Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Wednesday, what are you doing?” Enid aggravatedly grits her teeth at the incessant sound of metal clanging from Wednesday’s side of the room, having just read the same page of her magazine approximately 50 times now.

Wednesday lifts the safety goggles off of her eyes to rest atop her head, turning to look at Enid, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m creating a chain to restrain Thing for when he misbehaves. He’s been pushing it lately.”

Wednesday looks over to Thing, who stomps his index finger to imitate a scoff. She disregards it wholly.

Enid presses her lips together, offering Thing a head lean in sympathy, “Thing only has the best intentions! Right, Thing?” 

Thing hastily contorts into a thumbs-up, appreciating a voice of reason in this tyranny of a dorm room.

“You should have seen where his ‘best intentions’ got us in woodworking class earlier today,” She looks around the room when she is met with no response, except for Enid’s sympathetic head tilt from before, having been reinvented with a new raised eyebrow to compensate for Wednesday’s allegations.

-

Thing crawls up the side of the large wooden table, where handsaws, table saws, and jigsaws are all grinding alike, cutting small pieces of wood to carve sculptures of historically significant objects out of. He skitters past all of it towards Wednesday - who is drilling the final screw into her creation - with the most important piece of the puzzle between his fingers.

“Just in time, Thing. No guillotine should be without its blade.” She takes the blade from between his fingers and snaps it into the mouton.

Wednesday pulls back the string until the blade meets the crossbar on top. She hands the string to Thing to hold while she prepares her pseudo-victim for beheading.

Thing managed to find the perfect blade from a discarded pencil sharpener, still as sharp as if it had never been used.

“It’s a shame such a renowned apparatus should go to waste on something as second-rate as this tomato. Guillotines provided much more to society than a deli slicer.” She places the rather plump tomato securely in line with the blade.

She pulls her safety goggles over her eyes, as required by the professor, and prepares for the chop, but Thing notices something he finds rather alarming.

Wednesday forgot her safety gloves, and Thing could never forgive himself if he allowed Wednesday to lose one of her precious fingers. He drops the string to sign for her to wait.

The blade drops from the crossbar and slices through the tomato, splattering the juice all over Wednesday’s uniform. She doesn’t move, except to wipe the tomato juice from her goggles so that Thing can see her judgemental stare.

-

She takes the hint, sorting her tools back where they belong in her frighteningly organized tool box in front of her.

“He does not always have the best execution, which is a shame. Execution is one of my favorite things,” A pair of pliers linger in her hands for an uncomfortably long time, made only more uncomfortable by her unblinking eyes slowly raising from the tool clasped in her hands to the only other potential victim in the room.

Enid rolls to a sit, her feet swinging to hang off the side of the bed as she prepares her hopeful request, “I hope you don’t plan on using it tonight, because I was hoping maybe Thing would like to join me at the bonfire.”

Wednesday quirks her head to face Enid, all too familiar with the way she uses Thing to communicate, “Bonfire?” She stiffly stands up from her spot on the floor, “What kind of bonfire?”

Enid pushes herself off of her bed and paces towards her roommate, swinging her hands jauntily with each step, “The Furs are hosting a fundraiser for a special event later this semester. It’s about lycanthropy pride and I HAVE to be there! There’s going to be so much juicy stuff to write about on my blog - and I have to show my support… obviously.”

“Controlled fires aren’t as compelling. I won’t be attending,” Wednesday spins on her heel and approaches her desk, hoping that her declaration would be the end of the conversation.

“Come on, pleaassee, Wednesday!”

She was wrong.

She turns around again, maybe the stern look on her face will convey her conclusive decision, “You can bring Thing. Just don’t let him get hurt. I didn’t spend all night welding steel together for nothing.”

A knock at the door interrupts their back and forth. A knock that would belong to none other than Xavier Thorpe, wearing his token half-grin (which never gets less obnoxious).

Wednesday begrudgingly agreed to be his friend after his hopeless attempts at romance fell short. When he’s not trying to court her, he actually isn’t so bad. He has certain annoying habits, such as using his psychic abilities to bring to life his heinous drawings and then deferring the blame. When it’s not directed at Wednesday, it can be entertaining. When it is, Xavier should hope he can outrun her.

He stands awkwardly in the doorway before starting his spiel, “Hey, Wednesday. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go-”

“-I can’t, I’m going to the bonfire with Enid. It’s for lycanthropy pride; I can’t miss it,” She glares at him with complete disinterest, not entirely in the mood for one of his immature pranks or half-witted camaraderie.

Enid’s smile grows, trying hard not to show her teeth. She thanks the universe for Xavier’s pitiful attempts at socializing with Wednesday.

10:00 PM

Enid and Wednesday stand side-by-side, staring at the roaring flames that light up the front lawn of Nevermore Academy. Enid is awestruck, Wednesday has seen better.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” Enid beams, pulling her attention away from the fire to look at Wednesday, fiddling with the button on the pocket of her coat.

She deflects the question with one of her own, remaining deadlocked on the fire, “When does the ritual start?”

Enid’s face twists into concern, “What? There’s no ritual, this is supposed to be fun!”

“What is the point of creating this fire if not for sacrifice? It sounds like a waste of resources.” Wednesday questions, crossing her arms in disappointment.

Enid growls, her frustration beginning to build. Her attempts to spend time with Wednesday never seem to be enough.

“Can’t some things happen just because, Wednesday? There doesn’t always have to be some convoluted reason. Besides, why would they need such a big fire for… that? This thing is like three stories high!” She dramatically uses both of her hands to point to the giant fire, emphasizing Wednesday’s lack of appreciation.

“You should see the fires at an Addams’ family gathering. They make this look like a candlelight,” Wednesday reminisces on a fire much greater, and much more of a felony. 

“Is that an invitation?” Enid grins widely, clasping her hands together hopefully.

Wednesday turns her head to meet Enid’s gaze, “Only if you want to be the sacrifice.”

Enid’s grin downturns and her eyebrows scrunch with fear. Wednesday watches as all of her happy-go-lucky energy leaves her body, “Okayy… I’m gonna go find the other werewolves. Try to loosen up a little, I’ll bring you back a s’more!”

Enid skips away towards her werewolf brethren, leaving Wednesday by her lonesome. She sighs deeply and flits her eyes to the left, then to the right. There isn’t much to see, just a bunch of teenagers catching up on their routine nonsense after an extra long break due to last semester’s circumstances. She smirks at the memory, that she single-handedly bested a psychotic normie intent on killing every outcast at Nevermore, and the undead pilgrim she reincarnated just to do so. Not to mention the murder-crazy Hyde terrorizing Jericho.

She chances a glance towards Enid, who is already enraptured in conversation with her fellow werewolves.

Perhaps it wasn’t so single-handed after all.

After Enid so gallantly saved her life and they shared their victory with a heartfelt hug, things went back to normal between them, for the most part. Wednesday still makes sure Enid knows that her stuffed animals make her gag and her taste in music is just short of qualifying as a torture mechanism. Enid’s excessive emotions still inspire disgust in Wednesday.

 After that night something changed in the way Wednesday viewed Enid’s abhorrent scenes of emotion. It was as if they were acceptable to some degree: like maybe, sometimes, in extremely, excessively, immensely rare circumstances, she could relate to the feeling of self-sacrifice. You know, for the well-being of somebody else. The thought makes her stomach turn.

Thing crawls from Wednesday’s bag and perches on her shoulder, drawing her attention away from her werewolf roommate. He begins to sign cooing messages, which Wednesday is quick to subdue.

“Can it, Thing, you’re already on thin ice,” She scolds, halfheartedly gritting her teeth. Thing spots a familiar siren approaching them, so he takes his cue to slide back into the bag.

“Fancy seeing you here, I didn’t know fire-roasting hot dogs was your scene” Bianca teases with a genuine smile. After last semester, they realized they had a lot more in common than they originally thought, their stubborn determination being each of their dominating traits. They’ve learned to communicate via a respect-hate relationship, which Wednesday knows all too well.

“I was curious what a Nevermore fire had to offer. Turns out it was just as I suspected, astonishingly mediocre. Enid believes it is three stories high. I believe she has never seen a building with more than two stories,” She shifts her body to face Bianca fully, “What are you doing here?”

“We’re staking out the competition,” A herd of sirens peek out from behind Bianca, as if they rehearsed their reveal.

“Competition?”

“For the Nevermore Games. On the last full moon of the semester, select teams compete for the Nevermore Games grand prize: An all expense paid summer vacation to a European country, and, of course, the Nevermore trophy. This year, the winners get to go to Sicily. Every siren has to see it once.”

Wednesday internally rolls her eyes. Any opportunity to be condescending is promptly taken advantage of. Some things never change.

“Winning the Nevermore Games is like a presidential election. Winning once is impressive, winning twice puts a target on your back,” A voice with a hint of an accent projects from behind Bianca, breaking the beat of silence.

“Winning twice at anything puts a target on your back. You only get assassinated if you have something important to say, and I doubt anyone has attempted to assassinate you. With whom do I have the displeasure of speaking to?” Wednesday crosses her arms, curious to see who the uninvited piece of advice was uttered from.

A long, fair-skinned leg kicks out from behind the group, clad in a tight black dress that cuts off at the mid-thigh. She swings out to stand next to Bianca, and makes a show of crossing her arms in a way that Wednesday finds particularly high headed.

“Ida Kastellanos - child prodigy, three time Olympic gold medalist in swimming,” She checks her nails, paying Wednesday no mind, “And you are?”

She’s shocked. Child prodigy? A human-sized fish wins the Olympics and suddenly they’re a progidy? Wednesday is starting to understand the depth of this siren’s ego. 

Bianca kindly chimes in, sensing the building tension, “Ida, this is Wednesday.”

“Ah! You’re the Wednesday Addams. I’ve heard plenty about you,” She bends over to match Wednesday’s eye level, removing her beret to reveal her blonde head of hair neatly fastened to the back of her head, “I figured someone like you would have better things to do on a night like this.”

Ida’s attempt to get under her skin is hard to watch. The only way she would succeed is if she literally grabbed a scalpel and started digging, at which point she would be happy to watch.

“In that case, you must not know me as well as you thought. For the record, I’m having a great time. Can’t you tell by the look on my face?” She deadpans.

In an attempt to do damage control, Bianca clears her throat and speaks up, “Wednesday, Ida just moved here from Berlin. She’s studying abroad.”

“That explains the superiority complex and the strict hairstyle. Is that what they teach in Germany? Hold your head high and your top knot higher?” Wednesday digs, hitting her where it hurts, the ego and the physical appearance. 

Ida throws her head back laughing, “Perhaps it’s you that doesn’t know me as well as you thought. I have much to be proud of. I actually learned it from my abuela.”

Her plan is thwarted. She has too much pride to take a physical insult personally. If Wednesday can’t will her to leave on her own, she will have to end the interaction herself.

“She comes here every year to participate in the Nevermore Games. She has a knack for winning. I must admit, ever since she’s joined our team, we’ve been unstoppable.”

“Congratulations,” Wednesday accompanies with a blank expression, uncrossing her arms, “Ah, would you look at the time, one of the werewolves should be in the dunking booth by now. Can’t miss it.”

“...Right. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. You’re certainly more than meets the eye,” Ida grins, devilishly. As the group struts away, Bianca turns around and mouths a “sorry” to Wednesday.

Thing crawls from within Wednesday’s bag and returns to her shoulder. She directs her attention back to the billowing fire. Wednesday begs and pleads with every demon in Hell to throw any other monster her way, even the devil himself. Just not another vain, stuck-up siren obsessed with marking their territory around her.

“I think I’ve decided who I’d like to sacrifice.”

Before she even has time to recover from the impromptu encounter, she senses another unfamiliar presence behind her. She turns to face it before they have time to surprise her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” He apologizes, though he seems far more afraid than she is, if his hands uncomfortably hiding in his pockets are anything to go by.

“To what do I owe the displeasure?”

He takes his hands out of his pockets in the name of talking with them, “You’re Wednesday Addams. I’ve heard a lot about your escapades last year. You’re a big inspiration to the criminal justice community.”

She raises her eyebrow urging him to get to the point.

“My name is Aegean,” He rushes out, “This is my first year here, I’m grateful to have been inducted by The Furs. They’re very accepting. I think.”

A werewolf. Wednesday wouldn’t have guessed at first glance. He has short, well-maintained hair. It’s as black as night, maybe even darker than that, but with the occasional streak of white lightly sprinkled in. She imagines his wolf to be the same, which gives him a natural advantage in the wild. The surprising part is his small frame, the other werewolves tend to be more muscular by nature.

He takes Wednesday’s pensive silence as a sign to keep talking.

“I’ve also met Enid,” He drops the nugget of information rather awkwardly, stuffing his hands back into his pockets, “Sinclair… Yeah. I know you two are close.”

Strange. Enid never mentioned meeting any new werewolves.

“I’ve heard that’s pretty hard to do. Be close with you, I mean. Not because you’re, like, bad, just... You know, you don’t really like… it.”

She finally decides to put him out of his rambling misery, “You were right the first time. And the second time.”

He wears an expression of social confusion, not quite sure where to go from there. He decides to take the hint and find an out from the conversation.

“Glad I got to meet you. Or as you may say, ‘sad I got to meet you,’” His chipper smile can’t hide the regret he has from saying that, “Uh, if you see Enid, tell her I said hi.”

He walks away, and Wednesday thinks it’s best for both of them if she forgets that ever happened.

From the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of blonde hair skipping towards her. Before she knows it, Enid is standing right next to her with a mess of melted chocolate all over her hands.

“I brought you a s’more! Just like I promised,” Enid presents her conglomeration of junk food like it’s a trophy. Wednesday looks at the s’more, then back to Enid with a look of confusion infused with disgust.

Enid sports a confused look of her own, “You’ve had a s’more before, right?”

“Enid, I do not know what is in your hands, and I do not want to know. Congratulations, you’ve bested my morbid curiosity.” Wednesday stalls her darting eyes at Enid, who doesn’t realize the honor that’s just been bestowed upon her. Morbid curiosity is something that never escapes an Addams.

Enid’s face lights up, “Wednesday, you have to try it…”

Wednesday recognizes that look in Enid’s eyes. She has that look every time there is an opportunity to inflict Wednesday with a new kind of torture, and she will not take no for an answer. 

She stands her ground, “That looks like the biggest confectionary disgrace I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Out of all the ways I fantasize about dying, a diabetic coma would have to be my last choice.”

Enid steps closer to Wednesday, officially intruding into her personal space. She holds her hand out, and Wednesday watches as a drop of chocolate drips down Enid’s thumb and into the grass.

“Come on, this is an iconic bonfire must-have. I know you’re going to love it,” She waves the dessert closer to her face, Wednesday reels back, but Enid just invades closer in return.

Wednesday knows this is a lost cause. Enid would chase her to the ends of the Earth just to shove a heart attack code named a “delicacy” down her throat.

Wednesday stares at Enid’s hand airplaning the treat towards her mouth while she makes excessive locomotive noises. When she finally reaches her mouth with no access granted, they both look up at each other.

“Open wide!”

“No.”

Enid gently pushes the s’more against her lips, leaving traces of marshmallow and chocolate. Wednesday doesn’t budge. Enid glances down at her lips and back up to her eyes, before patting the s’more against her lips once again.

“Usually, when the pilot crashes into the hangar, they don’t try again.” Wednesday states, suppressing the urge to lick her lips.

“I know you secretly love chocolate, Addams. You left an open pack of it on your desk the other day,” 

Wednesday ignores her accusation, adjusting her posture to stand up straight now that Enid is not an immediate threat, “Thing, handkerchief.”

When Thing doesn’t move, Wednesday whips her head around to stare daggers at him, tensing her hands into a fist. He shrugs as best a hand can. 

Wednesday deeply sighs and looks back to Enid, bracing herself for what’s to come, “Fine. I’ll try it on one condition. Thing gets roasted in the fire just like one of these ‘marshmallows.’”

Thing swiftly retreats back into Wednesday’s bag, to which the corner of Wednesday’s mouth raises into a barely noticeable smirk.

“Yay!!!” Enid breaks it in half, making more of a mess than Wednesday thought was possible. The break is completely uneven, and Enid is ever so kind enough to give Wednesday the bigger half.

Wednesday cautiously takes it from her, trying not to dirty her hands in the process. Wednesday looks back up to Enid, silently implying that she really does not want to do this.

Enid senses her hesitancy, offering a lifeline in appreciation for Wednesday stepping out of her box, “On the count of three, we’ll both take a bite, okay?”

Wednesday nods her head affirmatively, relaxing her shoulders only by a little bit.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

Wednesday bites into the cracker, then sinks her teeth through the marshmallow center. When the flavor hits her tongue, a silent wave of euphoria washes over her. The intensely sweet flavor of the marshmallow is subdued by the whole-wheat taste of the graham cracker, meanwhile the chocolate keeps it from being too dry. She chews, and it feels like every dopamine neurotransmitter in her brain just activated simultaneously. She swallows, and her mouth is watering like a pathetic baby who just lost its bottle. She promptly takes another bite at the expense of her dignity.

“Wednesday?” Enid pulls her out of her trance. Wednesday locks eyes with her in a suddenly serious manner.

“Who made this?” Wednesday questions, urgently.

Enid clasps her hands together, nervous of her response, “Uh, I did. Is it good? Do you like it?”

Wednesday tries to gain her composure before speaking again, “It was okay.” 

Enid is elated at her response. She bounces up and down in place, stopping herself from clapping her hands together since they are covered in chocolate, “I knew you’d love it!”

“Perhaps a darker chocolate would make it better. A 100% cacao bar would do the trick.” Wednesday critiques in a last ditch effort to save face.

“I didn’t know you were such a culinary master.” Enid teases, quirking her head to the side.

She looks down at the chocolate drops in the grass, “I learned from my mother. But you wouldn’t like what I cook.”

“Why not?”

She immediately looks back up to Enid, flashing her bulging eyes at her, “It moves.”

Enid contorts her features and a sudden look of worry spreads across her face.

“What? Don’t I strike you as a live prey kind of person?” Wednesday inquires, almost offended.

“No, it’s not that…” Enid sticks her nose in the air and inhales deeply. She physically recoils and puts a hand up to cover her nose. She grabs Wednesday’s wrist and pulls her back towards the Nevermore quad urgently.

“Do you smell that?” She takes another whiff of the air, then quickens her pace to a jog.

“No, what is it?”

She takes one more huff of the air, her nose twitches at how strong the sensation is. They round the corner to get inside the quad. A raven perches on the stony pillar, crying out three loud caws.

“It smells like…”

She stops dead in her tracks as her eyes lock onto a Nevermore student in the corner, dead on the floor.

“Blood.”

Chapter Text

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Enid rapidly paces back and forth in their shared dorm room. Wednesday pays her no mind, as all of her attention is directed at the photos she took of the now deceased gorgon.

Enid has been pacing the room non-stop for 6 hours, unable to sleep due to her mortifying discovery. Wednesday prefers to cope in more conventional manners, like finding the killer and bringing justice upon them. She has scanned every square inch of each photograph with a magnifying glass. The only details she has been able to identify is that the victim was a gorgon named Ovi who had just transferred from India, and a lack of a clear cause of death. Enid had to have smelled blood from somewhere.

“This case would be as good as solved if I would have had enough time to do an autopsy. That’s always the best part,” Wednesday complains, letting her magnifying glass drop noisily on the desk. She furrows her brows pensively.

“I can’t believe he’s actually gone, man! He was my best friend! What if I’m next?” A man’s voice causes Wednesday to whip her head around. It’s Ajax. Sobbing vehemently into Enid's shoulder.

“When did he arrive?” Wednesday less questions and more asserts her disinterest for his presence.

“He’s been here for hours!” Ajax cries loudly from Enid’s embrace, “It’s okay, Ajax, let it all out.”

Enid and Ajax decided, mutually, to remain friends. Of course, Enid still thinks he’s cute. A little dense, but still cute. Their relationship “just didn’t come naturally,” as Enid puts it. She thinks maybe someone out there would compliment her bright, colorful palette and her outgoing, genial personality much better.

How anyone could compliment that better than an idiot willing to dive face first into anything perplexes Wednesday, but apparently it’s just not Ajax.

Wednesday turns back around to face her photos. She’s gathered all the information she possibly can with what she has, it’s time to start putting the pieces together. 

“Enid, are you certain the scent you were following was blood?” Wednesday inquires, tapping her fingers on her desk.

“Uh, I mean, it kind of smelled like rotting flesh too. Like, if death had a smell, it would smell like that,” Enid clarifies, still coddling and rocking Ajax like a helpless baby.

“Death does have a scent, and it’s one of nature’s most pleasant,” Wednesday corrects Enid’s unhelpful revelation.

“Well, I don’t know, I’ve never smelled anything like that before. It was definitely… pungent,” Enid reminisces on the scent and cringes.

Wednesday stands up from her desk and walks towards her bed. She hunches over, reaching under it to grab a sleek, black crate and pulling it out into the main room. She begins unfastening the latches.

“Ajax, could you stop squabbling for one moment and assist me,” Ajax lifts his head from Enid’s comforting shoulder, just fast enough to receive a fastball of fabric to the face with enough force to almost knock him to the ground, “Blindfold Enid.”

The two look at each other in shock before they start sputtering stalling questions.

“Do. it.” Wednesday glares murderously.

They concede, and Wednesday kicks out a chair for Enid to sit in. She sits down slowly, skeptical of every move each of them makes. Ajax comes up behind her and wraps the fabric in front of her eyes. He starts tying when-

“Ouch! Ajax, you got my hair!” Enid yelps, sending a hand flying behind her to stop him.

Wednesday immediately stands up from her crate and walks over to Enid, directing Ajax to trade her places. She walks behind Enid and unties Ajax’s disgrace of a knot and starts from scratch. She yanks the fabric back, and skillfully twists the fabric into the perfect knot, complete with a bow.

“I’d be surprised if you even knew how to tie your own shoes,” Wednesday scolds, looking down at Ajax’s shoe laces, which are not tied, but rather tucked into the sides of his shoes. She looks back up at him and squints, judgingly. He lifts a hand to the back of his neck and clears his throat.

He opens the crate to find several different kinds of meat neatly preserved in ice. The contents cause Ajax to look very concerned, looking up to Wednesday for an explanation.

“What the- Why do you have all this-” Wednesday cuts him off with a sharp shush. It vexes her that everyone is so curious about her crate of meat. When it’s in a freezer, nobody bats an eye. When it’s in Wednesday’s freezer, it’s like the world stops turning.

“Ajax, you will pick up each object and present it to Enid. Enid, you will tell me what the object is based on its scent,” Wednesday instructs, pulling out a pen and a piece of paper from her desk.

Enid’s mouth waters, “Can we start with the ribeye? I’m suddenly starving.”

Wednesday and Ajax look at each other incredulously. She lays down her utensils and stands in front of Enid, even though Enid cannot see her.

“Enid, what do you smell?” She crouches over, studying her features up close as she takes a whiff of the air.

“Hmm, well there’s at least three different cuts of steak, some ground beef, lamb chops, mutton, venison, turkey, chicken breast, and… something mixed with burning rubber. Wednesday, is that roadkill?” Her lips curl and her nose cringes as her appetite is replaced with disgust.

“Fascinating.” Wednesday slowly straightens her back, in awe of her roommates' heightened sense of smell.

Just then, a knock on the door interrupts their experiment. It opens, and awaiting them is the new principal, Mr. Brown.

“Hello, how’s everybody doing?” He greets with a smile on his face, which falls once he sees the situation his students have found themselves in. Ajax, hunched over a crate of meat, while Enid is blindfolded, leaving Wednesday to look like the guilty ringleader.

“Am I interrupting something?”

9:31 AM

Mr. Brown took Principal Weems’ place after her tragic sacrifice for the school. So far, he’s done a lot of good things, such as investing in extra security around the school, and overall trying to keep everyone’s spirits uplifted. Though, he doesn’t rule with quite the iron fist that Weems had. Wednesday respected Weems’ dedication to the school’s reputation, she would manipulate the system just to keep Nevermore safe. Principal Brown has shown to be an honest and caring man, but he seems like he could buckle under pressure. Wednesday believes he won’t make it through the semester.

They sit quietly awaiting the principal’s interrogation, Wednesday can sense Enid’s nerves emanating from the seat next to her. She looks over at her, and her bottom lip is quivering pathetically. The recurring feeling that has plagued Wednesday recently starts to resurface, a feeling that she can’t put a finger on. The acknowledgement nearly makes her emetic reflex activate.

The principal finally assorts his paperwork and slaps it flat on the table. He looks up with a comforting smile.

“Good morning, ladies. Now, I know what you stumbled upon last night may have been traumatizing, so I want to make this as quick as possible. I’m just going to ask you some questions to help our Nevermore investigation team find the perpetrator. Is that okay with you two?”

Enid, on the brink of tears and ultimately shocked into silence, gives a slow nod of affirmation. Wednesday takes it upon herself to do the talking.

“Ask away, principal. I could never turn down an impromptu interrogation. Though, I can’t promise our answers will feature much integrity.”

“Please, just call me ‘mister.’ People find the authority that a principal has to be intimidating, and I want all my students to feel welcome,” Wednesday raises an eyebrow. Does he even know he is the principal?

 “And, don’t think of it as an interrogation. Think of it more as… an in-tarot-gation!” Mr. Brown chortles as he throws his box of tarot cards on the desk. He is met with an unamused glare from both students.

He clears his throat, “The witches in alchemy class would have liked that one.”

Along with being the new principal, he also took the place of Ms. Thornhill. He changed the curriculum to alchemy instead of carnivorous plants, he claims it is more useful, and that the study of carnivorous plants could be encapsulated within one week of an alchemy class.

Mr. Brown proceeds with the questions, asking the run of the mill interrogation questions like “Where were you at 10:00 PM” and “What were you doing when you found the victim.” Wednesday is smart enough to give him vague, non-committal answers. She doesn’t want anyone interfering with her investigation. Enid, on the other hand, is terrible under pressure.

“What were you doing when you discovered the body?”

“I was… uhh… I was… looking at the body?”

Wednesday internally face palms.

He finishes his cross-examination and Enid visibly relaxes, releasing a huge breath she didn’t know she had been holding. They get up to leave, but the principal halts them.

“Just one more thing, ladies, if I may. Since they’re already on the table, could I interest you in a tarot reading?” He picks up his box of cards and shakes them suggestively.

“OMG! I’ve always wanted a tarot reading!” Enid squeals, looking over to Wednesday, asking for permission with her eyes. She even clasps her hands together like an orphan begging for a ration of bread. She doesn’t have the time for this.

“As much as I admire witchcraft, I have somewhere I need to be.”

Enid’s face falls, accompanied with the water-brimmed, pleading eyes that Wednesday has become all too familiar with. Before she knows it, she has already given in.

“One quick reading, then we are leaving.” Wednesday enunciates sharply, declaring her finality with a clenched jaw.

—

Despite Wednesday’s assertion that it shall be quick, Principal Brown went out of his way to light his dramatic candles and don his special psychic robe. Apparently, his chakras are blocked without it.

Enid sits in the chair before him, closing her eyes and channeling all of her spiritual energy. Principal Brown shuffles his tarot deck and spreads out the cards, offering them to Enid. She scans her digits over the backs of the cards, suddenly stopping over one and pulling it from the deck. She does this two more times, laying each card in front of her before opening her eyes.

“The first card represents your past, your experiences, and the things that may have made you what you are today. Perhaps feelings left behind but not forgotten,” 

Enid flips over her first card. Depicted is a man standing on the edge of a cliff, carrying nothing but a bindle.

“The Fool?” She raises a confused eyebrow.

“Ahh, The Fool! Many see him at face value, just a poor vagabond without any street smarts, but the truth is that he is just an innocent dreamer! He is original and outgoing, he doesn’t let his naivety define him. The Fool is a classic tale of a spontaneous spirit burdened and suppressed by the weight of his peers, but most importantly the people he loves, not believing in him, or perhaps not being supportive of his way of life, but he dredges on nevertheless.”

She stiffly sits upright, stifling a reaction that would give away her feelings about her first card. Wednesday studies her from the corner of the room, curious of her unusual lack of emotion. 

“Don’t look so down; you can always count on a fool to carve a Y from a W when it counts.”

Wednesday raises an scrutinizing eyebrow. That’s a new one.

“The second card will represent the present. Current ideas and feelings about situations you find yourself in. A general reflection on the person you’ve become thus far.”

She watches as Enid flips over her second card, revealing a golden circle, the profile of a face within it, floating over the horizon where dogs are pictured howling up to it.

“The Moon. A curious card. The Moon is an enigma, it’s mysterious. The Moon is also very emotional, it has high highs and low lows, similar to ocean tides. The Moon has lots of self-discovery to do, because it cannot understand others if it cannot understand itself.”

Enid is far more infatuated with the results of her second card, probably because it’s the moon and she is, in fact, a werewolf. Wednesday can see the glint in Enid’s eyes, she’s already formulating a blog post about this.

“The third and final card will represent your future. The impending trials of tomorrow. How will your story unfold? Let’s find out!”

Enid hastily flips over her card, itching to know what her future holds. The card is upside down, and the imagery before her is that of a girl in a red hood giving a younger girl a chalice full of flowers, surrounded by five more chalices just like it.

“The Six of Cups! This card is all about reflecting on the past. Since it’s reversed, you may come to terms with some of your childhood struggles that may have been holding you back. For your future, expect closure.” 

Principal Brown finishes the reading, looking expectantly on Wednesday. Enid follows his gaze, and shoots her an encouraging smile.

“You’ve gotta do it, Wednesday! It’s really eye opening!”

“My eyes are always open,” She stares from her dark corner, “I will try, I’m curious what vague, all-encompassing advice a deck of cards could give me.”

The Principal leans forward on his desk, “The truth is not stored in the cards, but within you, Wednesday. Which is why you have to reach deep within yourself and allow spiritual vulnerability to take place.”

Wednesday sits in the chair, legs crossed and hands resting neatly on top of one another in her lap. She sighs deeply and closes her eyes, attempting to wrangle her inner spirit while Principal Brown reshuffles the cards. He spreads them out, and Wednesday picks three of them. She doesn’t feel as though she has the same raring intuition as Enid had. She opens her eyes and places each one in front of her. She takes a deep breath before flipping over the first card.

Her first card shows a figure of Baphomet perched atop his pillar. Chained to his minimalist throne are a man and a woman.

“The Devil.” He declares ominously, evoking a gasp from Enid that can be heard from across the room, “The Devil is quite the jokester. He is also a hedonist, seeking pleasure is his greatest responsibility. He may frequently receive pleasure from torture and suffering. He’s quite the nefarious fellow.”

Wednesday smirks deviously, “I like where his head’s at.”

She flips over her second card to reveal a woman sitting in a white throne, wearing a blue robe with clouds patterning the surface. She wields a sword upright, poised with high-authority, expecting respect.

“The Queen of Swords. She is extremely intelligent; you cannot put a label on her expertise. She is straightforward, even if the truth is disgruntling to hear. She does not conform, and she does not settle for less. Her relationships can often be described as “a means to an end.” This is where her seemingly perfect persona begins to crumble. She rejects her deepest feelings since she is perfectly capable of doing everything herself. A Queen of Swords may need to let others in to fully flourish.”

Wednesday flips over her final card to reveal three dancing ladies celebrating, holding their golden chalices to the sky.

“The Three of Cups. A perfect compliment to the Queen of Swords. This card is all about reunion, finally falling into the comforting arms of communion!”

Wednesday looks unamused at her results.

“Perhaps the only thing stopping this communion is yourself,” He slides a hand over the Three of Cups card and reverses it, “You have to ask yourself what is stopping you from accepting the love of your peers.”

Wednesday dodges her eyes downward, almost pensive, but after just a beat, she makes eye contact with the Principal once again.

“It’s been terrible, Principal. I can’t thank you enough for the introspective torture you’ve put me through,” Wednesday stands up and spins on her heel to make a swift exit from his office.

“That was a compliment!” Enid whispers to him from across the room, following Wednesday out the door.

At the same time they are leaving, Aegean is walking in. They almost run into each, but Aegean recovers, placing his hands stoically behind his back and correcting his posture.

“My apologies,” He leans forward, as if to instinctively bow out of respect, but he hesitates.

“No worries!” Enid chirps.

Aegean looks at the door and back to Enid, “Should I be worried? I hope I’m not in trouble.”

“No way, Mr. Brown is totally cool. It’s his first year, too. He’s probably just trying to make everyone feel safe during this tragedy. You know, because they obviously aren’t,” Enid points out, and though it may have reassured him of one bad outcome, it certainly made him wary of another.

“Right… thank you.” He walks into the principal’s office and closes the door quietly behind him.

Enid twirls around and faces Wednesday, but Wednesday is the first to speak.

“Have you two met?” Wednesday inquires.

“Only once. He’s new and I get the vibe that he’s not wolfed out yet. He just seems to lack some confidence. But, I have lots of sympathy for him, because I’ve felt that way before too. The Furs can be harsh on late-bloomers,” Enid confides.

Wednesday squints, but quickly relaxes as she processes the information. Perhaps he is just an awkward kid trying to find somewhere to fit in. Whatever it may be, she is eager to get back to the room to pick up where she left off.

Chapter Text

“They stole my photos!” Wednesday scavenges their room looking desperately for her crime scene evidence, tearing the place apart in the process.

Thing crawls out from under her bed, timidly urging her to calm down.

“Thing, were you not furious when your favorite Christian Louboutin nail polish had been stolen from you? In comparison, I am as calm as a stillborn.” She stands up from her search under the bed, defeated in her efforts.

“That tarot reading was nothing but a diversion.”

A pang of guilt seeps through Enid, who is quietly scanning (or more appropriately, hiding behind) a magazine on her bed. She shifts her legs uncomfortably; had she not essentially begged for a tarot reading, Wednesday may still have her photos.

Thing crawls on top of Wednesday’s desk, dishing motivational phrases to encourage her to further her investigation, despite the setback. Wednesday takes a seat at her desk and flops her head in her arms, watching Thing sign endlessly.

Enid decides the only way to make it up to Wednesday is to help her get back to where she started.

“Do you have any potential suspects?” Enid queries.

“I don’t even have a potential cause of death.”

“Maybe we should start by ruling out internal causes. Like maybe he was drunk. Orrr… drugged.” Enid suggests, only paying half of her attention.

Wednesday perks up from her desk, twisting around to face Enid. She notices the front of Enid’s magazine, a copy of Allure’s most recent print, featuring a siren on the cover.

Fitting, she thinks. That’s what a siren does best. 

Wednesday has a jolting realization, “Or sirened.”

Enid scrunches her features, diverting her full attention to Wednesday, “Sirened? But, why would they do that?”

“The Nevermore Games,” Wednesday rests her arm on the back of the chair, casting her gaze downward as she spirals deeper into her theory, “Bianca said she had a knack for winning, it’s easy to win when your biggest competition is dead.” Wednesday mutters her revelation, moreso talking to herself.

“‘She?’”

“Ida Kastellanos, the exchange student.”

Enid’s jaw hits the floor, “You spoke to Ida Kastellanos?!”

“No. She spoke to me. Her insolence is not charming. Bianca doesn’t hold a candle to her arrogance.” She turns back towards her desk, pondering her new suspect.

“Ida Kastellanos is like a celebrity around here! I’ve been dying to ask her about her skin care routine, but I’ve never been able to talk to her,” Enid fauns, throwing her magazine into her lap. Enid can already envision the draft of her blog post in her mind.

“It’s because she doesn’t think of you as an equal, Enid. She does not respect you. She only came here to win the Nevermore Games,” Wednesday turns in her chair to face Enid, “And she probably uses fish oil.”

Enid pushes herself upright in her bed, “That can’t be true! She signs autographs in the quad all the time!”

Wednesday is dumbfounded that Enid cannot see the irony in her statement. She stands up from her chair and marches hastily towards the door, eager to follow her lead.

“Maybe you can ask her for beauty advice while she’s tied to a chair with a bright light shining into her corneas,” She threatens, reaching for the doorknob.

Enid leaps out of her bed and runs towards Wednesday. She puts a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder, willing her to stop. Enid’s unwelcome contact causes Wednesday to abruptly turn to face her.

“I think we may be jumping to conclusions, shouldn’t we rule out alcohol first? I mean, it’s a high school party, after all.”

“A foreign exchange student from India getting drunk by himself in the quad? No matter the means, someone had to have lured him there. I know just the suspect.” She jerks her shoulder out of Enid’s grasp and opens the door, marching out into the hallway. Enid frantically chases after her.

“Wait- Umph-” Enid gets shoulder checked by a passerby in the hallway, “Don’t you think someone like Ida would have too much to lose?”

“She has a lot to lose already. Look how far winning the Nevermore Games has gotten her. If she loses, the only headline she’ll see would be of her incredible downfall, she’d be overshadowed by a new winner,” Wednesday speeds down the curved steps into the Ophelia Hall lobby, “She’d rather go to prison than have nobody know her name.”

Enid struggles to keep up through the sudden wave of pedestrians, getting jostled and knocked around in the crowd, “You really think she would kill to win the Nevermore Games?

“I think she’s a lot more sinister than she lets on. Have you seen her eyes? They’re cold and untrusting. Usually, I’d like that in a person.”

“I mean- I just think- Ow!” Enid receives a shove from behind, “Why is nobody pushing you out of the way?”

Wednesday pauses her strides and does a 180 to face Enid directly, “Why are you defending Ida? She’s an ego-maniac with no regard for anyone. Even if she isn’t the perpetrator, it wouldn’t hurt to knock her down a peg.”

“Knock her down a peg? Wednesday, correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you might be a little je-”

“What a nice surprise! How humane of you to take your dog on a supervised walk after such a tragic event,” A thick German accent interrupts Enid, one that makes Wednesday turn around lightning fast. It’s a sight that Wednesday had been searching for, but is not necessarily happy she found.

Enid looks starstruck, stunned into silence at the sight of Ida Kastellanos towering before her.

“She’s so much prettier in person,” Enid murmurs to herself, though Wednesday can’t help but to hear it as well. Something twinges in her chest upon hearing those words.

Ida bends over to meet Enid’s eye level, “You should invest in a leash, your chihuahua is a feisty one!”

Enid, as lost for words as she is in Ida’s eyes, nearly faints as a result of the sudden closeness. At the very least, she is rendered temporarily speechless.

“What are you doing in Ophelia Hall?” Wednesday interrupts tearing the woman’s attention away from her poor, helpless roommate.

“I’m only here to meet someone, is that a problem?”

“Depends who you’re meeting,” She crosses her arms and raises her head inquisitively.

“You’re awfully curious, aren’t you?” Ida shifts her weight, waving her hand at Wednesday.

“Less than 24 hours ago, we stumbled upon a dead body. I’d say ‘curious’ is putting it lightly.” Wednesday argues, lowering her head but remaining in a death stare.

She puts a hand to her chest and scoffs loudly, mocking Wednesday’s accusation, “Oh mein Gott! You think I killed the gorgon? How could you think so low of me?”

“You're right. I should know better than to think you’re willing to get your hands dirty.” Wednesday turns a shoulder to her, looking her up and down, once again going for the ego-jab.

“With a manicure like that? I’d keep my hands clean too!” Enid chimes in, weaning off her awestricken high. Wednesday shoots her a look that tells her she’s not helping, and that she just ruined her upper-hand.

Ida chuckles at the two girls before her, getting a kick out of their feigned authority.

“You should listen to your friend. She seems… socially adept,” Ida moves in closer to Wednesday, hushing her voice. Wednesday notices something change about her, her eyes shift uncomfortably, almost animal-like, like a snake’s vertical pupils dilating to reveal the yellow iris as it focuses in on its prey, “There’s a popular saying where I’m from. ‘Knapp daneben ist auch vorbei.’ I’d hate to see your soft little hands tortured and calloused over digging in the wrong hole.”

Wednesday’s nose twitches, almost snarling, seeing her hunched-over position as a prime opportunity, “Then I should start with a different hand. Thing!”

Thing charges out of Wednesday’s bag and leaps onto Ida’s shoulder, swinging a karate chop right to the carotid artery. She collapses right in the middle of the Ophelia Hall lobby. Enid gasps as she watches Ida’s body come crashing to the floor.

“Wednesday!!!” She covers her mouth in disbelief, jumping backwards from her unconscious body.

“Did you think she would come to our dorm willingly? Come on, you take the feet. We have to get her to the dorm before she wakes up,” Wednesday urges, already making a move towards Ida’s top half. Enid hesitantly complies, picking up the woman’s heel-clad feet.

They backtrack up the stairs, body in tow. Wednesday huffs, starting to get winded halfway up the steps. Enid offers to carry Ida the rest of the way, noting that her inner werewolf makes her stronger than the average person, but Wednesday declines. She claims that it is not every day she gets to haul an unconscious body away from the scene of a crime. 

They haul the body into the dorm room and set it in the chair where Enid previously sat to smell-test meat. Wednesday grabs a rope from under her bed and fastens Ida in, securing each of her limbs to the chair. Enid watches her do all the work, her hands interlocked behind her back as she shifts her weight from side to side, not really sure what she could do to help. Wednesday ties each knot with quick fingers, but still remains meticulous through and through. It’s like she does it for fun, or something, and Enid can’t decide whether to be impressed or mortified.

When her job is complete, she turns to Enid sternly, “Look, Enid, I know that you and I don’t agree on this, but I have to rule this out, so don’t mess this up.”

“Not messing this up! Got it.” She adds a wink to affirm her acknowledgement.

Before long, Ida comes to. At first, she is weary and unaware of her surroundings, but when she tries to move, she quickly begins to realize that she has been kidnapped. She tries to recall the events leading up to this, then she sees it. The hand that subdued her, sitting pretty on a desk a few feet away from her. It starts signing to someone else in the room, but it is cut off by a body stepping in front of it.

“Welcome back. If you’d rather be unconscious, I wouldn’t blame you,” Wednesday stands before Ida, reversing their roles of who usually looks up at who.

Ida grins sadistically, lurching forward from her chair, “If I ever see that hand again, I’m going to break all of its fingers.”

 Wednesday steps to the left, revealing the hand standing proudly, unphased by her comment, mocking her by flaunting his uninhibited freedom..

“And I’m going to chip all of it’s nails!”

Thing jumps, quickly receding back behind the desk. Ida smirks and relaxes back into her chair.

“Start talking,” Wednesday stoically steps in front of her, hands behind her back.

Ida looks her up and down and squints, pursing her lips as she sizes her up, “You know, Wednesday, kidnapping doesn’t do a good job of clearing your name. You’re more of a suspect than I am.”

“I have an alibis and no motive. You’re playing coy.” Wednesday shuts down her argument.

“I was with the other sirens all night. It’s just as likely it could be any of them, but yet you singled me out. Now, why would that be, hmm? Do you have a thing for blondes?” Ida teases, her devious smile returning to her face as she leans closer to Wednesday. Wednesday matches her intimidating lean in, not allowing Ida’s crude humor to get to her.

“Because it is uncharacteristic of the other sirens to do so. They’re prone to cheat, but they do so via conventional means. They would see no honor in killing for a competitive advantage,” Wednesday states matter-of-factly, taking a hand from behind her back to reveal a taser, “Now tell me what you know.”

Ida laughs loudly, mocking Wednesday’s dainty authority, “You think I see honor in killing? And for a competitive advantage? Don’t you think I have an awful lot to lose?”

“That’s what I said!” Enid buts in, earning a warning look from Wednesday. She promptly apologizes and looks at the ground, shamefully. 

“I’m not answering any of your questions until I receive some rightfully earned respect. How about you let her have a try?” Ida nudges her head towards Enid.

Everyone turns to look at Enid, who mouths “me?” and points to herself, flustered by the sudden spotlight. Worry floods her features, as even Wednesday looks at her expectantly. She slowly approaches the middle of the room, when Wednesday grabs her right arm and pulls her close to herself.

“She can’t get leverage on me, but she can on you. Don’t buckle.” Wednesday whispers. Enid nods her head, feeling even more nervous after her close proximity to her roommate, who never initiates contact.

She turns back around and comes face to face with the woman bound to the chair.

“Um… Hello, I’m Enid,” She awkwardly introduces herself, swaying side to side uncomfortably.

“Encantada, Enid” Ida greets with hooded eyes and a sultry voice to match her Spanish accent practiced to perfection, shooting a knowing look at Wednesday. Enid’s heart skips a beat. Wednesday is ready to make sure Ida’s heart never beats again.

Enid loses every ounce of self control she had been working up since she first laid eyes on Ida Kastellanos, “I just wanted to say that I am a big fan, and I’ve always wanted to meet you! I mean, you’re like a fashion blogger's dream!”

“You’re too kind, darling,” She looks over to Wednesday, “You should take notes, El Sombrerón.”

Wednesday clenches her jaw. Ida certainly has a lot of nerve.

Enid begins her first question, still unsure of what to do with herself, “So, uh, what were you doing in Ophelia Hall?”

“I was meeting my fellow sirens to plan our fundraising event for the Nevermore Games. We’re hosting a masquerade.” Ida confesses innocently.

“That sounds like soooo much fun! I will totally be there!”

“I’d love to show you what we’ve planned so far,” Ida looks Enid directly in the eyes, putting on a sing-songy tone, “But I haven’t control over my hands. If you release me, I’ll show you the plans.”

Enid begins untying the rope around Ida’s right hand, but is immediately interrupted by Wednesday.

“Did you just siren her?” Wednesday more reprimands than asks, walking over and placing a hand on the rope, stopping her from freeing Ida. If she’s honest, she was dying for a reason to interfere in that interaction.

“I did no such thing. Your friend is just a good samaritan.”

Enid looks up at Wednesday apologetically, feeling like she has done nothing but mess up over and over again today. Wednesday walks back towards her desk, Enid coming up behind her.

“I’m sorry, Wednesday, I’m not very good at the whole threatening thing. That’s always been more your thing.” She apologizes sincerely, looking despondently at her feet.

“Don’t be sorry, she’s just playing her game. You got one answer out of her, you just have to keep her out of your head.” Wednesday attempts to encourage her, feeling like the corner man to her boxer. She knows if Enid flips out right now, she may never get the answers she needs.

“Maybe you should just do it, I might screw it up again.” Enid suggests, defeated.

“No, Enid, she won’t talk to me. We have to make her feel like she’s winning. The only thing we can do is play along.” 

“Am I interrupting a lover’s quarrel?” Ida pipes up from her chair in the middle of the room.

Enid looks at her, then back to Wednesday, a subtle hint of pink flushing her cheeks. Wednesday stares emotionlessly at Ida.

“It’s been fun, but I really am running late and it is starting to become unfashionable, I must leave before my absence becomes worrisome.” Ida taps her foot impatiently, emphasizing her point that she is, in fact, getting bored. She feels as though she’s toyed with her food long enough.

“We don’t work around when it’s convenient for you.”

“Then I’ll tell you what you need to know,” She insists, shifting in her chair in an antsy manor, “I was with Bianca, Divina, and Kent at the bonfire. It was nothing but a get together for fleabags, so we went back to Bianca’s dorm, then the body was found and we all had to go back to our dorms for an overnight lockdown. Now can I go or must I alert authorities about our time together?”

Wednesday pauses a beat before walking over to her, untying her binds.She was prepared to be here until nightfall, at least. She didn’t even get to use her taser.

Enid breaks the silence, crossing her arms offendedly, “Fleabags, you say?”

“Yes, the pesky werewolves. They’re so rambunctious and… haphazard.” Ida responds, barely paying her any mind. She is more concerned with being freed if the incessant tapping is any clue.

“Well…” Enid unsheathes her rainbow claws, “I’m a werewolf too, so you’ll have to go through me before you make fun of them!”

Ida feigns a look of pity, “Aww… remind me to bring you some flea medicine next time I see you.”

Enid’s face falls and her arms drop to her sides, letting her body slouch forward in disbelief. Her heart shatters into a million pieces. Ida Kastellanos just insulted her straight to her face. Wednesday was right.

Wednesday finishes untying her, and Ida does not waste a second standing up and waltzing towards the door.

She turns before she leaves the room, “I hope you don’t plan on throwing any parties, you all are very inhospitable.”

With that, she slams the door harshly and proceeds with her day.

“Enid, we sho-” She looks up to see Enid is standing perfectly still, on the verge of tears, “Are you okay?”

A single tear streams down Enid’s face, signaling to her body that she has conceded to her emotions. Her lip starts to quiver, she sniffles, and the dam has officially broken. 

“Ida Kastellanos just called me a fleabag!” Her voice cracks. She runs and jumps face first into her bed, letting the waterworks take over.

Wednesday stands and watches, never sure what to do when she gets like this. Then she feels it, that familiar pang of something. Normally, the tears of others would put a smile on her face, but recently it has felt unsatisfactory. Enid flails her arms in the air, emphatically pounding onto her bed, and Wednesday finds it thoroughly pitiful. If it were up to her, she would put her out of her misery.

“I’ll make sure she never signs another autograph again,” Wednesday threatens, approaching Enid’s side of the room.

“No, it’s okay. Never meet your idols, I guess.” She props herself up on her elbows and wipes the tears from her eyes.

Wednesday stands and thinks for a moment. If Ida was telling the truth, then that clears her from this murder. That doesn’t explain why she was acting so weird in the lobby. She remembers back to their talk, before she incapacitated her; what she had said. “Knapp daneben ist auch vorbei.”

A miss is as good as a mile, roughly.

Ida knows something. Wednesday knows she knows. These circumstances make her question the legitimacy of that bonfire.

Wednesday voices her concern, not fully content with the way her investigation has been going, “This bonfire feels… superficial.”

Enid turns her head, sniffling, wiping her nose with her sleeve “What do you mean?”

“I mean it feels like it was a diversion. Whose idea was it?”

Enid rolls over to her back, “One of the Furs’ friends suggested it. I think he’s Ajax’s friend as well, he is a gorgon. We should talk to him.”

Wednesday turns her back to Enid, “Yeah, we should…”

—

Wednesday scours the quad until they spot the gorgon - sporting a backwards cap that covers each of his snakes - scribbling on a piece of paper while a group of people chat around him. Wednesday approaches the group menacingly, as usual. She taps on his shoulder and he looks up from his doodling.

“What can I do for you two ladies?” The gorgon says with a thick Californian accent with a very telling vocal fry to match.

“Are you stoned?” Enid asks before Wednesday can start interrogating.

The gorgon guffaws, taking his headphones off and placing them around his neck, “They call us stoners don’t they? Might as well live up to the name. Speaking of names, mine’s Javier. I know what you’re thinking. That sounds like the food that rich people eat.”

“I wasn’t thinking that-”

“That’s ka-vee-are, my name is hah-vee-air, are we clear on that?” He relaxes into his seat, twirling his pen nonchalantly.

They pause for a beat to allow that to sink in. The ignorance in the room is so strong she can almost smell it.

“You are the person that suggested the Furs host a bonfire, correct?” Wednesday questions, taking a step closer to Javier.

“You must have the wrong guy. I mean, I’d love to take the credit, that bonfire was off the chain. Except for the part where Ovi kicked it,” Javier begins to tear up, “Rest in power, brother!”

Wednesday and Enid look at each other, then back to the gorgon, “So you don’t remember suggesting the bonfire to the werewolves? Everyone said it was your idea.”

“They did? Oh man, I’ve gotta lay off the hash. I don't remember doing that!” Javier grabs his head in panic, trying to recollect his memories.

Wednesday and Enid look back at each other once more, both making a huge realization at the same time.

Chapter Text

“I know he’s the guy, the other wolves told me!” Enid stresses, putting her hands up to her head and huffing. They did not reach the same realization as Wednesday had originally thought. Wednesday believes his memories were wiped, Enid simply believes she got the wrong guy.

“Whoever the killer is, they’re a master of manipulation. The only evidence I have right now is word of mouth, which is why I’m going to go back to the scene of the crime and dig for clues myself,” Wednesday stands up and throws her bag over her shoulders. Thing promptly jumps into it. Her investigation has only been bringing about more questions when all she ever wanted was answers.

Enid makes a displeased face, “I’d love to come with, but I’m supposed to meet with Yoko and Divina for lunch later. Don’t want to be late!”

As Enid finishes her sentence, she hears the door close as Wednesday has already left the room on her search for indisputable evidence.

“Ooookay…”

—

Wednesday stares at the ground of the quad, looking for any inconsistencies. Unfortunately, the clean up crew does a pretty good job disposing of bodies. Though, she does still smell a hint of death in the air. It’s a comforting smell. She treats herself to a deep breath.

Thing crawls from the bag and rests atop her shoulder. He starts signing to Wednesday.

“Thing, nobody here thinks I’m insane. They should all know I’m here as part of my investigation.” She turns her head to look at all the other quad-loiterers. Most of them had been staring, but they all turned away and whispered to each other when she caught them looking.

Thing solidifies his point.

Wednesday turns her attention back to the crime scene. She pulls out a magnifying glass from the side of her bag and gets on her hands and knees, investigating each individual pebble. Thing hops down from her shoulder and signs about the second-hand embarrassment he’s feeling.

“Thing. I have no time to chat, I have to find compelling evidence before alchemy class,” She insists, getting up close and personal with an inconspicuous rock.

Thing makes a suggestion, that perhaps they take a break.

“Take a break? I just got here 5 minutes ago.” She turns her investigation towards him and looks at him through the magnifying glass.

Thing once again suggests a break, this time teasing her about her crush.

Wednesday puts down her magnifying glass and straightens up to her knees, looking at him sternly and puffing out her chest. She crosses her arms as a show of confidence, “Thing, you of all people should know I don’t feel that way for Enid. I don’t feel that way for anyone.”

Thing clarifies that he did not even mention Enid.

“You implied it.” She deflates, but only by a little, realizing that she did just walk into Thing’s trap. She stands up from the ground and dusts herself off, opting to sit at a nearby table. Thing’s petty ridicules are too distracting to continue her investigation right now. So, maybe he can consider that a win.

“Crushes are immature, they’re for people with codependency issues. I would prefer to remain in solitude. It’s especially insulting that you think I would commit to a lifetime of shopping malls and the color pink.”

Thing climbs the table, signing something about her “giving off signals.”

“That is nonsense. You’re the one that curls up into bed with her every night,” Wednesday refutes, propping her head up with her hand. She distractedly twirls her magnifying glass, giving her fingers something to do while Thing makes despicable accusations at her.

Thing continues to tease and pester, even going as far as singing the sitting-in-a-tree tune. She lets her magnifying glass fall to the table with a clatter, startling Thing.

“I recently added a pool ball to the end of those finger cuffs I made you. It’s the lucky 8-ball. Do you want to be ridden to ball and chain?”

Thing sporadically shakes his metaphorical head no.

“Then drop it.” Wednesday intimidates. 

She picks up her magnifying glass, holding it up above her head, getting ready to return to her search. Suddenly, something bright flashes in her eyes, blinding her and causing her to drop her magnifying glass again. She grabs the utensil and holds it up towards the sun once again. She wiggles it around until the flash shines in her eyes just like before. 

Something is reflecting the sunlight back towards her. She tries to find it again, and this time she follows the trail of light towards the back of the quad, in a nook behind where the body of the gorgon was found. Wednesday kneels down and discovers several shards of glass. She takes out her camera and takes a picture.

“Thing, this is huge.” She picks up the biggest shard of the glass and investigates it closer. It still has some residue on it, something orange-y. She secures the shard in a baggie and races to alchemy class.

1:01 PM

Enid skips through the doors of The Weathervane, ready to meet with Yoko and Divina for the first time this semester. She spots the two girls and scurries towards their seat, sliding into the booth eagerly, facing opposite the two of them. She greets them excitedly, having missed them deeply over the long break.

“We’re official!” Yoko and Divina raise their held hands together, announcing they have officially started dating. Enid covers her mouth in shock and congratulates them.

“It’s about time you two figured it out! I always thought you’d be so cute together!” She squeals, always over-enthusiastic about budding romance.

They catch up over some coffee, chatting about certain drama within their respective cliques, (the sirens are especially spicy), and all around having a good time. Enid thinks if Wednesday were here, she would have started slamming her head into the table until she was unconscious by now. The thought makes her chuckle to herself; Wednesday’s quirky moments always have a way of putting a smile on Enid’s face.

“Earth to Enid!” Yoko waves her hand in front of her face. Enid snaps out of her daydream, which she may or may not have started smiling about,  “What’s on your mind? Is it about Wednesday?”

“What? No, why would it be about Wednesday?” Enid quirks an eyebrow, very obviously lying by the tone of her voice. She picks up her iced drink and swirls it around, desperately looking for something to do with her hands. 

“I don’t know, don’t you like, like her, or something?”

“Wha- No I, I- just…” Enid stumbles over her words, turning more red by the second. The way she waves her hands all over the place doesn’t do her any favors.

Divina leans forward, taking Enid’s deflecting techniques as a cry for help, “I think I’ve seen enough. You’ve got a crush.”

Enid stops gesticulating and lets her hands flop on the table, palm side up, having been busted in her efforts to conceal her feelings. She should have quit while she was ahead, because she has never successfully concealed her feelings.

“Agreed. I think she totally digs you too.” Yoko adds on, tapping her fingers into Enid’s open palm.

“Really? You think so?” Enid perks up like a puppy, locking her fingers together optimistically and kicking her feet under the booth.

“Yeah. I can hear her heartbeat get faster when she’s near you. Either that, or your heart is beating overtime for the both of you.”

Enid hides her face with her hands, falling victim to her friends’ ceaseless teasing. She blames it on her werewolf genes. Werewolves surely have faster heartbeats than humans. Probably.

“I’m actually not even sure her heart beats, or that she has one at all.” Yoko plants a finger on her chin, having an epiphany in hindsight. It would explain a lot of strange encounters with Wednesday.

Enid’s voice softens as she opens up, anxiously toying with the rings on her fingers as she continues on the subject, “Do you really think I have a chance?”

“You know her better than anyone. Do you think you have a chance?”

Enid pulls a leg up into the booth and rests her chin on it, pondering for a moment, thinking back to all of her favorite moments with Wednesday. A short walk down memory lane would bring a certain memory to the front of her mind.

“After I wolfed out for the first time, she was carrying on for weeks about how astounded and amazed she was about my wolf form. She even said she wanted to dissect me!”

Yoko and Divina look at each other, both experiencing a feeling best described as “weirded out” to some degree.

“I think I even caught her smiling about it once!” She grins endearingly at the memory, letting her leg fall down into the booth, “But I haven’t been able to wolf out since that day. I’ve been trying so hard because I want to see Wednesday smile again, but I think it only happens when my emotions are extremely heightened.”

Enid props her chin in her hands, a bit disappointed in herself after her confession, but still motivated by her desire to see Wednesday happy for once. She catches herself starting to daydream again, which Yoko and Divina were unhelpfully letting her do as they sit back and watch, letting Enid’s deep thinking do all the talking. She realizes she may have overshared, and tries to change the subject.

“So, uhh, what are the vampires doing for fundraising this year?”

1:30 PM

A wise man once said, “Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.”

Wednesday Addams, who has accepted death and all of the innately beautiful parts that come with it, references this quote whenever she is confronted with a plea to get some rest, mostly by one Enid Sinclair. An Addams does not yearn for sleep; the temptation for discovery is too strong during the wee hours of the morning. At least, that’s how Wednesday sees it. Clearly, her classmate and self-proclaimed partner-in-crime, Xavier Thorpe, sees it differently, as he is face down on the desk, dead-to-the-world asleep in the middle of alchemy class.

Normally, she wouldn’t care; but normally he doesn’t snore like a chainsaw. Wednesday hasn’t been able to focus on Mr. Brown’s lecture since five minutes ago, and she cannot let it slide any longer.

She reels back an elbow and jabs it into Xavier’s side, causing him to awaken with a start. He wipes the drool from his mouth and straightens his jacket, not entirely aware of his surroundings after having just been rudely awakened. He grabs his pencil and adjusts himself to appear as though he had never even been asleep, looking side to side to make sure nobody saw him.

He leans over to Wednesday, who is stoically keeping her attention on the teacher. He lowers his voice to a whisper, “Are you the learning police or something?”

Wednesday slowly turns her head to face him, “No, and don’t compare me to the police ever again. You are just as obnoxious in your sleep as you are when you’re awake.”

Wednesday turns her head back towards the teacher, leaving their interaction at that, and attempting to pick up where she left off on her notes. Xavier goes back to whatever he was doing before he fell asleep, which had apparently been scribbling something on his paper. Wednesday believes she may actually be able to focus without interruption now. If only she were that lucky.

Perhaps the reason she couldn’t focus wasn’t entirely Xavier’s fault. She had also been pensive about her talk with Thing earlier today. Not that he was correct in any of his claims, but if he noticed something that ludicrous, then it is possible she is due for some introspection. Why would he think something like that? Maybe she is more lenient about Enid’s emotions than everyone else’s. So what? She isn’t exactly easy to be mad at.

Except that Wednesday has never had that problem before.

She turns her attention to the wall, which has been seized by memorabilia of Mr. Brown’s many obsessive hobbies. Hanging are several posters of select tarot cards, one of them being Wednesday’s fateful present card, the Queen of Swords, which has multi-purposed as an actual sword holder. Along with tarot, there is, of course, a multitude of souvenirs and relics depicting potions, witchcraft, celebrities who are rumored to practice witchcraft, black cats with yellow eyes, and strangely enough, a lot of historical annals and collectables. 

There are several framed pieces of paper with just words on them. If you inspect them closely, some of them are studies published by other witches, perhaps some even by Mr. Brown himself. One of them is just an excerpt about the invasive cane toad, an exceptionally witchy subject. 

Most of them appear to be what Mr. Brown would consider his favorite potions. There’s a blue one on the wall which supposedly makes you more intelligent and focused, and a red one which triggers your adrenaline and makes you stronger. Along with many others whose content is too small to read.

But Wednesday has bigger fish to fry.

“What are you thinking about? I heard through the grapevine that you’ve got a little private investigation going on,” Xavier, unable to keep to himself, reigns Wednesday back into the real world with an intrusive whisper, flicking his pencil rhythmically.

She snaps her head, instinctively shrinking towards him to keep the conversation low, “Who told you that?”

“Ida Kastellanos,” He props his hands behind his head and leans back, “I think she kinda digs me.”

Wednesday pauses for a moment. She can’t understand the death grip this girl has on Nevermore. She also can’t understand why everyone calls her by her full name. It's not like anyone doesn’t know who she is.

“The only thing she will be digging in relation to you is your grave. Steer clear of her, Xavier. I mean it.” She warns, slinking back to her side of the table and resting her hands in her lap, turning her attention back to the alchemy teacher.

Xavier takes that as his invitation to move in closer, “You seem awfully concerned for my safety. Are you feeling okay, Wednesday?”

Wednesday stiffens, keeping her gaze trained on the teacher, though her blood runs cold at the mere thought of potentially caring about him. She crosses her legs and smooths a hand over her skirt, buffing out all the potential wrinkles.

“I wasn’t speaking metaphorically,” She takes the fabric under her nail, distractedly toying with it as her voice darkens, “You know how sirens can be.”

He leans back from the table, resting an arm on the back of Wednesday’s chair, sucking his teeth before muttering his response, “That I do.”

Mr. Brown finally wraps up his lecture and dismisses his students, though Wednesday could not really recount a word of his teachings from today. Nevertheless, she approaches him with her query.

“Mr. Brown, I require your expertise in potions,” She addresses him formally. Xavier takes it upon himself to stick around as well, much to Wednesday’s chagrin.

“I’m happy to help. What’s the problem?” He spins in his chair, over-enthusiastic as usual.

Wednesday pulls the baggie out of her jacket pocket. She opens the baggie and dumps the content into her own hand before handing it over to Principal Brown. He takes the shard of glass and investigates it closely with his naked eye.

“There’s a residue on the glass. I would like to know what that substance is. Unfortunately, I don’t have a microscope of my own,” Wednesday stores the empty baggie back in her pocket.

Principal Brown puts a hand on his hip, having put on his reading glasses to investigate the glass shard closer, “This wouldn’t happen to be about your personal murder investigation, would it?”

Wednesday stifles a reaction, letting the silence answer for her.

“I don’t think it’s safe for a student to get involved in the affairs of a murderer. I encourage you to leave that to the authorities,” He suggests, still keeping his attention rapt on the piece of glass, “Though, if this is evidence found from the scene of the crime, I’ll certainly look into it with my team.”

Wednesday takes a step closer to his desk, lowering her chin and intimidating him from beneath her eyebrow, “No. This is my evidence, the least you can do is tell me what that residue is.”

She slams her hands on the table, causing the balance scale on his desk to shift unevenly, and all the objects jump in time as if they were scared themselves.

Principal Brown nervously fiddles with the scale, poising it back to its original perfect balance. He stutters at her threatening attitude, finding it hard to argue with her determined demeanor, “You know what? Fine. I’ve had a change of heart. As your reward for discovering this potential piece of evidence, I will entertain your request for the identification of this substance. But, I want you to promise to drop this case, and leave it to the professionals.”

Wednesday glances at the banner of the Queen of Swords on the wall, then leers her eyes back to him, “I promise.”

The Principal places the glass under the microscope, both Wednesday and Xavier flock to watch his scientific procedure. He fiddles with the lenses until he finally finds a good spot, eliciting thoughtful hums as he discovers each ingredient hidden within this concoction.

He lifts his head from the machine, looking slightly disheartened at his discovery. He clears his throat before proceeding with his end of the deal, “Well… This potion features an array of different flora and chemicals, including Amorphophallus titanum, or rather the carrion flower, which would explain the rancid smell of rotting corpses…”

He stalls out his answer, causing Wednesday to get more and more impatient with each second that passes. She crosses her arms, signaling to Principal Brown that she knows what he’s doing and she’s tired of it.

“...This potion puts its victim to sleep… permanently,” Principal Brown nervously states, uncomfortably twiddling his fingers as he waits for Wednesday’s reaction.

Wednesday does not have a physical reaction, only a half-second acknowledgement and a spin on her heel, walking out of the alchemy classroom with a barely audible “thank you.”

Xavier, however, does react to how the Principal looks as if he’s turning green, almost as if the results of his research made him sick. He urges him to take some deep breaths and apologizes on Wednesday’s behalf, chasing her out the door.

He catches up to her, marching down the hallway on a mission, “I’m guessing you’re not keeping that promise, are you?”

Wednesday subtly smirks, “You’re smarter than you look, Thorpe.”

Wednesday swings her bag over her shoulder, digging through it to find the pictures she had previously taken of the glass formation on the ground, which Thing graciously hands her from inside the bag. She pulls them out to take another look, inadvertently showing them to Xavier as well.

“Do you see this?” Wednesday points at the glass in the picture, flipping through them until she finds one from a bird's eye angle.

Xavier analyzes the picture, under the impression he is missing something, before stating the obvious, “Yeah, it looks pretty… shattered.”

Wednesday swings open a set of doors, leading her out of the learning hall and towards the quad, “It was shattered right in the middle by a piercing object, not a blunt one. Can’t you tell by the shape and size of the pieces? This wasn’t stepped on by a boot, or a tennis shoe.”

Xavier nods his head in understanding, holding his chin in a v shape to give off the impression that he is thinking, “So someone stabbed it with a knife?”

“No.”

“A sword?”

“No, Xavier,” She drops her arms to her side, looking up at him scornfully, “It was most likely punctured by the heel of someone’s high heel.”

Xavier throws his head back for a dramatic nod, making a sound of concurrence. Wednesday isn’t convinced he understands, or is even trying to for that matter, so she pays him a look of disapproval before marching towards Ophelia Hall.

8:36 PM

Wednesday opens the door to an infuriatingly catchy pop song acting as the soundtrack to Enid Sinclair’s evening manicure session. She peers at Enid’s side of the room, where her roommate is flat on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air while she touches up her rainbow nail polish and hums the lyrics to the obnoxious song she’s listening to. Only when Wednesday slams the door does Enid notice she’s there.

“Howdy, Wednesday!” She bounces up from her place on the bed, skipping over to greet Wednesday formally, “How was alchemy class?”

Wednesday notes how Enid is acting more domestic and sweet than usual. Perhaps she is in an exceptionally good mood.

“It was… eye-opening.” Wednesday summarizes, watching Enid sway side to side in time with the rhythm of the song that’s currently playing. She looks everywhere other than at Wednesday, as if she wants something from her. It’s then that she remembers Enid loves to be asked about her day.

“How was your… outing?”

Enid smiles at her question (1. because she remembered to ask, and 2. because of her choice of words). 

“I had a great time. It was pretty eye-opening too.”

Wednesday walks over towards her desk, letting her eyes linger on Enid for a few extra seconds before directing her attention to her bag.

“Yoko said the vampires are going to host a blood drive, but it’s not, like, a donation thing it’s- they’re actually going to be driving. Maybe it’s like a race?”

Wednesday makes a vague sound to show her acknowledgement, only halfway listening while digging her hand in her bag and unloading her discoveries of the day.

Enid clears her throat, holding her arm behind her back, “So, uhh, what’s your blood type?”

She berates herself after her embarrassing attempt at small talk, pursing her lips and slamming her eyes shut as she holds herself back from slapping herself in the face.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Enid. I love all blood equally,” Wednesday smirks at herself, but after Enid doesn’t make a sound, she turns to face her.

“That was a joke. My actual blood type is O-negative. Don’t tell your vampire friends, I’m not interested in being their personal juice box.”

Enid laughs awkwardly at Wednesday’s comment, not entirely sure what O-negative even means. She is relieved that her failure of a social interaction went over Wednesday’s head, but now she isn’t sure where to go from here. She takes a shaky breath, building the confidence to just nut up and say what she wants to say.

She creases her toe into the ground and shifts it back and forth, not sure what to do with all of her nervous energy, “Hey, Wednesday, I was, um, wanting to ask you something.”

Wednesday, who has already turned back around since their last interaction, grants her permission to ask.

“I was wondering if, maybe- well, if no one has asked you yet, if you-”

The sound of Wednesday’s makeshift ball and chain hitting the ground and rolling to the center of the room, right to Enid’s feet, interrupts her hopeless rambling. Wednesday saunters over to pick it up, placing herself directly in front of Enid. Wednesday looks at her, giving her a chance to finish her sentence.

It’s quite hot in the room, all of a sudden. Stuffy, hard to breathe in. Enid, overwhelmed with the decision of which of Wednesday’s eyes to look at, can’t seem to form said sentence.

Wednesday turns to walk away, but Enid grabs her wrist before she can get far. Wednesday immediately flicks her head to the ceiling, collapsing backwards into Enid, who gracefully catches her in her embrace.

Enid gasps, and perhaps a little selfishly, wraps her arms around Wednesday’s center as she lies unconsciously in her arms.

~

Wednesday looks side to side, unaware of her surroundings as she gets used to the feeling of being in her psychic vision. When she looks down, she sees a body under her, covered in blood and excessive abrasions. She watches as the host of her vision slashes another claw through the body, making it less and less identifiable with each gash. 

Blood leaks from the lifeless corpse, staining the floor underneath with a scarlet tint. The face, maimed beyond recognition. The entrails of the body are even visible from the unforgiving attack. She looks down at her hands, or better, her claws. They’re bloodsoaked, and they’re shaking, seemingly regretful and horrified of the carnage they just caused. Several pairs of wings flutter, thwipping together, as long, black feathers cloud her vision, until it’s completely black.

~

She flings herself forward out of Enid’s arms, breathing heavily as the reality of her vision sets in. Enid tries to ask her what happened, but she just responds by running towards the door, tugging Enid’s sleeve along with her.

After running for what feels like forever through the infinite halls of the Nevermore campus, they finally approach the hallway that Wednesday’s vision took place in. Sure enough, there lies the body of a deceased Nevermore student.

Not just deceased. Mutilated.

Enid lets out a loud sob, covering her mouth with both hands, but unable to tear her eyes away. Wednesday, on the other hand, pulls out her camera and snaps a picture. 

She drops to her knees, scooting in as close as she can get without getting blood on herself. She pulls out a journal and pen from her bag, taking notes about the body such as the position it’s in, how long it’s been since the incident, etc. 

“Wednesday! Can we please go!” Enid strains in a whisper. She finds trouble getting the words out, her throat is tight from holding back the tears of disgust that are pushing so forcefully to come out. 

Wednesday turns her head around, towards Enid’s cowering person, which is instinctively slinking further away, “I’ll never get another chance like this!”

When she turns her head back towards the body, she notices something off to the right. A small slip of paper, seemingly discarded about five feet away from the body. She crawls to it, grabs it between her index finger and her thumb, and scrutinizes it.

A raven cries thrice.

Chapter Text

Something is certainly afoot at Nevermore. Whoever committed this gruesome murder is certainly a merciless, cold-blooded killer.

What Wednesday finds most vexing, above all else, is the drastic differences between these two murders. Surely they’re connected, she has no doubt. However, the sudden switch from deft and cunning to grisly and erratic should be no accident - if the killer knows what they’re doing.

The paper, on the other hand, may have been an accident. It was blank, it didn’t even have the slightest mark of blood on it whatsoever. Wednesday believes it to be too big of a coincidence to let it go unnoticed, however.

It’s possible they know Wednesday is after them. Maybe they’re sending her a message. She stares intently at the photos, looking for any similarities between the two murders. From what she can tell, the body is of a siren, but she’s not entirely sure. The body is so eviscerated that there’s hardly any identifiable parts.

She ought to have a closed casket, Wednesday thinks.

It was of no difficulty to figure out the killer is a werewolf. Claws like that could only belong to a lycanthrope. What she cannot attribute to lycanthropy is the vicious bloodlust. At least, not a Nevermore lycanthrope.

Enid stands behind Wednesday in their shared dorm, arms wrapped tightly around herself for comfort. She watches Wednesday, intently focused on the finer details of her photographs.

She can’t bear to look at the photos herself, the image of the disfigured corpse is already burned into her brain as it is. She watches Wednesday pull something out of her pocket. It’s a small baggie full of a fur sample which she so eagerly swiped from the scene. She tapes it to her evidence board, which Enid has already vocalized her complaints about.

Except this time, Wednesday didn’t budge about the board. In fact, ever since they got back to their dorm, Wednesday has given her the cold shoulder. If there’s one thing Enid Sinclair cannot stand, it’s an unwarranted cold shoulder.

Her unbothered facade finally falls, unable to withstand the pressure of being disliked.

“Wednesday, why are you ignoring me?”

Wednesday ignores her.

She swallows thickly, and tries again, “Maybe I can help you. I know a lot of people here, and my blog has a lot of reach.”

A beat of silence passes, interrupted briefly by Wednesday clicking her pin repeatedly, thinking of what to say before finally breaking her silence.

“You were right, Enid,” Wednesday states, matter-of-factly, “You were right that Ida was not the killer.”

A small smile peeks onto Enid’s features, “See? I’m more helpful than-”

She is interrupted by Wednesday slapping a picture onto her evidence board. It is the picture of the broken glass pieces she took from yesterday.

She turns her head to the side, facing Enid only with her profile, “Ida is not the killer because the killer is not a siren. It’s a werewolf.”

Enid’s face falls, not liking the direction of Wednesday’s implication.

“A werewolf with a fondness for a sharp heel. Do you happen to know any?” She pauses, giving Enid a chance to answer before turning her head back towards her board.

“Wednesday… You don’t actually think… I’m the killer, right?” Enid stalls her movements, her eyes softening as they prepare for her onslaught of emotions.

Wednesday sighs deeply, not annoyed, but somewhat guilty for what she’s about to say. Her interrogatory front begins to falter at the sound of Enid’s disappointment, “I don’t know what to believe right now, but until I find more evidence, I have to treat you like an equal suspect.”

Enid lets out a squeak as she takes a step back towards her bed, her voice wavering, “I can’t believe you- you think I would do this? I’ve been by your side since all this shit started! Now you think I’m the killer? Do you know me at all? Do you even care?”

Wednesday lets her head drop, looking down shamefully at her feet, but only for a second. She must not lose sight of her investigation over a personal connection with a potential suspect.

“It’s just a protocol, as soon as I find proper evidence, you’ll be cleared,” She offers, her voice weaker than usual. She knows she’s doing the right thing, but something about it feels so wrong.

Enid raises her voice in response, her anger boiling up to her throat, which tightens as it holds back threatening tears, “Proper evidence? Wednesday, I was with you when it happened! Is that not enough evidence?”

Wednesday turns around to face her, which was a mistake. The betrayed look on Enid’s face doesn’t make things any easier for her. That haunting feeling she’s felt recently creeps up the back of her neck.

She takes a step towards Enid, “I had that vision because of you. That suggests that you’re connected somehow.”

Enid can’t believe what she’s hearing, it must be a misunderstanding. She takes another step back, her collar suddenly feeling like it’s suffocating her. She tugs at it to give her room to breathe, but it doesn’t help whatsoever.

“Wednesday… no matter what I do, you still treat me like you barely know me. We’ve been through so much together in the past year and you act like you’ve never met me!” She sniffles as the descent into her breakdown begins to take effect, “You make me feel like shit for trying!”

She’s red in the face with anger, turning her back to Wednesday as she wipes her nose and mumbles into her sleeve, “I can’t believe I ever liked you.”

Wednesday takes one step closer, and then another, reaching out her arm briefly before withdrawing it hesitantly. She takes a look behind her and spots Thing, sitting on her desk tapping his fingers condescendingly. She scowls in response.

At this point, Enid would have surely stormed out of the room. The only problem is that there’s another lockdown due to the discovery of another body that does not lift until classes begin the next day. Regardless, she still walks towards her bed and begins filling up a duffle bag with her belongings.

“Since I’m nothing but a suspect to you, I guess I should just leave so I don’t mess up your perfect investigation,” She slams her clothes aggressively into the bag, leaving one more opening for Wednesday to apologize.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t leave right now. It is unsafe,” Wednesday barters with her, trying her best to stay level-headed.

Typical Wednesday, too rational to let it show that any decision was driven by emotion. Enid spins around, looking her dead in the eye,“Let me weigh my options. Would I rather be slaughtered where I stand and be rendered to nothing but a pile of blood and guts, or stay in this room with you and your obsessive investigation that hasn’t gotten any closer to being solved since it started?” She taps her foot on the ground, pretending to think about it, “I think I’ll go with the former.”

A jab at Wednesday’s intelligence, Enid knows how to hit her where it hurts. A foreign thought creeps into Wednesday’s mind, one that suggests she might actually have deserved that.

For once in her life, Wednesday doesn’t know what to say. If she apologizes, then she will have to forget about investigating her as a suspect. If she doesn’t, Enid will walk out of this room and effectively out of Wednesday’s life. The correct answer should be obvious: focus on the investigation. But this unfamiliar feeling of a guilty conscience is nagging her and clouding her senses.

Enid takes her silence as another nail in the coffin. If Wednesday wanted her here, she would have said so already. She grabs her bag and stomps towards the door as the finality of her decision forms burning tears in her eyes.

“If you need me…” Enid starts, but pauses as she rethinks her sentiment, “Don’t come looking for me!”

With that, she slams the door behind her. The deafening silence makes the door slam reverberate through the walls. Wednesday lets it sink in. She shakes her head, coming to her senses and pushing through the feeling of dejection. She has work to do. 

She crosses over the duct tape line to Enid’s side of the room, and crouches down over Enid’s big pile of shoes by her bed. She sifts through all of her shoes in search of a pair of high heels to compare to the glass. Low and behold, she doesn’t find a single pair of high heels at all.

“Could she really have disposed of all of her heels just to evade suspicion?” Wednesday says under her breath. Out of nowhere, something slaps the back of her head, knocking her head forward.

She whips her head around, raising a hand to the back of her head instinctively. A familiar hand stands atop Enid’s bed, one which would take the blame for the unanticipated assault.

“Thing, why would you do that?” She scolds him, letting her arm fall from behind her head once she puts the pieces together.

Thing only scolds her back, curious how she could be so daft about this situation. He also points out that Enid has mentioned before that she doesn’t own heels, because if she wolfs out in them, she’d probably twist an ankle.

“I understand the consequences of my actions, but it was necessary to ensure that my investigation was thorough. How was I supposed to know someone like Enid wouldn’t own heels?” She stands up from the floor and walks around the bed, taking a seat on the edge of it while Thing signs to her.

He insists that if her investigation was so thorough, she would have noticed intricate details like that. Similarly, if she was a good friend she would have noticed intricate details like that.

Wednesday picks at the fabric of Enid’s multicolored sheets, “I’ve never been a good friend to anyone. Anyone that thinks I’m capable of friendship is delusional.”

Wednesday’s denial of her own feelings exasperates Thing. He cross-examines Wednesday’s ability to see the consequences of her actions, yet still choose to willingly hurt the people around her.

The truth is, she doesn’t have an answer. When she is tasked with understanding the more nurturing parts of her identity, she can’t comprehend it, so she chooses the most logical route every time.

Thing thinks she’s lucky to have a hand like him, because he has the perfect plan for this predicament. He offers up his ultimate plan of forgiveness to get Enid back into her life.

“That sounds humiliating,” Wednesday shoots him down, standing up from Enid’s bed and walking back over to her evidence board.

Thing doesn’t stop there. He chases her to the other side of the room and climbs her desk, tugging on her sleeve to get her attention. He stomps his finger into the desk, insisting she should do it. He is certain Enid would love it.

She actually ponders it this time instead of immediately brushing him off. She weighs her options, seeing how placing her investigation over Enid made her feel somewhat lost. Enid has actually helped a lot, she would be a valuable asset if she can find it within herself to forgive Wednesday.

That’s the only reason. It’s the most logical answer.

“Fine. I’ll apologize - but I’m not doing the other stuff. This is an apology, not a confession of love,” She actually surprises herself with her agreement, but she couldn’t help but be disgusted with herself at the alternative.

She’s still disgusted with herself, but it’s more comparable to drinking water after you just vomited profusely.

Thing admits that maybe his plan was a bit dramatic. He originally proposed she serenade Enid with a cello piece below the balcony of her new living quarters (probably Yoko’s room). However, he thinks he can swing a door-in-the-face compliance method, one that Wednesday can agree to the terms of.

12:19 PM

If she had known her agreement to Thing’s terms would have gotten her temporarily kicked out of her dorm while he “prepares,” she may have been more hesitant in agreeing to them. Thankfully, the hive is always open.

As soon as the lockdown was lifted, Thing shooed her out the door and told her to find something to do for two hours. She figures the bees would never kick her out. Besides, half of Nevermore is still closed off for a deep cleaning. From what she saw, they might as well redo the whole floor. Maybe even the walls.

“The bees have missed you!” Eugene walks into the shed gregariously, ecstatic to see his one and only beekeeping buddy. 

Wednesday finishes tightening the lid on the jar of honey she collected and sets it down before turning to greet Eugene.

“What brings you to the hive?” 

“I’ve been forced to move my investigation elsewhere,” Wednesday admits, a bit more pouty than she had intended.

Eugene picks up on Wednesday’s implicative tone, “Aw man. Did Enid kick you out again?”

Wednesday turns back around and grabs an empty jar from the shelf and opens it, preparing to gather another jar of honey, “You could say that.” 

Wednesday’s dismissive persona isn’t uncommon, but Eugene can sense that it may be more intentional than usual. For something to bother Wednesday, it must be pretty extreme, because he’s seen her take down forces of evil without cracking a… well any expression.

Eugene offers a shoulder to cry on, without pushing for details, “Well, if you need help with anything, you know the hive’s got you.”

Wednesday looks up from her jar. Eugene’s comforting offer sparked an idea within her. Perhaps this time doesn’t have to go to waste completely. Instead of sulking in the privacy of a root-cellar-turned-beehive, she could make herself useful and gather evidence and finally lock down a suspect.

She turns around and places her hands on the desk with a maniacal plan, “Actually, I do need your help with something…”

—

Her plan is simple: challenge each werewolf to a game with stakes they cannot refuse. A typical werewolf would get their pride so wound up they wouldn’t be able to turn it down. She’ll bait them in using Eugene’s simple-minded demeanor and extraordinarily low social status, giving him the appearance of being low-hanging fruit. In reality, the game would be rigged from the start. 

What does Wednesday get out of this? A lock of their hair to compare to the fur sample. It won’t be perfect, but judging from Enid’s wolf, the color of the human’s hair is the same as the wolf’s, even if it is dyed. To Wednesday’s knowledge, she’s the only person who knows the killer is a werewolf since she saw it in her vision, so her request shouldn’t raise much suspicion. Apart from, of course, the obvious suspicion that comes with asking someone for a lock of their hair.

Eugene and Wednesday stand in the quad together, eyeing up a group of werewolves who seem awfully prone to falling victim to adolescent peer pressure to impress their friends. The perfect place to start. She drags Eugene over and proposes to them the conditions of their deal, and, as expected, they said yes.

Wednesday lets them choose the game to give them the illusion that they have the upperhand. To prevent them from choosing something absurd, like ultimate frisbee or fetch, she tosses a deck of cards on the table to psych them out of choosing any cardless games. They finally settle on a game of Slapjack, and Wednesday prepares Eugene for her bid of rigging.

She should be thanking the werewolves for proposing a game that is so easy to rig. It will be like taking candy from a baby, and she can’t imagine a better way to spend her time.

They play the game, making sure that Eugene is dealt every jack in the deck. The cards come piling in as Eugene slaps it first every single time. The other three werewolves start to show their nerves, becoming antsy as the game starts stacking against them. They each lay down their last few cards before Eugene delivers the final blow.

*SLAP*

“I won!” Eugene throws his hands in the air in celebration. Wednesday smirks, as she just earned herself three locks of potential evidence using her dastardly manipulation tactics.

They continue their gambling antics with all the other werewolves, making sure to analyze their body language closely for any tells that they may be hiding something. Nothing jumps out at her, but she is conscious of the fact that the werewolf may not have been fully aware of their actions.

Their next werewolf victim rolls the dice, landing on an unlucky six, which just so happens to be Eugene’s property. His property value is so high that the poor, unsuspecting werewolf gets taxed into bankruptcy, and loses the game of Monopoly.

“This game is so unfair!” The girl shrieks as she begrudgingly allows Wednesday a lock of her hair. Her lip twitches into a small smile before she receives the spoils of her victory.

Their deals in connivery make Wednesday feel more like herself again. She had lost focus over some immature high school conflict. She never thought something as insignificant as friendship would drive a knife through her critical thinking, but a well deserved distraction in the way of cheating, lying, and manipulating would prove to be the best medicine. Now that the better part of Wednesday is at the wheel, she thinks maybe she can finally make some progress.

The werewolf at the other end of the table - which just so happens to be Aegean - raises, which Wednesday immediately prompts Eugene to call. He has no idea what it means, but he does it anyway.

Aegean proposed a game of Texas Hold’em with his friend. She appreciates the twist, though it will still be just as rigged in her favor as the rest of them. The only facet Wednesday can’t control is Eugene’s terrible poker face.

She’s made sure that by the fourth round, Eugene will have a full house and the two opponents will have a high card and a two pair respectively, for suspicion’s sake. The round ends and the fourth community card is revealed on the table. Eugene raises, and Wednesday watches the player she dealt the high card squirm. Aegean, the one who now has a two pair, calls in response, sporting a poker face far superior to Eugene’s. The only player left is the high card, who Wednesday is certain will fold. She waits eagerly for his answer, but before he can give one, a new party joins the table.

“Gambling are we, Ms. Addams?” Principal Brown interrupts the game, and Wednesday is caught red-handed, “I expect you know this is not allowed.”

Though she is being reprimanded, she can’t help but notice Principal Brown’s sly smile negating the severity of his words, along with his old-fashioned getup. He’s dressed in a white cowboy hat and boots complete with the boot spurs with a holstered revolver on his hip.

“We’re not betting money, so it’s not gambling. We were just finishing up, anyway. I’ll cease and desist after this round,” She tries to brush him off.

The principal ponders for a moment before making an offer, “I’ll tell you what, Wednesday, since you’re such a good student, I’ll let you off with a warning. On one condition.”

She lowers her head and raises a curious eyebrow towards him, “What, that I compliment your spaghetti western attire?”

He wipes all the cards off the table and sets both of his hands on it, arching forward towards Wednesday, “You let me join the game!”

Wednesday is incredibly displeased with that condition, and she makes sure he knows it with the apathetic look on her face. She was so close to having every werewolf’s sample, and now she’ll have to try a lot harder to deceive him.

He straightens up from the table and crosses his arms, “And for the record, today is national whiskey day, a classic saloon staple. What better way to celebrate than to wash it down with some Texas Hold ‘Em!”

She sighs as she takes all the cards back and reshuffles the deck. This time, she aims to give Eugene three of a kind, while everyone else gets a high card or a pair. She deals each player two cards starting from the left of her, then she allows the players to set their blinds. She passes down the button and watches the game unfold.

She must admit, she is nervous for Eugene. Principal Brown is a different man at the poker table. He drops his jovial attitude in exchange for a serious, confident look that strikes fear in his opponents. He grabs a cigar from his pocket and pops it in his mouth. He flicks his lighter twice before catching a spark, and lights the end of his cigar.

He notices everyone staring at him, and grabs the cigar to hold between his fingers, “What? It’s just lavender.”

They finish betting, and pass down the button. Wednesday lays out the flop, to which Principal Brown raises, and each player chooses to call fairly quickly. The button is passed to Principal Brown, and Wednesday reaches for the fourth card.

Eugene raises at the sight of the fourth card, to which the two werewolves choose to call, but Principal Brown chooses to raise. Wednesday raises her head at his callout. She should have known he wouldn’t play a safe game. It’s the only one he gets, he’s going to go out with a bang. Wednesday nudges Eugene to call, but the other two players start to lose confidence in their hand, and they both fold.

Aegean drops his cards on the table, “Damn, Eugene, you’re a shark.”

That’s good, Wednesday thinks. Now she’ll only have to worry about the biggest threat. Wednesday reaches for the final card, but something catches her eye before she can do so. She looks up towards the entrance of the quad.

There stands Enid Sinclair, locking eyes with Wednesday for a split second, but averting her gaze once she sees her looking back. Wednesday keeps her eyes trained on her as the memory of their fight floods back into her mind. She had been so enraptured in her own endeavors that for a moment she had forgotten all about it. Part of her wishes it would’ve stayed that way, the other part chastises her for thinking that.

The third part of her wishes she could bash the other two parts’ heads together so they’d leave her alone.

“Wednesday!” Eugene whispers to her, “The fifth card!”

Wednesday draws her attention back to the game, placing the river on the table. Eugene has the button, so he will make a bet last. Principal Brown decides to raise, he throws in a black $100 chip, twiddling the cigar in his mouth. Wednesday knows he’s bluffing, he’s just trying to get Eugene to fold. Wednesday calls his bluff by making Eugene re-raise with two black chips, betting $200. Principal Brown chuckles at Eugene’s confidence. He huffs his cigar and taps the ash to the side, choosing to call.

Wednesday is thrown off by his insistence. There’s no way he could be so blindly confident with a pair. 

They reveal their cards at the same time. Eugene with his three of a kind, and Principal Brown has…

“A royal flush?” Wednesday jumps up from the table, gobsmacked by his hand, “How is that possible?”

Principal Brown howls at her reaction, nearly doubled over in laughter, “You know what they say, Wednesday. If you can’t beat ‘em, hold ‘em!” 

He bangs the table as he laughs even harder at his own joke, which causes Aegean and the other poker victim to laugh by contagion. Wednesday stews. The steam is practically visible, like a steam engine, as she watches the old man roar in hysterics at her expense.

The only thing that should be contagious is a rapidly-spreading, volatile plague. She stares icy daggers at the two werewolves until they stop laughing and try to avoid eye contact.

Okay, so he clearly knows she was cheating. He was just cheating to teach her some stupid lesson about fairness, sure, whatever. She should have known with his expertise in sleight of hand and ability to be in costume for every not-so-special occasion that he would have a trick up his sleeve. 

She looks up towards the quad entrance to see that Enid has apparently left the premises altogether. The way her expression dropped at the mere sight of Wednesday makes her feel more things than she’d like to admit. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t want to be the reason someone’s day is ruined. 

She grabs her cards and storms off to her dorm as the principal laughs her out of the room.

Chapter Text

Wednesday jingles the finger cuffs in her hands as she traverses Ophelia Hall. Though they were originally made to inhibit Thing’s horrible ideas from coming to fruition, they’ve come in handy recently as a tool to stimulate her mind. She’s been needing them more frequently as her thoughts have become just short of uncontrollable.

She’s had a quote in the back of her mind all day. “All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire.” She despises that quote, because she has caused suffering from many things, namely torture, which she is certain her victims did not crave. She likes Poe better when he’s in more of a grim mood, not hopelessly lovelorn. She despises even more that certain parts of said quote may, somewhat partially, relate to her in this very moment in time.

If she knew how much suffering could be caused by one’s emotions, she’d have adopted that strategy years ago.

She steps in front of the big wooden doors of her dorm, looking them up and down before she enters the room. She doesn’t know what to expect when she walks into the dorm, Thing has a very vivid imagination. What greets her upon entrance is a table with a white tablecloth directly in the middle of the room. On top of it, there is a steel dome plate cover, likely hiding something under it, with two baroque candles on either side and a note in front of it. There’s also a hint of sweetness in the air, though the origin she cannot discern. She slowly approaches the table, looking around as reaches for the note.

Thing reveals himself from behind the dome, swatting her hand away from the note. He signs that it’s for Enid, who should be here any minute now.

Wednesday’s eyes go wide. As much time as she’s spent thinking, she is in no way prepared to confront Enid. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say when she gets here. Maybe Thing did this on purpose, trying to teach her some lesson about feelings or emotional responsibility. It had to be intentional, what else could he have been doing for two hours?

She stoops over the table sternly, as if to keep her warning words between her and Thing, “You could have at least told me so that I could prepare something.”

Thing rebuts, he knows that if Wednesday had time to prepare something, then it would allow her to cherry-pick her words to fit her stone cold narrative, when what Enid actually wants is a heartfelt acknowledgement of her feelings.

Wednesday straightens up and puts a hand behind her back, letting her other hand trace the tablecloth as she walks behind the table. Thing follows her movements closely. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it once she realizes she has no argument.

This certainly isn’t a great start.

She bites the bullet and asks something she never thought she’d ask, bending down towards Thing once again, her dark eyes showing a glimpse of vulnerability instead of their usual icy demeanor “What do I say?”

Thing is stunned by Wednesday’s uncharacteristic outreach for help; that would make it the first time she’s ever asked anyone for anything. Thing gladly dishes all the information he can offer. Wednesday stares intently, absorbing all of Thing’s advice, and she makes Thing promise not to tell anyone about her moment of weakness she just had.

He notices a shadow from under the door approaching, giving him the signal that it’s showtime. He jumps down from the table and tugs Wednesday’s shoelace untied before skittering to the corner of the room to watch everything unfold.

She scoffs at him for undoing her laces, nevertheless bending over behind the table to tie them back. She hears three impending raps at the door before it creaks open, without even waiting for an answer. Suddenly her shoe laces have never been harder to tie. She tries to hurry, but each footstep causes her to be less and less agile with the laces.

She pops up from behind the table, startling Enid, who jumps back at Wednesday’s unexpected entry with a yelp. Wednesday watches her movements for any sign of animosity before she speaks.

“Enid, it has come to my attention that the way I have treated you has been suboptimal. This was not my intention, so I am making an effort to patch the severed ties that have strained us over the past 24 hours.”

She looks at Enid, desperate to see her reaction to her words, but not letting it show in her face. Enid is unable to contain the small smile that creeps up her lips.

Sure, maybe Enid forgave Wednesday the moment she stormed out of the room just a day before. Maybe she realized that living without Wednesday is harder than living with her. But, Wednesday Addams has so graciously given her dominance in this conversation by being the first to apologize, which is a treat very few people will ever live to see. What kind of fool would give it away so easily?

She takes a step closer, her hands crossed innocently, but her smile turning a touch mischievous as she plans to milk her leverage in their conversation, “You know, Wednesday, I’m hearing your words, but I’m not feeling them. Can you give me something less stiff and more… sorry?”

Wednesday’s eyes flit to Thing for help. He did not prepare her for the event that Enid wouldn’t buy her apology. He responds with an unhelpful thumbs up.

She looks back to Enid and takes a cleansing breath, “Accusing you was wrong. In the moment, I didn’t realize the breach of trust I committed, but it struck me when I… lost something important…”

Enid’s smile grows by the second, bashful at Wednesday’s sincerity. Her cold, black heart making an exception just for Enid is enough to make her swoon, and suddenly she can’t remember why she was ever angry in the first place.

“...I’ve been selfishly putting my investigation over everything else, and for that I’m s…”

She looks down at her hands to collect herself. She looks back up to Enid, who has her head cocked to the side like a dog waiting for its treat.

“I… am…” She gulps, “Sorry.”

Enid’s smile is fully beaming at this point, unable to contain herself. Her heart swells as she tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“I forgive you, Wednesday, and I’m sorry too. I definitely said some things that I didn’t mean.”

Wednesday is less concerned with a reciprocated apology and more relieved that the moment is over and they can go back to the way things were. She relaxes her shoulders, unaware that they were ever tense in the first place.

Enid turns her attention to the table before her, taking a step closer to observe, “Sooo… What’s under here?”

Wednesday follows her gaze to the plate cover, equally unbeknownst as to what Thing could have plotted under the dome. She nods forward, silently granting Enid permission to find out for herself. She grabs the lid and lifts it up, and the contents make her gasp as she puts her free hand over her mouth.

Under the lid lie two s’mores, one regular and the other dyed with black food coloring and, Wednesday supposes, dark chocolate. She provides her own expression of surprise. Thing has certainly outdone himself.

“Wednesdayyy,” Enid fawns, placing a hand over her heart, “This is so sweet!”

Wednesday agrees. Maybe even a bit too sweet, but she won’t complain. Wednesday has discovered that s’mores are about the only good thing to come from this world.

Enid picks up the regular s’more and bites into it, and she practically melts at the taste, “It’s so warm… and gooey!”

She must admit that it does sound appetizing, but taking a bite right now would completely obscure her better judgment. She watches Enid’s attention become drawn to the card on the table, and her curiosity is piqued as to what Thing could have written in it.

Her fingers graze the edge of the note. She looks at Wednesday before picking it up, who still has her eyes trained on the folded piece of paper. She chooses not to keep her waiting, and picks up the note.

She reads aloud, “Enid, would you oblige me by being my date the masquerade? Cold regards, Wednesday.”

Time slows down, if not to a standstill, as Wednesday registers each word that she’s hearing, as if it were spoken by herself. They linger in her ears as she puts together all of what they entail.

“Of course I’ll be your date to the masquerade!” A blush creeps onto her cheeks as she enthusiastically accepts Wednesday’s offer.

Wednesday’s eye twitches. She narrowly resists the urge to walk to the other side of the room and snap Thing in half, though her patience is finite. Enid gives her a look that reminds her she’s supposed to say something.

“Great,” She says, walking towards her side of the room, grabbing her s’more on the way. Enid waits until her back is turned to squeal to herself and shake with excitement.

She will admit, the s’more takes the edge off a bit, but Wednesday is in no way eager to go to any dance, especially one that supports the scales in any capacity. She can’t back out now, though, because Enid would be inconsolable.

She hears Enid speed out of the room, presumably to move her stuff back in, which opens up the perfect opportunity for Wednesday to grill Thing. She whips her head around and catches Thing making a run for the door. She dives towards the door, grabbing him just before he can turn the corner.

“What were you thinking?” Wednesday scolds as Thing tries to escape her deadlocked grasp.

Thing signs in a panic, noting that the look on Enid’s face should have been worth it. Plus, maybe she can uncover something while she’s at the dance.

She walks to her desk and places Thing on it, trusting he won’t make a run for the door again. It seems as though she’s doomed to attend every social gathering this school hosts. Maybe the killer has already cursed her.

The real curse is the sudden moral obligation to please her roommate, because Thing is right. The look on Enid’s face felt like an accomplishment rather than the necessary B-plot distraction that Wednesday’s escapades always seem to have. Whoever gave her this curse must be sick in the head.

She doesn’t ponder it long, because before she knows it, Enid is already back in the room with her belongings.

“That was fast.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t even bother unpacking. I figured I would be back here anyway,” Enid shyly admits. She turns around and begins unloading her duffle bag.

Wednesday takes the lull in activity to make some progress of her own. She takes the hair samples from her pocket and sticks them to her evidence board. She notices that Thing went out of his way to cover up the more morbid parts of the board. Maybe he thought it might ruin the mood. She chooses to keep them covered, for Enid’s sake.

Enid notices her fiddling with the evidence board, and though it brings up some pretty raw memories of disembodied corpses and emotional tension, she remains curious of Wednesday’s progress.

“What are you doing?” She asks, pausing her movements to focus on Wednesday.

“I did some covert manipulation to acquire the hair of several Nevermore werewolves. I plan on comparing them to the sample from the crime scene.”

Enid paces towards her side of the room to get a closer look, not really fazed by Wednesday’s means anymore, “Have you found anything?”

Wednesday purses her lips, “Nothing yet, the werewolf fur is much coarser than the hair samples. It makes it hard to pin down a suspect.”

“Maybe I can help,” Enid rolls on the balls of her heels, “My mom made me go to a bunch of ‘wolfing out’ classes. They didn’t really help me, but I learned a lot about werewolf stuff.”

Wednesday turns her attention towards her roommate. She takes a step to the left, allowing Enid access to her board. She looks closely at each sample, even picking some up to compare side-by-side. 

Wednesday watches her quietly. She watches how her eyes dart around, looking for any connections, she notices how her brows furrow when she gets really focused. She doesn’t miss how her temples flex whenever she tenses her jaw.

“I may have narrowed it down, but I’m not sure any of these are a perfect match,” Enid draws her attention away from the board to get Wednesday’s opinion.

“There were two samples which I was not able to get my hands on. Principal Brown foiled my Texas Hold’em scheme, and wasn’t so shy about rubbing it in, either,” She crosses her arms, disappointed at the memory, “Perhaps I can find a way to get them at the dance.”

Enid looks away, followed by an involuntary slouch of her shoulders. It’s subtle, but Wednesday notices her sudden shift.

She turns her whole body towards Enid, “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes drift back up from the ground, finding Wednesday’s as she retracts her hands into her sleeve. It’s a little dumb, she thinks, that Wednesday just did this grandiose apology and she is already upset with her after just five minutes. She can’t help it, because Wednesday just invited her to be her date to the dance. Not as a friend, a date. But now she’s treating the dance like it’s nothing more than an opportunity to further her investigation. And Enid would just be her sidekick.

“It’s nothing.” Enid brushes it off with a shake of her head. She tucks her hands under her arms and toes back towards her side of the room.

“You’re lying. It’s never nothing.”

Enid doesn’t take much pushing to spill her guts.

“I just thought that… I thought the dance would be about us, y’know? I thought we’d go and hang out and have fun together, and that we weren’t just going to find a suspect.”

Wednesday’s eyes soften, “Leaving a date alone at a ball is bad etiquette. I have no plans to spend the evening hunting for anybody. I can assure you that wherever you go, I will follow.”

It’s as easy as that, Enid has already broken into a small smile. Maybe Wednesday just has a way with words, but she can’t help but think she has a deeper meaning than just a silly dance.

“I have to go find an outfit!” Back to her old self again, she perks up and grabs her belongings, while Thing trails her out the door. He turns around and salutes to Wednesday just before the door closes behind him.

And the lovelorn Poe releases his deathgrip on Wednesday. Or perhaps, he grips tighter.

Chapter Text

A few days have passed since Wednesday asked Enid to the dance, and they’ve felt like a millennia. Enid’s been scrambling to make everything perfect, she knows how Wednesday shows out at every event she’s at. She’s lucky to have Thing here to calm her anxiety, because it is running rampant with the dance being just under an hour away.

“Thing, gold or silver?” She asks, turning away from the vanity to hold up two pairs of earrings for Thing’s opinion.

Thing is quick to choose gold, noting that it should have been obvious.

“You’re so right! What was I thinking?” She turns back around and promptly pops them in her ears.

On their shopping trip, Enid found the perfect dress. A light pink gown with ruffles all the way down to her feet, featuring a semi-low neckline so she can show off all the jewelry she splurged on. Certain details near the midsection of the dress that imitate a corset, which she thought would be a nice touch to compliment Wednesday’s presumably old-fashioned take on the dance.

She is dawning a white half-mask, one side coming down further, looking similar to a crescent moon, with a gold star design around her eye. A gold chain runs from the top to the bottom of the crescent shape.

Enid signals to Thing that she is ready, and Thing rushes outside the dorm to Wednesday, who has been standing outside waiting for Enid to get ready for over an hour. 

“Is she ready?” She asks calmly, a stark contrast to Enid’s current state.

Wednesday chose to stick to tradition, sporting a black dress with a high collar. Intricate patterns detail the entire dress, giving it a medieval, gothic feel, just like Enid predicted. She’s wearing long, black gloves that go up to her elbow, leaving just a small space between itself and her balloon sleeve.

Her mask, of course, is black with a veil over it. A black flower coils at the top of the mask, working nicely with the lace of the veil.

Enid insisted they reveal their outfits at the same time, to which Wednesday responded “it’s not a wedding, Enid.” Nevertheless, she respected her wishes, even though it caused her to have to wait outside for an unnecessarily long amount of time.

Thing runs back inside the dorm room, and Wednesday waits about five seconds before she raps on the door. Enid runs to the door, equally as nervous as she is excited to see her date. She pulls it open, and beholds her first look at Wednesday Addams. 

She’s awe-striking. She looks her up and down, ogling at her in all of her glory, perfectly emphasized by the elegance of her dress. She wears an open-mouthed smile at the sight of her. She truly looks breathtaking.

“You- you’re…” She stammers.

“Likewise.” Wednesday reaches her hand out, urging Enid to place a hand in hers.

Enid obliges, and she is pulled out of the room, the door shutting behind her, as she is guided in front of Wednesday. Her roommate reaches for something behind her, pulling out a black box seemingly from thin air. She displays it in front of Enid. 

She begins unclasping the latches, “I spent many hours searching for the perfect flower for the corsage, and I landed on one which I think fits nicely…”

She reveals the contents of the box, “A white rose, symbolizing innocence and loyalty, commonly used at weddings.”

Wednesday plucks the white rose from its place in the box, and reaches for the fabric of Enid’s dress. She carefully pins the corsage into Enid’s bodice, ever so dainty and precise with her movements.

“At first I wasn’t sure if it was right for the both of us. Though I consider myself loyal, innocent is quite the stretch…” Her attention is still rapt with the dealings of the corsage, though she stalls only for a moment to look up at Enid, “But then I remembered that the white rose is also very popular at funerals.”

Enid has never seen this side of Wednesday. The softness of her voice to the delicate maneuvers on her dress, she seems like a natural romantic. From her thoughtful attention to detail and the glint of admiration in her eye, it does wonders to calm her nerves.

Wednesday adorns a corsage of her own, one that matches Enid’s perfectly. 

“Wednesday, when did you get so… romantic?” She queries, her smile still shining bright, though her eyes squint in a teasing manner.

Wednesday maintains eye contact, “Romantic? In my family that’s the bare minimum. The night hasn’t even begun.”

Wednesday takes her hand and guides them through the corridors and down the stairs of Ophelia Hall, and out towards the dance. 

9:00 PM

The dance is themed lavishly, with high class and exquisite taste. Everything looks rather expensive, Wednesday can’t see how this can be considered a fundraiser. The way the place is decorated, the funds they raise could maybe result in them breaking even at best. Though, she wouldn't expect anything less from an over-performative group of sirens.

“This place is beautiful!” Enid looks around the room in awe at all of the chandeliers and pillars lined in gold. 

Wednesday doesn’t bother ogling, preferring to keep her gaze tethered front and center, “They certainly outdid themselves.”

“Let’s go to the snack bar!” Enid grabs Wednesday’s arm and unexpectedly yanks her towards the snack bar. 

The bar seems limitless. There are countless food choices, and it spans for miles. There’s even wait-staff catering the event, though voluntary. Wednesday recognizes several people walking around with trays of drinks. She can see now why Ida is such a valuable asset to Team Scales. 

Enid takes a look at each dessert, finding one in particular quite amusing. She picks it up and shows Wednesday.

“Look! It has Ida’s face on it,” Enid beholds the cookie.

“That explains the unquenchable urge I have to crush it in my palm and watch the crumbs sprinkle to the ground like ashes,” She remarks. Enid looks a bit disturbed, but she can’t say she disagrees with the notion.

One of the aforementioned waitstaff walks by, holding a tray of martini glasses full of some citrusy beverage. Due to the mood-lit darkness of the room, it takes just a moment for Wednesday to realize that it is actually Aegean.

He waves the tray in front of them, bowing in a playful manner, “Can I interest either of you in a forbidden fruit mocktail?”

Taking a mixed drink while there’s a killer on the loose at a high school party? Even if there’s not a life-threatening poison inside, there’s at least a laxative. Or an unbeknownst 80-proof alcohol, minimum. She feels sorry for anyone who lacks the forethought to take one at a time like this.

Enid smiles and takes one without hesitation, and Aegean slithers off. She takes a sip, and is visibly pleased with the flavor.

“Tastes like mango!” She exclaims before knocking back the rest.

Enid goes back to scanning the dessert table. She picks up another cookie, finding it more attractive than the one bearing Ida’s face, “This one looks like a mermaid!”

“That’s quite a pretentious stretch. It seems like a siren's biggest weakness is their own vanity.”

As if on queue, the siren of the hour saunters over to the snack bar - much to Wednesday’s chagrin.

“I didn’t expect to see my two favorite kidnappers at my dance. For the record, you only accomplished that title by being my only two kidnappers. Any other attempt would be far more commendable,” She jabs.

“I pity the next person who kidnaps you,” Wednesday returns her energy.

Ida throws her head back in laughter. Wednesday notices Enid’s expression; it is in the early stages of starstruck, as if their last encounter is fully forgiven and they are operating on a blank slate. She doesn’t like when she notices Ida catching on.

“Forgive me for our previous spat, darling, my fight or flight kicked in, I wasn’t acting like myself. No hard feelings?” She croons sweetly. She’s certain Enid can spot the sarcasm.

“No hard feelings. I understand.”

Wednesday could not have been more wrong. She tries to ignore the boiling temper she can feel rising from deep within her.

Ida smirks, “Thank you,” She slithers her fingers around Enid’s chin, angling her face up towards her, lowering her voice to a sultry whisper, “You’re very sweet, there aren’t enough people like you in the world.”

A very noticeable blush creeps onto Enid’s cheeks. She flits her eyes between each of Ida’s, so close in proximity there’s no option to look away.

She finally releases her grip on Enid’s face, who reaches her own hand up to it in disbelief as she relishes the phantom touch.

Wednesday watches her silently work out her internal debacle. She turns her attention to Ida.

“What are you doing here?” She questions in a very accusatory manner. 

“Is it wrong that I greet my guests? I’m just making my rounds,” She feigns innocence.

Wednesday glowers, “You’re not fooling anybody.”

Ida motions a hand towards Enid, who is still collecting herself, “Hmm, perhaps ‘anybody’ is an understatement, no?”

She tenses, from her jaws to her fists, “If you like live prey, you wouldn’t go for a meal so easy to manipulate. You aren’t the apex predator you believe yourself to be.”

“Is that so?” She crosses her hands behind her back, circling Wednesday like a shark, “Because the meal I really want seems to get tighter wound every time I come around without even realizing it.”

She pushes down on Wednesday’s shoulders, willing them to relax from the tension, before leaning in close to whisper in her ear, “Maybe you’re softer than you thought.”

She walks away before either of them can respond. Wednesday stands, unmoving. Enid nervously picks at her nails. 

“One more thing before I go,” Ida appears behind the bar, startling Enid, “I forgot to give you this!”

She leans over the countertop, placing a bag in Enid’s open palms, then disappears once again. She digs inside of the bag and pulls out a green bottle.

“Flea medicine?!” She gawks, looking between the bottle and Wednesday. She watches Ida smirk pompously on her exit, walking with purpose towards a group of witches who are cowering under the DJ’s booth.

If it had been done to any other werewolf, Wednesday would have found it a bit amusing, despite how petty it is. But, she can’t give Ida that satisfaction.

She hopes she can still salvage this night, because Enid will certainly take this personally.

“Don’t let her get to you. She has no power over you.”

She throws her arms in the air before Wednesday can finish her point, “It’s so unfair! Why did Ida Kastellanos have to hate me?!”

She drops her arms down to her chest and rests her head in her hands, hiding both her embarrassment and her disappointment.

“Hate is a form of admiration, Enid. She’s obsessed with us. She pretends to be highly offended by our presence, yet she always finds us first.”

Enid raises her head only a little, looking at Wednesday through her eyebrows. A small smile turns on her face, “That sounds a lot like how you work.”

Wednesday pauses for a beat, quirking an eyebrow.

“What do you mean by that?”

A record scratch interrupts the soft background music playing, and replaces it with the upbeat tune of a song Wednesday is familiar with.

Enid chuckles at Wednesday’s oblivious question while grabbing her wrist, dragging her towards the dance floor.

Wednesday is twirled into the middle of the floor, while Enid waits for her next move on the edge of the dance circle formed by the bodies of other students. She extends an arm towards her, leaning her whole body into the movement. Enid gratuitously accepts her hand, and in one movement, she is twirled into the circle and pulled in close to Wednesday.

A hand clutches Enid’s back, squeezing tightly while her free hand searches for her fingers, interlocking their hands. 

“May I have this dance?” Wednesday softly asks, intimately above a whisper, even though no one can hear her.

Enid nods her head with a small smile.

She stands them up straight, and snaps her head to the side. Wednesday leads with a step, prompting Enid to step in sync with her, until they are walking together to the rhythm of the music. 

The music crescendos to a more upbeat rhythm.

Wednesday pauses abruptly, snapping her head to Enid, and pushing her into a spin whilst holding her hand high in the air. She pulls her back in, interlocking their fingers only for a moment, before she pushes her away again, this time releasing their hands altogether.

She starts with her classic creepy movements, making a show of circling Enid, who looks like a helpless sheep being stalked by a rabid wolf. Enid is infatuated by the way her body moves so luridly. She finds it quite captivating… in a strange way.

Wednesday goes in for the kill, charging Enid with enough force to knock her off balance. She places a stabilizing hand behind her back.

“Will you trust me?”

Enid is caught off guard by her question.

“I- yeah… yes.” She swallows.

The guitar strums loudly as Wednesday turns her back to Enid, taking a few paces out before facing her once again. She crouches down, and slowly makes her ascension back up, raising her hands in the air and letting them fall straight out in front of her. She cripples towards Enid like a zombie, grabbing her face, then her shoulders until she’s pushed far enough into her to dip her low to the ground. 

Enid was certain she couldn’t be more bemused, but Wednesday is a lot stronger than she seems, apparently. She’s holding all of Enid with one delicate yet mighty hand, all the while maintaining an affectionate gaze into Enid’s eyes. She lingers for several seconds, breathing in every indescribable moment, before Wednesday pulls them both back onto their feet.

She places a hand behind her own back, and Enid does the same. She takes Enid’s free hand in her own, and they begin rotating clockwise. Wednesday initiates Enid to spin, and she follows in her footsteps, taking turns spinning one by one, until they are back in their original spots. Wednesday releases her hand and orbits around her, reappearing in front of her with a red rose clasped between her teeth.

Enid gasps, “Where did you get that?”

Wednesday ignores her question. She takes the rose and reaches towards Enid’s mask, securing the flower comfortably in the strap near her ear. She stalks off to the other end of the dance floor and starts her solo routine again, a dance ever so grotesque yet mesmerizing.

Enid reaches a hand to the rose trapped in the elastic band of her mask. A small smile encroaches her face, she has tangible evidence that she isn’t dreaming. She keeps an enraptured eye trained on Wednesday’s movements, not missing the other wandering eyes whose attention she’s gathered since she’s started. But Wednesday is only focused on one thing.

She flails her arms rhythmically in every direction, haphazard but still very much purposeful. She ducks down and within a matter of seconds appears behind Enid, with yet another rose between her teeth. This time, she places it within her own hair, and grabs Enid’s arm to pull her to the center of the floor. 

The song reaches its peak, all the instruments play together in a perfect harmony that the song has been teasing since it started.

Within the climax of the routine, Wednesday kicks into high energy movements, spinning and twirling, pushing and pulling, kicking and stepping all in time, and it is just chaotic enough for Enid to keep up with. She recognizes her movements, she’s dancing The Charleston, mostly. A much more macabre rendition, but The Charleston nonetheless. She knows some of the moves, but there is no doubt Wednesday is dancing circles around her.

Wednesday grabs her hand, slowing just for a moment and leaning in so Enid can hear her, “Don’t think about it so much.”

She slowly pulls away, keeping her eyes locked on Enid’s, as she takes her time getting back into the rhythm, giving Enid a chance to work her way into it as well. She resists the urge to look at her feet, putting all of her trust in Wednesday to guide her. Their pace quickens, Enid’s rhythmic footwork is still intact, and before she knows it, she’s dancing without her goth training wheels. 

She’s never danced with anyone before, but she can say without a shadow of a doubt that after tonight, she’s been quite spoiled. She never wants to dance with anyone else ever again.

Only Wednesday.

They strike their final pose as the song finishes with a bang. Wednesday is close to her, as close as she can get, really. Their fingers intertwine and Wednesday’s comforting hand gently cradles the small of Enid’s back, just like how they started. Only this time, they’re both out of breath and shimmering in a sheen of sweat. 

The next song fades in, something slow and simple, but Enid isn’t paying attention. The only thing she can hear is the soft gusts of Wednesday’s breath. She’s too focused on the rise and fall of her chest every time she takes a breath, and the slick skin that touches hers on every exhale. She doesn’t want to move, no. Everything is perfect. If she moves, it will end. She’ll be sucked right back into reality. She’d have to face Wednesday Addams with a slew of emotions, which would be a nightmare for both of them.

She’s not the one who moves, but they have started moving. Wednesday’s the one who moved, inching towards one side, then to the other, until they’re swaying in time to the music. She releases her hand and loops it under Enid’s arm, wrapping around her waist to meet her other hand on the small of her back. Enid follows suit, placing her hands at the nape of her neck. Wednesday hasn’t looked up at her yet, and Enid is a bit relieved. Looking Wednesday in the eyes right now would probably make her explode.

Despite thinking she can barely keep it together, some will of confidence possesses her to speak up.

“I really wanted to do this with you last year,” She confesses so softly she’s not even sure her words made it out.

“Is that so?” 

Enid isn’t so sure she wanted her to hear that, but it’s already out, and she doesn’t know if there will ever be another chance for both of them to be this vulnerable. 

“Yeah… but you were with him.”

Enid feels the grip around her waist tighten, “Rarely do I feel repentance for a decision I made, but that may be the most asinine thing I’ve ever done.”

“Sorry for bringing it up, it's just…”

“Don’t be. I’ve learned from my mistakes. I won’t let something like that happen again.”

She tries not to think too hard about that. Knowing Wednesday, she could cut everyone out of her life so she won’t have to worry about traitors; but dwelling on it won’t help. She can only hope she’ll be the exception.

Desperate to change the subject, Enid inquires about something else, “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“My parents dance constantly. Much more provocative, too, like the rats I used to electrocute as a child - if they were in heat.”

Enid chuckles, “Then why don’t you like going to dances?”

“No one actually comes here to dance, they come here to compete with each other. Have you seen a single siren move a muscle tonight?”

She lifts her head up to scan the room. Wednesday is right, but more importantly, Wednesday doesn’t care. She invited her regardless of her aversion to social events.

Enid softens up, “Why did you come to this one?”

Wednesday is not fully prepared to answer that question. Of course, technically she didn’t invite her at all, but she can’t say it was such a bad idea. 

“I have a reason to be here, more than some futile competition,” She relaxes into her answer, and she can feel Enid do the same.

They stay like that for a while, gently swaying in time with the music. Wednesday’s never known a comfortable silence quite like this. It’s similar to the silence after her victims stop struggling for the last time. Everything is calm, but her ears are still ringing and her heart is still racing. Usually, it’s from the thrill, but this time, she can’t place the feeling.

The song slowly fades out, and they both separate. They look into each other's eyes for the first time, and maybe it’s just the lights, but Enid’s eyes are sparkling like the sun at dawn, and Wednesday’s darken like dusk over a forest. Enid drops her hands, her smile follows suit as she ventures further into the deep cascade of the lidded forest of Wednesday’s eyes. She leans in, distracting to her lips, then back to her eyes until…

Wednesday jolts, startling Enid whose eyes were just half-shut and waning into a romantic moment. She watches as her date jogs towards the exit. She turns back around to see somewhat of an audience watching them. A hint of pink appears on her cheeks as she dismisses them with a shy, tight-lipped smile. She runs out of the door after her, electing to chase after Wednesday rather than be judged by her peers.

Chapter Text

Enid isn’t sure what went wrong. She thought everything was going great. Wednesday Addams isn’t like most people, she’s harder to read than anybody Enid’s ever met. Navigating a relationship with her is like trying to cross the Bermuda Triangle - but she does have one consistent trait; she isn’t the type to run away from a bad situation. 

Though, she is the type to run towards a bad situation.

Her feet pound into the wooden floors trying to catch up to her. She rounds the corner, leading to a long, narrow hallway with no sign of her roommate.

“Wednesday?” She whispers down the hall. A hand grabs her and yanks her into a nook in the wall. A hand covers her mouth before a yelp of surprise can escape her lips.

“Don’t. move.” Wednesday’s words puff against her neck from behind her. All Enid can do is nod.

The wood floors creak just inches away from them, slowly in an attempt to be quiet. Wednesday releases her hand from Enid’s mouth, and moves it to the side of Enid’s mask. She unclasps the chain dangling down and lets it drop into her palm. She weasels out from behind Enid and peeks out of the corner when the footsteps start creeping away.

She spots a telltale sign of a struggle: a trail of blood splotches mark the floor, right in the direction the footsteps went. Wednesday comes out of her corner and patiently follows the trail until the footsteps begin to get louder. Enid watches from the safety of the corner, split between chasing after her or keeping a safe distance until the perpetrator goes away. Luckily, Wednesday makes that decision for her.

Wednesday silently approaches the cloaked figure, and when she’s in range, she swings the chain around their neck and forcefully pulls, choking them out as they cripple to Wednesday’s level. Enid runs in a panic to her rescue as soon as she hears gagging and struggling from her direction. 

Of course, the cheap, dainty material that it is, the chain breaks with ease when the victim tugs on it. They throw an elbow back, landing a blow right into Wednesday’s stomach. She recoils, grabbing her stomach as the wind escapes her, giving the runaway party-goer a headstart on their escape.

Enid places a consoling hand on her doubled over back, but Wednesday straightens up and dashes down the hall, making up for lost seconds in her chase sequence. 

The perpetrator takes a sharp left into a different hallway, and she must admit, they’re unexpectedly fast, as they appear to have also come from the dance, if their shoe choice is anything to go by. Wednesday kicks her heels off to gain more speed, but the feet of her tights don’t do her any favors in traction, and this killer is breaking away.

They make another turn into a long corridor, giving Wednesday the opportunity to gain ground without any turns. She breaks out into a full sprint, catching up rather quickly, but the runaway has another idea. They yank a sign off of a door and launch it behind them like a frisbee, right at Wednesday’s feet. She avoids it, but not without slowing down. She picks up her dress, determined to catch up. 

They make it to the end of the hallway with a choice of going left or right. They stick a sharp right, where a painting hangs on the wall. The killer takes the opportunity to use it to their advantage. They unhang it from the wall, and right as Wednesday comes around the corner they bash it in her face, knocking her to the floor. They make a run for it with their newly bought time. 

Wednesday can appreciate the escapee’s dirty tricks, but she refuses to give into them. She props herself up to her knees, then to her feet, dusting herself off before she’s back on the move. She’s going to have to be more aggressive to keep up with them. She removes her mask, hoping to use it for self-defense, if she can get an opportunity to get close to them.

She manages to close some of the distance, the killer is running out of options for things to throw. Wednesday figures she ought to capitalize on the moment before it’s too late. She speeds up as much as she can, though the exhaustion is catching up to her. She enters the killer's range, focusing on the timing of his steps. At the perfect moment, she dives towards them, wrapping the strap of her mask around their ankle as soon as it rises in time for their next step. They come tumbling to the ground with a loud crash.

Wednesday crawls across the wooden floor with her arms, inching towards them while they scoot further and further away. The killer reaches into their pocket, pulling out a ball of some sort. They smash it into the ground, and the hallway goes up in smoke. It fills her lungs, and she starts coughing uncontrollably. Desperate to get out, she stands up, trekking forward with her face in her elbow.

The room is so foggy, she can’t even see her own hand in front of her face. A sharp card cuts through the smoke, slicing her right in the eyebrow. She topples back down to her hands and knees, feeling the warm liquid trail down from her forehead, all the way down to the tip of her nose before it drips into the floor. She can barely breathe, her eyes brim with tears from the smoke. Through the thick swath, she sees a glimpse of the familiar yellow eyes that Ida flashed her before she knocked her unconscious. She blinks her teary eyes, and they vanish.

She grabs the card and claws her way out of the smoke. When she finally makes it out, she takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet oxygen she’d missed so dearly. There’s only one problem: she let the killer get away.

She props herself against the wall, catching her breath as the smoke cloud clears out. She dabs a finger over her nose. The blood is still pouring heavily from her eyebrow, forking from the path down her nose to streak over her eye and down her cheek. It serves as a reminder of the beginning of her chase. She was so caught up in trying to catch her suspect, she almost forgot about the blood splotches marking the floor.

She turns over to retrace her steps, but the sound of hammering footsteps makes her freeze in place. She turns her head away, bracing for impact, only to feel a tight grip on her shoulder.

“Wednesday! What happened? Are you okay?” Enid’s voice shrills into her ear, causing her to look in her direction.

She gasps at the sight of Wednesday’s injuries, most notably the trail of blood streaking her face. She places a gentle hand under her chin, adjusting her face towards the light to get a better look. Wednesday pulls away from her touch.

“I’m fine. I have to go find the body,” She moves to stand up, but Enid places a stabilizing hand on her arm to stall her.

“There’s blood pouring out of your head, Wednesday! We have to get you somewhere safe,” She basically begs, but knowing Wednesday, she won’t take no for an answer.

Wednesday grunts in response, and stands up anyway. She walks back down the hall, back to where she first saw the blood trail. She can faintly hear the crowing of a raven, calling her towards the scene of the crime. She follows the trail into a secluded corner, where lies the corpse of yet another Nevermore student. Not nearly as mutilated as the previous corpse, but not as discreet as the first. Her neck is majorly bruised and severely dislocated, and a thin ring of blood circles around the diameter of it. Wednesday can only assume she crawled over here after being cut, if the trail is anything to go by.

Enid squeals from behind her, “Not again! Wednesday, seriously, we have to get out of here!” She whimpers as she takes another glimpse at the body, “Oh my god, I’m gonna puke.”

Unfortunately, Wednesday doesn’t have her camera with her. However, her roommate has a social media addiction and would be hopeless if she didn’t have her phone with her at all times.

“Enid, give me your phone. I need to take a photo of this body,” She holds out her hand towards Enid, who has completely turned around to avoid looking at the corpse. 

She turns around to face Wednesday, “Are you crazy?! I don’t want that to exist on my phone, that’s a dead body, Wednesday. That’s horrifying… and incriminating!”

“What else are cell phones good for if not pictures of crime scenes?” Wednesday asks with genuine curiosity.

“I don’t know, Instagram! Recipes you’ll never cook! Pictures of cute cats!”

“Can’t you squeeze a body in with your pictures of dead cats?”

“Cute cats.”

“That’s what I said.”

Enid huffs frustratedly, “I am not going to harbor pictures of dead people on my phone.”

“Fine. Perhaps it’s better this way. We will just have to carry the body back to our room,” She makes her way towards the body, angling herself to drag it by the feet, “Will you grab the head?”

“Gross! Okay! Okay. Fine. You can take a picture with my phone,” Enid gives in, slapping the phone into Wednesday’s open palm. 

She snaps the pictures, making sure to get up close and personal with the disheveled corpse, much to Enid’s chagrin. She returns the phone to Enid, though not without leaving traces of wet blood. She revs up to complain, that is until she looks at Wednesday’s face.

The left side of her face is almost entirely covered in blood from the nonstop gushing of the gash in her eyebrow. She covers her mouth with her hand.

“I’m serious this time, we have to go back to the dorm,” She insists.

Wednesday staggers towards her, losing her balance mid-way and collapsing into Enid’s arms. Now not only is Wednesday’s dress covered in blood, but Enid’s is too, so now they both look like suspects. 

She pushes the problem to the back of her mind as Wednesday struggles to stand herself back up. She’s in no shape to walk back on her own, so Enid takes it upon herself to get both of them back safely. She places Wednesday’s arm around her neck and scoops her into her arms. Wednesday doesn’t complain, she just lets her neck fall slack and her arm limp, not really aroused enough to put energy into holding them up. 

They go back the way they came, accruing the eyes of onlookers as they walk past the grand doors to the dance, but she ignores them. Really, she doesn’t even notice them. The only thing she can think about is getting Wednesday to the safety of their room.

She busts down the door to the dorm and props Wednesday up against the window. She drags a first aid kit out from under her bed and assesses the situation. She’s never had to tend to anyone’s wounds before, so she doesn’t really know what to do first. At first glance, the excessive bleeding seems like a good place to start.

She grabs a cloth from her bathroom supplies and wets it with a water bottle. She hunches over Wednesday’s motionless body holding the wet cloth against Wednesday’s eyebrow to stop the river of blood from flowing. Once the bleeding has stopped, or at least slowed down enough, she takes the cloth and cleans off the smeared blood that runs down her face.

Enid breaks the silence, somewhat accusatory, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I saw a suspicious individual leaving the dance, I couldn’t let that opportunity slip away so I followed them out. Then commenced the chase, where I was gassed and then assaulted with this deadly weapon,” She pulls out the bloodstained card for a sarcastic reveal, “Then you found me, vehemently bleeding from a minor papercut, and now I’m here.”

Enid takes the card from Wednesday’s hand and inspects it closer. Along with a coat of blood, there also appears to be another substance soaked into the card. She tries not to panic, the substance could be anything. If it was meant to kill, surely she’d be dead by now, right? 

That realization isn’t as comforting as she’d hoped.

Wednesday’s drooping eyelids and inability to control which way her neck lulls tells Enid that she’s about to be unconscious. She decides to keep her talking.

“When’s the last time you slept?” She gently swipes the rag across her eye, cleaning the blood caked onto her eyelashes.

Wednesday lets her head roll to the left, thumping it into the windowsill. She doesn’t flinch, but Enid still diverts her attention to wedging her hand between her head and the coarse wood.

“Maybe a week ago?” She mumbles, her eyes unable to focus on anything.

“What?? Really?”

“I know, I should be wide awake.” She settles her head deeper into Enid’s hand, sounding a bit disappointed in herself, “I can’t sleep in that soft, pillowy bed. I yearn for my coffin.”

Of course Wednesday Addams sleeps in a coffin, Enid thinks. She can’t suppress her chuckle at the thought.

“How did you find me?” Wednesday finally focuses her eyes on Enid.

“Well, I got lost at first, but then I smelled this aroma in the air. It was different from the first time, it didn’t smell like death. I just followed the scent until I found you,” She details.

“What did it smell like?”

She takes a deep breath, the smell lingers in the room, but the memory is just as pungent as the scent, “Definitely blood, but also a hint of cinnamon.”

Wednesday looks at the ground and smiles. She actually smiles. Not just a regular smile, she leers with her teeth, and they twinkle in the light, and she has dimples, and it’s just as magical as Enid remembers it.

“It was nice, but I don’t think I want to smell it again,” She confesses through a smile of her own.

They sit in a comfortable silence. Enid looks to her lap, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She fiddles with the sticky card, flicking the corners back and forth with a content smile. She notices Wednesday’s eyes start to get heavy again, so she reluctantly withdraws her hand from its place between the windowsill and Wednesday’s cheek in favor of digging in her box of first aid supplies. She pulls out a pack of butterfly stitches and tears it open with her teeth.

She moves in closer to Wednesday, finding it hard to be precise in the dim lighting of her bedside lamp. She plucks a tiny flashlight from the kit and flicks it on, popping in her mouth while her hands are occupied. Wednesday squints at the light, furrowing an eyebrow and with it, creasing her cut. Enid puts gentle pressure on the tail of her eyebrow, reminding Wednesday to relax the muscle so she can place the stitch.

She lets her hand fall from her face, “How do you feel?”

“Inebriated,” She rocks her head back to the center, “How do you feel?”

Wednesday’s concern with her emotions catches her by surprise, “Uh, nervous, confused, terrified, traumatized from the dead person, but mostly relieved that you’re alive.”

Enid’s eyes glimmer with a barely noticeable yellow tint, just long enough for Wednesday to catch a glimpse.

“Are you going to wolf out?” She perks up from her slouched position.

“What? No! I- I’m not that emotional, I just-”

Enid is cut off by Wednesday’s hand reaching for her face, “Are you sure? You have whiskers. Where’s my typewriter? I have to write about this discovery.”

Wednesday pokes and prods at Enid’s face, showing a number of expressions all at once detailing the hallucinatory journey she’s going through while investigating Enid’s features.

“There’s still time to get to the Lupin cages,” She goes to stand up, but Enid stops her.

“I’m not wolfing out,” She says certainly, with a lighthearted grin, “I promise.”

She concedes, sinking back into the wall. She hears a noise come from Wednesday, something comparable to a laugh, Enid's suspicion is proven correct, when she hears it again, she looks up and Wednesday is actually laughing. Enid relaxes into the wall next to her. She finds the discarded card on the floor, and picks it up once again. She pulls her knees up to her chest and extends the card in front of her.

Wednesday raises her arm to point at the card that found its way back into Enid’s hand, “What card is it?”

Enid isn’t really sure what difference it makes, but she flips over the card.

“Queen of Diamonds.” She holds it up for her to see.

Wednesday looks pensive. She scrunches her eyebrows and reaches for the card. She brings it in close to her face, but she doesn’t appear to care for the substance on the card. Enid watches as the cogs turn in her head.

“Cards, heels, strange liquid residue all over everything,” She keeps her eyes trained on the card, “It all points to one thing.”

Enid raises an eyebrow, “Um, a casino?”

Wednesday looks at Enid, deadpan, but she can sense the judgment behind her eyes, “A witch.”

Enid sheepishly looks away, owning a different expression that suggests that was her second guess.

When she looks back, Wednesday is already on her feet and trudging out the door.

Enid staggers to her feet, chasing after her, “Where are you going?”

“The library. Principal Brown is no use, he refuses to use his expertise for justice,” Wednesday marches forward, ignoring Enid’s presence.

“You just hallucinated me wolfing out and now you’re ready to risk your life again?” She tries to place herself in front of Wednesday, but she makes quick work of walking around her, “Did you forget that there’s a killer on the loose?”

“How could I forget that, Enid? That’s the best part,” She responds, almost insulted by Enid’s accusation.

Enid rolls her eyes, defeated in her attempts at communicating with Wednesday in a human way, “You know what I mean. It’s dangerous.”

“There is a pattern to the murders. Only one student is killed per night. We know that the murder has already happened tonight, so there is nothing dangerous about it. Unfortunately.”

“But you said it yourself, you’re… inebriated.”

Wednesday glares at her from the corner of her eye, “I’ve sobered up.”

Enid sighs deeply, giving up on stopping her, and instead tagging along - just to be safe.

12:00 AM

They arrive at the archaic doors of the dark, uninviting library. An unsettling stillness puts Enid on edge. The sound of Wednesday pulling the door echoes through the empty marble halls. She tugs on it with no luck. She turns the handle over to Enid, who pulls with great force. She manages to pull it open after a few tries, not missing the subtle smirk of approval from her goth roommate.

The library is massive, moreso in the dark, Enid thinks. She can’t even see the end of it. Judging by the flashlight Wednesday pulls out of her bag, finding the lightswitch isn’t her first concern.

“We need to find the witchcraft section. We’ll find it faster if we split up,” Wednesday scans the room with her flashlight.

“Split up?! Are you insane? The last time we split up I found you bleeding from your head!”

“This time is different,” She places the flashlight in Enid’s hand, turning her back to her before she can protest. Enid shines the flashlight into the darkness, gulping at the potential of what the dark room could hold.

Wednesday creaks down the steps into the main room of the library. She flicks a lighter, seemingly pulled from out of thin air, and holds it in front of her. She skims the spines of each and every book. So far, all they offer is information on gorgon biology. Useless.

The next aisle consists mostly of cookbooks for vampires, featuring titles such as Bakes for Bloodsuckers and How To Cook: Carcass Casserole. It’s not quite what she’s looking for, but she makes a mental note to delve into it later.

The next section features several conspiracies written by normies that detail what they believe happens behind the doors of Nevermore. She takes one of the books from the shelf and dusts off the front cover. She flips to a random page and reads one of the human accounts.

…and they chain you up and unleash vicious werewolves to tear you to pieces, ripping you limb from limb like the hellhounds they are! Then, they send out the vampires to drink the blood that spills from your ravaged corpse. To them, you’re just a duffle bag of fresh entrails ready - waiting to be savagely devoured.

If only it was that enthralling.

She places the book back on the shelf, and not a second later can a squeal be heard from across the library.

“Wednesday!” Her name echoes through the space.

She runs through the dark maze of shelves towards the voice, twisting and turning around corners just as she had only hours ago. Only this time, with much more urgency.

She rounds the corner and meets Enid face to face.

“What’s wrong?” She pants after not gauging any immediate threats.

“This spider is enormous! I almost ran right into it!” She shines her flashlight on the spider. It casts a shadow on the wall, about one hundred times bigger than the actual spider.

Wednesday looks at the spider, then back to Enid, displeased. All Enid can do is shrug. Though, She can’t complain much, because it turns out Enid led them exactly where they needed to be.

She scans the shelves of the witchcraft section, looking for a specific book of witchy characteristics to compare to her leads. She finds a large book wedged between two smaller books that catches her eye. She pulls it from the shelf, dusting off the leathery exterior to reveal the words: Witchcraft 101. It’s perfect, an all-encompassing guide to the mind of a witch.

She opens the book, flipping through all the pages until one in particular catches her eye. Potions and their properties. That sounds like a good place to start. She reads through the names of the potions, though none of them seem useful. A lot of them sound like glorified smoothies and cocktails. 

Her finger stops on the page listing potions starting with an ‘E’. Enid leans in curiously, shining her light on the page to get a closer look.

“A euthanasia potion. This is what Principal Brown identified on the broken glass,” Her face lights up at the discovery, but it sinks again once Enid moves the flashlight lower down the page.

“This can’t be right,” She moves her finger to the picture of the potion displayed on the page, “This is purple. The stuff on the glass was orange.”

They look at each other, on the brink of a realization when…

Bright lights fill the space around them, their eyes squint as they adjust. They both divert their attention to the large doors bursting open, accompanied by a loud voice.

“Whoever’s in here, this is your chance to show yourself!” Some authority figure projects through the room.

They look back at each other wide-eyed. Wednesday hurriedly shoves the book into her bag and leads Enid through an alternative route. Footsteps approach closer and closer, and the look on Enid’s face suggests her guilty conscience may be giving her cold feet.

“Wednesday, don’t you think it’s kind of suspicious if we get caught trying to escape?” She bargains.

“Yes. Almost as suspicious as surrendering in a blood-soaked dress.”

Enid looks down at her and Wednesday’s dresses, having forgotten about the events that transpired leading up to this point. She acknowledges her point with a thin-lipped smile.

They slink to the end of the aisle, and just as Wednesday goes to make a move, a towering presence cuts her off. It’s an officer from Principal Brown’s security team. He looks both students up and down. Wednesday glowers at him, maybe her intimidation can scare him away. Of course, all quality intimidation is lost when your accomplice is whimpering like a puppy.

To no one’s surprise, he makes a conclusive decision to arrest them after seeing their tarnished outfits.

Chapter Text

Wednesday is no stranger to committing an entire night to reading a book cover to cover. In fact, if she’s not practicing the cello, finding the killer to a slew of gruesome murders, or writing one of her own, it’s usually what she’s doing. Though, reading one book cover to cover multiple times in one night: that’s just a waste of precious time.

To make matters worse, she has a peppy, blonde roommate whose coping mechanisms are thinking out loud and pacing nonstop.

“...I mean, I’ve seen more dead bodies in the past couple of weeks than most people have seen in their entire life. It’s great for the blog, but I don’t even think therapy could fix me now…”

She can only hope a large object can come flying through her window to knock her out long enough to get somewhere.

The real problem isn’t entirely the hyper-feminine distraction pacing back and forth in their shared room. She’s read every word - every tiny, seemingly insignificant detail about every potion with even a whisper of the color orange, but no clear answer has come of it. Only one piece of the puzzle has been exposed: Principal Brown lied.

Wednesday made sure to bring it up, too, when her own innocence was brought into question after being discovered in the library.

—

“I’ll admit, you sure do have a knack for incriminating yourselves,” Principal Brown places his chin atop his balled-up fists, letting it show how disappointed he is.

Wednesday only stares at him in return. Any reaction to his words could be psycho-analyzed and used as some sort of evidence, so she remains as motionless as a corpse.

Unfortunately, motionless is not a skill of Enid’s.

She’s staring too, but more comparable to a deer-in-headlights. She’s mauling her bottom lip, mercilessly picking at her perfectly manicured hands. She’s bouncing her leg up and down, she changes positions in the cushy, brown chair every couple of seconds. Wednesday wishes she would either take a deep breath or quit breathing altogether.

“There’s a dead body mere corridors away from a very public dance, and moments later an officer finds you two mucking about in the library covered in blood!” He emphasizes with his hands. Wednesday doesn’t budge.

His eyes soften, offering Wednesday a more earnest look as if to speak to her personally, “I truly don’t want to believe that you’re the one behind this. I may not know you well, but I can tell you’re very smart. I can tell that within the twisted and tangled cobwebs of your soul, there lies a caring, devoted version of Wednesday. A protective, altruistic Wednesday who doesn’t care what happens to herself, as long as her loved ones are safe.” 

She wants to protest this attack on her character, but she can see right through his honest facade. She peeks over at Enid, who is eagerly awaiting Wednesday’s response while worry wracks her features.

“I found the killer in the act. I chased them down and they assaulted me with predetermined defense mechanisms used to create distance between us. I lost track of them through the smoke, and I sustained a laceration in my head. That’s where all of the blood came from.” She bluntly gives her side of the story. 

“I appreciate your testimony. We will run a DNA test on the dresses and determine our next steps from there. We will have to place you in a holding cell until then-”

“WHAT?!?!” Enid shouts, gripping the sides of the chair, “Jail?! Seriously?! This is so unfair!”

Unfair is a stretch. They are covered in blood after all. Regardless, she won’t go without a fight, and she has just the leverage to do so.

“Fine. You can put us in a holding cell,” Enid looks at her incredulously, “But you know deep down we’re not the killers you’re after. You’re trying to find footing in a situation that you can’t make heads or tails of. Imprisoning us makes you feel secure, like it’s a step in the right direction, but really you have no control over anything.”

Wednesday rises threateningly from her chair. She approaches Principal Brown’s desk, using all of her stature to tower over him. The action works, because he visibly shrinks into himself.

“We look like the perfect suspects, and with perfect timing too. Eventually, students would start to doubt your authority. I know I do. You lost my respect the moment I found out you lied about the potion. Maybe I show up covered in blood, no one can really know what happened until a DNA test is taken. But you lied intentionally, you obstructed justice, making you just as much of a suspect as we are.”

Principal Brown is taken aback. He takes a stabilizing breath, letting his hands fall to rest on the desk, as if ashamed, “I may not know you well, Wednesday, but you make one thing about yourself clear to everyone you meet. You bend to nobody’s will. I knew when I told you to stop you wouldn’t, so I deceived you to keep you safe.”

He lets his head fall slack into his right hand, “I figured if you were chasing the wrong goose, you would keep yourself out of trouble. I clearly couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Wednesday takes the sound of his defeated tone as a sign of victory.

“We can meet in the middle, since this is a direct result of your meddling. Enid and I will stay in our dorm until the results come in. Consider it a house arrest.” She bargains, crossing her arms to remind him who’s in charge.

He rolls his eyes, and just like the soft man she always knew he was, he agrees to her terms. 

—

He didn’t put up much of a fight. She always knew he’d crumble under pressure.

In fact, his lack of mental fortitude gave Wednesday the perfect opportunity to take back what is rightfully hers: the pictures of the first victim, the gorgon. 

Everything is falling into place perfectly, and yet Wednesday can’t put the pieces together. She lets the hand supporting her head flop on the table with a complimentary deep sigh. It’s enough to make Enid stop her blabbering and direct her attention to her roommate.

“Is everything okay, Wednesday?” Enid stops and turns in place.

“As okay as a Seligman dog,” She responds, oozing sarcasm, “So far, all I’ve figured out is the slimy stuff that drenched the card was actually just a medical-grade sedative. Nothing especially witchcrafty about that.”

Enid marches towards the table and places a hand on the back of Wednesday’s chair, “What’s the problem?”

“I’ve gone through every potion numerous times with no lead as to what the potion at the crime scene could have been. I’ve even discovered there’s an elixir that reverses the effects of nightshade poisoning. It’s a shame I didn’t know about it last semester, maybe we’d still have a principal with a backbone,” She digs at Mr. Brown.

Enid cups her chin with her hand pensively, “Maybe that’s the problem. You’re so focused on the small pieces that you’re missing the bigger picture. Take a break and look for other clues, like a motive.”

For once, Enid actually did something helpful intentionally rather than completely by accident. It seems Principal Brown was right, Enid can carve Y’s from W’s when it counts. Wednesday believes she should encourage this performance via some positive reinforcement. 

She turns in her chair, facing Enid, “Commendable advice, Enid. You’re a natural morale booster. Just like Prozac.”

In a perfect world, Enid would be more like Zoloft. 

Confused, Enid accepts the strange compliment with an awkward smile.

Wednesday shifts her focus to the pictures of her victims. She discovered that the third victim was a vampire named Sylvia. Further inspection revealed that she had been subtly decapitated, as subtle as decapitation can be. It appears that the job had been rushed, maybe even interrupted. Killing a siren or a gorgon may be easy, they aren’t exactly the apotheosis of mythological strength. A vampire, however, should have put up a good fight against a witch. Yet, somehow, there is hardly any sign of a struggle.

“That’s weird,” Enid announces from behind her, “It looks like she’s missing a fang.”

Wednesday grabs her magnifying glass and hovers it over Enid’s phone displaying the picture. Technology has failed her once again, the picture is too small to see any details whatsoever. After all this time, her efforts will be foiled by-

Enid places two fingers on the screen and zooms into the photo, then looks at her with a smile that says “you’re welcome.” Wednesday stares blankly for a moment before placing her magnifying glass down and analyzing the photo. Sure enough, only one fang appears to be present in the photo.

She grabs the other photos from a drawer in her desk and scatters them on the table. She finds the photo of the violently shredded carcass of the siren. Anything could have been taken from this body, but the scratch marks along the arms suggest the perpetrator got away with a scale. Several scales. 

Another look at the gorgons photo reveals new information. One of his snakes ends in a stump, it looks as though it’s been cut off.

“How did I not see this before?” Wednesday whispers to herself with the realization.

Enid moves in closer, silently asking for more details.

“The killer is harvesting parts from these children, it’s like Crackstone all over again,” 

“Why would the killer need parts from Nevermore students?”

“Well, it’s a witch. Maybe she needs it for a potion.”

She turns back to her book, now inspired with a new purpose of finding which potion requires a snake from a gorgon, a scale from a siren, and a fang from a vampire. Though, before she gets far, a loud knock sounds from the door. 

Enid scurries towards the door, sending one last look towards Wednesday before creaking the door open ever so slightly.

Fortunately, it’s neither a guard nor a murderer. A jovial Eugene greets her at the door accompanied by… Xavier?

“Not the pair I expected,” Wednesday chimes in, displeased from across the room, not even looking in their direction. 

Enid brushes off the change in temperament and puts on her best definitely-expecting-company face.

“What are you guys doing here?” She smiles widely, overcompensating her cheerfulness.

“Well the Nevermore Games are coming up, we thought you guys would like to join our team!” Eugene delivers his hopeful pitch, and Xavier even puts on a smile for the act. He must have lost a bet.

Xavier chimes in, “We don’t really have our own clique, so we need to recruit people to our team. Y’know, if you’re not in the middle of solving a murder, or anything.”

“It’s because our abilities are all so miscellaneous. We couldn’t possibly have an advantage in any of the games.” Wednesday pessimistically asserts.

“That’s why we need you! You’re super smart, you could outwit everyone and you could carry us to victory like you always do!” Eugene strokes her ego.

“Even if I did want to entertain that idea, which I don’t, I’m bound by ankle monitor, society’s replacement for the ball and chain.”

Everyone looks at her quizzically. She doesn’t question the silence, she just continues to scan her book of potions. That is, until Xavier decides to take a closer look at her.

He cranes his neck into the room, as if the few extra centimeters would help him see any better, “That’s one gnarly cut on your forehead. What happened?”

“Would you give us just a minute?” Enid conveys politely, though she slams the door before they can respond.

She hurries towards Wednesday’s desk, keeping her voice low, “This is the perfect opportunity to get rid of these hideous ankle monitors!”

“What benefit does that serve me? Running laps isn’t going to find this potion.”

“It’s not about the laps, it’s about our freedom! Since when are you so nonchalant about this kind of stuff?” Enid flails her arms trying to wrack her brain around Wednesday’s thought process.

“Sometimes, the best strategy is to stay right where you are. There’s no real reason to leave - all of my information is right here. Moreover, I’m not sabotaging my relationship with Mr. Brown over your insignificant fashion disaster.”

This is Wednesday Addams - Wednesday Addams! - choosing to do the right thing! Enid certainly knows Wednesday is astute enough to make quick work of these monitors, and for some confounding reason, she’s playing hard to get!

Usually, the roles are reversed. Usually, Wednesday is the one jumping through hoops to manipulate her into doing something, and naturally Enid is like putty in her hands. She’s intent on getting rid of this cabin fever, so Enid takes a moment to think: WWWD? 

What Would Wednesday Do?

“Maybe you’re right,” She sighs loudly, moving to sit on the side of her bed with a pitiful look in her eye, “Exercise would just be a distraction from this cold, stuffy, barren room. It’s a shame. I was going to ask one of the witches for their recipe of warm, poison apple pie.”

Wednesday’s eyes widen, her whole face  practically lights up. Her head rises from being buried inside of her book and slowly creaks towards Enid’s direction, a stint of dramatization that almost rivals one of Enid’s. She’s finally gotten her attention!

Without another word, Wednesday stands from her desk and approaches Enid’s side of the room. Enid curiously follows her movements closely. Wednesday reaches for Enid’s nail kit, sifting through it until she pulls out a metal nail file. She saunters towards Enid’s bed, and, getting down on one knee, she places a gentle hand around Enid’s ankle, pulling it closer to herself. She carefully maneuvers the file underneath the band, digging away at the flimsy rubber, cautious not to cut Enid’s skin in the process. She proceeds to do the same to her own ankle monitor.

Enid notes her uncharacteristic attentiveness to her safety, and Wednesday notes how Enid’s ears are pinker than they were only a second ago.

She stands up from her spot on the floor, “Let’s hunt some witches.”

2;03 PM

She’d been duped, lied to. How couldn’t she see it coming? There are no witches. Of course there aren’t. Witches are known for their academic adequacy, why would they be skulking around outside, participating in excessive physical activity with the rest of Nevermore’s bone-headed student body?

More importantly, where did her sweet, kind and trustworthy roommate learn to lie like that?

“Enid, I commend your use of deception, but I detest your reasons for using it. It’s thrown a hefty wrench in my plans,” She looks towards Enid, who has already started stretching.

“Then consider the score settled. You’ve derailed several plans of mine, and without a shred of remorse too,” Enid crosses her arms with reprimand, though she doesn’t hide her victorious smile.

“Why would I feel remorse for a good idea?” She stares at Enid waiting for clarification.

Enid’s shoulders slouch as she purses her lips, knowing her well enough at this point to know she’s not kidding.

No matter, she has to stay focused on her new leads, she can’t have broken out of her house arrest for no reason. Besides, maybe she can make something of this unexpected turn of events.

If there are no witches, then perhaps some other overly-competitive high school students could be of use to her. As she scans the immediate area of her training grounds, she catches a glimpse of just the right fit for the description.

Bianca leads her troop of sirens into battle with extensive and strenuous training to cover up her entirely too meticulous plan to disqualify everyone else from the games, and right by her side is none other than the assumingly complicit reigning champion, Ida Kastellanos.

Enid follows her gaze to the two conspiring students, shouting at their respective teams of sirens, who have found themselves scrimmaging. She steps forward next to Wednesday and places a hand on her hip, “Staking out the competition?”

“Something like that.” She keeps her eyes trained on the unfolding practice game.

“Not a bad strategy. The scales are definitely a force to be reckoned with, especially with Ida. I don’t know what it is, she’s just faster and stronger than everyone at Nevermore. I wonder what they feed her in Germany.” 

“Probably a lot of schnitzel.” Wednesday deadpans, only half listening.

Enid laughs, breaking Wednesday’s focused stare and drawing her attention to the sound. She doesn’t know what’s so funny, but for some reason, she can’t seem to stop the corner of her mouth from twitching up as well.

She chooses not to waste any more time watching, and begins marching towards the pack of sirens running military drills. Bianca spots her approaching out of the corner of her eye, and takes a break from screaming at her soldiers..

“Here to join the winning team?” She prides herself, though the conditions are not very inviting.

“Our team is more than capable of victory. If I were you I’d watch my back. We’ve kicked up our training regimen.”

Bianca chuckles and motions to the team of misfits behind Wednesday, “Really? Is that what you call your ‘training regimen?’”

Wednesday turns around to find Eugene and Xavier kicking a soccer ball back and forth, and just in time to see a stray ball hit Eugene square in the face. Enid promptly scolds Xavier before running to comfort Eugene.

“We’re taking a break,” Wednesday justifies.

Bianca shrugs her shoulders with a knowing smirk.

Wednesday changes the subject, “Games aside, I require your social expertise. You wouldn’t happen to know where the witches congregate, would you?”

Before Bianca gets the chance to answer, her persnickety cohort enters the conversation, unwelcomed as usual.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” She sneers, “We were just looking for a new ball to kick around.”

Wednesday crosses her arms, “Ida, for once I was actually anticipating your appearance. I don’t have time for the petty arguing today, though I will say you should have that front covered. There’s enough air in your head to inflate a hot air balloon, one ball shouldn’t be a problem.”

Ida snarls, but Wednesday can still sense her amusement.

She cuts to the chase, “What do you know about the witches at Nevermore?”

The siren scoffs and looks off to the side, “I’m not affiliated with those social rejects, ” She crosses her arms.

An unanticipated response. Usually Ida speaks in riddles, making it impossible to get information out of her. Plus, her body language contrasts her normal, confident, chest-up-shoulders-back self. On top of that, she watched her intently strut towards the witches after their interaction at the dance. Her straight forward answer gives her reason to believe she’s just been lied to.

“One of you must know something. Being as you are the socialites of this school, to have heard nothing of the witches' after-school affairs is… surprising,” Wednesday stares down both of the sirens, tilting her accusatory head. 

“And with as much perception and cunning as you appear to have, you’d think you’d be able to figure it out on your own,” Ida defensively claps back.

Bianca steps in front of her to separate them. She leads with her hand, perhaps she feels it gives her more control of the situation.

“The witches do tend to keep to themselves. All I know about them is that they have a secret coven. Somewhere in Nevermore they meet, but no one really knows where or… why. There’s rumors that they’ve been here for hundreds of years, but seeing one outside of class or huddling together at a social event is rare.”

Wednesday absorbs all the information. She gives Bianca an affirmative nod, and Ida a withering glare. She does a sharp 180 degree turn on her heel, and walks back towards her team of idiots.

Except, something isn’t quite right. It’s as if with each step she takes, time gets slower, her destination gets farther. An impending white noise echoes in her ears as the world around her desaturates, until everything is gray and foggy. A raven calls from behind the smoke, close but somehow very far, eerily similar to the call that accompanies the bodies. No one else seems to mind, or even notice. She turns back around, and the two sirens she was just speaking to moments ago are gone. When she looks forward again, Enid, Xavier, and Eugene have also vanished.

It feels like one of her psychic visions, but something is off. She’s not in control. There’s an ever-present feeling of dread, and something in the air that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand.

Several hushed voices pierce through the noise, but they’re all out of sync. They’re coming from everywhere, it feels like the words are floating in circles around her head - taunting her, making her want to understand. 

She closes her eyes and focuses on the voices, desperately trying to listen to them one at a time. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t understand it - like it’s in a different language, but not one she recognizes. She tries once more, this time focusing on the noise as a whole orchestra instead of an individual instrument. The white noise slowly subsides while the symphony of voices slowly begins to take shape, and she realizes they’re all saying one thing.

“Don’t tip the scales.”

Her eyes jolt open, but instead of the cold, dreary environment she had come to know, her eyes open to the world in full color again, accompanied by four worried faces crowding her, standing over her like vultures on roadkill.

You don’t know what you have until it’s gone, she thinks.

“Her eyes, they’re open!” She hears the recognizable shriek of Eugene’s voice, along with his finger extending to point down at her face.

Everyone leans in to get a closer look, much to Wednesday’s displeasure. They whisper amongst themselves, showing they have enough decency to be quiet, but not enough to allow her to see the color of the sky.

She sits herself up straight as if she just rose out of a coffin. The flock of onlookers scatter in fear at her sudden movement, except for Enid, who stands right by her side to make sure she’s okay. She stands herself up and dusts herself off.

Enid reaches for her arm and grips it tightly, “Are you okay? What happened? Did you have a vision?”

Wednesday isn’t entirely sure what to call it. Her normal visions depict the future as it will play out, but this felt more like a message. 

Regardless of what it was, the attention she’s drawn to herself is exactly the opposite of what she wanted when she decided to break house arrest.

She turns to Enid, “We will discuss it in a more remote location.”

She turns to make a hasty trip back into Nevermore, and Enid follows close behind.

She’s marching on autopilot towards her dorm, though she can’t be sure what waits for her there. Maybe Principal Brown has already discovered their absence and is awaiting their return for a dramatic reveal. Or, maybe, a mass murdering witch is all too aware of her meddling and wants to take her out of the equation. 

She can’t take any chances. She takes a sharp left turn down the hall, dragging Enid’s unexpecting person with her, who gasps at the sudden change of direction. Wednesday doesn’t even notice, though. She only has one thing on her mind.

“Don’t tip the scales.”

Her eyes are glued to the ground as she makes sense out of the phrase. Is it a metaphor, is it literal? Could it have been a message from Goody Addams, reaching out to her through her deepest conscience? 

“Don’t tip the scales.”

The scales. The scales? Are they balanced and tipping them will cause total mayhem? Or perhaps they are already unbalanced and the voice in her head is morally ambiguous?

No. Surely no part of Wednesday’s conscience is morally ambiguous. Sadistic and twisted, maybe, but never in a state of quandary.

She stalls her steps in front of the Poe sculpture preparing her fingers to snap, while Enid stares with curious, furrowed brows.

“Don’t tip the scales.”

All of a sudden, the memory comes washing over her. Sitting in class, postured perfectly and attentively while Xavier, slouched and impertinent, clambers for her attention. She fast forwards her memory to the part where she slams Mr. Brown’s desk, eager for answers on her then recent discovery of the glass catalyst to her investigation. The scale tilts at the quake, Mr. Brown doesn’t miss a beat adjusting it.

Her pupils widen, and for the second time today, she redirects their tread. This time, she pounds towards the alchemy classroom, leaving no hesitation in her wake.

Getting tugged around like this is all a bit much for Enid, especially without explanation. Despite being there for what she considers to be most of Wednesday’s investigation, she feels a bit out of the loop. That’s a feeling Enid cannot stand.

She resists Wednesday's pull, and Wednesday stops in her devoted stride, “Wednesday, where are we going?!”

And though it slows her down, Wednesday does agree that maybe she deserves a bit of an explanation. She turns back around and strolls at a talkable speed. 

“A vision came over me as I approached you outside. It was unusual, it didn’t feel like a memory, it felt like it was happening in real time. I was given a message, and now I’m using that message to track the sender.”

“What if said sender is, I don’t know, a serial killer!? And we’re just going in blind and unarmed?”

Wednesday stops and and turns towards Enid, “We’re not unarmed,” She grabs Enid’s wrist and holds it up between them, and her multicolored nails sharpen into pretty daggers, “We have these.”

She drops her wrist and continues in her quest towards the alchemy classroom, though Enid is hesitant to follow, having just found out she is Wednesday’s weapon of choice. She whimpers before she follows suit.

Safety is better in numbers, she supposes.

3:10 PM

They stand side-by-side in front of the grand doors of the alchemy classroom. Enid fidgets nervously and Wednesday is still as a corpse. One may not be able to tell, but she is very excited to see what mystery awaits them behind this very door.

Her fingers wrap around the cold, metal door handle. She clasps tightly around the brass, pulling it open and watching as Enid enters the room, anxiously clearing every corner with her phone flashlight. Wednesday follows her in, letting the giant door slam shut behind them, to which Enid yelps and jumps nearly ten feet in the air. She scowls at Wednesday, displeased with her antics in such a serious situation. Wednesday’s smirk grows under the glow of Enid’s flashlight.

She focuses back on the task at hand, finding the scale. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long, as it is located in the exact spot it is in every single day. They hover over the balance scale, treating it like an ancient artifact. Wednesday is the first to reach out. She places a finger on one of the plates, putting pressure so that the scale is shifted significantly out of balance. Nothing happens, and Enid shifts her gaze to Wednesday with a look that suggests she may be insane.

“What exactly was this message you were given, Wednesday?” Enid questions barely above a whisper. She crosses her arms as her defenses start to lower. 

Wednesday turns her neck to refer to Enid, “An orchestra of disembodied voices were repeating the message ‘Don’t tip the scales.’” She looks back towards the apparatus before her, putting the weight of her finger on the opposing scale instead. Again, there is no effect to her cause.

“This is the only scale I could think of.”

Of course. The voice emanating from Wednesday’s subconscious tells her not to do something, and her first instinct is to do it. Enid thinks maybe Wednesday’s fearless nature does have one weakness: compliance.

She takes her hands out from their crossed position and pulls off a ring from each finger. She weighs them in her hand to see which ones are heavier, and divides them out equally onto the plates of the scale. She drops the last ring onto the plate, and miraculously, they’re getting somewhere.

A rumbling noise erupts from the wall behind the desk. Dust flies everywhere as the wall rotates 90 degrees, opening up a secret room. Wednesday’s mouth falls ever so slightly ajar, while Enid’s curves into a grin and one raised eyebrow that says “I told you so.” She flicks her head to Wednesday for approval, and is gladly met with just that.

Wednesday must admit, she’s getting better at carving something out of nothing.

They step into the newly opened room with caution but also extreme curiosity. At first glance, it’s not a very big space, and the only light in the room comes from the dull glow of the candles surrounding the room. There are cauldrons lining the walls, there’s even one in the fireplace. The shelves are full of bottles, some empty, some full. There are utensils scattered everywhere. It’s all quite reminiscent of someone who hasn't quite finished cooking yet.

“Ah, the brave Wednesday and her voice of reason, I can always count on your rebellious nature.” A voice echoes from the middle of the room, and not soon after does the attached person pop up from behind the table, hidden behind the veil of a cloak and a blindfold, with a gaudy headdress covering her ears to match.

“Welcome to my lair…”

Chapter Text

“A secret lair. I knew this plotline had to get interesting at some point,” Wednesday announces, eyeing up the room and all of its intricacies. 

The room looks like it was once a dungeon, with the iron bars over the only window in the room, and the chains dangling from the far wall. There must be some interesting history behind this place. 

Though now, it looks repurposed to support life as there are many plants on every level of shelf, even some small trees beginning to produce fruit. Each and every herb and flower is even planted near its most compatible companion plant.

The once frightened and jumpy Enid now combs the walls, picking things up and investigating them in awe. Even Thing makes a belated appearance to accompany her, crawling from her bag and hopping from shoulder to shoulder. 

Wednesday has no interest in knick knacks, so while her cohorts are ogling at shiny objects, she cuts straight to the chase.

“Why did you lead me here?” Her first question echoes off of the chamber walls.

She removes the headdress covering her ears and sets it gently on the table, “My eyes told me it was the right time.”

“Your eyes?”

“Yes, my eyes!” 

As if on cue, a raven flies through the metal bars and perches on the witch’s cloaked shoulder. It caws something familiar, like the one from her vision.

“That raven, he was in my vision,” Wednesday takes a step closer to the table, locking eyes with the bird.

“She was responsible for your vision. She delivered you the message I sent for you,” The bird quirks her head at Wednesday.

“How could she have caused me to have a vision? I’ve only ever had them when interacting with objects or people associated with the vision. They’ve never been triggered willingly, and much less by an animal,” She crouches over the table, her hands crossed behind her back, getting a close, investigatory look at the raven. 

“We’re all animals here on planet Earth.”

An overwhelming feeling of peace courses through Wednesday with every word the witch says. Her voice is very smooth and soft. Though her get-up may appear to be intimidating, her voice holds no malice.

Wednesday holds a finger out towards the bird, who leaps from the shoulder of its owner to the offered appendage. She stands up straight, scrutinizing the raven as if to find something special about it. Enid and Thing have both made their way to her side, infatuated at the beauty of the creature before them. 

“The raven suits you,” The witch comments. 

Silent jeering can be heard coming from her roommate. She looks to her left at Enid and Thing, who stop in their tracks, pretending to act natural.

“I’ve been practicing magic here for several years, and the one skill that came the most naturally to me was beastmastery. I can communicate with creatures, and they assist me in my magic. My raven has been watching you for a while.”

“Is that so?” She looks back towards the witch.

“You’re a very interesting character Wednesday. So, when the time was right, I sent the raven to sprinkle Psilocybin spores over you, putting you in a hallucinatory state, while her caws subliminally coerced you to find me.”

“So, through the wicked art of beastmastery,” She sarcastically enunciates, “You were able to achieve mind control?” Her eyes pan back over to the bird on her finger, hiding her marvel behind her deadpan eyes. 

“I’d hardly call it mind control. In fact, you did most of the work. The imagery you saw was a direct reflection of your conscience, and your urge to follow the clue was a decision of your own insistent nature, which I gladly chose to take advantage of. I just merely planted the seed. You psychics are very susceptible to hallucinations.”

Wednesday makes the connection in her mind. That’s why the scenery was so pleasant during her hallucination. She’s more likely to trust a message from the sanctuary of her subconscious than from an outside source.

She gives her credit where credit is due, “Very clever, but you must have called me here for a reason.”

“That I did,” The witch leans in closer to the table, “There’s a very dark force working behind the scenes of Nevermore. You’ve stumbled upon secrets and evidence, so you know what I’m talking about. I wanted to put our heads together and finish this off for good.”

“I’m listening…” She lowers her finger to the desk, letting the raven hop back to her rightful owner.

The witch removes her hood, showing her dark, shoulder-length locs with golden cuff beads. She adorns lots of gold jewelry, which brings out her deep umber skin. Her eyes are very light brown, almost hazel. Her smile is bright and accompanied by dimples on either side. She balls her hands together before addressing Wednesday.

“The other witches of this coven and I have been keeping a close eye on the calendar. We are overdue for a visit from a great witch, one which wields immense power. She has mastered almost every branch of witchcraft. We always look up to her determination to master the craft, but evidence suggests she’s gone dark,” She looks down in her lap, showing disappointment in her next sentence.

“With great power comes great responsibility. My covenmates appear to be unconcerned with these signs. They want to learn from the greatest, even if it means succumbing to dark magic. But, it is against my moral code to learn if it is at the cost of the living. I will not corrupt Earth’s creatures with dark magic, I will not make them evil. Dark magic uses force for control, but I take pride in the symbiosis I have with the free animals. I just wish the coven could see it the same way.”

Things crawls atop the table, slowly approaching the raven like a puppy at a park. He reaches a finger out to poke the black bird. The not-so-unsuspecting raven winds back a wing and thwaps it at Thing, who retreats towards the edge of the desk where Enid is crouched down, likewise ogling at the majestic bird.

Wednesday ignores the encounter, as she’s much more concerned with the reveal of the murderer, “What is her cause for turning to dark magic?”

“A lust for knowledge, I presume. Once you’ve mastered light magic, what’s left to learn? I always looked up to her for her strong will to resist dark magic, but something within her has shifted.”

An intriguing antagonist, indeed. A powerful being known for their good nature succumbs to the wicked will of evil. Of course, a master of the craft must have lots of strong will and patience, so it couldn’t have happened overnight. But, what force could be so persuasive, it swaddles the better judgement of even the most committed to the craft?

“Have you told any of this to Mr. Brown?”

“He knows of the witch’s return. He’s obsessed with the history of witchcraft, but he has no idea the return of the witch and the murders are related like I suspect they are. In all honesty, he’s not much of a witch, he’s more of a magician. Sure, he can brew potions, anyone can. But, he has a greater affinity for sleight of hand, illusion, and manipulation. He believes the witch is coming to rid Nevermore of its curse of gruesome murders.”

The nature of Mr. Brown’s choice ignorance seems cultish, she thinks, in his refusal to admit that powerful beings can do bad things. Perhaps the witches are due for some spiritual cleansing.

The witch reaches under her desk and pulls out a large book. She lets the heavy object drop to the table, waving her hand in front of her to disperse the dust it kicked up.

“His office is actually where I found this book. It’s full of stories about the great witch. You can really start to see her descent into madness towards the end.”

Wednesday flicks through the old, yellowing pages, “This is a lot of stories for one lifetime.”

“That’s because she’s lived multiple lifetimes. One of her first major uses of dark magic was to grant herself immortality, which goes against the laws of nature. Her excuse was that she could spread her knowledge through many generations. That was when she was still largely a good witch, centuries ago.”

So, a lust for knowledge: the alleged cause of a formidable witch’s betrayal of the craft. Wednesday ponders all of this information, before clearing up one more thing.

She pauses on a page, looking up from the book, “What is the witches’ relationship with Ida Kastellanos? She claims not to know them, but I’ve seen her speak with them before.”

The witch’s lips curl into a smirk, “They brew her special potions, performance enhancing potions. She’s not really the pinnacle of strength and rigor that everyone thinks she is, but they make good money off of someone with lots to lose.”

Wednesday has a devilish grin on her face, one that gives Enid a sinister feeling.

“Interesting…” She leans in closer as her interest piques, “In that case, let’s make a deal. I’ll catch your master witch, and you spike the German’s potions.”

The witch sucks in through her teeth, “Sorry, Wednesday, I’m trying to remain on the light side of magic, and I can’t do that with a guilty conscience. Besides, it isn't technically against the rules for her to do so, because there are none.”

“If there are no rules, then you shouldn’t feel guilty,” She leans back from the table, crossing her arms.

The witch tilts her head apologetically, “My moral code doesn’t dissipate in the absence of rules, Wednesday.”

“Fine…” Wednesday leans in for a second time, “How about you brew us a performance enhancing potion of our own. Therefore, the games will be equal. Surely any good witch can’t refuse equality.”

The witch sighs deeply, but she nods her head in agreement regardless.

Wednesday scoops the book from the table, and pushes it down into her seemingly endless bag. She tips her head, silently thanking the witch for all her help. She turns to leave, but then one more question comes to her mind.

She turns back to look to the middle of the room, “What should we call you?”

“We’ll discuss it another time,” The witch delivers with a kind smile.

Wednesday acknowledges her decision of anonymity. She faces forward, and proceeds out of the room, and Enid is right on her heels. 

The wall rumbles closed, returning to its normal state; nothing looks out of the ordinary. They leave the alchemy classroom, and it doesn’t take long for Enid to finally break her silence. 

She does a swift and far-from-thorough scan of the halls before her anticipation bubbles to the surface.

“That was insane!” She bursts out in excitement, twirling in front of Wednesday.

“A secret room with a secret witch to match? And did you see the raven?” She grabs Wednesday’s arms, which hang stiffly by her side, “The raven was sooo cool!”

“It was quite atmospheric. Though, it isn’t much of a secret if you announce it through the halls.”

“Oh, right…” Enid releases her grip on Wednesday’s arms, falling in line with her as they begin walking back to their dorm. 

Of course, a quiet walk back isn’t on Enid’s itinerary, but Wednesday doesn’t really mind this time. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little excited too. Like the feeling of opening a new knife on Christmas morning. 

“I thought you didn’t care about winning the games,” Enid prods, curious of her change of heart. 

“There’s been a change in circumstances. A humbling opportunity,” She refocuses her relaxed stare towards Enid, “Winning isn’t my goal, though it may be an unintended yet satisfactory outcome. My goal is to dethrone that German narcissist whose short stay at Nevermore has already disrupted the peace. I’m already devising several strategies as we speak.”

Enid grins affirmatively, the answer is good enough for her. Ida may be the gregarious socialite influencer that Enid always aspired to be, but she has something that she’s realized Ida does not: empathy.

And, of course, Wednesday Addams!

She thinks they make a pretty good team, and she hopes, perpetually, that Wednesday feels the same. She knows one thing for sure: Ida Kastellanos messed up by making an enemy of them!

It surprises her when Wednesday, whose head is tilted downwards ever so slightly, is the one to speak next.

“I’m impressed with your work back there. Your quick thinking was equally as impressive as your rings bearing identical weights.”

Enid’s world suddenly freezes, she’s shocked she manages to stop her features from pulling the look they are most certainly pulling in her head: an agape mouth with eyes as wide as saucers and eyebrows that almost rise straight off of her face.

A morsel of praise from Wednesday is like winning an Oscar or a Grammy, she thinks. Or at least, it’s just as difficult. But, the reward is just as satisfying as she dreams a red carpet would be!

Enid sheepishly clasps her hands behind her back, “I read once that balanced jewelry makes you feel stable and grounded… and I try to avoid silver.”

Wednesday smirks. She looks at Enid, only for a second, before dodging her eyes - almost like she’s realized she’s made a mistake. 

 Enid thinks her lack of eye contact seems intentional this time; like,

 I-can’t-look-at-you-while-baring-my-heart intentional.

A beat passes, then Wednesday starts again, “It appears as though I take your help for granted. Gratitude is not my strong suit. I feel it is appropriate to acknowledge the things you’ve done for me, as this investigation would have gone nowhere if I had not you by my side.”

The original shocked feeling has worn off, and now she is left with the slow, melting sensation in her heart. She can’t stop herself from smiling, and the sudden earnestness from her best friend makes her cheeks turn a subtle shade of pink. 

Enid stops them both in the hallway just before reaching the stairs, and grabs Wednesday’s hand, facing it palm up. She takes the four rings from her left hand off of her fingers, and places them in Wednesday’s open hand, then cupping it with her own. 

She moves in closer, and when Wednesday does not reject it, but rather accepts with her albeit wide-eyed eye contact, Enid takes her chance to speak.

“I want you to have these,” She looks between the rings and her roommate, “Just in case you find any more scales and I’m not there.”

It almost makes her sick to her stomach, the thought of Enid not being there. It occurs to her at that moment that she wants to remain in solitude for the rest of her life, but only if Enid shares that solitude with her. 

They stand like that, together, for a few more seconds, cherishing it. And though it was only a few seconds, what it’s worth to them feels as important as an eternity.

Enid removes her hand and initiates the first few steps up the stairs to their shared dorm. Wednesday takes a few moments before doing the same. 

What awaits them at the top of the steps is truly the icing on the cake. Principal Brown must have caught wind of their expenditure, because he is patiently awaiting their return at their doorstep with a security officer in tow.

As soon as he sees their heads peeking over the stairs, he begins his reprimand, “Well, I sure hope you ladies enjoyed your evening out. I imagine whatever you two were doing was important enough to warrant breaking out of your ankle monitors for.”

“It was, in fact,” Wednesday takes a step forward, “It turns out that my bladder does not yield for any authority, not even a plastic ankle monitor. I was only saving you the trouble of having to clean my chamber pot, Mr. Brown.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” He deadpans, “I didn’t come here to scold you, Wednesday, I come with good news. The blood test results are back. There was no sign of the victim’s blood on your dresses, so you two are entitled to freely roam the campus as you see fit. Though, I would advise against it: as you may know, there is a dangerous killer on the loose.”

Wednesday thinks back to her conversation with the witch and all the things she said about Mr. Brown’s faith in the craft. She can’t let the golden opportunity pass her by.

“How’s that going, by the way? I know your elite team of highly trained professional investigators has been making waves in solving this crime,” She sarcastically grills them, turning her gaze to the officer standing to the left of Mr. Brown. He looks away, maybe ashamed, maybe just trying to save face.

The principal sighs deeply, suppressing the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m expecting all of this to clear up very soon. You’ve been very helpful, and we’ve been fortunate enough to not have found another victim.”

Wednesday looks him up and down, “Very well.”

She shoves past the principal and his guard, making sure to give him an extra stern glare that instills disappointment into anyone caught in it. The only thing stopping her from slamming the door in their face is Enid, who takes a much more passive approach.

Enid turns to face the men, with just her head peeking through the crack in the door, “It was a pleasure, thanks for stopping by.”

She flashes them an award-winning smile, and does Wednesday justice by slamming the door in their face, just how she would have wanted.

They stand in the middle of the room together. There is so much to talk about, but Enid has trouble finding anything to say. 

Scratch that, in reality she has trouble committing to saying any of those things. Instead, she settles for the easy way out.

“So… what’s next?” She locks her pinkies together, resting on an uncomfortably anxious leg.

Wednesday thinks for a moment. There is so much to do, and she feels as though she has little time. It’s as if there is a deadline looming over her head, she has to stop the killer before the next body drops. There is one consistency throughout all of the murders: they happen when everyone on the Nevermore campus is distracted; and there’s only one massive distraction before the end of the semester.

She finally looks up to Enid, flashing her classic Kubrick stare, “We need a plan…”

Chapter Text

The plan is simple: catch the killer before they strike again. How will they do it? They will start by addressing the several links spreading across their recently reorganized evidence board.

Wednesday extends her pointing stick, whacking it on the board to get her peers attention. Enid, Xavier, Eugene, and Thing all jump from their chairs in unison. 

“Here’s what we’ve got so far…”

Connected with a pink string on the far left side of the board are photos of the deceased gorgon, the shattered glass, and high heel with a stilt that matches the diameter of the puncture of the glass. An orange string connects the mutilated siren, a patch of werewolf fur, and the piece of paper yet to be written off as trash in the middle of the board. On the far right, a green string attaches the beheaded vampire to the substance-soaked card, along with mention of their elusive escape and their participation at the siren’s masquerade. Connecting all three of these separate ideas is a photo of an outline of a witch with a question mark running through the middle.

She whacks the stick once more, pointing it at the bottom of the evidence board where three questions remain unanswered.

1. What was the potion?

2. What is the motive?

3. …

Eugene’s hand urgently shoots in the air.

Wednesday, inconvenienced, calls upon him, “Yes, Eugene?”

“When can we go to the bathroom?” His face turns a shade of green, a negative reaction to the disturbing photos.

She looks around the room at the rest of her group, who are all especially distracted with their own affairs. She takes a deep breath before responding to him.

“You all are dismissed,” Her arms cross impatiently behind her back.

Eugene bolts out of the door with a hand over his mouth, and Xavier follows him out with a wave. Wednesday turns her back to the room and faces her board, placing her contemplative fingers to her chin.

Enid sneaks up behind her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I know you’re afraid this isn’t going to work, but we’ve been preparing for a week. It’s just hard to fit in between the hecticness of the Nevermore Games and classes and everything else that’s been going on.”

Wednesday keeps her eyes on the board, though she’s more so looking through it, “I’m not afraid, just concerned. Nothing ever goes according to plan, and we don’t even know what to anticipate,” She turns around, facing Enid with a serious demeanor, “Someone is going to die soon, and I don’t want it to be any of us.”

Enid’s lips flatten into a sympathetic smile. It seems as though Wednesday’s black and twisted heart has grown a few sizes.

Just then, a knock comes from the door. Wednesday drops her hands to her side and paces towards the door. When she opens it, nobody is there, but it looks like they’ve left a gift.

She reaches down and picks up a tall bottle from the floor, inside it is a green liquid. Tied to the neck is a rolled up note.

“Looks like our messenger held up her end of the deal…” Wednesday unravels the note and grips it on either side. 

Only drink a small dose

                                    -A

The handwriting is very nice for someone sporting a blindfold.

She slides the bottle into her bag, and returns to her desk, where the massive book the witch gave to her lays open. It’s such a large book that reading it in one night would be impossible, but she’s found some very useful information, especially towards the end. Included in this book are several pages of potions that this great witch supposedly created, and many of them haven’t made it to mainstream potion brewing.

This book could get her through the last leg of her investigation, but everyone is pulling her in all directions. Enid is right - between all that going on right now, there isn’t enough time in the day. So, she will just have to bring the investigation with her.

9:57 AM

Last minute warm-ups have officially begun for the Nevermore populace, and the nerves are high. Her teammates are all bending and stretching, oiling up the machine for the high energy activities before them on this very day. 

However, Wednesday is left exercising the most important muscle, - or rather, organ - of all. The brain.

If there was a potion brewing segment of the Nevermore games, Wednesday is certain she would win it.

Her eyes scan the long pages of the aptly named “Morbyrn’s Magic Tavern” portion of the book, where all of the never-before-seen potion recipes finally see the light of day. There’s a very vivid range, you can see exactly what point the great witch was in her life based solely off of the hostility of each potion. The section starts with some simple healing brews, and gets more advanced with the possibilities of light magic as it continues. The closer you get to the end, the more dastardly and self-serving the potions become.

Thing emerges from her bag, placing himself atop her shoulder. He stands unmoving, an action so uncharacteristic, it catches Wednesday’s attention.

She keeps her eyes trained on the page, “I know you didn’t come out of the bag for no reason, Thing.”

He taps her shoulder, urging her to look to her left, where her team struggles to sit in a butterfly stretch - except for Enid, who whips her head forward when Wednesday catches her staring. 

It wasn’t a starry-eyed stare like when Enid is daydreaming or, perhaps, looking at Ida (an irksome reaction, Wednesday thinks). Her eyebrows were scrunched together, worried, and her mouth ever so slightly agape, and not soon after, pursed. Curious. Not curious with what she is doing, but curious how it’s more important than her.

And though Wednesday can come to that conclusion herself, Thing still signs his motivational message about meeting people halfway and “relationships are a 50/50 commitment” and what have you. It all goes in one ear and out the other, because Wednesday thinks he’s missing the point. 

Enid brings out the better side of Wednesday, she opens her eyes to previously unknown circumstances which change her whole perspective. They both work better when Enid is happy, so if past evidence serves her right…

Something compels her to move, so without taking her eyes off of Enid, she stands from the bench and marches towards her neglected teammates. She plops down next to her roommate, who jumps at her sudden arrival. Her mouth is agape again, this time with a subtle upturn.

“Glad you could make it.”

“If we want to beat Ida, we will have to work together.”

Enid leans back, arms supporting her weight behind her. She never thought she’d admit it.

They finish stretching, and Wednesday gives them the rundown on her grand scheme to swipe the victory right from Ida’s grasp. Xavier and Enid will compete in a majority of the physical events, while Wednesday and Eugene participate in the strategy events. 

Not Wednesday’s first choice, but her only choice. He’s a good listener, at least.

The physical events consist of ten olympic style events: three track events, three water events, three combat sports, and a consequential game of rugby. 

The water events have practically already been won by the scales. There’s only so much that stimulants can do against a naturally amphibious creature. However, Wednesday has meticulously planned out their road to victory in every other physical event. 

The strategy games are more complicated. There are only three of them, but they’re each worth three points. A riveting game of chess is played, tournament style, and the winner gets to choose the next game they will play. 

—

“Welcome, students, to the 121st annual Nevermore Games! Our first event will be the 100 meter sprint. Give a big round of applause for our runners today!” Mr. Brown smiles wide, his arms open up to accentuate the grandiose of the track and field behind him.

The audience roars, already cheering for their respective teams.

“Runners, be at your places in five minutes!”

Wednesday and Enid stand on the outskirts of the track, as the start of the first game nears. It’s the 100 meter sprint. Out of everyone on the team, Enid has the best odds on account of her beastly strength and stamina. 

She pulls on her white athletic wristbands with a pink stripe in the middle, along with the matching headband around her head. She places her fists to her hips and puffs out her chest. She takes a deep breath and exhales all her doubts forcefully, leaving just the confidence behind. 

“Remember, you’re faster than 90% of the people on this track, Enid, and smarter than the other 10%,” She turns her head to look at Enid, who keeps her eyes fixed straight.

She does one affirmative nod, followed by a shaky breath.

She kicks a leg up into her palm and stretches it behind herself. Wednesday follows her gaze across the field. The Furs are bouncing around like wild animals, eager to tear the synthetic rubber of the track straight from the ground.

She shifts her whole body to face Enid, “You’ve been training for this, Enid. Only one thing is important, just run. I wouldn’t be opposed to demoralizing them at the starting line if it comes down to it…”

Enid finally turns to look at her, her eyebrows pinched together, stapled with worry, “Yeah, that’ll win me one race, and lose me a pack of readers on my blog!” She whines.

“Look at them,” She grabs Enid’s arm, willing both of them to look towards The Furs, “Do any of them look like they read?”

“Wednesday!” She scolds, then rolls her eyes, “I have social expectations to uphold! I am this school's unbiased and uncontested source of gossip! If the people don’t trust me then I have no credibility.”

“Runners, to your places!”

“Okay, fine, just do what you have to. Ida is your only real competition,” She crosses her arms.

Enid shoots her a smile, giving her a reassuring squeeze of the shoulders before she bounces to her lane. The consolation is short-lived however, as Ida Kastellanos snakes her way to her own lane, flashing her sharp, cold, unconquerable glare.

Wednesday joins Xavier and Eugene on the bleachers. Wednesday takes a deep, steadying breath of her own as the starter counts down for the runners.

-

Enid’s heart beats twice for every second the man counts down. She tunes out everything around her, she takes deep, fulfilling breaths of the brisk air. She closes her eyes, waiting for the loud blast of gunfire to spur her muscles into action.

3…

“Y’know, I bet those wolves feel awfully betrayed…”

She looks to her right, where Ida’s piercing eyes are staring into her like knives.

2…

“I hear losing a member of a pack is a heavy burden to carry…”

She looks to her left, where her fellow werewolf also stares into her, devilishly, without an ounce of humanity, silently grilling her with his uncharacteristically yellow eyes.

1…

The gun explodes, as does Enid as she rips through the rubber ground beneath her. She has newfound motivation, escaping whatever hell she’d just entered.

The audience comes to life, she knows it does, but she can’t really hear it, it falls on deaf ears as the only thing Enid can hear is her own thoughts.

Ida’s just trying to get into her head - that’s what Wednesday would say. Wednesday wouldn’t even give it a second thought. Wednesday would have come up with some snarky response on the spot, followed by a crafty solution to defeat her. Besides, she never really felt that close with The Furs, they really only have one thing in common; they’re werewolves. They never even gave her support when she was struggling to wolf out for the first time-

Her feet pound into the pavement, but no matter how hard she pushes, she just can’t seem to go. Each step into the earth feels like her feet sink deeper into the ground. She’s losing her lead, she can feel her competition creeping up on her, not just from her left, but also from her right.

The siren, who she physically trumps in every law of nature, is gaining on her. A sinking feeling descends through her, from her heart to her knees. Enid, in all of her lycanthrope glory, can’t even beat the fish when it’s on land.

The last few steps, by an impossibly narrow margin, as they cross the finish line, Ida overtakes her. Her foot sails over the checkered line, but she might as well have just stayed at the start. The one person she had to beat is the only person she failed to.

She failed Wednesday.

She turns towards the bleachers, she searches for Wednesday to see her reaction, but she doesn’t think she’s ready for the dreadful look of disappointment.

“Good attempt.” She jumps, accompanied by a yelp. She twists her body to face the voice coming from behind her.

It’s Wednesday, standing, arms by her side, adorning her regular uneasy looking face. Nothing out of the ordinary. Though, Enid isn’t convinced she truly means it.

“I’m so sorry, Wednesday!” She falls to her knees and wraps her arms around her roommate’s waist, shoving her face into the fabric of her striped shirt

Wednesday stands unmoving, hands stiffly still by her side. Her blank stare relocates to the emotional mess strapped to her knees.

“I ruined everything! You guys were counting on me, and I fell for everything you told me not to! You told me not to let her get in my head! Well, I did anyway! How did I lose to a sea creature?!” She balls her fingers into Wednesday’s shirt, blubbering deeper, and more muffled with each sob.

She feels sudden pressure on the top of her head. Then the single pressure becomes five separate, smaller pressures, and they slowly start a trek from the front of her head to the back, parting the hair in their wake, and finally she makes the connection. It’s Wednesday. 

“It is okay, Enid. The first game is always the hardest. Now we know what we’re up against. Don’t take it too seriously.”

Sacrificing her disdain for physical contact in favor of comforting her. Making a lucid and intentional decision to make somebody feel happy instead of miserable. It’s shocking. It sends a shiver down her spine.

Enid pulls her face away, looking up into Wednesday’s dark eyes with her own tear stained ones.

“You’re not mad at me?” She sniffles.

“No.”

“You don’t think I’m completely and utterly useless?” She cautiously pulls herself up to a standing position, keeping her eyes trained on Wednesday’s.

“Never in a million years. You’ve proven yourself time and time again,” She lets her hand fall to Enid’s cheek, wiping a stray tear with the pad of her thumb, “A stupid race will not change that.”

She smiles wide, her head leans into Wednesday’s touch ever so slightly, instinctively, and her fingers clasp together in front of her, like it could somehow stop all of her feelings from pouring out of her.

“The next event is up to Xavier, we’ll have time to reconvene before then,” Wednesday reassures her, dropping her hand once she acknowledges Enid’s feelings are in a much better state.

Enid nods her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

They walk towards the bleachers, past the crowd of people showing their support, mostly for the sirens. It turns out hosting a resplendent dance to gain recognition for your team will certainly do just that. 

The sirens have already made it back to their self-dedicated section of the bleachers, all celebrating and laughing obnoxiously. It’s almost like they have a sixth sense for when Wednesday comes around, because they don’t hesitate to twirl around and squint, like they’re sending some sort of message.

“Their potion works better than I could have imagined. I’m curious what those witches put in it,” Wednesday thinks out loud, scrutinizing the sirens with her own unbothered glare.

“Maybe the recipe is in the big book about the evil witch,” Enid points out.

Wednesday retracts her glare, softening it and directing it towards Enid, “It’s possible. She’s done everything in her numerous lifetimes, surely she’s no stranger to drug deals with Halloweenified steroids.”

They find a seat next to Xavier and Eugene, both of whom congratulate Enid on her second place title. She thanks them hastily, then plops down next to Wednesday as she opens the massive novel to the page she left off on.

Enid points her finger to the top of the page, “Ooohh, ‘Morbyrn’ the perfect evil name for an evil witch!”

“Indeed.” She pinches the edge of the page, flipping over to a whole new page of potions she’s never seen before.

Almost instantly, she notices something off about it. The pages set a little too easily, and upon further investigation, the potions skip from the K’s and L’s to the O’s and P’s. She runs her index finger through the crease, and sure enough, a page has been ripped out.

Wednesday and Enid lock eyes at the same time, both coming to a similar conclusion.

“A missing page…”

“Who could’ve ripped it out?”

“It could’ve been anybody, I’m sure this book has seen plenty of people, but… I’m willing to bet it’s pretty recent.”

“That means it could only be…”

She flips the page back over, back to where the chapter is introduced with “Morbyrn’s Magic Tavern.”

“...Our messenger and her raven companion, or our faint-hearted, cowardly principal who knows a couple of card tricks.”

She looks up from the page and down to the track. Eugene and Xavier have already made their way down there for the next event. More importantly, however, Principal Brown sits at a table on the outskirts of the track, mindlessly shuffling his cards. He pops one in the air and catches it in his other hand, then looks around with a big, stupid grin on his face to see if anyone was watching. 

No one was. 

His smile fades, and he slinks into himself, returning to shuffling his cards by himself while he waits for the next event.

Wednesday locks eyes with Enid, and Enid does not like what she sees behind them. She stands up without another word, despite Enid’s complaints. She promised she wouldn’t do this, but she was comparatively ignorant when she made that promise. 

She walks fast, determined to get to her destination, the environment around her glows with a newfound sense of realization, like the walls have been trying to tell her all along. Like it might as well have been written on her own forehead.

She storms through Nevermore, meanwhile her brain works on overdrive, connecting all the pieces in her head. There were so many signs, and yet still so many unanswered questions. 

She reaches the chamber doors, the large, haunting slabs of aged wood and corroded metal, a door that does not match the principal she thought she knew to a T.

She doesn’t hesitate to swing them open, they’re not even locked. She marches towards the undeserving desk, ripping open cabinets and drawers and disheveling every last morsel of organization there once was. Papers fly around her, floating to the floor, contradictorily, with grace. She’s like a tornado, everything she touches gets launched in every direction. But, if her suspicion is correct, it will all be worth it.

She raids the tightly-packed bookshelf and in her feverish onslaught she deshelves a book, which comes crashing to the floor. She picks it up and instinctively dusts it off to read the title. The only problem is, there is no title. She opens the front cover, and within the hard shell of the book lies… nothing. There are no words on the pages, it’s empty from cover to cover.

She tosses back onto the ground and rips another book off of the shelf. Lo and behold, it is also completely empty. She discards it, too.

Wednesday takes a step back, taking a long, reflective look at the chaos she just caused, all confined within the walls of Principal Brown’s small, dark office. Everything is in disarray, trying to find anything would be a nightmare at this point. 

This room, it’s like a decoy. It’s essentially just a staged house, desperate to be sold. Mr. Brown never intended to be here for long.

Wednesday stops for a second, taking a look at the room as a whole. Not just the bookshelf or the desk, but how the bookshelf sits awkwardly against the wall, or how the room would look better if the desk was not right in the middle of it, acting as an intimidating centerpiece.

That look may have fit Weems, but it’s laughable on Mr. Brown. 

The walls are barren, except for one painting. Wednesday recognizes it. It’s a painting by Cornelis Norbertus Gijsbrechts. It depicts a board partition and a letter rack overflowing with paper. The impressive part of the piece is the attention to detail the artist had. Having to paint the pictures on such a small scale, and the overflowing pages all with their own story. There’s a comb in the top left corner, his nudge to explore every detail as closely as possible, or to “comb” it.

It’s hidden in plain sight. It’s where it’s supposed to be, but you’d never think to look at it.

It’s hidden in plain sight…

Of course it is.

Wednesday storms out of the room with newfound clarity, thanks to Gijsbrechts. Before long she stands in front of the big doors of Mr. Brown’s alchemy class. She swings the doors open wide.

The very wall decor she had glanced over so quickly now becomes the forefront of her investigation. Though, she does tear open every drawer in the abandoned desk just in case.

In the first drawer, she finds his collection of lavender cigars and an innately detailed lighter. The second, third, and fourth contain nothing but useless office supplies, and the fifth one contains a revolver, the same revolver from their rigged poker match.

She grabs one frame off of the wall and looks at it very closely. It’s just a research paper on Dionaea muscipula, the Venus fly trap. She hangs it back up.

Her next choice actually has a picture of a potion on it, but there’s only one problem. It’s purple.

She reads closer into it, anyway. She finds out pretty quickly, it’s just glorified grape juice. She promptly moves on to the next one.

She skips past a couple of irrelevant documents and lands on one that looks pretty promising. There’s two potions on this page, separated by a plus sign. The first is red with a title underneath it. Sorbendum praebe vesania.

On the other side of the plus is a yellow potion with the name nota sacerdotis.The best part is, the corner of the page is ripped off in an oddly perfect way. It looks exactly like the piece of paper she found next to the dead vampire.

This is the evidence she’s been looking for all this time, displayed like a proud accomplishment. Like a kindergartner's art to a fridge.

She runs out of the room, she has to tell Enid about this discovery.

—

Wednesday left in a hurry, without even looking back, leaving Enid here, on the bleachers, by her lonesome to piece together some kind of strategy for the remainder of today’s Nevermore events. On her hasty exit, she forgot to leave behind the ticket to their victory: the performance potion.

She looks down at the track and field. Eugene is hyping up Xavier, and Xavier appears to be responding very well to it. The event is starting soon, so there’s no way she can throw something together for this event.

“Runners, to your places!”

Maybe, just maybe, there is time for the next event. She’s no witch, but how hard can throwing ingredients together be? Bakers do it all the time!

She opens the book back up, back to Morbyrn’s Magic Tavern. Surely this Morbyrn guy had to have documented some kind of enhancement potion -  speed, endurance, anything!

Out of curiosity, she ventures through some previous pages in the book. It was revealed within the secret lair that Morbyrn granted himself immortality so that he could spread his knowledge across generations. Fairly similar to how Mr. Brown is also a teacher.

Upon closer inspection, Mr. Brown and Morbyrn actually have a lot more in common, such as the letters in their name being nearly identical… All except for the Y and the W.

3…

Mr. Brown…

2…

Is he really…?

1…

“Morbyrn.” Wednesday appears behind her the moment the gunshot goes off, giving Enid quite the scare, “It’s a pseudonym.”

Enid quickly turns to face her.

“It feels so obvious now, the cards, the potions, I think part of me just didn’t want to believe it,” Wednesday crosses her arms.

“But what about the murders? They still don’t add up, a potion, a slaughter, and a beheading?”

“We can figure out how after we take him down.”

They look back to the track right as the competitors are approaching the finish line. Of course, Ida wins with flying colors.

Eugene is quick to support Xavier as he breathlessly crosses the finish line. She can’t hear it, but she can only imagine the motivational and uplifting messages he’s spewing right now.

“I think they’ll do fine for the rest of the events today…” She spins on her heel and walks away, back the way she came. Enid follows her this time, staggering to stand up and running after her.

She looks back at her hopeless teammates one last time.

“Yeah, they’ll do great…”

Chapter Text

Sorbendum praebe vesania. A sip of insanity. A liquid parasite. The potion causes the victim to lose control, in favor of dictatorial pursuit that the ‘parasite’ imposes on the body and mind. They become somewhat of a shell, only housing a conscience that can see, but not do. The potion urges them to shelter themselves from their support systems until they can figure out what’s wrong with them. An important footnote: The parasite works most effectively when paired with Titan arum - the corpse flower - as it accelerates breeding patterns that are much faster than that of homo sapien neurons.

Nota sacerdotis. Brand of the priest. When everything is cold and dark, the small sputtering flame of a match can look really tempting, and the tiny voice in the back of your head screaming “be careful!” is smothered. They almost always cling to it, and their wooden supports are burned down and replaced with cold, concrete beams. It evicts the old dictator and replaces it with a new one, the priest.

With it comes a harrowing sort of community, everyone with the brand of the priest is connected. It makes them want to stay, safety is better in numbers after all…

They function as normal after this, but under the extreme supervision of the priest. The priest can leave the victim on autopilot, but they know every move they make and they can take the wheel whenever they want.

In fact, everyone with the brand, everyone within the hive mind knows what each other is up to. The more people in a hive mind, the less sense of self one member has.

In simpler terms, Morbyrn is going to mind control the Nevermore student body. Why? She’s not quite sure, but she has several guesses.

Revenge? World domination? Boredom?

Originally, Eugene was going to be Wednesday’s decoy for the logic games since he’s proven to be a good listener and adapts well to unexpected circumstances, but she thinks he doesn’t have what it takes to be the decoy against such an unpredictable and powerful being, and he’s incredibly in the dark about the whole situation.

Now Wednesday’s decoy will be Enid, who’s been with her every step of the way.

Hopefully Eugene will find good use with the morse code she’s been drilling in his brain.

As expected, team Wednesday did not place first on the physical events. Brute strength can only take you so far, and without Wednesday there to strategize, they crumbled.

There is one upside, and that is that Eugene managed to not break a bone during the rugby match, though he did sustain other injuries that may include a concussion, which would make him an unfit candidate for the logic section anyhow.

Rather than Enid being a vessel for Wednesday to channel commands through like Eugene would be, she is going to act as surveillance - watching Mr. Brown’s every move and relaying it back to her in preparation for her plan.

Yes, her plan: Wait for Mr. Brown to go in for the kill, then track him down and detain him. At that point will all their questions be answered, hopefully violently.

But it won’t be that easy. Mr. Brown is always one step ahead. To alleviate any lost time from travel, Wednesday has mapped out the fastest route to every location that she would expect Mr. Brown to go to, such as his office or his classroom.

“Wednesday, what now?” The ear piece strung around her ear buzzes to life with the sound of Enid’s whispered voice.

She peeks out from behind the cobbled wall and pulls the binoculars strapped around her neck up to her eyes. She zooms in on the table. The opponent has just moved their pawn to E5, opening up an opportunity to capture, though it leaves her pawn vulnerable.

“F4 to E5.” She’s confident. Who wouldn’t be against someone this incompetent?

Enid was matched up against Ajax, the gorgon who has never been particularly motivated to learn anything, much less chess. It works out great, because they can stretch out the game as long as possible, giving Enid more time to be on the field before she matches up with a formidable opponent.

She moves the pawn as Wednesday asks and presses down her side of the chess clock. Ajax, mouth agape, hunches into himself to be eye level with his pegs, studying them, as if he is truly focusing. Though everyone watching (Wednesday) knows there is not a thought running through his head.

“If you want to watch so badly, why don’t we just get closer?” Xavier raises the question, sat, knees propped up behind the cement wall shoulder to shoulder with Wednesday. She’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Nobody wants to watch chess, it would seem suspicious to be so invested,” She returns to her previous position, mirroring Xavier’s as she lowers her binoculars to her lap.

He turns his head towards her, “Wednesday, you enjoying chess would not be suspicious whatsoever.”

Wednesday doesn’t entertain him with a response.

The truth is, she hadn’t spent as much time as she’d hoped finding the potion that would answer all of her questions. Instead, she spent hours trying to teach Enid how to play chess.

~

Wednesday plucks her next piece off of the board.

“This horse-like piece is your knight, it can move in an L-shape in front of or behind itself,” She taps her fingers on each of the applicable squares, “It can also jump over other pieces, but only captures the square it lands on.”

“Ah, like a real horse,” She looks up from the board and back to Wednesday.

“Yes, like a real horse.” 

Enid picks up her pen and notebook from her criss-crossed lap and writes down the new information, though it mostly consists of ‘looks like a horse, acts like a horse.’

Meanwhile, Wednesday picks up her next piece, the one with the rounded top and a gash in the side.

“This is the bishop, it can only move diagonally, and it cannot jump over other pieces. Similar to the rook, just the opposite,” She puts back the bishop and reaches for the crown-shaped piece, “This right here is the queen, the most powerful piece in the game. She’s like a rook and a bishop combined, she can move diagonally and in all four directions. She’s very important because…”

Enid doesn’t really absorb any information after that point. She watches Wednesday do her descriptive display of the pieces, using her hands to give precise instructions. She doesn’t typically move much when she talks, not unless she has to. But right now, she shows off how much she knows, how comfortable she is with the subject. 

She’s very intelligent. I mean, obviously, she thinks. She’s also very controlled, and very methodical. Usually she shows it in her orchestrated movements. But this time, it’s not orchestrated. She’s demonstrating, and she’s making it up as she goes along. She pinches each piece carefully, extracting them from their home squares carefully so as to not knock over the others. She shows each one to Enid like a trophy, then gives it an in-depth breakdown in the center of the board. Then, she looks up at Enid, intermittently, to make sure she understands.

Like right now, when Wednesday meets her gaze, “Are you listening?”

“Yes, I- yes. I’m listening,” She smiles fondly. That’s all she has to show for it.

~

Did she learn anything? No. But in natural Wednesday fashion, she came up with something else. 

“Move your knight to C3.”

This works just as well.

At the other end of the field, the players are finishing up their games, one of them being Ida, who smirks ever so ingeniously at her poor, unsuspecting gorgon competitor who Wednesday struggles to describe as something other than “low-hanging fruit.”

She rolls her eyes and curves back around to her side of the cement wall. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her stolen piece of paper, and out with it comes her 5-legged (or fingered) cohort, Thing. He crawls up the length of her sleeve and around her neck, perching on her right shoulder.

Thing signs a warning, Ida looks like she may have something up her sleeve.

“You give her more credit than she’s worth. She’s a cocky athlete with a big lead, but inflated egos are like glass.”

She fluffs out her paper, as if it would help. She practically has it memorized.

There is a reason she pulled it out. Maybe if she stares at the words long enough she can piece together some sort of hidden recipe or impossible backstory to make sense of it all, but it’s never that easy.

“He’s moving.” the earpiece buzzes.

Wednesday whips around with her binoculars, and searches for the new development on the board. Except, she doesn’t find anything different.

“Which piece did he move?” She asks for clarification.

“Not Ajax! Morbyrn! He just stood up, and he’s walking into the building!”

Her binoculars dart to track the principal, who is, in fact, walking into the Nevermore building, inconspicuously running a finger and thumb down the lapel of his suit. 

Without another beat, Wednesday stands up and discards the binoculars, tossing them into Xavier's lap. He attempts to question the sudden movement, but she is already long gone. Thing signs something unintelligible before leaping into Wednesday’s bag.

It only takes about 20 seconds for her to catch up to Mr. Brown, and it doesn’t look like he’s making any stops at his expected locations, but the upcoming hallway gives her an idea of where he might be going.

The man clears his throat as he makes a right turn into the men’s restroom. Before he can even make the full rotation, a small, dark object appears before him, blocking his entrance.

He jumps and throws his hands up defensively, “What are you doing in the men’s restroom, Wednesday?”

She crosses her arms, “The intense chess matches were giving Eugene a nervous stomach, I only came here to check on him.”

His alarmed state lowers as he realizes there is no threat, “Well that’s no way to start a chess match. I hope that boy never gets drafted into the military.”

Wednesday nods in agreement.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, Wednesday, I have… business to attend to.”

She takes a look behind her, weighing her options. He’s not done anything incriminating yet, but she fears she’s running out of time. 

“Of course.” She sidesteps, giving him room to enter. When his back is to her, Thing drops out of the bag.

-

Thing scurries behind the witch quietly, taking cover behind various stalls and trash cans until Mr. Brown chooses a suitable stall for himself (he chooses the accessible stall, Thing finds it rather distasteful.) Once he hears the stall close, his mission starts. There’s only one problem - Thing crawling under the stall would certainly threaten his chances of remaining undetected, there’s no sneaky way to do it. 

He ponders for a moment. He’s small, and he’s agile, maybe he can claw his way over with the help of the various objects protruding from the stall walls. Of course, that does mean mounting the revolting, unsanitary toilet seat.

He shoves his doubt away, it’s for a good cause. He scouts out the toilet seat, and from there he could definitely make it to the toilet paper holder. The next available object is the coat hook, residing at the very top of the stall. There’s quite a lot of spring in Thing’s digits, but that would be a nearly impossible gap, even for him.

There has to be a better way, perhaps someone left a coat hanging in one of the stalls that Thing can climb? He searches each open stall, but to no avail. However, another idea rings in Thing’s brain upon seeing the sanitary bin in the last stall. Or perhaps, the thing stuck to it. 

He couldn’t have imagined something more foul than wallowing on a filthy toilet, but just as his hopes are high, something more gut-wrenching comes into play. A freshly-chewed, still-sticky piece of gum stuck on the sanitary bin. 

Great.

He climbs the toilet, and from there he leaps to the sanitary bin. The metal top hitting the pads of his fingers echoes through the bathroom. He stands as still as possible, gauging if the target has anything to say about the sudden noise. 

Not a peep comes from the stall, not even so much as a shuffle or postural adjustment. He proceeds to unstick the gum with his least dominant fingers, sticking it to his pinky for the ride. He dismounts, and scampers to the stall nearest Mr. Brown and thus begins his ascent into the accessible stall.

He climbs the toilet again. Easy, even with four fingers. He hops over to the toilet paper holder on the right side of the stall, much more cautious than before. He rips a piece off from the gum, one for each finger. He sticks his index finger on first, it sticks pretty reliably. He proceeds with his middle finger, and on up until he is horizontal to the floor, and walking on the y-axis. By the time he nears the top, he’s practically a professional.

He pinches the top of the stall, it’s quite a hard perch for his anatomy, but he balances nonetheless. He tries to pull the gum off, but it’s much more difficult without solid ground. If he could just move at the right angle-

He put too much trust into the gum sticking to his ring and pinky finger. As he pulls just far enough away from it, it unsticks from him and he is left in a freefall, plummeting to the tile floor. He uses his final moments to reminisce on all the great times he’s had, because as soon as the principal sees him, his goose is effectively cooked.

He smacks into the tile, his fingers curl up like a spider after its death. He doesn’t move for a moment, escape is futile. After about five seconds of anticipation for his final moments, he unclenches his loosely balled fist. Morbyrn is not lunging towards him, in fact he's not moving at all. He sits poised with excellent posture, unblinking and unreactive.

Very strange, anyone with a working set of eyes would have seen the missile of a hand fall from above them. Evidently, his eyes are not functional. He jumps back onto his feet and takes several steps back. From this new angle, he can see that the principal's eyes are yellow, and not just a flash. They are completely enveloped in this familiar yellow color.

This must be it. Mr. Brown must be invoking the brand in one of his victims right now. Thing hastily retreats under the stall door, and as he nears the exit, Mr. Brown finally vocalizes something, stopping Thing in his tracks.

“Subject vulnerable, report to phase one of the last ingredient extraction: werewolf fur.”

Thing double takes. There’s only one werewolf he can think of that isn’t accompanied by a pack right now…

-

Wednesday makes her way through the halls, aiming to go back to the field to witness the Nevermore chess match. She can keep an eye on everyone if they’re all bunched up in one place. She takes her time, however, to give Thing ample time to work. 

She stops by the familiar spot in the hall. The place where the mutilated siren was found. It’s eerie, knowing what was once here that now there is no trace of. Well, no trace to the unsuspecting eye. The best cleaning crew in the world couldn’t get that stench out of the wall, and most definitely not the floor. It serves a great purpose that a memorial banner fit with roses and peonies that significantly overshadow the lingering smell of death in the air would be placed here. 

It wasn’t a sign of respect at all, it’s just a cover-up. Everything is just a cover-up. But Mr. Brown can’t deny that red and yellow makes orange, and that fateful piece of glass was just the first domino in the set to Morbyrn’s downfall. 

Thing’s skittering fingers can be heard from down the hall, causing Wednesday’s attention to turn back towards the bathroom. He’s panicked, and when he reaches her, his signing is so flustered she can’t even understand him. 

“Slow down, Thing! What is it?” She crouches down to his level.

He signs the list of ingredients that they know have been collected so far: snake, scale, and fang, and he emphasizes the last ingredient: werewolf fur.

Wednesday is quick to stand up, eyes abnormally wide as she knows exactly where this is going. Thing climbs up Wednesday and hops back into the bag, while Wednesday kicks into a searing sprint towards the Nevermore field.

Chapter Text

She doesn’t bother looking at the field, it’ll only waste time. Morbyrn has already played his queen piece, giving Wednesday finite time to respond.

It’s as if all of the pieces of the puzzle fall into place at once. This one detail makes it all make sense, the ingredients being a piece of the four most common species in Nevermore. The reappearing yellow eyes, they’d all been infected with the brand. 

The witch had even been dropping her hints the whole time. She reflects back to Ida’s comment.

“Knapp daneben ist auch vorbei.”

Close, but no cigar. A close miss is still a miss.

Accompanied by the reptilian yellow eyes, which at the time Wednesday wrote off as a special siren quirk. 

Morbyrn was watching her the whole time. He stepped in every time she got too close. 

She swings the door open to the alchemy classroom and with great speed rips the rings from her fingers, spacing them evenly apart on either side of the scale. The wall trudges open just as it did before, and she storms down the short passage until she can see everything going on inside the room.

Enid, chained to the wall by tungsten chains, pleads for mercy while several Nevermore students poke and prod at her with silver-tipped tools.

One student, a gorgon approaches her, perhaps a bit too close as Enid lobs a knee into his stomach. The student grunts and stumbles backwards, clutching his stomach.

“Dumb move, bitch!” The student spits as he vengefully plunges his blunt, silver crowbar into her side. It even makes Wednesday twitch.

Enid hisses, reflexively yanking at the chains restraining her. She grits her teeth, “You were gonna do that anyway, weren’t you? Some revenge swing that was, I guess that’s why you couldn’t make the baseball team in the third grade.”

A scathing insult, something Enid usually saves for the personal diary. 

“Everyone makes the team in third grade,” She throws salt in the wound.

He snarls, yet he’s too embarrassed to attempt another swing.

A different student chimes in, this time a siren, “If you would just wolf out, this could all be over, we’ll put you out of your misery.”

So, Enid can’t wolf out, even under these extremely intense circumstances where her emotions should be at an all time high. No wolf, no fur. Great. This gives Wednesday time to think.

If all of these students are under Morbyrn’s spell, then Morbyrn knows what every single one of them sees, making it impossible for her to make a stealthy entrance. She peeks around the corner to see how many people she will have to evade, which totals to eight. Before she ducks back behind the corner, she hears the familiar caw of the raven that has accompanied every single dead body thus far, perched between the metal bars of the barred window nearly touching the ceiling - and it’s looking right at her. 

Once Wednesday confirms eye contact with the bird, it cocks its head towards the desk in the middle of the room and squawks once again. 

The raven must want something from inside the desk, but she can’t open it herself. Wednesday just has to find a way to distract them long enough to open the drawers. Luckily, she has enough experience from her childhood to concoct just the thing.

She steps back into the classroom and digs through countless drawers and cabinets. Within Mr. Brown’s desk drawers she finds the lighter next to the collection of cigars. She snatches it out from the drawer. She flicks it, watching the flame come to life. She releases it, and drops the lighter into her pocket. She also grabs a cigar from the drawer.

She opens up the fifth drawer to find the revolver and plucks it from its home. It must be pretty old considering Mr. Brown is hundreds of years older than he was pretending to be. She flicks the cylinder open and removes each bullet from the chamber. She worries with each cartridge until the opening is exposed on every one of them.

Wednesday grabs her cigar and unrolls it, dumping out the lavender inside and empties each cartridge of gunpowder into the unrolled cigar paper. She rolls it back up with the new contents inside and folds the edges over.

A jarring scream comes from the other room, kicking Wednesday into overdrive.

Just a little longer, Enid.

She just needs a fuse. She looks around the room for something thin and flammable. She spots a few homemade candles around the room, some close to the end of their life. She reaches for one that only has a few lights left in it, and using the butt of her revolver, shatters the glass of the jar surrounding the wax. 

She opens another drawer, one full of office supplies, and pulls out a pair of scissors. She cuts the stringy wick off of the candle and makes a small incision into the cigar paper, which she promptly plugs with the candle wick. She holds up her concoction at eye level and scrunches her eyebrows, as if begging the inanimate object to work in her favor.

She places the cartridges back into the cylinder and flicks it shut, placing the revolver back in the drawer she found it in. 

Thing emerges from her bag and mounts on her shoulder, providing himself for assistance when she may need it.

She returns to the end of the hallway where the students are still taunting and torturing Enid. She looks to the barred window above Enid, where the raven still sits and waits for her. The raven cocks her head, as if asking if she’s ready.

Wednesday nods once and looks down to her pocket, removing the lighter and flicking the flame to life. It reminds her of the bonfire Enid dragged her to, the one she compared to a candlelight. She wants to show Enid a real flame to marvel at. 

She transfers the flame over to the short wick and waits patiently as it slowly travels down. Right as it reaches the cigar paper, she throws it into the opposite corner of the room where a stack of books sit atop a rickety wooden table. She covers her ears, and as soon as it touches the ground, it explodes with a loud bang that makes everyone in the room scream in fear as their eardrums ring. 

A fire starts to catch rapidly, and every student in the room, dazed and confused, runs over to put it out.

This is her chance, she crouches and runs towards the desk in the middle of the room. Thing dismounts to the table, opening one drawer while Wednesday opens the other. Inside the right drawer lies a bag of the psilocybin spores used to put Wednesday in a trance, and suddenly Wednesday knows exactly what’s about to happen. 

The raven flies into the room and perches on the desk as Wednesday pokes a hole into the bag. The flame in the corner of the room starts to become contained. At any moment now, the students will start looking for the cause.

Enid notices the bird first and Wednesday second. They lock eyes and Wednesday watches her get visibly more stressed, which is the opposite of what they want. She pinches her nose together to show Enid to hold her breath, and Enid nods in understanding. Then, she herself ducks underneath the desk and covers her mouth and nose with her shirt.

The raven takes flight, and the psilocybin spores sprinkle out of the bag and float through the air, being inhaled by every student in the room, and in a matter of seconds they are seeing stars. The raven squawks in a tedious rhythm to guide the students through their hallucination. 

When some students begin falling to the floor, that’s how Wednesday knows it should be safe to leave. She comes out from under the desk and rushes to Enid to free her from her chains.

“Oh my god, Wednesday I can’t believe you’re here, I-” Enid pants, interrupted by Wednesday’s hand covering her mouth.

“Not now, they’re in a trance.”

Enid only nods her head, prompting Wednesday’s hand to drop. 

She fiddles with the cuffs, but she can’t seem to pry them open. They’re far too heavy for any normal person to open, and the raven can only hold them off for so long. There must be a key with one of the students.

Her time is cut short by a different circumstance, one whose voice stops her in her tracks.

“I’m impressed, Wednesday. Really. No one has ever thought to put my subjects into a hallucinogenic state. You’re very bright.” Morbyrn’s voice echoes against the barren stone walls. She can hear Enid’s heartbeat start to speed up.

He pulls the revolver from his coat pocket and points it at Wednesday, “You remind me of a young buck that just barely wriggled from my grasp only a few years ago.”

He clicks the safety off of the gun, “So much cunning wasted on someone fighting the wrong fight.” 

Wednesday places a stabilizing hand on Enid’s side, maintaining dominance-asserting eye contact with Morbyrn.

“It’s not loaded,” Wednesday whispers, and Enid exhales a snarling breath.

“If only you had the experience I had, you’d have a different perspective. You’d be proud to fight by my side.”

Wednesday feels her hand substantially warming up and chances a look at Enid. Her face is starting to glisten with a sheen of sweat. She takes a deep breath, trying to stop it, but even Wednesday can tell it’s starting to look painful. They don’t have much time.

She tightens her grip on Enid’s side, this time directing all of her focus towards her, “It’s okay, Enid, he’s made it too far to end it now. He won’t hurt us.”

Enid’s breath starts to pick up, “He’ll hurt you,” She husks out, matter-of-factly, “And when he hurts you, I will not be able to hold back anymore.”

She’s right. She can’t control the wolf, but maybe she can control the narrative.

Wednesday looks back up to Morbyrn, “What should I take pride in you for. What cause is so valiant that you’d have to murder for it?”

“Greater good, Wednesday. If I control every being on Earth, I have the power to stop all wrongdoings. I can make the world a perfect place. Just a few sacrifices to end world hunger, make all of humanity equal to one another, and clean up the air and water and return this planet back to its former glory, to name a few,” He states, a little too nonchalantly.

“Then nobody has free will. No one even has a chance at a fair life. No one will learn from the consequences of their actions, society will not develop without the risk of harm.”

Morbyrn’s face twists into an incredulous grin, “You’ve only heard about suffering through history books, Wednesday, but I was there. I’ve witnessed hundreds of global catastrophes, displaced families, humans tortured by other humans which I can only do so much to save,” His face drops on a more serious note, “Then I’ve watched the ones who remember die out, and the ones too young to fathom let it happen again, and again, and again. It’s my responsibility as the most powerful witch in the world to put an end to it.”

It’s almost like he’s persecuting her. As if Wednesday is responsible for the pain and suffering in the world just because she’s lumped in with the group of people who have forgotten. 

“Who will stop you when you’re corrupted, Morbyrn? You may be on your way to being omniscient, but your judgment isn’t perfect. Power makes for a very clouded conscience.”

The gun relaxes in his grip as his expression turns elucidative, “I don’t seek power, I seek peace. Nobody will notice me, I’ll be nameless. They’ll believe me to be a part of their own mind - like second nature - directing them to make the right decisions.”

Wednesday turns her body to face him, removing her hand from Enid to focus her accusatory tirade towards Morbyrn, “Why do you have to kill Nevermore students to make that dream come true?”

“Consider it a form of… genetic modification. The brand must include a piece of genetic code familiar to the organism so it can be passed down through generations. So, I must harvest the DNA of the students who have special DNA, such as gorgons, sirens, vampires, and werewolves,” He proudly describes the science behind his plan, “All it took was one potion. The gorgon gets poisoned, the vampire’s ‘juice box’ is swapped out for the poisoned gorgon’s blood during the blood drive, making her weaker and weaker until a siren can lure her out and behead her. And then, well, the siren gets decimated. Nothing creative about that.”

He’s got that right.

Her silence leads him to believe she wants him to keep talking, “I’ve started by branding witches from every culture to spread the brand through their communities, and I’ve come here next to build an army of superhumans while their minds are still young and developing.”

She steps closer to him, “That’s far too much control for one person to have. There’s no good without bad, it’s how the world balances itself.”

“If only you cared about the other eight billion people roaming this planet as much as you cared about this lycanthrope right here,” He motions the revolver towards Enid.

Wednesday looks back at Enid, watching a drop of sweat drip from her downcast nose, eyes staring pointedly at the ground as her face gets more animalistic by the minute.

Wednesday looks back, her eyebrows scrunched together, looking through them with a new anger. She slowly steps closer to him, pointing an accusatory finger.

“It’s not your place to play God, Morbyrn,” She snarls.

Morbyrn re-centers his revolver to her, daring her to get any closer. She calls his bluff, entering his personal space.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” He wraps both hands around the handle, slipping a finger onto the trigger and backing away as she closes in.

She stops where she stands, though not from intimidation, “How interesting, Morbyrn. The so-called ‘greatest witch in the world’ is pointing a gun at a teenage girl in self-defense,” She crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side, “So, tell me Morbyrn, what makes you the greatest witch in the world?”

“I’m well-traveled.” He pulls the trigger, but nothing comes out. Wednesday raises an eyebrow at him, and before he has time to think, Thing leaps from the table and wraps a strangling grip around his throat. He tosses the gun in favor of ripping the sentient hand from around his neck.

Morbyrn knocks and slams into the limited furniture around the room, causing books to fall over and empty bottles to shatter until he and Thing take their battle to the floor. He uses one arm to pull himself towards the furthest wall. He pats his hand around the rocky interior as Thing’s grip gets tighter in the absence of his resistance. Finally, Morbyrn finds the soft spot in the wall, and pushes into it with all his might.

The wall flips around to expose a wall full of potions. He grabs the closest one he can reach from the floor and smashes it on the hand around his throat. When Thing still persists, he uses the jagged bottle handle to coerce him with a stab between the knuckles.

He gets the message, and quickly retreats back towards Wednesday with blood streaming down his fingers.

Wednesday steps back towards Enid, whose shoulders rise and fall rapidly from the heavy breathing and whose body is covered from head to toe in sweat, as if she just stepped out of a pool.

She grabs her chin, and points her face up towards her own. Her eyes are unrecognizable, her breaths are short and rugged, but she knows she’s still in there. 

“Try not to look or listen, okay?”

Her eyes softly focus at the sight Wednesday and her breaths slow at the rare but familiar touch of her hands.

She knows it won’t last long though. As her hand falls away from her face, she commits the feeling to memory, as it could be the last time she ever feels it. She shuts her eyes and lets her head droop back down as it was before. This time, the drop of water does not come from the tip of her nose, but rather the corner of her eye.

Morbyrn staggers to his feet, using the walls to prop himself up. Before he can even turn around, Wednesday throws a closed fist into the side of his face. He falls back down to the floor, and Wednesday grits her teeth in pain as she holds her fist into her center. 

She’s not winning this fight with her bare hands, not against a man twice her size and fifty times her age. Though, it appears she has a head start - Morbyrn isn’t making any effort to get up.

She swings her bag off of her shoulders, grabbing it by the handle and pinching the zipper, pulling it towards herself until-

THUMP.

She topples forward to the ground, catching herself with her hands, letting her bag fall by the wayside. She hears Enid pulling on her chains and growling low, like a warning - not for Wednesday, but for the assailant. 

“Knapp daneben ist auch vorbei.” Two sets of voices harmonize the saying. Ida, the vessel, and Morbyrn, the pilot.

As she gazes into the lifeless, yellow eye sockets of the siren she thought she knew, she can’t help but feel remorseful. Has every moment they’ve shared been nothing more than a red herring?

“Morbyrn, how many people have you branded?” She keeps her piercing glare locked onto the siren.

The voices speak in sync once again, “Practically every Nevermore student, even her,” They point to Enid, still internally battling herself, “I couldn’t control her, no, I didn’t make it quite that far, but deep down in her subconscious, tucked away where she couldn’t see it, she was in the hivemind. She had memories that weren’t hers. You can thank the tarot for that one.” They all grin devilishly, satanically, a smile that should be accompanied by a shrilling violin.

It clicks with Wednesday. Memories that weren’t hers. Her vision - a memory that Enid never had. The "spiritual vulnerability” was just a way for him to creep into their minds. Fortunately, there’s not a recorded day in history that Wednesday has been spiritually vulnerable.

Ida finishes off with a threatening step forward, pointing the tip of her blade between Wednesday’s eyebrows, “What better place to start a hivemind than the most influential siren at Nevermore.”

Without breaking eye contact, she kicks her large boot into the siren’s shin. The room echoes with her cry as she staggers back, giving Wednesday the chance to create space. She clambers to her feet and reaches for her bag. Before she can grab it, two sets of hands grab both of her arms from behind.

She struggles against them, but their grip is tight. She leans forward for some potential energy and flings her head back forcefully. She hisses when her head makes contact with the goon’s nose, causing the already sore spot in the back of her head to throb.

Without wasting a second, she flings herself into the desk, shouldering the other attacker to break her fall. He grunts as he crashes into the wood, then into the ground, and loosens his grip enough for Wednesday to slide out of his grasp.

It’s now that she notices the raven isn’t crying anymore, and any second now the other students are going to wake up and be manipulated against their will to stop her. 

She looks back at Enid once more. Her chest is heaving ferociously, but per Wednesday’s request, her downcast stare persists. 

She purses her lips, and turns back around to the fight, running to the other side of the room to retrieve her bag. Meanwhile, a third victim rises to the occasion, a gorgon, charging for a tackle. She dives towards Wednesday, just barely wrapping her arms around her ankles, bringing her down to the floor with her. 

She kicks her legs frantically, not making it easy on her pursuer, but the student claws her way closer to Wednesday, suppressing more and more of her movement as she closes in. She reaches a desperate hand out to her bag while her other hand stops the student from getting any closer. 

She feels one of the student’s hands wrap around hers while the other creeps up her arm with an unyielding grip, then she twists it.

Wednesday cries out in pain. She grits her teeth and lets her head hit the ground in silent defeat.

“One unfortunate bend and it’s broken, Wednesday,” Morbyrn taunts vicariously, “I’ll give you a second chance. Don’t give me any more problems, and you keep this arm. I’ll even let you live the rest of your life without my hindrance,” Morbyrn speaks his offer through the girl.

“Oh gee, thanks Mr. Brown,” She winces, “You always were a stand-up guy. If I fight a little harder, will you throw in a ten percent discount on all taxidermied animals?”

She wrenches the arm a little harder, and Wednesday gives a disapproving groan.

“I’m being serious, Wednesday. You have a very promising life ahead of you.”

“Why would I want to live in a world full of people who can’t think for themselves? I’d just be talking to you all the time. No fun in torture if they all scream the same.”

Suddenly, the pressure is released from her arm, and in one fell swoop she is lifted back to her feet and restrained, arms pinned behind her back by the two boys from earlier, and the sharp glass blade used to stab Thing, still soaked in blood, is held against her neck by the gorgon, daring her to make another remark.

Ida comes back into the frame of Wednesday’s inhibited vision, crouching down to meet her at eye level.

All four students and Morbyrn speak synchronously, “If it’s life or death to you, then we’ll up the stakes…”

One of the gorgon’s snakes escapes her head wrap, slithering around her neck and up to her jaw, flicking its tongue against her skin. Wednesday doesn’t flinch, in fact she welcomes the contact.

She’s running out of options, her eyes dart around, looking for Thing, maybe he can be her saving grace. She spots him out of the corner of her eye, licking his wounds in the corner. By the looks of it, he’s not getting up any time soon. 

“What’ll it be Wednesday?” The voices hiss in her ear simultaneously.

“Life,” The snake flicks its tongue against her cheek.

“Or death,” The gorgon squeezes the shard of glass against her neck, the jagged edge pierces through the skin of her neck, just enough to draw a small stream of blood that travels over her collarbone and stops as it meets the fabric of her collar. Wednesday clamps her eyes shut and hopes for the best.

A snarled, low sniffing sound comes from across the room, it grows louder until it reaches its apex and comes to a complete stop, until her broken, shallow voice mutters something barely audible.

"...Cinnamon?"

The deathly silent room only amplifies the sound of twisting and creaking metal that follows, and the twisting slowly creeps into splintering, and from there it jumps to unrestrained banging, and the banging is accompanied by a heavy, deep growling that grows as the banging gets more intense.

Wednesday realizes she forgot to cover one major werewolf sense, arguably the most important one - her sense of smell.

Through the noisy array of metal and heavy breathing comes the sound of cracking and popping. It sounds painful, like tree limbs snapping or… bones breaking. 

Suddenly all the noise subsides, but only for a second. One last pull makes the tungsten finally give in, the restraints are ripped straight from the wall, and Wednesday knows the wolf has been unleashed. 

She opens her eyes to the sight of a beast like no other, more beautiful than she remembers, and she watches as Enid Sinclair’s wolf lets out a guttural roar that’s been building inside since she first entered this sorry excuse for a dungeon.

Wednesday smiles, she’s wanted to see her in all her glory since their rushed encounter with the Hyde.

Enid slams Ida across the room without another thought, and the other students disperse in an attempt to save themselves.

The gorgon reaches for one of the discarded silver tools on the floor. She successfully picks it up, but Enid shoves her into the nearest wall, pinning her there with no exit route, and locking her in with a death grip around her throat. The gorgon desperately weasels the paint scraper between them.

“Please. . .” The girl begs, “I couldn’t control myself”

The student’s confession was not accompanied by Morbyrn’s condescending bass. Wednesday looks a little closer, and she sees the girl’s eye color has returned back to normal.

She approaches Enid from behind, placing a gentle hand on the coarse fur of her back, though Enid remains fixed on the student.

“She’s telling the truth,” She reassures Enid.

Enid huffs understandingly, still assuming a death glare at her, but lessening her grip enough for the girl to escape. She promptly runs out of the dungeon, as do the other scaredy teenagers.

Enid swings her head around leaping across the room to Morbyrn’s body. The only problem is, his body is no longer laid out in the corner.

“You see Wednesday,” Morbyrn bellows from behind his desk, “In order to invoke the brand, the priest has to be unconscious. If you think my ultimate plan is motivated by power, well, I would never be awake to benefit from it.”

“Unconscious, huh? That makes you pretty vulnerable,” Wednesday rasps out.

“Ah, I’ve planned for it. I’ve had a lot of years to think about it,” He taps the side of his head with his finger.

“Now why don’t we even the playing field?” Morbyrn remarks, and Wednesday quirks an eyebrow.

A rhythmic stomping comes from the hallway, once it reaches the perimeter of the room it stops.

All at once a different werewolf, one with all black fur, except for three small white streak between the ears. With razor sharp claws, it comes flying out of the archway with an explosive force, diving into Enid and submerging them into their own fight.

Wednesday watches in awe as the two beasts bite and claw at one another, exchanging searing slashes and powerful kicks that make her wince just watching it.

She shan’t stare any longer, she has her own fight to attend to. She turns around and shoves Morbyrn out of the way, finally making the uninterrupted stride towards her bag, and pulling out the one thing she’s been looking for this whole time.

She grabs the tail end of the chain and pulls it the rest of the way out of the bag, she lets the bag drop to the floor, and wraps the chain once around her right wrist before letting the 8-ball dangle from it.

As the snarling ambience of her roommate fighting a wolf of equal size and stature crescendos, Wednesday slowly approaches Morbyrn, who watches her approach but does not back away. He only smiles at her, a smile that taunts her to ‘bring it on.’

Wednesday ducks low and swings the chained 8 ball at his midsection. He’s not fast enough to block it, so the round missile makes direct contact with his left rib cage. The thump it makes lets Wednesday know that she not only hit skin, but also bone. He grunts at the impact, and places a hand over the affected area.

Morbyrn hobbles to his desk and reaches down to open one of the lower drawers. He pulls out a round potion that is so radiantly blue that she doesn’t believe the FDA would approve it. He pops the cap off and downs the whole bottle in one big gulp. He motions his hand, again beckoning her without vocalizing it.

It’s borderline disrespectful that Morbyrn thinks he has the authority to tell Wednesday when she’s allowed to attack, it irks her. She thinks Morbyrn deserves a more damaging blow.

She swings the chain around like a windmill, allowing it to gain speed and after about three rotations, Wednesday lifts it over her head for one last spin before launching it at Morbyrn’s head. This time, instead of his skull exploding like a pumpkin on pavement like Wednesday had so vividly imagined, it slaps against the skin of the palm of his hand. He wraps his fingers around the ball, and yanks the chain towards himself, bringing Wednesday closer to him.

In one big pull he wraps Wednesday in his arms, wrapping the chain around her throat and pulling back. Wednesday grabs the chain, pulling with all of her strength to get the chain away from her throat.

“The blue potion increases brain activity and motor function, giving me a better reaction time and hand-eye coordination, similar to a cat’s reflexes,” He breathes harshly, “I had to harvest many unethical ingredients to make it so strong, but it was for the greater good.”

Wednesday chokes while trying to gasp for air, reaching behind her to find the hand that is pulling so tightly on the chain.

“You have to make sacrifices to improve things, Wednesday. I figured you, of all people, would understand that.” He puts on his teacher's voice, like he thinks he’s teaching her some kind of lesson.

Finally, some relief has answered all of Wednesday prayers as Thing, with all the energy he can muster, flies into Morbyrn’s face in the form of a fist, staggering him to the wall, and causing him to drop the chain.

Wednesday inhales deeply, like she’d forgotten how to breathe. She falls to her knees, borrowing one of her hands that keeps her from falling over to feel the mark that was left from the chain. There’s somewhat of an indentation left, and too much pressure makes it sore. When she looks at her fingers, they’re marked with the blood from the glass shard.

She grasps the chain on the floor, and with her free hand she paws at the desk beside her, using it to leverage herself back to her feet. She looks over at the wolf fight on the other side of the room, the black-furred werewolf appears to be making some headway, judging by how he’s nearly got her pinned to the ground. She roars in his face like it’ll stop him, or give her some kind of strength. It doesn’t, but she can hold out.

Wednesday looks down at the glass bottle on the desk, then over to Morbyrn, who is quickly regaining his composure. Wednesday thinks she should not waste this answered prayer by standing and ogling.

Wednesday grabs the bottle by the neck and throws it at his head. It shatters, and he puts a hand out to block whatever is next.

She walks behind the desk and pulls open one of the drawers. Maybe Morbyrn keeps miscellaneous potions inside of all his desk drawers? 

There’s nothing inside. In that case, the drawer itself should do the trick.

She pulls the drawer the rest of the way out of the cubby hole, shuffles towards Morbyrn and with a wind up around her shoulder, slams the drawer down on his head. She lifts it back up and around, and slams it onto him again. Each time, she exasperatedly shouts, similar to Enid, thinking maybe it helps build strength.

It doesn’t. It only builds anger.

Once her arms can’t carry the drawer for another rotation, she throws it to the side and plops herself down on the ground, exhausted, propping a knee up to her chest.

She looks at Morbyrn’s slow-blinking eyelids soaked in his own blood.

“I thought you had to be unconscious to control people.” She asks between deep breaths, motioning towards the dog fight happening just a few feet away.

“I’m not controlling him. At least, not in that way,” He rasps, “Haven’t you ever heard of beast mastery?”

Wednesday squints, “Yes, I have.”

“He’s under my control, similar to how a hyde is controlled by its liberator. I found him in a very vulnerable situation. We bonded and now he’s like my son. I enrolled him here a long time ago, but I kept having to retrieve him to accompany me on my many journeys.”

Wednesday looks down at the ground, pulling her other knee up to her chest, and propping her arms up on them. Morbyrn is a good guy deep down, Wednesday knows it.

He continues, “That’s how I got this idea, beast mastery. How far can you take it? What beast can’t be controlled? I hypothesized that even humans could be controlled. After all, they’re mammals too. Everyone has a beast within them, not just a werewolf.”

“So, that’s Aegean?” 

“Indeed it is,” Morbyrn coughs, “Named after the Aegean Sea, where I rescued him and nursed him back to health after being cast out by his friends and family for being a freak of nature.”

Her eyes peer over to the progressing brawl. Enid is still holding her own, though her fur is more soaked in blood than when she last checked. She wishes she could do something to help, something to encourage-

Morbyrn’s voice interrupts her train of thought, “He can’t undergo transformation into his werewolf form unless I invoke him. I must command him, or I must be in clear danger.”

Wednesday turns her head back to the principal, giving him all of her direct attention, “What?”

“He had never transformed until he met me. We bonded, and I helped him find his wolf through various experiments. The first time he did, I was being pursued by law enforcement for my illegal witchcraft practices. We never set foot in Great Britain again until after 1735.” He chuckles at his own reminiscence, then starts coughing as a reminder of his ailments.

Wednesday watches him gag until he finally recovers some control over his body.

“It’s a pretty rare occurrence, which is why I was surprised you had one too.”

Wednesday widens her eyes until they’re bulging out of her head, “What?!”

“The other werewolves turn quite frequently, especially on full moons,” He chokes out, “Enid hasn’t once for the entire semester. That’s abnormal.”

“She’s just new to it. She has only wolfed out once before,” Wednesday denies, she grips her curled knee closer to herself.

“That’s not how it works, Wednesday. Any lycanthrope, no matter the age, would ‘wolf out’ the moment they were apprehended and prodded at by several pointy, silver weapons.”

Wednesday doesn’t have a response. She can’t argue, it makes sense. Enid has yet to prove she can wolf out without Wednesday’s interference.

She peers over once more. Enid is losing ground, badly. 

“Anger does not trigger their wolves, Wednesday. Love does.”

Aegean slashes at Enid’s face, and Enid can’t fight him off anymore. It’s like she’s run out of energy. Finally, Wednesday has an epiphany.

She pushes herself off of the ground and reaches for her black bag. She reaches her hand in and when she feels the cold, glass bottle neck she wraps her fingers around it and pulls it out. 

She doesn’t waste one second, she runs towards the wolves' fight, where Enid has finally conceded to being pinned on the ground. 

When Enid finally sees Wednesday through her blurred vision, she looks worried. She whimpers at Wednesday, though it’s clear she’s not afraid. It feels apologetic, moreso. The black wolf snarls, warning Wednesday to back away, but she pretends he’s not there.

Wednesday crouches next to Enid’s head. She presses her fingers underneath her chin, scratching a few times, hoping to purvey empathy. She taps twice on her chin. Once Enid sees the bottle containing the green liquid, she opens her mouth.

She pours the entirety of the container into her jaws, and before the bottle can empty, she watches Enid’s entire demeanor change. Her eyes shoot open and she huffs deeply through her nose. 

Enid throws the black wolf off of her with ease, and when she finally gets back onto her feet, Wednesday observes her raised hackles. 

She throws a punch at the wolf that would shatter any regular human's face into hundreds of pieces. After that one connects, she immediately throws another one, and again and again until the black wolf is backed against a wall.

He uses the wall in his favor, propelling himself off to give himself enough momentum to get one good hit in. 

Enid’s head rocks to the side as his furred fist makes contact with it, but it snaps back so fast that it really did nothing but make Enid more furious.

She dives into the wolf, reversing the roles that they were previously in, hammering punch after scratch after kick until he can finally kick her off of him. 

He goes in for another attack, but Enid’s increased awareness allows her to block it easily.

They roll around on the floor, taking their fight closer to the center of the room, but as Wednesday gets lost in her infatuated stare at the two beasts before her, she doesn’t hear her own attacker creeping up behind her.

Morbyrn slams the wooden chair from behind the desk into her body, a force so powerful and unexpected it leaves her momentarily airborne before she hits the ground.

Wednesday tries to push herself off the ground with one arm, but her progress is very slow. She cranes her neck to look at the witch, towering over her. Blood drips from his face and onto her hand.

She maneuvers the 8-ball into her palm and with the hand not supporting her, she pounds it into Morbyrn’s ankle. He yelps in pain and stumbles over himself trying to get weight off of it. While Wednesday tries to get back up, he kicks her in the stomach with the injured foot.

She coughs as all the air escapes her lungs, she wraps an arm around her own midsection.

“It was nice chatting with you, but I vote we end this now,” He pulls a familiar vial of a blue substance out from the inside of his coat, along with a syringe, “What say you?”

Wednesday doesn’t say anything. She just watches as Morbyrn plants the nightshade vial and syringe on the corner of the desk.

He steps closer to Wednesday’s struggling body, trying to crawl away but unable to get far. He grabs her by the shirt collar and lifts her up to eye level.

She points her toes, reaching for the ground to untangle herself from his grip, but her energy is spent. He smirks at her, smirks like he’s won. Then, he tosses her to the side. He throws her into the corner where she had beaten him mercilessly with a drawer, and her head hits the shelves of potions on the wall. One of the shelves falls out of place, causing the shelf to slant diagonally, and the potions on top of it to slide down it. All of them, one by one, shatter as they make contact with her head.

She’s not sure if it’s the potions or the concussion, but her vision is definitely blurry.

Through her blurred vision, she watches Enid drag Aegean in front of the open hallway and kicks him with both legs so hard that he flies into the desk in the chemistry classroom, completely flipping it over and causing the rings to fly off of the scale. The door begins rotating shut, and the black wolf lunges to reach the room in time. The wall seals shut, and only the black wolf's guttural roar and pawing at the wall can be heard from the other side.

With only one enemy left in the room, Enid faces Morbyrn, showing her teeth as she slowly paces towards him on all fours. Morbyrn backs away just as slowly as she approaches, keeping his eyes trained on her every movement. He keeps one hand out, giving himself some kind of faux leverage, while his other hand remains planted in his pocket.

Wednesday wants to warn her, but she can’t get her mouth to move. She can barely stand to keep her eyes open, and she’s starting to feel the warmth of blood pooling on her forehead.

Before long, Enid dives at him. He dodges to the left, meanwhile pulling his hand out of his pocket. While Enid turns around to slash at him, he splashes something in her face.

She recoils, whimpering and pawing at her face to get the substance out of her fur. Her skin starts to burn, Wednesday notes a trail of smoke steaming up from where Enid hides her face in her paws.

“Wolfsbane. Like pepper spray, but for wolves. There’s plenty where that came from, so I suggest you cooperate.” Morbyrn cripples back towards the desk where he left the nightshade.

Enid plops down next to Wednesday in the pile of discarded materials from this long, drawn out fight. She whines, almost begging for help at the burning sensation, knowing there is nothing Wednesday can do. 

Wednesday lulls her head to the side facing Enid, and weakly reaches for the space between Enid’s perked up ears and scratches her fingers on the top of her head. It appears to help Enid calm down, her ears relax and her sniveling dissipates into a vocalized sigh.

She props her head back up, keeping an eye on Morbyrn. He injects his syringe into the top of the nightshade vial. He pulls on the plunger, intensely focused on watching the blue liquid fill the tube until it reaches one of the marked lines, leaving only half of the substance left in the vial.

Enid notices too. She stands up, back on all fours, and circles him like a shark, and Morbyrn watches, patiently waiting for her to attack. Morbyrn flips the syringe upside down, pushing the plunger until a small drop of the nightshade squirts out. All the while hosting a devilish grin, excited for what's to come.

If Enid gets too close, she will surely be shot with the syringe. Yet, she can only attack up close.

Wednesday cannot lay down and watch that happen. She pushes herself off the pile and hobbles, quietly, towards Morbyrn. Once his back is facing her, she swings her chained 8-ball into the back of his head. 

He grabs the spot of impact as he yelps out in pain, then he whips his head to look at Wednesday, his face churned with fury.

“Enid, the desk!” Wednesday shouts, pointing towards the vial.

Enid charges Morbyrn, branching one arm out towards the desk, protracting her claws to add just enough length to reach the vial. When she feels it, she forcefully swings her arm into Morbyrn’s side, leaving 3 gashes in his side, and shattering the vial between her paw and the affected area.

“Nooooo! You idiots!” Morbyrn angrily squeals as the crushing weight of what just happened settles into his bloodstream.

“Innocent people are going to die because of you!” He grabs his side, right where his suit begins to stain blue, and winces as he feels the glass puncture his skin.

“I’ve saved so many,” He limps over to Wednesday, “Your brain is not yet developed to comprehend the good I’ve done for the world.”

“You’re still human, Morbyrn, you can’t control eight billion people at once, and certainly not forever.”

He grabs her shoulders, his incredulous eyes bulging out of his head, “It was going to be my last good deed to the world. I was going to give myself back to the Earth where I belong once I instilled good will into the heart and mind of the people. Now these students die in vain because of you. Their death was good for nothing, for the world will continue to rot at the hands of humans.”

He falls to his knees, “A thousand year legacy. You’ve bested me in this context, but you’ve disgraced the rest. I bid you farewell, Wednesday Addams.”

He collapses to the floor at Wednesday’s feet, a foam leaking from his mouth and pooling on the ground below it. 

Wednesday sighs deeply. Nothing can stop human nature, except, maybe, a really big asteroid.

She steps over Morbyrn’s body to walk closer to Enid, though before she makes it, Enid collapses to the floor as well. 

Wednesday rushes to her side, and Enid leans her head over to look at her, an apologetic glint in her eye.

Wednesday glances down at her paw, the glass shard still in her hand and the liquid becoming a tint of purple when mixed with the blood dripping from it.

“Stay in your wolf form.” Wednesday commands, and Enid weakly nods her head.

She stands up and makes her way to the table, finding a bowl and a mixer to start, then she wanders around the room looking for certain ingredients.

First, she finds the golden fruit of a strychnine tree. She plucks the ripe fruit from the twiggy branch and walks back to her table. She cuts the fruit in half and plucks a seed from the inside. She adds it to her bowl, along with a piece of the fruit that she cut from the middle.  

Enid groans to the ceiling, the nightshade surely beginning to take over. Wednesday walks back to her and sits down next to her paw. She flips it upright and sets it in her lap.

“Try not to move.” 

Before Enid can react, Wednesday has already pulled one of the five large pieces of glass out of her paw, causing Enid to hiss, but thankfully not move.

She pulls the rest of the four pieces out with nothing more than a whimper from Enid.

When she finishes her impromptu surgery, she reminds Enid again.

“Do not come out of the wolf.”

She stands up and dusts off her hands and begins her search for the next ingredient.

She spots a belladonna plant across the room, which has been planted in companionship with some sage. She rushes over to it, and digs her hands into the soil until she feels the root. She rips it out and adds it to the bowl alongside the strychnine tree fruit.

To finish it off, she adds a small bit of water to allow the ingredients to combine better, and with her mixer she swiftly mashes it all together until all the properties have combined.

She meets Enid by her side once again. Enid barely notices she’s there, her eyes are only half open. She’s not as wolf-like as she was only seconds ago. She’s running out of time.

She grabs Enid’s chin, willing her mouth open since she lacks the strength to do so herself. She pours the concoction into her mouth, shuts it, and props her head up so she can swallow it.

When she hears her swallow, she lays her head back down and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

“Come on, Enid.”

She leans in closer, noticing the beginning stages of the foamy evidence of the poison that has taken so many people from her.

“We won, Enid, you have to wake up.”

She places a hand on Enid’s stomach, but she’s not met with the furry contact she was expecting. She looks down to where her hand lay, and she is instead met with the fur receding and being replaced by her bare skin. She follows the receding trail, trying to chase it as if to stop it if she catches it. She grabs her arm, then her shoulder, then her face, trying to hold on, trying to give the antidote time to catch up to the nightshade. 

She watches as the face between her two hands sheds all of its fur and returns back to the state of the regular Enid Sinclair, the way she remembers her. 

A single tear falls from Wednesday’s eye, down her cheek and her neck until it too is absorbed into the collar of her shirt like the blood from her previous fight.

“We did not win this for nothing, Enid,” She grabs her hand and squeezes it between both of hers, “We didn’t win for you to die like this.”

She wipes the foam from her mouth.

“Please, Enid,” She devolves to begging, whether it be to Enid or whatever higher power deals in fate, “It is rare that I love. Don’t let it be true that the universe only lets me love just to take it away from me.”

More tears shed from her eyes, and she hates it. Crying is what people do at funerals, crying is the same as giving up hope, the same as accepting it’s over.

She removes her jacket and covers Enid with it. She grabs her hand and clasps it between both of her own, and she does nothing but stare at Enid’s motionless face indefinitely.

After about ten seconds of staring, she sees movement. Her eyeball, underneath her eyelid, twitched. Then it happens again, and again, until finally her eyelid opens to barely expose the glassy, blue eyes hiding underneath. They take a moment to focus, and when they do, they fall on Wednesday.

“Hey.” She says groggily, and Wednesday does not hesitate.

She leans in quickly, as if the moment will escape her, and consumes Enid with a kiss. A motion motivated by something deep within her, even deeper than the deepest crevices of her dark, twisted soul she thought she knew every nook and cranny of. Not spurred by her brain, but by some dimly lit flame flickering low within her. Something impulsive.

She supports Enid’s head as she tries to sit up ever so slightly, though she winces when she does so. Wednesday pulls back when she notices.

Enid puts a hand out, keeping Wednesday at bay just long enough so she can roll over and throw up.

Wednesday is relieved to see the blue liquid leave her system. It’s like the final nail in Morbyrn’s coffin.

“I was terrified I would wake up and you would be dead,” Enid croaks out through thick swallows, and wipes her mouth with her arm.

“I was terrified you wouldn’t wake up.” She confesses with large, rounded eyes. Enid smiles, despite the traumatizing events that just transpired, the room glows radiant with a feeling of victory.

A sudden pain takes her, and she lays an arm over her abdomen.

“I think I need medical attention,” Enid requests, and Wednesday nods her head in agreement. 

She helps Enid to her feet, putting the jacket on her the right way and zipping it up for decency sake, while supporting her weight with her arm over her shoulder. They hobble out of the cursed witch dungeon together.

Chapter Text

Enid explodes out of her bed, panting hard as she lands on her hands and knees on the cold, hardwood floor. She places a hand on her chest, noting the ring of sweat that has collected around the neck of her tank top. She takes deeper, more stabilizing breaths as she reenters the real world. If she has to relive this traumatic experience in her dreams every single night, she’d rather not sleep at all.

She turns her head to look at her roommate, who is not in her bed, but rather sitting icily upright at her desk typing on her archaic typewriter. Enid opens her mouth to speak, but Wednesday beats her to it.

“Trouble sleeping?” Wednesday’s tapping stalls as she waits for an answer.

“Uh… yeah,” She exhales.

“It wasn’t the clicking, was it? If so I can put it away for now-”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Enid laughs - to herself, mostly. She can’t believe Wednesday even remembers the typing bothers her after everything that’s happened, “Just bad dreams.”

Wednesday makes a sound of understanding. 

Enid pushes herself to her feet, “What about you? Bad dreams?”

“Yes, actually,” She twists around in her chair to face her roommate, “A recurring plot. Every time I close my eyes, you die a tragic and ultimately preventable death.”

Enid scrunches her eyebrows together, and instinctively, she crosses over into Wednesday’s side of the room.

She places a hand on the back of Wednesday’s polished wooden chair, “You don’t blame yourself, do you?”

“Not completely, but partly. I let three students die before I found a conclusion, and nearly made a fourth one out of you,” Wednesday drops her eye contact to focus on Enid’s body, “Which, by the way, you appear to be recovering very quickly.”

Enid looks down at herself, all of her wounds and abrasions have completely healed besides a few deep cuts, which are now better described as scars, “Gotta love the fast-healing.”

Wednesday turns back around in her chair, picking up where she left off typing on her typewriter.

Enid plants her other hand on her roommate’s desk, “Wednesday, you saved hundreds of students from Morbyrn’s reign of terror. Morbyrn was a lot smarter than Thornhill was. I mean, imagine if no one stepped in. We’d all be mindless drones right now, living out of body and doing some evil guy’s bidding. You didn’t just save me, you saved everybody.”

“You’re right. I did something unequivocally for the greater good, and yet I still retain an unshakeable feeling of self-doubt. It’s uncharted territory, questioning my own morality.”

“Maybe you’re undergoing some changes about your feelings. Like, an emotional metamorphosis.” She emphasizes with her hands.

Wednesday raises her eyebrows, “Maybe I was, but I’m not anymore.” She turns her head to look at Enid once again, “I was very confused once this semester began. My chest would feel funny when I did or said certain things, even though my mind knew it was the logical thing to do. I found a relieving sense of clarity when Morbyrn regaled me with a story from his past, something that did not affirm my mind, but my heart.”

Enid mirrors her, raising an eyebrow of her own, “What did he say?”

Wednesday sighs, not irritated, but rather pensively, “The werewolf he sicced on you had a strange obstacle within his wolf. He could only invoke the wolf under circumstances where he feared for Morbyrn’s life. Not anybody else’s. Not his own.”

Enid’s eyes go wide, and her hand withdraws from the chair.

“History stands to support the idea that it may be true for your case, too.”

Enid plants both her palms on her own cheeks, “So it’s you! You’re the key to my wolf!” 

“The heart is the most vital organ, isn’t it?” Wednesday gives her a small smile.

“And that’s why you… kissed me?” Enid asks carefully.

“Yes, because for the first time this semester, my heart and mind aligned on a decision.”

The grin that appears on Enid’s face is uncontrollable, almost painful. She only wishes she could act as contained and nonchalant as Wednesday does. She grips her hands together behind her back, and balances on the balls of her feet. She unintentionally steals glances at Wednesday’s lips, and she’s sure Wednesday notices.

Wednesday pauses her typing on her typewriter, “I’ll only say this once. You don’t have to wait for me to give you permission.”

Enid leans over, softly placing her hands on either side of Wednesday’s jaw and closes the distance between them. Their lips meet, and she’s certain Wednesday can hear her heartbeat. 

To call the sensation “fireworks” would be an offensive understatement. All of her past feelings culminate into this one action. Not a searing, heated convention, but a soft, gentle declaration of love. It’s a side of Wednesday she rarely sees, something she thought she would never see for as long as she lives. The glimpse she saw at the dance, she thought she’d never have the chance to see it again, though the thought of the alternative, seeing Wednesday with someone else, makes her almost homicidal. 

The thought spurs her to eagerly pull her in closer, perhaps a bit too eager. Wednesday winces and pulls away, wrapping an arm around her center.

Enid releases, creasing her eyebrows at the state of Wednesday.

“I’m not privy to your accelerated regeneration. I think all my adrenaline has worn off,” She mutters through gritted teeth.

“Where does it hurt?” Enid provides a comforting hand on Wednesday’s shoulder.

“Anywhere and everywhere, depending on how I move,” She turns her gaze up to Enid, who gives her an unsatisfied half-smile.

“I sustained a blow to the ribs, several head injuries, and the elephant in the room, a laceration on my neck.”

Enid points her attention to the line at her throat, as well as a reddening path around the entire front side of her neck.

“He almost got me with my own chain, too.” She brings a hand up to the sore, bruising ring around her neck, “It’s humbling to be the recipient of the torture. I’ll still continue to do it, of course, but now I’ll have a new perspective.”

Enid lifts a gentle hand to the bruising trail, careful not to put any pressure. Wednesday does not push her away.

“He sure had it coming,” She says vengefully, keeping her focus contained on where her fingers investigatively caress her neck.

“Hundreds of years, down the drain.”

Enid retracts her hand, and returns her attention to Wednesday.

“If the nightshade hadn’t taken care of him, I would have loved to put a claw through his head myself.” She smiles, as if she didn’t just say something uncharacteristically morbid.

“Has the wolf given you a newfound taste for blood?” Wednesday smirks, imagining the possibilities.

Enid straightens her back, placing her fists on her waist like a superhero, “Maybe not blood…” her face squirms, “Just a newfound sense of courage.”

Wednesday hums understandingly, returning to typing on her typewriter.

“What are you writing about?” Enid sets her forearms on the desk, bending over to get a closer look at the writing.

“You.” She continues to type with unbroken focus.

“Really?” Her eyebrows raise with intrigue, she props an elbow up so her head can rest in her palm, “What about me?”

“Observations about your lycanthropy. Tonight was very… eye-opening.” She finishes her typing with a very intentional press of the period key.

“Go on…” She leans in.

“Well, the crux of it is your wolf’s attachment to me, followed by some experimental notes, the effects of alchemy on the wolf’s immune system, some physical attributes I acknowledged; did you know your fur is much softer when you are docile, and very coarse when you are, for lack of a better word, feral?” She turns her head, awaiting her answer, but what really awaits her is a rather sheep-eyed Enid presumably admiring her.

She smiles, “I appreciate your perception of me.”

Wednesday’s somewhat taken aback by her apparent lack of interest, “Aren’t you curious? This is what you’ve wanted your whole life.”

Enid shifts awkwardly, her smile still gleaming, though it is softer than before, “My parents were pretty adamant about pushing their agenda on werewolves. I learned a lot about what I was supposed to be, but I could just never do it myself,” A little spark returns to her eye, “I’ll just live vicariously through you - finding out everything for the first time. Don’t worry, I’ll show off next time I wolf out.”

Wednesday faces the desk again, her typical upright stature slouching as she tries to hide the smile that creeps up on her face from just the thought, “Please, don’t hold back.”

Enid definitely notices, and she’s not keen on letting her get away with it. She places her fingers underneath Wednesday’s jaw and points her stare back to where it was before, back on Enid, and she keeps her fingers there, curled around the edges of Wednesday’s face, until she can meet her the rest of the way at the lips.

She doesn’t pull her in this time; she doesn’t want to hurt her. Instead, she lets Wednesday decide, and decide she does.

Wednesday grips her fingers around Enid’s arm and slowly climbs the length of it, up the side of her neck, then her face, tucking Enid’s hair behind her ear while her hand makes the rest of the journey to the back of Enid’s head. She pulls her in, even leaning back to invite Enid into her limited space.

It almost throws Enid off balance. She removes a hand from Wednesday’s jaw, and stabilizes herself by grabbing onto the desk to support her bent position.

Enid takes a deep breath through her nose, and Wednesday smiles against her lips in response.

Enid pulls away with a smile of her own, though they remain just inches apart, “What?”

“What?” Wednesday echoes.

“You never smile, what’s so funny?” Enid presses.

“Nothing,” Wednesday faces forward, finding it somewhat difficult to come up with the right words, “A sickening thought popped into my head, but I disregarded it.”

Enid’s face contorts, a bit worried at the implications of that statement, “...What was the thought?”

“My mother sees herself in me, which I greatly resent. Recently, I’ve thought I reflect many more characteristics of my father,” She confesses earnestly.

“Oh really - how so?”

“My mother wanted all eyes on her, and my father - he only wanted her eyes on him,” She meets Enid’s eyes, receiving the pleasure of watching Enid’s smile rise, and her cheeks turn ever so slightly pink.

Enid playfully shoves Wednesday’s shoulder, “I think they put something in your painkillers, Addams. Something sweet.”

“Maybe so,” Wednesday hums, “But I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been taking them.”

Enid crosses her arms, sporting a not-so-convincing look of disappointment, “I can’t say I’m surprised. What’s the reasoning behind that?”

“Where’s the satisfaction in winning if you can’t feel the ache of victory?”

Enid rolls her eyes, though her smile conveys no malice.

-

After Wednesday and Enid leave the cold, uninviting, and now ultimately demolished dungeon where they both nearly lost their lives, they’re met with the aftermath which carried through into the alchemy classroom. The desk which held the balance scale is in two blood-stained pieces in the back of the classroom, and an unconscious Aegean lay between each of the pieces. Now that he’s not in his wolf form, Wednesday actually recognizes him.

Both girls stop in their tracks, having forgotten about this loose end in the midst of reviving Enid.

“Should we help him?” Enid rasps out, still concerned with others’ well-being despite needing her own wounds licked.

“No. I have a feeling he won’t be too happy to see us when he wakes up.”

“We can’t just leave him there.”

“We’ll find somebody else to help him. Maybe somebody that can put up more of a fight at this moment in time.”

And as if to answer their prayers, as they step outside into the hallway, a band of students comes trampling through, Bianca leading the charge.

“Oh my god,” Her eyebrow creases with worry, “We’ve got to take you to a doctor.”

“You should see the other guy,” Wednesday deadpans, though there’s no better way to break the news. The principal is dead, and they killed him.

Enid smiles at just how blunt her roommate can be.

Ida steps forward from behind Bianca, “We don’t need to see him. We all felt it. We felt him leave the space he occupied in our conscience.”

She sounds exasperated, much more chipper than the Ida she knows.

“I have been suppressed for so long, Wednesday. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to control myself,” She lowers down to Wednesday’s level, though this time it’s not condescending, it’s more vulnerable. She makes eye contact with the floor before looking back up to Wednesday, “I hope you can forgive my petulance from before - and you as well, Enid.”

Wednesday shifts her head ever so slightly to the right, looking through the corner of her eye to see Enid’s reaction. After all that’s happened, her relationship with Ida is the least of her worries. So, perhaps she should leave it to Enid to decide.

If Enid weren’t moments away from passing out, she’d be jumping for joy. Ida Kastellanos asking Enid Sinclair for forgiveness. The amount of doors this opportunity opens is certainly… more than she can think of right now!

She spares what little energy she can to bounce on her toes and nod her head up and down.

Wednesday corrects her head's position back to a stiffly perfect straight-forward glare, with the instinctive downward tilt.

“Consider it forgiven. I’m feeling generous right now,” She declares for them both.

Ida rises back to her tall standing position, and she genuinely smiles, not one accompanied by a cocky eyebrow raise, “And congratulations on your victory.”

It takes a moment for Wednesday to understand what she’s talking about. Then, as if on cue, two boys come running in from the corridor.

“We won!” Eugene’s voice cracks as he holds the trophy high over his head, but his face drops when he sees the battered state of his two friends, “What the- what happened to you guys?”

“Long story. How did we win the games?” Wednesday asks, dumbfounded.

“Well, after Ida left, there was really no competition. I drew a morse code translation for Xavier and I used my bees to tell him what to do in morse code! The bees were a very good intimidation tactic, as well,” He beams.

Enid matches his excitement, “That’s amazing! Oh my god, I can’t believe we actually won!”

Eugene smiles proudly, even receiving a pat on the back from his unlikely teammate, Xavier.

Wednesday winces and wraps her free arm around her front as a pain shoots through her body. Enid notices, but she knows Wednesday won’t say anything.

“What force of nature messed you up so bad?” Bianca motions a hand at Enid’s blood-stained skin.

Enid flicks her head in the direction of the motionless werewolf.

Wednesday prefaces with a warning, “He will be inconsolable when he wakes up, I suggest treating his wounds from a lupin cage.”

Moments later, the Nevermore school nurse arrives and escorts them to the infirmary. 

-

Enid, having already retreated back to her cozy bed sheets, finally settles in, hoping to sleep for the rest of the night. She urged Wednesday to get some rest as well, but she insisted that she had to “strike while the iron was hot” in her writing. 

Right as she’s about to drift off into a satisfying slumber, she hears a tapping sound, somewhat muddied from her sleepy state, but certainly there. It rouses her out of her sleep, and she rolls over to see what all the fuss is about. 

Wednesday is already up and out of her chair, investigating the window, where the tapping sound seems to be coming from. She pulls the window open, and a patient raven awaits her, holding a piece of paper within its beak. It squawks before flying away into the night.

Enid props herself up on her elbows, while her free hand flattens the sheet next to her, subconsciously inviting Wednesday into her side of the room, to which she hastily obliges after she shuts the window.

She sits on the edge of the bed, and Enid leans forward to ogle at the piece of paper. It has a red seal on it despite just being a folded piece of paper, with a beautiful cursive A stamped into the seal.

“What do you think it says?”

Wednesday shrugs her shoulders, “No use in guessing.”

She flips the folded piece of paper open, breaking the seal, to reveal nothing but the words “Thank you” in the middle, written in a familiar well-scripted handwriting.

“Hmm. I was prepared for a letter announcing a plan to exact revenge.” Wednesday folds the letter back to its original form.

Enid chuckles, and Wednesday smiles in response. She slides off the edge of the bed, intending to return to her typewriter, but before her feet can even touch the ground, Enid grabs her wrist. Wednesday looks back at her, unexpectant.

Enid gets a little sheepish, she hadn’t thought this through. Her body just kind of acted on its own, “Why don’t you stay over here tonight. Just so- you know- I think I’d sleep better.”

Wednesday looks at the ground for a moment, thinking it through, arm still extended in Enid’s hand. 

She looks at her once again, “Okay, I will. For your sake.”

Enid sees right through her, smiling at her selflessness.

“Right. For my sake.”

Wednesday’s lips barely peek up at the corners - as close to a smile as Wednesday will ever get without a knife in her hand - but her big, wide open eyes tell a different story. They’re soft and they’re warm and she can’t hide it from Enid.

She climbs into Enid’s bed, and underneath her covers, laying face to face with her. Neither of them say a word. They lie there until they both fall asleep, ever comfortable in each other's presence.