Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.”
― Paulo Coelho.

Wednesday Addams was no stranger to love. She had witnessed it in multiple forms for as long as she could remember.

And having clear memories from the age of two (and even earlier) combined with the fact that Gomez and Morticia Addams were her parents, meant that love was something that had been with her all her life. It didn't just manifest itself in the over-the-top romantic proclamations and acts of her progenitors, although this was certainly the most conspicuous manifestation in her household. No, Wednesday could feel the love in all the dishes cooked by her Grandmama, including her favorites (still alive so she could finish them off with the silverware). She could feel the love in all the old witch's gruesome stories and tales, in the quiet attention Lurch always gave her when she required it, in Pugsley's look of sickly devotion mixed with fear that made her wish she had more steps to throw him down the stairs, in Pubert's delightfully insane laughter as she threw him out of the greenhouse window, in Thing entertaining her by juggling sharp knives when she was a toddler, in Uncle Fester showing her his collection of photos of poorly healed scars, in the ever silent but omnipresent support and pride on the part of her parents...

So yeah, Wednesday Addams was no stranger to love.

Perhaps that's why, somewhat twistedly and without stopping to think too much about it, she began to see it as something mundane, just another element of her day-to-day life. Not for a moment did it occur to her that her parents were exceptional. In Wednesday Addams' mind she could not conceive of a lover not being as fully devoted to her paramour as her parents were to each other, but at the same time she did not consider herself the bearer of the capacity to express such a level of interest in anyone.

A romantic affair... was not something she had in mind. Ever. That was despite feeling occasional admiration for certain individuals (specifically a certain writer she revered more than others).

Not even when she met Joel.

Wednesday would never deny her appreciation for the boy (he was loyal, willful and brave when the situation called for it, with a certain propensity for revenge), but over time she was able to determine that her initial attraction to him was more a derivative of her interest in the young male's paradoxical ability to stay alive despite his potential mortality if he used the wrong shampoo.

The romance between the two did not continue despite Joel's genuine interest: scaring him half to death by causing a heart attack would make the boundaries clear. Miraculously and morbidly, a sincere friendship between them did persist despite that incident, the distance and the pathological overprotectiveness of Joel's parents.

After all, you don't set fire to a camp of racists with someone without a bond being forged.  

Hells, even in the disaster of a marriage between Uncle Fester and Debbie there was love, at least on his part. Wednesday would always be grateful that the ghoulish Addams had found Aunt Dementia soon after. She truly knew how to reciprocate his attentions with murder attempts that truly did come from a place of love.

But Wednesday had come to the conclusion that romance was not something for her. If even her fascination with Joel's mortality had failed to sustain anything beyond her initial interest... What was in it for her?

And then, one day, in a play session while trying to entertain Pubert with an invigorating catapult launch, Wednesday suddenly found herself transported without warning to another universe and with a set of sharp multicolored claws right before her eyes.

You know, it happens.

Everything that happened in that other reality, universe, dimension... whatever you prefer to call it, was an unexpected experience for Wednesday, and not for the reasons one might initially think. Yes, meeting other versions of herself was something a bit surreal, although not without interest, as a strong bond was established between her and her other selves that could only be described as sisterhood. Although on the other hand she could not deny a certain greater affinity towards some of her specific counterparts. Especially towards that dimension's native Wednesday, with whom she seemed to have more in common than with any other, despite marked differences in facial features and other minor details.

It was also undoubtedly stimulating to be involved in all the mystery surrounding her presence and that of the other variants in that reality, even though it all turned out to be a crude attempt at revenge-gone-wrong on the part of a novice witch. In any case, Wednesday supposed she should award points to the lunatic for trying. The doses of exhilarating violence certainly helped.

And also for the chance of knowing her.

As mentioned, Wednesday was no stranger to love, and finding that her counterpart from that universe had a partner shouldn't be shocking in and of itself. Nor that she was with another woman.

What was shocking was how the situation suddenly made her question and rethink many things about herself because suddenly a whole world of possibilities had opened up before her that she hadn't even seriously considered. It prompted Wednesday to examine her own self as she had seldom done before and she found that among other things her admiration for Mary Shelley, for example, was perhaps not entirely platonic.

In a little mental exercise, deep inside herself, she tried to imagine how things would have been with Joel if Joel were a girl and...

Yes, decidedly her affinity to the boy's potential killability was no longer the only factor of interest in that scenario.

(This also opened up another unexpected insight into her constant enjoyment of psychologically torturing Amanda Buckman at summer camp, but not even Wednesday Addams dared contemplate that possibility any more than she had to.)

But the worst of all, to her bewilderment, was the fixation she had begun to develop on Enid Sinclair, the paramour of her counterpart.

Enid.

Derived from the Welsh term eneit, meaning “spirit”, “life” or “purity”. The same name of the Celtic goddess and the Enide of the Arthurian myths. A romantic legendary figure of flawless perfection and great courage in life. Loyal beyond death.

An appropriate name, no doubt.

Enid Sinclair was a creature of contrasts. Bubbly, with a pathological affinity for color and plushies, and as radiant as a walking sun. But it was a sun that burned, that burned passionately and that enclosed within herself an implacable and magnificent beast, given her lycanthropic nature. It turns out that, aside from other superficial traits or other deeper factors of attraction, the image of a woman turning into a murderous hulk of muscle and fur caused... interesting sensations in Wednesday.

Women capable of becoming monsters. It seems she had a type after all.

With the mystery solved, the crisis overcome and their enemy defeated, her attraction did not stop growing no matter how hard she tried to keep it at bay. After all, Enid and the other, older Wednesday were already in an established relationship and the mere thought of getting in the way of that filled her with guilt and shame deep down inside. She could not, unfortunately, resist a goodbye kiss (only on the hand, of course) which fortunately her variant was able to understand. Even so, there always remained a small regret, a need to apologize that sometimes made her more irritable than usual.

The storm inside her did not subside back in her universe. It was true what they said, that distance from the loved one caused the heart to bleed for lost longings. Images of golden hair and wolves howling in the moonlight with fur spattered by the blood of their opponents had become recurrent in both her dreams and her waking. Arms covered in golden fur wrapped around her, claws sinking lovingly into her flesh. And an idea began to sprout in her mind, to emerge from the earth like a corpse revived. After all, logic dictated that if Wednesday Addams had a dimensional counterpart, the same could apply to Enid Sinclair.

Somewhere, in her world, there had to be another Enid Sinclair.

That led her one day to ask a question that was fundamental as a first step to follow.

"Father, Mother, are you familiar with a place known as Nevermore Academy?"

Gomez and Morticia looked up and exchanged a curious glance before returning their attention to their daughter.

"Why, of course," Gomez stated effusively, "It's where your mother was studying when I first met her!"

"You met at a funeral," replied Wednesday.

"Certainly," Morticia replied, "Nevermore Academy is an all-girls school. That didn't stop your father from visiting me on a multitude of occasions during my last year, walking through its walls like a thief in the night."

"A thief in love, cara mia ," said Gomez, kissing his wife's hand.

"Oh, I'm sure poor Larissa still has nightmares of you sneaking into our dorm room unannounced," Morticia said, with a nostalgic smile, "If I'm not mistaken she's still there, albeit as part of the faculty."

Morticia looked at her daughter with interest and a certain inquisitive look, "Why all this interest in Nevermore Academy, my child?"

Wednesday was quiet for a moment, before speaking in a calculated and fiercely controlled tone, "I might be interested in attending. As soon as possible."

Morticia, of course, noticed the longing in her daughter's voice anyway and while it raised more questions she supposed Wednesday would speak when she felt ready. The matriarch of the Addams Family smiled at her firstborn indulgently.

"Then I'll make a few calls, and we'll see if a mid-term transfer is possible, my darling."

And thus Wednesday Addams left behind the walls of the public school she had been forced to attend at the age of six, no doubt to the great relief of a considerable number of students and teachers, to embark on a new journey and a new quest, to find her own she-wolf.

§§§

"Oh, cariñito, nothing has changed! Those walls still look as slippery and insurmountable as they did when I was climbing them to get to you."

"It's a pity the principal back then never wanted to heed your suggestions to add a moat with crocodiles, mon amour."

"Tish! That's French!"

Wednesday merely rolled her eyes after exchanging a glance with Pugsley inside the family vehicle and proceeded to ignore the everlasting spectacle of her parents, keeping her attention on the window and the scenery beyond the glass. Lurch was driving with his usual dexterity (i.e., taking the traffic rules as polite suggestions and nothing more) and after his final swerve, Nevermore Academy was in sight. That in this reality it was an all-girls school was already a noticeable difference. Its male counterpart, the Usher Institute, was barely two kilometers away and joint extracurricular activities between the two schools were common. Despite this, the place was remarkably similar to the Nevermore of the other universe, although the horrendously sunny day spoiled the mood a bit and deprived the place of the proper atmosphere.

"I still don't understand why you want to come here," Pugsley said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "Okay, school's a pain, but it wasn't too bad either. And at least we were together if we needed to be."

"My motives are far beyond your meager reasoning skills, Pugsley."

"Yeah, say what you want. But don't think I haven't noticed that you've been acting weird lately," retorted the young Addams, frowning apprehensive, "Weirder, I mean. You don't even put strychnine in my breakfast cereal anymore. Even Pubert has noticed that you seem distracted at knife throwing. You! Distracted at knife throwing! And you spend all those hours cooped up in the library at home reading about werewolves..."

Wednesday didn't respond. She merely sighed quietly, returning her attention to the window and the ever-approaching Academy.

"See, that's what I'm talking about!" said Pugsley, "Not a threat, not an attempt to stab me or gouge my eyes out with a spatula! Nothing!"

"Pugsley, dear, your sister has her own reasons for requesting her transfer," Morticia interjected, her voice gentle but firm, "And she'll tell us them when she feels ready," she added, shooting a questioning look and a complicit smile at her daughter.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes.

"That's assuming I don't take them to my grave," Wednesday said.

"Well, that can be arranged...," her brother retorted, the threat pathetically evident.

That Wednesday's response to that was again to merely sigh almost longingly, half-heartedly, terrified him to no end. Pugsley would never know, and Wednesday would never admit it out loud, but she was enjoying immensely the psychological torture she was inflicting on her brother by indulging in her most lovesick behavior.

She almost smiled. Almost.

There were no more attempts at interrogation after that. Soon they crossed the threshold of the academy's outer entrance and promptly Wednesday found herself seated in a somber office, with her father to her right and her mother to her left. And across from her, behind a large desk, the smiling but clearly bewildered figure of Nevermore's headmistress and Morticia's former roommate, Larissa Weems.

Wednesday had heard of the Larissa Weems from the other universe. An imposing figure of great stature, both in a figurative and purely physical sense. A shapeshifter who loved her school above all else and was willing to do whatever it took to protect it. Even die.

The Larissa Weems of this universe on the other hand... was a woman of perfectly average height. And as far as Wednesday knew, from the information she had managed to glean from her mother, a normal human being with no extraordinary abilities.

That was the other detail. Her world had a much less overt supernatural presence than the universe she had visited. There were monsters and other supernatural beings, or outcasts as they were called in that other reality, but their number was either much smaller or they knew how to hide more to the point that a large percentage of the population did not believe in their existence even if it was more or less officially recognized. Nevermore was not, therefore, an academy exclusively for outcasts. A high percentage of the student body were painfully standard humans. But it was one of the few schools that accepted outcasts and had the facilities and means to cater to their specific needs, even if their presence was much more discreet.

Wednesday ignored much of the conversation between her parents and Principal Weems. Greetings, reminiscences of times past, academic and administrative details of Wednesday's transfer... since she had never been expelled from her previous school and her criminal record had only minor infractions (something she was partially proud of because it meant she had been able to cover her tracks successfully on more serious occasions) there was no mention of therapy sessions or other exceptional considerations. The only oddity was the fact of a student changing schools mid-year at her own request.

"How about we introduce you to your roommate?"

Now, that question from Weems did get Wednesday's attention. After all, in the other reality that had been Enid Sinclair's position. She tried to fight the longing and anticipation that began to well up in her chest as the headmistress, her parents, and she walked through the halls of Nevermore in the direction of the dorms. And she did well to contain them, for the disappointment was soon manifest. For one thing, her room wasn't in the tower. When the door opened, there was no visual shock setting her eyes ablaze. The room was... normal. There were no bursts of color or avalanches of stuffed animals. And besides that...

"Wednesday Addams, this is Hillary Hillard."

The young woman who came to greet her by extending her hand had straight black hair, a mousy appearance with large black-rimmed glasses and a hopeful smile marked by a conspicuous dental brace.

Wednesday did not return the smile, nor did she respond to the attempted greeting. There was no handshake. She merely surveyed who might be a potential nuisance to her presence at Nevermore with an indifferent coolness that would have reassured Pugsley had he been there instead of waiting in the car with Lurch.

Following the awkward silence, it was soon time for farewells. She bid goodbye to her parents, Pugsley and Lurch, demanding that they throw a bucket of acid at Pubert on her behalf so that the little boy would not forget his big sister's affection. But before her progenitors left, and after her father stopped crying in a pathetic emotional display, Wednesday had one last exchange of words with Morticia.

"I think I have a suspicion about your reasons for coming here, daughter," said the Addams matriarch, "I'm pretty sure it has something to do with whatever it was that happened to you a couple of months ago. Grandmama knows something too but flatly refuses to talk about it."

"Mother...," Wednesday began to say, but Morticia asked for silence with a wave of her hand.

"I understand. I know you will tell us everything when you think the time is right. And whatever it is you seek here, I wish you fortune in it. Just remember that even as brilliant as you are, sometimes your biggest obstacle is yourself, my little black widow."

After that, it was all like white noise in the background to her senses. She went into autopilot and not for the first time doubt loomed its ugly presence within her, wondering if she hadn't made a mistake. She picked up her uniform and proceeded to settle into her room almost mechanically in her efficiency, under the apprehensive gaze of her new roommate. That was the moment when the latter revealed that there was technically one last "ritual" left: she was to accompany Wednesday on a quick tour of the center's facilities for her to catch up.

"I know it's a pain in the ass, but it's orders from the principal and...," Hillary started to say, almost rapid-firing the words with her nervousness.

"Let's proceed then," interrupted Wednesday.  

Thus they found themselves traversing the corridors of Nevermore as Hillary skimmed through the history of the school. Wednesday for her part focused on watching the students come and go, hoping to find the face she had come for. It was as they approached the central courtyard (which Hillary curiously did not describe as a quad) that the universe finally threw up a response in her direction. There was some kind of commotion, and students clustered in large numbers around something in the center, near the fountain.

A girl was running in their direction. A dark-skinned, light-eyed young woman with long curly black hair.

"Bianca!" exclaimed Hillary, "What's wrong?"

"The psycho messed up again!" the young woman exclaimed, "I can't say anymore, I have to go get the principal!"

Wednesday watched her go, wondering whether or not she had just met her universe's counterpart to Bianca Barclay. If that was the case at least she'd have some interesting fencing classes. With nothing more to say, she continued on her way, with Hillary behind her, until she reached the center of the action. The Addams made her way, pushing other students out of her way until she could witness the scene unfolding.

With her back to her, she could see a stout-looking red-haired girl with a large build lying face down on the ground, covered in dust and mud. Above her, driving her knee into her back as she held and twisted one of the arms of the fallen opponent, stood another brown-haired girl much smaller but clearly stronger. From her position Wednesday couldn't appreciate all the details, but it was obvious that both had clear signs of struggle, rips in their uniforms, bruise marks and scratches.

"Apologize!" the brown-haired girl shouted over the redhead's back as she twisted her arm in an angle that was painful just to look at. She yelled in a hoarse voice that sounded almost like a growl, "Apologize to them!"

Wednesday saw that there were two other girls nearby, being both part of the scene and observers.

One she recognized instantly: she was obviously Yoko Tanaka's counterpart. She was identical in every way, and the Addams would bet she was a vampire in this reality as well, judging by her glasses and the pallor of her skin. Her brow was furrowed, glaring hatefully at the redhead on the ground though her posture also denoted her concern for the whole situation. She was holding another girl in her arms. Wednesday could only see blonde curly hair?

Could it be...?, she thought.

But she soon realized it wasn't the person she was expecting when the young blonde raised her tear-stained face, exposing a soon-to-be black eye from a punch. It wasn't Enid Sinclair, but oddly enough it didn't seem to be a counterpart of Divina either, despite her obvious familiarity with Tanaka.

And at that moment, Larissa Weems' voice echoed across the courtyard with a volume that if anything could do justice to her multiversal counterpart.

"ENID SAINT-CLAIR! LET GO OF MISS CARVER'S ARM RIGHT NOW!"

What?

The brown-haired girl let out a final grunt and released the redhead's arm. She stood up, turning around and finally letting her face come into view.

Wednesday's eyes widened wildly and she inhaled so loudly that it even drew a reaction from Hillary next to her, who looked quizzically at the Addams.

No, she thought, She can't be...

But she was. In spite of it all.

And it was all wrong.

Instead of blond hair with brightly colored highlights adorning the ends there was dark brown hair. And instead of luminous blue eyes as bright as a clear day's sky there were green eyes like the toxic fumes emanating from the swamp near the Addams Family cemetery.

But the face... the face was the same. No scars, but exactly the same in a way and familiarity that was almost painful. That was the face that had occupied Wednesday's dreams for the past few months and it was finally in front of her, but...

The affable, warm, friendly smile? Absent. In its place, a smirk of predatory smugness, almost cruel, like that of a cat playing with its prey. A smile that turned into inexpressive jadedness when Principal Weems planted herself in front of her.

Wednesday felt again as if everything around her had turned to white noise, but even more intensely than before. Immersed in her own inner turmoil and ignoring the voices around her, she paid no attention to the presence of Weems or the other teachers who had just arrived on the scene. She ignored what they were saying, disregarding their orders to clear the place. She barely felt Hillary grabbing her arm and trying to move her. The only voice she heard was her own inner doubt howling like a demented siren.

All the rest of her senses were focused on the person for whom she had come to Nevermore. Enid Sinclair.

At last, she had found her.

Except she wasn't Enid Sinclair, was she?

And so, just when she thought she had reached her destination, Wednesday Addams felt the ground vanish beneath her feet.

Chapter Text

“I am out of control and at times hard to handle.”
― Marilyn Monroe.

It was so commonplace that it could practically be considered part of the natural order of things: during their break and meal times, students at Nevermore Girls' Academy tended to gravitate toward the central courtyard.

And it made perfect sense. Why shouldn't they? A central, green, gardened square, outdoors but sheltered from the worst inclement weather in the months of fall and winter, pleasant during spring and summer, equipped with a central fountain and multiple tables for use by the student body. When there were no classes it was always a hive of activity. Friendship groups, study groups, club meetings, laughs, chats, games, gossip... there was always something going on.

Enid Saint-Clair was not a fan.

It's not that the brunette had anything against the place specifically. Not that she hated the concept of socializing either - she was a people person! Usually... well, sometimes. Mostly when violence was involved. No, it was more the number of people that could congregate in such a relatively small environment. Lots of noise, lots of smells. For someone with senses as finely tuned as hers, it was a nuisance at best, or the prelude to a headache at worst.

Sitting, her blue eyes watched all the other girls in the school with the sort of disinterested interest that might be found in any big cat lying in the sun.

Because you see, Enid was one of the students belonging to the small contingent of outcasts at the school, and one of the most notorious. Not that she was airing her supernatural status 24/7, but even before she arrived at Nevermore she had already carved out a slightly problematic reputation (which that nest of gossip had soon inflated to epic levels). As a result, much of the student body kept their distance from Enid, even the other outcasts. The only two exceptions were the two girls sitting next to her at one of the tables in the courtyard next to the central fountain. The only two people in the entire school who had never had a problem accepting Enid and whom she tolerated.

In reality she adored them as good friends, but would never admit it publicly or even under torture.

Directly across from Enid sat a young woman with long, straight black hair and eyes that would have been a dark brown if they were visible under her glasses. Her name was Yoko Tanaka. Also known as Yukari Ogawa, Yoko Matsuda, Maria Haruna and half a dozen other names. It was impossible to determine her true age, although in vampire terms she was still a teenager. She was the only vampire student at Nevermore and had been for the past two decades. Partly from taking it easy and partly from her family being major contributors to the school's finances. Fortunately, unlike other students from prominent families who helped keep Nevermore afloat, Yoko did not flaunt her privilege or use it to tower over others. On the contrary, the vampire preferred discretion and was a sort of public spokesperson and guide for the academy's outcast students.

To Yoko's right was one of the most peculiar people Enid had ever met. She was a golden-haired, blue-eyed, angelic-looking young woman... you'd think there was nothing out of the ordinary about her at a cursory glance, but in a way Marilyn Munster was an outcast among outcasts. After all, how do you categorize what was basically a mundane human being born of vampire parents? You'd have to invent a new category for her.

Marilyn had a good relationship with her family, although tensions occasionally arose, especially with the older members. It was not that she was disowned and she knew for sure that most of her relatives genuinely loved her, but they saw her "humanity" almost as a disability. And on the other hand, she found it difficult to relate to normal human students. She may have had no problem in matters of appearance ("You look like a Barbie doll, but for the best," Enid had once told her), but Marilyn's interests were far from what was considered socially acceptable for most fifteen-year-old girls. None of her former classmates shared her penchant for collecting shrunken heads, for example.

Yoko and Marilyn had been the first, and for the moment the only ones, to give Enid a chance when she arrived at Nevermore. Yoko, because of her aforementioned position of leadership, but also because she was someone exceptionally open to people and willing to give the benefit of the doubt to most. And Marilyn, because quirks aside, she was an absolute sweetheart of a person without a mean bone in her body.  

She was also a gossip, finding out about things before anyone else (although to her credit, she didn't get swept up in unsubstantiated rumors). It made sense that she would be the first to know about the arrival of a new student.

"I haven't been able to confirm it yet, but it looks like the new student is an Addams!" she proclaimed, whispering it as if it were a priceless secret. Yoko raised an eyebrow, interested.

"What is that, is it edible?" asked Enid.

Marilyn covered her mouth, trying to hold back a laugh, "No, Nid. The Addams are a...well, somewhat notorious family. No one knows for sure if they count as outcasts or not, although they do have several witches in the family."

"A couple of years before I enrolled here one of them was a student at the Usher Institute and apparently he was sneaking into the academy every night to see his girlfriend, one of the Frump sisters," Yoko said, "My father met one of them years ago, on a trip to the Bermuda Triangle. From the way he described him, the guy looked like some kind of zombie who lit light bulbs with his mouth."

"So what exactly is the new girl?" asked Enid, now somewhat more curious, "A witch? Psychic? Monster of some sort?"

"Impossible to tell, with that family you never know what to expect," said Yoko, "But if you're asking in hopes that you might find another living punching bag, forget it."

"Aaaw, come on, Yolks, I need a challenge..."

"Bitch, I already spar with you every weekend at our fight club."

"Of which only you two are members," Marilyn pointed out, laughing.

"Because the rest of them are all wimps. And nothing against you Yolks, but I just need new blood," Enid said, "And you Marls, why don't you ever join? It's not because of fear, that's for sure. You've changed the diapers of a transformed baby werewolf."

"Leave my baby cousin out of it. I just don't like to fight... I don't understand why you need it so badly."

"I am an impulsive creature ruled by primal instincts of dominance for whom exacerbated violence by mutual consent is an act of affection," Enid retorted, "Or so my last therapist said."

"Hasn't the director found you a new one yet?" asked Yoko. Enid's previous psychiatrist had resigned citing stress and work overload. The reality was that in one session she had made a series of remarks concerning Enid that were extremely personal and had led Enid to threaten to eat the doctor alive.

The nature of those remarks Enid had only confessed to Yoko and the vampire understood her friend's reaction perfectly.

"Nope. But seriously Yolks, at least let me ask the new one. Pleaseeeeyy."

"If half the stories I've heard about the Addams's are true there's a good chance she'll accept," Marilyn added.

Enid raised her eyebrows, hopeful.

"Sigh. Look, you can ask her if you want, but if you scare her off and she says no, just leave her alone, okay?"

"Of course, what kind of ill-mannered animal do you think I am?"

"A mountain cat with attitude problems," the vampire replied, with a sardonic grin that let one of her fangs shine. Enid responded by letting out a hissing noise that drifted into a low, hoarse growling-like meow forming in her throat. Marilyn merely sighed, shaking her head at her friends' silliness.

The brief moment of silence among the three was suddenly broken by a new voice.

"TANAKA!"

Yoko looked up and couldn't help but let out an "Ah, shit" when she saw who was approaching.

Florence Carver was one of the academy's most notorious bullies. And basically a walking cliché of the more physical and brutal variant of her brethren. With her ginger hair and a face with surprisingly delicate features, Florence wasn't ugly per se, but there were people whose bodies were built to resemble brick walls in shape, height and density, and Florence was one of those people. This was coupled with an irascible, shallow, dim-witted character who survived academically by stealing the work of classmates and out of her parents' pockets.

"You and I have a problem, Tanaka!"

Yoko stood up from the table, but made no move to advance toward the other student. The vampire remained calm and composed throughout, "And what problem is that, Florence?" she asked.

Florence planted herself in front of Yoko, her face flushed with anger, "I was supposed to have an date with Richie Thompkins this afternoon! But I was told he cancelled it because he was told I smell bad and I'm told you're the one who told him!"

"What the...," Enid mumbled, trying to digest that nonsense.

"Florence," replied Yoko, "I've never crossed half a word with Thompkins. Hell, I've never crossed half a word with any of the Usher boys nor have I ever talked to them about anything, least of all about you. Who told you all that?"

"Laurel told me! She's the one Richie told about canceling our date!"

Ah, of course, Yoko thought, frowning.

Laurel Gates, the queen bee of Nevermore. Beautiful, intelligent, academic prodigy, renowned athlete. And also cruel, narcissistic, manipulative, racist scum who had made it her personal goal to make the lives of all the outcast students at the academy in general, and Yoko in particular, miserable.

Yoko immediately saw what her game was. To provoke a confrontation that Yoko could not win.

Because as a vampire, Yoko Tanaka was at least ten times stronger than a normie like Florence Carver, but to use her strength in such a way would shatter a lot of goodwill, justify the more retrograde views of many classmates and some bigoted teachers and parents, and might even be used as an excuse for her expulsion. It was one of the sad realities of many of the outcasts at Nevermore: if they stood up to their bullies, they would be the ones to pay the consequences.

So all that was left for Yoko to do was to try to reason with Florence, something that obviously wasn't going to work. Her only alternative would be to endure Carver's punches without hitting back. And that was not something she was happy about, and not just for her own self-respect. Florence may have been a normie but she was an absurdly strong one. She would not cause serious damage to Yoko, but the vampire would feel the pain of the blows all the same, and until her next intake of regulated blood her wounds would not heal. She didn't fancy putting up with bruises for a few hours, but it didn't look like she had any other options.

"Look, Florence. I haven't talked to Richie. Have you talked to him? Are you sure he's cancelled your date and that Laurel isn't playing you?" said Yoko. She couldn't help but notice that the rest of the students were gathering around them to watch the show.

"Laurel is my friend!" snapped Carver, in a booming voice.

"Laurel is not your friend," Enid retorted in a tone of voice that made every hair on Yoko's body stand up.

Shit, Nid. Don't even think about it..., she thought.

"Laurel is a manipulative bitch, and you're her personal bulldozer. Her hunting hound. You repeat everything she says like a ventriloquist dummy. It's like she's got her hand up your ass and everything you spit out of your mouth is what she tells you and you believe it because the half a neuron in your brain can't do shit, the poor thing."

A deathly silence fell over the courtyard. There were many exchanges of nervous glances between the onlookers.

Carver's face had reddened to disturbing levels, turning almost purple. A vein throbbed in her forehead and her eyes had become bloodshot with pure rage.

"What… did… you… say?" she asked, motioning toward Enid.

And that's when things went awry.

With all the good will that always moved her, Marilyn stood up, resting her hand on Florence's arm, trying to get her attention in a futile attempt to restrain and pacify her.

"Look, Flo, it's not..."

Florence acted on pure reflex. Her arm stretched out and she swatted Marilyn off her, hitting her hard in the eye with the back of her hand and sending the blonde crashing to the ground with a groan of pain and tears in her eyes.

Yoko hissed, baring her fangs. But her first impulse was not to go after Carver but to make sure Marilyn was all right. For she knew that after that there was no longer any room for reason, but it would not be Yoko who would settle the score. Carver had barely been able to assimilate that she had struck Marilyn when a body rammed into her.

There was an outcast at Nevermore who didn't give a shit about turning the other cheek or being the better person. And that was Enid.

Enid Saint-Clair leaped across the table, pouncing on the bully. Her blue eyes had turned an almost phosphorescent green, sharp fangs protruded from her mouth and her brown hair was bristling. She slammed into Carver and the force of the impact was such that they both flew a few feet before rolling to the floor.

The fight... well, you could hardly call it that, for all the speed with which it unfolded. In the short time that Yoko had come to help Marilyn up and hold her up with a hug, Enid had already brought Florence down. The bully had caused a few scratches and delivered some solid blows, but Saint-Clair was too much for her. The pain wasn't slowing her down, and her strength was absurdly superior. A few well-aimed punches and scratches without fully extending her claws and Florence was soon on the ground with Enid on top of her twisting one of her arms and driving one of her knees into the redhead's back.

"Apologize! Apologize to them!" she shouted, though her voice almost sounded like an animal growl on the last word.

But before Florence could utter a word, Principal Weems' booming voice echoed across the courtyard.

"ENID SAINT-CLAIR! LET GO OF MISS CARVER'S ARM RIGHT NOW!"

Enid complied. There was no reason to continue, after all. And the sound of Carver's whimpering indicated that the bully would think more than twice before touching one of Enid's friends again.

Or maybe not, the likes of her didn't usually learn.

Enid had gone almost into a trance, her senses dulled as if everything around her had vanished. She let herself be led away by Principal Weems as the irate woman grabbed her arm and began leading her to her office, no doubt for yet another verbal reprimand, the classic threats, or maybe even a call to her foster parents. Yes, it was better to close herself off before she had to deal with that. How fun.

Still, her keen senses couldn't help but notice a few things. The worried looks on Yoko and Marilyn's faces, for example. The blonde had put her hands to her mouth and Enid could already see that the poor girl was probably blaming herself for what had just happened.

Fuck Marls, it wasn't your fault, dammit.

She also saw the figure of Laurel Gates among the rest of assembled students. The bitch was grinning from ear to ear. Her plan might not go the way she had conceived it, but anything that got one of the academy's outcasts in trouble was a win for her. Enid had to suppress the urge to leap at her and rip her throat open with her claws.

But any thoughts of revenge on Gates, hell, any other kind of thought were eclipsed by what Enid saw next.

Her eyes, still glowing green, rested and returned the gaze of a pair of dark eyes that were watching her with an indescribable expression.

Oh...

Enid had never believed in love at first sight. And she wasn't sure that what she felt at that moment was it. But the beast inside her and all her primal instincts began to roar with an intensity she had never felt in her entire life under that gaze. Those eyes were a bottomless pit and she surprised herself thinking that it would not be so wrong to throw herself into that abyss.

She focused her attention on that stare. A look that belonged to a face that Enid had never seen before. She realized immediately that it must be the new student, the Addams. Her beautiful face, of a cadaverous pallor, was complemented by hair as dark as a moonless night tied in a pair of braids. And her dark gaze was still fixed on Enid, as if she were cataloging her, examining her...

Enid couldn't resist. She threw a smile at her, showing off her fangs. And to her satisfaction, she could sense how the newcomer seemed to suddenly catch her breath as her cheeks gained a scant touch of color and her delicate lips tightened.

Well, well, thought Enid Saint-Clair, Ain't you a pretty thing?

Chapter Text

“The heart has its reasons which reason knows not.”
― Blaise Pascal.

No plan survives contact with the enemy. It was something that Wednesday Addams should have foreseen.

True, the plan was not so much a plan as a vain hope based on the proven existence of certain constants between different universes. And the enemy is, irony of ironies, the very object of that hope, twisted and altered by the whims of the cosmos.

That should also have been foreseen. That is, in another dimension there is a version of herself dressed in pink. She should expect anything.

But in a way she had allowed herself to be blinded and clouded by blind hopes. Her rational mind more dominated by effervescent hormones than by logical thoughts in what was undoubtedly a rebellion of her organism prey to the clutches of the nefarious puberty. Something she had always disdained, but to which she had proven not to be immune. Was that why she had been overcome by that uncomfortable feeling of discomfort?

Because a series of expectations had not been fulfilled?

It was ludicrous.

She took those feelings, held them inside herself and crushed them with an iron will. They were unworthy of her. Worse, they were unjust. She had no right to impose a set of expectations extrapolated from one version of Enid on another version and then be disappointed that she was not a carbon copy of the perceived “original”.

So she ruled that it would be best to save her self-respect and pride, and keep her distance. Forget the whole episode and just get through what was left of the school year at Nevermore. She would make up some excuse or pretext for a future transfer, or if her patience ran out, perhaps she would organize an event that would result in her expulsion. Nothing exaggerated, just a little exercise to keep in shape. The presence of some bullies in the academy was obvious, and it had been a while since she had sharpened her knives.

It should be noted that despite Wednesday's decision to keep her distance, more often than she would like to admit, her gaze and attention would fall on that walking object of bewilderment that was Enid Saint-Clair over the next few days since her arrival.

And no, that had nothing whatsoever to do with the look Enid had given her as she was dragged away by the principal after the altercation. Nor were the gleaming fangs in the smile she threw at the Addams a factor.

Not at all, certainly. She didn't even think about how they would feel sinking into the pale flesh of her neck.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Who could blame her? They were wonderful fangs.

Although that was another difference she noticed in the ensuing days. The presence of claws and fangs had led Wednesday to think that Enid Saint-Clair was a werewolf, like her counterpart from the other universe. But with each passing day she noticed signs that suggested something different. The Enid she had known was not a standard example of lycanthropy, and perhaps it could be assumed that the lack of behaviors common to werewolves in Saint-Clair might indicate a similarity to her interdimensional variant. But this Enid displayed very particular behaviors on a daily basis: her way of interacting with Tanaka's counterpart and the other blonde student who was part of her group (demanding their attention while projecting an air of indifference while showing affection with long, slow blinking glances), a habit of climbing on high places or sleeping spontaneously in the sun at the bottom of windows even during classes, pushing objects close to the edge of a table onto the floor, the emission of certain very revealing animalistic vocalizations…

Enid Saint-Clair was some kind of monstrous feline. What kind, Wednesday couldn't tell. But it was clear, she was no she-wolf.

That was certainly one of the most noticeable distinctions. Oh, of course then there were the purely physical ones, or perhaps the lack of many of them. It was striking how in terms of physiognomy there was hardly any change. The body was similar to the other Enid's, perhaps somewhat less athletic (or at least with less defined musculature). The face had the same features, identical to the last inch except for the lack of scars. This indicated that either this Enid had never been involved in a fight with an opponent of the same level as her or that her regeneration was better than that of an average werewolf.

In fact, the only noticeable physical difference, was the brown hair. She couldn't rule out a possible use of hair dye, but this Enid didn't seem to have any appetite for chromatic experiments. Even her clothes, outside of the school uniform, were slightly more sober. She seemed to have a preference for wearing stripes on her shirts which Wednesday found herself approving of.

And speaking of colors, then there were her eyes.

When Wednesday first saw her they were a phosphorescent green, similar to the clouds of putrid gas in the swamp near the Addams residence. But over the next few days she could see how their natural state was the same kind of bright, light blue as Enid Sinclair. When she was with her friends, they glowed the same way, lively and cheerful.

It was only on certain occasions, or when looking at certain individuals, that they shimmered with an emerald greenness.

No doubt, Wednesday thought, an indication of her ability to transform, just as the eyes of many lycanthropes take on yellow or amber hues, or the red in many vampires.

Yes. That was her only interest in those eyes. It had nothing to do with the intrigue that could be read in them whenever their gazes met, before Wednesday pretended to focus her attention on other matters.

Yes, other matters. Focus on other matters and keep your distance, Addams. Let it go. That was the plan.

But, again, no plan survives contact with the enemy.

§§§

"She was looking at me again, Yolks. She's trying to conceal it, but she was,” said Enid.

Yoko Tanaka shot a glance at Wednesday Addams, seated at the other end of the classroom. The newcomer was at a secluded table in the back row by the window and seemed to be immersed in reading a book that Yoko was pretty sure had not come out of the Academy library.

The covers that looked like stitched human skin gave it away.

They were on a short break between classes. Many students were taking advantage of it to take a short break, but others were simply waiting at their desks, chatting with friends, or getting ahead on work, etc.

At that moment, Enid, Yoko and Marilyn Munster were at the second row of tables, next to Yoko's table, with Marilyn sitting next to her and Enid perched on top of the same table, watching the entire classroom from a higher vantage point.

“You probably scared her with that little look you gave her when Weems dragged you into her office,” Yoko said, “You weren't subtle at all, Nid.”

“Yeah, the poor thing probably thinks you want to eat her,” said Marilyn, “You know, she's probably heard some of the stories they tell about you by now.”

“Hmm,” Enid muttered absently as she placed a straw in a small tetra brik of juice and began to drink it.

“Oh, Nid wants to eat her, but not in a cannibalistic way if you know what I mean,” whispered Yoko, as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Σκατά, Yolks. Clean thoughts,” said Saint-Clair, trying not to choke on her drink, just before shooting another look at Addams. Which was looking back at her and she averted her gaze again as she was caught in the act again. Enid smiled.

She couldn't deny that Addams intrigued her from that first exchange of glances. All her instincts went on alert at the sight of her, but it wasn't the typical reaction of aggression or territorial defense she usually had when someone got on her nerves or angered her. No, this was something different, something more primal than the oh-so familiar fury. Something more intense. And the beast inside her wanted to feel it again. She had to suppress a dangerously pleasant shiver as her mind was suddenly flooded with images of those dark eyes, and that pale skin and...

“Enid!”

Yoko's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

“Uh? What?”

“You're drooling, dude.”

“Agh,” she said, rubbing her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, “Τι μπελάς…”

Marilyn stifled a laugh, “Oh my, you're really thinking of eating her.”

“Bite me Marls.”

“No, you might as well like it.”

Something akin to a growl emerged from Enid's throat as she pinned an irritated look on Marilyn. But her eyes remained blue the entire time, a clear sign that there was no real aggression in her reaction. Yoko merely sighed, trying not to think how dire her circumstances were if she had to be the voice of reason in the group.

"Before your little head went to daydreaming, I was asking you what your talk with Weems came to in the end. It's been a few days now and...”

Enid shrugged, “Nothing. The usual. She's not going to call my foster parents after all. Weems is a bureaucrat, but she's not a rat. So no, so far I'm not due for expulsion or juvie yet, but I'm going to be without Jericho visitation passes for a while."

“You're not missing much either, the only interesting thing about that place is the Usher boys and you're not...”

“Chss, speak lower Marls. Delicate info,” Yoko interrupted.

“Oops, sorry.”

“That's okay, goldilocks,” replied Enid patting her friend's head. Enid's preferences were not a secret between her and her friends, but it wasn't openly known among the rest of the school either. It wasn't something anyone in her position talked about too much or openly, though from stories Yoko had told her she had it much better now than if she had lived in the eighties if it ever became public. That didn't stop her already notorious reputation from occasionally being peppered with homophobic accusations that reeked of the work of Laurel Gates or some member of her cohort of psychophants.

Ironic that when they call me a dyke as an insult it's one of the few truths about me that those fuckers are telling, she thought.

There was a brief silence among the trio of friends that was broken by the sound of increasing activity in the classroom. Other students were returning and taking their seats in a clear sign that sooner rather than later the next class was about to begin.

Enid hopped gracefully down from the table and stretched with a yawn, trying not to think about the more than possible snooze she would get from having to listen to Professor Perkins' monotonous voice mumbling for the umpteenth time about Chaucer and a bunch of other dead poets. It wasn't that she didn't like literature, but some teachers managed to turn the most interesting subjects into an insufferable bore.

“Well, what are you going to do after all?” asked Marilyn as she got up to head to her seat.

“Uh?”

“About Addams. The whole staring thing and stuff... Are you going to talk to her?”

Enid rubbed the back of her neck, thoughtfully. She cast a sly glance at Wednesday at the back of the classroom. The Addams was immersed in her book one more time, seemingly oblivious to everything around her. But for a fleeting second her eyes lifted and her gaze met Enid's once more. Once again, the Addams averted her gaze with a jolt and something akin to a slight blush took possession of her pale cheeks.

“You know, maybe I will. She looks very lonely... but first I'm going to try to find out a little more.”

§§§

Hillary Hillard had always had a placid existence in Nevermore. Yes, she was an outcast, but a very inconspicuous one, with discreet abilities and no outward signs to give her away. She could pass for one of the normie students at the school without much trouble. Not even many of the few other outcast students at Nevermore knew she was one of them.

Except Enid Saint-Clair and her damn nose, of course.

“I smell the chlorophyll in your blood,” she had told her, and Hillary feared that the meager peace of mind she had achieved by devoting herself to studying and not drawing attention to herself to avoid trouble with bullies or the cliques of popular girls was going to come to an end. But Saint-Clair kept her silence, and her distance. Hillary thought that maybe she could breathe easy for the rest of her stay at Nevermore...

Until that precise moment when Enid ambushed her in the hallway on her way to the library, grabbing Hillary by the shoulders and turning her around until she was face to face with her.

“Hills!”

“PLEASE DON'T EAT ME!”

Enid blinked. A look of weariness, resignation and irritation was contained in a face that suddenly became motionless as if it were made of granite. Finally, the young woman frowned and sighed, releasing the shoulders of the frozen Hillary before speaking again.

“Hills, I know what the rumors say about me, but I promise you I am not a cannibal nor have I ever devoured anyone.”

“Oh...,” Hillary mumbled. She suddenly felt like a fool, and somewhat guilty. Well of course all those stories about Enid were surely the fabrications of the very girls whose attention she herself was trying to avoid! Maybe she should apologize...

“All I did was maul a piece of shit, causing him permanent deformities and loss of limbs.”

“Eep!”

“But he was a bastard who deserved it. So you're safe, Hills. Unless you're a bastard who deserves it, but I don't think that's the case, is it?” finished off Enid, smiling. A smile that was perhaps intended to be reassuring, but with teeth as sharp as hers the effect was rather the opposite.

Hillary merely nodded silently.

"Anyway, I don't want to hold you up too long Hills. I'm sure you have a lot of things to do,” Enid said, as she rested her arm on the shorter girl's shoulder and began to lead her walking back down the hallway.

“Lots of things to do, yes,” Hillary replied in a quiet voice.

“Actually, I had to call in a favor, ask you a few questions...,” Enid said. Despite her nerves, Hillary noticed that the taller girl seemed flustered, somewhat unsure. Finally, catching her breath, Enid seemed to work up the courage to ask her question “What can you tell me about your roommate?”

Hillary's eyes widened like saucers.

“Wednesday?”

“Yes, Addams, is there anything you can tell me?”

Hillary was in thought for a moment. Truth be told, she didn't have much to tell. Her roommate was quiet and reserved. Any attempt at socializing on Hillary's part had been firmly, if somewhat politely, rebuffed. Certainly with much more cordiality than other instances she had witnessed the past few days: some girls had tried to ingratiate themselves with the Addams and had been dismissed with a curt coldness or sharp words. Many had left their respective encounters with Wednesday disoriented or terrified. At least one had run away in tears.

But aside from antisocial tendencies, an alarming number of bladed weapons suddenly appearing in various corners of her room, and the suspicion that her roommate was setting up a spider menagerie, Hillary didn't have much else to say about her. Each minded their own business and left the other alone without interacting too much in their room. Heck, giving Addams the class schedules had been perhaps the most far-reaching interaction she had had with her since her arrival.

“Oh, she likes spiders?” asked Enid, and Hillary realized mortified that she had said all that out loud.

“Uh... yes?”

“Good, good, it's a talking topic,” Enid said, holding her hand to her chin and nodding thoughtfully, “At least it'll serve as an icebreaker, maybe tell her about the black widow's nest in the gym's storage room...”

“The nest of...?” began Hillary before being interrupted again by a resounding pat from Enid on her shoulders.

“Thanks a lot, Hills!” she exclaimed, “You're a legit gal!”

And without another word, Enid Saint-Clair vanished as quickly as she had appeared, leaving a perplexed Hillary Hillard wondering what the hell had just happened and having a strange feeling, as if she had helped unleash forces beyond her comprehension.

§§§

Wednesday Addams was sitting in the privacy of her room, a much smaller and more mundane chamber than the one her interdimensional variant had inhabited in one of the towers of the other Nevermore.

She had just returned from a brief tour examining the various clubs and extracurricular activities available at the Academy that she could join. She had been provided a two-week grace period before having to make a final decision, but Weems had made it very clear that it was necessary to join at least one club to earn a credit essential for graduation.

At the moment only the drama club held the slightest interest for her, although the catalog of plays to be performed was not the most inspiring. She wondered if they would allow original plays or improvised performances. She still remembered with nostalgia Fester's lessons on how to simulate realistic wounds and abundant spurts of fake blood on stage.

Too bad we can't use real blood, she thought.

Sitting before her notes, she couldn't help but keep her mind wandering involuntarily back to Enid Saint-Clair despite her futile resolve to try to stay away from the young woman. The behavioral patterns of this Enid were another element she couldn't stop turning over in her head. There was a more open and unleashed aggressiveness in this incarnation than in that of her counterpart from another universe. She lacked the same bubbly, friendly character open to everyone. Enid Saint-Clair's less caustic facets seemed to be more reserved for a select group of close friends who...

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, interrupting her thoughts. Wednesday cast an irritated glance at the old wooden door, wordlessly waiting for whoever it was to leave. Weems or one of the teachers would have entered by now.

The knock on the door was repeated, more loudly. Wednesday stifled a resigned sigh before deigning to speak.

“Hillard is not present at the moment. Try your luck in the library,” she said.

And then, suddenly, the door burst open as if someone had delivered a heavy kick to it. Wednesday turned, rising from her chair and pulling a knife out of one of the sleeves of her uniform by pure reflex, ready to repel any possible attack that...

“Χαιρετισμούς!” exclaimed a newly arrived Enid Saint-Clair. Her head and hair covered by half a dozen spiders scurrying over her, “I hear you like these μικρά πλάσματα!”

Something...something changed in Wednesday at that moment.

The sight of the young woman before her was already a wonder in itself, and she wouldn't deny that the vision of her covered in spiders was disturbingly endearing. But no, it wasn't that...

It was something else, it was...

Oh.

She felt it in her blood. She felt it in her skin. She felt it in her eyes. She felt it in other parts of herself that could not be mentioned in public.

Oh no.

The knife fell to the ground.

“Saint-Clair,” she whispered, and surprised herself by the low, hungry tone of her voice.

“Er... yes?”

“That's greek.”

Chapter Text

“By you, I am forever undone.”
― Holly Black.

Control yourself, Wednesday Addams.

That was her new mantra in the last few seconds since the door to her room burst open, thanks to a hard kick delivered by the person right in front of her at that moment. A vision of indescribable beauty covered in spiders. But that in itself was not the real problem nor the cause of multiple internal glands in her body going into an incandescent hormonal frenzy. No, it had been hearing just a few words in that perfidious language, specifically coming from the pink lips of that beast, that had doomed her.

Wednesday knew the phenomenon well. She had observed it regularly since her earliest childhood. It manifested itself in her father whenever her mother used French. A comment, a single word, a saying. Sometimes a simple “Oui” was enough to make the few embers of Gomez Addams' rationality completely disintegrate, leaving in their place a buffoon obsessed by the object of his love.

And now it was happening to her.

With Greek.

How insufferably arbitrary. Why couldn't it have been ancient Latin? It's a dead language after all. And she liked dead things.

But no, she got Greek. And would the fates have it that Enid Saint-Clair was the catalyst for it all. Was it a language thing? Or was it because it was her specifically? That paradoxical beast that was making Wednesday rethink things one minute after another. The blue-eyed beast with brown hair that some alarmed black widows were nervously scurrying around who seemed to be talking to her with a questioning expression on her face.

Oh, she's talking to me.

“…llo? Hello? Addams?”

Wednesday blinked. She noticed that every muscle in her body was tense, the result of a conscious effort not to move an inch or allow herself to be dominated by the ancestral instincts of her family that urged her, screaming to the depths of her soul, to pounce on the beast in front of her and worship her body in a sinfully carnal way that...

Enough!

Wednesday closed her eyes. She took a breath. A deep one. She noticed her body relaxing and the burning sensation on her face minimizing. The pressure and tingling sensation in her chest was lessened and she noticed all her vitals returning to normal. Well, to whatever normalcy was for her.

“My... apologies,” she said, ”I find myself a little indisposed.”

“Your face turned as red as a baboon's ass,” Saint-Clair said, her tone perfectly factual. There was nothing sarcastic or pretendedly humorous in her voice. It was a sincere observation despite the poor comparative choice, “Did you have like a trance or something?” the feline asked. Sudden alarm crossed her face, “Is it the spiders? I was under the impression that you liked them, but if I've been wrong..."

Wednesday held up her hand, asking for silence, “I...I like spiders. I have a singular appreciation for them and other arachnids,” she said, and reached her raised hand delicately and deliberately toward Saint-Clair's hair. Enid suddenly went very still, her blue eyes gleaming emerald for a second as Wednesday Addams' cold, pale hand brushed aside some of the hair that fell across her forehead, almost caressing it, and she gathered one of the black widows between her fingers with utmost gentleness.

“Latrodectus mactans. It's rare to find this variety so far north,” Wednesday said, as she brought the spider close to her face and looked at it intently. The little animal stood completely still, as if suddenly aware of being in the presence of a larger, way more dangerous predator. For a second it almost seemed to bow in a sign of deference and submission.

“Yeah... well...”, Enid mumbled with a slight blush on her face, trying to ignore the sensation of that cold, soft skin touching her hair. She didn't notice the rest of the spiders descending down her shoulders and arms until they launched themselves onto the floor, “Your roommate said you liked them, she thinks you were setting up a menagerie of these things and I thought they'd be a nice gesture to welcome you to Nevermore… maybe?”

The spiders next to Enid, almost as if responding to a silent call, moved across the floor to Wednesday’s side of the room. It was almost as if they knew, as if they understood that this was their place now.

“Hillard is observant. I was trying to gather some of the spiders from the room, but the brown recluses are very elusive. I think it will be more satisfying to deal with the widows,” Wednesday said, as the spider on her finger descended using its web, then ascended and descended again, like an eight-legged yo-yo.

Enid let out a giggle at the sight of it, “Aw, that's cute.”

“They can be... playful. If they know what's good for them,” Wednesday replied, trying to ignore the alarm that flooded through her when the use of the word ‘cute’ to refer to something partially related to her didn't make her nauseous.

The arachnid dropped to the ground from her hand and followed the path of its fellow spiders.

“Ah, σκατά!” exclaimed Enid suddenly, ”Where are my manners? I just realized that I haven't even formally introduced myself! Enid Saint-Clair,” she said, holding out her right hand.

Wednesday clasped her hand almost by reflex, trying to repress the impulse after hearing the word in Greek to start kissing it compulsively and moving her lips up that perfectly shaped arm until they reached that delicious throat, that perfectly sculpted jaw and those luscious lips.

Control yourself, Wednesday Addams.

“I know who you are,” she managed to mutter, her voice almost cracking.

“Ah, I guess my local reputation has reached your ears by now.”

“I have heard various rumors. Most are obviously hogwash born of prejudice, jealousy, and irrational hatred befitting a mentally flawed mass of adolescent humanity. Yet there are others in which there seems to be a glimmer of truth and I am impelled to ask if...”

“Sigh, I know what you're going to ask. It's what everyone asks, and the answer is no. I haven't eaten anyone.”

“Oh,” Wednesday muttered, concealing her disappointment. Despite this, Enid noticed it and couldn't help but feel a pleasant sensation at someone expressing displeasure at the opposite of the norm. She decided that maybe she could score points if...

“But I definitely maimed a son of a bitch!” she exclaimed, with a smile in which her fangs stood out.

“Oh, is that so?” asked Wednesday, subtly interested.

“Yep. He had it totally coming, that's for sure.”

“I'm absolutely certain of it,” said Wednesday, “But I still think you should have devoured him. Then maybe the masses that congregate in this place would seriously consider whether it's worth slandering you at the risk of being the next entrée on your menu.”

Enid laughed, and her laughter lit the fires inside Wednesday up again. Her pupils dilated and a hint of a moan formed in her throat that she could barely contain.

Circles of hell, she laughed just like her.

Wednesday shook her head for a few moments, trying to push the figure of Enid Sinclair out of her thoughts and stay in the here and now, in the present, in Enid Saint-Clair.

Who seemed to be looking at her in amusement, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“What's the matter?” asked the Addams.

“Not that I'm complaining,” said Enid, with a slight blush on her cheeks, ”But, could you give me my hand back?”

For a second Wednesday didn't understand what the young woman in front of her was referring to. But then she noticed the still present warmth in her right hand and looking down she could see that she was still clasping Enid Saint-Clair's hand. She had not let go of it for an instant. Now, realizing this, she pulled it away as if the other hand were a red-hot ember.

“My...my apologies,” she said, trying to ignore an unpleasant sense of embarrassment, “I'm Wednesday Addams,” she declared, finishing off the formal introduction.

“I know that too,” Enid said, with a half-smile, ”Wednesday Addams.”

Suddenly, Enid Saint-Clair adopted a pensive expression. She folded her arms, holding a hand to her chin and gazing at an indeterminate point overhead.

“Wednesday... We-ee-dns-daay... Weds... Wens... Mmmm...”

Wednesday watched her, genuinely perplexed. Saint-Clair kept repeating her name aloud, in different cadences and tones, arbitrarily fragmenting it.

“What... are you doing?”

Enid gave a slight gasp, as if she had been fully absorbed in the most recondite part of her own mind even though only a few seconds had passed. She turned her gaze back to Wednesday and smiled. A mischievous, catlike smile.

“Oh! I'm trying to think of a nickname for you. Let's see... Wednesday Addams... Ddams... Weddans? Nah. Wednes... or better Weds... Day? S-Day? Wenny?”

Wednesday couldn't help but frown in disbelief.

This is ridiculous, she thought, and yet I don't perceive in myself the slightest will to stop it. She could assign me the most ridiculous, grotesque or humiliatingly adorable nickname in existence and I know I would accept it without qualms. Only if it comes from her. Only from her.

“Aha! Got it!”

Gods of Darkness, give me strength.

“Willa!” exclaimed Enid.

What?

"...what," muttered Wednesday, incredulously.

“It's perfect!”, exclaimed the feline, “It’s short and it has a nice ring to it."

“But other than the initial it's nothing like...”

“Hush, Willa. Don't spoil the moment,” Enid said, resting her index finger on Wednesday's lips. The two stood like that for a moment, staring at each other, feeling like a small electric charge jumped from one to the other.

Finally, Enid pulled her finger away and cleared her throat a little, bringing her hand to the back of her neck and beginning to rub it nervously, “I mean... if you want to... if you don't like it then...”

"I adore it," interrupted Wednesday.

Enid froze, “You...you do?”

“Yes. I can't figure out why. It doesn't make any sense at all and yet, coming from you I can accept it with no problem.”

“Wow, that's... Wow.”

A strangely comforting silence fell over the two of them. There were no more words for a few moments, nor any movement until Wednesday suddenly cleared her throat, becoming acutely aware of the change in the atmosphere of the room. She took a step back and turned slightly, crossing her arms to maintain her firm posture and control the pleasant shivers that had begun to run through her.

“Ah... well... I guess... thanks for coming. And for the spiders,” she said, cursing her own awkwardness. She had rarely found it so complicated to make use of her words.

Enid Saint-Clair nodded, silently, and started to turn to leave the room when suddenly her brow furrowed, as if something surfaced abruptly in her memory. The young feline turned again, focusing her full attention on Wednesday.

“The truth, Willa...is that I hadn't come just for the spiders. That was more of a way to break the ice between the two of us."

“Oh?”

Enid took a step forward. Wednesday restrained the urge to take another one back.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Enid said. She continued walking, and instinctively and almost without realizing she began to walk in circles around Wednesday, getting closer and closer with each slow step she took, “Although I'm not quite sure how to do it without sounding extremely awkward and maybe even a little stalkerish.”

“What is it?” asked Wednesday. Her gaze watched each and every one of Enid's movements in fascination. The feline elegance in her steps, the restrained power of a great hunter in her body.

She's hunting me and I don't think even she realizes it. Not consciously.

“You see, I've noticed,” Enid said.

“What have you noticed?” asked Wednesday, almost whispering the question.

Enid stopped. Suddenly she was right in front of her, incredibly close. Her body was leaning forward and her face was mere inches from Wednesday's. Her blue eyes glowed with a faint green glow as she smiled. A catlike smile again, satisfied.

“That since you've come to Nevermore you look at me all the time, though you pretend to hide it.”

Wednesday inhaled. She swallowed saliva to try to moisten a suddenly dry throat.

“Maybe I do,” she admitted, quietly, surprised at her own vulnerability. That emerald glowing stare completely disarmed her.

Enid stared at her, for a few moments. She blinked once, with deliberate slowness, before speaking again, “And why do you do that?” she asked, softly.

Because I met another you. Because you are a distorted reflection of her. Because where she was kindness, color and light in you I see something unhinged, dark and violent. And yet she was also a magnificent beast and I think you could be too. And because I have the feeling that beneath all the storm that engulfs you I can still find traces of the essence of the Enid Sinclair I knew. That's why I look at you constantly, because I'm still trying to determine where one ends and the other begins.

But of course she didn't say any of that out loud.

“My reasons... I can't tell you...”

Something indecipherable crossed Enid Saint-Clair's gaze after hearing those words, her face taking on a serious expression. What it was, Wednesday could not elucidate. She cursed herself for her weakness, absolutely certain that at that moment the other young woman would want to cut off all contact.

But that's what I intended, isn't it? To keep my distance.

So where was that bitter aftertaste coming from? Wasn't that going according to plan?

And then, Enid smiled again, “Ok! I don't want to butt in where I'm not wanted either!”

“Huh?”

“I guess we can talk about other things. You see, it looks to me like you could use a little socializing. And if there's anyone fucking sociable in this madhouse of an Academy it's me. We've got the afternoon off tomorrow, what do you say we go down to Jericho and see the sights?"

“I...”

“Agh, wait! I'm vetoed from going into town until next week... Oh! Then we'll meet near the lake. There are some ruins nearby, I'm sure you'll like them, they're very much your style. Gothic, dark and moist. A bit like you.”

“I suppose I could...”

“Ωραία! I'll see you tomorrow - how's three-thirty by the east gate of the courtyard sound? Yes? Perfect!”

And without another word, winking and throwing a sharp-toothed smile, Enid Saint-Clair turned and walked out of the room with firm, brisk steps, leaving behind a thoroughly confused, stunned, perplexed and stupefied Wednesday Addams, as well as again resisting the urge to react to yet another word uttered in the nefarious language of the Helad.

Did she... did she ask me out on a date?

…

What a revolting development this is.

She smiled.

She was still smiling hours later, when Hillary Hillard returned to the room and nearly fainted in terror at the sight of the curvature of Wednesday's lips.

Chapter Text

“The human heart is a strange vessel. Love and hatred can exist side by side.”
― Scott Westerfield

Enid kept her promise the day after their first meeting.

The two girls spent an entire afternoon, free of classes, strolling through the remains of the old ruins belonging to an ancient abbey and crypt near Nevermore. In another universe, this would have been the resting place and temporary resurrection site of Joseph Crackstone, but the old Puritan did not seem to exist in this reality. Wednesday noted with slight disappointment the absence of his name on the few gravestones still preserved at the location. It seemed that she would have no supernatural confrontations during her stay at the academy.

But aside from that slight disappointment, it had been a... pleasant afternoon. Horrifyingly so. And also hideously tense, though the Addams knew how to disguise it with a tight control of even the tiniest of her muscles. Of course, that didn't seem to stop Enid from noticing her inner turbulence, if the knowing glances and smiles had more meaning than was apparent.

The werecat (for Wednesday was by now fully convinced that the girl must belong to some variety of that subspecies of cryptid) was prone to chatter, animatedly explaining details of the place, local stories, legends, etc. In other circumstances, Wednesday would have listened attentively and participated in the conversation, whether with questions, observations, or comments of sharp sarcasm. But the Addams remained silent throughout the encounter, exercising constant self-control over her body. For although the meaning of the words was lost in the ether of her dulled perception, the sound of Enid Saint-Clair's voice and her occasional Greek vocabulary words caused a virulent reaction in the Addams.

Her mind could focus on nothing else but the figure of the young woman before her. On how every word in that perfidious tongue coming out of her mouth caused that her first impulse was to take her in her arms, lean over her, take her right hand and begin to kiss her, kissing her arm upward until she reached...

Get a hold of yourself Addams!

And every time she managed to restrain herself, every time she managed to stop her baser instincts from turning her into a passionate, irrational creature, Enid would give her one of those looks and a smile, letting her fangs peek over her pink lips.

She knows. She knows, she knows, she knows.

Fortunately, things improved over the next few days, even if they were uncharted territory for both of them. Wednesday managed to regain enough composure to be able to engage in normal conversations and not just follow Saint-Clair with her eyes fixed on her.

§§§

“Ok, so your aunt ultimately tried to kill all of you and not just your uncle Fester?”

“Her inability to terminate him during their honeymoon and the subsequent weeks, despite isolating him from the rest of the family, broke what few slivers of rationality were left in Debbie.”

“And all that after you got back from that racist camp.”

“It was a busy weekend, yes.”

“What I don't understand is the electric chairs. Where did she get seven electric chairs?”

“Eight. There was one for Thing, too.”

“Ah, yes, the living hand... παράξενο... Still, where the hell did she get eight electric chairs??”

"We had a veritable collection of those in the basement. Pugsley and I played on multiple occasions with some of them. I presume Debbie set them up before forcing us to take a seat.”

“With a shotgun.”

“A double-barreled one, yes. She wielded it with admirable ferocity.”

“So she forces you to sit in the chairs at gunpoint... there were eight of you. Did none of you really try to stop her? She couldn't aim it at all of you at the same time.”

“Oh. Anyone could have. But it had been a long time since we've had a multiple electrocution in the family.”

“Well, I'd have to apologize later, but if I were there I'd surely have bitten her hand off before that πόρνη could do anything to you.”

“And we would be very grateful to witness such an act of mutilation. But we'd most likely use the chairs anyway afterwards. It would have been a waste to let it go.”

“Truth is, it's a fucking shame. From what you've told me about her she would have fit right in with your family.”

“Debbie never overcame her own demons. Her psychopathy was weighed down by a fixation on the superficial and the most ephemeral material goods. If she had really opened up to our family she could have gotten everything she wanted, Fester would have offered her the world.”

“But greed got the better of her and she wanted to take it by force.”

”She tried to subdue us. And us Addams will gladly feast on those who would subdue us.”

§§§

“Enid, I know you know how to speak Greek from your grandmother, but you've practically never used it. But now when you're with Addams you're always dropping words in the language.”

“I've noticed that when I speak Greek... it does things to her.”

“Huh? What kind of things?”

“Next time you're standing next to us and I say something in Greek to her use that vampire nose of yours to smell something other than just blood, Yolks.”

“Oh? Oh!”

§§§

Marilyn Munster was happy for her friend.

The young blonde was sitting in botany class, absently watching as Enid was engaged in an animated conversation with Wednesday Addams a couple of tables over. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that Enid was talking animatedly while Wednesday watched her with a subtly unsteady expression that danced between adoration and frustration.

Enid had always had a hard time fitting in at Nevermore. Too many quirks in her character, too outspoken in her own strangeness and her propensity for using violence as a means of expression. Marilyn knew that, objectively, Enid was actually a sweetheart. But if she sensed the slightest danger to anything she cared about, there would be rivers of blood.

Much of it was an exercise in self-assertion, in maintaining her own identity in the face of the impositions society tried to exert on her. Other parts of her persona were mere animal instinct that had never been able to be tamed due to the absence of progenitors who knew how.

It's what would happen when your parents and elder brother die in a car accident, leaving you in the care of your grandmother until she also dies on your sixth birthday and you spend the next few years in the foster care system dealing with a matrilineal outcast condition that manifests itself in the women of your family only every few generations so you have no living relative who can help you. And so you go on, dealing with violent incident after violent incident, until you end up with a conservative, religious foster family obsessed with molding you into the perfect daughter and sending you to Nevermore under the mistaken impression that the academy will be able to nip your animal side in the bud.

Yep, Enid had always had a hard time.

“I can count with the fingers of one hand the number of times I've seen her smile like that,” said a voice to Marilyn's right.

“Ah, hello Yoko,” greeted the young woman to her friend, who just sat down next to her, ”And yes, Nid seems more...”

“Joyful,” the vampire said, “Enid's never had a problem smiling, but she always tends to have a wild, animalistic air about her when she does so. This is more like...”

“The smile of a normal girl talking to her crush,” Marilyn whispered with a knowing smile, ”Do you think...?”

“Maybe. Too soon to tell,” Yoko replied, also quietly, ”There'll already be talk about the two of them. Addams doesn't spend time with anyone else, not even her roommate.”

“Mostly because Nid won't let her be alone,” Marilyn said, “I'm worried that she might be over-fixating on Addams too much, and if Addams doesn't take kindly to that...”

“The Addams' have a peculiar and rather mutable reputation, but if there's one thing true about them, it's that they never close their doors to anyone. Nah, if Wednesday turns Nid down it won't be because of that,” the vampire clarified. Yoko had heard enough stories about the Addams's to be pretty sure that Wednesday Addams would have no problem with Enid's sexual orientation.

“Well, that's a relief,” Marilyn said.

“That said, if she breaks Nid's heart, I plan to bleed her dry. Addams or not.”

“If that happens I'll help you get rid of the body. I know where there's a pig farm.”

Nodding, not taking their eyes off their friend, the two bumped fists.

§§§

It was only a matter of time before Laurel Gates tried something with the new student. The Queen Bee of Nevermore had taken her sweet time, letting the Addams settle in. But the moment had come to make it clear what was the hierarchy of the place.

“Wednesday Addams!” greeted Laurel, approaching the table in the central courtyard where Wednesday was seated next to Enid. Behind her walked two other female students. A brunette and a redhead. Together with Laurel's blonde hair they made such a cliché archetype that Wednesday didn't even bother to disguise the roll of her eyes.

“I understand you come from a family of some pedigree,” the young woman said, with a facial expression that could only be described as pretentious interest, ”Allow me to introduce myself, I am...”

“Laurel Gates,” Wednesday said, without looking away from the book before her.

“Uh, I figured you'd know,” Laurel said, sending a look of ill-concealed contempt to Enid, Yoko and Marilyn, ”But let me tell you that anything about me you've heard coming from these three is surely false. You see, I think you need better company, Wednesday. The right company."

“The right company,” Laurel's companions repeated in unison, nodding like the well-trained pets they were.

“And I have to assume that's you,” Wednesday said, once again without taking her eyes off the book, her voice absolutely monotone. Beside her, Enid watched intently.

“Of course!” said Laurel, ”Allow me to tell you that...”

Laurel Gates' verbiage became a barely intelligible mumble to Wednesday, ignoring her completely. Wednesday already knew a Laurel Gates, from the stories her multiversal variant had told her. But this Laurel was far from the hypocritical murderous wannabe witch that her counterpart was. This was a spoiled, bratty, prejudice-fermented rich girl to whom no one had ever said “no” in her entire life. A pampered little harpy absolutely convinced that she was the center of the universe.

Wednesday knew how to deal with her kind.

For her part, Laurel kept talking. The others had seen the same spectacle on multiple occasions: Laurel would spout her spiel, a combination of self-proclaimed accomplishments, condescending insults camouflaged as flattery, and veiled threats to personal perceived social status within the school if you opposed Laurel and her desires. Of course, her studied verbal manipulation also served the dual purpose of provoking potential new outcast students. To force them to expose themselves so that Laurel could play her game of being the poor innocent victim and show the world the true unstable side of these animals. Yes, that was her usual plan.

Which was failing.

“...Have you even heard a word I just said?” the young woman asked, after noticing that all this time Wednesday hadn't looked away from her book, hadn't moved, hadn't made the slightest sign of acknowledgement or that she had been listening.

And so that's how she continued, unresponsive.

“ADDAMS!” exclaimed Gates, slamming the table in front of Wednesday and coming face to face with her. Wednesday merely looked up slightly and raised an eyebrow.

Laurel emitted an irritated snort.

“So that's how it's going to be isn't it?” she said, “You must be a freak too. I've heard stories about your family, after all."

“Which ones?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which stories about my family have you heard?” asked Wednesday, putting down the book and fixing her stare on Gates, “The one about my great Aunt Calpurnia and how she danced naked in the town square before seducing a minister? Or maybe you've heard the stories of how Prospecto Addams gave up searching for gold in the Yukon to go live with a family of sasquatches... Perhaps you mean when my Cousin Itt was exhibited in a zoo? Or that time when my parents conceived my little brother in a fit of passion in public during a charity auction…"

Laurel had been stunned, opening and closing her mouth unable to respond to any of that. After a few moments, she seemed to regain her wits and turned a look of utter contempt towards Wednesday, raising her nose in a gesture of smug superiority.

“You really are a freak after all, Addams,” she said, “You'd better watch your back.”

“Ah, an open and clear threat,” replied Wednesday, with a predatory grin, “That's the only interesting thing that's come out of that cesspool you call a mouth in all this time.”

Laurel's face reddened, lit up with fury. The girl turned, and retreated at a brisk pace. Her companions behind her barely able to keep up.

“Fuck, Willa,” Enid said after a few moments, ”You poked the bear.”

“I'm more surprised that you haven't intervened more directly,” Addams said.

“Oh, I'd love to. But if I do anything against Gates her family has enough connections to send me to juvie. Or even convince the authorities to try me as an adult. And the little fucker knows it..."

“But Enid's right, Addams,” Yoko interjected, ”That was basically a declaration of war. Gates isn't going to let it slide, she's bound to do something."

Wednesday merely smiled. A small smile. Spooky.

Enid loved that smile.

“Tell me, Tanaka,” the Addams said, ”What makes you think I'm going to stand around waiting for her to do anything?”

§§§

The morning after that encounter, Laurel Gates awoke wrapped in her sheets and blankets, bound with ropes and hanging upside down from the balcony of her private room in Nevermore's tallest tower. Her panicked screams were the rooster crow of that new day.

The authorities found no fingerprints. No trace or sign that any access to the room had been forced. The rope was one of those used in the gymnasium for climbing exercises.

A couple of Jericho cops stayed on as extra security. That didn't stop Laurel from finding her room turned into a breeding ground for spiders the next day. Hundreds and hundreds of them. The girl ran out into the hallway screaming.

The next day, despite a change to another room, the same thing happened again.

The next four nights there were no morning disturbances, no awakenings in strange places, no arachnid invasions. But any casual observer could see a progressive deterioration in Laurel. Rumors spoke of her not being able to sleep, of murmurs of voices in the night, of noises in her room, fingernails scratching wood, gasps of sickly breathing, the scurrying of something under her bed... The constant feeling that she was never alone and something or someone was watching her.

On the fifth night Laurel awoke in the dark, past midnight, to see a shadowy figure at the foot of her bed watching her with deep black eyes, void of any soul. A figure that vanished as soon as the lights were turned on.

The episodes went on and on, with Laurel falling into a downward spiral of unfounded accusations incapable of being proven, finally culminating a week and a half after her run-in with Wednesday.

Laurel Gates woke up completely bald.

Her hair was gone. There was not the slightest trace of any of it, no remains on her pillow. No sign that it had been shaved. Again, no fingerprints, nothing that could suggest that anyone had been in the room with her.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Laurel Gates suffered a panic attack followed by a psychotic break that led her to assault the first student who came into her room trying to help her after hearing her screams. After that, she experienced a nervous breakdown.

She was admitted to a mental hospital and was forced to leave Nevermore that very same day. The whole situation seemed like the kind of madness that would end up becoming part of local folklore. A macabre school legend that future students would tell the newbies.

Wednesday and Enid were just two of the many students who witnessed the departure of Nevermore's former Queen Bee.

“How did you do it?” whispered Enid.

“I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about,” Wednesday replied.

“Bullshit,” Enid countered, fighting back a laugh, “Will you teach me?”

Wednesday smiled.

Chapter Text

“Your beauty never ever scared me.”
― Mary on a Cross, by Ghost.

A strange, tense calm gripped Nevermore Academy in the days following Laurel Gates' fall from grace. The Queen Bee of the Academy had been dethroned in a way that was straight out of a horror movie and whoever was responsible had not made themselves known, given the obvious number of criminal charges they would be facing. This led to a power vacuum, as none of the girls in her social circle dared to reclaim Gates' “throne” at the school, fearful that accusations of being responsible for what had happened would fall on them.

This led to endless infighting and struggles for influence among the school's most popular and prominent alumnae. Ironically, this meant that many of them, bullies and manipulators of the same ilk as Laurel, were more busy stabbing each other in the back than making life miserable for the more unfortunate students or the few outcasts whose supernatural status was public.

So... peace of mind. Several days had already passed without anyone sending any hurtful comments or veiled insults to Yoko and Marilyn. Days with no one trying to provoke Enid's ire.

It was disconcerting.

That said, Wednesday couldn't help but admire the level of political intrigue and ruthless betrayal that could occur in the closed environment of a private academy.

But, truth be told, it wasn't a spectacle to which she had paid much attention. Under other circumstances that would have been the case, but these past few days, Wednesday Addams' focus was on something else. Someone else.

Steadily and steadily, Enid Saint-Clair had become the center of Wednesday's days and routine at Nevermore. The werecat had noticed the Addams' initial aloofness mixed with veiled interest and had embarked on her own personal crusade to establish a friendship with the new student. Whether she wanted it or not.

Of course, anyone could see that Saint-Clair's real interests in Addams went far beyond mere friendship, although she herself did not seem to want to admit it despite the fact that Addams could not disguise her own interest. Yoko and Marilyn had started their own betting pool as to which of the two would confess first.

Hillary Hillard, Wednesday's roommate, had curiously been one of the first to join the bet, sure of her victory by betting on the Addams.

“It's... strange. But since they've started hanging around together I don't get the feeling that she's going to kill me in my sleep. And sometimes I'd swear she even sighs!"

“She sighs?” asked Yoko.

“Yeah, one of those sighs of a beloved longing for her lost love or something,” Hillary replied, “She lets them slip out unintentionally and then she seems to get furious with herself and starts muttering things in Italian.”

Marilyn grabbed Yoko by the shoulder and began to shake the vampire effusively, “I told you! I told you so! It's only a matter of time before one of them makes the first move, and with all the Gates harpies distracted it's the best time to avoid being the center of all the local gossip.”

Yoko merely looked up, still with certain doubts in her head.

Enid and the Addams seemed to have become inseparable the last few days. It was noticeable that Enid had begun to spend more time with Wednesday than with the two of them. Neither Yoko nor Marilyn had been blind to the improvement in their friend's mood. Enid carried less tension than before, her natural aggressiveness had been reduced or at least better tempered.

Nevertheless, she still had her occasional episodes, as when on a visit to Jericho after the end of her punishment an Usher student had called her “kitten” in a futile attempt at romance doomed to crash and burn. It was an unwritten Nevermore rule, even among those willing to antagonize Enid, that she was not to be called by that nickname. It was an invitation to death or, at best, painful mutilation. Yoko and Marilyn had barely managed to restrain her before she disemboweled that poor Casanova wannabe in the middle of the main street.

“Kitten” was the nickname Enid's foster mother used to refer to her with insulting condescension camouflaged under false affection. It was something that drove the werecat crazy and not in a good way.

The irresponsible young man, for his part, continued to show little sense of self-preservation. Calling her a “crazy bitch” would not have been a smart move under any circumstances, but it was even less so with Wednesday Addams around to hear him.

In the end the boy did end up in the hospital, Wednesday got her first official reprimand at school, and Enid nearly smothered her in a monster hug that made Wednesday feel things she'd never felt before.

Like her vertebrae readjusting.

The bond between the two was obvious, but Yoko still wasn't sure if they would make it through without some outside help. Enid was a sociable creature, but she had her own insecurities and the vampire was sure her friend wouldn't try to take the next step if the Addams didn't take it first.

And Addams seemed to be more emotionally constipated than anyone would care to admit.

The vampire had no idea how close she was to hitting the nail on the head.

§§§

In the solitude of her room (Hillard had gone off to Hell knows where), Wednesday Addams sighed.

Of course. Of course her head was still a boiling mess.

She had come to Nevermore in search of a remote hope, chasing the ghost of an increasingly faded memory.

In her memories, Enid Sinclair's golden hair had grown progressively darker. The blue of her eyes alternated with the bright green of a wild animal. The sweet smile mutated into a sarcastic, sharp, psychotic laugh that made her shudder to the depths of her bones. The marrow inside her boiled passionately at that laugh.

After the initial shock, she had tried to keep her distance. Enid Saint-Clair was not Enid Sinclair. And even so, she could not conceal her growing interest in this different creature. And Enid had noticed it, initiating a first contact of her own.

Spiders. She gave me spiders. What woman would say no to such a lovely gesture?

Wednesday still felt the warmth of an incipient blush as she recalled the scene, the image of Enid Saint-Clair with arachnids descending from her hair and sporting a sharp-toothed smile had accompanied her in dreams more than one night.

Throughout their successive encounters, Wednesday began to realize that despite pronounced differences, Enid shared many of the same values as her dimensional counterpart.

Courage, loyalty, kindness.

She had seen it in how she defended her friends. In how she didn't back down in the face of threats. In the patience and consideration she was showing Wednesday day after day since their first formal meeting.

You might think such a revelation would be greeted with joy, or at least in the case of someone less than effusive, with relief. But Wednesday Addams' cauldron of unbalanced thoughts and emotions was reflecting a very different outcome.

Guilt.

She was being consumed by guilt.

And it was an unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling that did not bring the slightest bit of enjoyment. For someone who considered being miserable a state to aspire to under normal circumstances, the contrast was unnerving.

I have been selfish, she thought, No, I am being selfish. I have chased ghosts and proceeded to ignore the living before me. And now, I project upon my beloved the ghost of my old epiphany.

She had tried to put Enid on a pedestal born of daydreams fruit of an unrequited infatuation. Without realizing it, she had been constantly comparing Enid to her other self, assessing her against a standard of perfection that could not realistically be met rather than valuing her for who she was. Or worse, now that she was beginning to see her own qualities, Wednesday feared that she would unconsciously try to mold the other girl into something or someone she was not. Make the cat-who-is closer to the wolf-who-was. She could almost see it now...innocent comments on the one hand, incisive remarks on the other, suggestions to dye her hair. The very idea of causing such harm to Enid, however unintentional, repulsed her.

Causing someone harm had never repulsed her. If that was not a sign of...

But no, it can't be, she told herself, I'm not worthy of her. Enid deserves someone who isn't weighed down by the chains of a futile love, someone who can appreciate her for who she is from the beginning. Someone who can adore her, pay her the worship and reverence she truly deserves.

Wednesday came to the conclusion that there was only one possible end to all this, only one way forward to avoid absolute disaster.

She had to cut off all contact with Enid, immediately.

She must let her be free.

Of course, none of this followed the slightest logic, but in the back of her mind, convinced of her own lack of worth, Wednesday was making prophetic her mother's words that she was her own worst enemy.

§§§

The next day, on their way to the first class of the day, Enid ran to meet Wednesday Addams, leaving Yoko and Marilyn behind.

“Hey, Willa!”

And Wednesday proceeded to run past her, quickening her pace and ignoring the young feline. Ignoring her and the stares of all the onlookers who had just witnessed the unexpected scene, uncharacteristic of what had been the dynamic between the two of them the past few weeks.

“Willa?”

Enid was paralyzed, but only for an instant. Turning around she followed Wednesday with her eyes, the expression of pained surprise on her face giving way to something darker and hungrier with each passing moment.

“Nid?” whispered Marilyn, concerned. A soft growl had begun to reverberate in her friend's throat.

Enid Saint-Clair’s eyes flashed emerald.

§§§

One hour.

That's all what Wednesday Addams' resolution lasted before fate decided to intervene in the form of an angry feline.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves...

With the first class of the morning over, Wednesday was the last to leave the classroom. In her eagerness to cut off all contact with Enid to save her from her own perfidy, Wednesday had once again sat apart from the rest of the students, ignoring the occasional glances from Tanaka, Munster, Hillard and others. Curiously, Enid had not once turned around. Throughout the entire class, the feline had remained steadfast and with her attention focused on the teacher, ignoring Wednesday as much as Wednesday wished she could have ignored her.

It hurt a little.

Finally, with the teacher and the rest of the students already outside heading to the classroom for the second class of the morning, Wednesday joined them.

Although only a couple of minutes had passed, the hallway was already deserted in that part of the academy. The shoes of her school uniform echoed as she walked. An almost automatic walk, trying to remind herself of her purpose, trying to ignore the glint of pain she had glimpsed in Enid's eyes that morning. Moving along the hallway, Wednesday Addams was immersed in her own inner world.

As a result, her normally sharp reflexes failed to register in time the open classroom door and the hand that came out of it, grabbing Wednesday by the arm and dragging her inside.

Well, more like tossing her. The person who had grabbed her pulled on her with such force that Wednesday practically went flying until she landed sitting on one of the classroom desks. Her landing was followed by the sound of the door closing, and in the darkened classroom with the blinds drawn, Wednesday could see the glare of an angry Enid Saint-Clair's eyes on her.

She was a magnificent sight. Wednesday could almost feel her fury radiating from her. She was so engrossed that she almost didn't notice when Enid advanced enough to stand in front of her, face to face.

“So?” the werecat asked.

Wednesday said nothing, but something in her gaze must have caught Enid's attention, because the anger had been joined by genuine concern.

“Willa... Wednesday... What happened?”

I'm trying to save you, that's what happened. Save you from me. I'm unworthy of you, don't you understand? I've been comparing you to a ghost unfairly instead of valuing you as you deserve. And what you deserve is someone better than me.

None of those words were spoken, but in the future recalling this moment Wednesday Addams could almost have sworn that Enid had heard them, or that she had somehow been able to read them on her face and in her eyes.

Enid took a deep breath, calming herself. The green gleam in her eyes gave way again to their clear blue color, “Does this have to do with...your reasons?” she asked, “The ones you said you couldn't tell me yet?”

Wednesday, almost against her own will, nodded silently.

“Wednesday...Willa...why? It's like we're suddenly back to square one,” Enid said, not bothering to hide how much that one moment that morning had hurt,”From the first day you arrived it's like there's been this tug-of-war going on inside you about me, and I can see it's hurting you.”

Yes, but it's not your fault. Please don't think for a moment that it is your fault. You are but the innocent victim of my own falsehood.

A growl escaped Enid's throat.

“There it is again,” she said,”I can smell it coming off you, oozing out. Guilt. Why do you smell of guilt when there's no reason for it?"

“Enid...I...”

“Tell me, Willa,” Enid moved even closer to Wednesday, their faces were almost touching, their eyes were anchored with each other's, “Tell me everything. Let me help you.”

I'm not worthy of your help.

“That's for me to decide,” Enid replied, to the Addams' evident surprise,”And no, you didn't say that out loud, nor did I read your thought. It's just that I imagined what you'd be thinking and from your reaction it's obvious I got it right.”

Enid’s anger had all but disappeared, swept away by concern, and fear, but also by affection, caring, and...

Oh.

She loves me.

And in that moment, Wednesday Addams knew what she had to do.

“Enid,” Wednesday said,”What I'm about to tell you...you may very well not believe a single one of my miserable words. But it is the truth.”

And Wednesday Addams spoke. Her words loud, clear and without pause.

She told her how she had traveled to another reality, how she had met other variants of herself and a version of Enid that had forced her to examine herself and open herself to possibilities she had never considered until then.

She told Enid how she decided to go to Nevermore in search of the ghost of a memory, a kind and gentle but also monstrous goddess. How it had been selfish and cruel of her to expect Enid to be an exact replica of someone else.

How it was therefore best that Enid should forget her. For she, Wednesday Addams, was a coward and a hypocrite and no longer worthy of her love. Neither of her friendship, even.

And when it was over and all was said and done, she dared not look Enid in the eye. She did not have the courage to face the rejection, disdain or anger that undoubtedly shone in those jewels that adorned her beautiful face. A face that no doubt reflected disbelief at what she had just heard.

And then, Enid began to laugh.

Wednesday looked up, perplexed by the scene in front of her. Enid was laughing, her laughter crystalline, clear and joyful.

A laugh that soon turned to roars and growls. That sound was joined by the tearing of skin and clothing, the accelerated growth of fur, the creaking of bones growing and shifting, the unpleasant and delicious sound of internal organs writhing.

And a final, triumphant roar. Before Wednesday Addams there was no longer a girl but a beast, leaning over her with the intensity that only a predator could evoke.

She was tall. Through the remains of the tattered school uniform, brown tabby fur was visible, not unlinke that of a werewolf. Her body was still humanoid but with arms longer than the legs and hunched, suggesting the possibility of moving on all fours if needed. The movement of powerful muscles could be appreciated under that fur. Her hands were actually paws, disproportionately large and thick-fingered, hiding retractable claws that were not constantly extended like those of a lycanthrope. She also had a long, thin tail.

But the real masterpiece was her face. A feline head of a saber-toothed tiger. Huge, disproportionate fangs, long as daggers, protruded from a mouth that could crush Wednesday's skull with a single bite if she wanted to.

Wednesday's throat had gone dry from sheer excitement. By pure instinct, without realizing it, her right hand reached up to caress one of those portentous fangs as her eyes focused on Saint-Clair's.

Green, feline eyes glowing with an inner, wild fire. Eyes that stole Wednesday Addams' breath. Eyes that she could almost imagine in the primordial darkness, reflecting the fire of the first bonfires. Those were the eyes of the first hunter, of the first night terror that haunted mankind in ancient times. The eyes of the monster that caused humanity's atavistic fear of the dark. They were the eyes of a monstrous goddess, and now they were fixed on her.

Wednesday caressed the fang and the feline face before her, whispering “Cara mia...”

And then, suddenly and with a sound of displaced air as her mass suddenly shrank, the beast vanished almost in seconds and Wednesday found herself face to face again with Enid Saint-Clair. A half-naked Enid Saint-Clair, dressed in the remaining rags of her tattered uniform and sitting right now on the Addams' lap.

This time Wednesday could neither contain nor conceal the redness in her cheeks nor the dilation of her pupils at those flashes of pale skin beneath the tattered fabric.

Enid smiled. And her smile was kind and warm. But also mischievous and hungry. And sincere.

She leaned forward, once more with her face nearly touching Wednesday's. Something indecipherable shining in her eyes as she spoke.

“Am I monstrous enough for you?”

Wednesday opened her mouth. She would have liked to answer with a resounding yes. Repeat it a thousand times, until she was exhausted.

But she couldn't.

Because at that precise moment Enid Saint-Clair took her face in her hands and her lips collided against Wednesday Addams' in a hungry kiss of animalistic desire.

Chapter Text

“If you were music, I would listen to you ceaselessly, and my low spirits would brighten up.”
― Anna Akhmatova.

Wednesday Addams had lost all sense of time and space.

The classroom she was in did not exist for her. It was as if she was surrounded by utter emptiness. She did not feel the warmth of the sun from the scant light coming in through the closed windows. She was not aware of the four walls that surrounded her. She barely registered the sensation of the desk she was sitting on. None of her senses registered the world around her.

All her senses were focused on Enid Saint-Clair.

Keeping her eyes fully closed in a futile attempt to maintain a modicum of control, her touch was fully absorbed by the sensation of the weight of the young werecat girl sitting in her lap. Her hands clinging to her, feeling the tattered shreds of fabric of a torn uniform and the warmth of bare skin, the texture of her hair. The heat and moisture on their lips locked in a hungry duel.

She could smell her. A wild, animal, sweet fragrance mixed with the scent of a dark forest. She could hear the purr escaping her throat, the only sound she could perceive intermingled with her own gasps and moans.

And I wanted to escape from this?

She noticed the sharp clawed hands gripping her firmly. At some point her uniform coat had fallen down and the collar of her shirt had loosened, her tie gone. She felt the coldness of the air on her bare shoulders as Enid's lips parted from hers. Wednesday let out the beginnings of a whimper of protest that morphed into a gasp of surprise when she felt those same lips again landing on her chin, and then on her throat, and soon in the hollow between her neck and shoulders.

I am an idiot.

She felt teeth like razor blades grazing her skin and she shuddered in pleasure, taking Enid's head in her hands and pulling her closer to herself, dropping back and allowing Enid...

“MISS ADDAMS! MISS SAINT-CLAIR!”

And the moment was broken by a shrill, alarmed scream.

The two girls broke apart abruptly, standing up as if propelled by a spring and with their eyes locked on the open classroom door.

Wednesday fought the urge to smack her own forehead with the palm of her hand. Enid's transformation hadn't been silent at all, and it's not as if the old classrooms at Nevermore Academy were conveniently soundproofed. It made perfect sense that someone would have heard the roar and come to investigate. Even more so, considering the passage of time, if the absence of the two had been noticed and noted by someone.

And all that had led to the fact that right now Wednesday Addams found herself disheveled, covered in kiss marks and faint bites on her neck with her uniform coat off and her shirt almost all the way open, standing next to an Enid Saint-Clair with her uniform in tatters and showing more skin than would be considered appropriate. And watching them from the classroom door, transfixed with a scandalized expression on her wrinkled face, Mrs. Pickering, the math teacher.

The silence was deafening.

“Uh... er... hello Mrs. Pickering.”

At least until it was broken by the nervous voice of Enid Saint-Clair.

“This... well... Is there any way to convince you that this is a hallucination borne of your senile mind?” the werecat asked, trying to put on an expression of candorous innocence.

The nervous twitch that took over the teacher's left eye did not bode well.

And this time Wednesday did facepalm.

§§§

Gomez Addams was a man consumed with paternal concern. It was not a common state for him.

Oh, don't misunderstand. Gomez loved his progeny, adored them, always enjoyed the time he was able to spend with them. So much so that at the time he found it outrageous that the authorities demanded that Wednesday and Pugsley had to go to school. Why have children if you're going to send them off every day to spend several hours somewhere else instead of being with them? Absurd, nonsensical, stupid.

So yes, Gomez loved his children, but he rarely felt concern for them.

Concern in the sense that he knew perfectly well what they were capable of and how they knew how to take care of themselves. Morticia and he had always tried to cultivate that individualism, creativity and willpower in the children. So Gomez knew that his offspring could fend for themselves, therefore he didn't have to worry about them. He would help them if they really needed it, of course. Or if they asked him to, but that happened rarely and less and less over the years.

And that was even more accentuated with Wednesday, always a force of nature in her own right. Gomez had always been fully confident that his daughter could handle any undertaking she set her mind to. By all means, everything seemed to indicate that his daughter would one day become one of the most legendary figures in the family tree, like Calpurnia, or Cousin Cackle.

The kind of Addams that future generations would be told stories about.

But now he was concerned for her, because the situation he was in was shattering all his expectations.

Silence. The most total and absolute silence.

It had now been a month since his daughter's admission to Nevermore. When Wednesday had inquired about the Academy and expressed her desire to join it, Morticia and he had been surprised. Even now he did not know what had prompted his daughter's request. Morticia seemed to have certain suspicions and had spoken to Grandmama about it, but when he asked her, his wife simply told him that it was best to be patient and wait for Wednesday herself to take the first step in telling them her reasons.

But anyway, a whole month in Nevermore and... nothing. Gomez was really worried.

Not a peep from the authorities about her time at the school. No letters or complaints from the parents of her peers to remove her from the academy. Nevermore was a private school that tended to house some so-called “elites”, and Gomez knew his daughter. He knew it was a matter of time before Wednesday would take really drastic measures if some girl with more money and snobbery than sense made her lose her temper.

By now he had expected at least three murder attempts or a case of arson. But nothing, no sign, zero.

It was deeply unsettling.

So much that he had at that very moment resorted to trying to distract his troubled mind with a nice glass of kerosene on the rocks and a game of darts with Thing.

“I truly don't understand, old man,” Gomez threw a disproportionately huge dart at the mobile dartboard held by the living amputated hand, “By now I would expect at the very least an alarmed call to complain about a scorpion infestation or something similar. Like that time she moved a colony of bats into her elementary school gym.”

Without letting go of his grip on the dartboard, the living hand managed to gesticulate in response.

Gomez shook his head, “No, not even a good session on the rack with Morticia has gotten this worry out of my head.”

Gomez threw the last dart with such force that it pierced the target. Fortunately, Thing was unharmed, dropping the now useless object. Gomez plopped down on the couch, taking a sip from his glass and pulling out one of his cigars. Thing approached him, hopping over one of the couch's armrests to stand next to the beleaguered Addams patriarch.

Gomez sighed, “Oh, Thing, old friend. I fear the worst. This silence is not normal, it terrifies me to think that my daughter may have fallen prey to melancholy, to some atavistic form of indifference.”

Thing wiggled, his fingers moving loosely and swiftly.

Gomez shook his head, “No, I've already checked. Pubert's hair is still smooth and as black as tar. Not the slightest hint of golden curls on his head. No dimples or rosy cheeks. His moustache continues to grow luxuriantly. Not the slightest sign of alarm.”

Gomez took a puff from his cigar and a small flame escaped his lips as he exhaled, “No, I'm afraid whatever is affecting mi pequeña víbora is something more insidious and subtle.”

At that moment, a screeching sound echoed through the rooms of the mansion.

“What's that?” asked Gomez.

Thing tapped on the couch.

“The phone? The phone! I always forget we have one of those...”

The two could hear Lurch's footsteps and the sound of the phone being picked up. The Addams' frankenstinian butler let out an unintelligible grunt by way of reply. His footsteps echoed again and he made his presence known in the living room where Gomez was sitting.

“Call for Mr. Addams,” said the butler in a cavernous voice, ”Nevermore Academy.”

“Nevermore!” exclaimed Gomez, rising with a sudden impulse. The Addams patriarch rushed out in the direction of the old telephone, promptly picking it up and answering the call.

“Hello? Yes, this is Gomez Addams... Ah, Larissa! Is this about... Yes? She's done what? No! Really? That's wonderful!”

The murmur of a resigned voice echoed on the other end of the line.

“Ah, yes. Scandalous, scandalous,” Gomez replied, grinning from ear to ear, ”Morticia and I will be right over, of course!”

Gomez hung up the phone and let out a cheer before turning to Lurch and Thing, perched on the giant butler's shoulder. A smile of absolute paternal pride lit his face with maniacal gleefulness, “Thing! Lurch! My daughter is going to be expelled from her school for public fornication!”

Aaah, that Wednesday. A chip of the old Addams block!

§§§

The next day, on record time, Gomez and Morticia Addams found themselves at Nevermore, in the principal's office accompanied by the principal herself and the two miscreants. Poor Larissa looked like she hadn't slept well in days, which in the Addams' opinion lent her an air of healthy mortality.

But who really attracted the Addamses' attention were the two figures sitting in front of Larissa's desk.

Wednesday sat as regal as ever, every inch  her mothers daughter. Her hastily thrown on uniform however was telling a different story. Black school tie now accidentally replaced with a blue one, buttons hastily buttoned up in the wrong order, blazer missing entirely and various red hickeys standing out gravely against a porcelain throat. Finally, lips that were trying hard to stay in a straight line were swollen and bruised.

Her paramour was sitting in a relaxed carefree manor, her arm around the back of Wednesday's chair. Long fingers playing with the stray hairs that had escaped Wednesday's usually immaculate braids. The young scoundrel's uniform matching Wednesday's in disarray, but somehow worse. The few buttons she had left on her shirt, only buttoned up enough to not cause her poor principal an aneurysm. Black tie partly hanging out her trousers pocket. Brown hair resembling a bird's nest more than anything.

And a smile like that of a cat that had just eaten the fattest of canaries on her blushing face.

Gomez and Morticia exchanged a glance and a knowing smile. There was no need to exchange words, as it was obvious that they were dealing with a future new member of the family, without a doubt.

“Thank you so much for coming so soon,” Larissa Weems said. The headmistress cast one last reproachful glance at the girls before sighing with resignation, “It was imperative that you arrived first, Gomez, Morticia...”

“Oh? You seem concerned about more than just the present situation. What's the reason, Rissa?” asked Morticia.

“It's because of my foster parents...,” Enid began to say before being interrupted by the headmistress, “Allow me to bring them up to speed on the situation, Enid.”

Enid Saint-Clair nodded, shutting up on the spot and bowing her head in deference. Weems was one of the few adults she genuinely respected.

The headmistress cleared her throat before she began to speak.

“Four days ago, Mrs. Pickering, our math teacher, caught your daughter and Miss Saint-Clair in a situation she described as ‘carnally compromised’ and… Gomez, please stop crying.”

“It's just...I was so worried...,” the Addams patriarch mumbled as Morticia lightly patted the back of his hand. Enid raised an eyebrow looking questioningly at Wednesday, who was doing her best to ignore the scene.

Weems shook her head, “As I was saying... Wednesday and Enid were caught in a... complicated situation. I tried to keep things discreet and shield them as much as possible, so that the nature of their indiscretion would not be known at school. Unfortunately intolerance is far reaching and even among our teachers there are many who remain considerably conservative in some facets. The student body would also speak up and it would only be a matter of time before the story reached their parents and...well, you can imagine the reactions of some.”

“Pitchforks and torches?” asked Morticia.

“Yes...maybe something more metaphorical than that, but yes,” replied Weems, ”Well, the problem is that the situation seemed controlled. Only Wednesday, Enid, Professor Pickering and I were aware. And it would have stayed that way if these two hadn't continued their clandestine escapades the last three days, basically making their situation public among the entire student body and faculty,” Weems cast a look of resigned reproach at the two girls, “The last time just today barely fifteen minutes before your arrival when I went to pick them up for this meeting, in the music classroom.”

“Ah, the only soundproof one in the school,” Morticia said, shooting an approving glance at the girls, ”Good choice.”

Larissa Weems made a superhuman effort not to bang her head on her desk. Morticia must have noticed the tension because she immediately turned her focus back to the principal, “Oh, I'm sorry Rissa. Please continue.”

"Sigh...given the situation and the notoriety it has gained, I am compeled by the board to call he parents and to expel both of them. But I am aware of the situation in which Miss Saint-Clair finds herself, which makes me think that she could be at risk. I was therefore hoping to be able to ask for your help.”

It was as if there was some kind of silent communication, but at that moment Morticia did not ask Larissa for further details. Gomez and she immediately turned their gazes to Wednesday, who nodded slightly before beginning to speak.

“Enid is an orphan. The foster family she is forced to reside with are a puritanical couple, short-sighted, emotionally abusive and potentially dangerous to her well-being. It is highly likely that simply because Enid has chosen me as her paramour they will decide to remove her from Nevermore and attempt to intern her in one of those horrible re-education camps that certain cohorts of human garbage insist on maintaining to torture their progeny in a non-consensual manner in tribute to a grotesque concept of normalcy.”

“What she said,” added Enid.

The brief silence after that statement was interrupted by a faint knocking on the office door, opening it slightly and revealing Weems' assistant.

“Director Weems? Mr. and Mrs. Gopnik have arrived... Ooof!”

The door burst open as a middle-aged couple entered almost forcibly, pushing the young assistant aside in a very rude manner. They looked like they had stepped out of a cliché painting of the perfect 1950s couple, except for the fact that the man's clothes were not tailored, revealing that his seemingly luxurious suit was a cheap copy made without taste. He also looked like an overly regular consumer of alcohol. The woman was wearing a floral dress that could only be described as visually vomitous. His expression was one of wrathful indifference, while she cried loudly, holding a box of tissues.

“Oh, Enid, kitten, how could you,” the woman wailed,”With all we've done for you, this is how you repay us?”

“...don't call me that...,” Enid murmured, very quietly, her face turning pale with disgust.

“We are very disappointed in you, young lady,” said Mr. Gopnik, “It seems this was not the right place for you after all, we will have to take some… measures.”

“Oh, my kitten...,” Mrs. Gopnik continued to cry theatrically. Pure crocodile tears, “We knew you had your problems, but we never thought for a moment that you would fall into the clutches of such depravity. That you would choose to be such a... such a deviant.”

Enid kept silent, trying to contain the green glow in her eyes and the urge she felt many times to disembowel those two pieces of scum. Wednesday seemed to have fewer qualms, everything pointed to the fact that in a matter of seconds the young Addams girl would be on her feet with knives in hand ready to end their lives.

Morticia noticed it right away, so she stood up saving the lives of the Gopnik's without them being aware of it.

“Mr. Gopnik, Mrs. Gopnik,” she said, greeting them with an elegant nod of her head and a perfectly cordial smile,”I am Morticia Addams.”

Mr. Gopnik made a disgusted grimace that did no favors to his reddened and swollen face, “Ah, you must be the mother of the other…”

“Young woman, yes,” Morticia interrupted,”Please, I would like you to join me for a moment outside the office, for a chat in private.”

“Look, lady… if you can be called that,” Mrs. Gopnik began after casting an accusatory glance at Morticia's tremendously tight dress, “Don't think for a moment that...”

“Mrs. Gopnik,” Morticia interrupted again. A steely edge had been added to the tone of her voice, immediately silencing the other woman, “You misunderstood me. It wasn't a request. You two and I are going to leave this office now and have a nice chat. Whether you want it or not.”

The Addams matriarch's smile was still friendly, and cordial. But also terrifying.

Still sitting in his chair, Gomez was grinning like a maniac witnessing the most wonderful spectacle. For her part, Enid noticed that somehow the room seemed to have become gloomier and the atmosphere more oppressive. It was as if darkness had enveloped Morticia, with a single faint ray of light falling on her face, illuminating only her eyes.

Wednesday merely relaxed.

The Gopniks left the office, barely stammering a few words as Morticia gently guided them by resting her hands on their shoulders. The office door closed behind them, as if moved by an invisible force.

To this day, no one knows what was said in that conversation. Not Enid, not Wednesday, not even Gomez. No loud or irate words were heard. Whatever was spoken in the hallway in front of the entrance to the Nevermore Academy principal's office that day was done almost silently and discreetly. And just four minutes later, Morticia entered again, alone.

There was no sign of the Gopniks. As if they had never been there.

“Querida?” asked Gomez.

Morticia merely smiled and nodded in reply, before turning to Larissa Weems, “Rissa, my dear, would you do me the favor of preparing the necessary paperwork for the record that Enid Saint-Clair will be spending her period of expulsion with us? Although I imagine that was what you were hoping for...”

“Actually, yes. I had hoped so,” said Weems,”What have you...?”

"Oh, I just had a very pleasant chat with the Gopniks. And some of their ancestors. Nothing complicated,” Morticia replied, her smile almost predatory for a second. Finally, she turned her attention back to Gomez, “Gomez, I'm afraid I have to make a very bitter request of you...”

Gomez Addams stood up, taking his wife's right hand and kissing it as if it were the most precious object in the universe, “Tish, for you anything...”

“We're going to need you to resume... your professional activity. For a while at least.”

Gomez seemed to pale, holding a hand to his heart, “Ah! The torment! But it is my beloved who requests it!”

“Not for my sake, but for the future of our daughter, mon chère.”

“Tish! That's French!”

“Oh no...,” muttered Weems. She had witnessed scenes like that in the past more times than she would have cared to, and they didn't always end with clothes on.

Gomez proceeded to kiss Morticia's arm, almost compulsively and with an animalistic fervor, not caring at all about the presence of the other people in the room.

Despite the blush the scene caused on her cheeks, Enid couldn't help a giggle.

“Ah, so that's where that Greek thing of yours comes from,” the werecat said, throwing a smirk at Wednesday.

“Please shut up,” the young Addams replied.

“Whatever you say, μικρό μου τέρας.”

Wednesday Addams moaned.

§§§

We are nearing the end of this story.

Although some elements of the board had tried to pressure her to punish the young couple with a permanent expulsion, Weems succeeded in imposing that the expulsion term be limited to two weeks. For fifteen days, Enid would be living with the Addamses. On the day of her temporary departure from the Academy there was an emotional farewell from Yoko and Marilyn and a promise to correspond continually. Weems also promised the other two girls free access to her office phone to call the Addams mansion once a day at the end of classes for half an hour at the most.

Yoko and Marilyn also tried to have a one-on-one talk with Wednesday. Basically, trying to make it clear to the Addams that if anything happened to Enid or if she broke her heart they would have no qualms about using violence on her.

Wednesday misinterpreted the threats and thought they were trying to flirt with her. She very politely informed them that she was not interested in a polyamorous relationship. The expressions on her friends' faces caused Enid to nearly choke on her own spittle as she laughed.

Enid's stay with the Addamses quickly became the period of greatest happiness the young werecat had experienced since her childhood. Gomez gladly agreed to duel with her, Pugsley and Pubert turned out to be excellent playmates who would be amused by anything, Morticia and Grandmama became the mother figures she had so desperately needed, Lurch and Thing were such sweethearts...

And no one cared about her nature, nor her transformations, nor her propensity for violence. Hell, they celebrated her. She fit in like she had never fit in with anyone before.

And of course, all her alone time with Wednesday.

Poor Pugsley had been forced to run away dodging a hail of knives when he realized the true nature of his sister's relationship with the werecat and made the mistake of openly comparing them to their parents after accidentally catching them in another compromising position.

Finally, during her second week with the Addamses, Enid was surprised with the arrival of all her personal items and belongings that had been left behind at the Gopniks’ house.

“But...how did you...?” she murmured, as she saw Lurch carrying the boxes full of clothes, mementos, books...

“My father is an excellent lawyer,” Wednesday explained, “Many people ignore it because when he worked he tended to lose all his cases, but only because he always chose clients who were indisputably guilty. Anyway, he always abhorred the profession but he's made an exception for you.”

Definitely, in their next duel she was going to hug Gomez until she broke every bone in his body.

Wednesday presented a folder containing various papers to Enid.

“What are these?” the werecat asked.

“They need your signature. The first document will declare you as emancipated, you will no longer need your foster parents. You will be completely free from their influence. The second, if you wish, will make you a ward of the Addams Family, under our full legal protection.”

“A ward...”

“It means that for all practical purposes you will be an official member of the family,” Wednesday said, her dark eyes casting a look laden with meaning and future promise toward the werecat,”In all but name. For the time being.”

“Fort he time being?” asked Enid, casting a look laden with emotion toward Wednesday.

“Perhaps... one day you may wish to take...,” Wednesday began, the words surprisingly failing her. A telltale blush on her cheeks, “The family name, I mean. It's too soon and I don't mean to presume..."

Enid silenced her with a kiss.

And in that kiss were all her answers. Wednesday knew immediately, without the slightest trace of doubt in her spirit. She knew that that kiss was a yes. That it was a promise to her, to Enid, to both of them. She knew it in that kiss and in all the kisses that followed, and in so much more.

She knew instinctively.

After all, Wednesday Addams was no stranger to love.