her scheme to run away to even think about it, and at that time she hadn’t known that the monster was also human.

What a fool she’d been.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday rolled over in bed and curled in on herself.  

“I swear I didn’t even touch my phone this time!” Enid said.

“It’s a curse. You don’t have to,” she answered on autopilot. She blinked. “Enid. What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

She mentally calculated. “October 20th?”

Enid nodded, sorting through her face creams. “How many times have you done today already?”

“Too many.” She sprung out of bed and started getting dressed. She was anxious to get to class, see Xavier breathing, but then she remembered that she would see him at breakfast. She washed her face and made sure her braids were straight, turning to her roommate. “I’m going to head down to breakfast without you, if you don’t mind.”

She didn’t wait to hear the response, though. She scooped up her bag and threw it over her shoulder, taking the stairs down two at a time. Eugene greeted her as soon as she entered the dining hall and she was relieved to see him. He’d been stupid enough to go to the cave on his own, but he’d been brave, too. 

“Hummers meeting tomorrow, don’t forget,” he reminded her, handing her a tray as they slid into line together. She barely paid attention as she looked all around. When Xavier walked in, she froze completely. Eugene frowned and followed her line of sight. He heaved a rueful sigh and pushed her out of line, asking over her tray for her and handing it to her a few moments later. “I read a rumor on Enid’s gossip blog that Bianca’s planning on asking him to the Rave’N.”

“Not if I ask him first,” she vowed. She watched from the Ophelia Hall table as several pairs of students matched up with plans to attend the dance together. Bianca did seem to be watching Xavier, but she did not approach him.

During science, Wednesday spent the entire period looking at him when she was sure he was otherwise distracted. She’d watched him die before. At first, it had barely registered for her. During the Poe Cup, she’d found it annoying and ridiculous. Last night was the first time she’d had an emotional reaction to it. She remembered his white suit and the black tie, the splattering of real and fake blood. It had been gruesome, a cruel shock to prove her wrong that he was not actually the monster.

“Okay, okay. I know you’re all excited about the dance on Saturday, which is why I haven’t assigned any homework. But I do still need volunteers for the decorating committee. Anyone interested, come and see me up here.” Ms. Thornhill waved a few eager students over at the end of class. 

“You’re not gonna volunteer?” Xavier asked sarcastically. “Aren’t you pumped about disco balls and spiked punch? There’s even a DJ. MC Blood Suckaz.” 

She measured her breaths, drinking in his voice. “I’m… tempted,” she said finally. He stared at her, awed.

“Really?”

“Surprised?” She got down from the stool. The height of it always made her feel small in a way she didn’t like. Her feet dangled . “Wait until you hear who I’m planning on asking.”

His jaw tightened. “Anyone I know?”

She smirked.

∞

“Oh my God! Wednesday Addams is going to the Rave’N. My whole world is tilted!” Enid squealed, relieved. “You know what you need?”

“A bullet to the head?” Wednesday groaned from her position on her bed, face buried in her pillow. As soon as she’d been out of Xavier’s sight she couldn’t help smiling, and it would. Not. Stop.

“A dress, and not the one you showed up here in!” Enid protested. “That thing was a fashion emergency not even lightning could resuscitate. Thing, back me up here.” A series of flutters and knuckle-cracking translated to a hard affirmative. Wednesday threw her pillow at him. “You need something that screams, ‘First date. Stand back, bitches! I have arrived’!” She gestured as if spreading the announcement on a marquee in flashing lights.

The day rolled over. Wednesday was seized by a sense of relief and dread. She had been right about what would resolve the loop, which definitively ruled the prophecy out of having anything to do with it. If she had to hazard a guess, her family was conspiring and meddling with her life choices to make sure she actually graduated from school with a flourishing social life. Killing off the one boy that drew her interest was a nice touch, she had to admit.

During beekeeping, she told Eugene about the cave. It still needed to be investigated, she reasoned, the shackles especially. It hadn’t occurred to her to think too deeply about them before, and that was unsettling.

After classes, Enid dragged her into town, stopping in front of a clothing shop that seemed to be bursting with every color of the rainbow with an emphasis in pastels. 

“What kind of dystopian hellscape is this?” she wondered aloud.

“Our first roomie shopping spree! The dance committee’s suggesting all white to match the theme, but that’s not gonna fly with us.” She started to pull her toward the entrance.

“I already have a frock in mind, and it’s down the street. Meet me at the bus stop in an hour.”

Enid pouted but went in after she saw Yoko and a few other girls from their dorm.

Wednesday went straight to Uriah’s Heap and handed over the black Amex her father made payments on. The woman who ran the store packed the dress into a box for her. Afterward, she went to the Weathervane and enjoyed an Americano made by another barista, only vaguely aware of the chatter around her about the dance. On impulse she bought a cake pop for Enid and met her at the bus stop right on time, refusing to show her the dress until they were back in their dorm.

The next day’s hours stretched so slowly Wednesday thought she would tear her hair out, but once Enid started getting ready, it dawned on her that this was real. 

When she emerged from behind her closet door, Enid’s jaw dropped.

“Gorgeous,” she declared. “What are you going to do with your hair?”

Wednesday showed her, and allowed the pulling of some more face-framing pieces. This time, when Ajax came to the door, Xavier was there, too. While their friends gushed over each other, Xavier cautiously held out his hand for her to take and slid a black dahlia corsage over her wrist. 

“I heard from Enid that this was your favorite flower, because of the murder.” He was wearing the white suit again. She reached up to straighten his tie and heard Enid’s phone camera shutter.

“Delete that,” she warned. Xavier's thumb caressed the back of her hand.

“I’m sending it to Xavier,” Enid called over her shoulder as she left the room. 

Alone in the room except for Thing watching, Wednesday slipped her hand into Xavier’s. “Shall we?”

∞

The dance hall was as loud and irritatingly bright as she remembered. She pressed close to Xavier’s side as they entered, hating the music that was playing.

“Over here,” he steered her to a table in a quieter corner. “I’ll bring you something to drink.” He was only gone a moment and set down a bottle of black liquid in front of her. “Volcanic water,” he explained. “Ice cold.” For himself, he’d procured a bright blue mocktail and lifted it to her before gulping the whole thing down with a grimace. “Yoko made them," he explained. "I had to try at least one.”

They watched for a while as other couples filtered in. Some of them waved to Xavier, but he only briefly acknowledged them, keeping his full attention on her.

That he would want to latibulate away from everyone else with her was strange. He’d been so excited when she’d asked him. Never in her life had anyone been excited at the prospect of spending time with her. She’d assumed he would want to enjoy the dance properly the way everyone else was, socializing and drinking the lurid colored punch, maybe asking her to dance. He seemed perfectly comfortable where they were, though, listening to her talk about yeti and other endangered species and the particular threats to their natural ecosystems.

Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her. “I imagine you had something else in mind when I asked you come to come to the dance with me.”

He smiled. “Maybe, but knowing you, I let it stay there. In my imagination, I mean.”

“Why?”

“Wednesday,” he explained, leaning as close to her as he dared, stroking the delicate ruffle of her dress that had spilled onto his thigh. “I just want to be with you.”

The honesty of the statement paralyzed her. Just be . It was clear what he meant by it. She thought back to the question Dr. Kinbott had asked her in their first session. If she ever asked that question of Xavier, would she be the partner he imagined in his life, sharing his space? Space, she realized, had never been an issue between them. From almost the whole time she’d known him, she had come to expect and even welcome it. She even invited herself into his space, like now. They were sitting close because she chose to scoot closer when some of the multisyllabic words she was using were hard for him to decipher over the music.

He was bent over, the frame of his shoulders crooked in the flashing blue light of the dance floor. 

Wednesday herself wasn’t a gamer, but she’d watched Pugsley at his computer enough and listened to Ajax and Eugene prattle at lunch enough to know some things. This, by all accounts, was what would be considered a Good Ending. No matter what else happened tonight – the song fading in was the one she recognized as playing when the fake blood would start raining down – she could have this. 

She might even be okay with the day rolling over permanently.

The thought should have made her recoil, but instead, she let herself exhale and lean toward him, eyes fluttering closed. 

His mouth was warm against hers, firm and wanting. Asking. Wednesday answered it, giving in.

Xavier pulled back, startled as much by her desire as by the paint starting to fall from the sprinkler system in the ceiling. Everyone around them erupted into screams. She reached up to hold his face between her hands, tracing his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs. “It’s not real blood,” she assured him, whispering the last word against his lips.

“ Wish it was ,” he breathed, kissing her back, hands finding the curve of her waist. She was practically in his lap when Principal Weems jerked them apart and pushed them toward the exit. Wednesday flashed Xavier a devilish smile that he returned. 

She didn’t think to watch out for whoever would collide into her and trigger the vision.

∞

Hours later, she stood over Eugene’s body, covered with a sheet. Among his personal effects were the shackles. She couldn’t even look at them. She was cold with Xavier when he tried to comfort her, too. No matter what happened, she inevitably made the wrong choice. Someone would end up dead because of her. 

“You’re crying,” Enid whispered when she came in later while she was still waiting for Eugene’s mothers to come for his body.

“I’m not.”

“I didn’t think you knew how to cry.”

Wednesday wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I haven’t cried since I was six.”

Enid sat beside her and put her hand on her shoulder. 

“I took my pet scorpion, Nero, out for his afternoon stroll, and we were ambushed by some boys. They wondered what kind of freak would have a scorpion for a pet,” she remembered bitterly. “Two of them held me down and made me watch… while the others ran Nero over until…” she sat up straighter, hardening her face. “It was snowing when I buried what was left of him. “I cried my little black heart out. But tears don’t fix anything. I vowed to never do it again.” She reached over and straightened the sheet. cradling the crown of his head through the fabric. “Weather tomorrow resets or not, I’m going to find out who and what that monster is. I’m going to avenge this death, and Xavier’s.”

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Heartbreak was accurate. Wednesday rolled over in bed and curled in on herself. She’d lost count of how many times she’d relived the same three days. Sometimes she asked Xavier to the dance, sometimes she didn’t. He died twice more, once with her kiss on his lips.

More often than not, she went with Eugene to the cave, avoiding the dance completely. They were never successful, but the deaths stopped. The worst that happened was a broken limb here or there fleeing in the dark. More than once, someone beat them to the cave and set off explosives, destroying all the evidence. 

For this set of days, she kept to herself, scrawling new notes on the murder board. She was at a loss for what the shackles could mean. the monster seemed to hunt spontaneously around Jericho and the school and could easily hunt down animal prey. The only thing that made sense was that the human had a particular target in mind, possibly her. She was the key, after all. 

∞

On Friday during lunch, she watched as Bianca approached Xavier. He looked weary, but nodded his head and smiled a little at what she said. His dorm table erupted in wolf whistles. A few boys clapped him on the back. Enid shot her a pained look before posting about it and Wednesday fled back to her room before her next class.

She slammed the door closed when she came in and scanned the room for Thing, finding him rifling through her personal stationery. “Thing. I know what you’re thinking, and you have my permission, but you should at least make the invitation sound more like me.”

He hand cowered at her stony expression, flexed his joints, and signaled a salute. 

When Tyler arrived to pick her up the next evening, she was already dressed. They discussed ground rules on the way down, Wednesday keeping a respectable distance between them. She consented to dance with him, but only if the song wasn’t a ballad or something that would require them to touch. He didn’t seem to mind, obviously thinking he’d won something by earning her invitation for the evening.

After a few turns, he left her to talk to Lucas Walker, who’d shown up as someone's date. Xavier was hovering by the refreshments table.

“I can’t believe you came here with him.”

“ You came with Bianca,” she countered.

“I didn’t, actually. We came in a group, Nightshades Without Dates .” He smirked contemptuously. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

She didn’t refute it. It was true. She’d seen Bianca sitting with him earlier and assumed. It made her think of four days ago when that was them, tucked into a corner, the warmth of his hands at her waist. “Thing intervened on my behalf,” she explained. “I have no interest in him. He was just an excuse not to come alone.” 

He eyes sparkled, amused smile tight enough to pull at his face, highlighting the sharpness of it. “I didn’t peg you for the type to be too insecure to come alone to one of these things.”

“I’m not.” 

He studied her face for a moment and wisely chose not to share whatever he was inferring, instead holding out his hand. “Wednesday Addams, may I have this dance?” She liked that he didn’t ask what Tyler would think, sheathing his jealousy since she had all but implied that she’d meant to provoke it. 

“Yes,” she answered simply, slipping her hand into his palm. She dared squeeze at his knuckles gently as they turned to face each other on the dance floor. Everyone else around them was already swaying. A few people glanced over, intrigued. She settled her hands over the lapels of his jacket, sliding one hand up to his shoulder, pleased that in every repetition of this day, he wore a black tie that matched her dress.

He inhaled slowly and let himself be drawn closer to her, one hand at her hip and the other over her own on his chest. Neither of them led, rather, they stepped together in something of a close-knit waltz, slowly circling.

The song faded out and a new one started. Wednesday’s heart spasmed. It was that song again. The first drops of red that fell splattered the shoulders of his jacket, and then it dripped down from his hairline. The memory of the time he died tonight came back to her, but she was fixated on one drop that ran down to the corner of his mouth, desiring to kiss it away.

Sighing, she thanked him for the dance and walked away before the screams started.

Chapter Text

Sunday. Wednesday woke up before Enid. She felt drained. The campus was quiet, so she went to the hive, seeking solace in the humming and the buzzing and Eugene’s chatter. He arrived an hour after her, bringing her a thermos of coffee from Enid.

“She also said to congratulate you on making it to Sunday?” he prompted.

The last three days were a mess. She’d spent part of the hour before he arrived reviewing her notes of the true timeline and adding any important information she remembered from other, overwritten cycles. “I’m Groundhog Day cursed,” she explained, gulping down the scorching caffeine. She still didn’t fully understand the reference but reasoned that something from Enid’s vernacular would connect to him.

Eugene frowned. “What, seriously?”

She nodded. “You died last night.”

“I d-died?” he stuttered, knocking over several jars of honey.

“Just once. Another time you broke your leg. Or your arm. I don’t remember,” she said dismissively.

“You went back and saved me.”

She refused to look at him, fighting the stinging behind her eyes. Eugene crushed her in a tight hug, squeezing the breath out of her. She counted to three before peeling him away. He gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged. The threat coiled in her throat failed to spring.

∞

The next morning, she had a thundering headache. Everything ached. Her dorm mother brought the nurse in and hovered around during the check-up, fussing over her. It was irritating.

“You’re not actually my mother,” she spit out hoarsely, glaring.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” Ms. Thornhill insisted, scurrying out of the room after the nurse declared her unfit to attend classes. Wednesday groaned and rolled over. Her nightmares were all vivid, the bodies of her friends strewn over the lawn of the pentagon or the hallways of Nevermore. She woke up shivering, a steaming cup of something on her desk. It smelled similar to things her mother brewed for Abuela’s aches, enough that she abandoned caution and decided to trust it. She drank it down in three calculated gulps, surprised when she started to feel better instantly.

This was an opportunity to do some investigation.

Her mother was a talented apothecarist. Aside from the teas she made for Abuela, she also brewed droughts for her father and made poultices for hers and Pugsley’s injuries. But she was not a witch, not like Abuela. They had to have conspired together. Abuela often lectured her about the importance of reflecting on regrets to avoid repeating them. It was not a form of psychological torture she enjoyed; the advice went unheeded every time. Wednesday seethed. It was almost too literal. If she hadn’t been misdirected, she should have figured it out much sooner.

She didn’t disagree with Enid’s assessment that being sprung backward in time was a ‘blessing in disguise’ as the werewolf put it, but since it had occurred more than once, she had no way of knowing if the spellwork was faulty – highly unlikely, but still probable – or if her Abuela intended for her to continue suffering until the end of the school year or whenever it broke her. Uncle Fester had taught her to withstand all manner of torture. She should be able to take this.

What she would not admit to anyone was that it was breaking her. Cracks were forming in her physical well-being, if that morning was any indication, and she was actually afraid of living through any day that would show her Enid’s empty face over and over again, though she assumed that would never happen since she had caved and acknowledged that the other girl was her friend. Today, she would figure out how the curse worked, dispel it if she could.

The Nevermore library had an extensive collection of occult materials, but she would have to start her search elsewhere; she had the feeling that the knowledge she needed was hidden.

She waited until a passing period, noting with intrigue that the south lawn had been vandalized. Enid had sussed out that the blood rain incident had been revenge for Wednesday running the stature dedication on Outreach Day, but the warning burned into the grass seemed out of character for Lucas Walker and his friends. She would have to investigate it later.

Wednesday moved with the flow, the throng of students allowing her to blend in and escape notice. She easily slotted herself into the space behind Poe’s statue and waited until the hall was empty again to activate the secret passage with a double snap of her fingers.

She spent the rest of the afternoon researching, sending Thing out to find Enid to explain her absence just before dinner.

She returned to their room in time to be sitting up in bed as though she had been there all day. Ms. Thornhill brought her another cup of the same tea and a tray of soup. When she was gone, Wednesday threw her blankets aside and pulled one of the few books she’d found on spellcraft to her chest, drawing her knees up and opening it to the section on time.

Enid tried her best to help even though she was not fluent in runes, but they found nothing helpful.

“It’s the worst-case scenario,” Wednesday lamented near midnight. “My Abuela crafted this spell herself. I would need her grimoire to know anything about it.” Ms. Thornhill had seen for herself how effective her tea had been; there would be no conning her way into being sent home. She scowled at the clock. She had the disturbing feeling that the curse would be upon her in the morning.

The next three days passed without incident, though Wednesday grew increasingly more and more paranoid. Xavier seemed to realize that something was going on because he wisely and generously chose not to bring up what had happened at the dance, though it was clear he was itching to ask her where they stood. She was fairly certain he knew that his feelings were somewhat reciprocated; her anxiety about the upcoming weekend made her want to insert herself into his space whenever possible, seeking the ease and comfort she was reluctant to admit in words that his presence gave her. On Tuesday when she scooted her chair a full three inches closer to him in history, he’d smirked and whispered that his lap was just as available. She’d scowled at him and he’d blushed.

His patience and consideration bore into her as if he was using a hand drill on her.

During dinner that Wednesday, the conversation all around the dining hall was about Parents’ Weekend. Enid excitedly shared that she was going to introduce Ajax to her parents.

“My dad seems totally cool about it, but my mom is going to be such a headache,” she confided on their way back to their room. “She’s already going to be disappointed when she finds out from my Lycan counselor that I still haven’t wolfed out.”

Rising on her shoulder, Thing roughly jabbed the side of her neck.

“Even if you never do, you have Ajax,” Wednesday said, attempting a comforting tone. “And me. Thing, as well. You will not die alone, Enid.”

For the second time in less than a week, she had to endure another hug. Enid whimpered petulantly when it was not returned, but the smile did not fade from her face for the rest of the evening. It made her skin crawl in a way that was not completely unpleasant.

Friday dawned again without the song and she started to suspect that it really was over. Perhaps she was meant to eliminate Xavier as her prime suspect? did that mean the true monster had already revealed itself? Unfortunately, there was no time to pour over her notes now. Morning classes were canceled in lieu of preparations for the distinguished alumni parents’ welcome. Students had been encouraged to set up projects and display their best work in classrooms. Clubs were putting presentations together as well. The glee club would be performing before lunch.

The Addams’ arrival was treated very seriously. Prior to her enrollment, they had been involved as alumni, frequently writing huge checks to the betterment of the school, but this was the first year they were visiting as parents. Wednesday had been harangued all week by several different teachers and staff about what should be done to make them feel welcome. What sort of hors d'oeuvrs should be served? Would they like a tour of the prominently funded areas of campus they’d contributed to? Would it be gauche to present them with Nevermore alumni T-shirts?

Wednesday was on edge. Living through one day with her parents here would be unbearable enough. If the curse triggered, she would have to do it over and over. With so many outcasts gathering for the weekend, there was also potential for chaos.

“The monster hasn’t attacked anyone in the past week. Maybe you finally scared it off?” Enid suggested, picking up on her anxiety.

“Or maybe it went into hiding to avoid this weekend. I knew I should have worn my plague mask,” Wednesday muttered.

Across the courtyard, a few staff were fawning over her parents. Pugsley had come, too. Seeing him almost made her feel like herself again, though she was rankled by the sudden urge to hug him. Her first thought should have been to show him the torture chamber she found behind a Nightshades hidden door. Eugene and Enid would have to answer for influencing her in such a way later.

“Would you look at my family?” Enid scoffed, clearly not having the same feelings for her brothers, more feral and wolf-like than normal as they howled at each other. “Talk about toxic pack mentality. I give my mom 30 seconds before her judge-y claws come out.” She sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

The roommates parted ways with a nod of affirmation.

“There she is. Oh, how we missed those accusing eyes and youthful sneer. How are you, my little rain cloud?” Gomez simpered.

“I thought Thing was filling you in on my every move. I uncovered your feeble subterfuge almost immediately,” she retorted, triumphant. She didn’t suspect her father being part of casting the ridiculous Sciuridae spell, but she would relish his expression when she revealed she knew about the family’s scheme to get her to conform to their mold for her.

“So, how’s the little fella doing? Does he still have all his fingers?”

“Relax. I haven’t snapped any of his digits.” She smirked. Despite everything, she did esteem her father and it was good to see him, to be the rotten apple of his eye. “Yet.”

“Tell us everything,” her mother encouraged, draping herself over her husband.

“Since you’ve abandoned me here, I’ve been hunted, and haunted.” It was a blatant admission that she foresaw a future there.

Her parents exchanged passionate kisses, delighted.

Wednesday flinched at the public display. She’d purposely left out seduced. Her eyes flicked to find Xavier, approaching Bianca on the secondary level balcony overlooking the reuniting families. A jealous twinge inched up her spine, but she ignored it. Sharing one dance with him at the Rave’N didn’t mean she had a claim to him, and she knew Enid would infect her side of the room with a shower of rainbow glitter if she made another unfounded accusation against him.

As little as she cared for gossip, she hadn’t heard anything about Nevermore’s most famous alum attending the parents’ weekend. It was likely that Bianca’s parents were also absent. They could be commiserating, not canoodling. Wednesday felt her heart fluttering and was immediately angry with herself for thinking so deeply about it.

She offered herself the weak excuse that his distance was a problem because she still hadn’t decided whether or not she wanted to introduce him to her parents; their reaction would prove their involvement in her curse, one way or another. She almost wanted to go through with it just to see the look on her mother’s face, the self-satisfied smug look she wore on the rare occasion she knew something Wednesday didn’t.

“Come, my dear, your principal wishes to discuss your progress with us,” her mother gently steered her out of the open courtyard. Her father led the way ahead of them, pointing out pictures and plaques in the hallway to them. They were admitted into the principal’s office without having to wait, and Weems herself greeted them graciously. Wednesday felt her lip curling. The woman was all politics.

She probably wanted something.

Morticia greeted her with her usual oozing charm and then exclaimed in delight at what was set out on the desk for them all to see. “Our old yearbook! I haven’t laid eyes on this in over 20 years.” She immediately began to leaf through the glossy pages. “Such good times we had, didn’t we, Larissa?”

“Some of us better than others,” Weems agreed as congenially as possible, her thin smile holding back more venomous words. Interesting.

Oh, don’t be so modest. You always filled a room with your presence.” She looked over at her old roommate with a smile Wednesday knew too well. Morticia Addams was too classy to rub her perfection in the face of others, but her Frump blood was shameless. “Like a stately sequoia tree.”

“And I guess that would make you the lumberjack.”

Morticia’s husky, smoky laugh settled over the room like fog. “There’s that biting sense of humor that I always adored. Do you remember when we did that duet for the Solstice Talent Show? Your Judy Garland impression was a dead ringer.” She continued to leaf through the pages, pausing to frown thoughtfully or stroke a page as if it were a pet. “May I borrow this for the weekend? That way Gomez and I can take a little walk down memory lane.”

“Of course,” Weems agreed. “Let’s get down to the matter at hand, shall we? Hmm? Unfortunately, Wednesday’s assimilation has been rocky at best.”

“Because I refuse to embrace the culture of dishonesty and denial permeating this school,” Wednesday interrupted.

“Her teachers report that she is remarkably intelligent, though she takes little joy in participating in class beyond belittling her peers and seeking to amend the curriculum,” Weems continued, ignoring the interruption.

“We’ve always encouraged Wednesday to speak her mind,” Gomez excused. “Sometimes her sharp tongue can cut deep.” Wednesday preened at the praise. In the periods between attending public schools, her father was her tutor and put a heavy emphasis on questioning authority and taking agency of her education.

At a loss, Principal Weems chose a different course of attack. “Apparently, her therapist feels she hasn’t been very open to the process. Their time together has not yielded the results we’d hoped.”

“I’m not a lab rat.”

Dr. Kinbott and I have spoken, and we both agree it would be most beneficial for you all to attend a family session this weekend.”

“No,” Wednesday objected immediately and firmly.

“I thought that might be your reaction, but your parents can see the wisdom in it.”

Her mother was struck speechless for once, her expression turning emotionless. “Not to side with Wednesday, but, um, we’re only here for the weekend.” She felt a rare rush of affection for her mother. She even dared suspect that she might not have as heavy a hand in the curse as she’d originally thought.

“What can it hurt? To be honest, I’ve always been a big fan of head-shrinking,” Gomez perked up in his seat.

“It’s not that kind of head-shrinking, mon chéri,” her mother murmured.

“Well, that is disappointing. But anything for our little girl.”

Morticia hung her head, a rare display of chaste submission. Wednesday felt like throwing up.

“Perfect. As it happens, Dr. Kinbott has an open timeslot now. I’ll call ahead and let her know to expect you.” Weems’s eyes fixed on hers, relishing her rare victory over her most difficult charge.

∞

Dr. Kinbott had the grace to seem uncomfortably intimidated at being faced by a cold front of Addamses.

“So, who wants to start? Maybe we can discuss what it’s like having Wednesday away from home?” she prompted.

“I mean, for me…” Pugsley spoke up after a prolonged silence. Wednesday’s attention darted to him. She didn’t want to hear that he’d been bullied again. “…it’s been hard not having Wednesday around. I never thought I’d miss being waterboarded so much.”

Wednesday relaxed, pleased. She would make it up to him when the semester was over, for sure. Dr. Kinbott gaped. Another long silence ensued.

“Morticia, Gomez. How have you been coping?”

“It’s been torture for us, too. Fortunately, my brother Fester’s rack fits two people.”

“Nothing like a good stretch to bring out the best in each other,” Morticia agreed flirtatiously, leaning over to caress her husband’s moustache.

“Querida mía,” Gomez kissed her hand. Sitting on either side of her, they forgot she was there and launched into a passionate display. A growl rose in her throat and she pushed them apart, rising from her seat to confront them.

“Enough! I think it’s high time my parents faced the music. It seems they’ve been lying to me. Keeping secrets.”

“Secrets?” Morticia echoed.

“For starters, why didn’t you send me to Nevermore before? If you’re so proud of your alma mater, why didn’t you prepare me to attend from a younger age? Why was I made to endure countless abysmal public institutions?”

Her parents exchanged a look. “Mija – “ he started, gently, but her mother interrupted.

“Wednesday, are you admitting that Nevermore is actually worthy of your intellect?” she seemed excited. As if she’d planned for it.

Wednesday bristled. Never. “Did you keep me from it because you thought I was too mundane to be accepted there?” She suspected that Weems had filled them in on her visions. It was a relief not to have to say it out loud but also infuriating that it had been discussed behind her back.

“Since you were young you resisted everything presented to you. We didn’t want you to reject it on principle. You must know now that other than home schooling and earning your GED, it’s your last option for a formal education,” her father said, speaking with more authority than he normally did toward her. “Despite your aversion to interacting with or even acknowledging anyone your age, you’re easily bored studying on your own. There is only so much I can do to facilitate your academic career.”

Wednesday felt her hands curling into fists. Logically, it made sense. Father did not pursue higher education beyond what he needed to know to manage the Addams estate, and he’d been trained at that from a young age, as had she. “So you waited until I had no other option to trap me here so that you could mold me into clones of yourselves. Of mother, especially.”

“Deepest Woe, we love you just as you are,” Morticia insisted. It had the same tenderness in it that Xavier’s voice had when he promised that he just wanted to be with her.

“I’ve had enough family therapy for today,” Wednesday said, turning her back on them, overcome by a fit of emotion she had to work hard to push beneath the surface. She heard Dr. Kinbott sigh.

“It seems like that would be best. A lot was said that you should take individual time to unpack.”

∞

The Addamses were silent as they emerged onto the street. Wednesday’s mind was a mess of threads she needed to find pins and places for. A strange ache she hadn’t felt since she was very young was rising in her. I want my mother, she thought. Morticia was standing not five feet away, but she had never felt so far from her.

“I need a coffee,” she announced.

Her parents immediately recognized that it wasn’t an open invitation.

“Of course. Should we send Lurch back for you?” her mother asked.

“No need. I can take the bus back.”

“You’ve grown so independent,” her father praised. “We’re very proud of you.” They hastened back into the stretch hearse before she could murder them with her glare.

When they were out of sight to cross the street, she headed for the Weathervane, determined. Some of the questions she had would have to be answered by analyzing her parents’ past here.

She cornered Tyler when he had a bus tray full of dirty coffee cups and a sack of plates with crumbs from cheese Danish spilling onto the floor and sticking to his apron where he pressed it to himself to keep from letting it all fall to the floor.

“I need my father’s old file from when he was in school. Your dad should have it in his office somewhere or even at your house; he seems obsessive enough.”

“What are you, a mind reader?” he pulled out a beat-up file from under the cash register drawer. “Good to see you too, by the way.” Wednesday reached for it and he snatched it back. “You ditched me at the dance, and I get the feeling your invite wasn’t genuine. You owe me, Wednesday.”

His tone and the way his eyes darted into her would have been at least mildly attractive, but she knew better and they didn’t have even the basis for that rapport. She hated owing anyone anything, especially if it was made so verbally explicit. She didn’t have time to argue, anyway. Her mother had just passed outside and was already crossing the street in her round, sashaying gait. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to see where she was headed.

“You can cash it in later,” she allowed, fully intending to take it back. She cuffed the side of his head and snatched the file.

∞

Her mother was headed toward Jericho’s graveyard.

The car was nowhere in sight; Wednesday could only take that to mean that her father and brother were headed back to Nevermore and Lurch would be back shortly. It was odd of her mother to stroll among headstones without her father. She’d unfortunately found a few journal entries in the Nightshades records that all but confirmed that she herself had been conceived in this very graveyard on freshly turned earth during a class reunion or some Nightshades alumni gathering.

Morticia approached a lonely gravestone, a long-stemmed rose in hand. Wednesday could not see her face, but she heard her mother’s scoff of contempt. Red petals dripped from her hands like blood, and the tossed the bare stem onto the ground before walking away, her long curtain of hair hiding her face. Wednesday waited until she was out of sight and approached, the soft red petals crushed under her feet as they blew away.

Garett Gates.

She flipped the file open. That name was familiar. It had been over a week since she had the file in her hands. She’d only had the briefest glance at it, but she was sure that name had come up. She ran her finger down each line, skimming frantically until she found it.

∞

Wednesday returned to campus just after the Pitch Slaps ended their final encore and luncheon was being served. She found her family conversing easily with some of the Vampire families. Pugsley was looking around with interest at everything and everyone. As far as she knew, her brother possessed no anomalies of his own, and he was much more tender-hearted than she was. She wondered if her parents had given any thought to letting him attend. How would he fit in here?

She did not relish having to protect him again, but she would.

“You’re not hungry, darling?” Morticia prompted.

“My appetite eludes me, Mother. The same way the truth eludes you,” she murmured darkly.

This was not the time or place to confront them about the evidence she’d found. It was strange of them to keep something like this from her. She was a vault for her family’s history and exploits. Despite her resistance to following in her parents’ footsteps, she was proud to be an Addams. She would never reveal secrets, even under the strictest torture. She even fantasized about such a scenario and the chance to prove her worth.

Her thoughts were wrenched away from her as the entire populace of the lawn was interrupted by Sheriff Galpin storming in, his face set.

“Can I ask what this is about, Sheriff?”

“Gomez Addams,” the sheriff addressed her father. More than confident, he looked smug. Wednesday hated it at once. Her stomach was heaving as though she would vomit the entire lining out.

“How can I help you, Sheriff?”

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Garrett Gates. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Wednesday’s vision was going red. Her hands were clutching at empty space but she felt like her spine was going to snap back.

“Dad?” Pugsley’s thin voice nearly broke her.

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you.”

The pentagon filled with gasps as Mrs. Addams swooned into a dead faint, collapsing on the ground. Ms. Thornhill rushed over and frantically tried to revive her as the entourage of law enforcement made their egress, Gomez tightly handcuffed in their midst.

∞

Early the next morning, Wednesday was finally allowed to go visit her father. Morticia looked like death thrice over. Her parents rarely spent time apart. It was revolting.

“No, my little scorpion,” her mother mused when Wednesday sneered about sick codependence. “I’m just worried for your father. Having you far from home has made him realize that you are growing up. Soon your brother will leave us as well. Being confronted with your own mortality is a very disturbing thing. How I long to be there with him in his anguish.”

Wednesday took Thing in with her, taking a seat behind the glass. She was familiar with Uncle Fester in this routine; the last time she’d done it with her father she’d been seven years old.

“My little tormenta, how’s your mother?” Gomez asked the second they both had a corded phone to their ears.

“Devastated. She hates you in orange,” Wednesday deadpanned. And since the subject was on her mother, “I caught her laying a rose on a grave earlier today. The headstone read ‘Garrett Gates’, the very boy you’ve been arrested for murdering.” Her father looked visibly uncomfortable, all of his poker tells surfacing. “I know better than to ask for details,” she added. “We have no expectation of privacy here, but I will be investigating.”

He put his hand up to the glass and Thing eagerly sprung up to it. “Mija. You are exactly what our family needs and such a comfort to your mother and me. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father.”

“Could we please do without the overt display of emotion?” she warned. “How many fathers hand their daughter a fencing blade when she’s five?”

“Your saber strokes were an essay in perfection,” he agreed.

“Or teach her how to swim with sharks?” she said, the memory bubbling up, fond and warm.

“They found you as cold-blooded as I do,” he grinned.

“You said that you were proud of me for being independent. You taught me how to be. Were it not for you, I wouldn’t know how to navigate myself in a world full of treachery and prejudice.” She hesitated, knowing the conversation was being recorded. “You are the reason I understand how imperative it is that I never lose sight of myself, though I have to admit that since coming here, I’ve been… questioning.” Her free hand tightened in her lap. She was making friends for the first time and valuing those friendships. Facilitated by the curse, she was reflecting on herself and learning to admit that her tightly knit world did not rely on her to spur its narrative forward. And Xavier. It was all jarring.

“Don’t fear change, Wednesday,” he warned her. They sat in silence for a moment long enough that she considered closing the conversation. There was so much to do. “Your principal told us you’ve had a… development.”

She tensed, unsure of what to say. Had Weems not revealed her visions?

“I need to speak to mother about it,” she said finally.

Her father tapped the glass affectionately. “I’m very proud of you, little viper.”

∞

After signing out in the guest log, she found her way to Sheriff Galpin’s office. It was laughably easy. If the Sheriff had more enemies than her, his days were numbered.

The second he walked in, she wasted no time. “We need to talk.”

He jumped, startled. “How the hell did you get in? Bernice? Bernice!”

She rolled her eyes. “Bernice may or may not have received a call that her tabby cat Swifty is being held for ransom.” He heaved an exasperated sigh and sunk into his chair, waving her on to encourage her to speak. “My father did not kill Garrett Gates.”

“I have his signed confession,” he countered.

“But you don’t have the murder weapon. My father has a team of excellent lawyers. If he is not found innocent, the judge will throw the whole case out. It’s shoddy and you know it.” She leaned over the desk, staring him down. “More importantly, don’t you find the timing convenient?” she pressed. “The coroner kills himself out of remorse for a decades-old murder case the very weekend my father, your prime suspect, deigns to return to town.”

“Unfortunately, someone sabotaged the security camera in the morgue, so we don’t know what really happened,” he sat up and matched her. “They stuck bubblegum on the lens. Black bubblegum. Maybe I should run DNA on that?”

Wednesday shut her mouth tighter than a steel trap. She deeply regretted having lost DNA evidence of the monster from the cave. With Xavier eliminated as a suspect, she had nothing else to compare it to, anyway.

“All I see is a guilty man who’s finally going to pay for his crime. And cuffing him myself, oh, that was the icing on the cake.” He leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “Garrett Gates’s family deserves closure, even if none of them are around to take comfort in it.”

“What happened to them?”

Surprisingly, he indulged her curiosity and answered. “His mother hung herself in the backyard. His father drank himself to an early grave. Even his little sister didn’t escape. She was orphaned, sent overseas, and ended up drowning.” He regarded her seriously. “Every last one of them’s gone. Your father doesn’t just have Garrett’s blood on his hands, he’s got the whole damn family’s.”

∞

Morticia had sobered somewhat when Wednesday returned to campus. Weems had generously allowed the use of a conference room usually reserved for board members. the austere furniture and the dark curtains were enough to make both Addams women feel at home. Morticia lounged on a deep red chaise tucked into the window.

“I have called the lawyer and made arrangements.”

“Where is Pugsley?”

“With Lurch, changing a tire on the car.”

Wednesday pulled one of the chairs from the long conference table.

“Principal Weems told you something about me. I would like to know precisely what she disclosed.”

Her mother sat up and elegantly swept her hair back behind her shoulders. “Larissa said that you were experiencing a mild psychosis. I have some inference about what she meant, but we don’t need to talk about it.”

Wednesday bunched the fabric of her skirt in her lap.

“I’ve been having visions,” she said tightly. “They are horrific and consuming.”

“I’m so excited for you,” her mother hummed. “When did they begin?”

Wednesday glared. “Before I came to Nevermore.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could tell me. I know we’ve had our difficulties lately. Navigating the treacherous shoals of our mother-daughter relationship. But I’m always here for you, Wednesday.”

The strange aching that flared up outside of Dr. Kinbott’s office abated.

She suddenly felt very open and raw. “Sometimes when I touch someone or something, I get these very violent glimpses from the past or future. I don’t know how to control it.”

“Our psychic ability resides on the spectrum of who we are,” her mother explained, rising to pace the room. “Given my disposition, my visions tend to be positive. That makes me a Dove.”

“And for someone like me? Who sees the world through a darker lens?”

“You’re a Raven. Your visions are more potent, more powerful. But without the proper training, they can lead to madness.”

A thrill rolled through her like thunder, shaking to her core.

“I think my visions can help see father released,” she said. “You were there that night, when Garret was killed. Do you know where the murder weapon is? If it exists?”

Morticia turned her back to her, staring at the tapestry hung behind the head of the conference table. “Yes.” The tapestry was richly embroidered with illustrations of every kind of outcast, woven into a circle around a raging fire. She reached up to stroke the threads. “I have to set up an appointment in town with the mayor. Find your brother and see if you can convince him to return home this evening. Afterward, I’ll take you somewhere where there will be no more secrets.”

∞

Lurch would have to drive back to the estate for father’s legal documentation as well as fresh clothes in case his stay at the prison was extended. Pugsley should have returned home as well, but no one had faith in Abuela being able to look after him, and he was insistent on staying until things had been resolved, despite Wednesday’s best threats and even bribery. He trailed behind her in the hallway, trying to retreat far enough into her blind spot that she wouldn’t dismiss him.

Xavier.

Seeing him there, exactly when she needed him, made her breathless. It was humiliating, the way this crush had crawled in and infected her very bone marrow. Even Pugsley noticed. He opened his mouth to ask, but she hissed a threat. “Wait here for me,” she added once he was sufficiently cowed. Subtly flicking her fringe into place and feeling ridiculous for caring, she crossed the hallway.

“Wednesday.”

“I need your help with something.”

“Sure, anything.” The ease with which he said it punched the air out of her lungs. He looked just as embarrassed at being caught so willing. The horror. She’d already kissed him half a dozen times or more, even if he wasn’t aware of it. It was agonizing enough to remember and hold herself back here and now.

“My mother and I have work to do to get my father out of jail. Can Pugsley stay with you this afternoon? We can discuss recompense later,” she said smoothly, attempting to keep her tone businesslike.

“As if I’d pass up the opportunity to get in your brother’s good graces,” he teased.

“He’s a fan of your father’s,” she reminded him. “I don’t think it’ll take much to get him on your side. Besides, it’s my uncle you’d want to gain favor with.”

“He’s not around?”

“No.” She felt herself smirking, wondering what Fester would make of Xavier. Her uncle knew her best, though Enid was quickly gaining traction. He would like Xavier, she knew it. The thought made her face warm and set her heart stuttering.

If Xavier noticed, he didn’t say anything, but his own expression reminded her of how completely hypnotized he’d been, wishing the blood rain was real when he kissed her. She was so caught up in the memory that she didn’t feel Pugsley come up behind her and poke her in the ribs. She punched him hard in the gut on reflex and he doubled over.

“This is Xavier. He’s going to show you around and make sure you get dinner while I help mother with some of father’s legal documentation.”

Her brother wheezed, but nodded, grinning widely. He had blackmail on his mind, Wednesday was sure of it. She would have to deal with it later.

She spied her mother emerging from the main offices and bolted toward the Poe statue, savoring the look on her face when she happened upon her and the statue was already rolling aside to open the passage for them.

“So you’re a Nightshade,” Morticia whispered as they stepped down the winding staircase together. “That didn’t take long.”

“Actually, I rejected them.”

“Why? Because I was a member?”

“I’ll never live up to your legacy here,” she snapped. “I win the Poe Cup; you claimed it four times. I join the fencing team, you captained it. I still want answers to that question, why you didn’t send me here sooner, though I feel a thin grain of gratitude that perhaps you wanted to spare me from somewhere I could only ever exist in your shadow.”

“It’s not a competition, Wednesday.”

“Everything is a competition, Mother.”

“This may be difficult to digest, but parents always want for their children to live a better life than they did. If it is a competition, I would be your teammate, Wednesday. I would do anything so that you would win.”

Wednesday thought back to the Poe cup and the loops where she launched herself at almost everyone else to sabotage the race in Xavier’s favor so that he would be victorious, thinking it would allow him to live.

“I rejected them because they’re a trivial social club,” she huffed, feeling childish.

“We used to be so much more. Our mission was to protect outcasts from harm and bigotry. In fact, the group was started by an ancestor of your father’s from Mexico. One of the first settlers in America,” Morticia smiled, leading her to a shadowy alcove Wednesday had overlooked before.

“Delores,” Wednesday intoned. At her mother’s questioning stare, she shrugged. “My roommate used the internet to track and trace our family line.”

“How inventive of her.”

That she chose not to comment on Wednesday accepting help with such a thing made it easy to follow her into the newly revealed passage. The low ceilings were hung with cobwebs. As they pushed their way through, Wednesday could see that it was an armory of some sort.

“When the Nightshades were active, this tunnel led them to the outer walls of the school so that they could mount an immediate defense.”

They passed racks of weapons. The narrow hallway cut off and branched out at several points. Maps rolled and piled in several corners. Finally, they stopped in front of a saber mounted on a stand. The blade was clearly rusted, a thin grain of crusted brown along the sharpest part. Even without touching it Wednesday could feel the dark energy radiating from it.

She held her breath and let her hand alight on the pommel.

It was excruciating, but she pushed herself through it and opened her eyes to watch as the vision rolled over her, steamrolling. She was being crushed beneath it. She looked down at her hands, covered in blood. She felt vindictive and powerful. Her father was there, younger, stricken by awe and love. Wednesday came out of it when she recognized the feeling in her breast, the stirrings of it.

“You killed him,” she said.

She was on the ground, sprawled against the wall with a mess of arrows free of their quiver under her legs. Morticia was leaning over her, smoothing her hair out of her face. “Yes,” she confessed. “Garrett was infatuated with me. He mistook my kindness for interest. His infatuation turned into obsession, and he started stalking me.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“I tried,” Mortica lamented. “But his family were the oldest and richest in Jericho. The Frumps had a solid reputation at Nevermore, but our coffers were suffering at the time. No one believed me.”

“Did father know?”

“I would have loved to see him writhing with jealousy,” she admitted, “but his family was fabulously wealthy even then and many girls had been open about pursuing him for it. I didn’t want him to think that of me. I’d loved him passionately since we first met at a funeral the summer after our freshman year. He never noticed me before then.” She continued to soothe Wednesday’s forehead. “What did you see, little raven?”

∞

The Addams women cut a striking picture as they marched into Mayor Walker’s office.

“Thank you for seeing us at such short notice, Mayor,” Mrs. Addams murmured, her charm palpable.

“Yes, well, veiled threats have that effect,” he retorted. Wednesday nodded at her mother, impressed.

“I think you know why we’re here,” she said. “The charges against my father are unfounded. The confession was coerced. It will look very bad for you if you allow Sheriff Galpin to continue with his vendetta.”

“My husband’s lawyers will make things very difficult for you, and you can be assured that any funds that benefit Jericho through our donations to Nevermore will be cut,” Morticia added.

The mayor shifted uneasily in his seat, drumming his fingernails along the top of his desk. “Ansel Gates hated outcasts and Nevermore. He claimed the land the school was built on was stolen from his family over 200 years ago.”

“Garrett went there the night of the Rave’N to spike the punch and kill all the kids at that dance,” Wednesday interrupted. “Ansel confessed the whole thing to you in a drunken stupor. It was his idea, wasn’t it?”

The mayor didn’t answer.

“You instructed Dr. Anwar to falsify the autopsy report because you knew the truth,” Wednesday sneered.

“Listen, my job was to keep the peace. If there had been a trial, Jericho’s and Nevermore’s reputations would have been trashed.”

“I think the only reputation you were worried about ruining was your own,” Morticia corrected. “I remember Garrett bragging to me that his father had the sheriff in his pocket. One year later, you get elected mayor. No doubt with the full support of Ansel Gates.”

“I resent your implication,” the mayor cried heatedly, stung.

“Implication? I spelled it out for you and you took the bait.”

Wednesday held up the recording device that she’d been keeping behind her back. “My father will be released immediately with a full and unequivocal apology from the sheriff’s office. Or else we will use our influence to make sure the truth about you comes to light.”

∞

While her parents reunited, Wednesday went in search of Pugsley. The paperwork involved in releasing her father had gone into the night and through the next afternoon. When her mother assumed that he’d been sent home, she’d scolded herself fiercely for forgetting, though if he’d had to bunk with Xavier, he was most likely safe.

With the drama of her family out of the way, she was free to agonize over what they’d talked about all night, what they’d gotten up to. It was so unlike her to trust anyone and Pugsley had witnessed firsthand the fates of the few boys who’d teased her at their old schools. Her brother probably didn’t understand that she had a crush on the boy she’d entrusted him to, but Xavier could have said anything.

As the school staff scurried about setting up lunch ahead of welcoming more parents and putting on presentations, Wednesday thought to search the art shed.

The smell of smoke made her feet spur ahead out from under her. The boys emerged from the clearing near the shed, laughing. Xavier’s shirt was singed, a wide strip of his abdomen showing. Wednesday forced herself to look away from it at her brother. He was dressed rather clumsily in a spare Nevermore uniform and his hair was a mess. The smell of burnt hair assaulted his nostrils and she grabbed him, examining and finding just a patch of his tresses practically melted off.

“Explain,” she hissed.

“We… may have committed arson,” Xavier said, completely serious.

“May?” she asked, relaxing at once. Unchecked, her eyes roamed down the length of his torso. “I’m disappointed.”

Pugsley grinned at her and she realized that she was flirting. In front of him. The blackmail was going to be brutal.

“Show her,” Xavier encouraged.

Pugsley held out his hands in a gesture that reminded her of Uncle Fester. It took a moment, but slowly, pale blue flames rippled over his skin, licking at his fingertips.

∞

Having already made an exception for her to start mid-semester, it was pointless to argue with Weems on considering Pugsley sooner than the following school year, but she did arrange for the Addamses to meet with an enrollment counselor at once, meaning that Wednesday was free to spend the rest of the Saturday to herself. The weekend would culminate in a Sunday brunch the next morning.

She retreated back to her room with Thing and spent a leisurely afternoon writing and occasionally flipping through the old yearbook her mother had borrowed, noting with interest that there was a page missing where the maiden Frump’s picture should have been. She wasn’t as desperate for gossip as Enid was, but something about a sour history between her young mother and her roommate was intriguing. Inspired, she set her writing aside and perused the yearbook with interest, looking for any more evidence of the rivalry, but found nothing. Instead, her investigation led her to the solution to an entirely different mystery. Evidence in hand, she marched straight to the principal’s office.

“I knew it. Rowan was murdered that night.”

“Excuse me?”

When Rowan appeared the next morning, it was you.” She held out the yearbook. “When you participated in the talent show, not only did you impersonate Judy Garland, you became her. You’re a shape-shifter.”

“That’s a fascinating theory.”

“I’m curious to find out how Sheriff Galpin will feel when I tell him.”

“You won’t tell a soul, Miss Addams, and it wouldn’t matter much if you did. Rowan’s father already knows what happened, and he fully supports my decision not to involve the authorities.”

“Why would he agree to that?”

“Because Rowan was not in his right mind. His telekinetic abilities were driving him mad and he attempted to murder you. His tragic death allowed us to rectify the situation without casting the school or Rowan in an unflattering light.”

Wednesday stepped back, stunned. “You and Mayor Walker are the same, aren’t you? Burying bodies to cover your dirty secrets.”

“I did what I needed to do to shield this school from controversy and protect its students from harm.”

Wednesday fled the office, not wanting to hear another word.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Wednesday very nearly marched straight out to the balcony to throw herself over it. Of all days.

“This has got to be the worst birthday present,” Enid sympathized, cutting the song short with a flick across the screen of her phone. “Wait. Does this mean you know what’s happening today?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Wednesday snapped. “I won’t know until I’ve actually gone through it once.” When Enid looked relieved, Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “What exactly do you mean? What are you planning?”

“My lips are sealed!” Enid vowed. She mimed zipping and locking, pitching the imaginary key over her shoulder.

Once they were both dressed for class, Thing indicated for her to look under the bed, revealing the gift her parents had left for her.

The rest of the day was thankfully overshadowed by Nevermore’s way of celebrating Halloween. The pentagon had been decorated overnight: black and orange streamers, haystacks and large paper mâché bats and spiders everywhere. The witches of the school set out bubbling cauldrons for breakfast that became your favorite drink when you dipped your mug in. The ghosts and poltergeists that normally confined themselves to their fixed spaces roamed the campus for the day. It gave Wednesday an idea of how she could take advantage of the day resetting over and over.

After dinner – a feast and monster bash following in the pentagon with a costume contest and more candy than Wednesday had ever seen in her life – she snuck away from Enid and set up what she needed in their room. Starting tonight and stretching into All Soul’s Day, the veil between the living and the dead was thinner. Delores had a deep connection to the school. If summoned, would she answer?

Wednesday set the circle of candles wide, lighting them with all the incantations her Abuela had taught her. She set out offerings and set the incense smoldering, then spelled her ancestor’s name out over her Ouija cloth in a paste made with her own blood.

The blood was key. Touching the sword in the bowels of the Nightshades armory set her mind to work. She had a theory only Delores could confirm.

She held her necklace over the cloth after stroking the circle of obsidian a few times, centering her focus. She hadn’t done this in a long time, and never without Abuela nearby.

Almost three hours passed, fruitless and leg-numbing. The door swung open and the candles extinguished, the wicks worn down. Wednesday looked, iron knife at the ready, but it was only Enid. She huffed in annoyance.

“Sorry,” her friend winced. "I didn’t mean to interrupt your… Uh, do I even want to know?”

“I was reaching into the black maw of death to contact Delores,” she explained, slowly stretching out of her seated position.

“Feels very on-brand for you.”

“She seems to be ignoring my entreaties,” Wednesday sighed.

“Oh, have you thought about using one of my scented candles?” Enid suggested. “The aroma of steak tartare is to die for.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. She was too exhausted and irritated that the last few hours were wasted to retort. A sound at the door alerted both of their attention, a quick shifting sound that rustled over the floorboards. Wednesday picked up the note paper.

“Maybe Delores answered you after all?”

“I doubt she communicates in magazine cutouts,” Wednesday muttered scathingly. If you want answers, meet inside Crackstone’s crypt. Mightnight.

She would have just enough time to get there.

∞

Behind her, Enid whimpered and her claws came out.

“You insisted on coming along,” Wednesday reminded her. “I was fine on my own.” Their flashlights caught the open crack in the door. “Seems like our wannabe Deep Throat is already here.”

“Ew. What died?” Enid whined.

“Smells like childhood,” Wednesday sighed. “Come on.”

“Second thoughts. Why don’t I just stay out here? You know, as a lookout?”

Wednesday didn’t pause to argue, pushing into the crypt. It was dead silent. As she approached the massive altar and the sarcophagus mounted on it, she heard shuffling in the shadows.

“Enid?” she called out. “Whoever you are, show yourself. Try anything and you’ll lose limbs.”

She was prepared for anything except what happened. The worst thing.

From behind the enemy of her ancestor’s final resting place emerged a whole group of people, surprising her. Singing. Xavier was there, as were Yoko, Ajax and Eugene. Enid’s face was lit by the sparkling candles on a cake. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Thing, conducting along to the music with one finger, a ridiculous pointed hat perched on his stump.

“I should have known you were behind this,” she accused. “What part of ‘no party under the penalty of death’ do you not understand?”

“I thought my cake design was pretty inspired,” Xavier bragged, nodding at the modeling chocolate grim reaper on top.

“The pink balloon was my little touch!” Enid squealed, holding it up. “Why don’t you make a wish?”

She hesitated. She was impressed but not entirely surprised that Thing and Enid managed to put this together behind her back. Parents’ weekend had been chaotic, along with everything else she’d been going through. Enid was her friend. So was Eugene. As a child, her parents often rounded up neighborhood children or the offshoots of their friends to celebrate with her. None of them had been her real friends. She had enjoyed her birthdays.

She looked around at the faces of the others who agreed to come out to a crypt at midnight to sing to her even though they knew she probably wouldn’t like it. It occurred to her that the best way to make it so that the day would roll over would be to make a wish and share the cake.

The light from the candles showed her something else, though.

“It’s in Latin", she breathed, walking over to the wall alcove, where a stone shelf bore a host of dripping candles and the same threat that had been burned into the lawn.

“Fire will rain… when I rise,” she translated out loud.

“That’s not really a wish,” Enid complained in a hushed whisper. In unison, Xavier said “It could be” and Ajax added, “We’re not going to eat that cake, are we?”

Wednesday ignored all of them and reached out, running her fingertips over the letters. Everything fell away, her consciousness being sucked into blackness like a vacuum, instantly.

Crackstone is coming. Crackstone is coming. Crackstone is Crackstone coming…

“Delores.”

In the vision, she was outside at night. Goody Addams was there, pale and haunting. “You’re the Raven in my bloodline.”

“I was told you could teach me how to control my ability,” Wednesday began, fighting to keep herself in. Morticia had warned her that only a nonliving guide would be able to help her hone her gifts. Wednesday had no idea how she was meant to make that work if her ancestor refused to answer her summons.

Delores smiled sadly. “There is no controlling a raging river.”

As she came out of the vision, she gasped, rolling over in the arms of whoever had caught her. Xavier. She bent over on the ground on hands and knees, shaking. Xavier patted her back gently. “You’re real,” he murmured. “This is real.”

She looked over to see that the cake had fallen to the ground, ruined. Enid’s face was hidden in Ajax’s shoulder.

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

The urge to march straight out to the balcony to throw herself over it intensified.

“This has got to be the worst birthday present,” Enid sympathized, cutting the song short with a flick across the screen of her phone. “Wait. Does this mean you know what’s happening today?”

Wednesday sighed. It was pointless to lie, at least outright. “Yes. But I will still act surprised. You went through the trouble of setting it up for me.”

∞

For the second time, Wednesday approached the tomb. “Come on out,” she drawled.

“How did she figure it out?” Ajax’s voice hissed.

“She’s a detective!” Eugene piped up a second before they all emerged.

Wednesday steeled herself and maintained a neutral face through the whole song, snuffling the candle with two pinched fingers before anyone could suggest she make a wish, although the expression on Enid’s face almost made her regret it, not just because a granted wish could have come in handy. She would wish for this curse to stop.

“Did anyone bring a knife, or will we be using mine?” she asked, holding up a six-inch blade.

Everyone but Xavier looked flabbergasted. He set it on the tomb for her to cut into and Eugene produced plates.

The cake was deep, bitter chocolate. Perfect. They all sat on the floor in a circle with their camp lanterns in the middle. It was a quiet party and no one attempted to pull her into a conversation, though Eugene did pass her a gift, a set of silver bee collar pins.

As the conversation circled back around to mundane topics, Wednesday rose to her feet and went back to the stone shelf. It only took a moment for Xavier to join her.

“My Latin is a little rusty,” he confessed. “Does it say the same thing as what’s burned onto the lawn?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him. “I’m going to touch this, and it’s very likely that it will trigger a vision.”

Their conversation had drawn notice because Enid called over, “Xavier, don’t let Wednesday fall and crack her skull open on her birthday, please.”

He grinned at her and held his arms out. “Whenever you’re ready.”

This time, she was dimly aware of being caught and held as the haunting vision pulled her in, hooking behind her throat and yanking her sideways.

She was embarrassed to find herself pressed into his chest when she came back, with everyone gathered around, looking down at them with a mixture of anxiety and amusement. Wednesday pushed away, thankful for the dark room to hide the color on her face.

Yoko’s smile could have been dripping blood when she suggested the birthday girl only need ask if she wanted some privacy.

As they walked back to campus as a group, Wednesday kicked at the ground, frustrated. She hadn’t been able to get much farther. If the day rolled over because of her social success, she would lose the chance to redo the vision.

“If it helps,” Xavier said, slowing his pace to match her, “I use an anchor to pull me out of my visions. You could probably use one to keep you in.”

“An anchor?” she echoed.

“An image that lets you know that you’re in a vision, something you can tie your Sight to,” he explained. “Mine’s a raven.”

Her steps faltered. “Why a raven?”

He shrugged. “Anchors come from your psyche. They are supposedly a representation of what ties your soul to the physical world. I’m not sure. It just is.”

…and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart…

Was she Xavier’s anchor? She groaned and rolled over. That was sentimental and stupid.

“This has got to be the worst birthday present,” Enid sympathized, cutting the song short with a flick across the screen of her phone. “Wait. Does this mean you know what’s happening today?”

“Thing is a gross enabler. I told him I didn’t want a party.”

“But you’ll come?” Enid prompted.

“Yes, Enid, I will come.” Her friend surged forward and caught her up in a very strong hug. “But only because being there will trigger a vision.” Enid pouted.

∞

Wednesday’s anchor was also a raven. She tried not to think too hard about it. Xavier’s dreams, judging from his art, were as dark and ill-fated as her visions. She couldn’t bring herself to question her mother’s logic in that regard.

On the sixth attempt at the day, she managed to hold on and felt a much more grounded sense of self within the vision.

“There is no controlling a raging river. You must learn to navigate it without drowning. Time is not on our side.” The ground seemed to shift under them, and Delores rotated on the spot. “To stop Crackstone, this place you must seek.”

Wednesday looked and took in as many details as she could. The raven waited at the edge of her sight, just in focus. She reached for it and everything faded away and she felt herself settle back into her physical body.

She was being held tightly to Xavier’s chest again. His breathing was erratic.

“Xavier.”

He jumped and loosened his hold on her. “Welcome back,” he croaked.

“Where is everyone else?” she sat up, looking around. Only Thing lingered.

“You were out of it for a long time,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Enid got worried and went to get Ms. Thornhill.”

She frowned. “Call her. Tell her I’m fine.”

He nodded, getting his breathing back under control as he dialed. When he hung up, he got to his feet and offered his hand to help her up. They hadn’t held hands since the dance and she found herself reluctant to let go. He squeezed lightly.

“Something bad is going to happen,” she whispered.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Xavier looked over at the tomb. His hand was trembling in hers. She grasped it between her own. She was almost sure she knew what she had to do to save the school.

“Wednesday.” Xavier looked down at her, tender. Without realizing it, she had risen on her tiptoes and he was bending over to meet her.

“No,” she whispered. “I already – “ she blurted and dropped back down, releasing his hands. She already knew how she felt.

“You already what?” he asked. Suddenly, his voice was cold. “Wednesday. What did you do?” She shook her head, stepping backward. Thing scuttled over to her, steading her at her heel. Before, she had a feeling that his dreams were showing him the failed repetitions. Now she was sure of it. Even if he didn’t know exactly what was going on, he knew she was to blame, and he was right. It had taken her too long to figure out what he meant to her. “I’ve been having some weird dreams lately,” he said, pacing toward her. “My dreams always almost come true. But these didn’t.”

“Maybe you’re losing your gift,” she spat, immediately regretting it.

“You’re gaslighting me,” he accused, gaping at her. “I don’t know how, but those things happened.” He exhaled deeply, searching for his patience. “You regret it, don’t you?”

She kept silent, feeling like she had done enough damage. Thing pinched her ankle.

“Is it Tyler?” he asked quietly. “Is it fun for you, stringing us along so that you can be part of a love triangle?”

She glared at him. He had no idea how wrong he was. Her trajectory was pointed at him and him alone. She couldn’t even fight it anymore. But she was only sixteen. Sixteen six times over. She fled.

Enid wasn’t in the room when she returned, thankfully. She’d shaken Thing off somewhere along the way, kicking him away like something offensive on her shoe.

The crystal ball was blinking faintly, meaning someone had left her a message. She tapped it impatiently. Her Abuela’s face floated to the surface of the glass, smiling through a million wrinkles.

“I hope you’ve been enjoying my gift, especially on your birthday, my little pesadilla. I hope the burden of carrying it has taught you to allow yourself to lean on others and let them into your life.”

The burden of carrying it.

Wednesday suddenly felt sick. Which one of your spirits suggested this toe-curling tchotchke?

It was your Abuela’s idea, actually.

She reached for the necklace and howled into her chest. After her conversation with her mother in the boardroom, she had been almost happy to have something that connected them. What an inelegant trap. She unclasped it and went out onto the balcony, flinging it as far as her short arm span could manage.

There.

Curse lifted.

The day rolled over.

Wednesday celebrated her newfound freedom by heading into Jericho the next afternoon and picking through Uriah’s Heap until she found a book that looked like it would be useful for her research.

Unfortunately, her peace was ruined when Tyler set down a cup that was clearly not her order.

“I know you’re usually a quad kind of girl, but I’ve been working on that all week,” he said. The foam spelled out a belated message that made her lip curl.

“Birthday, yes. Happy, never.” She didn’t bother looking up at him, continuing to turn pages. “Is there anyone Thing didn’t tell?”

“Well, who do you think delivered the cake? I went with the 98% dark chocolate ganache knowing your… preferred color palette.”

“The cake was satisfactory,” she allowed.

“Come on. Don’t you like a day that’s all about you?”

“Every day is all about me,” she retorted. “This one just comes with cake and a bad song.”

“So, if I asked you out for a non-birthday, song-free thing… would that be something you’re interested in?” She looked up at him, irritated. He was relentless, and not in a good way. “You still owe me for pulling your dad’s file.”

She considered it. She hated leaving debts unpaid, and something was blocking her from telling Xavier that he was so deep in her veins that he had a whole artery in her heart. If she had learned anything from the time curse, it was that she needed to approach a problem from all angles.

“What did you have in mind?”

∞

Tyler met her just off campus that evening, his feet pointing toward the crypt. Wednesday hesitated, pushing down more of Xavier’s words that had been circling her mind since the night before. “Last time somebody threw a surprise for me there, it did not go as planned,” she muttered.

“You have to close your eyes,” Tyler insisted when they got there.

“Are you serious?” He nodded, encouraging. “I’m only doing this because I owe you,” she growled.

“Okay. Watch your step. Wait here. Keep your eyes closed,” his voice guided her. EH sounded excited and pleased with himself. “Okay. Easy. Right here. One second.” She felt the door close behind them and was immediately on the defensive, tucking her hands to her sides and slipping her hand into her cut pocket to the holster strapped to her thigh. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Compared to the night before, the crypt was full of light, mostly from lights hung up between the pillars. She felt a stab of guilt and pressed her knife to her own skin to ground herself. Tyler had taken hours to set this up on short notice.

“What? No one’s ever taken you on a picnic inside a crypt before?” His face was open, uncomplicated. “How do you feel about scary movies?” he gestured to the projection setup. “Prepare to be horrified.”

Wednesday seethed silently through the whole movie, especially when Tyler looked over at her reactions and laughed. She was disappointed when it ended without a single murder. She would have made Callahan’s death look like an accident.

“That was torture,” she concluded. “Thank you.”

He scooted closer to her on the blanket. “There’s those mixed signals again. I missed them.”

She leaned back. “I’ve paid your debt. Nothing more.”

“You really like stringing me along, don’t you?” his voice dropped into a bitter register, right where she needed it.

“Xavier said something like that, too,” she said, mentally knocking her lie like an arrow. “He told me about what happened on Outreach Day last year.”

His expression darkened. It was very different from who she knew him to be. “Is that why you ditched me at the dance? Because he told you his sob story about how me and the guys jumped him and ruined his stupid mural? Did he tell you that his dad threatened to bury Jericho in lawsuits? He was too much of a coward to go through with it, though. Lucas and the others got away with it, but they made an example of me as the sheriff’s kid. I got expelled and I’m doing court-ordered therapy until I’m eighteen.”

Wednesday stood shakily, grasping at her bare neck and finding no comfort. Rage was boiling within her. They were completely alone here and it was dusk. She’d have plenty of time to kill him and hide the body. No one would know.

The door to the crypt blew open. For once, she was glad to see Sheriff Galpin, even though it put her squarely in the means and opportunity column. She glanced over her shoulder at Tyler.

“I was just leaving,” she assured the sheriff. “Tell your son to keep his distance from me.”

Chapter Text

No, I don't know why you're not there
I give you my love, but you don't care
So what is right and what is wrong?
Give me a sign

What is love?
Oh, baby, don't hurt me
Don't hurt me, no more

Half asleep, Xavier groped through his sheets to find his phone and shut the alarm off, making a mental note to strangle Ajax. Last night when they encountered Thing on the grounds and found out that Wednesday was on a date with Tyler, Ajax had done his best to cheer him up. Xavier had not been very receptive to it; his friend probably thought that setting his alarm to this song was hilarious.

It was Wednesday.

November 2.

He skipped breakfast and dragged his feet to his first class. His Wednesday – she’d probably flay him if she knew he thought of her as his - was suspiciously absent, but Enid poked him and explained that she was taking a floating holiday for Día de los Muertos. He could imagine Weems wasn’t very pleased about granting to request, but since it was both cultural and religious, it couldn’t be denied.

∞

He skipped lunch, too, heading straight to his studio. On Wednesdays he was allowed to use the hour that was supposed to be his study hall block as time for artistic study, as arranged by Weems and his dad. It was one of the few allowances Vincent provided that he actually appreciated, though his father made it clear that he expected more from Xavier than the life and career of an artist. As an entertainer, Vincent had the self-awareness enough that he wouldn’t say that art couldn’t be a career, but he had very little appreciation for it. He never showed interest or expressed praise for anything Xavier produced, so he’d stopped seeking validation from him and did not share when he made sales to local galleries. He was sure his dad knew about the sales, but they never discussed it.

They talked very little these days. The text sent after parents’ weekend was still unanswered.

You are not to associate with the Addams’ or their daughter. Principal Weems assured me that the charges against the father were dropped, but it would be a very bad PR move. Who knows that other skeletons those people have in their closets?

Wednesday hovered at the edge of his space, day after day. He had the feeling that she sought him out on purpose, that for her, he radiated something that she was drawn to. He felt it for her, too

If Vincent got wind that he and Wednesday were engaging in a flirtatious standoff, he’d probably drive out to the school himself, and as much as Xavier would love to see the expression on his dad’s face – see him, even – he wasn’t’ willing to risk getting pulled from Nevermore. The only other outcast academy his dad trusted was somewhere in Europe. Were it not for Wednesday, he wouldn’t have minded. Being in Europe would put him closer to the art scene he wanted to break into. But Europe was in the future. He wasn’t sure if Wednesday was.

At the dance, she’d implied that she wanted him to be jealous of Tyler. She’d slow danced with him while Galpin watched from across the room. The asshole had only watched for a few seconds before storming off. It felt good. Not as good as her hand pressed to the lapel of his suit jacket, her eyes dark and intense on his face. He was almost sure she would have kissed him.

He’d dreamt it.

He’d dreamt it more than once. Things that could have – should have – happened on Outreach Day and the days leading up to the dance. That very heated vision under blood rain.

It felt like she was hiding something from him. Sunday night in the crypt solidified it, as if his thoughts were shaken bits of fake snow in a globe, Wednesday’s hands throttling his neck. Her cold, delicate hands. When they were alone in the crypt and she grasped his in both of hers and leaned up, he had that same sensation he’d had in every other dream vision. And she’d stopped herself.

As if she knew.

He still hadn’t figured out how, but by her reaction, she knew she’d been caught.

She wasn’t a mind reader. If she was, she would be a lot smarter. Xavier was under no illusion that Wednesday Addams was perfect. She was flawed and irresponsible. He’d even had the fleeting thought of mislabeling her a bitch before Enid pointed out that she was used to being at school with normies and was probably insecure about being around people her own age who were more like her than she’d expected.

He watched her carefully after that and had to agree. Wednesday walked around Nevermore as though she couldn’t determine who was the imposter, her or the others around her. It was almost adorable, if not for her need to see every problem as something tied directly to her, as though she was the ill-fated character of some trendy teen CW show.

If she was a mind reader, he reasoned, she would have never accused him of being a monster. She’d also be able to hear everything he was constantly telegraphing at her. It was a relief that she was just psychic. Did she have visions about them? Was it possible to interrupt a preordained event that way?

He splattered paint at the canvas in front of him with reckless abandon. It felt good to talk himself through his feelings without anyone else in the room to analyze his thoughts. Dr. Kinbott was supportive, but she didn’t exactly understand his abilities or seem to believe in them, and he knew for a fact that Wednesday drained her. Being Wednesday’s therapist probably felt like repeatedly hitting a brick wall. He was only tentatively her ally and hopefully someone she entertained in a romantic way; for him it was basically that except sometimes he stumbled on a heavy, unlocked door.

The entry to his shed opened, revealing Wednesday herself. She was out of uniform for her day off. Thing tapped anxiously in behind her. “Hey,” he greeted once the song on his tape deck clicked off.

“Xavier.”

“How was your date with Tyler?” he asked. In the corner, he could have sworn Thing was glaring daggers at him before flopping over dramatically.

Her expression turned murderous and she left the shed open on her way out, a frigid breeze rolling in. Thing sped after her as fast as his drooping stump would allow.

He picked up the paint container and dumped the rest of its contents on the canvas, ruining it. Under his shirt, Wednesday’s necklace burned into his skin. He’d found it last night before he and Ajax ran into Thing in the dark courtyard. He hesitated, wondering if he should chase after her to return it.

No, I don't know why you're not there
I give you my love, but you don't care
So what is right and what is wrong?
Give me a sign  

What is love?
Oh, baby, don't hurt me
Don't hurt me, no more

Xavier unlocked his screen to stop the alarm and stared at it. He was sure he’d changed the alarm last night. He went back into settings and changed it again and sighed, scrolling through his usual feed of missed texts and Enid’s gossip blog. Strangely, it hadn’t updated. He checked the date. Wednesday, November 2. He went out to his calendar.

It was still Wednesday.

He dialed Ajax.

“Are you still wallowing?” the gorgon asked.

“I think I’m hallucinating. What day is it?”

“It’s your favorite day of the week. Wednesday.”

“Yesterday was Wednesday.”

On the other end, Ajax sighed. “Have you taken your meds yet today?”

Xavier went and took his meds and then went to class. Wednesday was absent. Enid poked him and told him why. All of his morning lessons were the same. It was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him while attending Nevermore. He had the persistent itch that he should maybe tell one of the teachers, maybe even Weems. But after lunch, as he headed to his shed it occurred to him that he’d been given a second opportunity.

He changed into his painting clothes and fired up the same mixtape as before, testing a different series of colors thing time, more blue and black than red.

When she entered again in the same way, pressing her back to the door, he willed himself to be more patient. She looked contrite. Without asking directly, he had no way of knowing what her play was between him and Tyler.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Xavier.” She looked over at Thing, who shrugged and signaled something encouraging. “I came to apologize.”

He sat on his stool and adjusted the height on it. “I should apologize, too,” he said carefully. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she took a few steps in.

“Me, first. About the other night, in the crypt. I… have been evaluating things.” She seemed to be struggling for words, but it seemed to confirm his theory. If his father knew how powerful a psychic she was, he might not be so quick to bar him from fraternizing with her, not that he intended to heed his warning. He didn’t give a shit about PR.

“What exactly have you been evaluating?”

She scowled at her feet. “My interactions with others,” she said at last.

“Sure,” he agreed after another awkward silence. “I’m sorry for being jealous. It’s none of my business who you… interact with.”

She stared at him. “This is new to me,” she confessed finally.

“Having friends?” he guessed.

“Among other things.” She looked over at the wall, almost immediately locking onto one sketch in particular. “Is that a real place?” she asked, jutting her chin at it. Relief at changing the subject and curiosity charged her voice.

“That’s the old Gates place. It’s about a mile and a half east on my running path. I see it almost every day.”

She exchanged a meaningful look with Thing.

“What?”

“I saw it in a vision,” she explained. “It bodes looking into.”

∞

Just before dinner, the campus was put on temporary lockdown.

“This is Wednesday’s fault, somehow,” Bianca muttered. He didn’t exactly disagree. She was impatient. Scoping out the old Gates place probably led to some trouble. He paced his bedroom, waiting for a text from Enid to find out if she was even alive. His imagination was going into overdrive thinking that she might have encountered the monster there.

A news bulletin came through before her reply. The headline declared that Mayor Walker was in critical condition following a hit and run. To no one’s surprise, least of all his, Wednesday was credited as a witness. Well, ‘a Nevermore student’, but as far as he knew she was the only one off-campus and trouble was drawn to her. He would know. 

No, I don't know why you're not there
I give you my love, but you don't care
So what is right and what is wrong?
Give me a sign

What is love?
Oh, baby, don't hurt me
Don't hurt me, no more

Xavier unlocked his screen to stop the alarm and stared at it. He held his breath and opened the calendar app, then the newsfeed.

It was still Wednesday.

He dialed Ajax.

“Are you still wallowing?”

“I’m going to say something crazy, and I need you to believe me.”

∞

During their second class of the morning, Xavier correctly predicted everything that would happen.

“This is like déjà vu on steroids or something,” Ajax marveled. “Why do you think it’s happening?”

Wednesday’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to get into another conversation about how pathetic he was, so he just shrugged. “Maybe I’m supposed change something?”

“I don’t know, man. What about the butterfly effect?” Xavier meditated on that while he picked at his lunch and eventually abandoned the table early to head to his studio.

He knew one thing for sure: getting to redo the day meant another shot at that conversation. Thinking back on it, there seemed to be something missing. He was eager to find out, see how much deeper he could go. In the shed, he changed into his worn out painting clothes and pulled his hair half back, then got to work. He was so consumed by his thoughts as he let the paint fly in cathartic flicking motions that he didn’t even hear the door slide open until the cold seeped in.

Wednesday pushed it closed and leaned against it.

“Wednesday. Why are you here?”

She frowned, studying him, trying to gauge his tone. “I owe you an apology, Xavier.” From his place in the corner, Thing slapped the floor and then gave her a thumbs-up. “About the other night, in the crypt. I shouldn’t have discredited what you saw. I’ve been evaluating some things,” she said, quietly.

“Okay, my turn. It isn’t any of my business what goes on between you and Galpin.”

She stepped away from the door and approached him. “I’m not… I’ve never been in this position before.” Shockingly, she was flustered.

“What?”

“You called it a triangle.”

He sank back onto his stool so that they were even in height. “That was petty of me. It’s not like you asked for it.” Not for the first time, he wondered what it had been like for her in normie schools. There probably had been some boys interested in her, even if they were too afraid to say so.

“I don’t entirely… dislike it,” she admitted, as though picking her words carefully. He was reminded of the dance. Was she implying that she liked him jealous? “Thing told me that you spoke last night.”

“Ajax and I ran into him. He said you were with Tyler.” Thing scrambled over to the worktable and started flashing signals rapidly. Wednesday flicked her foot at him.

“Not willingly.”

“It wasn’t a date?”

“Can it be considered a date if one person feels coerced into it?” she tugged lightly at her left braid. “I was practically held hostage. Under fairy lights.” She had no obligation to explain herself to him, and yet she was. It wasn’t the first time she had done it, either. “I’ve learned from this that I can’t trust his intentions towards me.”

He grinned. “Is he still alive?”

She looked at him through her lashes, her chin pulled down. “Sheriff Galpin interrupted what would likely have been his final breaths,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me what he did last Outreach Day?” Oh.

“It happened over a year ago. I didn’t press charges.” He dug his thumb into his paintbrush, staining it red, a bead rolling down his arm.

She clearly had more to say about that, but once again, the picture tacked to his wall had caught her attention. “Is that a real place?”

“You saw it in a vision.” At her suspicious look, he explained, “That’s kind of your MO right now, isn’t it? Your investigation comes first. Everything else is just on the backburner. It’s the old Gates place.”

“Where is it?”

No, I don't know why you're not there
I give you my love, but you don't care
So what is right and what is wrong?
Give me a sign

What is love?
Oh, baby, don't hurt me
Don't hurt me, no more

Xavier groaned and rolled over, throwing his phone off the bed. It hit the baseboard and slid onto his bathroom floor, Haddaway’s pleas echoing still. By his count, this was the fourth time he would repeat today. He checked the calendar and called Ajax just to be sure. Mayor Walker had been run down again in the street again, this time killed on impact.

It didn’t seem to fit that he was supposed to save the man. In the original run of the day, he’d been nowhere near the accident. Aside from Wednesday being a witness, it could be totally unrelated to him.

He asked to skip his morning classes and was allowed to, spending the hours in his studio looking for other clues in his art. He often woke up in the middle of the night with the need to sketch things out. He found nothing notable, unclasped Wednesday’s necklace from around his neck, and slipped it into his pocket, mentally reminding himself that he needed to give it back. Around lunchtime, he started rearranging his canvases, setting up the one he’d been working on over and over again for the past four days. He’d forgotten what his intention with it even was, but the feeling of flinging paint still felt good, and Wednesday would be there soon enough.

When she showed up, he wiped his hands on a rag and nodded at her. “Hey.”

“Have you been here all day?” she asked, irritated.

He grinned. She had been looking for him and was frustrated when he wasn’t where he should be. “I had some things on my mind, and I’m allowed to take art study on Wednesdays.” I’m always here if you need me, he telegraphed even though he knew she couldn’t read his mind. She seemed to understand it anyway, leaning against the door in a more relaxed posture.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I might react the same.” If she’d just ask, he would tell her about all the times he tried to stop his visions from coming true. “You don’t like not having control of what happens to you. I don’t blame you for changing things; I just don’t like being manipulated into thinking I’m going crazy.”

She exhaled deeply and nodded. “I’m sorry, Xavier. Am I forgiven?”

He wondered if she had ever apologized to anyone in her life. The expression on her face suggested she had very little practice with it. It was an endearing look. Wednesday wanted his forgiveness.

“I forgive you.”

Her expression softened, just for a second.

“I owe you an apology, too,” he added. “About you and Galpin. It’s none of my business.” He sat down on the stool. Usually putting himself at her height drew her into the room. She stared at him for a long moment and took two steps in. He fought a smile. Hook. “I should handle my jealousy better.” She crossed the room. Line.

“I don’t… mind it,” she hedged. He nodded, pulling his hair up and away from his face, noting how she tracked it. “Why didn’t you tell me what he did last Outreach Day?”

“I’m not going to rat him out to you,” he scoffed. “You never asked. Would you have set something venomous on him in my defense?”

She rolled her eyes. “It would have saved me a lot of trouble in the long run. Did Thing tell you I was forced into repaying his favor?”

“He said you were on a date.”

Wednesday glared. Thing trembled and ran, fingertips staccato on the floorboards to hide under the worktable.

“It wasn’t a date,” she assured him. Her eyes were burning into his.

“Good,” he breathed.

She actually blushed. He would have missed it if she hadn’t been standing so close. “Don’t move,” she warned, the corner of her mouth twitching.“I’m at a very unfair disadvantage in height, otherwise.”

Xavier tensed when she stepped right into his space, but her hands at his clavicle made him lean into her, sinking into the touch.

When Wednesday Addams kissed him for the first time it felt like storm clouds opening up over dry land. Her lips were not as soft as they looked. It was both crushing and yielding.

“Wednesday,” he whispered reverently.

“If you ruin this moment, I will scalp you,” she hissed, pulling back, but the blushing was more evident.

He imagined Wednesday stroking her trophy with bloody fingers and grinned. “You just want to play with my hair.”

Her eyes went wide and her hands curled into fists at her side. “I will never admit to that,” she retorted, rooted to the spot.

“What are you willing to admit to?” he prompted, grinning. He couldn’t help it. She gaped at him and faltered, shaking her head heard enough to whip her braids, and stomped out of the shed.

No, I don't know why you're not there
I give you my love, but you don't care
So what is right and what is wrong?
Give me a sign

What is love?
Oh, baby, don't hurt me
Don't hurt me, no more

She didn’t always kiss him, and after one disastrous attempt to take the initiative himself, he let it be.

Most times she was merely satisfied with apologizing, though she sometimes hovered at the door on her way out. On one or two of those occasions, she came back to him and revealed the second reason for tracking him down, withdrawing the folded paper from her pocket; he noted with amusement that her hands shook as she opened it and held it out. “I saw that in a vision. Do you recognize it?”

The immediate drop and shift in her attitude were always expected, though it stung. He wanted to make a snarky, flirtatious comment about her line work, but the image stopped him cold every time. His own vision of that place didn’t seem as important as hers, but they were psychically linked, so he knew it had some weight.

He looked over at his own interpretation, still pinned to the wall. She frowned and directed her attention to where he was looking.

“When did you draw that?” her voice had its hard edge back.

“Couple days ago. I started having those dreams again, like before.”

“Was the monster in them?” she asked. He studied her face for a moment. Her phrasing and the lack of suspicion there was almost better than her kiss.

“No, but I could feel it in the shadows. You know, kind of lurking in my mind.”

“You know where it is.”

Xavier hesitated. He knew enough about time loops from movies to know that something was happening that he needed to correct. As far as the past three repetitions went, the monster never showed up. Things felt a little more resolved between them, somehow, but that couldn’t be it. He searched his mind for anything else he could tell her that would help and came up empty. “Yeah. It’s the old Gates mansion. I pass it when I go running.”

∞

Once again, Nevermore was on lockdown.

“The Mayor got hit by a car,” Xavier explained to Ajax under his breath as he and the other boys were herded back to their dorm from the dining hall. He pulled out his phone the second he was alone in his room to text Enid to tell him when Wednesday was back from giving her statement, ignoring her question about how he knew.

Almost an hour passed.

wens wants to investigate Gates place. w said she needs to take me to the lycan cages

“Fuck,” he sat on his bed and curled in on himself, taking a minute to panic before grabbing his coat and texting her back.

The night split open in flashing red and blue. This was his least favorite outcome, and he’d had to endure it several times.

Enid was in the back of an open ambulance, the side of her face a torn-open mess. Xavier pushed past the line of sheriff’s deputies to get to her.

“What happened?”

The paramedic tried to push him away, but Enid grabbed his sleeve, wincing in pain. “The monster,” she gasped.

Behind him, near the house, he heard Tyler Galpin’s strained voice. His dad was trying to calm him down. He kept repeating and crying out about how much trouble he was going to be in. The paramedic attending to Enid’s wounds spoke into her radio, calling for backup and a tranquilizer for him. Tyler was kicking and thrashing. Two deputies had to help restrain him.

“Where is Wednesday?” Xavier asked.

Enid shook her head, tears streaming down her face. An oxygen mask was put over her face as she began to convulse, and he was pulled out of the back of the ambulance. The law enforcement vehicles started to mobilize, too, but Xavier stood frozen to the spot as a gurney with a small black body bag was wheeled out of the basement of the house.

No, I don't know why you're not there
I give you my love, but you don't care
So what is right and what is wrong?
Give me a sign

What is love?
Oh, baby, don't hurt me
Don't hurt me, no more

Xavier’s heart ached as though it had been stretched over miles. Time didn’t seem real to anyone but him. Everyone went through the same motions no matter what he chose to do for the day. He sometimes went to class and sometimes didn’t. He always ended up in the shed and Wednesday always found him there.

On this, the fourteenth repetition, he let the alarm go on and on. Eventually, it shut itself off. He rose from the bed, drained from crying the second he’d woken up. His whole body felt weak with relief. He turned the shower on and kept it frigid, stood under the spray for a good five minutes, and then got dressed. He made a stop at Weems’s office first. He didn’t have to plead too much to get the day off; he must look like shit, having not even bothered to put on his uniform. He grabbed some very hot black coffee and a scone from the cafeteria and bolted it without thought on his way out to his studio.

When Wednesday showed up, he was on the verge of tearing into the canvas. It was dripping paint like blood from an open wound. Last night, he’d learned from Thing that she had broken her neck falling down a service elevator shaft. She had pushed Enid out of the way to safety just before, but the monster came into the basement and attacked. The stokes on the canvas mimicked the ripped open flesh in his friend’s face, her blonde and pink hair stained with blood. When he stepped back from it, he could see Dr. Kinbott’s face there, too.

“Xavier.” Wednesday stood in the doorway. She hesitated before coming into the room, standing in front of him with a concerned look on her face.

“I’m wrestling with some demons,” he explained, gesturing at the canvas.

“Can I help?” she asked, raw. Xavier wanted so badly to touch her and know that she was real. Alive. Thankfully, all he ever saw was the body bag.

He smiled softly. “You’re intimidating enough to scare them off,” he agreed.

“I came to apologize. I unjustly discredited your visions when I know from experience how that feels.”

“Do you?”

She looked up at him, eyes shining. “There was a lot of trial and error. I wanted it to be perfect, with you.” It was as though the last bit of fake snow in the upturned globe had finally shaken loose.

“How many times did you redo that day?” he wasn’t sure if he was asking about Outreach Day, the Rave’N, or her birthday, but by her expression, he knew he was right.

“Too many,” she said.

“It’s happening to me, too.”

“How many times?” she asked.

“What?”

“How many times have you relived today?”

He blinked. “You believe me.” It hit like a battering ram.

She crossed her arms tightly. “Putting aside the fact that I went through the exact same thing, you would have to be highly deranged to make up something like this.”

“Today makes fourteen,” he answered her earlier question, running his hand through his hair, craning his neck to stretch.

She pulled back the collar of his shirt, startled. “Where did you find this?” Her necklace. After yesterday, he’d decided to keep it to himself for another day.

He held his breath tightly. Her fingers were as cold on his skin as they had been every other time they’d kissed, but her touch lingered on him, wanting. “In the courtyard, right before Thing told me that you were on a date with Galpin.”

“It wasn’t a date. I was held hostage by obligation,” she clarified dismissively, slipping her finger under the chain and pulling it out from under his shirt, its dark gems glittering hazily under the dim lamp. “Enid fondly calls it a Groundhog Day curse. My Abuela and my mother gifted this to me. I’ve been plagued by it more times than I would care to admit.” She unclasped it deftly and slid it into her pocket. “It was meant to teach me to value my connections to others and think more carefully before I act.”

“You are reckless,” he agreed. She glared at him, with little heat and he smirked. “I don’t like you because you’re perfect.”

“You called me a bitch once,” she acknowledged, referring to one of the times she wrote over. “It wasn’t an unfair assessment. I have been careless with your feelings, in particular.”

From his perch, Thing tore the drop cloth off of a canvas partially hidden against the wall.

Wednesday stared at it.

“That’s never happened before,” he mused.

“It’s out of the loop,” Wednesday reasoned. “Since we both know now, it’s probably resolved.” She approached the painting and stood silently before it for a long time. “If I had seen this before… I don’t know how I would have reacted.”

“I’ve been working on that on and off since the first night I heard you up there,” he confessed. He mentally reached out for it, extending his hand toward the canvas. The Wednesday there slowly breathed into being, her bow sawing over the strings of her cello in an elegant, floating sway. Wednesday in the flesh watched, mesmerized.

“What happens today?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.

“You die,” he said abruptly.

If she was right and the loop had resolved itself now that they both knew, now was their only chance to make it right. He decided it would be best to keep the ridiculous montage of her deaths to himself, let it play to completely tasteless circus music in a corner of his mind.

She turned away from him, her expression darkening. He could guess what she was thinking - that she didn’t like not having control over her own destiny, if she believed in that. That she would rather rescue herself than have him be the unwilling spectator of her demise.

“Have I ever kissed you?” she asked suddenly.

“Here? Today?” he hoped his face didn’t betray his anticipation. She nodded, and her eyes were burning and firm on his. He recognized the expression and had to remind himself how to breathe. “More than once.” He sat up a little straighter on the stool, all of the exhaustion and heartache falling loose. It occurred to him that without the necklace, she’d reconciled with knowing that the first kiss was permanent.

“What happened?”

“The first time? I teased you about it and you stomped off,” he recalled.

She turned back to the cello painting again. Thing was poking at it, trying to make it start up again. She exchanged a few whispered words and a series of violent gestures with him. He leaped down from his perch and out the door, peeking around the edge until Wednesday glared and he disappeared completely, though Xavier suspected he was still just out of sight.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever had a crush on,” she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. “In my timelines, you died. The last time… it almost felt like part of me was dying.”

“You redid the day to save me.”

Thing peeked out from the other side of the door. And kiss you! he tapped out gleefully.

Wednesday scowled. Her shoulders hitched up tight but eventually, she exhaled, blushing. “I won’t deny that I took some liberties.” Xavier bit back the teasing remark. By his count, they each had about a dozen stolen kisses from each other.

“I hope that those versions of ourselves can resurface,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. Her face had more color in it than he imagined possible for her. “I not going to ask if my feelings are reciprocated. You’ve made it painfully obvious.” She crossed the room to stand in front of him.

“I won’t move,” he promised.

“Excruciatingly, beautifully painful,” she murmured, gently pushing down at his collarbone to keep him at a height she could reach.

Rather than a curse, he imagined that it was some sort of miracle that they’d already kissed; otherwise, how would their lips know exactly how to caress each other? How could he already be craving the taste of her mouth? Wednesday’s hands carded through his hair, yanking mercilessly at the nape. She swallowed his moan and let her weight fall on him, his hands firm on her waist.

“Xavier,” she tucked her face against his neck and sighed into him. “Do you even know how ingrained you are in me?”

“It’s hell, isn’t it?” Wednesday was stubborn and reckless, slow to learn from her mistakes if she’d been thrown into a Groundhog Day scenario more than once. He himself was too open, wore his emotions on his sleeve, and could be too trusting.

“Torture,” she agreed, smiling against his skin so that he shivered.

“At least we’re in it together?” he suggested, holding his breath.

She pulled back and looked at him, keeping her hand on his chest, just above his heart. “Yes,” she agreed. “I want us.”

∞

“Now that you’ve told me, I won’t die,” she said later, confident.

“Sure,” he breathed, uncertain. Wednesday glowered at him, ignoring Thing’s commentary. “Your sense of self-preservation is shit,” he added. “The first time, you snapped your neck at the bottom of a dumbwaiter shaft. Enid was in critical condition because the monster caught you guys in the basement. Galpin was freaking out.”

“Tyler.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, not wanting to broach that subject. “He was there.”

“Why? I would have never told him to come. I thought about asking him if he knew…” She took the folded paper out of her pocket. It made sense. Tyler had grown up in Jericho. He probably knew about the Gates mansion. He would have been willing to drive her there, even. “He would have tried to get something else out of me for it. But I never showed him this. Why was he there?”

“He’s been stalking you?” he suggested.

She frowned. “Maybe.”

“Let’s just go with that for now, since we only have my side of today to go on.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “I need you to tell me everything that happens today.” She went over to his worktable, finding a mostly blank page and a drawing pencil to take notes with. He took out his phone to reference the time and retold as much as he could remember, including any changes he made in an attempt to get different outcomes. “I would have gone to the Gates place on my own,” she reasoned, looking over the notes after almost an hour of questioning. “Something must have prevented me from seeing what I needed to see.”

“I think the mayor was there, too,” Xavier cut in, pointing to where she had written in his accident. “On some of the days, he is just injured, but other days he’s killed basically on impact, which would mean that on some days, he was delayed. Maybe because he caught you there?”

“If I was there, I would have made Thing distract him…”

“You were almost always there as a witness, too,” he reminded her. “He could have caught you and taken you back into town. But what would he be doing there?”

“Sheriff Galpin told me that the whole Gates clan died because of what happened to Garrett the night of the Rave’N back in ’92 and Delores told me to go back there. There must be more to the story.”

∞

They decided that it would be best to proceed with their day as inconspicuously as possible so that it would be easier to sneak out at night. Xavier set up a fresh canvas and looked through his sketches for anything inspiring enough, and Wednesday went to the mausoleum and lit candles for every Frump and Addams relative she found, strewing a path of marigold petals behind her. They were both counted by their dorm parents as they filed in for dinner and the whispers of Mayor Walker’s accident trickled from table to table.

Byron Hall’s table sat back-to-back with Ophelia. Xavier leaned back uneasily to get Wednesday’s attention. “Shouldn’t we have tried to stop that?” he whispered.

“When you or I died, it wasn’t in very loop,” she reminded him. “If it happened every single time, it was meant to happen.”

Most people would think his girlfriend was cold-hearted for that, but it had some truth. Mayor Walker had been run down every single time. It was outside of their scope of the day. He hadn’t paid much attention until she became involved as a witness, though.

After dinner, he followed the sound of her cello up the narrow steps that led up to her balcony. She looked up from her music when she saw him, but her arm continued it's even sweep over the strings. “Beautiful,” he praised, bending down to kiss her. She glared at him pointedly but pulled at his shirt and kissed back, nipping affectionately at his lip.

“Ajax is covering for me,” he said. “Don’t forget to tell Enid to leave her phone here. I brought a burner in case of emergency.”

The new plan was for them and Enid to go to the Gates place after curfew and break in, hopefully finding whatever Mayor Walker had seen that led to him being targeted.

“Sorry to third wheel on your date,” Enid teased as she climbed into the back seat of Weems’s soccer mom van. Wednesday was sprawled inelegantly across the front seats, busy tweaking wires under the steering column. He could tell the werewolf girl was eager to talk about them, but from her position, Wednesday grunted. “It’s not a date,” she insisted. The engine sprang to life and she straightened herself, ceding the driver’s seat to him. Her hand closed over his. “Although, I have to admit that All Soul’s Night is very romantic.” He kissed her again. In the rearview mirror, Enid winked at him.

To calm himself on the drive, Xavier mentally planned an actual first date.

∞

They hid the van about a quarter mile from the property. Xavier knew the path well from his regular running routine so he was able to lead them in the dark in a train, Wednesday holding his hand and Enid trailing behind her, humming nervously. It sounded suspiciously like the Scooby Doo theme song. “Remind me why I had to come?”

“Werewolf strength,” Wednesday huffed. “If I can’t pick a lock, I’ll need you to rip a door off its hinges.”

Enid sighed. “Right.”

“And if Tyler shows up, I’m going to suggest splitting up and you’ll go with Xavier.”

He tugged hard on her hand. “You didn’t tell me that part of the plan.”

They reached the front door of the residence and she started digging through her bag, lit by Enid’s flashlight. “As if I’d leave him alone with either of you,” she hissed. “If the monster shows up, he’d be useless, and I know that he hurt you last year.” She avoided meeting his eyes, but by the way her voice strained, he could tell she was angry. It stirred within him fondly, her way of caring. His Wednesday. He thought back to the dream vision he’d had back in September, her frighteningly beautiful grin as she released a shoal of piranha into the pool in vengeance.

“If he tries anything…”

“I’ll kill him,” she swore. “We’re in a prime location to hide a body.”

He relaxed. “I’m down.”

“Ditto,” Enid chirruped. The lock clicked and the door swung open easily.

The air inside was putrid and stale. Enid immediately gathered the folds of her pink snood and held them to her nose. Wednesday did the opposite, pushing the hood part of the knobby-knitted garment away from the crown of her head to breathe deeply. They started their careful search, Wednesday remarking how strange it was to not know what she’d already seen because the loops of that day had been in Xavier’s control. They stayed together but gave each other a wide berth as they scanned each room. Wednesday tried touching several things, but nothing drew a vision.

The eyes of all four Gates family members seemed to watch them from their family portrait as they left the dining room.

In what might have been Ansel’s study, Wednesday’s flashlight beam caught something on the bookcase, and she indicated for him to reach higher than she could to press the knot in the molding into place. Enid gasped and shifted to stand behind them when it slid away, revealing a hidden recess.

“Who doesn’t have a spooky built-in altar in their family library?” Enid quipped nervously.

Xavier took in the details wordlessly. On either side of the painting of Jericho’s founder was that same threat from the burned lawn and the crypt.

“Ours is in the living room,” Wednesday said, completely serious. “More seating for Día de los Muertos. Pugsley left me a message on the crystal ball earlier bragging about all the sugar skulls he gets to eat since I’m not home to hoard them.” He licked at the bite she’d left on his lip earlier and tried not to imagine those sharp incisors breaking into the sugar as if they were real skulls.

“These are still warm,” she marveled, interrupting his very vivid fantasy. Cautiously, she reached out and pinched the wicks of the candles under Crackstone’s portrait.

A sound at the front of the house made them all tense.

“Wednesday?” Tyler’s voice echoed through the hall in a tense whisper.

“Here,” she responded, her voice flat.

When he came into the room, he was obviously not expecting to see Xavier there. He looked uneasily around between them. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?” Wednesday demanded.

“My dad mentioned that the lights in here kept flickering on and off at weird hours and since that whole thing with your dad, I thought you might be here investigating.” It sounded like a reasonable enough excuse, but to her credit, Wednesday didn’t respond after taking it in. He was anxious to know what she thought, but also knew before she said it that the next part of her plan was to have them all split up and keep searching the house so that she could get to the basement.

“Now that you’re here we can split up and cover more ground,” she said.

“I’ll watch your back,” Tyler agreed, glancing over at him and Enid.

“Xavier, go with Enid,” Wednesday deadpanned, according to plan.

“Your boyfriend is safe with me,” Enid said seriously, showing her claws. 

Wednesday smirked and looked to Tyler for his reaction. His face was stone. “I didn’t realize…”

Wednesday cut him off and surprised all of them by arching up on tiptoe – she’d worn her sturdiest platform boots – pulling Xavier down to kiss her. It was gentler and deeper than he was used to from her, but since Galpin was watching, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed their bodies together. He felt her heartbeat quicken and smiled softly against her lips. The look she gave him when she was back on her feet was vulnerable but fleeting.

“Check upstairs. We’ll take the basement,” she commanded.

Enid grabbed his arm, blushing heavily and leaking air in a sustained whisper-squeal. “I want. Details,” she hissed as they headed up the stairs. “Wednesday sucks at girl talk. All she said was that you knew about the Groundhog Day thing and that you’re together.”

While they scanned the rooms on the second floor as thoroughly as possible, he gave her a play-by-play.

One of the last rooms they checked was immediately different from the others. The bed was freshly made and though it still had a cluttered, abandoned feel with piles of boxes in the corner, it was devoid of dust and cobwebs.

“Whose room was this?”

“The daughter,” he breathed uneasily. “We need to tell Wednesday.” He was eager to get back to her, anyway. It had been too quiet.

It was dark downstairs, but light dancing along the wall in the dining room led them back to be reunited. Wednesday and Tyler were engaged in a heated argument. Xavier immediately found his place at his girlfriend’s side.

“Give me your phone,” she said, holding her hand out. “There is evidence in this house linked to the murders and Mayor Walker’s assault.” He took the burner out of his pocket and turned it on, handing it over. Tyler was pacing.

“Your dad is probably on his way,” Xavier muttered, remembering every other time he’d been here, except he had never been inside the house. He was always outside, being held back by paramedics or law enforcement, not getting details unless Enid was conscious. But Sheriff Galpin was there. He’d most likely put a lo jack on his son’s car or installed something on his phone to track him.

Wednesday calmly explained the situation to whatever operator she’d reached and hung up.

“I’m going to be in so much trouble,” Tyler said, frantic. None of them moved to comfort him.

“With who? Your father?” Wednesday provoked him, but he didn’t seem to recognize that they were there. Instead, he fled the room and bolted upstairs.

Xavier grabbed Wednesday by the arm to stop her from following him. “We found something up there,” he started to explain, but overhead, red and blue flashed and sped over the ceiling like comets.

∞

“Mr. Thorpe. I’m surprised at you. Your father will be very disappointed,” Principal Weems’s face was pale and her hair slightly askew; she hadn’t had time to put herself together properly when the sheriff had brought them back to campus. Ajax had done a stellar job of covering for them, but Ms. Thornhill had noticed that the van was missing and had reported it stolen after confirming with Weems that it was meant to be in that parking spot.

“He’ll probably threaten to disown me,” Xavier agreed.

“More importantly,” Weems cut in, “Sheriff Galpin assured me that he was sending a team to look into the evidence you claim to have found.”

“The missing body parts,” Wednesday insisted. “The car that hit the mayor.”

Weems glared at her and then turned her back on them. “The mayor is dead,” she said after a long silence.

Chapter Text

Ahead of the Mayor’s funeral on Saturday, all three of them were penalized by being barred from town and subjected to a strict curfew. Ajax was let off with a warning. Ms. Thornhill and Coach Vlad came to the office to escort them back to their dorms and to bed. As soon as they were alone, Wednesday used Enid’s phone to shoot off a text message, brimming with rage.

I know why Tyler was there.

Moments later, the phone rang.

“Tyler is the monster,” she said without any preamble.

On the other end, Xavier was silent.

“It makes the most logical sense,” she argued.

“I’m trying to find the logic in you accusing anyone who’s ever shown romantic interest in you of being a murderous, shape-shifting monster.”

“I don’t think he has any interest in me,” she said honestly. Even the way he had set up their would-be date in the crypt showed that he didn’t care who she was. She was a tool. “And for the record, I accused you because I was afflicted with romantic interest,” she added, holding her breath. She was sure he’d worked it out by now, but it felt freeing and final to say it.

“Called it,” he breathed at the same time Enid grinned and tapped her knuckles against Thing’s, whispering Told you. You owe me a neck massage .

She glared at her roommates. “I’ve already told you that you’re the first person I’ve ever had a crush on. I latched onto the feelings of suspicion and went in the wrong direction.”

“Tyler’s an asshole. I’m more than happy to have your suspicions targeted his way, but are you sure?”

“In your repetitions of today, you said he was always there at the Gates place, and so was the monster. But this time, when you came with me from the start, the monster never showed. Tyler was with me when we split up, so he would have had to ditch me or transform in front of me,” she continued.

“And he was there every other time the monster showed up,” he said, building onto her theory.

“Including Outreach Day. He knew where I was going.”

“We need tangible proof.”

She sighed. “DNA would be ideal.”

“But we have no way of collecting it ethically, without probable cause.” The silence that followed, punctuated by Xavier’s quiet breathing, was only comforting to her in that it meant he was there, and alive. She thought he might feel the same comfort.

∞

Classes the next day were tense. Word of the mayor’s death had spread out into the populace. Wednesday didn’t have the sense that anyone was in mourning, rather, the relations between Jericho and the school felt more strained than ever. 

“Normies are already blaming us,” Divina whispered during history. “No one is going into town this weekend in case they have retaliation planned.” 

Wednesday felt suddenly protective, but her attention was on Xavier. His features were wan, and he had been silent since greeting her. It looked as though he had slept poorly. Xavier’s visions came to him in sleep; she was anxious to know what he’d seen. Under the table they shared, she cautiously slipped her hand into his. He smirked to himself and squeezed. 

After lunch, she followed him to his shed, hoping for insight. Neither of them had been able to think of another way to prove that Tyler was the monster. 

Xavier almost hesitated to go, but she reminded him that it was technically on campus grounds, to which they were confined. She was immediately drawn to a painting in the corner when they entered. The slashes were delightfully violent, the wide blue eyes staring out of the canvas raw with fear. Xavier was talented. She felt a little twinge of pride. At the same time, it felt strangely insidious to be jealous that it wasn’t of her. 

“I didn’t sleep well,” he explained at her scowl. “I’ve been having a nightmare vision. I can’t shake it.” 

She turned her back on it and went to the worktable, leafing through the sketches where her features stood out; the line of her cheek, the bow of her lip and the curve of her waist in soft, smudged charcoals. It was several minutes before she realized that her breathing had become shallow and that Xavier was silently watching her.

“Am I your muse?” she asked, attempting to make it cut, but her voice wavered. 

“I might be a little obsessed with you,” he confessed, gently pinching the tail of her braid between his thumb and forefinger. She pulled at his blazer, squaring the frame of his hips so that he towered over her, trapping her against the edge of the table. “The last time we were in this position, you stabbed me. Fatally,” he warned.

She pulled the knife from its sheath at the small of her back – the one with her name pressed into the handle – unfolded it, stuck the blade into the table and reached up to hook her elbows behind his neck, rising on tiptoe. 

He kissed her almost too softly, until her lungs started to burn from lack of air. She pulled back, breathless, grazing her teeth along his throat; the scars from his painting had faded. She nuzzled and bit into them, pleased at how he groaned and shuddered, remembering how she’d attempted to torture him into transforming through these same attentions, back when she still suspected him.

She pulled her imagination out of the warm haze it was sinking into. 

“Xavier, I know how to prove that he is the monster.”

∞

The day of the funeral dawned gloomy, cold and wet. Wednesday was in such high spirits that she didn’t protest or resist when Xavier offered his arm and the protection of his umbrella. She was struck momentarily giddy by how handsome he looked in deep, mourning black but bit her tongue to keep from saying it out loud.

“I enjoy funerals. I’ve been crashing them since I was old enough to read the obituary section,” she explained at his questioning look. 

He smirked softly. “Didn’t I read in some alumni interview that your parents met at a funeral?”

She tightened her hold on his arm, staring down at her feet as they trudged along in the grim procession, focusing on the sound of the rain pelting the umbrella over them. “As did we.”

He was silent too long and she started to pull away. Since Thursday after hearing her plan, he’d been in a contemplative mood, unusually distant. Guilt gnawed at her, fresh and unfamiliar. He hadn’t protested it, she reminded herself to calm down. He had even provided the chains.

His hand closed over hers, his thumb pressing over the knuckle of her left ring finger. Nauseating. Wednesday wanted to find a tall grave marker to pin him to.

As they all circled around the burial plot, she caught Tyler’s eye. He was clustered near his father, Dr. Kinbott flanking his other side. He looked haggard and volatile.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have made out with me in front of him,” Xavier whispered.

She tightened her grip on his arm. “ I’d do it again ,” she murmured, looking up at him. Xavier’s eyes locked onto hers and relief flooded her veins.

Somewhere behind them, Yoko made a gagging noise.

All around them, the crowd started to descend into silence. Mayor Walker’s wife and son knelt at the open graveside, clinging to each other. The minister began his eulogy. Wednesday focused her attention on the many faces, blinking the rain from her lashes. There were tears and almost anyone could be hiding behind a mask of grief. She traced the circle of obsidian stones around the W/M on her necklace. Last night she had called her Abuela and confirmed that it wouldn’t activate again. 

Until now, I may have been outmatched and outmaneuvered, she thought, but the final gambit has yet to be played. The killer will make a mistake, and I’ll be ready.

Scattered groups of mourners remained after the casket was buried. Xavier transferred the handle of the umbrella to her hand. “I’m going to give my condolences to Lucas,” he said, looking nervous. She watched him tug his hoodie out of the collar of his coat and cross the lawn before turning to scan the dwindling crowd.

An outline in the trees and the flash of a sinister face set her running, snapping the umbrella closed and drawing it to her hip. 

∞

During dinner, Wednesday’s mind was too tangled with her plans and the knowledge she’d gained about the monster’s true nature to eat or even look at anyone. Enid tried jostling her but ultimately ended up abandoning her efforts and went off with Ajax when she was excused from their table.

Just before lights out, Ms. Thornhill came to her room and anxiously reported that Principal Weems needed to see her. Wednesday threw a dressing gown over her nightdress and followed, hoping she wasn’t about to be discovered for harboring her uncle in the beekeeping club’s headquarters. Eugene had promised no one would find him there.

Weems was also dressed for bed, pacing behind her desk. When Ms. Thornhill closed the door, she crossed her arms and tried to look authoritative.

“For once, I am not summoning you to discuss your conduct, though it was not brought to my attention that you failed to return on the bus from the funeral with the rest of the mourning party.” Weems’s left eye twitched in a barely noticeable flutter. “Unfortunately, it is my burden this evening to meet with several Nevermore students and inform them individually – to preserve their privacy – that Dr. Kinbott will no longer be serving as our exclusive therapist. Your sessions will be put on hold until we can find another doctor to fill her caseload.”

She took a seat at her desk and consulted paperwork there, shifting documents around and adjusting the phone, doubtless she had to call all of the parents and, in Wednesday’s case, the judge who ordered the sessions as part of the agreement of her attending.

“I suppose I would be happy about that, were she not brutally murdered.”

Weems looked up from her desk sharply. “Did you see this in a vision?”

Wednesday thought about the eyes in Xavier’s painting. The urge to lie to protect him came over her powerfully. “I know she was killed by the Hyde, and I know who the Hyde is.”

The principal’s face went ashen pale. “Explain yourself.”

“I’m still gathering evidence.”

The color came back to her face and she pursed her lips into a sour expression. “As you can imagine, I am notifying students in alphabetical order. I have a number of others to get through tonight. We will discuss this tomorrow. You are dismissed.”

She outpaced Ms. Thornhill on the way back to her room, ignoring her dorm mother’s firm voice. It had not escaped her notice that Wednesday had taken alternate transportation back from the funeral, only showing up at dinner.

“It was very dangerous for you to go off after the funeral, Wednesday,” she chided. She faltered her steps and she struggled to keep up. “I would be devastated if something were to happen to you.”

Wednesday glared. “You’re not my mother,” she reminded her.

Ms. Thornhill sighed. “I know. But I am responsible for you. And I see some of myself in you.” Her dorm mother adjusted her glasses. 

“You’ve said that to me before…” She dared not say more in case it had happened in a loop that had been written over.

“Did I?” Ms. Thornhill took advantage of her thoughtfulness and caught up to her, keeping stride with her. “You seem to be finding yourself now, but when you first arrived, you... I know what that’s like. It can be hard to identify with outcasts, even if you are one.”

“You feel out of place being the only normie on staff?” Even as she said it, something bright and sharp gnawed at her. She didn’t wait for a response to the question, pressing on. “Ms. Thornhill, I know the hour is late, but would you chaperone? My boyfriend is also a patient of Dr. Kinbott’s and he will be very upset to hear the news. I want to comfort him.”

“Your… boyfriend?” Ms. Thornhill asked, startled.

“Xavier,” Wednesday clarified, watching for her dorm mother’s reaction.

“What about Tyler?” Ms. Thornhill adjusted her glasses again. “That nice boy from the Weathervane? Didn’t you go to the dance with him?”

Wednesday smirked. “I only did it to make Xavier jealous.”

Ms. Thornhill’s face darkened. “I’m disappointed in you, Wednesday. Using Tyler like that is very dishonest.” She put her hand firmly on her shoulder and steered her toward Ophelia Hall. “It is much too late to be calling on boys. Straight to your room.”

Wednesday allowed herself to be marched up the stairs.

As soon as the door was shut behind her, she went to Enid’s bed and shook her awake. “I need you to show me how to do background checks on people with your computer.”

∞

She didn’t think about Xavier until the next morning. She noticed wryly that they both had the same bruised look, eyes tight from having stayed up all night. She was eager to tell him what she had learned and to tell him her uncle was on campus. There were many sober faces at breakfast and in their morning classes; despite Weems’s intention of protecting students from privacy, it was obvious who was mourning the loss of Dr. Kinbott, though only she and Xavier knew it was because she had been killed.

She hadn’t been fond of her therapist, but she was angry about the senseless manner in which she had died. During fencing practice, she challenged Xavier for the chance to talk to him, but between helping him with his form and getting distracted doing it, not to mention not being able to hear each other over the din of the hall and through their masks, she had to wait.

Outside the locker room, a group of girls passing by slyly congratulated her, some with an undercut of bitterness in their voices. When Xavier emerged, he was swatting off a few pats on the back, too. Wednesday hadn’t thought she’d ever be the type to be so publicly physical with a romantic partner, disgusted by her parents’ displays. Aside from the kiss in front of Tyler the other night, her touches were subtle, but firm and commanding. Everyone knew Xavier was hers, and it pleased her.

As they walked out to their last class of the day, she reached up and flicked at a stray lock of hair that had come loose from his ponytail, kneaded at the top vertebrate of his spine. He grinned at her and softly put his palm to the small of her back. The knife that was usually there was still stuck in the worktable in his shed; she’d left it there on purpose. It symbolized her vulnerability around him as well as her possession.

“I know what the monster is, what Tyler actually is,” she whispered as they joined the throng of students in the hallway. “He’s a Hyde.”

“As in Jekyll and Hyde?” he asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

“Exactly. Let’s go to your shed after class. I have so much to tell you. That’s not even half of it.”

∞

The first thing she noticed was that the knife was missing. Xavier had been asking her if she was going to explain her behavior after the funeral the day before, but she cut him off.

“Someone has been here. Look around without touching anything and let me know if anything has been moved or taken.”

They spent a tense few minutes looking around before he alerted that the painting of Dr. Kinbott had been turned over. “Nothing’s been stolen, but this wasn’t here before,” he nodded at something under the worktable, a small black steel box.

“Thing,” Wednesday snapped. The hand flipped the lid on it deftly and rummaged, tapping out in frantic, broken morse and snap fluttering signals. Wednesday took a dusty garbage bag from a corner of the room and quickly wrapped it up tight, cursing under her breath. “You’re being framed,” she explained, stuffing it into her bag. “Thornhill.”

“Thornhill.”

“She isn’t who she says she is. I spent all night with help from Enid tracing her. Everything about her is fake. None of her references checked out.” She traced her finger over the knick in the table where her knife had been. “Last night, when I told her about us, she seemed upset, particularly when I told her that I’d only used Tyler to make you jealous at the Rave’N. I think she’s his master. It doesn’t make any sense for her to know about him or take any interest in him.” In one of the loops, she had greeted him by name but had quickly explained that he knew her drink order at the Weathervane.

Xavier listened, stone-faced.

She took a deep breath and launched into the last part of her theory. They would need to look at Faulkner’s Diary to confirm it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go through with the plan they’d come up with if she didn’t know for sure. “Tyler might just be a pawn in all of this. According to my uncle, Hydes are triggered into their initial transformations through trauma. He – “

“You’re saying he’s being used. That he’s innocent.”

She blinked, startled at the coldness in his voice. She thought back to the boy she first met, flustered behind a faulty espresso machine. There had always been something off about him. “No, but I question how complicit he is in all of this. Shouldn’t we be looking for the truth?”

“The truth is that he beat the shit out of me last year, Wednesday. He laughed and egged his friends on.” Xavier started tearing sketches of the Hyde from his wall. “Tyler Galpin is a monster. Point blank.” He let the crumpled things fall to the floor. “Someone I cared about is dead. I’ve been seeing it coming for days and no one believed me. I’d appreciate a minute to be sad about it.” 

“We have a lot to prepare if we’re going to go through with our plan, and now I have to destroy evidence,” she reminded him.

“Do you ever get sick of using people?” he snapped. She must have looked as hurt as she felt, a sudden drop in her stomach that was like vertigo raked over hot coals. His expression slackened, but he pressed on. “The other day,” he breathed, emotionally straining. “You seemed concerned that I hadn’t been sleeping well. I wanted to tell you everything. I would have been okay with you saying we can’t change it. But you completely ran over me and concocted a plan to prove that Galpin is a monster. Your monster.”

“I’m selfish,” she provoked.

He shrugged, unwilling to agree, but the way he stood, still and straight, betrayed him. 

She spun on her heel and marched out, heat rushing through her and stinging behind her eyes. 

∞

Wednesday elected to skip dinner in favor of pacing the room, agonizing over every detail of the past few days. Had she used Xavier? He felt as though she had. Or that she was comfortable using others. It wasn’t completely untrue, but this was the first time she’d felt guilty about it and had to rethink how it was affecting the people around her. Because she had friends now. People that she cared about. Enid. Ajax, by extension. Bianca, somewhat. Weems, too. Xavier more than the others, which was frightening to acknowledge. 

She loved Xavier.

Had Enid been there, she would have blurted it out. It would have been embarrassing. Enid would have howled. The thought made her smile. She glanced at the clock and realized that it was almost time to rendezvous with her uncle. He would be the first person she would tell. Uncle Fester was her favorite person in the world and he would be thrilled for her. He would know exactly what to say to comfort her in her unrequited heart poison.

Her hands were still shaking. Xavier hadn’t explicitly broken up with her. It was both a mercy and an unkindness not to say it when it was clearly on the surface of his thoughts.

She let it melt off of her as she blended into the crowd, flowing against the tide of traffic leaving the dining hall and making her way to the Poe statue. 

The library was deadly quiet. Usually, she would have found that comforting, but now it was worrying. She passed the picture of her young, newly in love parents, running her hands along the bookshelves for a hidden passage where her uncle might be hiding. When she let her bag drop to the floor, Thing crawled out and started tapping around, too.

“Uncle Fester?” she whispered into the silence. A shelf slid back, revealing a long, dark corridor. Thing wandered in, the quiet echo of his tapping alerting to her of the depth of the hidden area. “Uncle Fester,” she called, louder.

“Wednesday? What are you doing down here?”

Xavier’s hair was pulled back tightly, and he looked even more exhausted than before.

“My Uncle should be here. We’re doing research on Hydes,” she said stiffly. He scoffed, but there was more amusement in it than bitterness; her heart pulled her forward to the middle of the circular space, to him. He took half a step back.

“I don’t know how to apologize for using people when I don’t entirely regret it,” she began.

“Of course you don’t.”

“I have to, sometimes, to protect the people I love.” She looked down at their feet, pointed at each other, to avoid meeting his eyes. “I’m willing to be more reflective about it, provided the situation isn’t life or death.” 

“Wednesday.”

He was almost too beautiful to look at. She felt herself blushing, knowing he’d inferred what she wanted to say. She risked reaching for his hands and was relieved when he threw his arms around her instead, crushing her body close.

“I love you,” she said into his chest, hating the way her voice broke around it.

“I thought I’d be the first one to say it,” he said quietly. 

She struggled against him to get her arms free, pulling at his shoulders. This kiss was like wildfire, spreading through her body, eating at her anxiety. Xavier lifted her easily, his hands rough under her thighs. She tugged lightly at the knot in his hair as he kissed her throat, making her whimper in relief and desire.

“I’m still mad about some things,” he said under her ear.

“You have the right to be,” she said.

“We can talk about it after all of this is over.”

She stared at him. After . “After this is over, I just want to be with you,” she said, hoping that he would recognize what she was saying as his own wish. He held her gaze and gently lowered her. The buzzing of electricity startled her into pushing him out of harm’s way, though he still closed in on her back.

“Uncle Fester.” She swallowed thickly.

“Viper! My Wednesday.” He smiled his wide, toothy smile, breathing ragged but excitable. Sparks danced at his fingertips.

“This is Xavier, my beloved,” she stepped aside so that her uncle could survey him. Xavier grinned at her, mouthing beloved .

“Dear boy!” Uncle Fester wheezed in pleasure, shaking his hand enthusiastically. The static shot up his arm, too weak to hurt him but strong enough to loosen the elastic holding his hair back, shooting it straight out. 

∞

Wednesday focused most of her attention on Xavier’s hair, occasionally peppering his jaw with kisses while Uncle Fester and Thing argued over how best to crack the safe behind Iggy Itt’s portrait. After several tense minutes, they finally got it open. Faulkner’s Diary had more information on the master/Hyde bond, but it couldn’t confirm her trepidations about Tyler. “At the moment we cannot be sure of his intentions, so we must assume that he is untrustworthy and that the school is not safe while he is under his master’s control.” 

“I talked to Bianca after dinner,” Xavier said. Wednesday frowned. He grinned. “She straightened me out after our fight,” he assured her. “But she also agreed to help. She should be on her way back to campus now.”

A few moments later, his phone chimed in his pocket and he showed her the newest text.

got him

Wednesday took Faulkner’s Diary from her uncle. “Tell her to bring him to the shed.”

∞

Xavier gifted Uncle Fester the burner phone and they saw him off after Wednesday helped him rewire and jump the stolen motorcycle he’d come in on. It was close to lights out when they got to the shed and started setting up. Xavier found a chair in the back storage area and Wednesday bolted it to the floor as best she could. Together, they unwound the chains and draped them over the chair, ready for their victim.

“If we time this right, the sheriff will be here on an anonymous tip, looking for the planted evidence.” Instead, he would see his son transforming into an uncontrollable beast. Faced with proof and witnesses, what would he do?

Bianca knocked on the door and silently guided in, looked from Wednesday to Xavier, and turned around without a word, heading back to campus.

Xavier started to call after her, but Wednesday pulled him back. “I’d rather not implicate her further,” she said, gently prodding Tyler to sit in the chair and winding the chains around his arms and legs. Xavier watched for a moment before kneeling down to help. Tyler stared straight ahead, eyes glassy and blank. When the chains were tight enough, she snapped her fingers in front of his face. 

“Where the hell am I?” his voice was thick and slow, coming out of a fog.

“Somewhere no one can hear your screams,” she said tightly, running her fingers over her tools spread out on the worktable, settling on the pliers.

“What’s with the chains?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” she hissed, pulling out a fingernail. His screams were instantly and intensely satisfying.

When they died down, he was straining to break free, panting. She pinched another nail between the jaws of the pliers.

“I did some internet research on your mother. imagine my surprise when I discovered that she was an alumnus of our school. She was a Hyde.”

“Wednesday, this is crazy. I’m a normie.”

“That’s only half true,” she snapped. “Your father has been living his life in dread, never quite sure whether or not she passed her condition on to you.” She ripped out another nail, clamping her hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds.

He struggled against her, tears leaking. She smirked, stepping back so that he could regain his breath. She put the pliers back and contemplated her selection.

Tyler looked over at Xavier, his lip curling. “Figures you’d just stand there and let her do this to me.”

Wednesday watched the exchange, holding her breath. Xavier turned to her. “Hand me that hammer?” he said evenly. 

She complied, curious. Excited. He hefted it in his hand, ignoring Tyler’s sputtering and swearing. The head of the hammer impacted his knee and he howled, his face bulging, the skin at his hairline flush with unnatural color. One of the bolts in the chair came loose.

“Do that again,” Wednesday purred, leaning back against the worktable to get a better view.

Xavier raised the hammer. The doors exploded inward, flashlight beams blinding all of them. Tyler started crying, rattling the chair and his bonds.

∞

Wednesday, unsurprisingly, was not charged. Tyler put everything on Xavier, claiming a latent retaliation for the mural incident. She refused to speak, sitting in the interrogation room until the early hours of the next morning, seething until the family lawyer came for her, along with Weems, livid.

“I can do no more for you, Miss Addams. I’m afraid this warrants expulsion. Immediately.” She wrung her hands. “Xavier’s father is threatening legal action against the school.”

Wednesday nodded to her lawyer. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement. I’d like a word with you here before we go back to Nevermore.”

“Bold of you to assume you have any power here,” Weems crossed her arms tightly over her tweed coat.

“I know one thing you don’t. I know who the Hyde’s master is.” The Addams family lawyer calmly left the room, sharp stilettos attacking the floor as she made her way down the hall. Wednesday relaxed her posture as much as possible. “Principal Weems. Nevermore is in danger. I need your help.”

Weems sat.

“I have circumstantial evidence that Tyler is the Hyde. You knew his mother. She was an outcast.”

“I didn’t ask Francois what she identified as,” Weems sniffed haughtily.

“Xavier and I almost managed to get him to transform under duress. Did the sheriff tell you that he received an anonymous call, pinning the blame on Xavier? They’re searching his shed now, but they won’t find the evidence Tyler and his master planted.” She’d wrapped the box in two more thick garbage bags and tied them up in a tree where the scent wouldn’t be picked up by the bloodhounds. “I believe you’re within your rights as Xavier’s temporary guardian to confirm that he was under suspicion.”

A tense moment passed before the principal abruptly stood, ordering her to stay in the room. Wednesday itched to go check on Xavier, but she knew both lawyers were with him. Almost half an hour passed before Weems returned. She set a cup of black coffee on the table and Wednesday took it gratefully.

“Who is the Hyde’s master?”

“I’ll tell you on the drive back to campus. You should call ahead and tell Ms. Thornhill that I’ve been expelled effective immediately. I’d like a moment alone with Xavier, too.”

They were stopped in the hallway and steered into Sheriff Galpin’s office where they were informed that Tyler had sustained a dislocated knee joint and a series of severe fractures in his fibula. Wednesday smirked into her lap.

“My son refuses to press charges against the girl,” Sheriff Galpin growled. “He says the whole thing was Thorpe’s idea and she walked in on it.”

“Be that as it may, Ms. Addams has been expelled effective immediately,” Weems said crisply. “I’m taking her back to campus now to pack her things and send her home on the earliest available train.”

“Good,” the sheriff barked. “I’m looking forward to an Addamsless Jericho.” He waved them out.

The Addams family lawyer sauntered out of the holding room at the end of the hall, gave Wednesday a brief report and went into Sheriff Galpin’s office, shutting the door behind her. Emboldened, Wednesday increased her pace and found Xavier in the small, holding cell at the end of the hall, shackled at the neck and wrists. His lawyer stood nervously in one corner, talking on the phone. When he saw Wednesday, he ducked out of the room, nearly running into Weems.

“Five minutes, Ms. Addams,” the principal allowed.

Wednesday reached through the bars and looped her fingers through the links of Xavier’s neck shackles. The bars were unfortunately too thick and too close to kiss him through. He smiled softly when she expressed her frustration.

“If you get Thing to distract her, we can be out of here in three minutes flat,” he whispered. He wasn’t wrong. She always carried a simple but effective lock pick in her boot. She dropped the chain link and took a step back. “Tonight is a full blood moon.”

He stared at her, not comprehending.

“Whatever is going to happen, it’s happening tonight. I’m still not sure who Thornhill is. My best guess is she’s an ancestor of Crackstone. The second I set foot back on campus she’ll be there and she won’t let me out of her sight.” She was willing to bet that her dorm mother would even volunteer to drive her to the train station if she believed Weems’s declaration that she was expelled. “You’re safer here.”

“Wednesday.”

“I can’t redo today,” she reminded him. “You could die.”

“So could you .” He reached for her, but his cuffs couldn’t fit through the bars far enough. “ Wednesday .”

She walked out of the room and out to the parking lot with Weems, blinking back tears.

∞

Hours later, she came to in the dark, candlelight slowly filtering in. Her head was throbbing. She tried not to focus on what she regretted about what had happened since leaving the station that morning.

“Tyler, go wait by the boat,” Thornhill instructed. Laurel. Laurel Gates, Wednesday corrected in her mind. Her toes barely touched the ground, so teetering around to glare at him as he passed her, grinning, was awkward.

“Yes. Listen to your master and be a good little Hyde,” she spat.

“I have to admit… that shape-shifting stunt with Weems almost worked.”

Wednesday felt sick, remembering the foaming mouth, the numbness in her own limbs at being unable to stop it.

“But as my father always said, ‘If you want to outsmart an outcast, you got to out-think ’em.’.” She rose to her feet and dusted her hands on her thighs, satisfied with the setup of Frankensteined parts circling the tomb. “You know, we have roots that go all the way back to Joseph Crackstone.”

“So you come from a line of psychotic killers too,” Wednesday drawled, pleased that her voice was coming back stronger.

“Joseph Crackstone was a visionary!” Laurel screeched. “He dedicated his life to protecting normies from outcasts until his life was cut short by your ancestor, Delores Addams.”

She withdrew Wednesday’s knife from her pocket and flipped open the stolen book of shadows, chanting Goody’s incantation backward.

∞

Wednesday stumbled out into the woods, her own blood on the knife clutched in her hand but the wound completely restored. She thought about tearing the necklace off again; there was too much power and potential in it to carry. Roaring and howling made her run faster. The blood moon overhead seemed to weigh and press down on her and when she saw the werewolf engaged in battle with the Hyde, she fell to her knees.

“Enid,” she marveled.

The Hyde sensed her and dove at her, but she dodged it, only to get thrown against a tree, knocking the air out of her, though the knife was still in her hand and she slashed out with it when he came at her again. Enid dove kicked him out of the way and Wednesday ran for it, her heart racing. 

She could smell smoke coming over the lake.

∞ 

When Crackstone fell, leaving her and Bianca standing there in the middle of the blazing Pentagon, Wednesday had the brief, insane thought that she wanted to embrace the other girl. Laurel’s gunfire saved her from embarrassing herself and it was satisfying to feel the crunch of the imposter’s bones under the sole of her boot. It wasn’t her first kill, but it was the most chaotic and memorable.

“I hope this isn’t an Elder Wand situation,” Eugene muttered, looking down at the body mutilated by hundreds of bee stings and the skull crushed in

“A what?"

“He means this better not make you Tyler’s new master."

Wednesday flinched. “I’d command him to jump off a cliff.”

Bianca laughed and let her lean against her as they walked out onto the grounds to see everyone safe. Wednesday’s shoulder throbbed, but it would heal. She’d had worse than an arrow in her shoulder. Enid had worse after her fight. Wednesday clutched her as tightly as their injuries would allow and then got Ajax to help her cajole Xavier into carrying her to the infirmary since he was taller and stronger. Enid blushed, wrapping her coat firmly around herself and watching Wednesday, wide-eyed, over his shoulder as they marched back onto campus to reclaim it.

∞

Two days later, the school was upturned, directionless without Weems. The board of directors decided to send them on their winter break much earlier than planned while they put things back in place. Wednesday’s status hung in the air, but her father assured her that the family lawyer was working closely with the head of the board of directors, arguing that while her actions had been reckless, she had saved everyone.

Reluctantly, Wednesday sat at the crystal ball for almost an hour, conversing with her mother. They spoke of visions and what she would need to say if she was called before the board to plead her case to stay at the school.

“We can always find a private tutor if you would prefer to come back home permanently,” Morticia suggested.

Wednesday squirmed in her chair and looked over her shoulder at Enid, who was sorting through her nail polish colors. “I want to return.”

∞

Wednesday tried to argue against the phone Xavier gifted her.

“I don’t want something bought with your father’s money.”

“I bought it with my own money from selling a few pieces over the summer,” he countered. “It’s not even brand new. It’s refurbished. The data plan is a prepaid thing. No contract. You’re not on my family plan, but your Uncle’s phone number from the burner is already in there.” 

She frowned at it. “The screen is too bright.”

“There are settings. You can even make everything in black and white if you want.” He unlocked it and showed her.

While Lurch loaded her things into the car, she sat with Xavier while he made adjustments to the settings for her, jokingly offering to make a song by a band called Asia her ringtone. She failed to grasp the joke.

“I’m not ready yet,” she said when Lurch held the car door open. “Circle around.” He groaned and lumbered over to the driver’s side, slowly pulling off and joining the thick throng of cars filtering in and out of the main driveway. Once he was out of sight, Wednesday settled into Xavier’s lap, kissing him without restraint as snow started to fall lightly over the grounds. 

She had one more argument against the phone, but rather than voice it, she opened the messenger application and typed out what she wanted to say, along with her address.