Chapter Text

It was an obnoxiously sunny day.

Yes, it was one of those days. Clear skies with hardly any clouds, a fresh breeze and birds singing merrily. Not the slightest trace of ozone in the air that could be considered a prelude to a future storm, the temperature warm but mild and not suffocating, the sounds of families having fun in the park.

For the young girl, who walked with a hurried step and almost military firmness over the pavement of the sidewalk that led to the entrance of her house, those days were the worst. No puddles or muddy areas in the park to look for worms, no lightning to play electrocution with her abhorrent brother while holding an old television antenna.

She was a sight that contrasted with the sunny and colorful surroundings of the street gardens. She was dressed entirely in black, with a sobriety unusual for a teenage girl. Her dark eyes glittered with annoyance beneath her pale frown. Her hair, black as midnight on a moonless night, rested in two long braided pigtails that fell over her shoulders.

Her name is Monday Jones.

And this is not her story.

And sadly, we can't say it begins with her either, nor what role her presence will play in the creepy and mysterious events that will unfold. But Monday Jones is not aware of any of this, which is fortunate because few minds could assimilate the existential horror of what is to come.

Or maybe hers could, who knows.

But no, on that day Monday Jones' mind was more focused on how to make satisfactory use of a free afternoon. Unfortunately, her wretched and good-for-nothing brother Piggley was once again spending that unnaturally sunny Christmas vacation in juvie. Monday felt ambivalent about it. Ramone and Putrescence, their parents, were damned proud of their son's growing criminal record, and to some extent Monday could understand them.

But she saw no merit in her brother always being caught red-handed in the act of committing his poorly planned misdeeds. It was a sign of sheer incompetence that disappointed the young girl. Monday had sent as many classmates to the hospital as her brother or maybe more, but she had always dodged the consequences. You might think her parents would be proud of her for it too (and they were but the jealousy of her pre-teen mind prevented her from appreciating it) but it was always Piggley and his nonsense that dominated the talk.

But even with all that, he was a suitable playmate and occasional accomplice. And not having him with her that afternoon was frustrating. The excess of good weather also disgusted her. The lack of muddy puddles with frogs or toads was an execrable situation for her.

Finally, almost walking on autopilot as she fantasized about using her crossbow on some decapitated dolls, Monday arrived home.

The Jones residence stood out in the neighborhood the way a purulent pustule would stand out on delicate skin. In a quintessential suburban setting littered with two-story houses with basements, backyards, front lawns, and white picket fences, the Jones house was more like a twisted tree trunk. An asymmetrical, irregular dark wood house, topped by a roof of black shingles falling apart, surrounded by a garden covered in damp leaf litter that seemed perpetually trapped in autumn. And the white picket fence was a series of iron spikes and sharp glass next to a moat where several neighbors had sworn they saw the scales of something huge swimming around.

It was homey.

Monday jumped over the moat effortlessly and entered the house without using any key, not even her hands. The door opened on its own before her presence.

The interior was a paradox. Any visitor would notice at once that the reception room, which served as the main hall, was abnormally large. Much larger than the exterior of the house would suggest. Every surface, from the floor to the walls, seemed to be covered with a reddish velvet on which several colonies of fungi grew here and there. Various paintings adorned the walls, mostly portraits of relatives or illustrations that could not be described here in words without accidentally turning this text into a grimoire of demonic invocations. Next to the paintings were multiple stuffed animals, some of impossible species such as a rabbit with moose antlers.

Monday did not say hello when she entered the house, nor did she announce her presence. She could immediately sense that her parents were out. Perhaps they were planning an escape attempt for her brother so he wouldn't miss Christmas Eve that year. It didn't bother her, she liked the solitude, and having the whole house to herself even if it was only for a few hours pleased the young girl. She resolved to spend the time testing different types of ammunition for her crossbow using some of her brother's unfortunate toys.

She climbed up to her room, the stairs creaking with a plaintive screech with each step of her ascent. She gathered her weapon, different types of bolts, a canister of gasoline, and several of her brother's figurines and toys. She considered for a few moments using some of the voodoo dolls of his that she had made over the years, but they were only satisfying to play with when Piggley was present to watch him writhe in pain and squeal like a piglet.

Pain made the most delicious noises.

Equipped with everything she was going to need, Monday descended the old stairs again and once again each step greeted her footsteps with a pitiful sound. On the last two steps the young girl stomped harder than required, splintering the wood and for a few seconds it seemed as if the whole house had shuddered, just like a person who had been hit in the ankle. Monday allowed herself a small smile that oozed sadism on her usually stern face.

Finally, she entered the back garden. The irritating brightness of that horribly sunny day blinded her for a few moments as she stepped outside. That was what caused her to wonder for a few seconds whether what she was seeing was a mirage or a hallucination.

Because in front of her, in the middle of the garden, stood an astronaut.

Well, it wasn't exactly an astronaut. The suit was similar, certainly in the design of the disproportionately huge helmet. But the suit seemed to be made from scraps, as if assembled by piecing together pieces from different parts of various designs. It also looked worn, covered with traces of what appeared to be a fine gray ash. What stood out most was the glowing device on their wrist, a watch-like object with small green lights flashing on it.

Monday had seen the figure, but the figure had not seen her. The astronaut seemed disoriented, as if they were not fully aware of their surroundings.

The curiosity of the young Jones overcame any concern she might have had at the presence of the unexpected intruder.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The sound of her voice startled the intruder. The astronaut gasped before turning around and focusing her attention on Monday. Bringing a hand to her helmet, she lifted the opaque visor revealing the face of a young woman in her early twenties, blonde and with dark blue eyes. Eyes that were riveted on Monday with an almost obsessive fervor.

“Oh... My... God... Finally! I found you! I found you in time!”, said the stranger, with an elation bordering on hysteria, “I don't know how much time we have! You must...”, she started to say as she advanced towards Monday, only to suddenly stop and interrupt herself when she suddenly found a crossbow pointed directly at her face.

“Oh... Ok,” the stranger said, holding up her hands, “Yeah, for a moment there I forgot who I was dealing with,” she mumbled nervously.

“You haven't answered my question,” Monday stated, “And since you're one twitch of my finger away from one of these bolts familiarizing itself with your skull I'd suggest you speak up.”

The woman nodded, lowering her hands slightly, “My... my name is Amanda. Amanda Buckman and... you don't know me?”

Monday shook her head negatively. Amanda sighed, “ Yeah, I wasn't expecting that. Look, really, we don't have much time,” she repeated, looking around. Monday noticed that some of the woman's nervousness and fear was not about the weapon pointed at her. She was constantly looking her surroundings, as if expecting an ambush at any moment, “I need you to come with me.”

Monday raised an eyebrow, intrigued, “Is this a kidnapping?”

“If it was would that make you more willing to come with me?”

“No, not really,” Monday replied, ”A strange female astronaut in my backyard is the kind of weirdness that even I'd rather consult my parents on.”

Amanda growled, a growing frustration overpowering her nerves and fear, “Damn it, we just don't have time. I know this is all very strange, but I promise to explain everything that's going on.”

“I'm going to need some assurance of more weight than a bunch of incomprehensible ambiguities with no context to go with you, ma'am,” Monday said, ”Or a chloroform wipe over my nose.”

“Please, Wednesday...”

“I'm not Wednesday.”

An indescribable expression crossed Amanda's face. Surprise, perhaps. Disbelief. And... yes, Monday could see it clearly, some despair.

“What did you say?” the woman asked, in a quiet, almost inaudible voice that came from her lips like a whimper.

“I'm not Wednesday,” Monday repeated, ”I assume you mean Wednesday Addams, my cousin. We often get mixed up at family gatherings."

Amanda stared at her, as if not quite believing the words she had just heard, “But...the pigtails...” she muttered.

Monday lowered the crossbow, frowning. The situation was getting more outlandish with each passing moment but in a way that was more irritating than amusing. And it was a small wound to her pride that it all seemed to be about her cousin and not her, being mistaken by the stranger.

Although if she wanted to kidnap Cousin Wednesday she hadn't done her homework properly, she thought, The Addamses live in Jersey and this is California.

Meanwhile, Amanda had started compulsively checking the device on her wrist, “No, no, it can't be... it has to be her, the energy reading is... What the hell do you mean there are two of them!!! They're cousins, not clones, you fucking piece of shit!”

Suddenly, all the lights on the device turned red and it began to beep repeatedly. The sound was clearly an alarm. Amanda stood very still, the red light reflecting on the transparent visor covering her face.

“No,” she whispered.

“What's wrong?” asked Monday. She didn't want to admit it, but the whole thing was starting to worry even her.

“No, no...,” Amanda continued, ignoring the girl, “I messed up... I'm late again...”

The wind had begun to pick up. Suddenly, with no hint of any other change. The sun was still shining.

“What's going on?” asked Monday again.

The birds had stopped singing.

Amanda looked up, glancing at Monday once more. The young Jones did not like the implication of what was now in those eyes.

Pity.

“I'm sorry,” Amanda said, ”I'm so sorry.”

Monday noticed the change in the atmosphere as soon as those words left Amanda's mouth. The Joneses may have been a separate minor branch of the Addamses, but in their inner selves still beat the same adherence to the strange and unexplainable and Monday was no exception to that. Not only did she notice the change in the air, she even sensed as if something unnatural was happening around her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.

Instinctively, she turned her attention to her left, beyond the edges of her garden.

Then she saw it.

But “saw” is not the right word. Monday couldn't really see it. She could see the houses in the neighborhood being wiped away, the very sky above them disappearing. Everything above and everything below ceasing to exist. For an instant her brain interpreted it as a huge wall of black light advancing and devouring everything in its path but even that was a poor interpretation for something genuinely indescribable. It could not be described because... because it was nothing.

It was nothing at all.

Monday closed her eyes, suddenly sore and tearful. The wind was still gaining strength and a deafening sound had begun to take presence, as if the entire world was screaming.

“What is that?!” she exclaimed.

“It's The Nothing,” Amanda replied, with resigned calm as she manipulated the device on her wrist, ”I've failed. Your cousin is dead, her whole family is dead. And now this whole world...”

The device began to vibrate. Monday watched as Amanda Buckman's entire body began to vibrate as well and become vaguely transparent, as if she was a distorting image projected onto a canvas.

“If it's any consolation, I have it on good authority that it doesn't hurt,” Amanda said, letting out a broken chuckle as she lowered the opaque visor of her helmet, “Though being related to the Addamses, that surely doesn't amuse you at all.”

Amanda began to feel the familiar pain of the prelude to Jumping. Like so many other times, her atoms would be flung into another universe. And like so many other times pain would be her only companion.

Light burning her eyes, a million needles sinking into her flesh.

Here we go again, she thought.

Did we say pain would be her only companion? Unfortunately that wasn't going to be entirely accurate. Only the familiarity of the pain allowed Amanda's diminished senses to notice the touch of something...no, someone gripping her arm with unrelenting force.

She opened her eyes and through her opaque visor met the dark, enraged eyes of Monday Jones, holding onto her.

“No!” Amanda began to say, ”Wait!”

Disintegration.

“You mustn't...!”

Dimensional jump.

The two vanished into thin air. As if they had never been there, mere seconds before the Nothing erased the Jones' house out of existence. Before that entire universe perished as so many others had previously, in countless numbers.

And several universes away, a Guardian Wolf shuddered in her sleep.

Chapter Text

Byron Hill was one of those big towns in the USA that adorned their access road with a colorful welcome sign declaring it the best place in the country or other such hyperbole spewed by the minds of the tourism department of the city council.

But the truth is that it was a good town, almost a small city.

A not very big but very active urban center where some franchises alternated with many still upstanding family and local businesses, a landscaped central square in front of the town hall building which had its own clock tower, etc. All surrounded by housing and small apartment blocks followed by multiple neighborhoods and suburbs of family homes that had been added generation by generation, a high school with its own football field, municipal swimming pool, a small movie theater, multiple parks, some nearby farms and a huge expanse of wild and untamed forest.

Byron Hill was also possibly one of the oldest settlements in the country, second only to St. Augustine and Jamestown, although the town did not boast about it.

It was also one of the largest concentrations of outcasts residing in the same area outside of the major cities. If Byron Hill had anything to be proud of, it was its preschool and elementary education program based on the integration of humans and non-humans. Children of the most diverse species played and learned together, under the rationale that such early childhood contact was the best way to break down barriers.

Of course, there were always some dissenting voices, but fortunately the majority of the population of Byron Hill knew how to keep them at bay. The reality was that multiple outcast families resided there, discreetly but without hiding their conditions, and the town was home to two werewolf packs.

Byron Hill was thus a good place to live, respectful of its traditions but open to the new and willing to embrace change. A place where prejudice was minimal and where most of your neighbors wouldn't look at you funny when you walked in with your sunglasses on a cloudy day to buy blood in the supermarket area set up for that purpose.

No one was “weird” in Byron Hill.

Well... almost no one.

There were the Addams.

Okay. It may be a bit unfair to use that term to refer to them. The truth is that the Addams were quite well liked in Byron Hill: a young married couple who moved to town with their newborn daughters about six years ago now, one of them an author of renown and growing fame and the other a human-outcast relations activist, high school gym teacher and counselor for young lycanthropes in need. All perfectly respectable.

But it's just... well... it's just that they were weird.

Or at least there was something about them that was out of the ordinary, even by outcast’s standards, something that couldn't be fully explained by words alone... something kooky, and spooky.

Altogether ooky.

For example, let's look at the case of Enid Addams. As we have already mentioned, she has been the gym teacher at Harker High School for the last five years, an activist known for her abundant articles and campaigns for the improvement of conditions and defense of rights of outcasts and other marginalized social groups, and a great help for all those lycanthropes, especially the younger ones, who could not fit in the rigid rules of some packs or who simply needed advice. Enid Addams was open, a social butterfly, friendly and polite, always with a smile ready to lend a hand. A walking flash of color (always trying out new dye combinations on the ends of her blonde hair). She was reliable, firm in her convictions and someone you could count on. A good friend, a good neighbor.

She was also almost seven feet tall, with a muscular build, a scarred face, marble-white skin whose only color was the occasional blush on her cheeks and the dark circles around her bright, almost incandescent blue eyes. And her smile, always friendly, could not hide that beneath those red lips was a row of sharp teeth, each and every one of them like a small ivory blade. And even retracted, it was obvious that her fingers ended in claws and not nails.

But that was merely a matter of appearance. No, what really unnerved some people was the constant feeling that Enid was... uncanny. Standing next to her stirred in many people a primal, atavistic instinct that not even other outcasts could provoke.

The feeling that one was before a mega-predator. An ancient and powerful entity. Something that wasn't quite of this world and that could kill you with astonishing ease if it wanted to.

And she didn't even seem to realize it.

Mind you, the effect dissipated with time, exposure and getting to know her better. The affability and compassion in her character always won out. Enid Addams could be frightening, but she was also a ray of sunshine illuminating all those around her.

But where there is light there are shadows. And in the shadows cast by Enid Addams was her eternal companion, confidant, partner and lover. Her wife, Wednesday Friday Addams.

Now, this one you should be afraid of.

Wednesday Addams was nowhere near as social as her wife. She hardly ever left the house, at least during daylight hours, which had led Enid to have to deny more than once that Wednesday was not part of the local vampire community. One of the rare occasions when she had been seen in public was when, at the behest of the high school literature teacher and convinced by her wife, she gave a talk explaining the ins and outs of her work as an author to the students.

The thing ended up causing a small scandal among the students' parents when, instead of talking about basic creative endeavors or details of the publishing world, Wednesday devoted the talk to showing the real inspirations for the crimes in her series of novels, photographs of actual autopsies and in-depth descriptions of the most morbid and lurid details.

There were some fainting spells. And at least one student emptied the contents of his stomach. The rest, oddly enough, have regarded her as a local celebrity ever since.

Wednesday was a contrast to her wife in multiple ways. Enid radiated light and color, Wednesday seemed to carry her own cloudy day. Enid was tall, muscular, golden-haired and often wore brightly colored clothing. Wednesday was of modest stature, fit but slender, black hair pulled back in braided pigtails, and her clothes were a proliferation of blacks and grays, with only occasional uses of white and very now and then, purples or dark blues.

With a somber countenance, an expression that ranged from serious, annoyed and irritated to maniacally violent, and with few but always sharp words when she had to make a statement, Wednesday Addams strangely did not convey the same sense of danger as Enid. Indeed, there were more than a few who felt rather annoyed by her, even ready to confront her about some of her often misinterpreted remarks. For even when she had the best of intentions, Wednesday had the social finesse of a truck loaded with logs of wood that had broken loose and were sweeping through the rest of the traffic.

Of course, more often than not, Wednesday delighted in provoking such reactions, especially if her interlocutor had shown clear signs of prejudice or hypocrisy. And if things went further...

Well, Enid Addams could intimidate people even if she didn't want to or wasn't aware of it. Wednesday Addams didn't bother trying to intimidate you if you tried anything against her. The knife that suddenly as if by magic would have materialized in her hands and now rested grazing your throat is what should intimidate you.

Between sporadic run-ins of this nature with some of Byron Hill's more conservative neighbors and the bloodthirsty nature of her otherwise famous novels, more than a few were convinced that Wednesday Addams was a serial killer in the making, if not an already active one.

And in general, the family's aura of weirdness was not helped by other details either. Like Enid transforming into a wolf in broad daylight and without a full moon, to take her daughters to school sitting on her back. Or the inexplicable noises and howls that some people swore they heard coming from their house on Poe St. Rumors also circulated about Wednesday Addams walking the streets of town at midnight some nights carrying an amputated hand with her...

And then there were their daughters.

§§§

It was a Saturday morning. Despite being in the middle of winter, and with Christmas just around the corner, the day had decided to be sunny. It was the light filtering through the curtains that woke Enid Addams from her slumber.

Something that made her wonder, as it was not her usual way of waking up on a weekend.

Enid looked down at the stiff figure that her strong arms always hugged during her sleep as if it were the best cold pillow in the world. It was a phenomenon that would never cease to strike her as funny: no matter how much Wednesday slept hugging her, during her slumber she always reverted to her “ deceased” posture, sleeping stretched out like a board with her arms folded across her chest.

“Weds?” she whispered.

There was not the slightest sign of movement or muscle alteration, and yet Enid knew immediately that Wednesday had awakened, something that was confirmed when her dark eyes opened with a catlike flicker before looking up at the she-wolf.

“Mia lupa?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse from sleep. She frowned as she watched the light come in through the window, “What time is it?”

“I don't know, but by the sunlight I'd say it's after ten in the morning,” Enid said, ”The girls haven't come to wake us up.”

It was the usual routine of their weekends: their daughters bursting into their room at precisely nine o'clock in the morning and jumping on their bed to wake their mothers. That they hadn't done it that particular morning broke the norm.

“Mmm,” Wednesday mused as she rolled over in bed to come face to face with her wife, “Yesterday they were whispering about going out hunting in the woods. Knowing Day I wouldn't be surprised if she had dragged her sister with her before sunrise."

“Maybe we should ask Cousin Intruder, she may have seen them out,” Enid suggested.

Wednesday nodded before sitting up slightly in bed and calling loudly, “Intruder! Are you there?”

The answer came a few moments later. An echo of footsteps rustling through the gaps in the walls and a female voice of a certain age following, emerging from somewhere above the ceiling of the room.

“I'm here, what do you want?”

They had never seen Cousin Intruder. They didn't even know her real name.

She was a homeless woman who had found shelter in the wide gaps between the walls of the old house before Wednesday and Enid moved in. The two soon became aware of her presence despite her efforts to remain invisible to the new residents. And to her surprise, she had been adopted as if she were a member of the family, receiving the nickname Cousin Intruder from the girls. She had even been formally introduced to other members of the Addams Family when they came to visit.

Always without ever leaving her hiding places within the walls.

“Have you seen the girls?” asked Enid, sitting up in bed.

“Oh, yes!” replied Intruder, “They went out early in the morning. Day asked me to let you know. Oh, and she left breakfast ready for you."

“Great, that means we probably have a biohazard waiting for us in the kitchen,” Wednesday muttered. Enid held back a giggle and shushed her before continuing to talk with Cousin Intruder.

“Did they say where they were going?”

“To the woods, behind the house. Something about hunting... I preferred not to ask for details. Ah, the Cartwright kid went with them.”

“Atticus? Well, that reassures me a little. With him present they'll try to restrain themselves, I hope,” Enid said, letting her head rest back on the pillow with a sigh of relief. The Cartwrights were normies, their next door neighbors and good family friends since the two had moved in. Their son Atticus was only a year older than the twins and had been an inseparable playmate of theirs forever.

“I hope they have enough sense to be back before noon,” Wednesday said, before an indecipherable expression crossed her face and she pinned her gaze on Enid as she absentmindedly began to caress one of the she-wolf's arms, “Though I guess it's also okay if they're a little late for one day.”

“Weds?” whispered Enid, trying to contain the blush that had sprung to her cheeks. And failing miserably when she suddenly felt Wednesday's lips on her chin and slowly moving down toward her throat.

“A morning all to ourselves, mia lupa,” Wednesday whispered, “How long since last time?”

A hungry growl of lust escaped Enid's throat, “Too long,” she replied, huskily, as she sat up to position herself on top of Wednesday and...

“You know I'm still here, right?” interrupted Cousin Intruder.

“We gifted you those sound-isolating headphones for a reason!”

§§§

“When you said we were going out hunting I thought it would be a game, and not...well, hunting,” muttered Atticus Cartwright. He was a boy of seven and unremarkable looking: short brown hair, brown eyes behind a pair of glasses that made them appear larger than they were, and wrapped in a bulky light blue winter coat.

“Hush Attie, you're going to scare him!” replied the girl crouched next to him behind the bush next to the tree they were using as a hiding place. In front of them, a few feet away, a hare was absentmindedly nibbling at some roots it had dug out of the snow.

The girl's name was Friday Saturday Addams. Day for family and friends, and mostly to distinguish herself from Aunt Friday. Of course, no one would ever confuse the two because Aunt Friday was older than her mothers and from another universe, but not everyone knew that.

Dressed only in jeans and a black sweatshirt, Day had no qualms about her bare feet touching the snow. The cold didn't bother her. She was a six-year-old girl, small for her age and as pale-skinned as her mothers. Her hair, as black as her eyes, was a voluminous tangle almost impossible to brush that Enid always remarked was typical of the Sinclairs, her old pack.

This, together with the small claws that had begun to appear on her hands and the pronounced fangs, were the main indications that Day had inherited Enid's lycanthropy. And since she idolized her lycanthropic mother, she had gotten it into her head to be the best wolf possible. And apparently that meant hunting a hare with her bare hands one December morning, much to the bewilderment of her best friend Atticus.

“A little more...a little more...,” muttered Day, tensing every muscle in her body.

The hare raised its head.

Now!

“RWAAAAAAAAAAR!”

Day emerged from the bush with a prodigious leap for her age and with her small claws extended, ready to clutch the flesh of her victim. Atticus hopped after her, trying to keep up, though he only managed to stumble into the bush and fall. The girl flew through the air and for a second it looked like she was going to succeed and land right on top of the hare, but the animal took off at a run and in an instant had slipped away displaying insurmountable reflexes, leaving the little girl to fall face first into the snow.

“Oof!”

There was a moment of silence broken by a giggle. A giggle that many would call adorable as soon as they heard it. To Day it was the most hellish sound on Earth.

The little werewolf accepted Atticus' hand to pull herself up from the snow and shot a furious glare at the laughing figure. Another girl sat high up on one of the tree branches with a book ajar in her hands watching the whole scene with an amused expression.

“Ha ha. You could come down and help instead of staying up there, Rissa!” retorted Day.

Larissa Tuesday Addams merely shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. Rissa always smiled.

The twin sisters were another exercise in contrasts almost as stark as their mothers. Unlike Day's dark, wild hair, Rissa sported straight blonde hair carefully styled in two braided pigtails in imitation of their mother Wednesday's. She wore a long, simple dress in shades of blue covered by a gray coat and sported boots suitable for snow. Her eyes were light blue, like a clear summer sky. Her skin did not present the sepulchral pallor of the rest of her family, being of a healthier tone and with rosy cheeks that contributed to reinforce the almost angelic aspect of her appearance. Something to which, initially, the cute smile that adorned her face also contributed.

On the surface, you might think that little Larissa was the most normal member of her family. Until you noticed that she never uttered a word (although her sister seemed to understand her as if they were having a conversation).

And she never stopped smiling.

No matter what the situation. On her face was always, fixed and unflappable, that smile. A smile that never quite reached her eyes, whose blue color suddenly seemed colder, a sign of a calculating look that always analyzed everything around her. The look of someone who has planned fifty different ways to kill you right after a first meeting but without having any malice towards you. Just for the fun of the mental exercise.

There was no signs of lycanthropy in Rissa. And although she seemed to be able to communicate silently with her sister, no traces of psychic or magical abilities had been found either. For all intents and purposes, she should be a normal child.

But she wasn't.

“She's an Addams” was all Wednesday had once opined on the matter. No more was needed. If there were any doubts about it they would vanish as she came down from the tree, dropping down and landing on her feet in the snow with hardly any sinking in. As if she barely weighed anything or the laws of gravity didn't apply to her at all.

Already on the ground, Rissa glanced at her sister, tilting her head slightly. Day, still shaking the snow off her and out of her hair, responded as if she had spoken to her.

“Yes, yes, I can see the sun is very high.”

“Rissa's right,” Atticus said, ”It'll be noon soon, and I don't know about you, but I don't want to get in any more trouble with my mom and dad after replicating that experiment of your cousin's with the frogs.”

“I don't know why they were so alarmed. Resurrected or not they were still just frogs,” Day replied, with Rissa nodding along with her as they started walking back towards the edge of the forest and the back gardens of their houses, with Atticus in the center of the formation and the two sisters walking to his right and left almost like bodyguards. It was a custom they had adopted at school to deal with any bully who tried to mess with their friend.

“By the way Attie, are you coming to the Christmas party?” asked Day when they were already out of the forest and arriving at their houses.

Atticus looked at her quizzically, “I'd like to, but... Uh... Isn't it supposed to be a family reunion?”

“Yep.”

“An Addams Family reunion,” the boy repeated.

“Yes. So?”

“Are you sure it's appropriate for me to...?” he started to ask before noticing the weight of a hand resting on his left shoulder. Atticus turned his head and found himself face to face with Rissa's smiling features and her blue eyes fixed on him. The girl merely shook her head gently, as if to say “don't think about it.”

Atticus looked back at Day, who was waiting expectantly for an answer. The boy merely shrugged and smiled nervously, “Well, if my parents let me I guess so...”

Day grinned from ear to ear revealing her sharp fangs before grabbing Atticus by the hand and running off dragging the boy in the direction of his house, “Great! Let's go talk to your parents!”

“Day! Wait! You'll rip my arm off!”

Rissa hung back, watching them go. A small satisfied “Hmm” was the only sound that came out of her mouth before she set off again towards home, fully aware of the high probability of finding her mothers in a compromising position.

And in that instant she stopped.

The girl stood still, as if paralyzed. Unconsciously she had clutched her book tighter than usual, pressing it to her chest. On her face her almost beatific smile was still present, unperturbed. But for the first time in her short life, there was a faint frown on her brow as she turned to stare into the trees of the forest they had left behind.

She could feel it, as clearly as she could feel many other things that would drive many people to madness.

Something, or someone, was watching.

Chapter Text

For those who knew them only superficially or by mere rumor, hearsay or slander, it would be easy to believe that the Addams family would not celebrate Christmas.

That is, could there be anything more opposite? The epitome of a holiday colorful to chromatically criminal levels, sugar-coated to excess, oversaturated with pretended good feelings and laden with goodwill versus a gloomy family with notorious, terrifying or bizarre reputations even within the outcast communities. How could the Addams celebrate Christmas given the clan's clear affinity for death, the monstrous and all things macabre?

Well, as it turns out, the Addams family does celebrate Christmas. They've been celebrating it long before it was even called that.

Before Christianity and then capitalism got their claws into the ancient rites of the winter solstice and the roman Saturnalia, the Addamses were already celebrating the holiday. For along with the old celebrations of the passing of the year, in many cultures there were celebrations of family unity.

And if there was one thing the Addamses celebrated above all else, it was the concept of family in all its forms.

Enid still remembered her first Christmas with Wednesday and the Addams family. When things had really started to get tense with Esther Sinclair and her old house in San Francisco felt less and less like home, the Addamses were there to take her in, flatly refusing to let Enid spend the holidays alone at Nevermore with only the company of a few other students and only some of the faculty.

Enid didn't know what to expect at that moment. She knew that Weds' family celebrated El Dia de los Muertos all year long, and most likely Halloween as well in a very hardcore rendition of the holiday. In her mind, she pictured a Christmas celebration with a twisted, rotting tree, ornaments of black ribbons and little animal skulls, presents containing poisonous creatures, traps, voodoo curses or sharp weapons, strange Latin chants instead of carols...

And, well, she had been right about the color black and the occasional little bone. But the Addams had looked for a proper tree, a huge Christmas tree, the largest Enid had ever seen in the living room of any house. And they had decorated it also using traditional ornaments (perhaps too many, as if they weren't quite sure what the proper amount was), colorful paper for the presents (which turned out to be more normal than expected.... sort of: the shrunken heads of elves were not a common thing), appropriate sweets and treats (even if the gingerbread men were decapitated they were still delicious) and although the Addams didn't sing carols as a norm (they rather used to throw boiling oil on groups who dared to do so at their door), Lurch was a virtuoso on the organ and piano and Pugsley had been persuaded to sing some.

“They've done it for you,” Wednesday had told her, ”Normally our Christmas celebrations are usually a little more restrained in matters of color and there are no excesses until the big New Year's Eve ball with all the family gathering. But we wanted you to feel comfortable, we wanted it to be a holiday worthy of you."

Enid almost cried. Those people, who had barely known her for a year, were willing to accept her and even adapt some of their traditions to make her feel welcome. In retrospect, it was one of the first signs that the werewolf formerly known as Enid Sinclair had finally found a pack worthy of her.

After those came many other Christmases with the Addams. And after the particular adventures run by Wednesday and Enid throughout the multiverse, between the two young women a specific celebration had been established for Christmas Eve dinner when after their marriage they had begun to live on their own: that would be the night of reunion of all their “distant cousins”.

Curious but effective euphemism to describe people from another universe.

§§§

"Okay, we have to check that there are seats for everyone. We're not expecting surprise visitors, but after Yoko and Divina last year anything is possible. Oh, and the meat... ow, I have to count the ribs again, Nid always eats more than she should and..."

“Enid.”

”...And we have to re-secure the bar cabinet and keep the absinthe under lock and key. We don't want a repeat of Pup's incident with the cannon in the middle of dinner..."

“Enid...”

"Did I remember to change the clothing on the guest beds? Oh, yes, I think I did... wait, or maybe not. I did it last year and maybe I just think I did it this..."

“ENID!”

Enid Addams, lycanthrope, nearly seven feet of pure muscle and Volvaugr (cosmic dimensional warrior) jumped startled letting out a “Yip!” that wouldn't be out of place from a Chihuahua. She turned, slightly embarrassed, to look at her wife. Wednesday Addams returned her gaze with an expression of restrained amusement and a soft smile on her lips that years ago would have caused inconceivable levels of alarm in those who knew her.

“Mia lupa,” she said, “Breathe. Calm down and breathe."

“I, sorry, it's just that I...,” Enid began to say before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She had spent the last five minutes in a growing frenzy of worry regarding the preparations for the party that night. With a final sigh, she plopped down on the living room couch and brought her hands to her face, letting out a tired grunt. Wednesday sat down next to her without a word.

"Sorry. I always stress myself out with party preparations,” the she-wolf apologized, casting a resigned look at her wife.

Wednesday gently removed a few strands of Enid's hair from her forehead, leaving her vibrant blue eyes more clearly in view, before caressing her scar-covered cheek with soft, cool hands.

“I think it's an understudied facet of your competitive spirit,” Wednesday said, “But querida, every year you go through this and every year things end well. You know this.”

“Yeah, but there's always some incident...,” groaned Enid, “It's a little chaotic... counting us and the girls we're going to be eighteen people...”

“Hey!”

“Nineteen people, sorry Cousin Intruder,” continued Enid, “Assuming Shark doesn't bring another surprise boyfriend like the one two years ago.”

Wednesday's eyes lit up with sadistic amusement.

"Ah. The dragon."

“How did it occur to her not to tell him he had to come in human form?” retorted Enid somewhat exasperated, “Okay the golden scales looked very pretty, and the three heads were eye-catching, but...”

“The roof repairs were a nuisance, I'll agree with that,” Wednesday finished for her, “But by now you should know that a little chaos is always going to come our way.”

Enid took Wednesday's hand in hers and pulled gently, bringing her wife closer to her, “Don't get me wrong. I don't mind a little chaos now and then, especially if you're at the center of it all. But these days I'd like to just have a nice night in with my family, catch up on how everything is going, play with the kids..."

Wednesday let herself lie on Enid's lap, letting the she-wolf's strong arms wrap around her. Enid buried her nose in her wife's hair, letting the familiar scent soothe her. In spite of that, an expression of uncertainty caused a slight frown to crease her brow.

“And then there's that other matter...,” she started to say, before being silenced by one of Wednesday's fingers resting on her lips.

"I've got that covered, mia lupa. Don't worry,” Wednesday replied, looking up and pinning her dark gaze on her wife's.

Enid nodded. Wednesday's words had been firm and sure and that always reassured her, “We're never going to have a normal life at all, are we?”

"We're Addams, querida. Normality has never been part of the equation,” Wednesday replied with a half smile on her lips that made something tingle very pleasantly inside Enid.

“Yes, it would be très ennuyeux,” the she-wolf replied with a hungry growl reverberating in her throat as her gaze fell upon her raven's lips.

"Enid,” Wednesday muttered, suddenly breathless and with her pupils dilated like those of a cat resting its gaze on the most delicious of prey, “That's French.”

Enid leaned in as Wednesday lifted her face, their lips brushing and....

“Eeeww!”

The two women parted so abruptly that Wednesday nearly fell off Enid's lap onto the floor. The two turned to look to their left, where the door that connected the living/dining room to the entrance hall had opened, making way for two small figures.

“Why is it that whenever Rissa and I walk into a room you two are in we have to find you exchanging germs!” exclaimed Friday Saturday Addams, pointing accusingly at her mothers.

Beside her, Larissa Tuesday Addams merely nodded, her ever-unflappable smile on her face.

Enid growled, getting up from the couch, though there was no real anger in it, “Well, missy, maybe we wouldn't have that problem and hear you coming if you weren't sneaky like a cat,” Enid retorted.

Day snorted, indignantly, “We're not a cat like Aunt Nid!”

Enid put a hand to her chin thoughtfully and exchanged an amused look with her wife, “Mmm, true, true...you're more like two little wolfies...”, suddenly Enid lunged forward and caught her daughters in her arms, “Full of tickles!!!”

“AAAH! NO, MOM!” cried Day, trying to contain her laughter as she struggled without making a real effort to free herself, “I'M A STRONG PREDATOR, THIS IS UNBECOMING OF ME!”

Rissa, for her part, merely slipped like an eel from between her mother's arms and moved closer to her other progenitor until she stood beside Wednesday. The two watched the scene fondly for a few moments, with Day slipping away and Enid running after her, both of them hopping and skipping over the furniture amidst giggles and lupine growls laden with glee.

“I trust you have taken young Atticus back to his home,” Wednesday said.

Rissa nodded. She shot a glance at her mother and made a small gesture with her hands. Wednesday didn't hear any words in her head, nor did she recognize in those gestures any coherent signs like the ones Thing used. And yet, she understood her daughter's response immediately.

Yes. His mother will bring him and his clothes at about f̶̝̑ î̷͔̭̇́̀ v̸͙͚̼͛̈́̎͐͗͝ e̵̗̰̍͂̍̀̈͂̔  o'clock.

“Well,” Wednesday replied, shooting a questioning glance at her daughter, “And after dinner...?”

Retire to our room for the s̵̹͎̿̆ l̷̃̽͜ e̷̲̋̉ ȩ̵́ p̵͈̽̔ o̵̝̖̅ v̸̩̓͝ e̵̝̼̐́ r̶͕̕͝  and not leave it all night, no matter what we hear. And make sure Day doesn't decide to explore o̴̳͐ n̶̲̔  h̸̭͊ e̶͚̔ r̵͍̈  o̶͙͌ w̴̜̃ n̶̠̓.

Wednesday nodded, the steadiness in her gaze softening as she looked at the little golden-haired girl with the inscrutable smile, “I know you're probably wondering why we won't let you explore freely this year, but we have our reasons. And I promise you, you'll get answers."

Mamá... this m̶ o̴ r̶ n̵ i̸ n̸ g̷  in the woods...

Before the unusual conversation could continue, a rumbling in the next room followed by childish laughter and a wolfish howl interrupted it, drawing both of their attention. Wednesday laid a hand gently on her daughter's shoulder and shot her a small smile.

“We'd better rein those two in before they tear the house apart before the party starts,” she said, “When she gets like this your mother is like a giant puppy and all common sense evaporates from her head.”

A giggle escaped Larissa's lips. It sounded like the death rattle from a dying throat clogged with the fluids of decay. Like fingernails scratching on slate, if the slate were your very brain. A normal person would have felt nausea and inexplicable terror at the sound.

To Wednesday it was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world and she would kill anyone who tried to silence it.

§§§

In the woods, reality had momentarily broken down.

It broke when Larissa Tuesday Addams felt she was being watched that morning. And so she was...but the individual responsible was not at all on the material plane of existence until moments after the girls slipped away.

He was not there and suddenly he was, as if he had slipped through a narrow gap. Where there was no one before now a human figure wrapped in a hooded red cloak watched the Addams house from the safety of the trees in the adjacent forest.

The strange newcomer tilted his head slightly and brought a hand to his covered ear, as if he were attending to a message.

“Yes,” he said. And his voice sounded... mundanely normal.

“Yes, I know,” he continued, responding to a silent reply, ”Tonight.”

He inhaled, as if sniffing, almost tasting the cold winter air. Or maybe it was the anticipation, making his blood boil. The satisfied smile could almost be felt in his voice as he spoke again, before slipping back into a crevice between the physical and the inmaterial, disappearing once more from view.

“Normalcy will reign.”

Chapter Text

(Art from InvertColor)

Normality has never been part of the equation.

Enid didn't even try to contain the smile that formed on her face as those words ran through her head again. Her wife was right, certainly, and the lycanthrope wouldn't trade it for the world. Normality and the Addams rarely went hand in hand. Hell, the mere fact of being a werewolf already put Enid in the eyes of many into a category of weirdness by default. Being an Addams had only accentuated it further.

And then there was being the Volvaugr.

That one she really tried not to dwell on too much. It was a title that, according to the incarnation of Grandmama from Wodnesdæg's universe, carried with it a number of responsibilities and future challenges. Apparently, everything that had happened with The Bright One was just the beginning. But nearly a decade had passed since then and neither she nor Wednesday had had to face anything on that scale.

For the moment, she thought.

It was better to focus on the here and now. An afternoon of preparations with her family before the arrival of their guests. Preparations already conveniently ready thanks to Grandmama's intervention (the one from her universe, not the other, it's complicated) in ensuring a feast fit for the palates of any Addams, no matter where they came from.

Enid was still deep in thought as she finalized the preparations when a sound similar to a ship's horn made the whole house shake.

Oh, the doorbell...

“Weds? Could you...?”

“I'll take care of it, querida.”

“Don't make it sound like it's a mafia job!” said Enid, laughing.

Wednesday simply smiled back at her, one of those damned half-smiles with which she always seemed to be hiding something and which made Enid melt a little inside. Without further ado, she went to the main door to receive the first visitor of the evening.

The house they lived in started out as your typical suburban home. And on the outside it still looked like one, although shades of gray were starting to predominate. The interior had already become larger and more twisted than the outside. Nothing on the level of the Addams' ancestral mansion, but close. Any location where an Addams resided for a time or which they considered home became an Addams Place.

And yet the house was, in a way, cozy. At least on the ground floor where the living room and the large reception room that connected to the entrance atrium were located. Decorated in equal parts by Enid and Wednesday, it was a place that could only be described as eclectic.

Wednesday finally made it to the front door, just after another blast on the horn, and opened it, instinctively looking down to come face to face with little Atticus Cartwright, wrapped in warm clothes too big for his small frame and carrying a backpack.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Addams,“ the boy said.

“Good afternoon, young Atticus,” Wednesday replied cordially, before glancing around, “Didn't your mother accompany you?”

The boy shook his head, ”Nah, she's confident I won't get lost finding the house next door.”

“Well, don't let me keep you at the door,” said Wednesday, gesturing for the child to come in. Attie responded with a smile that, as always, puzzled her a little.

The universe and life are full of surprises and unexpected turns. As a child, Wednesday was seen as a weirdo, creepy and strange by her peers. As a teenager, to this perception was added that of being perceived as potentially psychopathic, even by the few who could consider her a friend. But now, as a young adult, there was the strange phenomenon that among the children of the same generation as her daughters, Wednesday was seen as a “cool mom”.

For some inexplicable reason, most small children liked her. Wednesday found it disturbing. Enid thought it was endearing as well as hilarious.

Atticus had barely crossed the threshold of the door when he was rammed by a humanoid missile called Friday Saturday Addams.

“Attie!” exclaimed the girl as she lifted her friend in a hug that made his ribs creak, “You came, you came!”

“Well, you invited me...” the boy managed to mutter, squeezed by his friend's arms.

Rissa appeared shortly afterwards, accompanied by Enid.

“Hi Attie!” said the werewolf. “Day, please put him down. He's not one of your stuffed animals.”

“Mom, if Attie were one of my stuffed animals I wouldn't hug him, I'd dismember him,” replied Day, putting the bewildered boy down, although without letting go of him.

“It's okay,” said Atticus, trying to convince himself that the blush on his cheeks was due to going from the cold outside to the warmth inside the house.

Still smiling, Enid turned to her other daughter, “Rissa, could you and Day take Attie to your room so he can leave his stuff and then come back to the living room? Our guests should be arriving soon.”

Rissa nodded silently and with her everlasting smile full of serenity. She took her sister in her arms, even though she was still holding Atticus, and carried them both with an unusual show of strength for her age. When the three children disappeared at the top of the stairs, the smile disappeared from Enid's face, giving way to a worried expression.

“Weds... Attie is always welcome here, but today of all days...”

Wednesday placed a hand on her wife's shoulder, even though Enid was much taller than her, making her turn until they were face to face. “Nothing will happen,” she said, with a soft and gentle tone in her voice that few souls had heard. “Come on, the others are about to arrive.”

A few minutes later, the whole family was in the living room. Wednesday and Enid had settled down on one of the couches, watching their daughters play acupuncture with dolls with their friend. The tranquility of the scene was interrupted when suddenly a gust of wind began to stir up inside the room.

There was a flash of light and suddenly a kind of luminous “door” formed out of nowhere in the middle of the room, a vertical rectangle of energy that oscillated between green and gold colors, illuminating the room with radiance. Wednesday and Enid got up at the same time as a silhouette crossed the newly opened dimensional portal.

She was a young woman, barely out of her teens, with grayish skin, long black hair and completely white eyes. She was dressed in an outfit that wouldn't have looked out of place in an old-school rock band: black T-shirt, spiked necklace, leather bracelets, black pants, heavy boots...

Day and Rissa were the first to react, rushing straight into the arms of the newcomer, who greeted them with an impromptu hug.

“Cousin Varadi!”

“Rugrats!”

Varadi Addams-Needler, the adopted homunculus daughter of one of Wednesday's dimensional variants... who had just walked through the portal.

Needler, as this counterpart was known, walked through the door hand in hand with her wife Parker, before closing the portal behind them. Unlike on other occasions, she was not wearing her white scientist's coat but a discreet and sober black dress.

She still wore her hair in the classic braided pigtails worn by most of Wednesdays throughout the multiverse, and she was still one of the palest.

“Greetings,” she simply said in a monotone, serene voice, although her eyes shone with obvious affection. At the same time, Parker came forward to greet Enid and Wednesday with another exchange of hugs. Well, more like an exchange of hugs with Enid.

“Attie, Attie!“ exclaimed Day, dragging Varadi along until she was standing in front of the boy, “This is my cousin Varadi! Cousin Varadi, show him the trick!”

Varadi looked at the boy with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you Attie,” she said, holding out her hand. Attie shook her hand in greeting...

... and suddenly found himself holding Varadi's hand in his, completely severed from her body.

“Oooh,” he muttered, looking at the amputated appendage with his eyes wide open behind his glasses.

“Aren't you scared?” asked Varadi, between surprised and concerned.

Attie shook his head, “It's a little scary, yes... but Rissa and Day already told me that you could dismember yourself.”

Varadi smiled, taking her hand again and grafting it back onto her arm before rubbing the boy's hair, “Thank you for being friends with these two, I know how much patience they require.”

“Hey!” Day protested.

Rissa made an almost imperceptible gesture that made Varadi laugh.

“That's right! Day is the one who requires patience!”

“HEY!”

Soon, another portal much like the previous one formed out of nowhere. Two figures crossed it at the same time. The one on the left was a young Wednesday, with a pale and severe face. Her hair was also in braided pigtails, but she was wearing a black dress more similar in style to those worn by Morticia. Next to her, an Enid with brown hair, green eyes and much more informal attire, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of everyone else.

“LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!”, exclaimed Enid Saint-Clair, also known as...

“Auntie Nid!” Day shouted as she leapt towards the werecat, extending her little claws. Saint-Clair just laughed, letting herself fall to the ground with the girl, while the others watched the scene with amusement.

Rissa approached the newly arrived Wednesday and greeted her with a nod.

“It's a pleasure to see you again, little Larissa,” she replied, before her gaze fixed on the local Wednesday and Enid, “Wednesday, Enid.”

“Woe,” Wednesday returned, nodding slightly.

Two other portals opened while Day was still trying to bite her aunt's jugular, who was still laughing as she playfully struggled with the little werewolf.

From one of them emerged a middle-aged Wednesday, wearing simple black jeans and a pink sweater embroidered with a black cat. Unlike her dimensional counterparts, her long black hair was pulled back into a single ponytail. Her companion was a tall, muscular man with blond hair and beard who greeted those present cheerfully.

From the other dimensional doorway emerged a Wednesday, once again with her classic pigtails and dressed in a dark blue dress and black and white striped tights, holding the hand of a taller, more gangly woman with long curly brown hair.

“Friday! Pup!” exclaimed Enid, running to embrace the two Wednesdays, whom she would never cease to see as a pair of little sisters, even though due to the whims of the multiverse they were now older than her

“Enid!/Miss Enid!” replied both Wednesdays as the she-wolf squeezed them in a hug not unlike the one her daughter had given the young Atticus a few minutes earlier.

Friday's husband, Eamon, couldn't help but laugh at the scene. Pup's companion, Taylor Galpin, simply shook her head in exasperation, although a poorly concealed smile adorned her face.

“Welcome, Eamon, Taylor,” Wednesday greeted them, after casting an amused glance at her wife still clutching the other two women, “I trust everything went well.”

“No problems,” the lycanthrope replied, ”It took a while, but we've finally managed to calm things down with the other packs. The old guard of the Sinclairs won't be a problem anymore.”

“Weds and I are fine too,” Taylor added, “Although the year has been so calm that for a moment I thought she was going to go mad with monotony... by the way, Eamon, what on bloody earth is that?” asked the Hyde, pointing to her friend's face.

Eamon put his hand to his beard with a satisfied smile, “What? This? My moon likes it, she says it tingles pleasantly when...”

“There are children present.”

“...we kiss. When we kiss. You have a very dirty mind, Galpin,” laughed the lycanthrope again, ”By the way, Wednesday, Enid... Theo and Dora send their regards and are sorry they can't come, but this year they had already made plans with their campus mates and...”

“We understand, Eamon,” said Enid, “Now give me a hug, twin brother from another universe!”

“Hey! What about me?” exclaimed Saint-Clair from the floor, lying with a triumphant Day standing over her, “I'm almost identical to you!”

“Your brown hair marks you out as the evil twin!” Enid joked.

“Oh... cool!”

“Although wrong, since given his moustache Eamon is clearly the evil twin,” interrupted a new voice, simultaneously monotonous and teasing in a way that was not easy to describe.

Another Wednesday had emerged from another doorway that was closing behind her. She came alone, wearing a blue dress, dark pink tights and sporting a serene expression on her face betrayed by the animalism of her smile.

“Shark!” exclaimed the others, welcoming the last of the group that Enid's friend Yoko had dubbed the Wednesday Six.

The Wednesdays who, almost a decade earlier, had accidentally ended up in that universe. A mystery and an adventure arising from a failed attempt at revenge against Wednesday that was the first stage of a journey that marked and changed the lives of all those present. Some of them in a way they would never have imagined in the past, as was particularly the case with Enid.

But in their last great (and dangerous, desperate and sometimes nightmarish) adventure, the Wednesday Six had technically become the Wednesday Seven…

“SALUTATIONS! THE HOUSE OF ADAMO IS HERE!”

The shout signaled the arrival of the last guests. Emerging from a portal, in this case circular and with golden edges, were a trio of newcomers.

The woman was clearly an Enid, even taller and more muscular than the local one, a human mountain dressed in elegant furs, like a barbarian princess. Her companion was a male version of Wednesday, with his hair tied back in short, thick, braided pigtails, and clad in a suit of black metal armor as dark as a moonless night, covered in spikes and sharp edges.

“Eneit! Wodnesdæg!”

Between the two of them was a small child with an annoyed expression who completely ignored the adults' greetings. He was about six or seven years old, although tall for his age, dressed in a simple robe and a fur cape, with strawberry blonde messy hair and a pair of blue eyes that instantly fixed on Day.

A gaze that Day returned with a lupine growl.

“Geraint,” the girl murmured.

“Cousin Friday,” replied the child, extending the claws that gave him away as a little werewolf, ”MY SWORN ENEMY! THE TIME FOR RECKONING HAS COME!”

And with their respective howls, they threw themselves at each other, ready to spill blood.

Rissa facepalmed.

Chapter Text

From their first meeting at the tender ages of two and one, Geraint Adamo and Friday Saturday Addams had been bitter rivals.

Their first exchange of glances ended with both of them jumping out of their respective mothers' arms, ready to tear each other's eyes out with their barely developed lupine claws. Only the quick reflexes of Enid and Eneit stopped them at that moment.

And the situation remained the same in the present.

Both Geraint and Day had pounced on each other in a leap that was prodigious for their young ages, ready to engage in an exchange of scratches and bites. Unfortunately for them, their mothers had literally caught them in the air.

“Stop right there!”

“Ah, ah, no duels before dinner!”

“Moooom!”

“Mother! She’s right there!”

The image of two small children trying to mutilate each other would normally be cause for alarm in many families. But we are talking about the Addams family here. Rivalries between family members, especially between siblings and cousins, were common and legendary. And since an Addams could not cause real harm to another Addams, the family tended to see them more as a chaotic expression of affection and brotherly love.

Wednesday still remembered many of the stories her father and uncle had told her about when they were children. How Gomez had impaled Fester with one of his first sabers, how Fester had used Gomez as a guinea pig in one of his first tests with explosives, the incident of the extracted teeth in a school play, or the alleged removal of Gomez's brain by Fester while he slept.

Alleged because Gomez clearly still has full neurological function (ok, debatable sometimes) and Wednesday still suspected that in that camp/correctional facility her uncle had probably removed someone's brains, but not Gomez's.

She herself had a long history of fierce confrontations with Pugsley. It is true that, more often than not, rather than a rivalry between siblings, it was more that Pugsley was the perfect test subject for knives and poisons. For his part, Pugsley had become an expert engineer whose deadly traps were an example of an almost artistic perfectionism.

Although he still had a childish predilection for blowing everything up with grenades.

Coming out of her thoughts, the matriarch of the new generation of Addamses could see how her wife and her variant had taken the two little monsters in their arms.

“Mother! I implore you to release me!” exclaimed Geraint, ”I must duel with my nemesis!”

“After dinner you can duel all you like, my little prince,” said Eneit, hugging her son in a way that mortified him as only a small child who wants to appear more mature than he is can be mortified.

Enid was doing the same with Day, more than anything to make sure that the little gremlin didn't try a new attack, although Day considered herself satisfied by sending Geraint a shit-eating grin.

After that, it was time for dinner. The dining room was set with a large table at which everyone present sat down in a rather anarchic fashion. There was no place of honor reserved, nor a separate area for the children. True, the couples tended to stay together, and Rissa and Day had sat on either side of Attie in a way that Enid found adorably protective.

For his part, the young visitor watched in wonder. His friends had told him the stories and he had met other members of the Addams Family before, but there was something fascinating about seeing so many variations of the Addams ladies together. The combination of similarities and marked differences was incredible.

And the food! There was something for everyone.

Attie had dishes prepared specifically for him for his safety, something that Day took very seriously, sniffing everything before he put it in his mouth. For the rest of the family, there were relatively conventional dishes such as multiple roast turkeys from which everyone took a portion and other more exotic offerings, such as a platter of tamales that Shark had seized upon and was devouring with gusto. At one end of the table, Eneit and Wod were tucking into what appeared to be a whole roast deer or elk. Woe and Nid were enjoying a bowl of something that looked like green goo that moved and squeaked every time a fork or knife was stuck in it. There were also salads that looked like they were made with poison ivy (Taylor and Pup seemed fond of those), a steaming pot of soup that was served by the purple tentacles that emerged from inside it (and with whom Needler tried to strike up a conversation, to the hilarity of her wife and daughter), black moldy-smelling sweets that seemed to move if you looked away from them for a momento, and many, many other curious stuff.

And the whole atmosphere was filled with a scent of...

“What's that almond smell?“ Attie asked Day.

“Oh. A lot of the drinks have extra cyanide in them. To give them a little buzz. But don't worry, yours are safe,” replied the werewolf girl.

Geraint snorted, “Bah, nothing would happen to him if he had a drop or two. And I'm sure your mothers have antidotes.”

“Attie's no Addams, Ger,” replied Day, “Even if it didn't kill him, I don't think he'd like the compulsive puking and choking.”

“I can't say I'm a fan, no,” murmured Atticus. Rissa placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

Geraint shrugged, putting one of the black moldy cakes in his mouth. The cake screamed in pain as it was bitten, “Hey, you never know, maybe he'll get a taste for it.”

The young Adamo prince signaled with a movement of his head and Day turned to see that Attie was now in the beginning of a conversation with Rissa. The Addams with the golden pigtails made little use of gestures and limited facial movements, but Attie seemed to understand her without too much trouble. To be honest, it was something he was improving at every day.

“You see?” said Geraint. “He's no Addams, but he's not entirely mundane either if he can converse with your sister.”

Day did not reply, merely breaking a bone to slurp the marrow from inside it, deep in thought.

§§§

At the edge of the forest, near the back garden of the residence of Wednesday and Enid Addams, reality was broken again. If we looked at it with our own eyes, it would seem as if a scratch had been made in the air, as if an invisible fabric had been torn.

It ceased as suddenly as it had begun. And after that, the hooded figure in the red cloak materialized again in the material plane.

He started to walk towards the house but stopped after just a few steps. Raising his left arm, a strangely technological device became visible on his wrist. To the naked eye it would have looked like a relatively normal watch, albeit of ostentatious design, if it weren't for the small floating holographic projection it was displaying.

The hooded man brought his other hand to the right side of his head, at ear level, as if he were listening to a message radiated through an earpiece.

“I have strange readings...”

He listened in silence to whatever response he received.

“Yes, she is there. This iteration is accompanied by a she-wolf... Yes, I am aware of that.”

A pause, listening.

“There are multiple readings, too similar to... Mmm, yes, it may be other family members, but I'm worried...”

Again, a pause. His body suddenly tensed, gripped by sudden anger.

“I'm not going to back down! It's not the first time I've done this! I...”

He fell silent, realizing that he was raising his voice too much. A few moments passed in which he limited himself to listening to the voice that was communicating with him while he tried to keep his breathing under control.

“Soon... soon... Yes, I will begin now. No, I can do it by myself, don’t call any of the others.”

He reached under his cloak and withdrew a silver object similar in shape to a gun, although with no visible mechanical parts. He regarded it with an almost religious reverence as his body began to turn transparent, before vanishing completely from view.

“Normalcy will reign.”

§§§

The rest of the evening proceeded with conversations, laughter and the occasional burst of song, which some of the Wednesdays received with effusiveness (Friday, Pup and Wod), others with painful grunts (Wednesday, Woe and Shark) and others with elegant indifference (Needler). Also, as every year, they took the opportunity to catch up on news. It wasn't that this date was the only time they would visit each other throughout the year, but it was one of the few occasions when they would all get together.

“Well, we have to know,” said Enid, addressing Woe and Nid, “When do you two plan to stop waiting and get married already?”

“We tend to avoid conventionalism,” said Woe, pouring salt on a poor slug that had snuck into her salad.

“And technically we're already married,” added Nid. She then proceeded to lean over to whisper to Enid in a low voice, “At least from what I've learned from my cat people, the custom is that if it's been consummated with a mate you're married, no ceremonies are necessary.”

“That said,” continued Woe, ”We hope to have a formal Addams-style celebration, but we wanted to finish our travels first.”

“I've been promoted in the department,” said Pup, “Do you remember what I told you about the larvae I found in the eyeballs of that victim? Well, it turns out that we were able to establish a link with a case from fifteen years ago and capture the perpetrators.”

“It's funny how a few years ago even I would have been sick to my stomach hearing that at dinner,” laughed Taylor.

“You get used to everything,” said Enid, “I used to faint at the sight of a drop of blood.”

“It's hard to believe, milady Volvaugr,” Wod interjected, “After all, we saw you strangle that Wendigo with his own intestines.”

“Well, he had it coming," growled the she-wolf.

“What about you, Shark?” asked Friday, “Did you break up with ...?”

“Gidh had to go back to his planet,” said the youngest of the Wednesdays, shrugging, “Political stuff and being the imperial heir, I guess.”

“Wait, the three-headed dragon was an alien?” asked Nid.

“Imperial heir??” asked many surprised voices at once.

After Shark explaining some details about her ex-boyfriend that she had forgotten to mention the previous year, the conversations continued in a relaxed manner until the desserts arrived. And finally, it was time for the little ones to retire.

“Okay, tadpoles,“ said Varadi as she got up, “I understand you're going to have a sleepover, so let's get on with it and leave this collection of living fossils to their own devices.”

“Aw, thanks, daughter,” said Needler.

“Uh? Are you coming with us, cousin Varadi?” asked Day.

“I've been naughty this Christmas so my punishment is to hang out with you, you little sugar-saturated monsters,” said the teenager. ”Come on, we'll have fun, we can compare the traps we've set for Santa this year.”

“Napalm!”, exclaimed Day.

Day took Attie by the hand and practically dragged him along as they ran upstairs, with Geraint running after them. Rissa followed more calmly and Varadi came last. Before leaving, Enid gently took her arm, “Sorry Var, thank you so much for taking care of this.”

“No problem, auntie,” replied the flesh golem, ”I'll keep that pack entertained and make sure that Day and Ger don't go up to the roof again for a dramatic duel in the moonlight.”

There was the sound of glass breaking upstairs, screams and laughter.

“Well, I think you'd better run, honey,” Parker added, holding back a laugh.

“Shit!”

Most of the other adults couldn't contain their laughter as they watched the teenager shoot up to the top floor of the house. Even Wednesday, Woe and Needler allowed themselves some relaxed smiles.

Finally, Wednesday also got up from the table, looking at everyone present. Her friends. Her family.

“Please join me in the living room. We can continue our conversations by the fireplace and more comfortably. The night is still young.”

The following hour continued in the same vein as dinner. Friday and Eamon shared some photos of the latest trips taken by their twins, Dora and Theo. Wod told how Eneit had managed to carry out a series of reforms to the northern clan system that would be beneficial both to the werewolves and to the kingdom of Nova Gersia. Wednesday discussed some details of her next book, with Woe, Nid and Needler making suggestions, while Parker and Enid chatted about where Varadi would go to continue her studies after taking a sabbatical year. And Pup seemed determined to play matchmaker for Shark, much to Taylor's puzzlement.

The atmosphere was relaxed. Casual. Warm and safe.

Everything was perfect.

And at that moment, many things happened.

The door to the living room that connected to the entrance hall opened suddenly and two figures entered almost running, putting everyone present on guard.

One was a person wearing what looked like an astronaut suit that had seen better days. The other was a young teenager dressed entirely in black and looking very similar to Wednesday except for her black hair down her back and the deep vertical scar that marked the left side of her face. She was armed with what looked like a crossbow although there was no bolt visibly attached.

“Wednesday Addams!” shouted the figure dressed as an astronaut, her voice distorted by the helmet and by panic.

And at that precise instant, behind Wednesday, Enid and all the others, at the other end of the room by one of the corners, another figure became visible. A hooded figure in a red cloak, raising a silver object similar in shape to a gun, pointing it directly at Wednesday Addams...

It was as if everything was moving in slow motion.

The new arrivals were the first to see him. The astronaut began to run, gesturing to Wednesday to throw herself to the ground.

Her companion began to raise the strange crossbow. A reddish glow began to form at its end.

Wednesday turned around and could see the other visitor. Under the hood, she caught a glimpse of a smile full of sadism and smugness as the stranger prepared to shoot.

Something he was unable to do.

Because a muscular arm broke through the wall behind him and grabbed him by his neck, pulling back with force. The hooded man's head hit the wall and the unexpected movement and loss of balance caused his gun to fall from his hand.

“I've got you, you little shit!” shouted Cousin Intruder.

That was the last thing the hooded man heard for the moment, too stunned to react.

Because in the next millisecond a fist wrapped in golden fur hit him squarely, knocking him unconscious.

Chapter Text

Well, this is new.

That was the thought that crossed Amanda Buckman's mind with the force of lightning, leaving much of her reasoning capacity in a state of shock, completely overridden by the surprising turn of events.

This was reflected verbally in a louder “What the fuck?!”

“An astonishing observation,” murmured her companion, lowering the crossbow that she had been preparing to fire just a moment before. The red glow that had enveloped the weapon dissipated, with an effect similar to that of wisps of smoke dissolving in the air.

The hooded man had fallen to the ground, unconscious, after Enid's blow. It was a testament to the she-wolf's control over her own strength that she had only knocked out the trespasser instead of causing his head to explode on impact, decorating the wall with his brains.

Wednesdays crossed her arms, watching the new arrivals while Needler put handcuffs on the hooded man that automatically closed around his wrists. She also took what appeared to be the weapon he had been pointing at Wednesday.

“Is that thing safe?” asked a still semi-transformed Enid.

“Nothing suggests that it poses a risk to the bearer,” Needler replied, looking at the object with fascination. It resembled a weapon. It was shaped like a pistol, although without a trigger and made from a single piece, with no apparent moving parts or any opening in the barrel. It was as if someone had molded a weapon out of a solid piece of silver.

“Well, I think it's time for questions,” said Wednesday, “And some introductions. When someone comes barging through the door into my living room, I like to know who they are, no matter how exhilarating it is to receive a visitor accompanied by the promise of gratuitous violence.”

“Uh... er... shit... I'm sorry, it's just that it's the first time that... I don't know how to take this," muttered Amanda.

“I remember you being more eloquent, Buckman,” interrupted Woe, “Or at least more prone to verbal diarrhea based on the privileged upper-middle class hypocrisy that your family exuded in an sickening way.”

The blonde woman in the astronaut suit froze for a second before fixing her gaze on Woe. Her eyes widened and her face paled slightly.

“Oh my God, it's you,” she whispered, before coughing and clearing her throat slightly, “I mean... it's not you you. The you I knew is dead, but you're the first one I've found who looks exactly like her and...”

She paused, looking at everyone present. Especially the Wednesdays.

“How come there are six of you?!” she exclaimed.

“Seven,” added Wod, raising his hand, “I'm part of the same stock.”

Amanda opened and closed her mouth for a few moments, as if her brain was still calibrating the new information received before exploding again.

“I've spent GOD KNOWS HOW MANY YEARS jumping from universe to universe trying to find any of you in time before everything goes to hell! Always without success, either not arriving in time or arriving just as everything went to shit, or failing at the last second! And now not only does it seem that I've arrived at the right moment but there are half a dozen of you in the same place?!”

“Breathe, Amanda,” said her companion, patting her on the back, ”Hysteria is not good for you under the circumstances.”

“I... I think I need to sit down”, and luckily for her, as she collapsed she was able to do so on one of the sofas in the room.

“Well, all that has raised as many, if not more, questions than it has answered,” observed Eamon.

“So… do you know her, Woe?” asked Friday.

“Amanda Buckman,” replied Woe, “We went to summer camp together. Yes, that summer camp.”

“Ah! She's the one you tried to burn alive!” exclaimed Nid, “I've always liked that story.”

“She was a little narcissistic, classist and racist harpy. A prejudiced vermin surely destined to spend the rest of her life turned into a perpetual victim of the same social order she defended, condemned to a life of economic and social dependence on whoever she married, eternally trapped in a theater of appearances and vomitive and mundane perfectionism.”

“Wow. Okay, you may be a variant of the one I knew but the sharp tongue is the same,” replied Amanda. Despite her words and the reproachful tone in them, there was also an almost nostalgic undertone to her voice.

“I assume that in your reality our encounter was similar,” said Woe.

“And I assume it was our only encounter if that's the image of me you still have,” replied Amanda.

Woe only raised an eyebrow.

And Amanda correctly interpreted it as the signal to continue talking.

That alone spoke volumes.

“We met up again years later, when we started university,” the blonde continued. “I can't say we were friends, but our relationship was generally much more cordial.”

“In what sense?” asked Enid, back to her human form. She was genuinely interested in the story. Despite the years, the gossip queen of Nevermore had not completely vanished.

“Well, I didn't behave like a bitch towards her and she didn't try to kill me, for starters,” Amanda replied, “And over time, there was this.. respect, I guess. We were rivals, but we had a kind of tacit agreement that nobody else could fuck with each other. If anyone messed with me, Wednesday used to be expeditious, and if anyone tried to look for trouble with Wednesday... well, I didn't resort to murder like she would, but I knew very well how to ruin anyone's social life and turn them into real pariahs.”

“Fascinating,” whispered Woe, “And given your previous words and your presence, the death of our counterpart is related to this individual,” she said, pointing to the hooded man in the red cloak, still lying on the ground.

“Well, not with that one in particular,” Amanda's companion clarified, “There are more than one of those bastards.”

The Wednesdays stared at her for a moment, until finally it was Friday who spoke, “Sorry dear, we have been rude not to all formally introduce ourselves, but... who are you?”

The girl looked at them, frowning.

“None of you recognize me?”

Multiple head shakes and shrugs were her response. Wednesday frowned, staring at her.

“The most I can say is that you're an Addams, but not one I recognize. Sorry.”

“I'm not an Addams, I'm a Jones,” the girl replied, “Monday Jones. Your cousin.”

Again silence and looks of surprise, curiosity and perplexity.

“None of you have a cousin Monday? Seriously?”

“Sorry, but no,” said Wednesday.

“Me neither,” replied Woe, “Nor me,” replied Pup and Friday at the same time.

“I have a cousin Monday, but he's a male and his surname is Addams,” said Needler. “I can't rule out that he's your counterpart in my reality, but it's not certain.”

“No Cousin Monday, sorry,” said Shark.

“I have a Cousin Mōnandæg,” said Wod, “But his surname is Adamo and he is a donkey. Literally.”

Monday Jones just sighed, almost with resignation, “Well, I guess I really am a footnote in the multiverse...”

“Monds...” Amanda murmured, looking sadly at the girl.

“If it's any consolation...” Taylor chimed in, “The multiverse is ridiculously varied. I only know of one variant of me and it turns out that he's a serial killer piece of shit who was born at the wrong time and with the wrong chromosome.”

“That's another thing... how come there are so many of you in the same place?” asked Amanda, ”In all this time I've never come across any Wednesday who knew anything about the multiverse, at least beyond the theoretical...”

“We have some previous experience in these kinds of situations,” said Wednesday.

“And that's a very concise and simplistic way of summing it up!” laughed Enid, ”This is my Wednesday, my wife, and I'm Enid Addams. We are the native residents of this universe. The one who looks like the Wednesday you knew is referred to by us by the nickname Woe, and that's her fiancée, Enid Saint-Clair. The older one in the pink sweater is Friday and her husband Eamon. This one here is Pup and her girlfriend Taylor. The one smiling maniacally is Shark and the extremely pale one is Needler and that's her wife Parker. The medieval knight is Wod, and he's also a Wednesday, and the mountain of muscles next to him is his wife Eneit.”

“The events that led to us meeting and being able to visit each other's universes can only be described as kooky and spooky,“ said Friday.

“And altogether ooky,” added Pup.

“But let's focus on what's important,” continued Wednesday, turning her attention back to the hooded man, “You say there are more like him? What are they up to?”

“Who is this chap, to begin with?” said Eneit. The barbarian princess leaned over and pulled back the stranger's hood. It revealed the face of a red-haired middle-aged man... a perfectly ordinary, normal face, without any remarkable features. The face that would blend into the mediocrity of a job in an office cubicle. It was not at all the face one would expect of an extradimensional villain.

The only thing that stood out was the growing bruise on his left eye courtesy of Enid's lupine fist.

“Hey!” exclaimed Shark, “I know him!”

“You do?”, asked Wednesday.

“It's Mr. Normanmeyer! Norman!” Shark explained effusively. “The Normanmeyers are our next-door neighbors. Their son N.J. has always been a good friend of Pugsley's and mine.”

“So he's from your universe, Shark?” Parker asked, eyeing the unconscious man suspiciously.

“Nah, I don't think so,” replied the young Addams, “The Mr. Normanmeyer I know is not the kind of person who jumps from one universe to another dressed like a member of a cult. That and this one is younger, the one I know already has some gray hair.”

At that moment, the newly identified Norman Normanmeyer began to regain consciousness. A pained groan escaped his lips as he began to writhe, as if he were waking from a bad dream. Finally he opened his eyes. Or at least he opened his right eye. He had difficulty with his left, which had begun to swell.

He seemed disoriented for a few moments before focusing his gaze on Wednesday and all the others. An alarmed expression came over his face.

“Wha... what? How?” he stammered.

“Greetings, Norman Normanmeyer,” said Wednesday, standing in front of him with her arms crossed. Her gaze had turned dark, her black eyes looked like bottomless pits, and at the same time an aura of contained doom seemed to emanate from her whole being. ”I can't say I'm happy about your unexpected visit, and we have some questions for you.”

“How did you...? It's impossible... I should be undetectable until the last second, it's impossible that you knew that...”

“Is it impossible that I knew you were here? Is that what you were going to say?” asked Wednesday.

Norman stared at her, stunned. Wednesday leaned forward slightly, coming face to face with him.

And she smiled.

The kind of smile that would make a baby cry and a possum faint out of pure instinct.

“Norman... I've known what was going to happen in this room for the last two weeks.”

“What?” Normanmeyer muttered.

“WHAT?!” shouted Amanda.

“I'm a Raven. A seer,” said Wednesday.

“Her visions are a pain in the ass, but they're a useful pain in the ass,” said Enid.

“Two weeks ago I had a vision. This meeting, these people. My people. Two figures bursting in, interrupting the celebration,” Wednesday explained, glancing at Amanda and Monday, “A cry of alarm from the woman dressed as an astronaut and all my instincts screaming at me to turn around. I turn to see a figure in red materializing in front of the wall at the back of the room, pointing a silver weapon at me. A flash of light and then nothing.”

“She was submerged in that trance for almost five minutes,” Enid murmured, “It had been a long time since she had had such an intense vision.”

“The ending made it clear that I had just foretold my own death,” continued Wednesday, “So I decided to take action. The first thing was to contact everyone involved.”

“We spent several hours discussing what to do, and in the end we decided that the wisest course of action was to... carry on as usual,” said Woe.

“We would continue with our plans for the family reunion, for the party. We would maintain the usual routines to all come here as if nothing had happened,” said Friday.

“To the point of keeping our children in the house despite the risk,” Enid growled, looking up, thinking about how the children were having their sleepover with Varadi on the upper floor. Varadi, who was aware of the situation, making sure that none of the little gremlins came downstairs.

“We needed to preserve the causality of events in the most natural and constant way possible to ensure that all the elements of Wednesday's vision occurred in the same way that she had witnessed,” Needler said, “With one exception.”

“A last-second change that would prevent my death and turn the situation into a trap for the attacker,” Wednesday said, keeping her gaze fixed on an increasingly pale Normanmeyer, ”An unexpected variable.”

“And that would be me,” said a voice coming from the wall. The arm of Cousin Intruder poked out of the hole she had made, thumbs up, ”Always ready to lend a hand!”

“Intruder subdued you, and that second of distraction was all it took for my wife to knock you out cold.”

“And believe me when I say that I wish I could do more than just put you to sleep,” Enid growled again. Golden fur was returning to cover her skin.

“This is how things stand, Norman,” Wednesday continued as she placed a reassuring hand on her she-wolf's shoulder, “We knew the when and the how. We didn't know the who, at least until now. And now we're going to learn the why. So I hope you're smart and answer our questions.”

An expectant silence fell over the room after Wednesday finished her explanation.

All those present waited for Norman Normanmeyer's response. And suddenly, almost as if a mask had fallen over him, Norman's face went from expressing astonishment and fear to reflecting an expression of anger and virulent hatred bordering on the mentally deranged.

 “You… you freak!”

More than pronouncing the words, it seemed as if he had spat them out.

“Visions of the future? You really are a freak! Even more than the others!” he shouted. “Do you think you've achieved anything?! You have no idea!”

“Ah, great, classic delusional villainy,” Enid muttered, rolling her eyes.

“We are Addams, Norman,” said Wednesday, emphasizing the monotone and cold tone of her voice, emptying it of all emotion, “If you do not answer our questions on your own free will, we know many and varied methods to persuade you.”

“Yep,” added Pup, letting out an unsettling little giggle.

“Questions like what is this object?” said Needler, “Especially since it has just changed shape in my hands.”

Indeed, what until a few seconds ago had been a sort of representation of a silver gun had become a silver sphere in Needler's hands.

Normanmeyer's eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets when he saw it.

“Drop it!” he shouted, almost foaming at the mouth like a mad dog, “It's a sacred instrument! Scum like you aren't worthy of holding it in your hands! Unworthy! Unclean!”

“Well, you've told us something already. See how it's not so difficult?”, said Friday.

“I won't tell you anything! You're freaks! Monsters! Witches! You're all Addams! AND ALL THE ADDAMS DESERVE TO DIE!”

“Okay, I'm getting tired of this...” muttered Woe, walking menacingly towards Norman, “Hold him down, I'm going to...”

Suddenly Norman Normanmeyer contorted. He doubled over on the floor before getting up with his back arched unnaturally backwards. The cracking of bones could be heard resonating throughout the room as a scream escaped his throat before turning into a choked whimper.

“What the hell?!” exclaimed Nid.

“Yes... yes, I understand,” said Normanmeyer, suddenly serene, as if talking to someone absent, “I embrace this death.”

Needler ran towards him, “He must have a hidden device! It must be some kind of remote communication and assisted suicide system! Take it off him!”

But it was too late.

“I embrace this death! NORMALCY WILL REIGN!”

And suddenly Norman Normanmeyer's body was filled with luminous cracks as if something had detonated inside him with the force of a small sun. And in barely a few tenths of a second after that, his contorted form exploded in a cloud of ashes.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Cousin Intruder.

The room erupted in a cacophony of alarmed reactions.

“What was that!?”

“Oh, I was expecting something with viscera.”

“Listen, it's like white light was coming out of him, and...”

“White light?”

“...well, I don't want to be a killjoy, but didn't that look vaguely familiar?”

“Oh no. No no no...”

“Don't even joke about that!”

“What are you talking about?”

Alarmed reactions that would not cease because fate did not want there to be a moment of tranquility and reflection after the unexpected and grotesque ending they had just witnessed. Because just then, a repetitive sound, an electronic beep, began to be heard in the Addams' living room.

A sound coming from Amanda Buckman.

“Buckman... what is that?” Wednesday asked tensely.

Amanda raised her right hand, revealing a device on her wrist on which a purple light had begun to flash.

“Uh...”

“What. Is. That?”, repeated Wednesday.

“I don't know! I've never seen this light before!”

“It's usually green when we have a reading from one of you,” Monday explained, before a shadow fell across her features, “And a bright red and a louder alarm when there's a manifestation of the Nothing.”

“The Nothing?” Enid asked.

“But purple…” Monday continued, ignoring the werewolf, “That's new.”

Amanda kept checking the device on her wrist, alarmed, “It's not giving any readings! Just this damned light and that beeping sound! Nothing else! I have no idea what this means, it's never happened before!”

The device began to vibrate.

And so did Amanda's body, becoming transparent.

“A Jumping?!” Monday exclaimed, indignant, “Amanda!”

“What do you mean, a jumping?” exclaimed Pup.

“I didn't activate it!” shouted the now terrified Amanda Buckman, “It started by itself! It's like it's automatic!”

And that's when they noticed it. A strange sensation in their bodies and in their stomachs, similar to the vertigo you feel when you start to fall unexpectedly from a great height.

“Oh, fascinating,” whispered Needler, looking at her hands.

Each and every person in the room had begun to vibrate and become transparent, just like Amanda Buckman.

“Oh, my...” were the last words to escape the lips of the woman dressed as an astronaut.

Wednesday and Enid exchanged glances, trying to hold hands before...

Suddenly a flash of purple light flooded the room. If it had been observed directly, it would have blinded any eyewitness. It was just an instant, a noise like an electric shock and the smell of ozone lingering in the air after the bright burst.

And everyone present had disappeared, vanished into thin air.

Leaving behind only an empty room, except for a silver sphere that fell to the floor without bouncing and a very confused and terrified Cousin Intruder hidden inside the wall.

“What the fuck just happened!?”

Chapter Text

Almost as if they were an intermingled reflection of their mothers, Day and Rissa's room was an exercise in contrasts.

Oh, not necessarily in terms of chromatism. It is true that on Rissa's side there were some extra notes of color, but black, gray and white did not make up the whole of Day's side either, where objects or items of clothing of a dark, woody green occasionally appeared. No, the contrast was marked by the order (or disorder) of the room.

Rissa's side of the room had an elegantly made four-poster bed, antique furniture, a small desk, a doll's house that was clearly cursed and an immaculate order: books on the shelves, toys and clothes properly stored, etc. Of course, following the Addams traditions, everything was covered by a fine layer of dust and the occasional cobweb in the corners.

Day's side had the same furniture, but the drawers were usually open or half-open, with clothes hanging out. The floor was littered with clothes, books, comics and magazines open and half-read, food scraps, etc. The bed was just a mattress topped by a pile of blankets and sheets tangled in a sort of nest. The desk was covered with scribbled papers, a spilled bottle of ink, colored pencils and several daggers stuck into the wood. And instead of a doll's house, there was a pole... no, a wooden log fixed to a support, full of scratch and bite marks.

Attie had already been to the girls' room on multiple occasions. It wasn't something to be nervous about... the concept of being nervous about being in the room of someone of the opposite sex was something that wouldn't hit him as a concept until he reached puberty.

No, what made him nervous were the daggers and axes flying through the air.

“Aha! One hundred points!” exclaimed Day as she watched her knife pierce the center of a target similar to those used in darts... except for its larger size and all the bladed weapons piercing through it.

Although the real peculiarity is that it was in the air, hanging from the ceiling with a rope and had a bull's-eye design on both sides. Day and Geraint threw their weapons from opposite ends of the room. The real challenge of the game was to resist their instincts and focus on hitting the target and not the opponent behind it.

Given the daggers, axes, swords and other sharp objects on the walls behind them, they didn't always make it.

“Pfff, you celebrate too soon,” Geraint replied.

Rissa, Attie and Varadi watched the competition sitting comfortably on the floor of the room on some blankets and cushions, enjoying various snacks. Attie turned to the older girl, “Shouldn't we think about stopping them for a bit?”

“Nah, they're both Addams, it's OK if they accidentally stab each other.”

“I'm more worried that they'll throw their weapons at the same time, they’ll collide in mid-air and one will fly towards me,” replied the boy, pointing to a huge axe stuck in the ground next to him, “Again.”

“OK... that's a good point,’ Varadi conceded.

The teenager stood up and clapped her hands twice, attracting the attention of the two aspiring human pincushions, “Hey! Let's change it up a bit, this game is starting to get a bit repetitive!”

“But I'm about to win!” Day protested.

“No! I'm about to win!” Geraint replied.

While the two rivals engaged in another verbal dispute (“No, me!” “Lies!”), Attie simply focused his attention on Rissa.

“How are their scores going?”

Rissa looked at him, still smiling and remaining silent, while making a gesture with her right hand.

“Tied? That can't be possible...” said Attie.

Rissa shrugged and pointed to her sister and Geraint with a nod of her head.

“Tied exactly at 1283 points if we count all the competitions from the beginning?” Attie asked incredulously. ”Do they always end in a draw?”

By this point Varadi already had to intervene and grab Day and Geraint by the scruff of the neck before they went from words to claws.

“Okay, that's enough. If you want a formal duel, I'm sure you can have one tomorrow morning. But now let's get on with the party,” said Varadi, “Who wants to watch a movie?”

“Oh, yes!” said Day, “We can watch...”

She stopped as Rissa stood before her with a stern look on her face.

“What do you mean none from my collection?!” exclaimed Day. Rissa simply pointed at Attie, who looked down in embarrassment.

“Sorry... but it was the latest scary movie from your collection that gave me night terrors for a week,” said the boy, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Aw... well,” said Day, “I guess we can watch something else...”

“Something with glorious battles!” Geraint proposed.

“You don't need movies for that, Ger! There's always one of those when your uncle visits!”

The boy laughed, “He almost deposed Father last year, but then Mother launched him through the air like a human javelin!”

Rissa raised her hand and tilted her head. Day looked at her in disbelief.

“A musical??” she exclaimed, before beginning to simulate dry heaves.

“How about something with aliens?” said Attie, “Even if it's a scary one, I think I'll be able to handle it better than the films Day usually suggests.”

“Seriously, What's your problem with my movies?”

“In the last one we saw there were corpses eating other corpses!”

“That’s the one that gave you nightmares?? That was an educational documentary!!”

Rissa cleared her throat.

“An educational documentary from another dimension!” continued Day, “But even so…”

Before the debate about what to watch that night could continue, a tremor shook the house followed by a very loud noise coming from the floor below, like the crack of lightning. After a few seconds of silence, a growing scent of ozone began to take over the air.

“What was that?” asked Geraint.

Suddenly, Cousin Intruder's voice echoed through the walls, “Varadi! Come down right now!”

The teenage flesh golem ran to the door, but before leaving she turned to the four children, “You four are to stay here, understood?”

“But...!” Day began before Varadi interrupted her, “No, Friday!” said the teenager, “Stay here and don't leave the room until we tell you to.”

It seemed that the young werewolf was going to protest again, but her sister's hand resting on her shoulder stopped her. With Day calmer, Rissa nodded to Varadi. The teenager responded with the same gesture before leaving the room, leaving behind four bewildered children.

“What could have happened?” asked Geraint.

“It sounded like an electric shock, didn't it?” said Attie.

Day sulked, dropping onto the pile of blankets on her bed, crossing her arms, and saying nothing. Rissa just sat down next to her. An uncomfortable silence had fallen over the room, nobody seemed interested in resuming the games. Geraint approached the wall to see if he could hear anything, but even with his acute senses he could only perceive the murmurs of what seemed to be an argument between Varadi and Intruder, but without being able to make out the words.

What made him frown was that he only heard those two voices, no one else's. He was about to tell the others when...

Rissa jumped up. She did it so suddenly and with so much energy that she almost caused Day to fall out of bed. The girl had an expression of calculating alarm on her face.

Day immediately noticed that something wasn't as it should be because her sister didn't have her usual smile.

“Rissa?” asked Day, ”What's wrong?”

Larissa Tuesday Addams looked at her sister, a look that said it all. Day's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

“What do you mean you feel something coming?”

§§§

Sam L. Hilliard was fully aware of the hypocrisy inherent in his situation.

After all, he considered himself a normal man. A normal, sane and sensible person. A productive member of an organized and civilized society. That was all he had aspired to be in his life. Someone quiet, without weirdness.

A person like him would not normally find himself wrapped in a crimson cloak and hood whilst sitting around a circular table with other individuals dressed in a similar manner, almost as if they were part of a cult.

Individuals who did not even belong to the same reality.

“The new buffoon is late,” said the man sitting on his left.

Hilliard couldn't help but feel a chill at the sound of that man's voice, but he managed to keep himself under control enough not to give him a sideways glance. It was his personal norm to interact as little as possible directly with that individual.

Everyone believed in the cause, but that Joseph Crackstone did so with a fanaticism that considerably unnerved Hilliard.

“You haven't met him yet and you already consider him a buffoon like his predecessor?” asked the person sitting to Hilliard's right. She was an older woman, who still had the brown color of her hair and dark eyes in which a calculating and reptilian intelligence shone.

Her name was Abigail Craven, although Hilliard wasn't sure if it was her real name or just one of the many aliases of her criminal career. After all, when they met she had introduced herself as Doctor Pinder-Schloss.

“They're the same person, aren't they? Even if they come from different universes, Normanmeyers are always dimwitted,” replied Crackstone.

“You shouldn't talk about someone like that behind their back, you old bastard,” said another woman, a young redhead sitting to Crackstone's left, “At this point even a puritanical relic like you should know that the same person can be very different from one reality to another.”

“Silence, wench!

“And of course when a woman who is smarter than you replies to your stupidity, you resort to insults... how childish.”

She herself was a perfect example of what she had just stated. In many realities, the woman known as Laurel Gates was a devoted follower of Joseph Crackstone, of whom she was also a direct descendant. But this particular Laurel harboured a constant, visceral hatred for the man, which materialised in continuous exchanges of insults and other verbal spats.

The sound of a whistle prevented the argument from escalating.

Another of the participants at the table had stood up, lowering his hood and revealing a smiling face with a whistle between his lips. When he took it out to speak, his voice resonated with a kindness that oozed condescension to almost insulting levels.

“Come on, guys!”, he said, as if addressing children, ”We're all on the same team, we shouldn't be fighting each other!”

Hilliard considered Gary Granger the closest thing to a friend he had in this particular group. In his home universe, the poor man was a camp counselor, friendly and polite, although he occasionally suffered bouts of paranoid mania and rage, no doubt as a result of the death of his wife at the hands of...

...Them.

But it's best to think about other things.

“Fuck, Gary! Shut your mouth and stick your whistle up your ass!”

The voice that had so rudely risen belonged to a young woman with golden hair whose attractive features and physical attributes were weighed down by an expression of boredom in which occasionally flashed glimpses of barely contained homicidal rage. She could be warm and charming if she wanted to, but Debbie Jellinksy was the other person at the table with whom Sam Hilliard tried to have as little contact as possible after Crackstone.

“Debbie! Darling, mind your language!”

A problem that the other blonde woman at the table next to her did not have. She was one of the few people present who seemed to interact willingly with the serial killer. Of course, Margaux Needler had her own collection of skeletons in the closet. Someone capable of turning a housing development into a mini police state  was someone who should be watched carefully.

The interaction between the two women was joined by a snort of derision from the last member present: a brown-haired man who seemed to be making a conscious effort to ignore everything around him as he ... fixed his hands with a manicure kit. Harry Palmer was obsessed with his hands. He had worked as a hand double in Hollywood, in films as well as in series and advertising. He was considered to have the most photogenic hands in the world...

…at least until that position and honor was taken from him by another one of...

Another one of Them.

The reason they had come together, the reason Hilliard was willing to ignore his own hypocrisy.

“Ahem,” a voice cleared its throat.

All focused their attention on the newcomer who had just entered the dark room and approached the empty seat at the table. They all already knew Norman Normanmeyer. Or at least they had known a Norman Normanmeyer.

“Welcome,” said Sam cordially, “We were just about to start.”

“And I am eager to serve,” said Norman.

“Tell me, how does it feel to be the new Norman Prime?” asked Laurel, half interested and half mocking.

“It's... disconcerting,” said Norman. “The Mistress barely gave me any details about the end of my predecessor, only that he decided to carry out one of the hunts in person and that...”

“Yes, yes, his stupidity is one of the things we are going to examine in this session,” interrupted Crackstone, “Let's hope you have more common sense, but given that you were selected as the new Prime because you are the variant that most closely resembles your dead counterpart, allow me to cast doubt on that.”

Norman simply smiled nervously and swallowed, trying to make himself smaller in his chair under the wrathful stare of the puritan.

“Well... as my first act in my new role, I have taken the liberty of sending some of my other variants to the scene of the incident to see if they can find anything. My predecessor's final transmissions were a bit confusing.”

Crackstone merely gave a quiet “Hmm” while Gary Granger applauded effusively, “Oh, what initiative! I can already see excellent leadership skills in you!”

“Please, someone stomp on my head,” growled Debbie.

The discussion continued. The Nine discussed the steps to follow, the progress of their mission and how to deal with that particular episode that had resulted in the first death of one in their inner circle. Hilliard knew that the possibility was always there, that one of his variants would have to take over his position if one day one of his personal hunts went wrong.

Such was the system that The Mistress had arranged when she gathered them all together, rescuing them from worlds and lives shattered by Them, giving the nine a new purpose.

Save the world.

Save all the worlds. At least those that could still be saved.

Those that deserve to be saved.

Eradicating the cancer of weirdness, strangeness and spookyness that was spreading throughout the multiverse.

Exterminating any reality in which the Addams Family existed.

In one form or another.

Chapter Text

By now it was as much instinct as experience. The moment she woke up she knew immediately that she was in an unfamiliar place.

When Wednesday Addams regained consciousness, her eyes were closed, her heartbeat calm and her breathing regular. All this while she was trying to sharpen her other senses to determine her position, her surroundings and whether there was anyone nearby. In the eyes of anyone else she still appeared to be asleep.

But she wasn't in front of the eyes of just anyone else, as she could immediately tell.

“Weds?”

Wednesday Addams opened her dark eyes and the first thing she saw were her wife's blue orbs.

“Mia lupa,“ she whispered, attempting to raise herself up.

“Careful,” said Enid, helping her to sit up, “You probably feel like you've been trampled by a herd of elephants. That's how the rest of us feel.”

“Was I the last to wake up?” asked Wednesday, slightly irritated by the situation.

Enid nodded, “Yes. Needler has a theory that your psychic abilities may have been a factor. The way we got here was... unusual.”

And where was “here”? Wednesday wondered as she looked around. She and Enid were sitting on a simple but comfortable bed in a room that could well have been a hotel room, plain but clean and well furnished. Pristine really. And white. Very white. She noticed that both the floor and the walls seemed to be made of or covered in marble. The source of light was a bright white orb floating in the center of the room. There were no windows.

“This place...”

“Yeah, it gives me the creeps too,” said Enid, rubbing the back of her neck, “It's a bit too similar to the palace of...”

“Are we prisoners?” asked Wednesday.

“Officially we are guests, but ...” Enid raised her wrist showing the bracelet in which the multidimensional travel device manufactured by Needler years ago was camouflaged, “Our exit tickets have been overloaded and according to Needler they are going to take a while to reboot.”

“Wonderful,” said Wednesday, “Only those of us who were in the living room are here, right? The girls...”

“The children are at home with Varadi as far as we know,” Enid replied, with a worried growl in her voice, “The problem is that we don't know much else.”

Wednesday nodded, getting out of bed and standing up. Enid was right, she felt as if her whole body was suffering from sore muscles. Her legs were trembling as if she had just finished running a marathon. The she-wolf immediately stood by her side, offering her support.

“Come on, the others are already in... uh, well, I guess we can call it the common room. Or the control room,” said Enid.

“Control room?”

“You'll understand when you see it.”

They left the room without any issues. At least it's not a cell, thought Wednesday.

Outside, a long, wide corridor awaited them, once again of a marble white, with multiple doors on both sides and a large metal door at one end that opened silently and automatically when Wednesday and Enid arrived at it.

The room they had entered was spacious and circular in layout. Multiple sofas, tables and shelves of books filled the space surrounding what appeared to be a large round table in the center. On the table was something that could only be described as a column of TVs and monitors of multiple sizes and models that seemed to be affixed to each other, descending from the ceiling attached to a central support, and with abundant wiring cascading from multiple openings.

Everyone else was there.

Woe and Saint-Clair were sitting on one of the sofas. Woe had her gaze fixed on Amanda Buckman, vigilant, while absentmindedly caressing the hair of Saint-Clair, who rested her head in her lap.

Amanda Buckman, still dressed in her astronaut suit, seemed to be receiving a barrage of questions from Needler.

Parker was sitting next to Taylor, Pup, Friday and Eamon, observing the scene and chatting quietly among themselves although with an evident aura of restlessness. Meanwhile, Eneit and Wod seemed to have engaged in a light sparring exercise with Shark and Monday Jones as a way of dealing with their own worries.

It was Monday who was the first to notice that Enid and Wednesday had entered the room.

“They're already here,” she said. She didn't raise her voice but even so it sounded firm and clear in the room, interrupting all conversation.

“Wednesday!” exclaimed Friday, getting up to run to meet her, as did her other variants and companions moments later.

“I'm fine, there's no need for alarm,” replied Wednesday, “I don't even have a headache... but the possibility of a possible future one persists, depending on what we're going to learn in the next few minutes,” she said, glancing at Amanda, “We need answers, Buckman.”

“Wow, straight to using the surname,” said Amanda, with a nervous laugh, “Please, call me Amanda. If you use my surname you remind me too much of her...” she pointed at Woe, “Especially you, you're identical.”

“Better not beat about the bush,” said Monday, slapping the astronaut on the shoulder and standing behind her like a silent bodyguard. The rest of those present returned to the sofas and couches near the large central table.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say: What the κόλαση is going on?” said Saint-Clair.

“Well, to be honest...erm, I have no idea,” replied Amanda. “It's the first time my Jumping device has activated automatically. Although I think it could be...well, because of you,” she said, pointing at Wednesday, “Or any of you. The Wednesdays, I mean.”

“Perhaps it's best to start from the beginning,” Friday said in a firm but conciliatory tone. “Amanda?”

“Okay, well... yes... First of all, this place? I call it The Base. I have no idea if it has an official name, I've only been here a handful of times and it's always changed appearance. On my first visit it was like a huge, almost empty, industrial warehouse. Afterwards it was more like a laboratory.”

“When I arrived,” said Monday, “it looked more like military barracks. Much more gray than white.”

“The only thing that has never changed is that,” said Amanda, pointing to the central pillar full of monitors and televisions, ”Apart from that, I guess my... erm... benefactor has been improving the place.”

“Your benefactor?” asked Wednesday.

“Oh, I'd better really start at the beginning... well, one of you technically already knows me.”

“Camp Chippewa,” said Woe, “I assume that your experience as a variant of my reality must have been similar to what I experienced with the Amanda of mine.”

“If by that you mean a rivalry born of my prejudices and your particular sense of justice and desire to see young pre-teens tied up to be burned at the stake with an apple in their mouths, then yes.”

The others could not completely hide their surprise upon hearing this. Not because of the event described, but because of the tone of almost exasperated nostalgia in Amanda's voice.

“After that I didn't see you again... sorry, I didn't see her again until college,” continued Amanda, “I still remember it. My first day on campus, completely excited about immersing myself in political sciences and there she was, like a spectre dressed in black and surrounded by storm clouds.”

“Let me guess... and a whole bunch of empty seats around where she sat?” asked Enid.

“Indeed!” replied Amanda, “Well, my first reaction was... panic? I mean, you don't forget the first girl who tries to burn you alive, right?”

“Oh, that brings back memories...” said Pup, “Although I later discovered that most of my classmates kept their distance because Taylor had threatened to kill them.”

“I just told them that if they looked at you funny or laughed at you and your scorpions, I'd strangle them with their own entrails,” clarified the Hyde with a shrug, “It's not my fault they were such wimps.”

“Awww... Willa, you've never set me on fire!” lamented Saint-Clair.

“You've never asked for it, but if you'd like to...”

“Can we get on with the story, please?” interrupted Wednesday.

“Er... yes, that would be best,” replied Amanda. “Well, as I said, my first reaction was panic. Keeping my distance and all that. The truth is that I was living in a state of constant paranoia about the whole thing. And it didn't help my stress level either that college was a bit of a wake-up call.”

“How so?” asked Shark.

“Well, in middle school and high school everything went smoothly. It wasn't until I got to college that I realized that many of my grades weren't just the result of my work but also of the influence of my parents as local community leaders and all that. I lived in a bubble that made me believe I was more than I was, but in truth I was just a medium-sized fish in a small pond and college… that was the whole fucking ocean.”

“Oh, like spending your whole life training in the courtyard and in jousts but having zero experience on the real battlefield,” said Wod.

“Yes, dear, although I think there are fewer severed arms in her case,” said Eneit.

“The thing is that everything blew up towards the end of the first semester...” continued Amanda, “One of the teachers was... well, he wasn't a good person. And he tried to make me a proposal to improve my grades in exchange for doing something very despicable with him. And I didn't take it well.”

A wave of disgust and sympathy for the young woman, mixed with abhorrence towards that anonymous teacher, swept through the group.

“You said it all blew up,” said Wednesday, “I assume not in a literal sense.”

Amanda shrugged, “Almost. I... I don't know, something broke inside me and when I came back to my senses the guy was on the floor with a broken nose, two teeth missing and crying while he was holding his genitals. Other students and teachers had come into the office when they heard the screams and they were holding me. I was sure that this was the end, but... well, it wasn't. That bastard didn't press charges and the campus administration basically kept my record clean and they apologized to me publicly. I knew it couldn't have been my parents, they had no influence there, and I didn't think the university would admit guilt so publicly out of integrity. I mean, the whole thing was a bit of a scandal...”

“It was her, wasn't it?” asked Enid, “Wednesday.”

Amanda nodded, “Yes. I started investigating on my own and discovered that someone had visited the professor in the hospital and that he had resigned and left the city the very next day. One of the nurses told me it had been a pale young woman, dressed in black, who looked like she'd stepped out of a German expressionist film. I knew immediately that it had been you... well, her... you know what I mean.”

Everyone present nodded. Amanda continued with her story.

“It took me a while to confront her... I think almost a week. I didn't know what to expect. When I did and asked her if she was the one who had covered my back, she didn't deny it. She didn't gloat either, nor did she try to use it as a bargaining chip or to ask me for favors or to demand something... she simply... she saw an injustice and decided to take action. And that the victim was an enemy of hers was inconsequential. The only suffering of yours that I will enjoy will be that which I inflict myself, she told me. But she also never tried anything violent against me during all that time, so I didn't know what to expect.”

“It's something that's difficult for many people to perceive, especially if they don't take the time to really get to know her,” said Enid, ”But many Wednesdays... maybe not all of them, but a large majority of those I've met have a strong sense of justice. That sense of justice may not conform to what are considered proper laws and morals, but it's there.”

“Yes, that sounds like her,” Amanda continued, ”The thing is, there were rumors and it was practically public knowledge that there was an association between me and Addams. At first I didn't know how to take it, but over time... I don't know, it was kind of strange. We were never friends, at least not in the usual sense. My fear was still there, but tempered by the knowledge that I had nothing to be afraid of if I didn't provoke her. And now there was also curiosity and gratitude mixed in, further complicating my feelings. And our rivalry... it resurfaced like a phoenix. And now it was a proper rivalry. We were always competing in grades, in extracurricular activities, in fieldwork... we spent more hours together engaged in debates and discussions about the most inane topics than with anyone else.”

Amanda paused for a moment, the shadow of a nostalgic smile forming on her face, “And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she invited me to spend the Easter holidays with her family. What surprised me most was that I accepted without thinking too much about it.”

The smile turned into an expression of sadness. The sparkle that had been rekindling in Amanda's eyes as she spoke faded again.

“That's when everything went to hell.”

“What happened?” asked Wednesday... although she imagined she already knew some detail of the answer.

“The visit... well, it was a real gala. Members of the Addams family and friends gathered in massive numbers. I soon learned that this was common for many of their annual festivities. The family always sought to be together, the more of them in the same place, the merrier. To my younger self it would have seemed horrible, a collection of carnival freaks, but after that first year at college, after getting to know Wednesday better... I think it was the first time in my life that I was able to enjoy myself without having to live up to anyone's expectations, because no one expected or demanded anything from me.”

Amanda closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength.

“It was just as the first dance of the evening was about to begin, her parents were going to lead it,” continued Amanda, “I was standing next to Wednesday, when suddenly something... it was as if a tear had been torn in the air and a figure cloaked in red with puritan clothes underneath appeared out of nowhere, holding a long silver staff or scepter, pointing the end of it towards Wednesday. There was a flash of light and she... she...”

Monday placed her hand on Amanda's shoulder again in a show of support. The blonde responded by giving her a few gentle pats before continuing.

“Wednesday... she disintegrated. I can't think of another way to describe it. It happened in seconds. But the worst thing is that it didn't stop there. At the same point where she had been erased, that effect began to spread, to extend... a Nothing devouring everything, erasing reality itself.”

Amanda got up, “I didn't have time to scream. I felt pain and something pulling me back with great force before I lost consciousness. When I woke up I was in this place and wearing this suit. It's not really an astronaut suit, it's...”, she said, as she partially opened the front of her outfit. Wednesday, Enid and the others could not hide their surprise at the sight of the huge part of Amanda's torso missing, as if her left side had been devoured. But there was no blood, no signs of wounds or scars. It was impossible because part of her torso was gone and clearly her organs could not be there either, and yet Amanda was still alive.

Like it was erased.

“This suit keeps me... whole, so to speak,” said the young woman. ”A part of my body was consumed by the Nothing but I can continue functioning because... I don't know how to explain it, it's very complicated quantic mumbo jumbo.”

“But... What is the Nothing?”, asked Needler, ”From the way you describe it, it seems like some kind of entropy, but it's not so much a destruction of matter as an absence of it...”

“It's the effect they're looking for, the same one that destroyed my world and Amanda's,” Monday explained. “When one of them kills a Wednesday using one of those silver objects, it starts a chain reaction that consumes all reality around that Wednesday Addams. Until that entire universe ceases to exist.”

“And who are they?” inquired Wednesday, asking the million-dollar question.

“We don't know much... they call themselves the Normalcy Nine. And their goal is to eradicate weirdness from the multiverse. Something they believe is personified by the Addams Family in general and Wednesday Addams in particular,” Amanda explained.

“That's...”

“The most idiotic thing I've heard in a long time,” interrupted Parker, “As the most normal-adjacent person present, at least as normal as an Addams by marriage can be, going around the multiverse erasing realities doesn't sound very normal to me!”

“Oh, we're fully aware of the hypocrisy,” replied Monday.

“The thing is that they are... well, they are responsible for all of this. There are nine individuals and their variants, like an army,” Amanda continued. “At least that's what little my benefactor knew when he brought me here, saved me and gave me the means to start jumping between realities to try to save a Wednesday Addams.”

“And failing attempt after attempt,” Monday continued, “Either she was late, or far away, or the Wednesday in question was hostile, or she confused her with her cousin...”

“I'm going to be apologizing for that until the end of time,” Amanda muttered.

“The point is that we had to... well, not really save, but find a Wednesday Addams. One in particular. He told us we'd know who it was right away,” Monday said.

“And obviously, I would say it's you,” said Amanda, pointing to Wednesday. “No other multiversal counterpart of you saw the danger coming like you did. No other Wednesday could stop one of the Nine.”

“And that benefactor of yours... who is he?” asked Enid.

THAT WOULD BE ME, MRS. ADDAMS.

Silence. For a moment.

“Okay, tell me I'm not the only one who has heard a voice resonating from everywhere and nowhere...” muttered Pup.

The monitors in the center of the room lit up with a loud screech of static. The same image appeared on all the screens: a silhouette almost made of white light, masculine in shape but with no other visible features, against a background of black static.

ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. I HAVE BEEN VERY BUSY AND DIDN'T KNOW UNTIL THIS PRECISE MINUTE THAT MISS BUCKMAN'S MISSION HAD FINALLY BEEN FULFILLED.

“Who, or what, are you?” asked Wednesday, “And why were you looking for me?”

YOU CAN CALL ME MR. MORNINGSTAR.

“Oh, that name inspires a lot of trust…” whispered Enid.

AND LET ME FINALLY EXPRESS THE GREAT HONOR IT IS FOR ME TO FINALLY MEET THE RAVEN AND HER VOLVAUGR.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, fixing her gaze on the monitors. If Morningstar could see her, the message was clear.

I don't trust you. Not even close.

Chapter Text

“Well, that name certainly inspires trust, that's for sure,” said Eamon, breaking the brief silence that had followed the statement of the newly introduced Mr. Morningstar.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.

“Hello? Morningstar?” asked Friday, “It's one of Lucifer's names.”

I WAS NOT FAMILIAR WITH SUCH AN APPELLATION FOR THAT ENTITY.

Either he's lying or he comes from a reality where there is no Christian religion, thought Wednesday, But that's not really important right now.

“How do you know Enid is the Volvaugr?” asked the Addams, crossing her arms in front of the column of screens and monitors. Inside them, the resplendent figure of Mr. Morningstar seemed to move with a certain uneasiness.

I HAVE TRAVELED. I HAVE TRAVELED WIDELY THROUGHOUT THE MULTIVERSE AND I HAVE LEARNED TO LISTEN TO ITS STORIES. AND MANY TELL OF THE DEED OF A RAVEN OF THE ADDAMS FAMILY BONDED WITH A LEGENDARY GUARDIAN FACING AN UNPARALLELED THREAT.

“It sounds like we're famous,“ Taylor whispered to Pup.

“You realize he only mentioned Wednesday and Enid, right?” replied Pup. “No mention of the rest of us.”

BUT THE REST OF YOU ARE WELL KNOWN TOO. ESPECIALLY THE ONE WHO DEALT THE FINAL BLOW TO THE MONSTER.

All eyes turned to Friday. The pink-clad Addams shrugged.

IT WAS PRECISELY BECAUSE OF YOUR TRIUMPH THAT I HOPED TO BE ABLE TO REUNITE WITH YOU. THAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF AMANDA'S MISSION.

“To find us,” said Wednesday, “Us, specifically.”

ANY OTHER WEDNESDAY THAT MISS BUCKMAN COULD HAVE SAVED WOULD HAVE BEEN A HELP TO OUR CAUSE AND AN OBSTACLE TO OUR ENEMIES, BUT YOU ARE THE ITERATIONS OF WEDNESDAY ADDAMS AND ENID SINCLAIR...

“Enid Addams,” corrected the she-wolf.

ENID ADDAMS. MY APOLOGIES. AS I SAID, YOU ARE THE ONLY ONES WITH THE EXPERIENCE AND POWER TO FACE OUR ENEMIES.

“The Normalcy Nine.”

OH, I SEE MISS BUCKMAN HAS ALREADY INFORMED YOU.

“Not quite... just the general gist of what we know about those lunatics. The only one they've met is Norman,” said Amanda.

SURELY A FAMILIAR FACE TO SOME OF YOU.

“Yes,” said Shark, “Although the Norman I am familiar with is older and as far as I know has not joined a gang of interdimensional morons.”

THE SITUATION IS SIMILAR WITH THE OTHER MEMBERS. YOU HAVE ALREADY MET NORMAN NORMANMEYER, OR ONE OF THE NORMAN NORMANMEYERS. THE OTHER MEMBERS OF THE NINE WHO I HAVE IDENTIFIED OVER TIME ARE...

A series of different faces in photographs and videos began to appear on the monitors and television screens.

“That's Mr. Hilliard!” exclaimed Pup.

“The truant officer?” asked Taylor.

“Yes. Pugsley and I had to go to public school because of him,” continued Pup, “Then he tried to get into politics, running for mayor, but he ended up being the head of the school board. I always noticed that he had some apprehension towards our family, but the life of this version had to be very different. Despite everything, the Mr. Hilliard I knew wasn't the kind of person who would join a cult of universe destroyers.”

“Weds, look at those two...” said Enid, pointing at two of the screens.

“Crackstone. And Laurel,” said the Addams, fixing her dark gaze on the faces of two hated enemies. “This certainly brings back memories,” she said, absently rubbing the part of her abdomen where she sometimes still felt the phantom pain of a dagger piercing her flesh.

WE HAVE MANAGED TO FIND OUT THAT THEY COME FROM TWO DIFFERENT REALITIES AND THIS LAUREL FEELS A CERTAIN DISLIKE TOWARDS THIS CRAKCSTONE. IT COULD BE USEFUL TO YOU.

“I recognize three of them on those displays,” said Woe, barely able to hide the irritation she felt at seeing those faces.

“Yes, I guess you still recall Gary from camp,” said Amanda, “And from what I remember my Wednesday told me, that's Debbie, your uncle's ex.”

“Oh? The one Pubert electrocuted to death?” asked Saint-Clair, looking at the image... “I've never seen any pictures of her...”

“We got rid of all the photos of her in the house because Uncle Fester would start crying like a beaten puppy every time he saw them...”

“Mmm, blonde, blue eyes, a penchant for bright colors...” the werecat smiled mischievously, directing her gaze at Enid and Wednesday, “It seems that some Addams have a type.”

“Don't even joke about that,” said Woe, trying to ignore the brief flash of pain that crossed Buckman's gaze.

“Who is the other woman?” asked Wodnesdæg. Both he and Eneit were intrigued by the fact that they recognized some of the faces, even with different names than the ones they remembered from their own universe.

“Abigail Craven,” clarified Woe, “A thief and con artist who conspired with our family accountant and used an amnesiac Uncle Fester as the instrument of our destruction. She failed, of course.”

“And that one over there is my mother,” said Parker, pointing to an image of Margaux Needler, “The sad thing is that it doesn't surprise me, I've always believed that Mom is one nervous breakdown away from supervillainy.”

“Her plan to control an entire suburban population as a self-proclaimed Big Brother would certainly suggest it,” said Needler, giving her wife a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“I don't recognize the last one,” said Friday, observing a man with brown hair and an unremarkable appearance except for the expression of jaded contempt that oozed from his features.

HARRY PALMER. HAND MODEL IN HOLLYWOOD.

“Is that a real job?” asked Saint-Clair, raising an eyebrow.

“And quite lucrative,” said Amanda, “Until a member of the Addams family stole his stardom.”

“Oh, I remember him!” exclaimed Shark with a clap, “It must have been around the time that Thing worked in television!”

“So... what's the plan?” asked Enid, “Because I'm not saying we agree to join this particular crusade, but I don't think anyone here wants to stand by and do nothing if there are universes in danger...”

“The plan,” interrupted Monday, “is exactly the same as the one you used on your last escapade. Or so I've been told.”

THERE ARE. . . SIGNS THAT SOMEONE IS BEHIND THE NINE. NINE INDIVIDUALS FROM NINE DIFFERENT UNIVERSES DO NOT BECOME UNITED OR ORGANIZED LIKE THAT WITHOUT SOME KIND OF EXTERNAL INFLUENCE.

“A mastermind,” said Wednesday, ”And the only thing you've come up with to force their hand and compel them to reveal themselves is to repeat the plan we used with The Bright One: to thwart their activities and prevent their lackeys from carrying them out until they decide to intervene personally.”

“I wasn't there when it happened,” said Eneit, “but from what you told me, that plan didn't go very well the first time, did it?”

“No,” growled Enid, recalling the massacre caused by The Bright One in the universe of Agent A, “Not even close.”

I AM AWARE OF THIS. BUT IT IS THE BEST CHANCE WE HAVE. AND OUR BEST HOPE.

Wednesday frowned. Despite the lack of features and the unnatural resonance of his voice, the Addams noticed a certain nervousness in Mr. Morningstar's tone.

“There's something you're not telling us.”

The white silhouette against a background of dark static on the monitor seemed to take a breath, as if gathering courage or patience, before starting to shake his head slightly as a faint laugh escaped him.

I KNEW YOU WOULD NOTICE. WHAT I AM GOING TO TELL YOU IS A DETAIL THAT NEITHER MISS BUCKMAN NOR MISS JONES KNEW.

“Sir?” asked the young woman dressed as an astronaut. Monday merely narrowed her eyes in an expression very similar to some of the other Wednesdays.

THE SITUATION IS POTENTIALLY MORE URGENT THAN IT MAY APPEAR. THE NORMALCY NINE ARE LOOKING TO EXTERMINATE ANY UNIVERSE THAT CONTAINS THE ADDAMS FAMILY IN ONE FORM OR ANOTHER.

“Yes? We already knew that,” said Saint-Clair.

I HAVE NOT EXPLAINED MYSELF WELL: I HAVE SAID IN ONE FORM OR ANOTHER.

Needler clicked her fingers, “Oh... Oh! They're going to attack meta-parallel realities!”

“What the hell is a meta-parallel reality?” the werecat asked again.

“Any reality in which a version of you exists as a work of fiction!” Needler explained, “The multiverse is infinite in its impossibilities. There are realities in which our existence is a written story, or a comic strip, or a movie, or any medium of narrative artistic expression. There are realities in which the Addams family is just an idea unsprouted in the imagination of one individual!”

THE PROBLEM IS THAT EVERY REALITY IS A META-REALITY TO SOME DEGREE. ANY TALE OR STORY YOU HAVE HEARD OR INVENTED IS A REALITY SOMEWHERE IN THE MULTIVERSE. AND IF THEY BEGIN TO ERASE UNIVERSES IN WHICH THE ADDAMS ARE JUST AN IDEA...

Needler seemed to turn pale. Which, given her marble-white complexion, was somewhat difficult, “Now that... oh, entropy would skyrocket in a cascade effect and...”

“Translation for the uninitiated, please?” asked Eamon.

“The multiverse is... is infinite,” Needler explained, “And you might think that something infinite is eternal, but that's not the case. It's actually very fragile. And if what I think is going to happen happens...”

THE MULTIVERSE IS INFINITE BECAUSE THERE IS NO PURE BEGINNING OR END. BUT THE STATE OF ITS EXISTENCE CAN REVERSE TO AN OPPOSITE ONE. IF REALITIES FROM WHICH THE EXISTENCE POTENTIAL OF OTHERS EMANATE BEGIN TO BE DESTROYED...

“Other realities will begin to disappear without direct intervention from the Nine...” Needler continued.

STARTING A CHAIN REACTION, AN ANTI-BIG BANG THAT WOULD ERASE ALL OF CREATION. THAT IS WHY WE MUST STOP THEM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

A deathly silence fell over everyone present.

Until it was finally broken by a “Mmmf” from Wednesday.

“Weds?” asked Enid.

“It seems that performing acts of heroism is the cross I have been given to bear in my life,” said the Addams, with irritated resignation.

Enid smiled, gently taking Wednesday's chin with one of her hands and drawing her wife's gaze towards her, “You're good at it, though.”

“So... shall we start blindly jumping from one universe to another in the hope of being able to face our foes?”, asked Wod.

Needler was fiddling with her dimensional bracelet, “Our devices haven't rebooted yet...”

I APOLOGISE FOR THE DISRUPTION. THE DISPOSITIVE I GAVE AMANDA IS OLD AND INACCURATE, BUT IT CAN TAKE YOU TO REALITIES WHERE THE PRESENCE OF THE NINE IS IMMINENT.

Wednesday and Enid exchanged a look, practically communicating in silence.

How curiously convenient, querida.

Yes, you don't have to be a werewolf to smell the bullshit.

For his part, Morningstar continued to speak.

I AM NOT ALMIGHTY NOR OMNISCIENT. AND MY KNOWLEDGE OF THIS TECHNOLOGY IS MORE LIMITED THAN I WOULD LIKE TO ADMIT. IN THE PAST I WOULD HAVE RESORTED TO MAGIC BUT NOW I AM NOT IN A POSITION TO USE IT AS A RESOURCE.

“Magic and science combined offer the greatest guarantees of stability,” said Needler. “What prevents you from using the arcane arts?”

THE PAST HAS MANY WOUNDS.

With that last answer, the various monitors from which Mr. Morningstar was speaking began to shut down one by one. At the same time, Amanda's device started to activate again with a loud noise.

“What the hell!?”

YOUR DEVICES SHOULD HAVE THIS POCKET DIMENSION REGISTERED WHEN THEY ARE REACTIVATED SO YOU CAN RETURN WITHOUT PROBLEMS. OR TO YOUR RESPECTIVE REALITIES. THE NEXT JUMP WILL DISPERSE YOU AMONG MULTIPLE UNIVERSES IN IMMINENT DANGER. SEARCH WEDNESDAY ADDAMS. DETAIN ANY MEMBERS OF THE NINE YOU FIND.

“Wait a minute!” roared a semi-transformed Enid, “Are you just going to send us off like this, with no more plans, no more preparation!?”

I TRUST IN YOUR SKILLS. I TRUST YOU.

“Well, we don't trust you!” replied the werewolf. Her voice began to sound distorted. Once again she and everyone present seemed to be losing consistency before the dimensional leap, their bodies becoming transparent.

The alarm on Amanda's wrist device was getting louder and louder.

“Buckman!” Wednesday asked, “Is there any way to determine how we're going to be scattered across the multiverse? Any way to guarantee that ...?”

But she couldn't finish her question. Once again a flash of purple light illuminated the room as an electric discharge resonated like thunder, leaving behind only the empty room and the smell of ozone in the air.

Only one of the monitors was still on, showing the luminous silhouette of Mr. Morningstar.

DO NOT TRUST ME. HATE ME IF YOU MUST.

The monitor went off, but the voice still resonated in the room after the image disappeared.

MAYBE YOU'LL DO IT ANYWAY.

And all the lights went out, leaving the place plunged into the deepest darkness.

§§§

At least this time she didn't lose consciousness.

The situation didn't happen instantly. It was difficult to describe, but during the Jump it was as if the brain switched off for a few moments, as if it went into a state of semi-sleep as it passed from one reality to the other. You were aware of a certain passage of time but not exactly how much.

And suddenly you were back in a material reality. You were back in the now.

And for Wednesday Addams the now consisted of falling flat on her face onto a hard wooden floor.

She could feel the dust entering through her nose, and a tingling in all her muscles not unlike the feeling of a numb limb waking up. She noticed a heaviness in all her limbs as if she were moving underwater when she began to sit up and could feel the creak of all her pained bones.

It was strangely pleasant.

“Weds?”

Hearing that voice made it even better.

Now on her feet, Wednesday turned around and could see Enid on the ground next to her. Sitting up.

Her Enid.

“Mia cara lupa,” she muttered, taking the disoriented werewolf's hand and helping her to her feet. Enid immediately embraced her, letting the smell of her wife flood her nostrils.

“Oh, Weds, it's you... he sent us together... for a moment I feared that...” Enid whispered.

“Maybe you put the fear of the Devil in him, dear,” said the Addams, “Or maybe Mr. Morningstar is more considerate than we gave him credit for.”

“Seriously?” Enid asked, incredulous.

“No, it was probably pragmatism on his part. He knew that if he separated us he would have to face our anger in the future. But he also knew that our chances of success increase exponentially if we are together,” said Wednesday, “But I don't intend to blame him for the outcome, at least as far as your presence with me is concerned.”

The she-wolf separated slightly from her beloved, but without breaking the embrace. She fixed her gaze on Wednesday without letting go and smiled wolfishly, “I suppose I won't look for a way to gut him. For now.”

“A little bodily harm for his lack of manners wouldn't be out of place,” replied Wednesday.

“What you want is an excuse to see me use my claws, isn't it?”, said Enid, chuckling, “Where are we, by the way?”, she said as she began to look around.

Her blue eyes opened wide, emitting a slight golden glow in the darkness. Although the room they were in was dark, Enid recognized the place immediately thanks to her ability to see perfectly at night.

The wooden floor, the stone walls, the two separate beds... in truth, all the separation between two sides of the room, exemplified in the presence and lack of color in the huge circular window that led to the balcony.

“Weds... we're in our...”

“I can see it, mia lupa.”

They were in their old room in Nevermore.

A decade had passed since the last time they had been there. A flood of memories threatened to invade them...

But the reminiscences would have to wait when they heard the sound of voices on the other side of the closed door. They had been so absorbed in each other and in the place in which they found themselves that they hadn't realized that someone was about to enter the room until it was too late to find somewhere to hide.

The door opened with a bang and someone turned on the light. A figure entered the room, speaking effusively.

“I'm going to sleep with it! Do you think it would be too weird? I mean, it's not one of my stuffed animals and I don't think Bianca is going to try to sneak in and steal it from me, but...”

The voice of the newcomer trailed off as she became aware of the presence of Wednesday and Enid right in the middle of the room.

Enid Sinclair, a young Enid Sinclair dressed in her purple school uniform, holding what was clearly a newly won Poe Cup and with an expression of fear, alarm, surprise and bewilderment causing an adorable frown on a delicate, unscarred face.

And next to her, in the same uniform but in shades of gray and black with an alarmed Thing on her shoulder, a young Wednesday Addams fixing her angry gaze on the intruders as a hidden dagger slid into her right hand.

Chapter Text

Everyone remained motionless for an instant. An instant that seemed to last forever.

It was as if a bubble of silence had fallen over the place, even isolating the noise of the Poe Cup celebrations still being held by students outside. A silence finally broken by the sound of the bulky trophy falling from the hands of a perplexed young Enid Sinclair, crashing to the ground with a crash.

As if it were a signal, the teenager Wednesday Addams took a step forward, instinctively placing herself between the colorful werewolf and the newcomers.

She tried to ignore the hint of a smile that formed for a moment on the face of Enid's older doppelgänger as she witnessed her move.

“Who - or what - are you?” she asked.

Wednesday, the older one, merely sighed, suppressing the impulse to raise a hand to her forehead. “We'd better clear this up before my teenage distrust derails everything,” she said, glancing at her younger self, “Grandmama's chambers. Second set of shelves on the left. Third shelf. The book with the purple spine bound in komodo scales.”

An expression of surprise crossed the young Wednesday's face for a split second. To merely human eyes it would have been barely noticeable, but her entire body language visibly relaxed. The thin dagger passed back from her hand to be hidden in some nook of her uniform.

“At ease, Sinclair,” she said, without taking her eyes off the visitors. Behind her, Enid had inadvertently extended her claws. The young werewolf let out a small gasp of surprise before retracting them again, hiding them behind her back and with a slight blush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

An embarrassment that was soon replaced by an inquisitive expression directed at her roommate, “Wednesday?” she asked, “What is all this? Is this some time travel bullshit?”

Enid, the adult one, couldn't help but laugh when she heard the question from her younger self, “Ha! This brings back memories…”

“No time travel, Sinclair,” replied the teenage Wednesday, “They're visitors from an alternate universe.”

“Wait, what?!” asked the young werewolf, “Like in superhero comics? And how can you know that?”

“Because my... counterpart present here has just mentioned a book in my grandmother's personal library that deals with the subject and that nobody outside my family could know about,” said the teenage Wednesday, stepping forward until she was standing in front of her older look-alike, “You truly are me.”

“A variant of you, although I confess that of all the ones I've met, you're the one who most resembles me,” replied Wednesday, glancing around the room, “The same room, and I imagine similar circumstances to your arrival in Nevermore...”

“Perhaps.”

“Dalton. Piranhas.”

“Mmm, what Wednesday did is public knowledge,” Thing intervened gesturing from the girl's shoulder.

“But that the piranhas were hybrids of the Amazon piranha and the Sumatran crimson piranha bred in the aquifer lake under the Addams Mansion is not.”

“Wait... Of all the ones you've met, you say?” the young Enid interrupted suddenly. “There are more of you?”

“This isn't our first rodeo when it comes to multiverse stuff,” said Enid Addams, rubbing the back of her neck, “Let's just say that our last year in Nevermore was more interesting than usual.”

“Oh. My. God,” replied her younger self. Her nerves had calmed down a little but not completely. And how could they? The visitors might have been from another dimension, which was crazy no matter how you looked at it, but Wednesday seemed very sure of it and her roomie was the kind of person who probably knew a thing or two about such unusual situations. And even if they were from another universe, Enid couldn't help thinking that there was something of time travel in all this.

I mean, they are clearly adult versions of ourselves!

Enid had always been observant and couldn't help focusing her attention on the visitors now that it was more or less clear that they weren't a danger.

The two Wednesdays were talking, exchanging information in what seemed less an attempt to confirm identities than to look for divergences. And the years had been kind to Wednesday. The adult was only slightly taller than her teenage counterpart, but her beautiful features, although recognizable, had a greater... sophistication? Yes, that. Sophistication, undoubtedly enhanced by subtle makeup that played up the contrast of her pale skin. Her eyes seemed even darker and it was easier to lose oneself in them (Why on Earth are you thinking these things, Enid? she asked herself). Her hairstyle was the same, the everlasting braided pigtails. She was dressed entirely in black, with a high-necked jumper and trousers that hugged her very slightly curvier figure.

Enid had thought that her roommate was beautiful from the first day she met her, but her future self seemed to be even more so. She was definitely a sight to behold.

Enid only realized that she had become lost in thought while watching the two Wednesdays when, next to her, she could once again hear a familiar giggle. She turned to find herself face to face with the amused gaze of her adult counterpart, who was watching her with a knowing smile.

Enid blushed again, trying to focus her attention on something else, but she couldn't help but glance back at her other self.

And she couldn't help her nerves and some apprehension from surfacing again because... what the hell.

There were recognizable elements. The blue eyes, the same familiar smile, the colorful outfit consisting of a pink tank top and short jeans... But her adult self was pale, almost corpse-like (Almost like Wednesday, she thought, trying not to wonder why she found that comforting) and she couldn't help but notice the unusually sharpness of her teeth. And she was tall. Very tall. Ridiculously tall. Taller than any other member of her family pack. And the muscles! Wearing that tank top, you'd have to be blind not to notice those arms. Where had it all come from?

And then there were the scars.

Enid Sinclair did not consider herself a superficial person, but seeing her own face (older, but clearly hers) marked in that way caused a small canine whimper to escape her throat.

Her older self looked at her with... no, it wasn't pity. Affection and sympathy, of course, but not pity. She flashed her a smile, now more reassuring, which instantly calmed the younger werewolf.

“Weds,” said the adult Enid, attracting the attention of her wife, “Maybe it's time to tell them why we're here and explain the situation.”

“Right, mia cara lupa, we must…”

“What,” interrupted the young Wednesday, suddenly uneasy again. Thing jumped off her shoulder at the sudden increase in tension in the girl and scurried to a corner under the bed to continue observing the scene, intrigued by what he had just heard. Seeing her roommate like that also made the young Enid go back on her guard.

'“I beg your pardon?” said the older Enid,

“What… have you called each other?” asked the young Wednesday in an unusually nervous tone, almost fearful, “Why are you using those… pet names?”

“Uh… Oops,” said Enid, “Erm, maybe it's better if you don't…”

“No,” Wednesday interrupted, “We are here for a specific purpose. And this is another universe, not our past. The existence of our situation will not be compromised by any alterations our presence may cause.”

“Yeah, yeah. But don't you think that if they know about us it could make things a bit awkward for them? Don't you remember what I was like in our first year?”

Heteronormativity and comphet were such a pain in the ass.

“Enid, querida, I don't care what universe we're in or who we're in front of,” Wednesday replied with a fervent conviction worthy of Gomez himself, “I don't intend to be ashamed or hide from anyone that you are my wife.”

“WHAT!?” exclaimed the two teenagers. Thing fainted.

“Ugh, look what you've done!” said Enid, “Okay, okay, calm down girls... It's true, my name is Enid Addams...”

“OMG!” exclaimed the teenage Enid, throwing her hands up in shock, “OMG! OMG!”

“I've always found fascinating that you can shout out an acronym so easily.”

“Not the time, Weds!”

The young Wednesday, for her part, seemed to have been paralysed in a rictus of horror.

“Wonderful,” her adult self sighed sardonically.

And as if that were not enough, the door to the room suddenly opened. A petite, middle-aged woman with glasses and unkempt red hair entered the room with an expression of calculated concern.

“Girls!” exclaimed Marilyn Thornhill (also known as Laurel Gates), “What is this racket? What is going on…?”

She couldn't finish the question. Not necessarily because her brain paused for a moment to register the unusual scene before her eyes with two adult replicas of her students present in the room.

No, she couldn't finish the question because in a fraction of a second a semi-transformed Enid Addams jumped in front of her and hit her square on the head, knocking her unconscious.

THUD!

A tenuous silence reigned once more after Thornhill's resounding fall to the ground. Even the teenage Wednesday seemed to come out of her paralysis, watching the scene with astonishment.

The moment of calm did not last long, broken by the young Enid Sinclair.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

§§§

Varadi Addams-Needler was convinced that it was all too much for her.

When her Aunt Wednesday told her the plan, the teenager responded to the request with aplomb, eager to take on a certain responsibility. She didn't know all the details, only that her aunt had had a vision that they were going to be attacked, that they should keep the events of the day as unchanged as possible and that when the time came Varadi should take charge of the children and keep them safe and wait for a sign that everything was under control.

But in the end nothing was under control, because at that moment the young woman found herself alone in the empty living room of Wednesday and Enid's house. Well, empty only if one did not count the presence of Cousin Intruder in the walls.

“So, after the attacker died... they teleported?”

“I think so,” replied Intruder, “From in here I don't have a clear view of everything, you understand. But it certainly wasn't like what your gizmos do when you come and go to visit. That noise and that ozone stench... it was as if lightning had struck them.”

“And you say it was the woman dressed as an astronaut?”

“Yes, although she seemed just as surprised and alarmed as the others. I don't think it was deliberate.”

The young woman began to pace nervously around the room, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit... Okay, Varadi, calm down... I'm sure they're fine. They've just all disappeared at once. Although you don't even know if they're alive, and if they are you have no idea what godforsaken corner of the multiverse they might be in.”

The young flesh golem couldn't help but let out a nervous whimper, “I can't do this on my own, I need an adult.”

“Varadi, you are an adult,” said Intruder.

“Damn it!”

Any other possible complaint that could escape her lips was interrupted by the thunder of four pairs of feet running down the stairs and the children bursting into the room.

“Varadi!” exclaimed Day.

“Day!” replied the golem, “What are you doing down here? I told you to wait in your room...”

“But Varadi...”

“No, Day, I made it very clear that...”

“Where are our parents?” asked Geraint.

“Guys, I'm trying to...”

E̶̛͓͙̝̤̣̓̈̏̈́͐̃̍͑͆́̌̈͛͘͝͠ Ň̷̞̯̜͕̳̣͍̋ͅ Ớ̵̧̟̠̱͐͂̅̈́̈́͒̅̑͗̓̽́͘͠͠ Ŭ̸̧̮̦̒̅̇̌̓ G̵̨̢͓͎͚̻̖̲̦̠͓̈́̋͂͆̉͗̑̄̏̄̐̒̽̕͘ͅ H̷̡̞͚̦̖̥͍̾́̑̈́̋

All eyes turned to look at Rissa. The young girl was still maintaining her ever-present smile but it had taken on a sharp edge. And she hadn't spoken, not really, but everyone felt that word being pronounced in the depths of their being as if she had whispered it to their very souls.

Varadi took a breath, calming down.

“Okay... okay,” she said, “Day... children... what are you doing here?”

“Rissa had one of her omens,” the werewolf girl explained, “She says that someone is coming to the house, and that it's not good.”

Oh, great, thought Varadi, As if things weren't complicated enough already.

“Well, first of all... Attie...”

“I've got my things ready,” said the boy. And sure enough, he was dressed to go out and with his backpack on his shoulders, “Rissa said it could be dangerous to be here and that it was better for me to go back to my house.”

Beneath the nervousness and fear, Varadi could feel the boy's sadness. It was obvious that he wanted to stay and help his friends, but if Rissa had asked him to leave it was because the situation was going to be dangerous in a way that could be risky even for an Addams. And Attie was not an Addams.

The teenager knelt down and gave the young boy a hug, “Then go quickly. And don't worry, we'll be fine. As soon as everything returns to normal I'll send these gremlins to let you know, okay?”

Attie nodded and prepared to leave, walking towards the main door, but not before receiving another hug from Day that almost cracked his ribs.

“Be careful,” said the girl.

“You too.”

And with that, he left.

“Very well... Rissa, do you have any more details?” Varadi asked the strange little girl.

Rissa made a gesture in reply, pointing to the walls.

“Hide?” Geraint asked, turning his head like a dog, “Instead of engaging in battle?”

“Hey! If Rissa says it's better to hide, then we hide,” said Day, punching his cousin and rival in the shoulder.

“Okay...” said Intruder with an air of resignation from inside the wall, “If there's no other choice...”

“Intruder?” asked Varadi.

“Go down to the cellar. Girls, between the old oven and the chests in which your mother keeps the stuffed animals with which you practiced voodoo, you will find a switch hidden between the fourth and fifth bricks from the bottom. Press it and it will open up an access to the spaces between the walls.”

There was no time for more questions. The teenager and the children in her care followed the instructions quickly, descending into the dusty, cobweb-filled darkness of the cellar and finding the access described by Intruder. The brick wall trembled and a section of it separated slightly from the rest, sinking backwards and leaving a gap through which an adult could slip with little difficulty.

The inside of the wall space was not what Varadi expected. Perhaps Intruder had decorated it, or perhaps it was part of the magic of the house, but it was not so different from normal corridors. Maybe just a little narrower, and with vertical ladders to climb up. Continuing on their way, after the secret door closed behind them, they ended up in...

A small living room.

A small living room whose existence should be impossible if one were to consider the external dimensions of the house. But there it was, with a rug, a sofa, a shelf with books and a small table with an old radio and a lamp that filled the place with a warm light.

Yes, it was definitely something to do with the magic of the house.

“Welcome,” said a voice they recognized. A woman entered from another access on the other side of the room. It was the first time they had seen Intruder in person.

She was not a very tall woman, but she had a strong, muscular build, wearing what looked like a simple T-shirt and sweatpants. And a head covered with lush brown hair that hid...

Well, they weren't hiding anything.

Because she had no face. No eyes, no nose, no mouth.

“You're a noppera-bō!” exclaimed Day, enthusiastically.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess so,” said Intruder, with a certain tone of annoyance, “I'm from Glasgow, damn it.”

While the young ones were exploring the place, Varadi approached Intruder.

“How safe is this?” she asked.

“As long as we don't make any noise, no one should realize we're here,” said the faceless woman, “Although it depends on how much they want to find someone or the methods they use. A search with magic or certain technologies would detect us. But there are deeper hiding places to move to if necessary.”

She gestured towards the wall. There was a series of small slits through which a faint light shone.

“Through those we can see the main living room, but from the other side only someone who gets very close to the wall and knows where to look can see these slits,” Intruder explained. ”Let's take a look.”

“I want to watch too!” exclaimed Day, suddenly appearing between the two of them.

“Day!” replied Varadi.

“Okay,” said Intruder, “But keep your voice down,” she turned to Geraint, “And that goes extra for you, at least I don't have to worry about Rissa.”

“Hey!”

“Shhh!”

They waited for a few minutes that seemed like an eternity. Just as Varadi was beginning to wonder if perhaps Rissa hadn't made a mistake, the blonde girl suddenly inhaled sharply and her eyes opened wide with alarm. Murmurs of voices came from outside.

“There they are,” whispered Intruder. At her side, Varadi looked through the small slit in the wall and could see the trespassers.

There were two of them. Adult men, white, red-haired, dressed in crimson robes. And they were identical.

“Twins?” whispered the teenage golem.

“No,” replied Intruder, “Holy shit, they're him.”

“What?”

“The same guy. The initial attacker. They're him, they're identical to him.”

Varadi frowned. Okay, either identical triplets or clones, or something else equally strange. It was something she could live with and it would surely end up being the most manageable of everything that was happening. Trying not to think about it any more, she returned her focus to spying on the strangers, listening to what they were saying.

They seemed cautious, nervous, looking around as if they feared being ambushed at any moment.

“So this is where our Prime died,” said one of them. Looking at him, Varadi could see that he seemed slightly older than his companion. Not by much, but there were more wrinkles on his face and marks around his eyes.

“Yes, he got carried away,” replied the second, in a much more relaxed tone of voice than the other, “I know the Primes like to go hunting, but ours was going too crazy.”

“Hmm, no sign of the Addamses yet,” said the first, “Have you checked the sensor readings, Norman Two?”

“Hey! Why do I have to be Two?”

“Because I am obviously One. At least between the two of us,” replied the self-proclaimed Norman One, “Out of deference to my age and experience. I was recruited to the cause long before you, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, what a load of crap,” grumbled Norman Two, although he chose not to continue the discussion. He plunged his left hand into his robe and after searching around a bit he pulled out a device that looked superficially similar to a Geiger counter, “Let's see, let's see... Oooh, this is interesting.”

“What?” asked Norman One as he approached to examine what appeared to be scattered remains of ash. The little that was left of Norman Prime, surely.

The Mistress was expeditious about failure.

“There are very abnormal traces of energy here,” said Norman Two, “Remains of quantum alterations, dimensional leap...”

“There's nothing unusual about that, you idiot. It's how we got here, isn't it?” he pointed to the pile of ashes, “It's how he got here.”

“No! Look!” Norman Two replied indignantly, “It's nothing like that! This place is full of traces of persistent interdimensional energy, like our Sanctuary.”

“Oh, shit,” said Norman One, with an expression of disgusted alarm, “Do you know what that means?”

“Yes! There has been constant and regular activity of access points opening and closing between different universes in this house! It's revolutionary!”

“No, idiot! It means that the Addamses who live in this reality can travel through the multiverse like us!”

“Oh! That's new. But that's... that... Oh, dear.”

“Screw it, let's go back to the Sanctuary. We have to report this, it's possible that those Addams have a way of tracking us and that's why they were able to discover Prime ahead of time.”

Suddenly, the two men's attention was drawn to the sound of the outer door being thrown open, a loud singing voice and the sound of struggling. Soon a third Norman Normanmeyer entered the room. Unlike the other two, this one was more distinguishable, wearing green sunglasses and having his red hair styled into a mohawk.

But the most remarkable thing was how he was holding a struggling Attie in his arms, clutching him tightly and covering his mouth with one of his hands.

They didn't hear it, fortunately, but from inside the walls a faint gasp was heard for a second.

“Hey, guys! Look what I found!” exclaimed the third Norman.

“What the hell?” muttered Norman One, incredulous.

“Uh... Norman... er... Norman Three... Who is that kid?” asked Norman Two.

“I materialized outside to make sure no one was sneaking out of the house and I found this little runt walking in the direction of the neighbors from here,” replied the newly named Norman Three, before raising an eyebrow, “Hey, wait... Three?”

“Don't start,” said Norman One, keeping his gaze fixed on Attie. The boy had stopped struggling and had become very still, looking at the men before him with visible fear, “He's no Addams,” said One.

“Eeeh? And how do you know that?” asked Norman Three, “I saw him coming clearly from this house.”

“Maybe he's a neighbor?” said Norman Two, “We know that some iterations of the Addams are more sociable than others…”

Norman One approached, kneeling down to come face to face with the child. “Let him go, Norman Three. Our little friend isn't going anywhere. Isn't that right?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound kind and warm. Somehow that made it worse, the falseness oozing from his voice.

Attie did not reply in any way. He simply kept his gaze fixed on Norman One. It was impossible to tell if it was out of pure fear or a futile attempt at defiance.

“Let him go, Three,” Norman One repeated. With a snort, Norman Three released the child. Attie didn't move. The boy knew that if he tried to run he would be caught immediately.

As if he could read his thoughts, Norman One nodded with an indulgent smile, “Good boy. Smart boy. You're not an Addams, are you?”

Attie didn't answer.

“But you know them. It shows. There's an air about you... It's their strangeness. It's already infecting you.”

Attie didn't answer, but he frowned slightly.

“Ah! Anger,” laughed Norman One. “You're young and it's forgivable that you feel affection for those freaks. But you can still be rescued from their clutches and you can lead a useful life. A normal life.”

The way he pronounced the word “normal” made Attie feel nauseous. Ironically, they had managed to make the word sound unnatural.

“But if you know them,” Norman One continued, “Maybe you can tell us where they are. You see, we wanted to have a chat with them but it seems they're not here.”

Attie remained silent, although part of him wondered where Day, Rissa and the others were hiding.

Norman One continued to look at him, frowning slightly, “You know something, don't you? You know something about what happened here. Believe me, boy, it's better if you talk.”

But Attie still didn't answer.

“Well, if there's no other option,” said Norman One, getting up and taking a silver sphere from his robe. He held it in the palm of his hand and the object changed, becoming a kind of rod. Sparks of electricity shot out of one end.

“I recommend you start talking, young man,” said Norman One, bringing the rod closer to the face of the terrified Attie.

“Hey! Hey!” shouted Norman Three, alarmed, “Fuck, hunting Addams is one thing, but we're not going to torture some random kid.”

“Haven't you heard anything One has said?” said Norman Two, with a chilling lack of concern, “The boy is clearly being indoctrinated by the Addams. This could be a purification for him. That way he won't end up like our Junior.”

“Last chance, son,” said Norman One, bringing the metal rod even closer to Attie's face to the point that the boy could feel the heat, “Where are the Addams of this house?”

But. Attie. Didn't. Answer.

Norman One sighed, closing his eyes and frowning with resignation.

“Very well,” he said, preparing to...

But he couldn't do anything. Because at that very moment Norman One received the answer to his question but in a way he hadn't expected.

The living room wall shattered as something flew through the air and crashed into him. A mass of black fur, muscles, teeth and sharp claws, howling with an overprotective animal rage.

Norman One was unable to celebrate receiving his answer when Day's lupine jaws, on her first wolf out, on a moonless night, closed on his throat.

Chapter Text

At first, everything seemed to be going well.

Yes, they had trespassers in their home, but inside Intruder's hideout they were safe and could follow their movements without being seen. It was only a matter of time before the strangers got tired of searching, realized there was no one else in the house, and left. Day wished she could do more, and she was sure Rissa and Geraint felt the same way, but it was clear that Varadi was prioritizing their safety.

And then everything turned upside down.

It turned out that there weren't two strangers, but three. A third individual burst into the house, carrying Attie as a hostage. Day immediately felt a knot forming in her stomach and couldn't help but let out a slight gasp.

Varadi looked at her worriedly, “Day...” she whispered, but the girl didn't seem to hear her. The young werewolf's attention was fully focused on the events in the living room, where the strangers in red robes had Attie at their mercy and were trying to interrogate him, threatening him.

The girl didn't notice, but a growl was forming in her throat and black fur was beginning to emerge on the back of her neck and the backs of her hands. Her ears picked up the voices of Varadi and Intruder, surely trying to calm her down somehow, but she didn't really listen to them.

And then, the man who was questioning Attie pulled out a weapon, clearly intending to use it against the boy.

What little patience Day had left cracked.

The transformation of the common lycanthrope requires a minimum of thirty seconds, with cases in which it lasts up to a full minute or more. Enid Addams, being a creature in a category of her own given her status as the Volvaugr, the Guardian Wolf, can transform in a matter of tenths of a second.

Enid Addams also has another peculiarity in her case that is unique to her and that no previous Volvaugr has ever experienced.

Offspring.

Day and Rissa Addams are the first known descendants of a Volvaugr in the entire history of the multiverse. And Day has clearly inherited traits from her wolf mother that set her apart from other werewolves.

It is the only explanation for how the six-year-old girl was suddenly able to break through the wall with a howl that turned into a roar, flying through the air toward her target in a prodigious leap, and how, in the single second that this took, her body turned into a full wolf form just before she closed her jaws on Norman One's unsuspecting neck.

Things moved pretty fast after that.

“Shit!” Varadi exclaimed as she followed Day through the hole in the wall. Her exclamation was drowned out by Norman Three's alarmed cry.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

A loud noise of breaking bones and torn flesh was followed by a huge amount of blood spilling out when Day ripped Norman One's head off with one pull, decapitating him.

“Damn it!” exclaimed Norman Three, pulling a silver sphere from his robes that began to take the shape of a gun in his hands.

He couldn't use it, he didn't even have time to point it at the werewolf, because at that moment Varadi threw a punch. The young flesh golem's fist separated from her wrist and flew through the air like a missile with clenched knuckles until it hit Norman Three squarely in the temple, knocking him out immediately.

Unfortunately, Norman Two was still there. Taking a few steps back as his partner fell unconscious, he pulled some black spheres out of one of his pockets. By this time, Day had already dropped Norman One's body and positioned herself next to Attie to shield the boy, who was clearly in shock.

Sensing Norman Two's movements, Day turned toward him, at which point the man threw the black spheres at the lycanthrope. They exploded in the air, in a silver cloud that had an immediate effect. Day began to cough and fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

“Day!” exclaimed Attie, coming out of his shock and crouching down next to his friend. The lupine form of the young Addams was regaining a humanoid shape, although she was still covered in dark black fur.

Varadi prepared to throw another punch, but Norman Two had drawn his silver sphere. In his hands, it had become a device similar to a taser, which he pointed at the children.

“Don't you dare move a muscle!” he shouted, a hint of hysteria creeping into his voice.

Varadi frowned, the fist she had thrown floating through the air back to her wrist. Behind her, the others had come through the hole in the wall. If Cousin Intruder had had facial features, her expression would have been one of worried anger. Young Geraint growled, baring his fangs and extending his claws.

And Rissa... Rissa continued to maintain her eternal smile, although there was a steely coldness in her eyes.

Varadi noted that Day was still alive, but clearly unconscious. The young werewolf wasn't moving, but she was breathing, albeit with some difficulty.

“What was that?” asked Varadi. “What did you do to her?”

Norman Two ignored the question. “Not a step! Keep all your limbs on your body, whatever you are, freak! If you come any closer, I'll disintegrate these two!”

“Letting them live is the only thing that will get you out of this in one piece,” Geraint replied with an animalistic growl.

“Calm down, dog!” exclaimed Norman Two, “God, we should have seen this coming. A dimension full of weirdos, and not just the main Addams family. It's no surprise that our Prime fell here…”

“What have you done to Day!?” repeated a furious Attie. The boy was holding the unconscious girl, keeping her upright. Day seemed to breathe better the more vertical her position was.

Norman Two let out a nervous chuckle, “Did you like it? It's a mixture of silver and aconite in aerosol form. Ideal for knocking werewolves out of action. It's not lethal... well, at least not in adult lycanthropes.”

“Son of a...” Varadi began, making a move to step forward, but stopped dead in her tracks when Norman Two activated his weapon. He didn't fire, but he reaffirmed his intentions by pointing it at the children. A spark of green energy flashed at the tip of the device, illuminating Attie and Day's faces.

“Ah ah... not another step,” said Norman Two, laughing again, “I can deal with this. I can deal with all of you. Did you really think we wouldn't be prepared to face a werewolf?”

“And are you prepared to withstand an electric shock worth five hundred volts?” asked a new voice.

Norman Two had no time to respond or react before a bolt of electricity struck him, throwing him into the air and landing him on the ground right in front of Varadi and the others. His body was smoking and visibly burned, but he was still alive. Norman Two was in intense pain but couldn't scream or utter a complaint when a fist immediately struck him in the face with such force that his jaw was dislocated by the blow. After that, he saw and heard nothing else.

Two people had entered the room from outside during all the commotion.

One was a young man who bore a striking resemblance to Gomez Addams and was dressed in a gray suit with black stripes that could have belonged to a 1930s mobster, with a long black trench coat over it. Sparks of electricity still glowed in his outstretched hand. The other was a woman of the same age, with a muscular build and short blonde hair dyed black and red at the tips. She was dressed in an outfit that screamed “biker,” with a black sleeveless T-shirt, leather pants, and combat boots. The buckle on her belt was shaped like a wolf's head.

Varadi couldn't contain her smile when she saw the new arrivals.

“Theo! Dora!”

“Hey, little cousin,” Pandora Addams greeted her with a wolfish smile, wiping her hands after hitting Norman Two, while Theo knelt down next to Attie and Day, covering the little girl with his coat. ”Looks like things got a little out of hand around here... Where are our moms?”

Varadi exchanged a glance with Intruder (as much as you can exchange a glance with someone who has no eyes) before responding.

“The truth is... we have no idea.”

§§§

“Run, friend Taylor! Run!”

Taylor Galpin, in her fully transformed Hyde form, sprinted across the rooftops with Eneit Synklar on her back as an improvised rider.

The place where they had found themselves after overcoming the disorientation caused by Mr. Morningstar's involuntary dimensional jump was unlike anything they had ever seen before. Eneit had seen worlds far more technologically advanced than her own since she had met her friends and variants from the multiverse, but this place would certainly have been strange even to them.

An urban environment of towering skyscrapers, vehicles moving through the air in orderly chaos, neon signs and billboards, solid figures of light, and gigantic holograms filling the space between buildings with grotesque advertising...

And the air smelled like a thousand dirty toilets.

And if that weren't enough, before she and Taylor could even begin to plan their next move, vehicles similar to the motorcycles she had seen in other universes, but capable of flying and with no visible pilots, had appeared out of nowhere and begun attacking them, firing what looked like tranquilizer darts, forcing them to flee.

A mechanical voice emanated from the vehicles: “UNAUTHORIZED OUTCAST PRESENCE IN SECTOR ALEPH. REQUESTING REINFORCEMENTS. CITIZENS' COOPERATION IS REQUIRED.”

Eneit wasn't quite sure what it all meant, but her instincts told her it couldn't be anything good.

And how on earth were they going to find the Wednesday Addams of this place?

§§§

Parker knew very well that if necessary, the Addams could be terrifying.

Oh, she loved the family, and after smoothing over some rough patches, Morticia had been like a second mother to her (and certainly a much better mother than her biological one), but Parker Needler-Addams had also seen what any of the Addams were capable of to protect their own.

But even in the most intense moments, she had never felt anything like the aura of menace that seemed to emanate from the Addams family now sitting before her, in whose home she and her companions had materialized just half an hour ago.

It had all been a bit disconcerting. They were intruders in their home, and the Addams had invited them in for tea.

With pastries.

Sitting next to her, Eamon also seemed slightly tense, nibbling on one of the pastries they had been offered with their tea (which smelled like cyanide, but that was normal with the Addams). Shark, on the other hand, was smiling from ear to ear, reveling in meeting another iteration of her family and leading the conversation.

“So the whole family is in the business?” she asked.

“Well, most of them,” replied a smiling Gomez Addams, taking a puff on his cigar while holding Morticia's hand. Standing behind the seat where they were sitting was a young adult Pugsley dressed in an elegant business suit alongside a strangely tall Cousin Itt wearing normal clothes beyond his eternal hat and glasses, with his arms visible. Gomez continued speaking, “Our daughter, your... variant? Is that the right word?”

Shark nodded, “Yeah, one of many options.”

“Well, our daughter is going through a rebellious phase, joining the forces of law and order.”

Parker almost choked on her tea. A mafia Addams family, that she could roll with.

The idea of a police officer Wednesday? Now that was just plain weird.

§§§

Needler and Saint-Clair had to suppress another chill of atavistic horror and a surge of homicidal irritation as they continued to listen to the incessant chatter of the person before them.

They had materialized after the Jump in what was clearly a version of Nevermore. And they did so before the person who was now guiding them in search of the local Wednesday Addams, something she had graciously offered to do after the situation had been explained to her.

But that didn't make her any less obnoxious. Since they had arrived, she hadn't stopped gushing about how cool it was to have visitors from another dimension, and how they were sure to have an amazing adventure with “Nessie” (Wednesday) and “Nini” (Enid), who were her best friends in the whole world and the people she loved most in the world, and that they also loved her very much and had been through so much together that their bond was unbreakable, and...

Once again, they felt that something was wrong there. Very wrong. As if something in that reality was corrupt. Needler and Saint-Clair exchanged worried glances while their guide continued to drone on.

Saint-Clair didn't care what she said. No matter how much she claimed to be Enid's cousin from that universe, this Mary Sue Sinclair was not normal.

§§§

“Look up in the sky!”

“It's a bird!”

“It's a plane!”

“No... IT'S SUPERWOLF!”

Pup and Wod exchanged a brief glance before refocusing their attention on the height above them.

They had appeared in an alleyway in what looked like a retro-futuristic, art déco version of New York. After stepping out onto the street, the first thing they noticed was that the crowd seemed to ignore Wod's armor. At most, they gave him a few curious glances, but nothing more.

The second was the giant humanoid robot with an atomic symbol that appeared flying over the city and firing heat rays, melting the exterior of some of the tallest buildings before being struck and knocked out by a much smaller but considerably stronger flying figure. A blonde woman dressed in blue, with an S-shaped symbol on her chest and a long red cape, whose face both interdimensional visitors recognized instantly.

“Well, it seems we've found Lady Enid's counterpart in this universe,” said Wod. “It's a start.”

“Hey, what do you bet that the Wednesday of this reality lives in a gothic city and dresses up as a bat?” asked Pup.

“Although I understand that aesthetic might suit a version of me, and I wouldn't begrudge having more bats in my castle, that sounds strangely specific the way you put it.”

“Oh dear, all these years of multiverse visits and you still haven't read a comic book?”

§§§

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

Woe frowned at the deplorable spectacle unfolding before her, undoubtedly the result of the propensity for gratuitous drama inherent in all teenagers. At her side, Friday watched the scene with a little more indulgence, smiling with her usual affability and a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

When they regained control of their senses and overcame their initial disorientation, the two Addams found themselves in what they recognized as the room at Nevermore Academy that had housed Wednesday and Enid during their years as students and had been their temporary residence during their accidental visit in the first interdimensional incident caused by Isadora Laslow.

But the decorations and furniture were different from what they remembered, the place seemed more worn... and they didn't have time to look around or investigate further when the door to the room opened and two female figures carrying books entered.

Woe and Friday had expected to meet the local versions of Wednesday and Enid.

Instead, before them stood two girls they had never seen before.

One was tall, with long dark hair, and although there was nothing in her appearance to indicate it, Woe and Friday instinctively felt that she was some kind of psychic. The other teenager was shorter, with unruly black hair tied back in two pigtails and adorned with bright pink highlights. The prominence of the fangs visible in her mouth, open in surprise, and the absence of sunglasses suggested possible lycanthropy.

And then, as soon as they saw Woe and Friday, they started arguing among themselves, taking us back to the scene previously mentioned.

“Don't tell me you haven't done anything! This stinks of another disaster caused by messing with time!”

“Come on, Sora, you know I haven't touched that grimoire since I brought my mom back from the past!”

“Well, explain to me where these two came from?”

“I have no idea!”

“Uh... if I may interject...,” Friday began, but the girls ignored her.

“Oh God, oh God, this year was supposed to be calm…”

“Hey, this isn't my fault. Really. I haven't played with space-time spells again.”

“Well, then tell me what's going on, because if this isn't your doing… Ooh, Principal Barclay is going to kill us.”

Friday sighed. And then Woe witnessed something she had only seen once before. The Addams woman in pink crossed her arms, and the affability of her face gave way to a mask of severe coldness worthy of any Wednesday Addams, before uttering a single word.

“Girls,” she said.

And the two teenagers stopped arguing instantly, their attention suddenly focused on Friday.

She had used the Mom’s Voice.

“Y-yes?” said the shorter one.

Friday relaxed again, and a tension that had inadvertently built up in the room dissipated. Even Woe noticed it, looking impressed at her counterpart.

“Our situation here is somewhat... irregular,” Friday continued, “and involuntary. But I assure you that neither I nor my companion pose any danger to you or the people of this place.”

Woe snorted. Friday glanced at her sideways.

“Well, not actively,” she continued, “You can call us Woe,” she said, while pointing to her companion, “And I'm Friday. And you are…?”

“Uh... er... Sora Toriyama, ma'am,” said the taller girl, using the stack of books she was still holding almost like a shield in a sudden gesture of shyness.

“And I'm Vega Addams,” added the other young woman, causing Woe and Friday to raise their eyebrows. “And could you tell me why you two look so much like my mother and yet are so different? Because it's freaking me out.”

Chapter Text

So, this is the situation.

They had been involuntarily transported to another universe by the actions of an individual named Mr. Morningstar, who had explained the threat they faced and the catastrophic consequences that the actions of their mysterious enemies could unleash on all realities.

Wednesday and Enid Addams had ended up in a universe very similar to their own, face to face with two teenage versions of themselves from their days as students at Nevermore, whom they had not yet been able to explain the situation to, because, having barely recovered from the initial shock (and not entirely), Marilyn Thornhill... that is, Laurel Gates, had made an appearance.

And out of sheer instinct, Enid Addams had knocked her out with a single blow.

And so things stood, with an unconscious Marilyn Thornhill/Laurel Gates being tied up by Wednesday, while Teen Enid seemed on the verge of having her first wolf out from sheer stress, and Teen Wednesday watched the proceedings with cautious attention and no small amount of interest.

“I'm as enthusiastic about gratuitous violence as anyone else, but I confess I find this display against a teacher puzzling,” said Teen Wednesday, glancing at the two Enids before turning her attention to her roommate, “Between your ruthlessness in dealing with our competitors to get that cup and this demonstration of your future self, I must confess a certain admiration for your potential for violent behavior, Sinclair.”

Teen Enid did not respond verbally, letting out a simple canine whimper as her face flushed visibly. Her previous nervousness had given way to another kind of nervousness upon hearing those words.

Enid Addams looked at the scene and shook her head fondly before returning to her wife's side. Wednesday had finished tying Thornhill up.

“This will keep her still,” said Wednesday, “She'd have to be the best escape artist in the world to get out of those knots.”

“What do we do now, Weds?”

Wednesday shot a calculating glance at her teenage variants. Teen Wednesday responded with a glare of her own, while Thing, perched on her shoulder, watched silently. Teen Enid shifted her gaze from one to another, as if expecting a confrontation.

“Now we're going to sit down and have a calm and productive conversation.”

Teen Enid suppressed a shiver. “How did you make something so innocuous sound like a threat?”

“Years of practice,” Wednesday replied with a half smile.

Teen Enid proceeded to sit down on her bed, immediately grabbing one of her stuffed animals and hugging it for comfort. Enid Addams approached her and asked, “Do you mind if I sit next to you?” When Teen Enid nodded, her adult self smiled and sat down next to the young girl, glancing around the room.

“Gosh, this brings back so many memories.”

Meanwhile, Teen Wednesday had sat down in the chair in front of her desk with Thing jumping on the table. The adult Wednesday remained standing with her arms crossed, casting one last glance at the unconscious Thornhill before beginning to speak.

“I'm sure you have many questions...” she began.

“Like a million!” interrupted Teen Enid before being silenced by a simultaneous stare from both Wednesdays. Enid Addams patted her younger variant calmly on the back.

“Patience,” she said.

“It would be best to start with the basics,” Wednesday continued, “As you know, Enid and I come from another universe. We arrived here unintentionally, but with a specific goal in mind.”

“To protect you,” said Enid Addams, looking at Teen Wednesday.

“I don't need protect...” the young girl began to say before being interrupted by her adult self, “Yes, you do.”

Teen Wednesday frowned but said nothing. There was a moment of silence before Wednesday continued, “They call themselves the Normalcy Nine. They are a group of individuals from different universes who aim to eliminate the Addams Family in general, and Wednesday Addams in particular, from all existence.”

“And if they do and they kill you, not only do you die, but your whole world dies,” added Enid.

“What? How?” asked Teen Enid, alarmed.

“We don't know the exact mechanism, but the weaponry they use causes a chain reaction that disintegrates all reality after the death of the murdered Wednesday,” explained Wednesday. ”Unfortunately, we didn't receive much more information before being unceremoniously thrown here, something I intend to rectify as soon as we return.”

“Someone wanting to kill me is the least outlandish thing you've just told me,” said Teen Wednesday, “Your references to Grandmama's book make me want to believe you, but your story is...”

“It's too much,” said Teen Enid, “It's... it's a lot to take in. As if the serial killer in the woods wasn't enough, now we have this.”

Teen Wednesday's eyebrows rose as if she had realized something. “Thornhill,” she said, looking at her adult self, “Thornhill has something to do with what's happening in Nevermore, Rowan's death, and the creature that attacked him. That's why your Enid reacted that way.”

“Marilyn Thornhill's real name is Laurel Gates,” said Wednesday. “I'm not going to explain her whole story right now, but you should know that she's a homicidal bigot who has hatched a plot to destroy Nevermore and all the outcasts.”

“But... but... she was one of my favorite teachers,” muttered Teen Enid, giving a betrayed glance to the unconscious woman.

Teen Wednesday frowned again, “This is a case you've already solved in your own reality, isn't it?”

“And you are now fighting your own pride,” said Wednesday, “I know myself and I know you. You want to unravel the case for yourself without assistance or advice, but at the same time you are intrigued by the idea of resolving the entire conflict as quickly as possible.”

“You are right about the first part, but not the second.”

“Oh?” Wednesday replied, raising an eyebrow questioningly at her younger self, “Even if it means risking more casualties? Or putting people you care about in Nevermore in danger?”

“I don't care about...”

“Yes, you do. Even if you're still too stubborn and obtuse to admit it, too scared to do so.”

“Uh, Weds...”

“She needs to hear this, Enid.”

“What's going on?” Teen Enid whispered to her adult self.

“I think my Weds is giving your Weds aggressive therapy.”

“I'm not scared,” Teen Wednesday replied with stubborn conviction.

“Yes, you are. The idea of forming a bond with someone and having it ripped away from you terrifies you. And I know you'll say that's not true, that you enjoy the pain and revel in loneliness. And it's right, but only when it's your choice. Being forced into loneliness by the cruel actions of others is something you've never, ever accepted since the day of Nero's last walk.”

A deathly silence fell over the room.

“That's not true,” Teen Wednesday replied stubbornly, although the keen ears of the two Enids detected a slight tremor in her voice, “And even if it were, there's no one in Nevermore who I...”

“Thing,” said Wednesday, pointing to the living amputated hand, which continued to watch the scene with terrified interest, “And Eugene,” she continued. Finally, she pointed to the young werewolf sitting on the bed who had unknowingly dug her claws into the stuffed animal she was hugging. “And of course, Enid.”

“Oh, of course,” Teen Wednesday said with a sneer, “You're only saying all this because of your bond with your… wife.” She uttered the last word as if it were poison.

Teen Enid tried to suppress the unexpected hurtful feeling that crossed her chest when she heard it. Enid Addams remained impassive.

Wednesday Addams merely rolled her eyes, exasperated with her younger self, “And now you're lashing out verbally and overcompensating with aggression to deny my statements by clinging to a nonsensical argument that barely has a tangential connection to what we were talking about.”

“It's obvious that falling in love has turned you into a fool, just like Father and Mother.”

“Father and Mother were fools long before they met and fell in love,” Wednesday replied.

“Love makes you soft. Weak.”

“Love has made me stronger, more dangerous, and more lethal than I have ever been,” Wednesday replied, “And there is nothing wrong with being soft. It means you are brave.”

“Where did you get such nonsense?”

“I learned it from my daughters.”

Again, silence. Broken by the thud of Thing falling from the desk to the floor as he fainted, followed by Teen Enid: “YOUR WHAT?!”

“Our daughters,” replied Enid Addams, crossing her arms, “Who I hope are okay, with everything that's going on...”

“Daughters,” muttered the teenage werewolf, her eyes wide open.

“They'll be fine, Varadi and Intruder are at home with them and the other children,” added Wednesday, before refocusing on her younger self, who had paled even more at the latest revelation. Her irritation at her past self softened when she saw the young girl's reaction and remembered what things had been like back then. The last-minute confrontation might not have been the right way to go, even though she still believed that her teenage self would benefit in the long run from getting rid of some of her hang-ups early on.

“Wednesday,” she said, “I know this must be like your worst fears come true...”

“I'm going to turn into my mother,” said the teenager, interrupting her adult self, “In the end, she succeeds, I'll be a carbon copy of her and...”

Enid Addams began to laugh. Loudly.

“Er... I don't think existential crises are something to laugh about,” replied Teen Enid, suddenly feeling protective of her roommate.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” said Enid Addams, trying to catch her breath, barely containing the laughter that still insisted on escaping her, “I had completely forgotten about that neurosis of yours, Weds.”

“Enid...” Wednesday began, but fell silent when her wife approached Teen Wednesday.

“Mini Weds... listen to me carefully,” said Enid, “There's nothing wrong with falling in love, and there's nothing wrong with being a mother. And you're not a replica of Morticia. For many, many reasons, but also for the fundamental fact that you are you, and we are us.”

“Our lives are fundamentally different, no matter how similar they may have been up until now. The path you will follow does not have to be the same as the one we have followed,” added Wednesday.

“Exactly. Besides, in romance, you're more like... um, maybe it's good if we show it to you,” added Enid.

“What?” muttered Teen Wednesday.

“Hey, mini-me!” said Enid, addressing her teenage variant. “Say something in French!”

“Huh? But I don't know French. I never studied it. In middle school, I only chose Spanish... I only know a few words from songs and movies...”

“It doesn't matter, say anything!”

“Uh... ok... err... Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” recited Teen Enid, uncertain, remembering a line from a song she had sung many times in her childhood without having the slightest idea of its meaning or context.

“Wow. You went straight for the jugular,” replied Enid Addams.

“Mia lupa,” said Wednesday, “This is very uncomfortable...”

“Naaaah, look...” said Enid, pointing to Teen Wednesday.

Who was staring at Teen Enid with dilated pupils in her wide-open eyes and an intense blush on her cheeks that was unnatural for her.

“It was already happening at this point, although neither of them was consciously aware of it,” said Enid Addams, letting out a sharp-toothed chuckle.

“Enid,” whispered Teen Wednesday, “That's French...”

“Er... yeah?” replied the young werewolf, her sense of smell suddenly assaulted by what could only be a massive release of pheromones coming from her roommate. She couldn't deny that it was affecting her.

“It's... it's...” the teenage Wednesday suddenly stopped, her blush fading, her face suddenly distraught. “Oh, hells. I’m Father.”

The moment was interrupted by a pained groan from Marilyn Thornhill. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at her, but the woman remained unconscious.

“Hmm, I'm afraid we've been... losing track with unnecessary detours,” said Wednesday, “Perhaps we should refocus on the most immediate problem.”

Teen Wednesday looked at the unconscious Thornhill before turning back to the two adults who, in just a few minutes, had turned her entire concept of reality upside down. Finally, she cast one last glance at Enid Sinclair, who was still watching nervously, her cheeks still slightly flushed.

Teen Wednesday closed her eyes, frowning, as if concentrating intensely on making a decision and trying to quell her own pride.

“I... wanted to solve this case on my own,” she began, “But I admit... your reasoning. The danger can only increase, and there are individuals in this place who have... burrowed into my inner self like maggots in a wound.”

“Wednesday,” Teen Enid began as she stood up, but the young Addams stopped her with a wave of her hand before continuing.

“That's why... I'm willing to listen to whatever you have to say,” the young woman finished.

“Very well,” Wednesday replied, before turning to her wife and pointing to the unconscious Thornhill, “Enid, could you carry that human trash, please?”

“Uh… Where are we going?” asked the teenage Enid, “Because I still have like a million questions, especially about… well, you know.”

Daughters.

Enid patted her younger self on the head as she carried Thornhill on one shoulder with ease, as if the woman weighed nothing. “We'll answer what we can, but first... business.”

“We're going to clear up everything that's happening in your Nevermore, assuming that the facts are entirely consistent with what happened in ours,” said Wednesday. “But first we need to fill other people in, one person in particular, so let's go talk to her right now.”

Teen Wednesday knew immediately who her adult counterpart was referring to. She couldn't say she was very happy about it, but she could understand the pragmatism of the decision.

“We're going to talk to Principal Weems.”

Chapter Text

When Eneit Synklar managed to overcome the disorientation caused by the unexpected interdimensional jump, she almost wished she hadn't.

She had to suppress a gag as her incredibly developed sense of smell was assaulted by an indescribable stench. The air was foul to the point of being almost unbreathable. A stench of chemicals, plastics, pollution, and burnt toxic materials permeated the atmosphere.

Managing to control herself so as not to vomit, something a warrior like her would consider quite embarrassing, the next thing she noticed was Taylor Galpin's voice next to her.

“Where the fuck are we?” asked the Hyde.

And it was a good question, indeed. Or at least that's what the barbarian werewolf princess thought as she glanced around.

The place where they had found themselves was unlike anything they had ever seen before. Eneit had seen worlds far more technologically advanced than her own since she had met her friends and variants from the multiverse, but this place would certainly have been strange even to them.

However, she couldn't spend too much time observing when Taylor muttered a name in a tone of voice that was both pitiful and terrifying.

“Weds?”

Eneit turned around and saw her companion spinning in circles, looking frantically in all directions, searching for someone she couldn't find. The lycanthrope knew immediately what was happening.

Taylor Galpin was a Hyde who had found her mistress naturally, something that greatly helped keep her more monstrous side under control.

But her mistress, the Wednesday Addams known as Pup, was not there with them.

Oh, oh.

“Weds!” Taylor shouted, breathless with panic, “Wednesday!”

“Friend Taylor!” exclaimed Eneit, placing her hands on the other woman's shoulders and holding her still. Easier said than done, because despite her smaller size, Taylor was almost as strong as the lycanthrope. And everything seemed to indicate that she would soon be bigger, as her eyes had begun to bulge and her skin had turned grayish.

“Wednesday!” she screamed, revealing sharp teeth beneath her lips. “Where is sHe? wHere IS WeDs?” The last question was as much a cry of fear as it was a roar of rage born from it.

“Taylor, calm down!” ordered the lycanthrope in a firm but gentle voice as she exerted more force to keep the other woman still, “Your Lady Wednesday is simply in another universe. She is surely safe, accompanied by one of our other companions or even one of her own variants. Please, focus, take a deep breath, and stay in control…”

Somehow, her words had struck a chord with the Hyde's rational side. Or at least they had partially done so: Taylor was still halfway transformed, to the point that her clothes had begun to tear in places. But the rest of the monstrous metamorphosis had stopped, at least for the moment.

“I caN't fEel heR...” said Taylor, with a pitiful growl, “I can alWAys feEl her, evEn wHen we're fAr aPart, but from ONe uniVerse to anoTher, I can't...”

“Lady Taylor,” said Eneit, “She will be all right. Trust our family, for that is what we all are. Now, I need you to remain calm and stay with me, for if you recall the words of the nefarious entity that threw us here, another Wednesday and this entire reality are in danger.”

“A Wednesday I don't care AboUT wHile mine IS lost God knoWs wheRe,” grumbled Taylor.

“Mayhap. But given the circumstances, and knowing that Lady Pup, your Wednesday, is in the same situation as us... What do you think she would do?”

Taylor fixed her enormous eyes on Eneit for a moment, her brow furrowed, before finally relenting and lowering her gaze in embarrassment.

“She wOUld save her. And she would waNt me to do the sAMe for the ONE here.”

“And that's exactly what we'll do,” said Eneit, “Are you with me, friend Taylor?”

Taylor nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Her skin regained its healthy pink tone, her eyes returned to their normal size. The claws on her fingers turned back into nails, and the muscle mass on her body shrank, returning her to the tall, slender woman she usually was.

“Okay, okay,” she said, taking another deep breath and exhaling forcefully. “I'm better, I feel better… I think I can control myself...” she added, patting one of Eneit's hands gently. She was still holding the Hyde by the shoulders.

The werewolf nodded, letting go of the woman and turning around to look around again. “Well, I hope you have some suggestions, because I don't even know where to start.”

With her mind more focused, her reason holding down her Hyde instincts like a shackle, and trying to ignore the emptiness in her soul caused by being separated from Pup, Taylor allowed herself to take a good look around.

They were clearly on the roof of one of the skyscrapers, although obviously not the tallest, as half a dozen others could be seen rising into the sky. Swarms of what appeared to be vehicles flew in controlled chaos, following routes and paths that were apparently marked but invisible to the eye. The sound they made mingled with the noise of the wind and the music and advertising jingles echoing from multiple loudspeakers.

The sides of the buildings were covered with huge neon signs, illuminated billboards, screens, and what looked like holographic projections. Many of them were clearly advertisements, filling the space between the skyscrapers or projected high into the sky, flooding it with an artificial glow that made it impossible to see the stars. Many of the signs also appeared to be the names of corporations and companies that owned the gigantic towers of steel, glass, concrete, and neon. The vast majority seemed to be written in Chinese or Japanese, but others still used the Western alphabet, and among them Taylor recognized a name from the many stories shared with Wednesday and Enid.

[[ CRACKSTONE CORP. ]]

Shit, that can't be good, she thought.

Taylor turned around to begin an exchange of ideas with Eneit, but the question she was about to ask died on her lips when she saw how the werewolf was on high alert, with her claws extended and her muscles tense, staring up at the sky.

Specifically, she was looking at the two vehicles floating in the air about fifteen meters above them. Taylor almost jumped out of her skin in surprise. How had she not heard them coming?

They were made of shiny black metal that reflected all the light from the city around them. Their shape resembled what one would expect from some kind of futuristic, unnaturally silent, floating motorcycle, but there were no riders visible on them, and Taylor was pretty sure that what could be seen on the front were some kind of guns.

Suddenly, a mechanical voice emanated from the vehicles as two intense spotlights turned on, shining down on the women: “UNAUTHORIZED OUTCAST PRESENCE!”

“That doesn't sound great,” Taylor whispered, letting her instincts run wild again. Her eyes bulged once more and her skin turned gray in an instant.

“Certainly,” Eneit replied, discreetly moving her hand to her back, where she kept a hidden axe covered with special runes under her fur cloak.

The machines, drones, continued talking, their mechanical voices booming in unison: “PLEASE, GET ON YOUR KNEES IN SUBMISSION AND WAIT FOR YOUR IMMINENT EXECUTION!”

“Plan?” whispered Taylor, pretending to kneel.

“Transform. We can't fight head-on without knowing more, so we have to run.”

“Time to jump off the edge, then,” replied the Hyde. They hadn't spotted any way to get inside the skyscraper they were standing on. At least, none that they could see. So...

“NOW!” exclaimed Eneit as she threw her axe with supernatural strength. The object flew through the air, spinning and gaining speed, and struck one of the drones. The force of the blow and the magical properties of the weapon were enough to send the axe through the metal as if it were hot butter. The drone exploded in a ball of fire and the shockwave from the explosion momentarily disoriented the other one, causing it to tumble through the air.

Taylor had completely transformed. Her torn clothes fell to her feet, but her body was still covered by a suit similar to the one Enid sometimes wore, a special fabric used as underwear that adapted to the changing morphologies of its owners if they could alternate between a human form and another that was less so. Eneit jumped onto the back of the now much larger Hyde, grabbing hold of her thick mane while cursing the fact that she couldn't count on a full moon to even the odds.

“Run, friend Taylor! Run!”

And Taylor ran, with Eneit on her back like an Amazonian rider, heading straight for the edge of the flat roof. Her earlier assumptions proved correct when the drone opened fire on them. The Hyde dodged the shots, zigzagging across the roof, and Eneit could see that the projectiles were some kind of darts as they bounced off the hard concrete.

Finally, Taylor reached the edge and jumped without thinking. Eneit let out a howl that was equal parts panic and joy as they fell into the abyss.

Except that wasn't the case. They were so high up that they couldn't see the ground, hidden by what appeared to be clouds or fog and the swarm of flying vehicles. It was on top of one of those vehicles, a large, square-shaped one filled with normie passengers, that Taylor landed. Through the glass, the Hyde and the she-wolf could see the horrified faces of dozens of individuals dressed in bizarre clothing, some of it semi-transparent or as luminous as the advertising billboards. Others were visibly naked, with parts of their bodies strategically covered by holographic projections acting as moving garments.

That and the rest of their appearance suggested that the vast majority were, if not wealthy, at least given to excess.

The Hyde ran on top of the vehicle, ignoring the panicked screams, and jumped off again, landing on another transport. And another, and another. Ascending and descending throughout the swarm of flying machines, on more than one occasion nearly getting run over in mid-jump, always dodging the shots from the drone that pursued them with admirable relentlessness.

“UNAUTHORIZED OUTCAST PRESENCE IN SECTOR ALEPH! REQUESTING REINFORCEMENTS! CITIZENS' COOPERATION IS REQUIRED!”

Eneit cursed not having any more axes handy. For a moment, she considered jumping onto the machine to see if her claws could do anything against its vile metal. But the appearance of three more drones dissuaded her. She had no guarantee that a frontal attack would achieve anything, and while she was busy with a single opponent, the other three could flank her...

“Taylor! We have to try to throw them off our trail so we can set up an ambush!” exclaimed the werewolf. “We must descend into the fog!”

“Oh, I wouldn't recommend that, it's highly corrosive if you don't use the proper protective gear,” said a voice out of nowhere.

Eneit and Taylor turned in surprise to see a male figure flying alongside them on what appeared to be a floating board. The newcomer was dressed entirely in black, wearing a suit that looked like flexible military-style armor but very heterogeneous in design, as if someone had assembled it from pieces of different models. He was covered by a black hooded coat, from which curly black hair peeked out. His face was hidden by a mask with air filters and dark glasses with a faint reddish glow.

It was impossible to determine his age from his appearance, but his voice sounded young despite the filter covering his face.

“If you'll give me a moment...” said the stranger as he extended his arm. In a flash of light, a weapon materialized in his hand as if it had been conjured. It was a strange-looking rifle that seemed to hum with barely contained energy. The hooded man spun around, doing a somersault in the air to turn toward the drones, and fired...

“Eeny…”

The drone flying ahead was engulfed in an electrical discharge after being hit by something resembling a plasma projectile before exploding.

“…meeny…”

A second shot rang out and a second drone fell in the same way as the first.

“…miny…”

Another twirl in the air, dodging a barrage of shots from the drones. Another blast from his rifle, firing a blue-glowing plasma projectile that hit the third drone dead center. It exploded with such force that its remains hit the fourth and final drone flying alongside it, causing the last machine to crash onto the rooftop in a cloud of flames, sparks, and screeching metal.

“…and fucking moe.”

The last drone was still “conscious,” if that word could be used to describe its state. The machine, immobilized, continued to screech as the stranger climbed down from his board and began to walk calmly toward it.

“FUGITIVE G.A/11-19-93 IDENTIFIED! FUGITIVE G.A/11-19-93 IDENTIFIED! CEASE RESISTANCE AND SURRENDER YOUR WEAPONS!”

“Damn, they're programming you worse and worse,” laughed the hooded man, pointing his weapon at the immobilized drone. “What makes you think you're in any position to demand anything, you pile of junk?”

“FUGITIVE G.A/11-19-93 IDENTIFIED! FUGITIVE G.A/11-…!”

The audio stopped abruptly, once again with a single shot destroying what remained of the drone's operating systems.

Eneit and the still-transformed Taylor watched as the hooded man simply turned his back to the fallen machine before it exploded into a ball of flames, walking away from it with an almost lazy and apathetic demeanor, allowing the weapon in his hand to dissolve back into fragments of light.

He coughed a little.

“And the name is Glicker,” he said, “Joel Glicker.”

Chapter Text

October 15, 19XX.

The rain fell like a curtain of tears.

It had been pouring nonstop since early morning, cascading from a permanently gray sky and forming rivers that ran through the streets. And yet it was impossible for it to wash away the filth of the city, eliminate the traces of decay in the air, or purify the corruption that permeated every corner.

The city was like an elusive and cunning lover, a chameleon that adorned itself with tinsel and glamour during the day to lure unsuspecting victims with its ill-fated siren song. But the shadows of the night revealed its true nature: a human dunghill built on a foundation of broken promises, destroyed souls, ruined lives, and spilled blood.

It was a wild animal, beautiful and horrible in equal measure. If you weren't careful, it would catch you in its jaws and never let you go.

She had lost count of how many broken people she had encountered in her line of work. Young, enthusiastic girls excited about starting a career that would lead them to stardom, only to find themselves thrown into utter degradation, struggling to survive day to day. Enterprising young men obsessed with making a fortune or a name for themselves, turned into mere cogs in a machine well-oiled with their forgotten dreams.

There weren't many other options. Not when the powers that be were always at the service of whoever was currently in charge in the ongoing cold war between the major organized crime families.

Not when the police were little more than another organized gang.

She had no illusions about it, she knew what she was getting into when she rebelled and took the badge.

And even so...

Sometimes, just sometimes, a few managed to get by. Or at least find a place they could call their own without compromising their convictions or their spirit. Strange but true, even in that piece of hell spewed onto Earth, you could find good souls just trying to live their lives. Those were the reasons why she had ultimately persisted in her work, the reasons why, even in the cesspool of corruption that was the police department, there were still people like her and her partner trying to fight the good fight.

But those good people were also the ones who seemed to pay the highest price in that place. At least that was the impression she couldn't help but have as she let the taste of nicotine flood her throat while her lungs burned, ignoring the rain on the balcony of a forgotten apartment, her mind returning cyclically to the grotesque scene that a monster had orchestrated in the room behind her, lost in thought, trying to figure out what...

“Are you in another one of your internal pseudo monologues about how life is full of nihilistic shit?”

Wednesday Addams, homicide detective, turned around, letting the smoke from her cigarette escape through her nostrils in a frustrated exhalation that gave her a draconian look, focusing her gaze on the person who was her partner in more ways than one.

“No, just thinking about the case,” she replied, causing the newcomer to let out a quiet snort.

Wednesday would never cease to be amazed by the oddity and contradiction that was Detective Enid Sinclair.

Baby blue eyes that looked at everything with a sense of wonder that was occasionally unnerving, a suit so colorful that it almost broke the department's dress code and made her a walking, shining target. And an attitude of optimism that bordered on the pathological.

But Enid was also one of the few werewolves with a license to use her abilities in public outside of the designated areas, she had a capacity for violence on a scale that could turn the stomachs of some of the most veteran agents, and she was the only person capable of working with Wednesday Addams without developing long-term psychological scars.

If only because, in many ways, Enid was essentially an Addams in all but name.

The she-wolf had stepped out onto the balcony, carrying two disposable paper cups filled with hot coffee, covered with plastic lids, which were the only thing preventing the rain from spoiling them.

“You're going to catch a cold out here,” said Detective Sinclair, offering one of the coffees to her partner, “Maybe even pneumonia, one of those nasty ones where you end up coughing up pieces of your lungs.”

“Promises, promises,” replied Detective Addams, taking the cup in her hands and dropping the finished cigarette down onto the wet street, “Do we have any news?”

Detective Sinclair turned her head, looking through the large window into the well-lit interior of the apartment, where members of the forensic unit were finishing up their work. "They're almost done cataloging everything... just doing a final check, I guess. Before we remove the bodies, I mean,“ said the she-wolf. She took a sip of coffee before continuing, ”The neighbor, Mrs. Burton, has talked. We have the names and at least a possible time frame for the victims' last know movements..."

“Thrill me.”

“Walton and Eleanor Astin, 24 and 22 years old respectively, recently married, both from Rhode Island,” Detective Sinclair began, her voice taking on a clinical tone. "They're clean, at least as far as we know at the moment. He worked at the Warrington cannery and she was teaching sewing at a workshop on the corner of Carver and Clinton. No criminal record, not even traffic tickets, and no known ties to organized crime. Oh, and they're both normies, so we can rule out a hate crime."

“Warrington has occasionally been used as a cover for smuggling by the Frattelli and Munster families,” observed Detective Addams, “Although not recently, and if he was just a low-ranking worker...”

“New employee. If there was any underground business going on, they wouldn't have involved him, too risky.”

“Well, then we can also rule out a settling of scores. The modus operandi in those cases is usually cleaner.”

Of course, “clean” was not the word one could use to describe the crime scene. The mutilation the victims had been subjected to was grotesque, with dismembered limbs and remains scattered throughout the main room of the small apartment, the only exception being their missing heads. Blood spattered the floor, walls, and ceiling in multiple spots.

“What else did the neighbor tell us?” asked Addams, taking another sip of coffee.

“She last saw them when they met at the elevator door around four in the afternoon. She was leaving to run some errands and they were coming home. Mrs. Burton returned at half past five and said she heard what sounded like an angry conversation coming from their apartment, although she couldn't make out the words.”

“A hard-of-hearing gossip, great.”

“Now comes the interesting part,” Sinclair continued. "Mrs. Burton says she heard the apartment door open and close twice, about ten minutes apart, between quarter to six and six o'clock. She heard a noise similar to a roar and screams during that time frame, and the sound of hurried footsteps toward the stairs at five past six. We've combed the area, but there are no footprints or traces of blood outside the apartment."

“And she didn't see anything?” asked Addams.

“She didn't dare look, she was too scared,” replied Sinclair. “After a few minutes, she called the police. That was around quarter past six.”

“Hmm...”

Detective Sinclair looked at her partner with a curious glance, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“You don't think it was him, do you?” she asked. “Normally you'd be more... ah... fired up if you thought this was one of his.”

Detective Addams shook her head. “No, I don't think it was Galpin.”

“Well, it fits his pattern... mutilated bodies, body parts taken as trophies...”

“But there are inconsistencies,” said Addams, “Galpin's condition makes him unpredictable; there is a wild randomness to his murders. They tend to take place in open, remote locations. On the few occasions when he has killed someone in a closed environment, we have found clear signs of forced entry. And we know that he always operates at night.”

“And here, on the other hand, we have a double murder in broad daylight... what little daylight there is with these clouds...” continued Sinclair, “No signs of forced entry into the house...”

“And the arrangement of the bodies,” said Addams, “I suppose you noticed that.”

Sinclair nodded, “It seems random. Key word: seems.”

“This was premeditated and planned. Brutal but calculated and designed to resemble one of the scenes from one of the murders committed by the serial killer Hyde,” said Addams. “But it wasn't him. Galpin has clean claws in this.”

“A copycat?”

“Yes and no,” Addams continued. “A pure copycat would have been just as spontaneous, or would have tried to be. The scene would have been natural, more clumsy. No... I think we have two possibilities here.”

“Someone with a specific motive to kill the Astins trying to throw us off the trail,” said Detective Sinclair, “Making the crime scene look like something it's not.”

“That's option A. The other is that we're dealing with another budding serial killer who is trying to imitate the aesthetic of a fellow practitioner, either to cover their tracks or out of some twisted admiration. But the bodies and other remains have been placed in overly visible positions; whoever did this was consciously trying to achieve the most grotesque result possible. So it wasn't Galpin, I'd bet on that.”

“What delightful individuals we encounter in this line of work.”

 “It's one of its perks, I suppose,” said Addams, “That's how I met you, wasn't it?”

“Did you just compare me to brutal serial killers?” Sinclair laughed.

“I've seen you covered in the blood and guts of others, lobita. And you've always been ravishing.”

“Someone's getting a good bite tonight,” said the she-wolf, in a tone that didn't indicate a threat at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Er... Detectives?”

The two, slightly annoyed, turned to see a member of the forensic team stepping out onto the balcony where they were standing. “We're done, at least with the initial examination, and we're going to proceed with the removal of the pieces... I mean, the bodies,” said the individual, clearly nervous beneath the face mask covering his nose and mouth. "Oh, and the janitor called. Someone wants to talk to you in the lobby."

“Another witness?” asked Addams.

The forensics guy shrugged, “No idea, ma'am. I was just told it's important.”

Wednesday finished the last of her coffee in one gulp and lit another cigarette, getting ready to leave the apartment with Detective Sinclair following close behind.

“If pneumonia doesn't kill you, those things will,” said the werewolf.

“My lungs yearn for the tar in tobacco.”

When they reached the lobby, Wednesday frowned as she immediately recognized who was waiting for them. Standing in the middle of the room, his silhouette bathed in the flashing red and blue lights of the patrol cars parked at the building's entrance, was a tall, thin young man. He was exquisitely dressed in a tailored black and gray striped suit. His smile, crowned by a well-groomed, thin mustache, was broad and sincere, though slightly mischievous when he saw the two detectives.

“Sister! Miss Sinclair!”

“Hey, Pugsley,” Detective Sinclair greeted him, slightly concerned about what the young lawyer's presence might mean. His visits were almost never out of courtesy, as he was not only a member of the Addams Family, one of the city's most notorious criminal clans, but also their chief legal advisor and consigliere.

“Pugsley, what are you doing here?” asked Wednesday, not bothering to hide her irritation at her brother's presence.

“I came with Lurch. The car is waiting,” said Pugsley, “I came to take you home. A family matter has come up.”

“You know very well that I have no interest in getting involved in family business, Pug,” replied Detective Addams, “Isn't it enough for you to have Thorpe on your payroll to report back to you on how I'm doing at the station?”

“Ah, the family matter in question has nothing to do with business, big sister,” said Pugsley, “It's something more personal, complicated, and... well, frankly strange even by our standards.”

“Okay, that has to be fucking kooky,” muttered Sinclair.

“Indeed, and since I know you would be skeptical about this... allow me to introduce you to one of the guests who arrived at our house this morning,” said Pugsley, stepping aside.

From behind him, they could see a figure approaching that they hadn't noticed until then. Detective Sinclair's eyes widened in surprise, and Detective Addams almost dropped the cigarette from her lips as she tried to process what was in front of her.

It was a young woman, about twenty-something. She was wearing a simple dark blue dress, and her long black hair was pulled back into braided pigtails, framing a pale face that was both familiar and strange.

“What the…?” muttered Detective Addams.

“Weds… why does that lady smell like you?” whispered Sinclair, “I mean. . . and the resemblance. . . she can't be you, but she is you. She feels like you."

The young woman crossed her arms, looking at them with an expression of satisfied and calculated calm, with an unnerving smile. “Let's get straight to the point. My name is Wednesday Friday Addams. But for convenience, you can use the nickname Shark to refer to me. And yes, I am you. Sort of.”

“It's complicated,” added Pugsley, clearly enjoying the surreal nature of the scene.

Detective Addams took a deep drag on her cigarette, her brow furrowed and her gaze fixed on what appeared to be a younger replica of herself, with some marked differences in her facial features but who could be none other than another Wednesday Addams. All her instincts were screaming this at her.

“Congratulations, Pugsley,” she said, exhaling smoke as she spoke, “It's been a long time since you've left me so flabbergasted with news.”

“Wow,” said the young woman suddenly, leaning forward as if sniffing the air around the detectives, “When they told me you were police officers, I found it hard to believe, but at least I'm glad to see you're not the boring kind.”

The girl's smile revealed her teeth, her mouth suddenly resembling that of a shark, worthy of her nickname.

“You both smell like a lot of blood, and it's not yours. This is going to be interesting.”

Chapter Text

Most people used to associate horror with darkness, sinister-looking places, dilapidated old houses, graveyards, or other places associated with death, etc. It was also reasonable to assume that the most prejudiced normies would undoubtedly apply the same reasoning when referring to Nevermore, given the Gothic construction of the building and its student population made up of what many human cultures had labeled as monsters.

But despite that, Nevermore was most of the time not so different from any other school. Yes, it had its more peculiar traditions and some subjects in the curriculum that would raise eyebrows among people who didn't depend on hemoglobin in their diet or undergo monthly transformations due to the lunar cycle.

But it was a school after all, with teenagers just being teenagers, no matter what species they belonged to.

And on that day, it was a school bathed in the rays of the sun on a clear, bright morning, with cool breezes carrying the scent of flowers in full spring frenzy. An ideal day, colorful and bright. The kind of day that would give the average Addams family member hives. But for Saint-Clair, an obnoxiously sunny day like this was just a good excuse for a trip to the lake (partly because the best way to improve Willa's mood on a day like this was the promise of trying to drown Pugsley).

A beautiful day, in short.

And despite that, despite the familiarity of Nevermore (not her Nevermore, but a Nevermore nonetheless) and the beauty of the day, all her feline instincts were on high alert, screaming at her that somehow, something was very wrong.

And she was pretty sure it had everything to do with the equally obnoxious guide who had attached herself to them without asking.

When she regained control of her senses after the Jump and the nausea subsided, the first thing Enid Saint-Clair did was to ascertain where she was and who she was with.

Her companion was Needler. Saint-Clair was a little sad that she wasn't with her Willa, but Needler was good company and was surely already hatching good ideas to deal with this Morningstar guy. As for the location, they were on one of the outer edges of Nevermore, adjacent to the entrance to the greenhouse. Normally, it was a relatively secluded and empty place outside of class hours, which would have allowed for some discretion upon their arrival. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

“OMG! Who are you guys?!”

There was a girl there, and Saint-Clair was pretty sure she hadn't been there a few seconds ago. As if she had appeared out of nowhere. But she couldn't figure out how she had done it.

It felt as if she had always been there, waiting for them.

All of Saint-Clair's senses went on high alert. At first glance, there seemed to be nothing unusual about the girl, except perhaps for a couple of peculiarities, such as her platinum blonde hair adorned with multicolored streaks, her heterochromia (one eye blue and the other red), and her Nevermore uniform, which was an unexpected pink color instead of the usual dark purple... but there was something about the girl that made her hair stand on end. Her smile seemed sincere, but there was something artificial about it, as if it were constructed and rehearsed. Her eyes sparkled brightly, but... it was as if they were reflecting light from a non-existent spotlight.

There was no sign of danger, not even the slightest trace of teeth or claws or anything similar, and yet from the first second her gaze fell on the girl, Saint-Clair couldn't help but perceive her as something to be avoided. If she had allowed herself to be dominated purely by her instincts, as she had when she was a teenager, she would have either run away or try to disembowel the stranger.

Out of the corner of her eye, the werecat could see Needler tensing up as well. The Addams didn't have the same animal senses as her, but she was still an Addams, and specifically a Wednesday, which meant she could undoubtedly see or perceive even more than Saint-Clair if she wanted to.

While both of them were still debating internally how to proceed, the stranger focused her attention on Needler.

“Oooh, you look a lot like Nessie,” she said, her voice resonating with a sweet and strangely intoxicating tone. Hearing her speak was relaxing, but in a way that felt unreal, as if something was entering you and making you feel safe against your will. Like an unwanted drug.

“Nessie?” Needler muttered, barely suppressing the nervous tic that was about to form in one of her eyelids.

“Yes, Nessie!” said the girl. “Well, her name is Wednesday, but I call her Nessie because it's much prettier. She's one of my best friends in the whole world! Are you related? And you!” she continued, with almost manic hyperactivity, this time fixing her gaze on Saint-Clair. “You look just like Nini, but with different hair and waaaaay older!”

“I'm going to assume that Nini is an Enid,” muttered Saint-Clair.

“Do you know her too?” asked the girl, excitedly. “Oh! Are you related too? Because if you are, then I'm related to you too!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I haven't introduced myself!” she laughed, tapping herself gently on the head. “Silly me! Silly me! I'm Nini's cousin, M̵͔̪͒̑̾̾͗̀a̸̳͖̪͆̀̃r̵̝̺̫̔̕ỳ̶̱̣͖͇̰ͅ ̶̝̣̀S̴͙͓̙̑́͜͝ų̷̝̜̳͑̌̈́͜ę̷̡͎̟̾̀͛̔͘ ̴̪̏̃̋̕ Sinclair!”

“Enid's cousin?” asked Saint-Clair.

“Not one that we know of, anyway,” said Needler, before turning her attention to the girl, "You see, we're here because... well, it's a strange, long, and complicated story, but it's imperative that we speak with Wednesday…”

“Nessie!” Mary Sue interrupted. Her smile never faltered or seemed forced, but the aura of danger around her seemed to spike for a second, and Saint-Clair could have sworn that the teenager's eyes had flashed gold.

“...that we speak with Nessie,” Needler continued, with a slightly more cautious tone in her voice, “She is potentially in significant danger, and we are here to provide assistance.”

“No!” exclaimed Mary Sue, covering her mouth with her hands in an expression of dismayed horror. “My Nessie is in danger!? That can't be! Follow me, follow me!”

And she ran off. For a split second, both of them could have sworn that the girl had left a rainbow trail behind her as she ran, but it was undoubtedly an optical illusion. Mary Sue stopped when she reached the school entrance and turned back toward them. Under the pillars of the door, shrouded in shadows, her eyes seemed to glow with an unearthly light that was nothing like any of them had ever seen in the eyes of werewolves.

Or in any other creature they knew, for that matter.

Mary Sue smiled at them, her teeth unnaturally perfect, “Are you going to follow me, slowpokes?”

Needler and Saint-Clair exchanged a brief glance before nodding, beginning to walk behind their new guide.

The interior of Nevermore and the quad were unusually lively. Perhaps it was between classes or a weekend; they had no way of knowing. But the place was flooded with students and a few teachers going about their business.

On the way to Ophelia Hall, while their guide continued rambling on about how “Nessie,” “Nini,” and she had an unbreakable bond and how they had faced all kinds of challenges and adventures, Saint-Clair devoted herself to observe her surroundings. She noticed that the students who were furthest away from them seemed to be either slightly disoriented or surreptitiously keeping their attention on Mary Sue, with a certain air of apprehension and uncertainty.

But as soon as they entered the girl's orbit, it was all smiles and friendliness. Too many smiles and too much friendliness. The three of them could barely move forward without being interrupted by students stopping them to say hello to Mary Sue, or to shower her with compliments, or to thank her for... well, basically for existing. It was as if, upon reaching a certain distance from the girl, something compelled them to gravitate toward her as if she were the center of their respective universes. At least, that was the impression the students gave by the way they looked at her.

So you noticed too, said a familiar voice echoing in her head.

Needler? thought Saint-Clair, glancing quickly at the Addams scientist beside her, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

Telepathy, I don't use it often. I find it easier to read minds than to project my thoughts into others to establish communication, she explained, but I think it's wise that you and I can talk discreetly without our effusive guide noticing.

Sounds reasonable. There's something damn περίεργο about all this, thought the werecat.

Of course. I suspect that we are dealing with a case of a universe infected by a parasitic metanarrative entity.

…the fuck?

This universe we've ended up in shows signs of being part of a cluster of metanarrative realities.

Needler, you're losing me, explain it to me as if I were stupid.

The scientist let out a faint sigh that was drowned out by Mary Sue's incessant chatter (who was apparently explaining that she was not only Enid's cousin but also Wednesday's distant cousin and a secret Addams, and that she was actually half werewolf and half vampire, and something about prophecies that...).

You know we've been able to determine that the universes of Friday and Shark obey different degrees of what we might call... cartoon logic, right?

Yes, yes... we don't perceive them as such, but technically their realities, and by extension they themselves, are like living cartoons, replied Saint-Clair.

Well, I believe, and I dare to say, that this universe we find ourselves in obeys an internal logic based on a metanarrative that has its roots in fanaticism.

Saint-Clair frowned, digesting those words.

Wait a minute... Are you telling me that this universe is... a fucking fanfic?

Most likely.

Holy shit, Needler, this is really fucked up, lamented Saint-Clair, And a bit of a headache.

Not only that, it's a universe infected by a parasitic entity that hijacks the laws of narrative for its own benefit: our new “friend” Mary Sue.

I've been noticing something strange about her since we got here, thought Saint-Clair, As if she were a constant danger, but there doesn't seem to be anything overtly dangerous about her...

Don't follow that line of thinking and keep your guard up, interrupted Needler, I believe our extra-dimensional origin has shielded us from her influence, but I fear that this immunity is temporary and that our prolonged presence in this reality could compromise us.

Well, we're screwed... What's the plan?

The basics are the same. Follow Morningstar's orders, even though it irritates me to be involved in this against my will and separated from my family.

Okay, find Nessie... shit, the local Wednesday, and protect her from those Normalcy Nine agents... thought Saint-Clair, Hey, are we sure this Mary Sue has nothing to do with them?

Do you think the term “normal” can be applied to this entity? asked Needler.

Yeah, that was a dumb question. Forget it.

Once our mission is accomplished, it is imperative that we leave as soon as our dimensional devices are working again, Needler insisted, We must minimize our presence in this place and avoid unnecessary interactions. I'm afraid that our act to save this world will be merely a temporary measure while this entity remains present. They feed on the energy generated by the cognitive and emotional abilities of those around them until they consume everything.

Find the local Wednesday, protect her so that her world isn't wiped out of existence, and get the hell out of there. Understood, thought Saint-Clair, going over the plan again in her head. She was nervous. If the situation was as Needler described, it was going to be easier said than done.

I insist, it's important, Needler repeated, We must prioritize discretion and avoid at all costs letting this Mary Sue follow our trail. A creature like that surely has the means to jump from one reality to another...

“We're here!” Mary Sue exclaimed. The sudden increase in the volume of her voice interrupted the mental dialogue between the two visitors. Needler and Saint-Clair recognized the entrance to Ophelia Hall and the old tower where they knew Wednesday and Enid's room was located. It seemed that in that universe, that constant remained unchanged.

“Nessie and Nini are almost always in their room when they don't have classes,‘’ explained Mary Sue. ”They don't go out much; they know I like to know where I can find them at any time!"

And that's not terrifying or anything, thought Saint-Clair.

Shhh!

Mary Sue looked at them, her smile ever present. She tilted her head in a dog-like gesture of curiosity and leaned forward, bringing her face close to theirs. Once again, they could appreciate the perfection and exquisite beauty of her features, although they were also very normal features that could not be described in any extraordinary way, but that was precisely what made them the most beautiful on...

Saint-Clair frowned slightly. She felt as if she were about to get a migraine.

Mary Sue's attention instantly focused on her, looking at her with interest and a twinkle in her eyes.

“Hmm, you both look very serious,” she said.

“It's just that... well...” stammered Saint-Clair, “Our mission is very important, you know?”

“Mmm, mmm, yes,” said Mary Sue, nodding, “But missions and adventures should always be faced with a smile. That way they're more fun. And I like to see people smile!”

She looked back at Saint-Clair, this time with something almost predatory in her sweet, perfect two-colored gaze.

“Would you smile for me, p̵̩̲̟̹̲̾͑̍́ l̸̛̫͆̆̆͝ e̵̲͙̪̲͘ à̵̪̣̝͒ s̵̭͔̣͋̅̐ ĕ̶̘̔̿̀?” she asked, in the most adorable (bloodcurdling) voice Saint-Clair had ever heard.

And much to her horror, Enid Saint-Clair felt the muscles around her mouth twitch against her will, moving into a smile.

Mary Sue had asked her to, and she couldn't say no.

Chapter Text

And to think that the day had started so well.

She had woken up with the sunrise, before her alarm clock had to go off. This used to be the norm for her before the stress of her double life took its toll in recent years, throwing crisis after crisis at her. One might think that someone with her metabolism wouldn't need much sleep, but while her body could probably go weeks without sleep, her mind and sanity were another story.

So getting a good night's sleep, resting, and waking up relaxed with the sunrise was definitely a good sign. It was going to be a good day.

Breakfast seemed to confirm it. The eggs were perfect, the bacon was just right, and she could almost feel the vitamins recharging her body as she gulped down half a liter of orange juice.

And after that, off to work. A quick scan allowed her to relax, seeing that there were no unusual emergencies requiring her presence, so she allowed herself the luxury of taking the subway and letting herself be embraced by a little humanity.

Smelly humanity. Okay, yes, her super senses were still a burden on the subway. But not even that could ruin her good mood that morning.

She arrived early for work. So early that Charlie, the security guard in the lobby, hadn't even finished his first coffee.

“Miss Sinclair!”

“Good morning, Charlie!”

“You're early today. Weems just went upstairs with the editorial staff to start monitoring the news. And she's in a bad mood.”

“When isn't she?” laughed Enid Sinclair, unassuming star reporter, her abnormally large glasses almost falling off her nose.

Larissa Weems, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Poe, was a legend in the world of journalism. She was a perfectionist, relentless, and old school. She had a very bitter sense of humor and a capacity for verbal destruction as legendary as some of her old investigative pieces. Over time, though, you learned that this was a sign that she liked you. If she didn't like you, that's when she treated you with obsequious kindness.

Fortunately, Weems didn't need her to follow up on any news that morning, nor did she have anything new to assign her, unless a last-minute emergency arose. Enid already had her assignment and her day was going to be mainly spent checking her sources for the investigative article on GatesCorp and their new arms contract. Enid knew from experience and past run-ins with Gates that there was surely more to the story than met the eye.

That was the plan for what was going to be her morning. Make a few calls, maybe a visit here and there, organize all her notes, and get the article ready for publication next Monday, just in time for the official announcement from GatesCorp. Enid smiled at her small desk, letting the sound of the increasingly loud rumbling of the newspaper surround her.

Some of the veterans still used typewriters, and the sound relaxed her. It had always been that way since...

Suddenly, screams.

In the distance, blocks away.

Lots of screams.

And explosions. And something metallic and...

Oh.

Oh, those were impact echoes.

Footsteps.

Something heavy moving and...

The door to Weems' office slammed open. The editor-in-chief, a towering woman with short blonde hair, burst out like a force of nature, followed by the editors and department heads. “All emergency channels are flashing red! I need someone on the Sonnenfeld Avenue yesterday! Julia! Huston! Keep this organized... and Sinclair! I need you to… Where the hell is Sinclair!?”

Her only answer was an empty desk and a chair still spinning as if someone had gotten up from it very quickly.

§§§

And to think that the day had started so well.

That was the thought that crossed Enid Sinclair's mind for a few seconds, before she crushed it under the weight of her own sense of responsibility, leaving her civilian clothes behind as she flew out of a skylight on the roof of the Daily Poe, without her glasses, her hair loose instead of tied back in her trademark ponytail, and wrapped in the outfit for which she was known throughout the world.

Superwolf, the Last Werewolf of Krypton.

Yes, the greatest heroine on earth was an alien version of a monster that humans still made horror movies about.

Don't think too hard about it.

It took her barely a minute to reach the scene. She could have been faster and arrived in seconds, but the energy generated by the speed of that movement would surely have caused structural damage to more than one building. As soon as she arrived, she got a clear answer about what was happening: a giant humanoid robot was floating in the air, right in the middle of the avenue between the skyscrapers, firing heat rays that seemed to melt the metal and glass around it.

“Where the hell did you come from?” muttered Superwolf. The android's design didn't match any of the technology she had encountered in the past courtesy of GatesCorp. Nor did it look like the work of S.T.A.R. Labs' robotics división, it was too old-fashioned in its design, with its bulky torso and atomic symbol engraved in the metal, looking like something that had escaped from the cover of an old pulp magazine from the 1950s.

Deciding that determining the robot's origin was not a priority, Superwolf launched herself forward and swept down the street, clearing straggling civilians from the area. But there were still many in the buildings.

I have to move this thing and get it off the streets, she thought.

Moretz Park has been evacuated, you should have plenty of room there, replied a voice speaking directly to her mind.

Enid smiled, revealing her fangs before flying under the robot and rising vertically to ram it squarely with a powerful blow to the head. Despite its enormous mass, the mechanical being rose like a piece of paper blown by the wind, soaring above the skyscrapers and remaining suspended in the air for a moment before Superwolf slammed into it again, throwing it against the aforementioned park.

The Last Werewolf of Krypton allowed herself a brief respite, watching the gigantic automaton momentarily motionless in the crater that had formed after its impact with the park's surface. Floating beside her in the air, another humanoid figure became visible. It was a male with green skin, bright red eyes, and hair formed by tendrils reminiscent of silent snakes. Enid did not turn to greet him, her attention still focused on the robot.

“Thanks for helping out, Jax.”

“Always a pleasure, Superwolf.”

A'Jax Ptr-Olus, the Martian Gorgon, one of the most powerful heroes on the planet, an exceptional telepath, and one of Enid's oldest friends. The two exiles and last survivors of their respective worlds, trying to help their new home avoid repeating the same mistakes.

“Any idea where our metallic friend came from?” asked the Wolf of Steel.

“Jade Lantern is examining the old League’s database to see if any patterns emerge. But even if she finds nothing, you know how these things go, ” explained A'Jax.

“Yes, yes... it's only a matter of time before the person responsible decides to brag about it,” Enid replied, “Or maybe it's just a distraction to keep me busy.”

“I've taken the liberty of contacting The Rush to ask him to make a few rounds around the city and keep an eye out. Queen Siren and Blood Amazon are busy, but they'll lend a hand if necessary.”

Below them, the robot began to rise, slowly and loudly.

“Ah, I knew it couldn't be that easy,” Enid growled, her face taking on more wolf-like features for a second before lunging again at the giant android.

“Superwolf, wait, I feel..!” exclaimed the Martian Gorgon, but his warning came too late.

The android's head turned 180 degrees as it opened, revealing a luminous visor, a single eye filled with a greenish, putrid glow that struck Superwolf squarely with a beam of emerald energy. The superheroine let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground with a loud thud right at the feet of the recovered mechanical monster.

Stupid! A ray of aconite kryptonite! Since the incident two years ago, many of my weaknesses are public knowledge. I should have anticipated the possibility of something like this!

But this was no time for recriminations. Enid got up, injured and with burns all over her body that were only now beginning to heal thanks to the sun. Despite the immense pain, she managed to move quickly enough to dodge a stomp from her opponent.

A'jax, meanwhile, had thrown himself into the fight, striking the machine's torso and trying to pierce the metal that protected its internal circuits, but suddenly the entire metal surface of the android was engulfed in flames. A'jax backed away from it, letting out a primal scream of horror and falling to the ground as his metamorphic body writhed in panic, unable to maintain a specific form.

Martians have an ancestral phobia of fire, thought Enid, blowing icy wind on the robot to extinguish the flames, Whoever built this thing knows our weaknesses.

The android twisted, turning its torso and breaking the layer of ice that had momentarily formed over it, throwing a punch in the direction of the flying blonde. Enid dodged the blow and immediately avoided another blast of aconite kryptonite. The sickly green beam didn't hit her squarely this time, but its mere proximity made her stomach churn and caused cold sweats and a feeling of lethargy in her body.

I have to be quick... an ascent to recharge with solar energy and then go for an all-in with a single blow.

Her idea was to cause enough damage with a single attack to cripple the machine's defenses so that A'jax could resume his own offense against the robot. It was preferable that they finish it off between the two of them before other members of their team arrived. If that android could adapt so quickly against them...

Enid rose like a rocket.

The robot didn't move.

Despite being able to fly, the machine remained motionless on the ground, watching the Kryptonian she-wolf's movements.

Once above the clouds, Enid immediately felt the direct sunlight recharging her cells and healing the rest of her burns. If it had been night and the sunlight had been reflected by the moon, the effect would have been a hundred times stronger, but one couldn't have everything. Enid turned and prepared to resume the fight. She broke the sound barrier and descended on a direct collision course with the robot. All her senses were focused on it, ready to dodge any possible energy discharge.

But the android didn't move, the cannon-visor hidden in its head didn't open again. It seemed content to wait, turned into a motionless target.

And then, when Superwolf was just fifty meters away, ready to strike the metal shell of her opponent, the robot began to glow. But this time it wasn't flames of fire that covered the entire surface of its metal body. It was a green, devilishly evil glow.

Its entire body was emitting the radiation of aconite kryptonite!

In a split second, Superwolf's eyes widened in horror.

I can't stop! I can't...!

A shadow crossed the air in front of her. A beam of black light formed out of nowhere, almost absorbing the color of everything around it, and opened a sharp gash that nearly decapitated the giant android.

The green glow vanished, and Superwolf rammed into the machine, piercing its torso and crashing to the park floor below.

Fighting off the daze of the impact, Enid spun around and stood up to see the robot with a huge hole in the center of its body. Through the gap, she saw her unexpected rescuer, a male figure clad in black armor that could only be described as demonic. In his hands, he carried a broadsword that seemed to spew shadows as if they were floating tar. They exploded in black fire, fire made of shadows.

The man was in mid-jump...

“FOR THE HOUSE OF ADAMO!” he shouted, as his sword sliced through the air in a vertical stroke that split the robot in two.

Adamo? thought Enid. That almost sounded like...

“Who...?” she whispered.

“I'm very sorry,” said a voice behind her, “I know he looks like a Dark Lord escaped from a high fantasy novel, but Wod is trustworthy. He came with me.”

Enid turned, alarmed. Very few people could surprise her like that without her super-senses detecting their presence. But until she had spoken, Superwolf hadn't realized the other woman was there.

And when she saw her, she felt a lump form in her throat.

It wasn't her, she couldn't be.

The facial features weren't identical. Very similar, true, and even more so with the paleness and choice of hairstyle, but it couldn't be her. Her clothing, dark blue and white, was also slightly more colorful than the usual black and dark gray. And the age didn't match either...

But it feels like it's her.

“Greetings,” said the stranger in a friendly, polite voice. “We're sorry to barge in like this, but we thought you could use some help. And we need to talk with you.”

“Who are you?” Enid managed to say, ignoring the robot falling apart behind her, engulfed in black flames.

“Oh, yes, I know this may seem strange to you. You see, my name is Wednesday Addams.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, you can't be her,” repeated Superwolf, frowning, her eyes flashing red for a moment from the pain of the memory, “Because Wednesday Addams died two years ago.”

Upon hearing those words, it was the newcomer Wednesday, Pup, who couldn't help but frown in sheer dismay.

“Oh. Well, I think that complicates things for us.”

Chapter Text

Sora Toriyama had seen some weird stuff since meeting Vega Addams.

Okay, that statement wasn't entirely fair. Sora had seen strange things her entire life. Living in Jericho with Nevermore nearby was a guarantee of seeing outcast activity from time to time. Of course, being an outcast herself, trying to live like a normie while keeping her abilities as a medium a secret, was also a major factor. Sora had seen more spirits of the recently deceased than she would have liked in her life.

But even with all that, meeting Vega Addams had multiplied the weirdness factor by a hundred. Partly because she was an Addams... but also because Vega was Vega.

A werewolf obsessed with ufology was not something you came across every day.

With Vega, she had dealt with various mysteries, supernatural assassins, a Christmas with the Addams family, the drama of her admission to Nevermore, accidental time travel, and late-night visits to fast food restaurants after unsuccessful UFO hunts. And yet the current situation was on another level, even more surreal than when Vega had accidentally brought one of her mothers' teenage self from the past.

Two strange women, suspiciously similar to Wednesday Addams, had appeared in their room at Nevermore. And yes, Sora may have overreacted a little at first, thinking that Vega was up to her old tricks again, but knowing the previous incidents...

But there was a reason why the new arrivals looked so much like Mrs. Addams.

“Well, the truth is that we look like your mother because...” began the one dressed in pink.

“We are your mother,” interrupted the younger one with the sternest expression, “Technically.”

Vega stared at them with that adorably (wait, Sora, wtf) inquisitive expression of hers, a cross between a frown and a raised eyebrow, while tilting her head in a dog-like manner, sniffing the air around the two women.

“You smell like mother,” said the young Addams, “Old books, dark manors, cold crypts, sharp things, and blood. But in varying degrees... you, for example,” she pointed to the stern-looking one, “There's a lot more blood in you, while she,” she pointed to the pink one, “is more books and crypts.”

The one in pink looked at her companion, “Aren't those exactly the same things Enid said were our scent when she first met us?”

“And you know Mom, too,” said Vega, crossing her arms. “Okay, what’s going on here?”

Sora just nodded silently, watching the scene, impatient for answers.

“Our names are Wednesday Addams,” said the one dressed in pink, “But to avoid confusion, you can refer to me as Friday. And this is Woe,” she said, pointing to her companion, “Don't be alarmed by her attitude, she won't mutilate you without reason.”

“Boredom is a reason,” grumbled Woe.

Sora couldn't help but swallow loudly.

In a way... she could see it? They weren't identical to Vega's mother, but the young psychic medium could sense some similarities beyond the purely physical.

But what was also fascinating were the differences... the younger of the two women was the one who most reminded Sora of Vega's mother, exuding the same presence of seriousness, authority, and the constant feeling that she didn't like you. But her facial structure was completely different; she was much paler and seemed to emit a constant aura of restrained homicidal intent that cooled the atmosphere in the room, almost as if there were more ghosts than usual present.

This was somewhat compensated by the warmth of the other woman. Sora wasn't sure how to take it... she was clearly a Wednesday Addams, but Sora couldn't have imagined Vega's mother wearing anything pink in a million years. In that respect, the older Addams made her think more of the other Mrs. Addams, Enid. They both shared that touch of... motherhood? Yes, perhaps that was the way to describe it. A balanced mixture of gentleness and firmness. But there was still something unmistakably Addams about the woman. The smell of sharp things and blood, Vega had said. Better not forget that.

“Hmm, Mother's middle name and a rather appropriate nickname,” said Vega, “And the scent makes me want to trust you, but this is still very strange... How did you get here? Because this isn't time travel, that’s for sure.”

“We're from another universe,” said Woe, “Each from our own.”

Vega's eyes widened, shining with interest. “The multiverse is real?” she asked, “Like in the comics Regine is always reading? That's cool!”

“No! It's not cool at all!” said Sora, making an X sign with her arms.

“Come on, Sora, they're versions of my mother from another dimension! That's definitely cool!”

“Yeah, but think about it... in those comics, whenever there are crossovers like that, it's because something catastrophic is going to happen!” exclaimed the medium. “Or maybe it's like in Star Trek and the mirror universe, remember? Maybe they're evil versions of themselves who have come to kill your mother.”

“I don't think so, they don't have mustaches.”

“Why would we have mustaches?” asked Woe.

“Evil versions always have mustaches!” said Vega.

“I don't think that rule applies to women,” replied Sora, “Or maybe it was a South Park thing?”

“Friday, I demand a mustache,” said Woe to the oldest Addams, who was trying to contain her laughter.

“Ask Pubert to borrow his, although the fact that he has one means he's more evil than you, I guess.”

“Perfidy,” growled Woe, before turning her attention back to the two teenagers, who were still arguing about multiverse crises, evil doppelgangers, and other possible catastrophes. Woe drew their attention back to herself by throwing a knife that she had pulled from her sleeve with a movement invisible to the eye. The dagger flew through the air with a whistle and stuck into the wooden floor between the two girls with a dull thud.

Sora jumped up in alarm, “See? See? Evil!”

“I appreciate the compliment, but that's not why we're here,” Woe explained, before turning her attention to Vega. “We have no intention of harming your mother.”

“Although your friend is right about one thing,” Friday interjected, trying to calm things down. “We're here for a potentially serious reason. Your mother is in danger, and it's imperative that we meet with her.”

“What kind of danger?” Vega asked, letting out a slight wolf-like snarl from her mouth. The sound made them think of Enid, but Woe also heard something of her Nid's feline growls in it, and Friday was reminded in equal measure of her Eamon and her daughter Dora when they got overprotective.

“It's complicated, and a long story that...” Friday began.

“A bunch of interdimensional lunatics want to kill her, and if they succeed, it will also mean the destruction of this entire universe,” interrupted Woe.

“Okay, not that long, then,” muttered Friday.

“Wait, someone wants to kill Vega's mother, and if they succeed, reality will end?” asked an alarmed Sora, “Why? Why would killing her cause something like that? That doesn't make sense!”

“To be honest, we don't know the real reasons behind it. The individual who sent us here was very vague in his explanations,” said Friday.

“Morningstar,” said Woe, almost spitting out the name, “He was also quite foolish in the way he transported us. No wonder Buckman never managed to arrive on time in any of her attempts. Their dimensional jump has left us in Nevermore when our counterpart is surely in Jersey. We won't make it in time,” said Woe, with growing irritation in her voice.

“Uh, mother is here,” said Vega.

The two Wednesday Addams focused their attention on the young wolf, “Excuse us?”

“Mother is here,” Vega repeated, “It's Parents' Weekend. She and Mom arrived an hour ago, they're having a chat with Principal Barclay right now."

Friday clapped her hands in celebration as a smile lit up her face. “Ah, so everything's perfect! See, Woe? Things can still turn out right!”

“Sometimes I hate your sugary optimism.”

“Look at it this way, maybe we can intercept the killer and you can try out your new daggers on them.”

“But on other occasions I can tolerate it.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” intervened Sora, “If the situation is so serious, it’s best to go and find her as soon as possible, isn’t it?”

“The little medium is right,” said Woe, “We shouldn't waste any more time.”

“Uh... how do you know I'm a medium?” asked Sora, equally alarmed and intrigued.

“Your fear tastes like a medium,” replied Woe, glancing sideways at her as she passed by on her way to the door of the room, “Now, let's go.”

What the hell was that? thought Sora, suddenly paler than usual, but still following Woe out of the room. The four of them were already in the hallway, heading toward the stairs leading down from the dormitory tower in Ophelia Hall, when she felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder. Her eyes met the dark, deep eyes of Friday walking beside her, whose smile made the girl feel calmer instantly.

“Please excuse Woe,” said Friday, “This whole situation is testing her patience. We've been sent here at random, separated from our partners, friends, and family. And I'm afraid she sees you as an easy target to calm her own anxiety, like a wounded sparrow that has fallen from its nest.”

Yep, an Addams after all, thought Sora.

“Ah... it was nothing, Mrs. Addams,” she managed to reply.

“Please, dear, it's just Friday, there's no need to be so formal.”

“Wow, you sound almost like Grandma Morticia,” said Vega, with a mischievous smile, “Mother would have a apoplexy if we told her.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Friday, “We know another Wednesday who I suspect is very similar or almost identical to your mother, and she learned to smooth over her differences with her Morticia.”

“Really?” Vega asked, intrigued.

“Student at Nevermore, married to an Enid Sinclair who I imagine is now Enid Addams... yes, there's a good chance of many more similarities,” said Friday, "Although having a variant of Enid as a companion is surprisingly common among many Wednesdays,“ continued Friday, as she pulled a wallet from her pants pocket and a small photo from inside, which she showed to the two girls. “This is my Eamon.”

“Wait, is this guy a version of my mom?” asked Vega, staring at the image of a middle-aged man with blond hair, a beard, and a remarkably muscular physique. “Ha! My mom is a hunk!”

“Vega, you realize how weird that sounds, right?” asked Sora.

“That doesn't make it any less true! And it's not that weird if you think about it, Mom is pretty damn buff.”

Sora tried not to think about Enid Addams' muscles. Mainly because that was just a step away from thinking about Vega's own increasingly defined muscles, especially in the last year.

“Woe also has a partner, Enid Saint-Clair,” Friday continued, pretending to ignore the slight blush that had appeared on the young psychic's cheeks. “Although unlike your mother and other Enids we've met, Nid is a werecat.”

“Now that's weird!” exclaimed Vega, sounding almost more indignant at the idea.

“Her feline prowess and ferocity could make any one of you lunatic mutts bite the dust in single combat,” Woe growled from her position at the forefront.

”Hey!"

“Uh, you two are from different universes, but it's obvious that you've known each other for a long time... and others too, from what you've implied,” said Sora. “How is that possible?”

“It has nothing to do with the current situation, but...” Friday began, “You see, when I was only eleven years old...”

Friday proceeded to explain to the two girls the events of her first visit to Nevermore. Or rather, to the Nevermore of another universe. She recounted her encounter with the local Wednesday and Enid, with Woe, and with other variants who had ended up there due to a failed spell cast by a witch seeking misguided revenge. Vega and Sora listened attentively to Friday's entire story, punctuated by a few brief interjections from Woe.

The two were so absorbed in what they were being told that they didn't even notice how the activity of students and visiting parents in the halls of the Academy came to a standstill when they saw the curious little group pass by, especially when they recognized what appeared to be two extra versions of Wednesday Addams.

Before the day came to an end, the place would be buzzing with all kinds of rumors: the two women were Wednesday's secret sisters, or distant relatives, or clones of some kind...

Finally, the four of them arrived at the doors of the academy director's office.

“Principal Barclay,” Woe read on the doorplate, “You mentioned her earlier, I assume it's Bianca.”

“Yes,” replied Vega, “Do you know her too?”

“We know a bunch of Biancas, yes,” replied Friday.

“Are they still inside?” asked Sora. “Maybe the principal has taken them on a tour of the Academy.”

“I can hear muffled voices inside,” replied Woe, “We don’t have time for niceties and manners,” she said, reaching for the knob to open the door without further ado.

Something she couldn't do, because just as her fingers touched the doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.

The silhouette of a dark-eyed figure stood out before the group, with black hair tied back in a ponytail, a stern face, and a long black trench coat covering equally black pants and a black and gray striped sweater. She was in her early forties, but her face was unmistakably that of the Wednesday that Friday and Woe knew.

“Hello, Mother!” Vega greeted her.

The face of the local Wednesday Addams remained impassive, although a hint of softness crossed her gaze when she looked at her daughter. “Hello, Vega,” she said, before turning her attention back to the two women who looked like distorted replicas of herself.

“Friday and Woe, isn't it?,” she asked.

Friday raised her eyebrows in surprise. Woe just frowned and crossed her arms.

“Uh... but how did she..?” muttered Sora.

“Psychic seer, just like our Wednesday,” explained Woe, “I assume you've seen us coming for a while now.”

“Oh, much more than that,” said Vega's mother, “We have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter Text

Day woke up before she could even open her eyes.

Her eyelids felt heavy, and it wasn't the usual laziness or lethargy of having hours of sleep to catch up on. No, this was something different.

It wasn't just her eyelids. It was her whole body. A numbness in her limbs. She felt she could move them, but the effort to do so would be like trying to walk while under pressure at the bottom of the ocean. The only sign that it was temporary was the growing tingling sensation in the ends of each finger and toe.

But all her other senses were awake and alert. She might not be able to open her eyes yet, but her sense of smell, hearing, and touch more than made up for it. The advantages of lycanthropy.

It was a trick her mom had taught her. How to determine where you are by pretending you're still unconscious. Enid had approached it as a game, but it was clearly a lesson for the future. And as wild and rebellious as she was, Day was a good student.

So she allowed herself to relax, let her body recover little by little, and focused the rest of her senses on everything around her.

She was lying on a bed. A hard mattress full of lumps and prickly bits, providing a comfortable level of discomfort that was always appreciated by many members of the Addams family. She was covered with a simple blanket.

From the air, she could tell that she was in an enclosed space... a room. Although it was well ventilated and had a familiar scent. That instinctively put her at ease... she wasn't sure where she was, but it was a familiar place.

And there was someone next to her... she could feel the warmth of another body sitting right next to the bed and a steady, strong breathing and...

Oh, yes, she was definitely being watched.

Finally, she regained enough strength to open her eyes. She blinked a few times until her vision adjusted enough to make out the other person in the room with her.

A young, muscular woman with short blonde hair dyed red and black at the tips, watching Day with a smile of relief at seeing that the child had woken up.

The little Addams recognized her instantly.

“Cousin Dora?”

“Hello, puppy,” greeted Pandora Addams, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I've been hit by a truck, but without the fun parts.”

In reality, Day and Dora weren't cousins. Dora and her twin brother Theo were the children of Eamon and Friday, a couple who were variants of Enid and Wednesday. In a way, that made the two girls sisters in a ridiculously indirect way on a multiversal scale.

Or perhaps they were, relatively speaking, distant variants. Or rather, variants of the same concept. After all, Dora seemed like a mixture of Day and Rissa rolled into one, but without the more unnatural elements of the latter, and neither of the younger twins was a clear equivalent for Theo.

For this reason, and to simplify matters, Day, Rissa, Dora, Theo, Varadi, and Geraint had always referred to each other as cousins.

Unbeknownst to them, they were also continuing an old joke between their mothers, who had referred to each other as cousins when they accidentally visited Day and Rissa's parents' dimension for the first time. The only exception was Aunt Shark, who referred to everyone as Brothers or Sisters.

Dora laughed softly when she heard the girl's answer. “Well, if you had been hit by a truck, we would have been less worried,” her face turned serious, “You have suffered from silver poisoning.”

“Oh, that's bad. Really bad.”

“Luckily, it was an airborne dose and didn't go straight into your bloodstream. Being an Addams also helps, adding an extra degree of resistance. You'll recover, but you'll feel like you've been beaten up for at least a day.”

“Cousin Dora... I think I've been wolfed out.”

“It seems so. And in broad daylight and without the moon!” said Dora, rubbing the girl's perpetually tangled hair. “It looks like you've inherited a few extra quirks from your wolf mother. I feel a little envious, I won't deny it.”

“Will you drown in your envy, consumed by a raging inferiority complex?”

“Of course!” laughed Dora. “Anything for my favorite cousin!”

“Oh, please, say that in front of Rissa. She's been trying to develop a complex of her own for a long time, but she can't because her sense of self is too strong.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Dora replied, stifling a laugh.

“Where are we anyway?” asked Day, glancing around the room, “Wait, is this your...?”

“My childhood bedroom, yes. We decided to bring you to our dimension for safety. Cousin Intruder stayed behind to guard your house and wait to see if anyone reappears to let us know.”

Before Day could ask anything else, a noise coming from her stomach like the roar of a particularly pitiful animal cut the conversation short.

“Hmm, looks like someone's hungry,” said Dora. “That's a good sign. It means your metabolism is working and needs to replenish its energy. A good meal will help you recover faster.”

“I think I can get up...” said Day, sitting up in bed and freezing when she saw the pajamas she was wearing.

“Oh, yes, your clothes were completely torn during your transformation, so when you came here I had to put one of my old pajamas on you.”

“It's... it's...”

“Hehe, sorry... I went through a phase in my childhood where I tried to imitate my mother in almost everything,” said Dora, “Although I never thought you had a problem with the color pink.”

“I have no problem with the color pink,” replied Day, “But what's the deal with the pony pictures!”

Dora looked at her very seriously, “That's a very dark part of my childhood that we're not going to talk about.”

“They look deformed!”

“It was an artistic decision!”

After a failed attempt to interrogate Dora about animated series that were the result of grotesque commercialization in the 1980s and a quick search for more suitable clothes for Day, the two finally went downstairs, with Dora helping the youngest girl walk step by step, allowing the child to gradually regain her strength.

When they reached the main living room, a small blonde human missile rammed into Day, enveloping her in an unrelenting hug. The only thing that prevented the girl from falling backwards was the fact that Dora was right behind her to hold her up.

“Oof! Rissa! Let go of me! This is very unbecoming of you.”

Rissa separated from her sister, but without completely breaking the embrace, keeping her hands resting on the other girl's shoulders. Her ever-present smile remained on her face, but her brow was slightly furrowed. She raised the index finger of her right hand while arching her left eyebrow with a slight tilt of her head.

Day responded with a roll of her eyes, “I'm fine, I'm fine, really. Just a little tired and hungry.”

“Cousin Friday,” said Geraint, approaching the two. The face of the young prince of the House of Adamo looked unusually stern and respectful. “I am glad to see that you are feeling better after your ordeal.”

This time it was Day who raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Okay, what's with all the respect? Normally you'd be laughing at me for getting knocked out and proclaiming your superiority.”

Geraint didn't respond, simply looking away and crossing his arms.

“I think seeing you decapitate someone with one bite has earned you some brownie points,” added Varadi, also approaching to greet the recovering girl.

“See me decapitate... I decapitated someone??” asked Day.

“Don't you remember?” asked Varadi.

“No! Wait, I remember transforming and being really angry because...”

Day fell silent for a moment, suddenly remembering the reason behind her transformation.

“ATTIE!” she shouted, “Where's Attie!?”

Rissa patted her on the shoulder and made a circular gesture with her hands. Day tilted her head in a dog-like manner.

“At his house?”

“We left Atticus with his parents. We thought it was the safest option for him,” Theo interjected. Until then, he had simply observed the scene from one of the armchairs in the main living room. “He's a brave boy, but he's not ready to embark on our family madness, at least not on certain levels.”

“That's... yes, I suppose it's safer,” admitted the girl, though the words left a bitter taste in her throat.

“And now?” asked Geraint.

“Now, we're going to try to get some information out of our prisoner,” Theo said, a smile forming on his face that would have been worthy of Fester Addams in his most criminal endeavors.

Day looked up, her spirits rising again, a hungry gleam in her eyes. “We have a prisoner?”

“One of the intruders, yes,” Theo continued, “and I took the liberty of calling in an expert at extracting information from tough individuals.”

§§§

Sam L. Hilliard couldn't suppress a shiver as he descended into darkness.

Among the Normalcy Nine, it was an open secret that Crackstone believed himself to be the leader, or at least aspired to that position. Constantly barking orders, imposing his opinion on others, and turning every decision-making meeting into an arduous verbal battle to try to keep him satisfied.

They usually let him live out his fantasy, because everyone minded their own business and let others do their own thing.

And because, at the end of the day, the only word that mattered was the Mistress's.

Her ways of communicating with them were often indirect and impersonal. Messages, forced visions, dreams, a disembodied voice floating in the back of their heads... There was only one, a single person among the Nine who had the honor of dealing with her in person. And that was Sam.

This honor, on the other hand, meant that Sam was also the only one with the terrible duty of appearing before her if required.

And that was rarely a pleasant experience.

Things seemed to have returned to normal after the death of the first Norman Prime. Sam had spent the last few days indulging in some of his few remaining personal hobbies, leaving the work to his most capable variants.

But just a few hours ago, the new Norman Prime had reported that of the three agents he had sent to investigate the risk dimension where his predecessor had died, two had lost their lives and the third was out of reach.

Sam and the others had barely received the news when, in the meeting room, a raven with a single crimson eye descended from the shadows and landed on his shoulder with a loud caw.

The Mistress was calling him.

So Sam descended to the most remote, dark, and hidden place in the fortress outside of time and space where the Normalcy Nine resided. A room that only he had ever seen.

He was completely surrounded by shadows, and only his memory and the psychic guidance of the bird perched on his shoulder led him directly to his destination. At some point, a door opened... or perhaps the room materialized around him. It was difficult to tell, as his senses and perception of reality always became warped in Her presence.

The room hadn't changed. It was always the same. A circular room with high walls that rose beyond the eye could see, as if the entire place were the interior of a giant cylinder.

Light and shadows danced in a constant dance. The only source of light in the room were the spheres.

Hundreds, thousands... hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of spheres covered the walls, from the base to the unreachable heights. Flashes of different colored lights escaped from them intermittently, sometimes accompanied by faint sounds, the ghosts of a cry waiting to be screamed out.

And in the center, floating by itself at that moment about fifteen meters above Sam L. Hilliard's position, was the throne.

Sam had no idea what it was made of. Sometimes it looked like black rock, other times it looked like metal. Or, most commonly, a solid mass of shadows, full of sharp edges, pointed ends, and hanging chains with hooks embedded in them, where the crimson of blood could sometimes be seen.

And sitting on that throne was The Mistress. A figure cloaked in a black cape and hood, almost indistinguishable from the platform on which she was perched.

Her cloak and hood looked like a mass of living, shifting black feathers, almost as if it were breathing. But at other times it was as if the fabric were a mass of tar or pitch. The raven on Sam's shoulder flew up to the figure above. As it landed on her, it sank into the cloak as if absorbed or dissolved, letting out a final caw.

From the folds and impenetrable darkness of the cloak emerged a naked arm, its skin unnaturally white and marble-like, through which the blue of the veins could be seen. A delicate-looking hand with long black nails opened, and one of the spheres on the wall flew directly toward it, landing on the palm of the hand with a faint, gray flash of light.

The voice that spoke was that of a woman. Or at least Sam had always perceived it as a woman's voice, even though he could sense that The Mistress had long since left the limitations of humanity behind.

“This one was strong,” she said, holding the sphere. She sighed, inhaled, almost as if trying to get drunk on the scent of something, “But it doesn't have much left. I've been savoring it, taking my time.”

Sam just did what he always did. He bowed his head and replied quietly.

“Yes, my Mistress.”

Silence. Sam couldn't see her, but he could feel her gaze on him. The almost extinct sphere flew back toward the wall from the hand that held it.

“Samuel,” said The Mistress, “There's something new.”

“My Mistress... I fear that irregularities have arisen in one of the universes under the supervision of...”

“Norman,” interrupted the woman in the shadows, “I know, Samuel. I know everything.”

“Mistress?”

“All of this was foreseen.”

“It was?” Hilliard dared to ask.

“Of course. The multiverse is infinite in its impossibilities; it's the most twisted of surprise boxes.”

Suddenly, she was no longer on the throne. It happened in a split second. Sam L. Hilliard felt his whole body freeze with terror when two pale hands rested on his shoulders and a breath as cold as the air in a crypt caressed the skin on the back of his neck.

“It was only a matter of time before a stitch went wrong in the embroidery of my plan,” she said, almost whispering in his ear. The feeling of terror he always felt in her presence was growing, as if multiplying with every passing second.

Sam L. Hilliard couldn't suppress a pitiful whimper, and somehow he could feel the twisted satisfaction emanating from her when she heard it.

“You and the others will continue as you have before, dear Samuel,” continued The Mistress, “But stay alert, focus thoroughly, be vigilant.”

“Yes, my Mistress.”

“I worry that so many years of unstoppable success have made you arrogant. Oh, worry. That's not the right word. I knew it would happen, it's all part of the fun.”

“F… Fun?”

“Of course, my dear Samuel,” the pressure disappeared and Hilliard found himself breathing heavily as if he had just lifted an immense weight. The female figure shrouded in shadows stood once again on her throne. Her cloak twisted and moved in a grotesque manner. Ravens began to emerge from it, fluttering around her with a growing cacophony of cawing.

“Don't you understand what this means, Samuel? Someone is standing up to us,” said The Mistress. “This means a challenge.”

Sam didn't see it, but she smiled. He knew because he felt it. He felt it in his knees, suddenly buckling with an abrupt lack of strength in his legs, almost causing him to fall. He felt it in the back of his mind, in the image that appeared in his head when he closed his eyes, of red lips and teeth of unnatural perfection broken by centipedes emerging from the gums.

Sam L. Hilliard found himself once again in darkness, standing before the stairs that would lead him back to familiar, normal rooms and corners. He knew that this was her signal telling him he could leave.

But even as he began his ascent, he could still hear the voice of the creature to whom he had sworn allegiance echoing in the emptiness around him.

“A challenge, Samuel. I can never refuse a challenge.”

And whoever those Addams were (because they couldn't be anything else) who had been stirring things up recently and attracting her attention...

Well, they were enemies.

But Samuel L. Hilliard prayed for their souls anyway.

Chapter Text

The day had turned out to be a complete waste.

And to think it started out so well, thought Bianca Barclay.

It was the day of the Poe Cup. Possibly one of the most important days of the entire school year at Nevermore, if you excluded the Rave'N and Parents' Weekend (Bianca always ignored that one). The Poe Cup was supposed to be her day, another triumph for the personal list of achievements that made Bianca Barclay more real every passing year and allowed her to bury the memory of Brandy Jane a little deeper until she was nothing more than a bad dream, until she didn't have to think about her anymore, or about her mother.

And it had all been ruined by Enid Sinclair and Wednesday Addams.

Bianca frowned, more irritated with herself than with the whole situation. She knew that such an interpretation of the events of that afternoon's competition was not entirely just.

After all, Sinclair and Addams had won fair and square. Well, not entirely fair, but it was all allowed and within the spirit of the competition.

It was basically an established rule that anything went in the Poe Cup as long as you avoided truly lethal extremes (accidental mutilation was frowned upon, but more tolerated). The competition was, after all, a way for young outcasts to develop their competitive spirit and make use of their skills in a way they rarely could in the world outside the walls of Nevermore.

Irony of ironies: what Bianca and many other students didn't know was that such a competitive spirit was the result of the former members of the Addams family who had contributed to the founding of Nevermore.

Her poisoning of Yoko Tanaka was a fairly clear example of that spirit softened by the years. Just enough to incapacitate her, but measured with the exact precision so that it would not be anything more serious than a day in the infirmary.

It was true that Bianca still felt a little bad about having to resort to something like that to sabotage Sinclair's team, especially considering that the vampire was one of the few people at the academy she dared to call a friend and not merely another follower of the trail of her popularity. What's more, Tanaka was one of the few members of the Nightshades with a brain in her head, which was always appreciated. But precisely because of all that, Yoko was the strongest link in the opposing team, and it was imperative to get her out of the way. Addams hadn't even been a real part of the equation until the last minute.

And in the end, it had all been for nothing.

Hell, the guilt was even worse because she couldn't even justify the sabotage with a victory or offer a gracious apology from a position of triumph.

Nope, Bianca would have to go without access to the fang's exclusive cocktails for a while. At least, assuming the vampire didn't decide to get creative when asking for her apologies.

But anyway, that was how things stood. Sinclair and Addams had won, apparently by rigging their canoe with all kinds of weapons and, if the rumors were true, using some kind of living severed hand that seemed to be Addams' pet or something. Kent had stuck to his story that he had been hit by a floating fist underwater.

It sounded so stupid that Bianca was convinced it had to be true.

And then there was the whole mess with Xavier... no, better not dwell on that particular can of worms.

She had been so lost in her thoughts about the disastrous day that she didn't realize she had barely touched the meager dinner she had picked up from the cafeteria, not feeling hungry since she had nothing to celebrate. The quad had emptied out and only a few stragglers remained before heading back to their rooms. Kent and Divina were with her, keeping a respectful distance.

They looked at her as she got up silently, ready to go to her room after returning the tray of food, barely touched. That was when Bianca saw them appear, entering the quad from the entrance to Ophelia Hall.

Sinclair and Addams, strutting around like the new queens of Nevermore, accompanied by...

...

What the fuck...? Bianca thought.

Bianca resisted the urge to rub her eyes, mainly because that would have meant dropping the food on the floor.

What she did was gently put the tray back on the table and exchange a quick glance with Divina. The other siren had also noticed the new arrivals to the quad and seemed just as stunned as she was.

Sinclair and Addams looked like... Sinclair and Addams. Still in their uniforms and walking with a hurried gait, the werewolf visibly nervous. Resting on Addams' shoulder was an amputated hand that seemed to move and gesture with its fingers.

So that was true after all.

But what had caused the shock among the siren was due to Sinclair and Addams' companions, who appeared to be... Sinclair and Addams too?

But that was impossible, it couldn't be them.

For starters, they were two adult women. True, one was identical to Addams. She looked exactly how Wednesday Addams would look with a decade or so under her belt.

And the other... well, the other was even more interesting.

Because her face was Enid's, albeit a few years older but perfectly recognizable... except for the deep scars on her visage, the extreme paleness of her skin, and the sharpness of her teeth that could be glimpsed in her smile. Oh, and she seemed to have grown several feet taller and developed enough muscle to make the strongest and biggest fur in school look like a newborn puppy.

Their appearances were so shocking that it took Bianca longer than usual to register that Enid's pale She-Hulk version was carrying an unconscious Marilyn Thornhill over her shoulder, as if she were a sack of potatoes.

Okay, on the scale of weird, that was definitely in the alarming range.

Ignoring her own common sense and driven by a curiosity that had gotten her into more than one mess in her childhood, Bianca started walking toward them.

She needed to know.

§§§

“We're going straight to Weems' office. If anyone asks, we're taking Thornhill to the infirmary. And as for us, we'll just say we're distant relatives on a surprise visit. We don't owe anyone any explanations. Understood?”

Wednesday's plan was... simple. Not very elaborate. Born out of pragmatism and urgency more than anything else.

Having a clear idea of her next steps should have helped calm her down, but Teen Enid was still nervous. How could she not be?

Adult versions of her and Wednesday from another dimension had appeared with a story that Wednesday (and the entire universe, actually) was in mortal danger. Oh, and they also had information that one of their favorite teachers was actually a homicidal xenophobe, whose plan they were about to expose right now in a conversation with Principal Weems.

And they were married!

They had children!

For some reason, even with everything that was going on, those last two points were the ones that kept repeating themselves in her mind. It didn't help that her eyes kept wandering over to Teen Wednesday and her adult counterpart.

God, she's going to be even more gorgeous.

She almost tripped when that thought crossed her mind like a burning asteroid before exploding in the atmosphere, leaving behind another pile of very personal self-questions. Teen Enid realized that her cheeks were turning red again and didn't even bother to try to hide it because she could hear the quiet giggle beside her. The young wolf glanced sideways at her adult self, who was walking beside her, looking at her with a smile.

Her adult self! That was another complicated matter. On the one hand... the scars. Seeing them made Teen Enid feel apprehensive and fearful at the thought of being marked in such a way. But the other Enid seemed proud of them, and even a blind person could see that the older Wednesday visibly adored every last feature of her wife.

Teen Enid could have sworn that even Teen Wednesday had cast a few appreciative glances at her adult self before covering her face again with her mask of controlled indifference.

But the way Thing laughed perched on her shoulder gave her away.

“A penny for your thoughts?” asked the adult Enid to her younger self.

Teen Enid flinched slightly before looking back at her counterpart (and deliberately ignoring the unconscious teacher slung over her shoulder).

“Uh... er... I... can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Enid replied, “Although I reserve the right to hold my tongue...”

“Oh, of course, of course,” replied the teenage Enid, “Well, I'm just curious... I mean.. you mentioned... daughters?”

“Twins,” replied the adult Wednesday from further ahead, “Friday Saturday Addams and Larissa Tuesday Addams.”

“But we call them Day and Rissa for short,” added Enid.

“Larissa?” asked Teen Wednesday, raising an eyebrow.

Teen Enid had also noticed the name. “Wait, as in Principal Weems?”

“We named Rissa after her, to honor her memory,” Wednesday replied. The “Tuesday” in the middle name of her child was also meant to honor another sacrifice, that of Agent A, but their younger counterparts didn't need to know the horrors of that story.

“Principal Weems is going to die!?” asked Teen Enid, visibly alarmed. Teen Wednesday tried to keep a straight face, but Enid could sense that even then, when her relationship with the principal was undoubtedly still extremely antagonistic, the idea of her death did not sit well with the young Addams.

“Not if we can help it,” said Wednesday, “We've already knocked the culprit unconscious, after all.”

The two teenagers looked at the unconscious Thornhill... no, Laurel Gates, over Enid's shoulder. Teen Enid didn't suppress the small growl that escaped her throat, a wild sound that Teen Wednesday hadn't heard before and that made her raise her eyebrows at the same time as a strange but not uncomfortable sensation settled in her lower abdomen.

She could barely suppress the urge to whisper “loba magnífica”.

After that, trying to calm the brief spike in tension, Enid continued talking about her daughters, and Teen Enid realized that she loved listening to her. Both girls sounded like little terrors, one of them a werewolf as wild as only a werewolf from the Addams family could be, and the other so strange that she made almost everyone else in her family seem normal. But what truly caught Teen Enid's attention most was the unconditional love she could hear in her adult counterpart's voice when she talked about her little girls. No reproach, no unrealistic expectations of any kind, no attempt to censor who they were in order to adhere to a predetermined image.

The two girls could have been normies and their mom would have loved them just the same.

I'm not going to turn into my mother, thought Teen Enid. And she was a little saddened by the level of comfort that thought brought her.

Finally, they reached the quad, and Teen Enid's nerves resurfaced because, despite how late it was getting, there were still quite a few students around.

Although her adult self didn't seem to have a problem with that.

“Ah, how nostalgic!” said Enid, sniffing the air with her eyes closed. “I missed this scent. It was never the same after the renovations.”

“Although the burn marks on the stones gave this bland pentagon some personality,” said Wednesday, “And no, before you ask, it's not going to happen, and I don't suggest you try setting anything on fire yourself,” said the Addams, looking at her teenage self before she could open her mouth to ask.

But then Wednesday leaned toward the young woman and whispered in her ear, “Not without ensuring  a good alibi first.”

“Weds, we can hear you,” Enid laughed. Her teenage version seemed torn between alarm and feeling scandalized, or laughing nervously. The adult werewolf shook her head amusedly before glancing back at the quad, “Gosh, it's Divina and Kent! Look at them, they were just babies.”

“And here comes young Bianca walking toward us,” Wednesday pointed out.

Sure enough, the young siren was heading toward the strange quartet with a spring in her step and an inquisitive gleam in her eyes, trying to project more confidence than she was undoubtedly feeling when she stopped in front of them with her arms crossed.

“Sinclair. Addams,” she greeted them, unable to avoid focusing her gaze on the two strange adults, “I suppose it's only fair to congratulate you on your victory.”

“I told you I'd prove I was better than you,” replied Teen Wednesday.

Teen Enid poked her gently on the shoulder, causing the young Addams to look at her incredulously, a frown beginning to form on her brow. But the young werewolf was not deterred, “Wednesday! Be a good sport!”

“No, I'm a loathsome sport. My victories are full of gloating and feeding off my opponents' tears.”

“Oookay...” Bianca muttered, “So... I couldn't help noticing that you have company.”

“How transparent of you,” said the adult Wednesday, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I beg your pardon?” said Bianca.

“Ha ha ha!” laughed Enid. “Sorry... Uh... we are... err, well, my name is... Emma. Emma Volvaugr, and I'm a distant cousin of Enid's. I decided to come visit her on this... er... special day for the school... Oh, and this is a cousin of Wednesday's who, coincidentally, had the same idea. Her name is... uh...”

“Wenceslas.”

Enid looked at her with an expression that said, “Really?” Teen Enid kept looking from one to the other with growing alarm. Teen Wednesday just raised an eyebrow, while on her shoulder, Thing was once again shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Wenceslas,” Bianca repeated, “Okay, sure, why not? And tell me, Wenceslas, Emma... how come you're carrying one of my teachers around unconscious?”

“Oh!” interrupted Teen Enid, “Miss Thornhill felt unwell when she came to see us in our room and fainted.”

“We were just about to take her to the infirmary,” said Wednesday.

“To the infirmary,” Bianca repeated.

“That's right.”

“The infirmary that's in the opposite direction from where you were headed. That infirmary?” said the siren.

Wednesday frowned slightly, not so much out of irritation as out of trying to remember.

“Uh,” she said, “I honestly forgot. The cursed renovations.”

The two Enids facepalmed. Teen Wednesday narrowed her eyes. And Thing finally fell from her shoulder to the floor, writhing in convulsions in his merriment.

§§§

Tyler Galpín left his job at the Weathervane hours before closing time.

He rushed out, without even taking off his work uniform, dropping the cups of coffee he was about to serve and ignoring his boss's shouts behind him threatening to fire him.

He ignored everything. The only thing on his mind was the steady pulse that was drilling into his brain.

In a last glimmer of sanity, he thanked the fact that the streets of Jericho weren't very busy at that hour, because he could feel the change beginning. Anyone could have seen that the eyes on his face were already disproportionately large. His skin was turning a sickly gray, and sharp teeth were beginning to peek out from between his lips...

His skin burned and his clothes felt like sandpaper. He began to tear them off, his nascent claws shredding the cloth with ease.

He had felt this before, but never like this. Laurel had told him about it, about how she was now his mistress and how they had a unique bond between them. On the rare occasions when she was kind to him, it was almost comforting. The rest of the time, it was like feeling a noose tightening around his neck.

(A noose that felt better and better).

But now it was different. He noticed it without warning at the Weathervane. Tyler felt as if something had been ripped out of him, and suddenly that noose around his neck was an iron collar with spikes digging into his flesh. He felt all his instincts screaming inside him, howling like a caged animal.

He knew immediately what it meant, even though Laurel had never explained it to him.

His mistress was in danger. Something had happened to Laurel. And it was his duty to protect her, to keep her safe, to shield her. He would tear to pieces anyone who stood in his way.

Tyler Galpin ran, leaving behind the streets of Jericho and plunging into the darkness of the forest, charging toward Nevermore.

He also left behind the last remnants of his humanity, as the Hyde's roar filled the air among the trees.

Chapter Text

The next few minutes were a labyrinthine race, vertically and horizontally, through the gargantuan city.

The man named Joel Glicker had urged Eneit and Taylor to follow him, promising a safe route to avoid further encounters with patrol drones, and so far he was delivering. Neither Eneit nor Taylor knew the man, nor did they trust him blindly, but they recognized his name from Woe's stories. So following Joel was also born out of the need to fulfill their mission, as his presence was, in principle, the most direct contact they had to find the Wednesday of that universe.

From a certain point on, their entire journey became a descent through stairways, platforms, and freight lifts converted into public elevators on the increasingly gray and greasy concrete exterior walls. They passed through the cloud of pollution and finally caught sight of the lights on the surface of the rest of the city, which was bathed in shadows.

Finally, they stopped for a moment in what could only be described as an elevated alleyway between two buildings. Joel had lowered his hood and removed his mask, revealing a middle-aged face marked by what appeared to be scars from cuts on the skin and small metal rivets at various points on his jaw and temples.

“We just left the High City; this is the Middle City,” Joel explained. “There aren't as many restrictions on movement against outcasts here, so we shouldn't have to worry about anything as long as we don't cause a scene.”

“Are you an outcast, Joel?” asked Eneit. At her side, Taylor had begun to revert to her human form, something the man observed with visible interest before answering.

“Technically, yes and no. Not genetically. Many of us who are born with a mundane, normal genome are lumped together if life and circumstances lead us to not strictly follow the directions of those who run the circus.”

“The same old story,” said Taylor, back in her fully human form, moving her neck and cracking her vertebrae and stretching her limbs as if she had just finished exercising. She removed the remains of her torn clothes, her modesty protected by the special fabric suit that could cover her body even after her metamorphosis. Although she had to walk barefoot...

“If you're not welcome there either... What were you doing up there, Ser Joel?” asked Eneit.

“Oh, nothing unusual. Just a little private job, my own business... And where did you two come from?” asked Joel, “Because let me tell you, seeing a Hyde out in the open without a control collar is unusual, to say the least.”

Taylor frowned, “Control collar?”

“Yep honey. The Hydes are one of the few outcasts you’ll see in the High City, mostly because they’re servants to someone. But even with the bond of their transformation, the paranoid jerks up there make them wear explosive collars for fear of potential disobedience.”

“The more bits and pieces I hear about this place, the more disgusting it sounds,” said Eneit, looking up at the clouds. The sky was hidden by a blanket of toxic smog, and the only light came from neon signs and streetlights.

“Damn, you guys really aren’t from around here…” said Joel.

“We are... we are from quite far away,” said the barbarian princess, “In truth, we found ourselves here somewhat by accident.”

“Don't sugarcoat it, we're here against our will and by pure chance,” interrupted Taylor, “And we have to find someone...”

“We're looking for someone named Wednesday Addams,” Eneit continued, fixing her gaze on Joel, “Does that name ring a bell?”

Something flashed in Joel's eyes, a glimmer of recognition mixed with suspicion. He moved his hand discreetly, making a gesture with his fingers that someone without Eneit's senses would not have noticed. But the she-wolf could see the almost invisible metallic glint emerging from the flesh of Joel's wrist. Some kind of weapon hidden in the flesh of his own arm.

“Let's just say I've heard of a certain Wednesday Addams,” he said. “What business do you have with her?”

“We have to save her life,” Taylor replied, crossing her arms.

Joel raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

“Wow. Okay. That's...” Joel muttered before starting to laugh, which was cut short when he began coughing, forcing him to momentarily put on his air filter mask. “Ah. Sorry, sorry... my damn lungs are cannibalizing themselves. And saving Wednesday... Well, of all the reasons I expected to hear for someone wanting to find her, that's a new one.”

“Then you truly do know her,” said Eneit.

“Yes, yes, I know her... What's this about wanting to save her?”

Eneit and Taylor exchanged glances. Finally, Eneit nodded silently before turning back to Joel.

“Well, you see...”

And they told him everything. Who they were, their names. How they came from different universes. How they had met other versions of Wednesday. How they had been sent there by an individual who called himself Morningstar to save the local Wednesday, because if she died, that entire universe would be in danger.

And after hearing the story, Joel fell back into a fit of laughter and hiccuping coughs marked by hysteria.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh my God! That's... Ha ha ha ha ha!” he laughed, looking at them as if they had grown an extra pair of heads, "Damn, that has to be the craziest thing I've ever heard. I had my doubts, but now I'm convinced you must be fugitives from some Recreation and Pleasure Center in the High City, your brains probably fried from a bunch of simulations."

“Excuse me?” said Taylor.

Joel pointed at her, “You're a Hyde, the only kind of outcast you'll find up there,” he said, before turning his attention to Eneit, looking her up and down, "And you're obviously the result of a lot of steroids and internal implants for muscle fetishists. Probably some fantasy based on old pulp novels or some old amazonian smut. A job well done, I have to admit: you almost look natural and you don't have any noticeable anatomical disproportions for how tall and huge you are."

Eneit frowned. She didn't fully understand what Joel had just said, but she could tell it wasn't something positive. She considered showing her claws to reveal her lycanthrope nature, but before she could do anything, Taylor took a step forward.

“Look, Joel...” said the Hyde, “I personally don't give a damn whether you believe us or not. But we have to find Wednesday Addams, and if you know where she is, I recommend you tell us...”

The Hyde's eyes bulged slightly, popping out of their sockets as her skin turned slightly gray.

“... for your own good.”

“Woooah, okay, okay, calm down, wild thing,” Joel laughed, although a hint of nervousness returned to his voice. He put his mask back on for a moment to catch his breath before continuing, “There's no need to resort to mutilation, okay? We're all friends here. Besides, I'd be an idiot to pass up the chance to work with someone as fucking useful as a Hyde.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” asked Taylor, reverting her face to normal human features.

“It means I'll take you to Wednesday,” Joel said with a sly smile, “and she'll decide whether she believes your story or not.”

He put his mask back on and nodded before starting to walk toward the alley exit, indicating that it was time to move again.

They followed Joel, descending another couple of levels until they finally reached a street on the surface, touching pure asphalt. Joel led them to a manhole cover, which he lifted laboriously, then pointed to the hole as if it were an open door, inviting the two women to enter.

“Ugh, really?” asked Taylor.

“You two want to see Wednesday, right? Well, that means you have to go deep.”

So that's what they did. They followed Joel through the sewers, entering tunnels that led to what appeared to be an abandoned subway station, and then more tunnels... a veritable underground labyrinth where they occasionally crossed paths with other people. Some gave Joel knowing looks or slight nods, while glancing at Eneit and Taylor with barely concealed curiosity.

Eneit noticed, not without a certain irony, that despite the closed nature of the place and the interesting scents, the air in general seemed cleaner and less toxic than on the surface.

Finally, Joel led them to an old circular door similar to what one would expect to see in a vault, although it was ajar. Passing through it led them to a platform and...

“Oh my God,” whispered Taylor.

The place was a cavern. A gigantic cavern, because buried beneath the ground and lit by electricity stolen from the surface, there was an entire street, with buildings and apartment blocks. An ancient city buried beneath the surface of the monstrous metropolis that was growing above ground.

“Welcome to the Low City, also known as the Old City,” said Joel. “Home to the outcasts and anyone who doesn't want or can't be part of the circus up there. Now, follow me...”

The street... no, the multiple underground streets were bustling with activity. Eneit and Taylor recognized several outcasts among the crowd by their appearance and scent: lycanthropes, gorgons, vampires, even some noppera-bō (faceless). There were also a large number of normies, but their scents were strange to Eneit. Along with the scent of flesh and blood, there was also the smell of metal, acid, and chrome.

The stench of despair was everywhere.

Joel led them to a secluded corner near the edge of the gigantic cavern, a dimly lit place. There they could see an industrial building, an old warehouse whose doors opened automatically when Joel waved his hand in the air. Eneit and Taylor noticed the camera watching them, half-hidden in the shadows, but neither the werewolf nor the Hyde said anything.

The interior was spacious and, despite the dilapidated exterior, clean. Almost sterile.

To the left was a workshop with a huge armored vehicle, a sports car that had seen better days, and an engine hanging from chains. At the other end was an area that looked more like an operating room, with a stretcher, medical equipment, and a rack with what appeared to be robotic arms and legs of various designs. And right in the middle was a living area with a sofa, a cot, a refrigerator, and a television.

Behind it was a series of huge monitors displaying data and images of the city, graphs, news, and lists of numbers and indecipherable code.

Standing in front of the monitors was a figure manipulating the data on the screens with a holographic interface, her hands dancing in the air with calculated finesse.

“Greetings, Joel. You bring company.”

“Wednesday,” Joel replied with a respectful nod.

Wednesday Addams, for it could be no other, turned to look at the new arrivals.

The face was very similar to Woe's and immediately recognizable to Eneit and Taylor. But her voice sounded much more mature, older, and with a synthetic tinge... and her face had an artificial quality, almost as if it were a porcelain mask made up of multiple moving pieces. Her hair was pulled back into the familiar braided pigtails, the feature that had changed the least.

And her eyes shone like camera lenses, dark and unnatural.

“Eneit and Taylor, right?” she said.

The werewolf and the Hyde couldn’t conceal their surprise at being recognized.

“How did you…?” Taylor began, glancing sideways at the monitors. “Wait, have you been spying on us since we got here?”

Wednesday Addams let out a dry laugh, crossing her arms and shooting a sharp glance at the two women in front of her. Eneit could see the metal marks on her arms, the lines that marked the mechanical nature of the joints in her elbows... no doubt those limbs also had more hidden weapons.

“I knew you from before, I never forget a face,” said Wednesday, “Although I suppose it’s normal that you don’t remember me… there were thousands of Wednesdays and Enids in that damn army against the shadow creatures… Good times, although technically I wasn’t paid for the gig.”

Joel looked from one to the other, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It's a very long story, Joel,” said Wednesday, “Suffice it to say that they are telling the truth, if I am correct in assuming that they have told you who they are.”

“Fuck me,” muttered the man.

“Lady Wednesday,” said Eneit, “You must know that we have come with the express purpose of protecting you and ensuring your safety.”

“There’s a group of interdimensional lunatics out there killing Wednesdays and destroying their universes,” added Taylor.

Wednesday tilted her head, frowning with a mechanical creak, “Damn, people from other universes never come with good news, do they? Although it's kind of fortunate, I guess. It turns out I have a new gig in the works and I'd feel a lot safer with some extra muscle watching my ass.”

“Uh... what kind of gig?” asked Taylor.

“Tell me, girls... would you like to take part in a heist?”

Chapter Text

October 15, 19XX.

The rain was still falling like a curtain of tears, because it's an effective cliché that makes it clear that daring to walk the streets without an umbrella was an invitation to drown.

Luckily, Pugsley had brought the car.

Shark's presence had come as a small (big) shock to Detectives Addams and Sinclair, but the promise of more answers and a reasonably coherent explanation had kept them calm enough as they left the building's lobby and stepped out into the rainy night.

The Addams Family car was there, with Lurch standing at the open rear door waiting for his passengers to arrive, ignoring the rain pouring down on him and the suspicious glances of the police officers and patrol cars that still surrounded the area, illuminating it with flashing red and blue lights.

“Uuurmgh,” said the frankenstein-like giant. To anyone else, it would have been an unintelligible growl, but to those present, it was a polite greeting, loud and clear. Shark responded with a gentle smile, and Detective Addams with a simple nod of her head. Detective Sinclair was more effusive, smiling broadly and showing her sharp wolf-like fangs as she did so, “Howdie, Lurch!”

The three proceeded to get into the back seats of the converted hearse while Pugsley got into the front passenger seat. The detectives were surprised to see that there were already two other people waiting inside the car, with Shark quickly sitting right between them.

Detective Addams immediately focused her attention on them.

The first one to catch her eye was the male. It was difficult to determine his age because, almost instinctively, Detective Addams could sense that he was a lycanthrope, and they tended to age more gracefully than many normies. In any case, he must have been at least in his forties. He was blond with familiar blue eyes that stood out on a kind face that was also strangely recognizable, even though she had never seen him before. He was dressed simply, in jeans and a sweater that would have been baggy on anyone else but clung to his torso, barely concealing his muscular build.

The woman was also middle-aged, with an outfit and hairstyle screaming “goth-punk” that one would expect to see on someone younger, though in a way that wasn't exaggerated but natural and part of who she was, with a face that reflected nervousness but also an ironclad confidence. She was tall and thin, with a slender physique that in her youth would surely have seemed gangly and awkward, the kind of person whose arms and legs grew out of proportion to the rest of her body before settling into adulthood. At first glance, Detective Addams might have thought she was a normie, but she immediately recognized that kooky “something” that only an Addams could have, even if it wasn't by blood.

Actually, they both had it, which was most interesting.

With everyone inside and the doors locked, Lurch proceeded to start the car, racing off down the wet streets in a manner that many doctors would not recommend for anyone with heart problems, or pregnant women.

“Woah, any reason for taking off like that?” asked Detective Sinclair.

“Safety,” Pugsley replied from the front passenger seat, “Our guests can explain better.”

At that moment, the blond man leaned forward slightly, sniffing the air in front of the two detectives.

“Damn, you two smell like blood. A lot of it,” he said.

“I know, right?” asked Shark. “I noticed it too as soon as I saw them.”

“Well, who are you guys?” asked Detective Sinclair.

“Ah, yes, hello... my name is Eamon Sinclair-Addams, and strange as it may seem, I am a version of you.”

Detective Sinclair looked him up and down, one eyebrow raised. “You're me?”

“Yes.”

“You are me, if I had been born...”

“With a different chromosome configuration, yes,” laughed Eamon.

There was a moment of silence, although Detective Addams could swear she could almost hear the mischievous smile that undoubtedly graced Pugsley's face.

“Wow... I'm a hunk,” whispered Detective Sinclair.

Shark and the other woman began to laugh hysterically as Eamon brought his hand up to his face.

“And again...,” he muttered.

“It never fails! It never fails!” exclaimed Shark, “Every female Enid counterpart who has ever met you says the same thing!”

“Saint-Clair didn't say it!” Eamon replied.

“No, she just said you were a dish, which is almost worse,” laughed the gothic-looking woman. “Anyway, I think it's my turn to introduce myself. I'm...”

“You're Parker Needler,” Detective Addams interrupted, looking at her analytically.

“Wow, okay, yes... Needler-Addams, actually,” Parker said, “I assume you know me, or you know my local variant.”

“No, not really, at least not in person,” explained Detective Addams, “But Margaux Needler was a notorious crime boss in the city's underworld about fifteen years ago, before she made a notorious mistake.”

“What mistake?” asked Parker.

“Getting involved in our family's business without permission,” replied Pugsley, “It was quite a spectacle.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that, the scandal involving surveillance systems and bribery,” added Detective Sinclair.

“My mother was a mob boss in this reality?” said Parker, sounding both incredulous and amused. “Heh, that’s almost more respectable than my version.”

The two detectives looked at her curiously. It was Eamon who replied, “Real estate landlord.”

Two simultaneous “Ah” of recognition (Sinclair’s almost an “Ew”) escaped from the two detectives.

“Well, now that everyone's introduced, I think it's time we started talking about why we're here,” Shark suddenly interjected. Although she was the youngest of the three visitors, clearly only in her early twenties, the two detectives immediately noticed that she had somehow naturally assumed a leadership role.

Typical of a Wednesday, thought Detective Addams, not without a certain pride in the other versión of herself.

And so, during the next few minutes of the car ride, Shark managed to explain the key points of the situation to the local Wednesday and Enid.

“...and that brings us to now,” concluded the young Addams, “We decided that returning to the Addams Mansion was too predictable, like painting a target on our backs, and that keeping on the move for at least a while was the safest thing to do.”

“Ah, I knew we were taking a long time to get to the manor,” observed Detective Sinclair, “Lurch has been driving around the city randomly for quite some time.”

“Uuuuugh,” growled the aforementioned driver.

“It's a good plan, assuming those Normalcy Nine don't have the means to materialize inside a moving vehicle,” said Detective Addams.

“Oh, that would be bad, no doubt,” replied Shark, though with a hungry smile of anticipation, almost as if she were hoping something like that would happen.

“Well, we can't rule it out as impossible, but we think it's unlikely,” Parker said, somewhat more nervously, “At least we hope so.”

“Mmm,” Detective Sinclair muttered, crossing her arms and frowning.

“Something on your mind?” Detective Addams asked.

“No... yes... well, it's just that...”

“Thrill me, lobita.”

“The whole story is utterly bollocks,” declared the werewolf Detective.

“You don't... believe us?” Parker asked.

“Oh, I believe you. You're not lying, I can tell, and this stuff about counterparts of ourselves from other realities isn't the weirdest thing I've encountered in my extended contact with the Addams Family... it's just... well, the whole thing it's completely ridiculous.”

“I think I'm lost,” Eamon said.

“I mean… Why?”, asked Detective Sinclair.

“Uh... because they want to restore their version of normality to the multiverse and believe they can do so by eliminating every reality in which any iteration of the Addams family exists?” Parker replied.

“Yes, yes... that's the official version, so to speak. And it's complete bollocks,” Detective Sinclair continued, “Restore normality to the multiverse? And their plan to do that is by murdering people in a way that erases entire realities? That's all stupid and nonsensical, or at least it would be if it weren't for all the existential horror it's causing me just to think about it.”

“Thank you very much for that, by the way, it's very enjoyable," added Detective Addams.

“The whole thing reeks of hypocrisy. A true champion of normality would realize that an operation of this kind would put them in the same category as those they are trying to destroy,” said Detective Sinclair.

“They're zealots,” Shark said, “Fanatics driven by hatred, prejudice, and resentment. I think it's obvious that optimal reasoning has never been part of the equation.”

“And that explains part of it, but it still doesn't fully answer my question: Why?” replied Detective Sinclair, “Why Wednesday Addams?”

An uncomfortable silence fell inside the vehicle, broken only by the roar of the engine and the sound of rain falling on the roof of the car.

“That's... uh...” Eamon muttered, suddenly thoughtful.

“Think about it,” continued the she-wolf detective, “To do what they want... wouldn't any member of the Addams family do? Wouldn't it be enough to find a way to destroy the universe in general? Why does it have to be the death of a Wednesday Addams that triggers it? Why is she the key? What's the reason for it?”

“That's... that's a good question, we never even stopped to think about it,” Parker said, “Why the hell didn't we stop to think about it?”

“Because we immediately bought into the story we were told and were thrown into other realities randomly and suddenly, instilling in us a sense of urgency that didn't invite reflection,” Shark said. “It's... unnerving.”

“But... there has to be some reason, right?” asked Eamon. “I mean... between what Morningstar told us and Amanda's story...”

“Amanda wasn't lying, but she didn't have any more answers than we did,” Shark interrupted. “We know that the murder of the Wednesdays is the trigger that starts the spread of the Nothing, erasing the affected universe, but Detective Sinclair is right... why is that specifically?”

“What do we know for sure?” asked Detective Addams.

“Whatever the reason...” Shark began, “Wednesdays tend to be... brilliant, in one way or another.”

“Exceptional,” said the detective.

“And I won't deny that there are versions of us where that translates into a healthy dose of self-centeredness and narcissism, and that more than one of us probably believes she's the center of her own universe...” observed Shark.

“Probably the ones who don't have a partner,” Parker said. “A Wednesday with a partner tends to think that their beloved is the center of the universe.”

“Is that an attack on my single self?” Shark asked, amused.

“But egos aside, there's no reason why any version of us should be cosmically significant,” continued Detective Addams, “Not even all of us collectively.”

“What about Wednesday?” asked Parker. “Well, the other Wednesday... er... you know, Weds.”

“Sister Wednesday?” said Shark. “She's exceptional, and I'd love to have her detective skills here, but her cosmic relevance is more of a side effect of Enid being the Volvaugr.”

“Me being the what?” asked Detective Sinclair.

“Another Enid,” explained Parker. “And it's... complicated.”

“Ugh, I just had a terrible idea,” muttered Eamon.

“What is it?” asked Detective Addams, focusing her attention on the other werewolf, almost as if she could sense that another piece of the puzzle was about to be uncovered.

“Years ago, we got caught up in... well, a crisis or adventure, or whatever you want to call it, between different universes,” Eamon began. “Wednesdays from different realities were being kidnapped by an individual named...”

“The Bright One,” continued Shark, with a strangely neutral tone in her voice.

“The Bright One? Who is that?” asked Detective Sinclair.

Eamon and Parker responded immediately at the same time, “You don't want to know.”

“There was nothing cosmically significant about The Bright One's motivations,” Shark said. “Her obsession with capturing the Wednesdays was the result of madness; it was personal.”

“Personal, you say,” Detective Addams said.

“What are you implying?” Shark asked.

“In your story, you mentioned how Mr. Morningstar had a particular theory about the Normalcy Nine, right?”

“That they had someone directing them from the shadows, a mastermind...” Parker added, before exchanging a nervous glance with Eamon. “Eamon, you're not going to tell me that...”

“I told you it was a terrible idea.”

“It cannot be,” Shark replied quietly.

“The reason Wednesdays are the primary target is not something cosmic. It is personal,” Detective Wednesday said, “And moving from kidnapping to murder may be understandable as part of an organized vendetta.”

“It can't be her,” Shark repeated, trying to ignore the chill that was beginning to form down her spine.

It was something she would normally enjoy. Hell, she had thoroughly enjoyed fighting The Bright One back in the day, but now, nine years later and more mature, she was more aware of the consequences of what the present conversation implied, and it wasn't a pleasant thought.

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” asked Detective Addams.

“We saw her die,” Shark replied, “Eamon and I were there, along with six other Wednesdays, other Enids, and other members of the family. I saw Sister Friday plunge her dagger into her rotten heart, killing her after a fight like few I've ever been involved in.”

“Then she's dead.”

“Absolutely,”

“So what?” asked Detective Addams.

The question baffled the others. Even Detective Sinclair looked at her partner with a canine tilt of her head.

“Er... what do you mean?” asked Parker.

“I'd like to know that too, sis,” Pugsley chimed in from the front passenger seat. Until then, he had remained silent, absorbing everything that had been discussed, but the way his sister had asked that question alarmed even him.

“We are Addams,” said the detective, “We know that death is not something to be feared. It can be a nuisance at times, something unwanted or very inappropriate depending on the circumstances, but it is not something we truly fear. Because we, more than anyone else, know that...”

“...death is just another step,” said Shark, “Not an end.”

“Not an end,” repeated Detective Addams, “Certainly not for those driven by obsession, revenge, or enough willpower, so I'll ask you again...”

Detective Addams leaned forward, her gaze locked on Shark's, both of them unblinking. One could almost feel the electricity in the air generated by the tension between them.

“Are you absolutely sure that The Bright One is finished?”

Chapter Text

Much to her horror, Enid Saint-Clair felt the muscles around her mouth twitch against her will, moving into a smile.

Mary Sue had asked her to, and she couldn't say no.

Well, σκατά, this isn't good.

It was a disconcerting and sickening feeling... feeling the urge to do something and being aware at the same time that you weren't responsible for it. It was as if someone had flipped a switch or found a way to turn you into a puppet. If this was how it was for everyone they had encountered on the quad, whatever Mary Sue was, she was even more terrifying than she had seemed at first.

Enid Saint-Clair began to feel anger bubbling up inside her, but even that wasn't enough to stop her lips from curving into a smile and...

Nid!

Needler's voice echoed in her head like a whip crack. The effect was immediate, and Saint-Clair felt herself regain control, while at the same time a strange sensation ran through her body, as if she had been tense until that moment and suddenly a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

The smile faded from her face before it could fully form.

And Mary Sue noticed it immediately.

The thing with the face of a laughing young girl as a mask did not lose her apparent chatty sweetness as she refocused her attention on the werecat.

“Hmm? Why aren't you smiling? Is something wrong? I  a̴̡͖̻͎̙͙̺̒̒ s̴̟͈̯̹̎͑͆́͌̊͜͜ͅ ̣͉ḱ̷̡͕̲̫̞́̐̎̈́̃͝͠ ͎e̴͊̍̀̇̂̃̒̅͆̏̈́̉̀ ̳̗̺͙d̵̹̜̤̖̫͈̹̲̬̎̓̐̓̽̀̉̆͐͒̂  you.”

As she spoke, something resonated in her voice. Something that caused Saint-Clair's mind to be assaulted for a millisecond by images of rotting human flesh devoured by worms. Mary Sue's sweet smile didn't change, but there was something sharp and poisonous behind it.

“She can't smile,” Needler interrupted suddenly.

The werecat and the abomination turned to look at her, genuine surprise on their faces for different reasons.

“Excuse me?” said Mary Sue.

“My companion suffers from a severe condition,” Needler continued. Her voice was firm, monotonous, with the cadence of a well-oiled machine and the quiet authority of someone who can convincingly make up bullshit on the spot, “It’s a psychosomatic disorder of a neuralgic nature... if she smiles, her brain shuts down, and she could die if the smile lasts more than five seconds.”

Okay, there's no way she's going to believe that, that has to be the most ridiculous thing... thought Saint-Clair, only to have her thoughts interrupted by an alarmed gasp escaping Mary Sue's lips.

The werecat looked at the girl (thing) and couldn't help being surprised by the look of dismayed consternation on Mary Sue's face. She seemed completely sincere... and not as if she were mimicking sincerity. It was real, her feline instincts could sense it.

She had believed the story. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Oh no! Oh my God!” exclaimed Mary Sue, before turning back to Saint-Clair with eyes shining with barely contained tears. She took the werecat’s hands in her own as if she were a close friend. “Oh, you poor thing! Unable to express the joy in your heart and the exhilaration of being alive! I am so sorry!”

“It's no big deal...” muttered Saint-Clair, visibly uncomfortable with the close contact.

“Perhaps it would be best if we continued on our way,” Needler interjected. “I must reiterate the importance of warning your Wednesday of the danger she is in.”

Although I am beginning to wonder if she would be safer under attack from the Normalcy Nine than with you, thought the mad scientist Addams.

“Oh, yes, yes!” exclaimed Mary Sue, pulling away from a relieved Saint-Clair, “Follow me, we're almost there!”

The Ophelia Hall of that dimension was similar to the one they both knew, one from her own universe and the other from her first interdimensional trip to Nevermore.

As they climbed the stairs to reach the top of the tower, they passed other students, whose reactions were the same as those in the quad. From a distance, they seemed to walk with their heads down or on guard, but as soon as they were undoubtedly in Mary Sue's presence, they all stopped to stare at her with an unnatural gleam of adoration in their eyes.

Saint-Clair and Needler observed how, after leaving them behind, many shook their heads, as if emerging from some kind of lethargy. Only a few dared to look back at them with veiled terror before continuing down the stairs.

Finally, they reached the top, the attic converted into a single, familiar room. There were no murmurs or whispers coming from behind the door. Nor was there the sound of a typewriter or any of Enid's K-pop playlists.

There was only silence, as if no one were there, but Mary Sue opened the door and walked in as if nothing was wrong, with Needler and Saint-Clair following her.

And there were Wednesday and Enid.

The sense of wrongness that had flooded Saint-Clair's senses since they had arrived in that universe intensified when she saw them.

There didn't seem to be anything wrong with them; they looked just like the Weds and Enid they knew... but they were sitting on their beds, with dark circles under their eyes as if they hadn't slept in days, and there was nothing to suggest that they had been doing anything before Mary Sue entered the room.

In contrast, as soon as Mary Sue made her appearance with a loud greeting (“Hello, my favorite girls!”), the two young women seemed to perk up, smiling from ear to ear and looking happy to see her.

Yes, even the Wednesday.

It's like they were standing here doing nothing until she came in, thought Saint-Clair, like dolls locked in a dollhouse waiting for their mistress to come and play with them.

Wrongness, indeed.

What followed were a few minutes of inane teenage banter. To a casual observer, there would have been nothing out of the ordinary, at least at first glance... but to Needler and Saint-Clair, the scene bordered on nightmarish. It was as if Mary Sue and the local Enid and Wednesday had engaged in a conversation filled with all the conventions, clichés, and teenage tropes one would expect from the most superficial television show aimed at the lowest common denominator.

Boys, dates, dancing… nauseating.

Needler's voice echoed again in Saint-Clair's head.

It's unnerving.

Unnerving? That word doesn't even come close to describing this... They're talking about boys, and dances like... as if there were school dances every week... it doesn't make sense...

And Wednesday is participating. I know that the multiverse is hugely varied and it's not wise to prejudge, but something tells me that this Wednesday is not naturally someone who would be comfortable with this kind of conformist talk.

She hasn't uttered a single sarcastic remark!

And she just asked Mary Sue for makeup advice. Plus, there doesn't seem to be any sign of Thing.

At that point, Mary Sue turned toward them, smiling.

Saint-Clair almost jumped like a startled cat.

It happened in the blink of an eye. A millisecond. But in that fraction of time, the smiling girl with platinum hair and bicolored eyes seemed to take the form of a shadow with blurred edges and impossible angles, a jagged, gleaming smile the only thing visible in a bubbling mass of solid darkness.

A blink. Not even a full second. And that was enough for Saint-Clair to feel the urge to scream, barely holding it back.

Please Needler, tell me you saw that too and that I'm not hallucinating...

Hmm...

Needler!

“Nessie! Nini!” Mary Sue continued, completely ignoring the werecat's silent reaction of terror, “Look, I've made some new friends. They've come to visit you, Nessie. Don't you think they look a lot like you two? It's…”

The thing with a girl's face fell silent for a moment and focused her attention on Needler, her face never losing its smile for a second.

“I just realized you haven't told me your names,” said Mary Sue, in a tone that was unexpectedly somber given her bright expression. “That's very r̸̹̖̥͇͙̺̙̠̯̪̟͛ͅǘ̴̧̪̫̖̝̀̒̍͋́͛̀͌͘͜d̵͐͌̅̃̽̑̏̈́̊̋͑͗̓ȩ̵̢̛̩̤̰̣̠͕̪̝̖̞̱̦̘̱͑̾̊́̍̌̍͑̌̌̽̕͝͝ͅ.”

Oh fuck, oh σκατά, oh no.

But Needler took a step forward, with a cold blood that Saint-Clair could only envy, and stood in front of Mary Sue, looking her straight in the eye.

In her eyes shone the glimmers of dead stars.

They were abysses incapable of being comprehended. Any mind would break and fall into madness in the face of such a vision.

But the mind of the Wednesday Addams known as Needler was no ordinary one. For her, madness was an old friend.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “It's true, we've been very rude. But secrecy is imperative in our mission. Granted, it's a mission that was thrust upon us suddenly, with little time and very few details.”

“O̷̍̀͆̃̋̊̾̆̓̅̐̀̏ ̡̢̨͖̱̤̙͍͇̩̮̼̰͎̃̅͑̂̑̆͘h̸̡̧̧̨͓̭͙͈̭̬͇͈̣͎̳͚̍̊͗̆?” Mary Sue asked, tilting her head.

“I need to ask you a favor that only you can grant me... I need to talk to Wed... To Nessie. Alone.”

The girl (abomination, monstrosity) stared intently at Needler. As if she were trying to read her mind through her eyes. Or just read it in general, as if her flesh and pale skin were pages of a book written in a language that only that creature could understand.

And after a few abnormally tense seconds, Mary Sue smiled again, closing her eyes in a gesture of effusive joy.

“Okay!”

And just like that, the creature left the room, skipping and whistling a catchy tune.

The change in the room was immediate as soon as the door closed behind her. The light illuminating the place seemed to dim, as if they had gone from a clear, sunny day to a gray, cloudy one.

“What the hell just happened?” muttered Saint-Clair, staring at the closed door as if afraid it would open at any moment.

Shadows with teeth... the Shadow Hydes were kittens compared to that...

“Look,” said Needler.

Saint-Clair turned to see how the local Wednesday and Enid had fallen back into complete silence. With their heads bowed, as if in a trance, each walked to her respective bed and sat down again, without saying or doing anything else.

The werecat approached her counterpart and ran her hand across her face, but Enid didn't give the slightest sign of noticing. Her eyes didn't even blink, and her breathing was very slow, almost non-existent, like that of an animal about to enter hibernation.

“I don't think you'll be able to talk much with that Wednesday if she's anything like this Enid...” said Saint-Clair.

“I wasn't counting on it,” said Needler, leaning over her local variant, staring face to face with the equally paralyzed Wednesday, “I just needed to buy some time.”

“What are we going to do, Needler?” asked Saint-Clair, slumping into the chair in front of the small desk on Wednesday's side of the room. “The Normalcy Nine and that Nothing stuff are bad enough, but something tells me that even if we stop whoever they send here, this universe is screwed anyway.”

“It's a very unfortunate reality, to be sure,” Needler replied, almost absently, surveying the room with an almost clinical gaze.

“Can we kill that thing?” Saint-Clair asked. “Because seriously, I don't think I'll be able to sleep peacefully for the rest of my life knowing that Mary Sue exists, even if she's universes away.”

“Mmm…”

Saint-Clair frowned, “Needler, are you listening to me?”

“Lomonósov-Lavoisier,” said the Addams.

“The what?”

“Mikhail Lomonósov and Antoine-Laurent de Lavoisier,” Needler replied, “The law of conservation of mass… Of course…”

“Needler, what are you talking about?”

“The urgency with which Mr. Morningstar imparted his information blinded me. I got carried away by appearances, the promise of deadly danger, and lost myself in the idea of meta-universes and their implications, but at the end of the day, it's all very simple…”

Oh yes... so simple it almost seems insulting.

The Addams mad scientist stood up and began to pace around the center of the room, “Matter cannot be created or destroyed. An Anti-Big Bang that would end this multiverse would only be the first transformative step in the birth of a new multiverse later on, once time was reshaped... yes, of course, I see...”

The Addams turned to Saint-Clair with an almost insane gleam in her eyes despite the eternal expression of monotonous boredom on her pale face.

“Enid Saint-Clair... do you trust me?”

“You asking that question is a little scary,” muttered the werecat.

Needler reached into her pocket and pulled out an object that she held in the palm of her hand.

A silver sphere.

“It lost its gun shape,” she said. “I think it's psychically reactive to the bearer.”

“Wait, that's...?”

“The weapon used by the trespasser who attacked us in Weds’ universe, yes,” said Needler, “Norman Normanmeyer’s weapon, the same type of weapon used by the Normalcy Nine in their multiverse assassination campaign.”

“Honestly, I had forgotten that you had kept it.”

Needler said nothing, but closed her fingers around the sphere. It became malleable, for a moment it seemed as if it were melting in her hand, but after a few seconds...

“Mmm, interesting.”

“Fuck!”

The sphere in Needler's hand had turned into a handgun. But it didn't resemble a revolver or any other mundane gun Saint-Clair had ever seen. It looked like the classic ray gun from old B-movie science fiction serials. The kind that looked like they had been made from hair dryers repainted to look like futuristic weapons.

Except that this one was completely silver, looked terrifyingly real, and Needler was holding it while studying it as if she were making thousands of calculations per second in her head.

“Needler,” said Saint-Clair, feeling a growing sense of alarm that she couldn’t explain. The feral cat inside her was writhing like a caged animal.

“Needler,” she repeated, “What are you thinking?”

Needler continued to stare at the gun, “Why a Wednesday? Why the Nothing?” she muttered, before turning back to Saint-Clair, “I must repeat my question… do you trust me?”

Saint-Clair stared at her.

She knew from what Willa had told her that Needler had been instrumental in saving the day during their first multiverse adventure.

She had fought alongside her when they stormed the fortress of The Brigh One. Needler had been pivotal in weakening the monster and dismantling its entire infrastructure.

Over the past nine years, she had been a constant and tireless presence, always improving their equipment so they could jump between realities more safely.

She was always willing to help them all because, even if they came from other corners of the multiverse, they were all her Family.

It was never in question.

Given all that, there was only one possible answer.

“Yes,” said the werecat, her voice firm, “I trust you.”

“In that case,” said Needler, “Try not to be alarmed.”

And she stretched out her arm, the one holding the silver weapon.

She aimed without looking.

And she fired.

Hitting the local Enid Sinclair squarely, who fell onto the bed and began to disintegrate in a matter of seconds.

And Saint-Clair, of course, was a little alarmed.

“NEEDLER, WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Chapter Text

Lord Wodnesdæg of the House of Adamo (Wod to friends and family) had seen many wonders in his relatively short life.

His world was one of wild and free magic, despite the efforts of some short-sighted individuals to try to constrain it. A world where outcasts had their own kingdom, living in peace with normies, where a farmer chatting amiably with a dragon at a crossroads was so commonplace it seemed mundane.

On his visits to other universes after meeting Enid Sinclair and her Wednesday, he had also seen many new and strange things. Mechanical devices so advanced that they would make some of the wizards who had visited his court die of envy, vehicles made of heavy metal capable of taking flight, cities of glass and concrete filled with towers that rose up to scrape the skies…

But at that moment, the place where he found himself surpassed all that and more.

Because from the large window in front of him, he could see the blackness of space broken by the blue and green glow of planet Earth below him, floating in the darkness of the void like an enormous jewel.

It was a beautiful sight, and also humbling, in a good way. It put into perspective how small they really were, including him, a prince of the oldest family in their world.

“It's not something you see every day,” said Pup's voice beside him, “Well, I guess these people do.”

After meeting the Enid from that universe, the heroine SuperWolf, and the variant of Ajax (who, apparently, was a native of Mars in this reality), the two superheroes (a concept that Pup had tried to quickly explain to Wod without much success) had taken them to their base. The two interdimensional Addams had expected some remote and well-defended headquarters, or perhaps some public and visible location to display some authority...

A huge space station in geosynchronous orbit was something far more advanced than either of them was used to. That is, in Pup's world at least they had had the space race, but nothing like that level.

The fact that they had ascended to the location using a purely technological teleportation device that Needler would undoubtedly have loved to study only emphasized how advanced the entire place was.

They had been brought to a “waiting room” while the rest of the local hero team was being gathered to talk to them. Neither Pup nor Wod were naive, and they knew that this place was undoubtedly monitoring and watching the two, and that if they tried anything, the room could easily be turned into a makeshift cell. But they had no intention of doing anything other than waiting, and the room was clearly designed for the comfort of visitors, with excellent views of space and the planet below them.

“This place is truly a marvel,” said Wod, responding to Pup's earlier statement.

“Do you think your world could have something like this? I mean, I've seen some of the things your people can do with magic...”

“Perhaps?” wondered the prince of the House of Adamo before frowning slightly. “It would take at least a dozen archmages working together without their egos getting in the way, and I don't see that as plausible,” he laughed.

“Would everyone want to do it differently and not agree on anything?”

“Everyone would want to do it in twelve different ways, a couple would start working on their own, others would forget about the project and go about their business, and we would probably end the first week with a living automaton the size of a city vomiting magical waste.”

“Why does all that sound like it happened?” Pup asked, amused.

“Some of my grandparents' urban reforms were interesting... my castle is alive for a reason, after all.”

After a few moments of silence, Pup asked, “How do you think the others are doing?”

“Worried about Lady Taylor?”

“Tay is very capable, but without me around... the poor thing must be having a hard time,” replied Pup. “Aren't you worried about Eneit? And Geraint?”

“I trust that my cub is safe with his cousins and young Varadi. And my Eneit… I miss her, of course, but I’m not worried,” Wod smiled as only an Addams in love could, “She’s much more dangerous than I am. I’d worry about the poor fools who want to test her.”

The two continued chatting and exchanging stories, letting time slip by. They didn't have to wait long before the door of the room opened with a soft hiss and a figure entered the chamber.

A'Jax Ptr-Olus, The Martian Gorgon, was interesting. The two visitors could easily recognize in him the features of the different variants of Ajax Petropolus they had encountered over the years, only in this case with red eyes, green skin, and his serpentine hair exposed without any apparent petrifying effects.

Oh, and he was also a head taller than any other Ajax they had ever met and visibly more muscular.

“Greetings,” he said, bowing his head slightly, “I apologize for the delay, but sometimes it is difficult to gather the entire team.”

“No problem at all, Lord A'Jax,” said Wodnesdæg, “I am aware of the difficulties involved in maintaining optimal collaboration between multiple fiefdoms.”

“Uh... technically we're not... Oh, I guess Bianca and Yoko would be... I mean...”

“Don't worry about it, A'Jax,” interjected Pup, “That was Wod-speak for saying he understands that each of you has a lot of responsibilities and that it's not easy to put them aside to attend to two strangers from another universe.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised how common a situation like this is,” laughed the Martian. “You know, I know you're a variant of her, that you both are, but...”

“I smile a lot, I'm sociable, and I don't have any apparent homicidal impulses?” asked Pup, with a gentle smile on her lips.

“Yes, exactly,” replied A'Jax, but whatever he was about to say died in his throat. Because it took only a second, a slight inclination of the head and no apparent superficial change in the expression on her face... but Pup's smile became sharp and the super- powered Martian had to fight the urge to take a step back in the face of the aura of menace that had fleetingly emerged from the young woman.

“But I'm still a Wednesday,” said Pup.

Wod just laughed as if he had been told the best joke in the world.

§§§

A'Jax led them through the station's wide corridors.

The place was not inhabited solely by superheroes. There was a small army of technicians, scientists, and other personnel on site performing multiple tasks.

“Mostly employees of S.T.A.R. Labs and Addams Industries, although we also have some freelance volunteers. They help us keep everything running and up to speed,” explained the Martian Gorgon.

Finally, they reached an area that was visibly more isolated from the rest of the station and had clearer security measures in place. Double-armored doors, decontamination chambers, etc. Soon they found themselves in front of a larger door that opened to reveal another room with windows overlooking deep space. In the center of the room was a large circular table surrounded by several comfortable-looking chairs, some of which were occupied.

“I bring our visitors,” said A'Jax, drawing the attention of everyone present.

Enid Sinclair, Superwolf, was the first one they saw. She was standing in front of the window looking at the stars before turning around and nodding to them, then approaching the table and sitting down in one of the empty seats.

“You already know Superwolf,” said A'Jax, “Allow me to introduce the others... this is Jade Lantern.”

He pointed to a woman with tanned skin, short brown hair, and bright green eyes who appeared to be wearing a suit in different shades of green that fit her body like a second skin. In fact, it was almost as if the suit were made of light or some other kind of energy converted into solid matter. On one of the fingers of her right hand, a ring glowed with an emerald light that seemed to pulsate with barely contained power.

Jade Lantern watched Pup and Wod attentively and cautiously, but the smile on her face was warm and sincere. Pup and Wod simply greeted her with a silent gesture, but they were both fairly certain that she was a variant of Divina.

A'Jax continued with his introductions, “This is The Rush, the fastest man alive.”

The man, who despite the scarlet mask covering his face was clearly a variant of Xavier Thorpe, greeted the newcomers with a thumbs up that contrasted with the solemnity of his gaze and the rigidity of the facial muscles around his mouth. His entire costume was a deep red, with yellow boots and gloves and a lightning bolt symbol on his chest. Despite being seated, everything about him seemed to evoke movement. It was as if his body was vibrating in an almost imperceptible way.

“Here we have Queen Siren, Queen of Atlantis,” said A'Jax, pointing to a dark-skinned woman with vivid blue eyes and a shaved head. She was tall and slender and wore tight-fitting orange and aquamarine armor that appeared to be made up of thousands of tiny metal scales that seemed to blend in with the visible, almost iridescent scales covering her skin. Her pose was serious and stern, but she greeted the newcomers with a slight nod of her head.

“Call me Bianca,” she said. “This is not my kingdom, we can do without titles.”

“We can do without titles, she says, but then you're always the first to remind everyone that you're the queen of fish,” said a mocking voice, that of the last person sitting at the table.

She was an Asian woman with pale skin, dark hair adorned with a golden tiara, and bright red eyes. She wore a suit that appeared to be a very liberal version of Greco-Roman armor with multiple influences from different Mediterranean cultures mixed with others from further east. Her entire outfit offered reasonable protection while emphasizing the power of her tall, muscular physique. She greeted Pup and Wod with a broad smile that revealed prominent fangs.

“Koyoko Tanaka of Themyscira at your service, although in this very special private club of ours, they call me Blood Amazon.”

“I personally call her pain in the ass,” Bianca grumbled, crossing her arms.

“Aww, I love you too, BiBi,” replied the vampire Amazon with a mocking smile.

A'jax invited Pup and Wod to sit down as he took his seat. “As you can see, we're a somewhat... diverse team. You can call us The League.”

A collective groan rippled around the table.

“Seriously Jax, that can't be the name,” said Jade Lantern, “It makes us sound like a sports organization.”

“Yeah, it's missing something...” added The Rush.

Koyoko raised her hand but was interrupted by Bianca before she could speak. “No, we're not going to call ourselves the Super Buddies either, Tanaka.”

“It's a valid name!”

“It's childish!”

“Well, we have to appeal to kids, don't we?”

Wod and Pup exchanged glances as the unexpected verbal debate continued, wondering whether or not they should intervene. For his part, A'Jax had simply covered his face with one of his hands and groaned in an act of frustrated resignation. Childish situations like this must have been more common than expected...

And then a voice stopped everything.

“Enough.”

Enid hadn't raised her voice. She hadn't sounded harsh or irritated; she had been gentle but with a quiet authority underlying her words that demanded attention. The verbal equivalent of a steel sword wrapped in a silk cloth.

“We have visitors,” she said, looking at Pup and Wod, “and they have something to tell us.”

Wod nodded and gestured deferentially toward Pup, “It is best that you explain our situation, Lady Pup. You are more concise and precise with your words, while I am sure to fall into unnecessary theatricality. But I will intervene if you need me to.”

And so, as other members of her family in similar situations had done before her, Pup proceeded to tell her story to the group of superheroes in front of her, trying to ignore the surreal nature of the whole situation. She told them who they were, about their previous experiences in the multiverse, how they had gotten there, and the reason why... It only took her a few minutes.

When she finished, Blood Amazon whistled, “Wow, that's quite a story.”

“Yes, very elaborate,” said Bianca, Queen Siren, casting a suspicious glance at the visitors.

Pup simply raised an eyebrow in a very Wednesday-esque manner, “You don't believe us?”

“Don't take it personally,” The Rush interjected, “Dimensional travel is perfectly believable, we've had very similar experiences with visitors from other universes, alternate realities, different dimensional planes... but that's precisely why we have to be cautious.”

“Those experiences have been both positive and negative,” Queen Siren continued, “And some negative ones posing as positive before their true intentions were exposed.”

“Your story about coming here to save the life of our Wednesday Addams to prevent a cosmic cataclysm would be very convenient if she…” Jade Lantern began, before interrupting herself and casting an apprehensive glance at Superwolf.

“If she were still with us,” murmured the Last Werewolf of Krypton.

“Well, that's precisely why I believe them... if their story were a hoax, they would have done their research better and would know that Moon Raven has been dead for two years,” said Blood Amazon.

“Koyoko!” scolded Jade Lantern, but the vampire just shrugged. “What? I'm just telling it like it is...”

“Moon Raven?” asked Wod.

“Oh, Wednesday's identity when she wore the cowl,” explained the vampire.

“She began her career long before any of us made our public debut,” said A'Jax. “Many of us thought she was an urban legend until Superwolf introduced her to us. They already knew each other...”

“She was the most dangerous woman in the world,” said Enid, with a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “And she didn't even have any superpowers. The Moon Raven.”

My moon.

“We're in a predicament,” said Pup. “That Morningstar fellow sent us here to protect the Wednesday Addams of this universe, but now you're telling me there's no Wednesday Addams in this reality. But I don't think he would send us here just by chance... it would be just a waste if we only sat around waiting for our inter-universe travel devices to recalibrate so we could leave.”

“How did she die?” asked Wod, curious, “It's not easy to get rid of an Addams…”

A collective shudder seemed to run through the group.

“That's… a complicated story,” said Bianca.

“She tried to kill us,” said Enid, shrugging her shoulders.

Wod and Pup turned to look at her in surprise, “What?”

“Well, not exactly,” clarified Superwolf, “It would be more accurate to say that she planned how to kill us. A series of neutralization protocols for each member of our team, methods to stop us with varying degrees of severity in case we strayed from the right path or fell under the control of others... If any of us had become a threat, she had a plan to stop us.”

“And some of them were fucked up,” grumbled The Rush, “I still remember the feeling of that bomb sewn into the flesh of my torso…”

“Two days in an adamantite coffin wasn’t much fun either,” whispered Koyoko.

“Wednesday's plans were secret,” A'Jax began to explain, “But her security was compromised after she let her guard down in a personal relationship...”

“Galpin,” Superwolf growled. Her claws extended instinctively.

“Industrialist Taylor Galpin, a childhood friend and... er... well, perhaps something closer,” A'Jax continued, ignoring the continuous growl reverberating in Enid's throat, “He turned out to be under the control of a cabal of supervillains led by Laurel Gates, a.k.a. the Crimson Lantern, and the sorcerer Crackstone.”

“In short, they discovered her identity, stole her plans to kill us, put them into action, and almost succeeded, and in the end... well...”

“Wednesday died after saving us all,” Enid continued, “Exhausted, wounded, and almost out of resources, she had freed us from the final trap when Galpin treacherously attacked her after injecting himself with an experimental serum that transformed him into a monster.”

“They both fell into a malfunctioning teleporter platform just as it activated... We found only half of Galpin's torso. Of her, only one hand. The rest of her body was atomized,” concluded A'Jax.

There was almost a minute of silence after the story, as if a mournful atmosphere permeated the room.

“What about her family?,” asked Pup, “Without her present, I can’t rule out the possibility that the Normalcy Nine might want to use an alternative target.”

She couldn't help thinking about her little sister, Wednesday Jr... Would she also count as a Wednesday for situations like this?

The somber expression on Enid's face was a clear answer before the she-wolf had to speak, “Gomez and Morticia Addams died when Wednesday was nine years old. She had no siblings. Her butler Lurch took care of her, but he also died shortly after Wednesday's passing. And her other assistant, Thing... well, we haven't heard from him in years. And it's better not to talk about her uncle.”

“Didn't she have a sidekick?” asked Koyoko, “That red haired brat who followed her everywhere... What was her name? The Sparrow, or just Sparrow or something like that?”

“Agnes,” Enid snorted, “That kid was just a groupie. I keep an eye on her from time to time to make sure she doesn't end up dead too. Weds couldn't stand her, but she wouldn't want anything to happen to her either...”

After that, the conversation had gone round in loops without getting anywhere. They had exchanged a few anecdotes and stories about Moon Raven, but nothing that could be of any use to Pup and Wod.

It seemed that all they could do was wait for their devices to stabilize again so they could leave, but as they waited in the same room where they had been brought upon their arrival, Pup couldn't help but pace around in circles, worried.

“Is something troubling you, Lady Pup?” asked Wodnesdæg, casting an inquiring glance at his variant and interdimensional sister.

“It doesn't make sense, Wod,” said Pup. “If the Wednesday of this dimension is dead, why send us here?”

“There was some randomness to our arrival,” said Wod. “But you don't think that's a factor, do you?”

Pup shook her head. “Look, I'm not a detective like Weds, but... no matter how random it was, I don't think Morningstar would send us to a universe without a Wednesday if our mission is to make sure we find a Wednesday. Something doesn't add up here...”

“You're not wrong,” said a third voice.

A'Jax Ptr-Olus, The Martian Gorgon, closed the door behind him after entering the room and typed a code into the keypad next to the entrance. The lights flickered for a moment.

“I have temporarily cut off monitoring of the room to ensure privacy,” explained the Martian superhero with a hint of tension in his voice. “You are right that something is amiss, and I can only tell you about it in private.”

“What is it?” asked Pup, although part of her already knew the answer.

A'jax stared at her and took a deep breath, as if uttering the next words would require extra effort.

“Wednesday Addams, the Moon Raven, is still alive.”

Chapter Text

Bianca Barclay had never been a big fan of Parents' Weekend.

As a teenager, it was for obvious reasons. Her whole personal situation, her fractured relationship with her mother, the shadow of Morning Song always hanging over her... No, Bianca was not looking forward to facing a couple of days that, with each passing year, felt more and more like a growing risk.

As principal of Nevermore, her reasons were more numerous and varied.

To begin with, the whole thing was a logistical nightmare.

It wasn't just a visitation day, it was a whole weekend of family gatherings in which Nevermore, at the request of the board, committed to provide accommodation for those parents who couldn't manage on their own or didn't have the means to do so.

Then there was the matter of meals, expanding the kitchen team's workload to almost triple its usual capacity. And outcast diets were varied and sometimes potentially dangerous for the occasional normie parent of a first-generation outcast.

It was utter chaos, barely under control.

The other reason that made the day a bitter experience was some of the parents themselves, both those who were present and those who were not.

It was a horrible experience to witness bright, sociable, and eloquent students retreat into silent replicas of themselves in the presence of parental figures who were clearly not ideal, to say the least.

And then there was the other side of the coin, those parents who didn't bother to show up even for a day... for Bianca, it would have been an ideal situation when she was a student, but even then she was well aware that her case was exceptional and that there were many young outcasts who would have given anything for a glimmer of attention or the presence of an absent parent.

And as principal of Nevermore, all of that was magnified for her.

Because although Bianca did not consider herself a particularly maternal person, she did consider each and every one of her students to be hers. And she would never tolerate anything that could harm them, not even if it came from their own families.

Finally, there was another element of Parents' Weekend that made her somewhat nervous. Something much more trivial in the grand scheme of things.

Specifically, the visit of old friends.

One couple in particular.

It was still relatively early in the day. Bianca was in her office giving a final review of the celebratory speech she would deliver during the midday feast. The academy was already buzzing with activity, and she could hear the noise of excited students and the first parents arriving at the premises.

It was in the midst of all this, fully focused on her work, when someone knocked on her office door. Somehow, she knew immediately who it was.

“Come in, it's open.”

The door opened and two figures as different as night and day entered the room. Bianca couldn't help but suppress a slight smile when she saw them.

Even after two decades of marriage, Wednesday and Enid Addams remained an exercise in contrasts that somehow inexplicably complemented each other. The dark, sober clothing of the former clashed with the bright, vibrant colors of the latter almost as much as their personalities contrasted.

They shouldn't have worked, but they did.

Bianca was of the opinion that Wednesday Addams' disposition had softened subtly over the years. Something she would never say out loud or where the Addams could hear her, because despite everything, she was still capable of skinning an adult alive if she set her mind to it. But it was true that although she remained serious and somber, Wednesday no longer had the constant shadow of poorly contained irritability of her younger years. At least, if you weren't stupid enough to provoke her.

For her part, Enid remained a ray of sunshine in human and occasionally lupine form. Even in her forties, she vibrated with an energy and vivacity that far surpassed that of much younger people. This was reinforced by a clear increase in self-confidence and a contained ferocity that she only brought out on occasion. To her family and friends, Enid might be like a puppy... but she was still a werewolf puppy, and only someone with suicidal tendencies would provoke something with enough strength in her jaws to break bones even without transforming.

Although Wednesday was the first to cross the threshold and enter the office, Enid quickly rushed past her, extending her arms.

Bianca got up from her desk, not bothering to try to avoid the inevitable, and let the she-wolf's two strong arms wrap around her in a hug that made her ribs creak.

“Biancaaaa! Hiiii!”

“Ugh... hi Enid, good to see you.”

Wednesday approached more slowly, stopping a few feet away from Bianca and simply crossing her arms in front of her with a look of calculated indifference.

“Barclay,” she said, in a tone barely discernible as a greeting.

“Addams,” replied Bianca, striking the same pose after finally freeing herself from Enid’s arms.

The werewolf, for her part, simply let out an exasperated snort and rolled her eyes, “Come on, girls, please. You’re both friends. It makes no sense to keep up this posturing after so many years.”

“It's not posturing, querida, it's our own personal ritual.”

“And honestly, if Wednesday started calling me just Bianca and greeting me in a conventional way, I would take it as the first sign of the Apocalypse,” said the principal.

The Addams raised an eyebrow, “The second one. My mere presence already counts as the first sign wherever I go.”

“Ah, there it is. The same old humility.”

Enid sighed, “Aaagh, I live surrounded by edgelords... Would it hurt you two so much to give each other a hug?”

“Third sign of the Apocalypse,” Wednesday and Bianca replied at the same time, causing Enid to let out a pitiful growl.

Bianca laughed, patting the blonde werewolf gently on the shoulder. “Anyway, I suppose you're here for the annual report, right?”

“Among other things,” said Wednesday, in a tone that immediately caught Bianca's attention. The Addams was up to something.

But whatever it was, she would deal with it in time. Bianca gestured toward the desk, inviting her visitors to sit down. “Shall we proceed, then?”

The three sat down. Bianca pulled a stack of papers from one of her desk drawers and placed it on the table as Enid leaned forward with a smile, “Well... How is my little puppy doing this year?”

Bianca placed another stack of papers and folders on the table, even larger than the previous one, and looked at Enid, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want my answer as an education professional or as a trusted friend?”

“Trusted friend,” Enid replied, after thinking about it for just a second. Sitting next to her, Wednesday simply nodded in agreement.

“Well, how can I put this...” Bianca began, “Vega Addams is both a delight as a student and a nightmare I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.”

Enid's smile froze slightly, but only a little. In contrast, Wednesday's face had taken on an expression of satisfied pride in the form of a smirk.

Bianca addressed her immediately, “Save that smile, Addams,” she said, pushing the first stack of papers toward them, “Now, from an academic perspective... Vega is an exemplary student. Brilliant. Her academic performance cannot be questioned by any standard. Here you have multiple reports of qualifications, classwork, practical exercises, various recommendations... She is active in multiple clubs, and despite some peculiarities in avoiding physical contact except for a couple of exceptions, she seems to be reasonably sociable with the rest of the student body."

“Well, that sounds great,” said Enid, happy for her daughter.

“She certainly takes after Wednesday when it comes to brains,” Bianca continued, “and unfortunately, that's also part of the problem.”

“Uh oh,” Enid muttered.

Bianca gave the she-wolf a reassuring look. “It's nothing as serious as Miss-I'm-Going-To-Torture-Hydes-In-My-Spare-Time present here. But the truth is that this same brilliance causes Vega to get bored easily with much of the material taught, and her respect for most of the teaching staff is, to put it delicately...”

“Average?” ventured Enid, even though she knew that wouldn’t be the case.

“Practically nonexistent and similar to that of a deranged gremlin,” Bianca continued, pushing the second and larger stack of papers filled with reports of complaints and transgressions, “Seriously, of all the staff, she only seems to take me and Mrs. Deetz, the spiritualism teacher, into consideration.”

“That my daughter respects you so blindly will never cease to amaze me,” Wednesday said.

Bianca just shrugged, “What can I say? The girl's not stupid... Now, the other part of the equation and the problem is that Vega also takes after you quite a bit, Enid.”

“Me? How could that be bad? I was a model student.”

“Until you met me,” Wednesday said.

“I mean, a little basic criminal knowledge isn't all bad...” Enid muttered, before gesturing for Bianca to continue.

“Well, Wednesday here used to get others involved in her shenanigans through omission, lies, manipulation, or sheer bad luck,” Barclay explained, "Vega, on the other hand, has inherited your sociability to a certain extent, and although she reserves it for a very select group of people, two in particular, she has earned their full loyalty. Which means that those two are always guaranteed to be involved in her misadventures."

“One is Sora, right?” Enid asked. “Sora Toriyama? I imagine that after what happened last year...”

“On the bright side, there haven't been any incidents of that scale since,” Bianca said, recalling how her lupine student and the young medium who would end up entering Nevermore shortly thereafter had solved the local murder of a young normie student from Jericho. “But they've been joined by Regine Ottinger, and between the three of them, they've already uncovered a case of violent poltergeists in the old wing of the academy, discovered evidence of a possible anti-outcast teen cult that was using the ruins of Willow Hill as its base of operations, and possibly sent a student to the hospital for his alleged abusive behavior toward his girlfriend, although we have no proof that the girls were actually responsible for that.”

And honestly, it's not like we've looked very hard for it either, she thought.

“Oh dear, Eugene's daughter,” said Enid, “And I was hoping she would be a good influence.”

“Eugene was someone who was willing to break curfew for our investigations without me even having to ask,” said Wednesday, almost nostalgically, “Honestly, I expected nothing less from his offspring.”

“Look... if you want my opinion, you have nothing to worry about, not really. Vega is excelling in her studies, and apart from that, nothing of the same magnitude as last year has happened, and of course, despite her propensity for trouble, Vega has not reached the escalation of events perpetrated by a certain person I know,” Bianca concluded, casting an amused glance at Wednesday.

“Give her time,” replied the Addams.

“Weeeds,” whimpered Enid.

Bianca glanced at her watch. “Well, if that's all... It's going to be a very long day, and you two are just the first in a loooong line of parents I'm going to have to deal with over the next two days.”

“Before that,” Wednesday interrupted, pulling an envelope out of her jacket. “I have something for you,” she said, offering it to Bianca.

Bianca took the envelope, glancing at Wednesday, who simply said, “Please read it right now.”

Raising just one eyebrow and keeping the rest of her face completely expressionless in a way that would be the envy of experienced poker players, Bianca opened the envelope and took out the small note inside. It was a short text written in Wednesday's elegant handwriting.

Barclay,

In thirty seconds, I will get up to open the door to your office.

Two people will follow me inside.

The moment they do, you must remove your pendant and use your siren song towards the office fireplace.

Use the command “Drop it.”

W.A.

Bianca hid her surprise, merely glancing at Wednesday while pretending to continue reading. She also looked at Enid for a moment.

Enid Addams nodded and smiled, but Bianca saw a gleam in her eyes that she had only witnessed on rare occasions in the werewolf. That told her that whatever it was, she had to take it seriously.

And it was fortunate that she came to that conclusion so quickly, because the thirty seconds passed in a flash and Wednesday got up, walking steadily toward the office door. Vague voices could be heard from outside, although Bianca recognized those of Vega Addams and Sora Toriyama among them...

Wednesday opened the door. In front of her, she could make out the outlines of two female figures, difficult to distinguish due to the light coming in from outside.

She could hear snippets of conversation.

“Friday and Woe, isn't it?,” asked Wednesday.

The two women seemed to react with surprise, judging by their body language. Bianca could hear Sora Toriyama muttering, “Uh... but how did she...?” before one of the women interrupted her with a voice that sounded abnormally familiar.

“Psychic seer, just like our Wednesday. I assume you've seen us coming for a while now.”

What the hell, thought Bianca.

“Oh, much more than that,” continued Wednesday, “We have a lot to talk about.”

With those words, Wednesday turned and reentered the office, the two women immediately behind her. In that split second, Bianca understood who they were, however impossible it seemed, and knew she had to act because all of this had led to the kind of situation Wednesday Addams dragged her friends into, which surely involved some kind of mortal danger in one way or another.

As soon as the second woman crossed the threshold, Bianca ripped off her pendant and used her siren song toward the fireplace in the office, almost shouting.

“DROP IT!”

Many things happened in the few seconds that followed.

First, there was the loud, thud of something heavy falling to the floor. Bianca saw what looked like a silver pistol on the stone in front of the fireplace that hadn't been there a split second earlier, as if it had materialized out of thin air.

Enid then literally jumped out of her seat with a wolf-like growl and struck the air in front of the fireplace with all her might.

Except it wasn't the air she hit.

The air actually seemed to fragment in a strange optical effect, as if thousands of tiny crystals had shattered, and suddenly a figure materialized out of nowhere, a woman wrapped in a red cloak and hood who received Enid's fist directly to the face, throwing her against the hard marble ornamentation of the fireplace before falling unconscious to the floor.

The stunned silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, broken by Vega Addams entering the office just as her mom knocked the stranger out.

“Holy shit, Mom!”

“Language, young lady!”, growled Enid.

“What the fuck!?”

“Miss Toriyama!” exclaimed Bianca, surprised that her first reaction to the situation was to reprimand her student for her language. But in a way, it was the most sane option after what had just happened.

Because there, in her office, next to Wednesday Addams, were...

“Oh God, there are two more of you,” she muttered.

She didn't know how to explain it, because the women weren't one hundred percent identical in physical and facial features, but all her siren instincts told her that those two women were also Wednesday Addams.

They had the same harmony, the same resonance. That was despite their different ages, with the younger of the two seeming to emanate an aura of murder mixed with respect as she watched Enid with interest, and the other...

Okay, no. Impossible.

It couldn't be.

“...pink?” whispered Bianca.

The woman known as Friday in multiple universes, dressed in a bright pink sweater, simply looked at Bianca with an amused smile.

“What? It’s just the color of my enemies’ blood diluted by their tears after being crushed under my heel.”

Well, fuck me…

That was a Wednesday Addams all right.

Chapter Text

Norman Normanmeyer, that was his name. And he was one of many. Of hundreds, thousands... infinite, in fact.

The multiverse was that outlandish.

The Norman Normanmeyer we know as Norman Three knew he was a little out of the ordinary compared to most of his counterparts serving Norman Prime of the Normalcy Nine. Most Norman Normanmeyers were well into adulthood, middle-aged and with families. Norman Three, on the other hand, was still in his twenties, wore colored sunglasses when he didn't need to, and styled his hair in a mohawk.

Many of his variants looked at him sideways and sometimes even with open contempt just for being punk. As if there weren't any other variants that were more out of the ordinary! There were some Normans who were Normas, born female. And he had seen at least a few green variants and one made of rock...

...but all of them were living images of conformity in their respective worlds, and in that respect Norman Three was a little different. But wasn't that normal too? The multiverse was infinite, damn it. Who were the others to judge him?

He couldn't deny it, this had caused him some doubts on occasion. The Normalcy Nine's mission was supposed to be to restore normality to the multiverse by eliminating the greatest example of freakishness imaginable: the Addams family. But what was really normal about what they did? However, he didn't dwell on it anymore... Norman One had warned him when he heard him express his perplexity aloud one day when he had let his guard down. It wasn't a good idea to let those ideas germinate in his head because the Mistress always found out sooner or later, and the result wasn't pretty...

“Disintegrated into ashes in the blink of an eye,” Norman One had told him, referring to the ill-fated fate of a Crackstone variant who had dared to question the Mistress's leadership.

So Norman Three decided to follow the advice, bow his head, and swallow his resentment in order to redirect it toward what was truly important, toward what united him with all the Norman Normanmeyers.

Killing the Addams Family.

Norman hated the Addams family. And in his opinion, he had had it much worse than his counterparts.

You see, most Normans only know the Addams as neighbors, already as adults. An unfortunate twist of fate that leads them to live next door to the monstrous family. Basically, many Normans spend the first forty years of their lives more or less in peace, unaware of the madness and strangeness of that clan of lunatics.

Norman Three met Gomez Addams in kindergarten. And Gomez Addams decided, for some twisted reason that defied all logic, that Norman Three was his best friend in the world.

No matter how hard Norman tried to distance himself, no matter how many insults he hurled at Gomez, no matter how many times he pushed him, sabotaged him, or tried to attack him with childish rage... Gomez always saw it all as wonderful displays of friendship.

And he responded accordingly: dynamite and other explosives, snakes and other poisonous animals offered as gifts, candy that would kill an adult moose if eaten, invitations to his monstrous home to see his equally abhorrent brother, which little Norman couldn't refuse because for some reason his parents were damn happy that he was “friends” with the heir to a family as influential as the Addams.

Because that was another detail that fueled Norman Three's resentment. The Addams family was rich.

Absurdly rich, the kind of wealth you would expect from someone more suited to a cartoon series than real life.

And they squandered it on the most insane things.

For someone from a humble background like Norman, this drove him crazy. He couldn't help thinking that every move Gomez made was a calculated maneuver to show off his wealth and status, to make it clear to Norman that he was just another possession of his...

That wasn't the case, not really. Gomez was genuinely sincere in his proclamations of friendship, but that was something Norman would never want to admit or accept.

And so the years passed, with his social life ruined by always being associated with the Addams family, whether he liked it or not. He clung to music and punk (or at least, the superficial version of punk that he had misinterpreted) as signs of his own identity and hid his hatred and resentment under a layer of apathy and sarcasm that Gomez and his family found charming.

God, how he hated them.

But that wasn't the last straw. It was much later, in his senior year of high school, when Norman Three began to consider killing Gomez Addams.

And it was all because of Morticia Frump.

She and her sister arrived in town that year. Apparently, her twin sister Ophelia had come specifically to be Gomez's fiancée in an arranged marriage between the Addams and Frump families. It was perhaps the only time Norman felt a slight hint of sympathy for Gomez... an arranged marriage of this kind felt almost medieval, and it was clear that the Addams heir was not happy with the situation. Even a blind man could see that there was little or no compatibility between Ophelia and him.

But anyway, that wasn't Norman's problem. And Morticia was much more deserving of his attention...

Morticia Frump was... well, yes, she was perhaps as strange as the Addams in a way. But at that time she wasn't yet as strange as she would become, at least in Norman's biased eyes.

Norman only saw a quiet, shy girl of inexplicable beauty, overshadowed by the exuberance of her twin sister, who was much more inclined to attract public attention. She was a friendly young woman who always had a kind word for Norman (actually, a kind word for everyone, but Norman never wanted to see that).

Norman fell in love with her on the spot.

Unfortunately for him, Morticia felt the same way about Gomez.

And vice versa.

And because, in Norman's eyes, Gomez Addams always got what he wanted and the universe bowed down before him, it was only a matter of time before his engagement to Ophelia fell apart and Gomez and Morticia ended up together. They got married right after high school.

Gomez even had the nerve to invite him to the wedding. Norman almost wanted to accept the invitation so he could strangle him right there, but that jerk would probably think it was a wedding gift.

He didn't see them again until many years later... not until one day he came face to face with a stranger wearing his own visage, wrapped in a crimson cloak, offering him the chance to join a sacred mission.

A mission to...

Norman woke up.

All those memories had been his mind kicking back into gear as he emerged from unconsciousness.

Oh, damn... everything hurts.

What had happened? Oh, yes! He had caught that kid who had left the Addams' house when he and his companions had gone to investigate the place to find out what had happened to Norman Prime. And Norman One had tried to interrogate the child and had even threatened to kill him.

Norman Three hadn't liked that very much... killing the kid? No, that wasn't right.

If he were at least an Addams... then that would be another story, of course.

But... where was he now?

Well, it was impossible for him to know. He was sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair, bound hand and foot, with a blindfold covering his eyes, and...

“Ah, you're awake.”

Norman flinched when he heard the voice. It was too close, as if the other person was sitting practically next to him.

He remained very still, without saying a word.

“No need to try to pretend you're asleep, I saw you jolt in your chair.”

Norman didn't recognize the voice. It was a man, an adult, and from his tone, he seemed amused by the situation, which was definitely not a good sign for Norman.

“Who... who are you?” he asked.

“Oh, no, buddy. That's not how the game works... Don't you know the rules? I'm the one who gets to ask the questions. You're the one tied to the chair and at my mercy after trying to break into my family's house and hurt them. I hope I don't have to explain it to you because I might have a problem with you.”

Someone pulled the blindfold covering his eyes, removing it. Norman opened his eyes and... saw only darkness.

“But if I'm in the dark, what was the point of wearing the blindfold?”

“For the drama! And didn't I just tell you that you're not the one asking the questions here?” replied the voice.

Norman strained his eyes, trying to make out some silhouette or shape or something... but there wasn't the slightest glimmer of light that his eyes could absorb to even distinguish the most basic contours of the room he was in. The humidity in the air suggested something like an attic or a basement, but he couldn't be sure.

“Look, this can be very simple. I ask, you answer, and everyone's happy,” the voice continued, “I just want to know why you attacked my family and why my niece and her wife have disappeared, leaving their daughters alone, which I don't think they would ever do, even as a joke.”

“I... I don't know anything about that...”

“Oh, no? Well, we're going to have a problem.”

“No... I'm not going to tell you a word,” Norman muttered, feeling a surge of loyalty to the cause of the Normalcy Nine.

A rather inopportune moment for that.

The person in the room with him didn't respond to that. Well, not with words, at least. A short, amused giggle echoed in the darkness.

A giggle that made Norman's blood run cold.

The voice was different... but in the multiverse, it was perfectly normal for variants of the same individual to have completely different voices.

But that giggle... Norman had heard it before. And it belonged to one of the few Addams who genuinely terrified him.

There was a flash of light. A sparkle of electricity shining in an outstretched hand.

A pale, dark-eyed face with a playful smile appeared before him in the darkness, partially illuminated by the sparks.

Fester Addams.

“Well, let's get started in earnest. One little question at a time, and for every one you don't answer...”

The sparks of electricity intensified, illuminating the entire room for a few seconds.

And the objects and instruments in it.

In that moment, Norman regretted many things.

§§§

In the main hall of the house, two pairs of twins (Dora & Theo, Day & Rissa), a young prince (Geraint), and a flesh golem (Varadi) were passing the time as best they could when screams of intense pain began to come from the attic.

Dora raised her eyebrows, “Well, it looks like it's not going to be peaceful.”

“I hope Grunkle Fester doesn't go too far... I mean, I know he's not like the Fester from our dimension, but sometimes they get carried away with their enthusiasm,” Theo commented.

Another bloodcurdling scream shook the house.

“How long do you think it will take them?” asked Varadi.

“Hmm, wanna bet?” asked Dora.

“I say she'll have him confessing in less than an hour,” said Theo.

“Two hours!” exclaimed Geraint.

“Are you playing too, little tadpole?” asked Dora.

“Of course I am! And don't call me a tadpole, I'm a wolf!”

“More like a puppy,” laughed Dora, as she caught the boy in midair just as he jumped toward her, eager to bite her.

Day, meanwhile, just sighed as another scream of horror echoed through the house.

“Aren't you playing, Day?” asked Varadi.

“I can't bet with money, Mom still won't let Uncle take us to rob banks,” muttered the girl.

“What if you bet something else? Candy, maybe?” asked Dora.

“Oh, yes, that sounds better than the gold coins I was going to use!” said Geraint.

“Hmm... Well, for me, put two bags of newt eyes. The salty ones. And one of roadkill raccoon paws for Rissa,” said Day, pointing to her twin sister.

Larissa Tuesday Addams had fallen asleep on her sister's shoulder as soon as the screams began. The terrible sounds of torture echoing throughout the house were like the sweetest of lullabies to her.

§§§

Universes away, in a place outside of time itself, the being known as the Mistress suddenly raised her head, sensing that something was wrong.

In the room around her, thousands of spheres of light resonated discordantly. Among them, a new sphere had emerged, distinct from the others.

Corrupt, different.

The Mistress rose, enveloped in a cloud of shadows and black feathers. Pale, naked arms emerged from the folds of her cloak, seeming to extend further than would be naturally possible until they reached the object of discord.

“What are you?” she whispered, “Who are you?”

She took the sphere in her hands, bringing it closer to herself.

“You are still forming, your essence is...” In the shadows of her hood, her eyes widened, “Oooh, I understand now.”

She aimed without looking.

And she fired.

Hitting the local Enid Sinclair squarely, who fell onto the bed and began to disintegrate in a matter of seconds.

“What an unexpected twist,” she said, a hint of genuine interest sprinkled in her voice.

She dropped the sphere. It fell to the floor and came to a complete stop upon impact with a thud. It didn’t crack or bounce… it simply stopped moving.

The Mistress raised one of her hands and plunged it into the dark folds of her hood, through the shadows that hid her face.

She squeezed with her fingers. A wet sound was heard.

She withdrew her hand. Her fingers were covered in blood, and between three of them she held an eye with a dark iris that had been gouged out. At no point during the process did her body language show any sign that she had experienced any pain or discomfort in doing so. For her, gouging out an eye was as mundane as scratching an itch was for a normal person.

“Hmm... let's see, let's see...”

She opened her fingers, the eye suddenly floating above her palm. A scarlet glow began to envelop it. From around her cloak, a cloud of black feathers began to swirl around her.

“I see... many pieces moving...”

The feathers turned into crows. Birds as black as pitch, flying shadows emerging from the cloak that enveloped the unnatural figure of The Mistress. The cawing of the birds filled the room, becoming deafening.

And The Mistress... saw.

“Many pieces... and some could be problematic.”

Hidden in the shadows of her hood, a smile formed on her face. The kind of smile that would make a baby cry, a dog whimper in pain, or an adult's hair turn gray in an instant as their sanity crumbled.

It was time to turn the board around.

In person.

Chapter Text

Days like this were why Larissa Weems was glad she had the good sense to keep an extra bottle of brandy hidden in her office, because she was definitely going to need the alcohol.

Addams, she thought, There isn't a single member of that family who doesn't bring some kind of catastrophe with them.

Although deep down she knew she was being unfair, at least when it came to young Wednesday Addams... the girl certainly didn't seem pleased to find herself next to an adult version of her own self.

God, there are two of them, I need that brandy now.

“Okay, let's see if I understand...” she began, trying to focus.

She pointed at Wednesday, “You are an adult version of Miss Addams here, coming from another universe. Apart from that and the age difference, you are basically the same person with identical psychic abilities.”

“Correct. At least as far as we've been able to ascertain,” replied Wednesday.

“And you,” continued Weems, pointing to Enid, “are... Enid Addams.”

Enid smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. Weems had to suppress the urge to lean back and sink into his chair.

The woman standing before her had the exact same facial features (scars aside) as the teenager Enid Sinclair, who was casting nervous glances at her counterpart beside her, but the similarities might well end there. Enid Sinclair was a fit, athletic girl of average height and build for her age. Enid Addams was a muscular Amazon with deathly pale skin, unnaturally blue eyes surrounded by shadows, teeth like razors, and a constant aura of “Danger!” about her, even though there was no malevolence in it.

If between the two Addams there was a simple transition from teenager to adult, between the young Sinclair and her counterpart there was undoubtedly a long and surely complicated history from one extreme to the other.

“Enid Addams,” repeated Weems, “Well, I didn’t say it before, but I’ll say it now… so… Congratulations?”

And that was the other factor, that they were a couple. Not in a million years, when she put Wednesday Addams and Enid Sinclair in the same room, would she have thought that something like that could be one of the possibilities (in fact, she feared the whole thing would end in murder), but at least that had been the case in one universe, apparently.

And if the awkward and nervous exchanges of glances between her two students were indicative of anything, the possibilities were not non-existent in this universe either.

Oh, dear... I hope I don't have to give them The Talk.

The troubled train of thought was interrupted by the effusiveness of the adult Enid responding to the congratulations, “Ah, thank you so much, Principal Weems! It really is such a joy to see you again after all these years!” It was only for a moment, but for a few seconds the huge werewolf's sincere smile seemed to tremble nervously, as if being in Weems' presence caused something more than simple nostalgic joy.

She's leaving something out about me, Weems thought, And given the circumstances, I think I'd rather not know.

Better to stick with the matter at hand; it seemed the best option for her sanity at that moment.

Responding with only a slightly nervous smile to Enid's words, Weems refocused on the rest of the people in her office, staring intently at one of them.

“And I understand that my two students directly affected by this are here, but I would like to know the reason for your presence, Miss Barclay,” asked the principal, casting an inquiring glance at the siren.

Bianca shrugged slightly, suddenly nervous, though maintaining her composure. “To be honest, at first I felt morbid curiosity when I encountered them. Now I can't deny feeling a little concern about what they've told us.”

And that was the final kicker. “Yes, yes... the reason for your visit,” Weems continued, addressing Wednesday again, “Someone from another universe is planning to attack Miss Addams here, and your mission is to prevent that, correct?”

Wednesday simply lifted her chin. Enid nodded vigorously.

“Good, good... God, no. It's not good, it's all bloody crazy, but we've already tested that you're not shape-shifters and that there's no hypnosis involved, so I guess we'll just have to accept it... Although that doesn't explain the other cause of my future headaches,” concluded the director, looking at the unconscious form of Marilyn Thornhill, unceremoniously deposited on the office floor.

“Her real name is Laurel Gates,” Wednesday said.

“Laurel Gates has been dead for many years, now,” Weems replied.

“No, Laurel Gates has been plotting her revenge against the outcast community for years after faking her death. Marilyn Thornhill is a false identity she has been carefully cultivating for nearly two decades,” the Addams continued.

“Is she the one behind the murders? Does she have a connection to the creature?” asked Teen Wednesday.

“By proxy, and yes,” replied Wednesday.

“Her motives...”

“Will be explained at another time, or we'll be here all day.”

“Wait, wait... so it's true that there's a monster in the woods and it's not a bear?” Bianca asked, before casting an accusatory glance at the principal. “And what happened to Rowan too?”

“We are not here to discuss my... errors in judgment, Miss Barclay,” replied the principal, “In any case, given the situation, arrangements will have to be made. I imagine our visitors will want to stay as close as possible to Miss Addams to ensure her safety.”

“Indeed,” said Wednesday.

“Horrendous,” muttered Teen Wednesday simultaneously.

"Given the revelations about Thorn... Laurel Gates, I suppose that once the authorities have been alerted and she has been taken into custody, I could temporarily give you her current residence. It's adjacent to the academy and there's plenty of room,“ Weems continued, before sighing and bringing a hand to her forehead, “I suppose the sooner the better... Heavens, I wasn't in any hurry to talk to the sheriff again.”

“Regarding Donovan Galpin...” Wednesday began, only to stop herself abruptly and glance at her wife.

Enid was suddenly tense, an almost inaudible growl forming in her throat but clearly audible to her teenage counterpart. Teen Enid let out a nervous canine whimper, suddenly feeling the presence of a more formidable predator suddenly on alert.

“Enid... mi loba, what is it?”

Enid turned her head toward the window. “He's here,” she growled.

And at that moment, they began to hear the screams of panic.

Weems jumped to her feet as the others in the room crowded around one of the office windows. From there, they had a perfect view of one of the academy's courtyards. Students were running in all directions, terrified. A sickening roar cut through the air as a huge, misshapen figure appeared at a run, lashing out at the air as if in a state of frenzy.

“What the hell is that!?” exclaimed Teen Enid.

“The monster,” said Teen Wednesday, “and I presume he is Laurel Gates' instrument.”

“He's a Hyde,” Wednesday explained, “and yes, he's the one Gates has been using for the murders. It's Tyler Galpin... I can only infer that somehow he has sensed the danger she is in; he seems more erratic than usual.”

“The sheriff's son?” Bianca asked. “Isn't he a normie?”

“The cute barista from the Weathervane?” Teen Enid asked, surprised. “He always gave me weird vibes, but this is...”

Teen Wednesday simply opened her eyes wide in an expression of surprise unusual for her. To think that someone she had begun to consider... well, not an ally but a useful tool, was one of the parties behind what was happening...

“I'm sorry about your mystery,” Wednesday said.

“Mmm.”

“If it's any consolation, there will be more.”

“No matter who that creature is,” Weems snapped, “we need to evacuate the students, call the authorities, maybe the sirens can…”

“It seems like a miracle that he hasn't killed anyone,” interrupted Wednesday, “Yet. But everything is under control now.”

At her words, Enid opened the window wide.

“Thank goodness these clothes are enchanted,” she murmured, as she made a move to go outside.

“Miss Sinclair? I mean... Mrs. Addams? Enid?” asked Weems. “What are you going to...?”

“Don't worry, Principal Weems,” said Enid, “I'll try not to traumatize the students too much.”

And with that, she jumped.

§§§

Tyler Galpin's mind had reverted to a pit of pure instinct and chaos. The bond that tied him to Gates, a metaphysical chain that he both loved and hated in equal measure, seemed to be strangling him. At the same time, it was as if a shrill voice was screaming incessantly in the back of his mind that his Master was in danger, that he had to save her, serve her... and given Tyler's hatred for the woman and his desire to let her die, the uncontrolled and contradictory impulse was driving him mad.

He stormed into Nevermore by jumping over the walls after emerging from the woods, causing immediate panic among the students who were still in the late stages of the Poe Cup celebration.

Fortune smiled on them, and there were no fatalities. His claws never tore flesh or spilled blood, despite throwing blow after blow as if he were trying to strike at ghosts flying around him. As he ran inside the Academy, trying to get closer to where he could sense his Master's presence, he knocked over some students, causing bruises and the occasional broken bone, but nothing they couldn't recover from.

But it was only a matter of time before luck ran out. The moment Tyler entered the main building and walked through its hallways, still filled with students confused and unsure of what was happening, there would be no room to avoid his strikes.

Although something caught his attention at that moment. Despite the turmoil his mind had degenerated into, Tyler could still understand spoken language.

“YO! FUGLY!”

Especially if it was an insult directed at him and uttered by someone who seemed to be falling from above him...

The Hyde could barely lift his gaze when a fist wrapped in golden fur hit him squarely in the face, throwing him to the paved ground with such force that it cracked the surface on impact.

Some of the students who were still in the area, trying to escape or keep their distance, were paralyzed with sheer amazement at what was undoubtedly the largest werewolf any of them, including other furs, had ever seen.

In broad daylight.

And from the window of Weems' office, another pair of eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing.

“But... she... but it's daytime, how?” Teen Enid muttered, watching her other self do something she considered nothing short of an impossible dream. She bitterly felt the unwanted aftertaste of jealousy despite herself.

“My Enid's condition is... unique,” Wednesday said, in an unusually soft tone of voice, “But we've met others like you, and believe me when I say that one day you too will howl at the moon like the worthy wolf you are.”

Enid Sinclair looked at Wednesday's adult counterpart, but her eyes lingered on the teenager, her roommate (her Wednesday), who returned her gaze with dark eyes containing oceans of meaning while simply nodding, as if agreeing with her adult self.

“A daytime transformation is... strange,” Bianca said, breaking the brief moment of silence. “But even if it were a full moon night, that's the most unusual werewolf I've ever seen.”

Wednesday simply nodded, without taking her eyes off her wife's glorious lupine form.

Over the years, as the Volvaugr, Enid Addams had gained control over her transformation that bordered on virtuous. Partial transformations, forms with human or lupine features at different levels, a transformation into a complete wolf form but whose size she could alter to be almost as large as a small bus... but her basic form, her standard werewolf transformation, had also changed over the years. Standing about fourteen feet tall on her hind legs and with a torso and arms much more burly and muscular than those of most known lycanthropes, Enid Addams was a more formidable beast than ever.

Needless to say, an ordinary Hyde like Tyler, no matter how berserk he was at that particular moment, didn't stand a chance.

Although he deserved credit for not losing consciousness after that first blow and managing to get back up, even if it was shakily and with his face bloodied from the impact, one of his eyes bloodshot and already showing signs of swelling on the eyelid.

Faced with this, Enid Addams was grappling with a small internal dilemma.

Should I kill him? I could rip his head off without much trouble, she thought.

But she wasn't standing before the Tyler from her universe, who had proven himself to be an unrepentant and persistent killer until, indeed, Enid had decapitated him in a very cathartic encounter. No, the Tyler standing before her right now was still a child. Enid knew that the chances were slim, but not nonexistent, that with the right therapy he might have the opportunity to lead a near-normal life.

Much of it would be spent in prison, but at least it would be a life.

But I'd really like to rip his head off, to be honest.

Tyler decided that was the moment to attack the beast that had stood in his way. Years ago, a strike like that would have seemed formidable and terrifying to the younger Enid (and it was; she still remembered that first fight under the blood moon), but for the Volvaugr...

Enid Addams simply stepped aside with a speed and grace that no one would have expected from a creature of her size. When Tyler stumbled forward, finding no resistance in front of him, Enid hit him in the back of the neck with her elbow, knocking him back to the ground.

Where she proceeded to stomp on the Hyde's disproportionate head until it was almost buried in the ground. The monster was still alive, but definitely unconscious, as evidenced by the beginning of the process of reverting to its human form.

“You'd better get some sleep. The people here will decide what to do with you,” Enid Addams murmured, still in her wolf form, causing even more incredulous reactions among the witnesses.

In Weems' office, at the window, Wednesday had made no effort whatsoever to hide the smile that had formed on her face at her wife's display of power. She had been so absorbed in watching the brief confrontation that she had almost failed to notice the sudden bristling of the hairs on the back of her neck and the awakening of the warning instinct she had developed over the years.

She spun around suddenly, surprising and alarming the others, pulling a dagger from one of her sleeves and pushing her teenage self to stand behind her.

She cursed at herself for allowing the distraction, ready to throw the piece of metal at the figure that was finishing materializing in the middle of the office, standing over the unconscious Laurel.

Wrapped in a red cloak that did little to conceal the Puritan hat on his head, Joseph Crackstone (or rather, a Joseph Crackstone) was wielding a silver scepter, the tip of which had begun to crackle with an unnatural discharge of energy, pointing toward the two Wednesdays. His face glowed with a smile full of insane glee on his lips.

Like a child who has gotten two pieces of candy for the price of one.

Wednesday realized that even if she threw the dagger and hit him squarely between the eyes, Crackstone would shoot the moment he saw her move her arm. And she couldn't risk counting on the mere hope that he would miss the first shot, not at that short distance.

But she had to do something, because he was going to shoot anyway.