Chapter Text

Chapter One: Gertrude Hall

In which Wednesday Addams moves into her new university accommodation

The eldest daughter of the eccentric Addams family, and recent alumnus of Nevermore Academy, would rather move into a morgue basement than acclimatise to a new roommate. Well, she would choose the chill metal of a coroner’s corpse storage over most beds, and the mingled atmosphere of formaldehyde and sanitiser and decay was particularly effective at lulling her to sleep. But the point still stood. Wednesday Addams did not want a new roommate.

Adjusting to one Enid Sinclair had almost been the death of her when Wednesday had first been transferred to Nevermore. Admittedly, Enid had then also been the reason (several times over) why Wednesday had ultimately avoided death. While conceptually this may have in some parts of Wednesday’s mind felt like an experience that Enid had stolen from her, she conceded that being alive to continue to experience the thrill of possible and impending but not actual death was preferable. Not to mention the fact that, over their several years rooming together, Wednesday thought that she had admirably grown as a person (not literally, but don’t point that out) and come to… tolerate Enid. Any more growth than that would’ve caused Wednesday to have said growth cut out from her flesh in an act of unanaesthetised vivisection. But allowing just one person into her cold, barely beating heart was acceptable, if only because it meant that Wednesday had the luxury of not just committing murder for herself, but choosing to do so for the sake of another worthy soul.

Of course, the torture of the American education system, even for outcasts, did not care that Wednesday had adjusted to a life with this particular roommate, when it spat her out the other end of high school and demanded that she find some new purpose and routine with which to fill the passage of time. Unlike physical torture at the hands of a skilled practitioner, perhaps in her family home’s ancient dungeon, the practical and administrative nature of this particular type of torture was not something that Wednesday enjoyed. Oh, she certainly appreciated just how efficiently and effectively educational institutes could tear a child apart and leave them in tears. Wednesday herself had simply experienced more than enough inconvenience from the teachers and other staff at Nevermore to ever wish to be weighed down by them again.

What was her alternative, though? Permanently return to her family home and live off their hoarded wealth and grow bored with every passing year? Find a partner and start a sickeningly mundane nuclear family of her own? Seek out immediate employment while she was only eighteen? Sure, some options presented themselves on that third option: Apprentice Serial Killer; Cemetery Night Guard; Mafia Thug. But all of those felt like settling for something beneath her, when Wednesday wanted to be the very best (that is, Master Serial Killer, Cemetery Mogul, or Mafia Boss). A classical education, including a course of study that included literature, chemistry, and an extracurricular in yet another martial art, seemed like the best way forward.

Unfortunately, there was no such thing as an outcast university. And, though each public or private university for normies provided its own uniquely torturous educational and social experience, Wednesday didn’t much care for the way in which American colleges vied for their status. If she’d been able to go to Oxford or Cambridge… Well, the graves there were much older, and the architecture legitimately gothic or even older, so Wednesday may have been willing to deal with the process of moving to England. But they hadn’t liked her application letters, responding with something along the lines of:

Dear Miss Addams,

Despite admiring your creativity and passion in assembling your application, the implication of potentially psychotic and violent tendencies that your anecdotes display, blah blah blah…

Therefore, we regret to inform you that Oxbridge will not be offering you a position this year. We wish you the best of luck with your applications elsewhere.

Signed with great snobbery and closed-mindedness,

The Committee of Stuffy Old White Men.

By comparison, at least the American universities were crooked enough to accept almost anything in an application letter if it smelled like old money. And Wednesday knew that, in addition to the sizeable donation that accompanied her application to her school of choice, the recipients would be drooling over the expensive, creamy paper and crisp, typewritten text of her letter. The university had a decent reputation, but not being one of the wealthiest in the country, the promise of a student like Wednesday—with perfect grades and even more perfect bank accounts—was not something that they would turn down even if she had chosen ‘the time that I let myself be kidnapped by a serial killer and turned the tables on him’ as her story of preparing for a challenging situation and overcoming adversity.

The main reason for settling on this particular college, however, was a lot simpler. Not that Wednesday would admit it to anyone, and therefore had not even informed her parents. (“I threw a sharpened fingerbone at a map and that’s just where it landed,” she had claimed.) No, it was simply that Enid had enrolled in this school, and Wednesday needed at least one non-stranger around to help her carry bodies or act as lookout when she inevitably grew bored with her tedious classes and needed to fill her nights with something more appealing. Maybe she would’ve settled for continuing to rope Pugsley into doing her dirty work, but he still had several more years before graduating from Nevermore, and unlike Wednesday did not have sufficient brainpower for her to trust that he’ll actually graduate on time, let alone early.

Lurch pulled the family hearse into the university grounds, right up to the front door of Wednesday’s new dormitory. Gertrude Hall. Luckily, the very closest parking spot had been reserved especially for them with several hideously orange road cones and a sign over a manhole that read ‘workers below, do not obstruct.’ As she had at Nevermore Academy, Wednesday’s belongings were limited. Two black suitcases, her cello, her typewriter, and little else besides. If the furniture in the room wasn’t sufficiently bleak and deteriorated, Wednesday could always enlist Enid and her werewolf strength to lug something back from an antique store or a condemned house.

The room that Wednesday had been allocated—after a persuasive phone call outlining her specific needs and just how much she didn’t care if those spaces had already been assigned to other students—was on the top floor of Gertude Hall. The balcony was smaller than the one in Ophelia Hall, but large enough for Wednesday to sit with her cello and practice late into the night. As with her room before, this too required Wednesday to tolerate the presence of another human being. (And maybe even an actual normie human this time.) But she was confident that, given a few weeks, the school administration would agree that it was best to just leave Wednesday to her own devices and not replace the roommate who she would inevitably cause to drop out and run home in terror.

As of yet, said temporary roommate appeared to have not moved in. No other suitcases or evidence of life was present in the room, other than some detritus that appeared to have been left from a previous occupant. Unless the sum total of her new roommate’s belongings were some candy wrappers and a dirty sock and half of a poster. At least that would be slightly less offensive to the eye than Enid’s nauseating display of colour. (Wednesday’s breath did not hitch slightly at the idea of never waking up to Enid’s fairy lights and plushies ever again.)

This had been the plan. Arrive early, claim her space, start her relationship with her new roommate on the right terms: A cold, threatening stare and a declaration of the fatal consequences of disturbing Wednesday’s personal space. Though things had worked out with Enid in the end, Wednesday still felt that they would’ve gotten off to a much more transparent and understanding start had Wednesday not been required to carve out space for herself in pink-hued enemy territory. Not being a transfer student this time, Wednesday was able to lay down the law and assert her authoritative intentions from day one.

The difficult part now, however, was that Wednesday had to sit and wait for her unknown opponent to show up. And that could take all day. Leaving and finding something else to do wasn’t an option, because she was not willing to risk an entitled and obnoxious individual arriving in her absence and messing with her things. Never leave your borders unprotected.

Lurch, not being much of a talker, nodded farewell shortly after depositing Wednesday’s things just inside the door. Just to make sure that he hadn’t been instructed by one of her parents to stick around, spy, and report back, Wednesday watched from the balcony until the black hearse pulled away from the curb and drove out of sight. A helmeted head pushed through the manhole below where Lurch had parked, belonging to a man who clawed his way out of the sewer and lay prostrate on the asphalt, panic in his eyes. A reasonable omen, Wednesday felt, though news of a corpse turning up in the sewers the following day would perhaps have been better.

“Alright, out you come,” Wednesday called, when she was sure that Lurch was not returning.

A severed hand with perfectly moisturised skin and clipped cuticles wriggled out from Wednesday’s backpack, signing, I’ve already been to college, please tell me why you’ve dragged me back?

“Thing, you proved yourself invaluable as an asset in my investigations at Nevermore,” said Wednesday. “I could not imagine going through the experience of college without you.”

Twisting the truth to flatter me will not work, Thing signed.

“I’ll buy you a new hand lotion,” Wednesday offered.

Bribery is good, but not enough. I’ve got an entire manicure setup back home…

Wednesday sighed, knowing that she had the ultimate card to play, but hadn’t entirely intended to use it straight away. But Lurch was gone now, and she knew that Thing would be loyal (or, loyal enough). So she said, “Well, Enid is going to be attending this school too.”

Thing’s signing was a flurry of excited gestures, most of which either weren’t real words or were too fast for even Wednesday to follow. But she got the gist.

You never told Gomez or Morticia, he pointed out.

“What reason had I? It’s none of their business.”

They might’ve insisted on coming along to drop you off, so that they could say hello to Enid.

“All the more reason to keep them in the dark. I do not need their coddling, nor do I wish to see them fawn over my acquaintance who, despite her atrocious colour preferences, they seem to appreciate more than they appreciate me.”

I wasn’t under the impression that you wanted to be appreciated, Thing signed. But I was under the impression that Enid was your ‘friend.’

“You’re being awfully frank and offensive for a hand with plenty of extraneous fingers, Thing,” said Wednesday.

And you’re being awfully rude to Enid after all you went through together, Thing responded. However, he made a point of shuffling further back from Wednesday.

Wednesday didn’t press the matter. Just because Enid had maybe earned the title of friend didn’t mean that she had therefore lost the title of acquaintance. Wednesday was still acquainted with Enid, was she not? It was all semantics, and she wasn’t going to argue semantics with a bundle of fingers, no matter how uniquely articulate.

Scurrying off to make himself busy, and therefore scarce, Thing left Wednesday to continue to wait for her impending (if impermanent) doom. Thing knew to be even more cautious here than at Nevermore, with how many normies were around, but Wednesday also expected that he wouldn’t go too far just yet. Finding his escape routes and secluded listening spots, no doubt.

For better or worse, Wednesday did not end up with only the company of her own thoughts for very long. She set up her typewriter, made her bed with her void-black sheets, and had barely made a start on unpacking her clothes before a knock came at the door.

“Enter,” Wednesday called. Better to get this over with.

A thin young woman with light brown hair cautiously opened the door, which creaked as it swung. She peered inside, eyes going wide as she met Wednesday’s gaze.

“You must be my new roommate,” Wednesday said, rising to her feet. She did not extend a hand in greeting. “Let me make myself clear before you take another step. You will respect my space and follow the instructions that I set for you, if you wish this experience to be painless. But my standards are high, so set your expectations now. The likelihood of you surviving long is minimal, so don’t get too comfortable.”

The girl merely continued to stare at Wednesday, frozen in shock. Wednesday held her eye contact, face impassive but knowing that her murderous intensity was shining through regardless.

Eventually, the girl managed to say, “Oh, umm… sorry, I’ll be gone soon. I’m so sorry, Miss…? You know what, never mind. I’m just here to bring…”

Trailing off, Wednesday heard a second voice whisper something, which the girl took as permission to duck back out of the doorway and flee down the stairs. The second voice spoke up a little louder, as its owner pushed the door all the way open. It said, “I’d know the sound of those threats of violence anywhere!”

Wednesday knew this voice. “Enid?”

“Surprise!” shouted Enid Sinclair, bursting into the room. She rushed right up to Wednesday, skidding slightly as she came to a stop just before entering the most dangerous inner circle of Wednesday’s personal bubble. The twitch in Enid’s wrists clearly betrayed her difficulty in holding back from hugging Wednesday.

“But how…” Wednesday began.

“The RA sent an email to me and one or two other outcasts starting this year, after receiving a phone call from a certain someone demanding the top room with the balcony. Honestly, Wends, he sounded scared for his life. Apparently, he didn’t feel safe only shunting one of the existing students out of here, and leaving the other to fend for herself. I didn’t even need him to confirm your name to know exactly who the new occupant would be. So I put my hand up for the spot before anyone else could reply. I mean, what are the chances? But, only if that’s okay… If rooming with me at Nevermore was too much… I guess I was just so excited that, maybe—” said Enid, then she cut herself off.

Though the spiel that had just vomited from Enid’s mouth left Wednesday a little dizzy, underneath all of that, she felt nothing but immense relief. The other half of her room would be distressingly pink again, but what if she’d had to adjust to someone who liked a different awful colour, or a different kind of awful music?

Taking half a step forward, Wednesday let her head fall forward until it landed with a thunk on Enid’s shoulder. Wednesday let out a long, exhausted sigh. It definitely wasn’t a hug, but it was an admission of welcome and gratitude, to the small extent that Wednesday could ever summon such emotions.

“Ow, Wends,” Enid protested at what was effectively a headbutt. Then she let out a squee, which instantly brought on a sharp pain in Wednesday’s skull. Luckily, Wednesday enjoyed a good headache every now and then. Enid continued, “But I’ll take that as a good sign. God, Wends, I’m so happy that we get to still be roomies!”

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Reacquaintance

In which Wednesday and Enid adjust to sharing a home... again

“Enid, I have to say, I am a bit annoyed at all of this,” Wednesday said, cutting into what had been an otherwise comfortable silence.

The two of them had been carrying Enid’s frankly obscene number of possessions up the five flights of stairs in Gertrude Hall, from her car that was parked a little way down the street. Despite Wednesday’s suggestion, Enid hadn’t been willing to move her car to the convenient spot right outside where Lurch had pulled up. Unfortunately, Enid had arrived on her own, her somewhat beat-up vehicle laden with boxes and suitcases and otherwise piles of stuff. No rowdy werewolf siblings to do the hard labour for them. Fortunately, that also meant no Esther Sinclair. Wednesday would have to ask how Enid managed that small miracle later, but for now, she was a little out of breath, and had another grievance to air.

“When are you not?” Enid shot back.

“My tolerance for you has apparently increased beyond my tolerance for all other humans, but even it has a limit,” said Wednesday.

“Wends, everything you’ve just been carrying is stuff that you put up with for years at Nevermore. Don’t start complaining about it now!”

“I never stopped complaining about it then,” Wednesday pointed out. But she sighed, and pushed any further comments on the topic of Enid’s material obsessions aside. “However, I am frustrated about something else. You see, I had a perfectly good speech prepared, and a roll of tape for the floor, and have pre-typed up a list of rules that I planned to plaster around the room.”

Enid broke out in an undignified laugh. “Of course you did.”

“What a waste,” said Wednesday, though there wasn’t really any fire in her retort.

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, we can go through your rules anyway?” Enid offered, sitting down on the side of her bed and facing Wednesday with her full attention. There was a slightly smug, infuriating shine behind her eyes.

“Okay, you asked for it,” Wednesday said.

Sifting through the contents of her backpack, Wednesday pulled out a typewritten sheet of thick paper, and began to read:

“‘The Roommate must always respect the sanctity of sides, and not cross the border marked on the floor’.”

“Well, unless you want to put the tape back, I don’t see a border?”

“Fine, we can let that one slide. ‘The Roommate must maintain a neutral and unobtrusive colour palette in their choice of décor’.”

“Bit late for that…”

“‘The Roommate will not play music that has not previously been vetted and approved’.”

At that, Enid pulled out her phone and hit something on the screen. A moment later, a pinging sound echoed out from her portable speaker, and then a song that Wednesday understood to be something called ‘k-pop’ blared through the room.

“‘The Roommate…’” Wednesday began again.

“Is your whole list basically ‘the Roommate should not act like Enid’?” asked Enid, giving Wednesday an offended look but not managing to hide the amusement in her voice.

“I—no, of course not,” said Wednesday.

“Then let me see the list.”

“I think it would be better if you didn’t.”

“In that case,” said Enid. “I’m going to assume that you only wrote all of those things because you couldn’t bear having to be reminded of me by someone else, because you knew you’d miss me.”

“I find your companionship tolerable, and the familiarity of your presence is preferred to the uncertainty of an unknown interloper,” said Wednesday.

“Aww, I missed you too.”

“Enid, I’m going to say this once,” said Wednesday. “So listen closely, as you won’t hear it again”—a breath—“I tracked you for two weeks across the Canadian border, brought you back to New Jersey to my ancestral home, and conjured dark and ancient magic to return you to human form. One of the spells that I tried left me blind for three days. I have a black mark on one arm that smells like sulphur and will not disappear, whether by scrubbing or surgical removal. Some of my clothes still smell like wolf, despite being laundered daily for months. Not only that, but I continued to put up with you for another whole school year after that.”

“Yes,” said Enid. A self-satisfied smile threatened to break out on her face. “I was there. So…”

“So, do not presume for a moment that I did not miss you, but do not expect me to say it again. I shouldn’t have to.”

“You’re such a softie,” Enid giggled.

“I will turn you back into a wolf,” threatened Wednesday.

“You told me in those dark Canadian woods that you liked my wolf, and would stay my friend even if I could never change back.”

“That was between me and your wolf. How dare you have eavesdropped on our private conversation.”

Enid merely grinned back at Wednesday. She received a scowl in return.

They continued to potter for the next hour or so, Enid arranging her soft toys and installing her latest posters on the wall. Wednesday made sure that her things were perfectly parallel, but that only took a few minutes, before she spent the rest of the time supervising Enid and pointing out where her hanging lights were crooked or her clothes weren’t folded properly.

The dormitory room was simultaneously more and less drear than Ophelia Hall had been. It was slightly more modern, with clearer lighting and fewer cracks through which drafts could howl. But it therefore lacked some of the charm, and definitely the architectural novelty, of their old quarters. At least this space had a private bathroom, though the pressure of the water at Nevermore had been better, despite the antique plumbing. By the time that all of Wednesday’s furniture and possessions were squared away (literally), and Enid had spread her pink and rainbow disease across every surface on her side of the room, the underlying bones barely mattered. The strange sense of balance in their otherwise objective unbalanced décor put Wednesday’s mind at ease, the familiarity of the chaos infinitely preferable to change.

Once finished, or at least as much as they would bother that day, Enid asked, “So, spotted any good spots for food yet?”

“I only got here this morning, Enid,” Wednesday replied.

“Still, you love to explore.”

“I choose to spend my time ensuring that the room knew who was in charge, and ensuring that my new roommate wouldn’t turn up unannounced and attempt to overthrow my authority.”

“And yet she did anyway,” Enid said with a wink.

“It would seem so. I noticed a string of shops with some decidedly average and unhealthy looking food vendors when Lurch drove us through town, but I figured that we’d just use the cafeteria,” said Wednesday.

“Yeah, um, it doesn’t start serving students until classes start,” Enid replied.

“Then what are we supposed to eat for dinner?”

“That’s why I was asking. How about… a pizza picnic on the dorm floor? I’m sure the town will have a pizza joint.”

“Sounds awful,” said Wednesday. “We could drown ourselves internally with the quantity of grease and cheese we consume.”

“Coming from you, that sounds entirely complimentary to pizza,” said Enid.

“There is a certain horrific quality to the modern fast food industry,” Wednesday conceded. “I suppose I could indulge.”

“Yay! There was never any good pizza near Nevermore. This is so exciting.”

“It’s dreadful.”

“You’re dreadful.”

Wednesday sighed, but couldn’t help but feel the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “I’ve already said yes. Flattery won’t earn you anything.”

The closest pizza restaurant ended up being a twenty-five minute walk, which meant an hour there and back including the wait, but it was a good chance for Wednesday to scope the neighbourhood. Enid had been right about that, at least: exploration and mentally mapping her surroundings was an important activity for Wednesday whenever she arrived in a new place. And the night was dreadfully warm, but with a disgusting crispness to the slight breeze and a blindingly orange sunset over the nearby hills, so Wednesday supposed that walking for the better part of an hour with Enid through the drearily clear weather was acceptable.

Enid had ordered a large, double-cheese, deep-dish pizza with five different kinds of meat, spinach, pineapple, potato wedges, barbecue sauce swirl, mayonnaise swirl, and chilli sauce swirl, and had added rainbow sprinkles from the condiment section of the dessert bar. Wednesday bought a thin-crust margherita with black olives, anchovies, and capers, cooked for extra time until all of the toppings just started to go black. Somehow, despite the monstrosity that Enid had ordered, Wednesday got the stranger look from the teenager at the cash register out of the two of them.

They ate in comfortable silence on the floor of their room. Wednesday knew that, with time, Enid would itch for a greater degree of socialisation to go along with her meals, but it was pleasant for now to have their dinner without being interrupted or observed. Though Wednesday did admit that it was odd to be here with Enid like this, without Agnes or Eugene, or even Ajax or Bianca or Yoko or Divina. The former two she could manage in controlled doses, and the latter four were occasionally tolerable if only because Enid didn’t mind their company. The statistical likelihood of encountering another six people who didn’t immediately drive her to murder felt vanishingly small.

Oh well, that was a problem for future-Wednesday. The vetting and rejection of potential social candidates could wait, rather than eating into the time in which Wednesday still had Enid all to herself. (Not that Wednesday wanted Enid to herself, just… she knew her limits, and didn’t want to be burdened with additional acquaintances. Yes, that was it.

“So, Enid,” Wednesday said.

The girl across from her looked up with a wide grin, mouth still stuffed with pizza. “Yeph?”

“We have identified lodgings, and now nutrition. Scant as the actual nutritional value might be. Upon completion of this meal, would you accompany me to scout the further key locations of which one should always be aware?”

“It’s pretty dark by now, Wends,” Enid pointed out.

“Yes, but the moon is bright and the dead of night is the ideal time to explore the local graveyards,” said Wednesday.

“God, really? You couldn’t have meant, like, the campus common spaces or the student lounge or a late-night café?”

“The shudder that you express at my suggestion is reciprocated by myself at yours.”

“Look, I knew this is what I was signing up for. More murder and chaos. But I think our implicit deal from Nevermore still stands. We’ll do you things, if we can also do me things,” Enid said, giving Wednesday a firm stare.

“An implicit deal is not, by definition, a deal,” Wednesday argued.

“Oh, then I suppose our implicit deal to not borrow each other’s soap and hair products isn’t a deal?”

Wednesday felt a literal growl rise in her throat.

In response, Enid merely giggled. “Honestly, maybe you should be the wolf. But fair is fair. Let’s go find a graveyard, but only if we sniff out a diner or café on the way, to get me a warm drink to cradle.”

“Acceptable compromise. I do require strong caffeine on a regular basis, as straight arsenic does not on its own make the most appealing beverage. It requires a base, and I require supplementary energy sources.”

When, following her first year at Nevermore, Xavier Thorpe had tried to give Wednesday a cellphone, she had gone to the trouble of lugging it back home, but only so that she and Pugsley could throw it into a nearby lake while they went fishing. Unlike their impressive catch, the grenade explosion did not cause the device to rise to the surface along with a dozen or more fish corpses. But Wednesday supposed that dead and sunk was just as good of an outcome.

At the end of the following year, however, another cellphone found its way in the mail to the Addams’ residence. Wednesday had an immediate urge to go fishing again, but had at least done the polite thing of opening the card first:

Howdy, Roomie!

So, I know you ‘misplaced’ the last one, but I’d love to keep in touch over the summer. I mean, we all would. Everyone pitched in, so please take care of this one, yeah?

All of our numbers are loaded into your contacts.

XOXO

Enid

(And Agnes, Eugene, Bianca, Yoko, Divina)

Unfortunately, knowing that Enid was not in the greatest financial situation for Wednesday to reject such a gift, and discovering that a cellphone opened up a whole new world of ‘online stalking,’ Wednesday had kept this one. She did not know what the exes and ohs meant, but deduced that they represented something fond along the lines of ‘quartered’ and ‘hung,’ though usually the phrase went ‘hung’ and then ‘quartered.’

As they exited Gertrude Hall, Enid had already found several possible coffee spots nearby, while Wednesday was still hunting for the closest cemetery. Being in a slightly larger town, it turned out that there was more than one. Other than her family home, Wednesday had not lived within range of more than a single cemetery before. (Though, admittedly, Nevermore was the only other place that she had lived, and there was plenty of excitement at its one cemetery). It was a thrilling prospect. And, conveniently, one of the cafés was directly on their route.

The café itself was a little run down, staffed by a single middle-aged woman who gave all of her customers the same blank stare. Wednesday approved, and took note of this as a safe, emotion-free zone if she ever needed a mental break from all of the energetic students with whom she would no doubt soon be surrounded. That was another reason for arriving several days before class. A good portion of the student body wouldn’t arrive until the last minute, giving Wednesday further time to scout the area and stake her claims. Otherwise, she’d be staking hearts instead. Though classically a method for handling vampires, it worked on mortals just as well.

Armed with coffee, despite the late hour—for Enid, a double-shot, salted-caramel, matcha latte with whipped cream; for Wednesday, a quad-shot over ice—Wednesday guided them toward the garden park that housed the local dead, following the green line and little blue dot on her screen. Next to Wednesday’s own dot was a second, this one yellow, that had over summer been miles away but now followed the blue dot’s every move. This was not something that Enid needed to know about anytime soon.

They arrived at the cemetery as the moon hung overhead, only partially full (but that was probably for the best with a werewolf in tow), but providing ample light. Wednesday was acclimated to dark dealings, and Enid had enhanced vision, while the night otherwise kept them obscured from any normies about.

“I mean, still spooky, but almost kind of sweet,” Enid said, as they walked out into the full clearing dotted with graves, having wound for the last few minutes along a concrete path through some sparse trees.

“All of the headstones are so… contemporary and clean,” Wednesday said, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

“It’s a nice change from the vibe of Nevermore’s graveyard, which practically screamed at you that something ghoulish was bound to happen.”

“At least it was honest,” said Wednesday.

She strode forward, trusting that Enid would follow. Scanning the names on the graves, nothing in particular stood out. The majority were elderly people who had died in the last thirty years or less, and whether or not they had complications in the end, it was unlikely that any of them really died of anything other than old age and the various ailments that accompanied it. How boring.

Toward the centre of the main portion of the cemetery, however, Wednesday did spot something that, though she couldn’t yet tell why, caught her interest. Something akin to an electrical spark shot down her spine, starting at the back of her neck. The sensation could’ve just been random, but in a place like this, it was almost certainly connected to her psychic abilities. These had slowly returned over her final year at Nevermore, but never to the full power that Wednesday had wrung out of her visions after studying Goody’s book. Even with Aunt Ophelia’s diary to guide her, and Weems having helped her break down the first barriers to re-obtaining her powers, visions came few and far between. And they were rarely of anything of substance. Mere flashes of possibility that told Wednesday nothing.

“Enid,” Wednesday called over her shoulder with a harsh whisper.

“Sup?” came Enid’s reply.

“I don’t know what that means, and please keep your voice down. Do you see that grave, over there?” Wednesday gestured toward a headstone that looked almost brand new, the earth in front of it still to be reclaimed by the surrounding grass.

“Yeah?” said Enid, trying to whisper back.

“It calls to me.”

“Then it’s probably the last place we should go…” Enid replied. But then she sighed, and said, “Which means it’s exactly where we’re headed, right?”

Wednesday merely nodded at her, and continued forward.

“Great, exactly how I wanted my first night to go,” Enid whined.

They had to circle the gravestone to see the inscription. Wednesday approached slowly, letting the delicious anticipation build with every step. And then she saw it.

“‘Here lies—’” Enid began to read. She froze, then finished: “‘Master Adam Wednesday, who died too young, in his eighteenth year.’ What are the chanc…?”

Wednesday immediately felt another shock run through her spine, this one moving upward, and her head snapped backward the moment that the sensation hit the back of her skull. Then, all went black.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: A Vision Most Sinister

In which Wednesday comes to after her vision and juggles university life

When Wednesday finally awoke, the ceiling above was unfamiliar. Lower than the crossbeams of the Nevermore penthouse dorm, and insufficiently scattered with silken cobwebs and rusted chains compared to her childhood bedroom in the Addams manor. Wednesday blinked slowly, forcing her eyes to focus. Bright light invaded through a nearby window, which suggested that an alarming amount of time had passed since she blacked out.

“Hey, Wends. Careful. Just stay laying down for a bit. Take it slow.” Enid’s voice came from across the room, a worried cooing in her tone. It was cloying, almost suffocating, like being buried under the vocal equivalent of six feet of cotton candy. But it was also Enid, which had the strange effect of shifting Wednesday’s tolerance for coddling up ever so slightly.

“I’m fine. Where are we?” Wednesday asked.

“Um, our room?” Enid replied.

“But… oh,” was all that Wednesday managed. She turned her head slowly, taking in the space. Right, their new room. All of the same trappings, none of the same bones.

“You really spooked me there,” said Enid. The worry was still there, but now a little quieter. Echoes of all of the close calls that the pair had suffered through in the last three years lingered underneath her words.

“Spooky is kind of my thing, after all,” said Wednesday, but this reply felt a little hollow in return. There was a teasing quality, as always, but only perhaps in a weak attempt to break the tension that was building in the air.

“It had yesterday’s date, Wends. Which means it was fresh fresh. Not to mention that it was practically your name.”

“I remember.”

“You crashed out and had a vision.”

“Yes.”

“And I had to carry you all the way home. Again!”

“Oh. That I don’t remember.”

“Why does this keep happening, Wednesday?” Enid asked, voice still very small.

“It’s who I am…” said Wednesday. She paused, sighed, and then continued: “Well, maybe, it’s who we are. It’s never just me. We’re both always in the centre of the vortex of the madness.”

“I guess part of me hoped that this would be a fresh start,” said Enid.

“Did you really, if you had the option to room without me but chose this anyway?”

Enid laughed weakly. “I guess not.”

Several minutes of silence lingered between them. The quiet here sounded different to Wednesday’s familiar silences, too, just as the ceiling looked different. The draft was a faintly higher pitch, and the electrical hum of the various lights and utilities was more omnipresent.

“Wait,” said Wednesday, having fully woken and settled back into her corporeal body. “Enid…”

Enid hummed in response.

“Did you change my clothes?”

A brief, uncomfortable silence. Then, Enid said, “You literally fell face first into the grave dirt. When the vision ended and you went fully unconscious, you were basically a Wednesday-shaped cake with a full coating of chocolate icing all down your front.”

“I resent the unhealthy quantity of glucose in that metaphor, but it wouldn’t be the first time I came home caked in mud,” Wednesday replied.

“Sure, but presumably awake and able to shower. And I know your sheets are worth like a fortune, Wends. I did not want to be responsible for replacing them.”

“It’s—” Wednesday began. A breath. “No, it’s fine, Enid. I was just caught off guard.”

“For what it’s worth, I only swapped your outer layers.”

“Acceptable compromise given the circumstances. I will endeavour to not fall prone onto fresh graves without advanced warning in future.”

“Sure, because that’s totally in your control.” Then Enid asked, “Do you… remember what you saw?”

That was a point. One which Wednesday had somehow overlooked in the process of waking up. Typically, the content of Wednesday’s prophetic visions burned themselves into her mind, battling with her actual memories and the physical world in front of her eyes to the point where the moments after a vision blurred the line of reality. This was…

“Only the faintest edges,” Wednesday admitted. “Shadows and sensations, which fade as soon as I try to focus on them. It is maddening, and not in the pleasant way. My mind is not accustomed to being this permeable.”

For the remainder of the day, nothing resurfaced in Wednesday’s mind of whatever her vision at the cemetery had revealed. It was deeply frustrating, and itched in the back of her skull. The only solution was to seek information the old-fashioned way: research and interrogation.

Unfortunately, however, this was literally their second day on the university campus, and while classes hadn’t yet begun, other priorities reared their heads to compete with Wednesday’s desire to narrow in on this new case.

“But we have to go, Wends,” Enid pleaded.

“Why in any of the nine layers of hell would I wish to attend a social gathering, when there’s a mystery to be solved or, in the absence of any progress on that front, a perfectly good room to sit quietly in and work on my next novel?”

“Because I want to go, but I don’t want to go alone.”

This should’ve meant nothing to Wednesday. “Give me one practical reason, and I’ll reconsider.”

“It’s being hosted by the outcast student club, and it’s important in any new situation to identify the most useful allies and the most dangerous enemies. If a good portion of the other outcasts attending the university are going to be there, it puts most of both people in the same room all at once.”

Wednesday wanted to argue that the most sinister and nefarious individuals were likely to stay home, plotting their next moves. However, Enid’s point wasn’t entirely illogical. The lay of the land didn’t only mean knowing where the libraries, cemeteries, and sources of coffee were located. It also meant understanding the wickedly complex, headache-inducing social networks. Wednesday had tried to ignore this aspect of the world too often at Nevermore, and though it was still very high on her list of unpleasant tortures to endure, at least it was an area in which Enid’s talents could complement her own.

“Fine. But I will not drink, we will eat in advance, and we will leave the moment that I’ve hit my limit or decide that the soiree has exhausted its usefulness,” Wednesday conceded.

Giving an actual squee (Wednesday genuinely hadn’t believed that real people made such noises before meeting her roommate), Enid said, “It’ll be so much fun, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Like when you promise to disembowel me for my music taste, yet after all this time I still have all of my vital organs?” Enid teased.

“I vivisect you in my mind hourly to satiate the urge,” said Wednesday.

“Aww, you think about me every hour?”

“Shut it, Sinclair, or I will rescind my acceptance of your invite to this event.”

“Not when I’ve already decided what outfit you should wear to match mine!”

Wednesday sighed. “I will not be borrowing anything from your wardrobe. Even if I wanted to, it would send me into anaphylactic shock, which I only allow myself in controlled doses from specified substances.”

“You forget that I’ve had to put up with looking at your wardrobe choices in return, for three whole years. With that skirt that you wore on Outreach Day in our last year, and that stripped jumper that you always pull out when the weather is just starting to cool down, you can be my monochrome twin!” said Enid, already moving to rifle through the hangers on Wednesday’s side of the room.

“You’re lucky that your potential utility over time exceeds the level of displeasure that I feel toward you right now,” said Wednesday. “But I will hold this against you.”

“You’ll hold what against me? Your outfit? Only while you’re wearing it, babe.”

Wednesday felt her limited blood supply rush into her face, and she glared knives at her roommate. “Enid, I swear to god…”

“Good thing you don’t believe in god,” Enid pointed out.

“I’m beginning to suspect that Loki or Anansi or some other trickster god exists, solely because you have been put in my path.”

“Aww, Wednesday Addams is so thrilled to have me around that she’s become religious about it.”

“Please die.”

Instead of politely dying as asked, a few hours later, Enid was dragging Wednesday by the wrist toward one of the sorority houses on the other side of campus. Neither girl had bothered with this aspect of university life, with Wednesday uninspired by the interpersonal expectations of collegiate clubs, and Enid’s scholarship not covering the hefty donations required to access most societies. Still, this was an open-door party, other than requiring demonstration of or at least connection to outcast ancestry, and Enid insisted that being a sorority-hosted event would mean it had the good stuff. Whatever that meant.

The campus wasn’t enormous, but compared to the contained high school grounds, the various lecture theatres and hostels and other miscellaneous buildings spread across a significantly larger area than Wednesday was used to. More area to canvas, for better and worse. Gertrude Hall occupied a spot on a street with a mix of houses repurposed as academic offices and various utility buildings. By comparison, the stretch of society houses on the far side of campus had a street of their own, with a dozen or so colonial-looking houses playing dress up with pseudo-Greek architectural tropes. All of them an eyesore, born of the desire to show wealth without the sense of taste to back it up.

It was immediately obvious which house was hosting the party.

Lawn chairs and grimy couches and coolers filled with ice and beer covered the front lawn, where a flagstone path led up to wooden stairs and into a two-story building with multi-coloured lights pulsating through every window. It was tenfold worse than the most offensive fairy lights that Enid owned. Even from the sidewalk, Wednesday could smell the alcohol, the sweat, and something sweet underneath it all that was probably weed. It wasn’t even very far into the night yet.

“Outcasts party as disappointingly as normies, it would seem,” Wednesday said, mainly to herself.

“It looks so alive!” Enid replied, evidently having heard Wednesday’s muttering.

“That’s precisely the problem.”

Grabbing Wednesday by the wrist again, Enid tugged her toward the porch, and through the heavy wooden doors into the building. They were briefly stopped by a bored-looking student who was probably a year or two older than the pair, who wanted their ‘credentials.’ Enid gave him a flash of her claws and a wide, fanged smile. Wednesday merely glared, imagining needles slowly pressing into the boy’s eyes, which was apparently (along with Enid’s presence) sufficient that the would-be bouncer raised his hands in surrender and ushered them through without further comment. The inside was immediately much worse than the outside, for the sounds and lights and smells overlapped here, assaulting all of Wednesday’s senses at once. The air was thick and warm, the mass of human bodies producing enough heat to compete with the fires of hell.

“I can’t believe we’re at our first real party!” Enid exclaimed.

“Nor can I,” said Wednesday, deadpan, giving Enid a withering look.

“Oh, come on. Either you’re enjoying yourself, in which case you’re enjoying yourself. Or you’re miserable, in which case you’re enjoying yourself.”

“That logic is deeply flawed, and I resent it,” said Wednesday. “It reduces my masochism to a mere farce, when it is in fact a nuanced and curated personality.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re ‘deep’ with your sad goth girl vibes.”

They pressed further into the sorority house. In the low but ever-changing light, it was challenging to really make out the specifics of most of the other party goers. Wednesday did spot the pale eyes of several sirens, a rowdy group that were no doubt werewolves (or, at least, were-somethings), as well as the odd vampire or gorgon or selkie. But at least half of the crowd was externally unidentifiable, whether because they had a more hidden lineage (Pugsley was certainly living proof of just how mundane an outcast could look), or because they’d managed to sneak or talk their way into the party. Though, Wednesday didn’t expect that all that many normies would be particularly attracted to this kind of event, unless they were themselves somewhat deranged. All up, it was fractionally better than a purely normal gathering, but wildly inferior to solitude. Of course.

“Enid!” a voice called from within the crowd. Wednesday struggled to spot its source (curse her stature), until a pale woman with wire-framed sunglasses appeared and wrapped Enid in a tight squeeze. “Didn’t know if you even knew this was on, let alone would come. This is so exciting!”

“Why is Tanaka here?” Wednesday interrupted, not managing to hide the bitterness in her tone, and directing the question to Enid.

“You’re here?” Enid said only half a moment later.

“Yeah, well, um…”

“Are you stalking us?” asked Wednesday.

“I would say no, except you’ll probably hear my explanation and decide otherwise,” said Yoko.

“Do tell.”

“Well, Enid wasn’t exactly subtle about how excited she was when her acceptance letter came, but also”—Yoko looked back to Enid—“you didn’t hide your disappointment that we were all going our separate ways. I looked into it, and discovered that the Psi House had another permanent vampire resident. Look, I know that I talked about staying at Nevermore indefinitely, but I can basically do the same here, and Divina couldn’t stick around as a high schooler forever, so we made the jump. But wanted to surprise you.”

“That siren’s here too?” Wednesday asked.

At the exact same time, Enid said, “Divina is here too? O.M.G. This is incredible!”

“And here I thought I’d finally get some peace,” Wednesday muttered.

“Nice to see you too, Addams,” Yoko replied, letting the sarcasm drip from her words.

“Come on, Wends. Yoyo and Vinny have our backs, or at least mine, and while I know you get hives from colour, I also know that you’re not actually allergic to choosing to be polite, just personally adverse.”

“I suppose having a bloodsucker and a con-woman around could prove occasionally useful.”

“That’s the spirit, Addams,” Yoko said dryly. “Need a drink, Sinclair?”

“I promised Wends that we’d do this one dry, or she’d have stayed in the room,” said Enid, an over-exaggerated pout on her face.

“You’re rooming together, again?”

“I know, isn’t it the best?” said Enid.

At the same time, Wednesday replied, “Enid is tolerable compared to the presence of a stranger.”

“Get a room already,” Yoko said.

“That’s what we just said, Tanaka. We’ve got a room.” Wednesday didn’t understand why the vampire was being so thick.

“Yeah, you do,” was all that Yoko replied. Wednesday thought that Enid went red, but chalked it up to the changing lights.

“We’re looking for information on one Adam Wednesday, no relation,” said Wednesday.

“Um, Wends, we’re here to make friends,” Enid corrected.

“Convenient acquaintances may be a beneficial but secondary outcome, but I am here for information. Have you heard of this ‘Adam,’ Tanaka?”

“I—no, I haven’t,” Yoko admitted. “Is he your evil twin from another dimension, and you have to kill him to assert your dominance as the most gothy goth?”

“He’s already dead,” said Wednesday.

“Not undead? Then why would he be here?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I am asking.”

Yoko gave a bemused shake of her head. “I don’t know any Adam, but there’s a senior in Psi House. Regina Wednesday. She’s probably upstairs, smoking with her pals. Just watch yourself. They’re a bunch of bitches first, outcasts second. Fucking DaVincis.”

“Enid, we’re going upstairs. Tanaka, I accept that you will be attending this school, but I also expect you to keep your social calls to a minimum.”

“So, you two wanna grab coffee tomorrow?” Yoko asked.

“Yes, yes, yes!” squealed Enid. “The summer felt sooooo long. We have so much to catch up on!”

Wednesday let out a long sigh. “I will suffer your presence for the sake of caffeine, but I will be bringing my garlic and holy water to ensure that you fuck off once you start to bore me.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Coincidences and Convergences

In which Wednesday follows clues and attends classes

“It’s what he gets for following me around like a sad puppy. Never had an original thought. Couldn’t even leave me alone after I left home. Barely worth being called a DaVinci with how little control he had. Pathetic fucking child. I’m mainly just pissed about what it’s put dad through. Funerals are expensive as fuck, and dad’s wife will be having a meltdown over her precious baby’s murder.”

“Murder?” Wednesday asked. It turned out that Regina was Adam Wednesday’s sister (half-sister, she insisted), but didn’t care enough to know anything useful about his final hours. But the comment about ‘murder’ confirmed something that Wednesday hadn’t known for sure, bringing vague hints of her vision back. Strangulation by a pair of small but surprisingly strong hands, the boy unable to summon the will to resist as something pressed upon his mind, suppressing his consciousness well before the physical asphyxiation kicked in.

“No suspects, no leads. Just neck bruising on his dumped body. The killer didn’t even take his phone or wallet,” said Regina. Her tone was dismissive and apathetic. Though Wednesday delighted in a good murder, the callous way in which this girl treated a family member was detestable.

“Can you let us know if you hear anything more? My number is…” Enid began.

“Why do you care? I don’t want your number. Fuck off.”

“I believe his murder was meant to be a message for me,” said Wednesday. “My name is Wednesday Addams, and I…”

Regina interrupted again. “Good for you. Don’t care.”

Two of the girl’s friends stood, and Wednesday and Enid were pushed out of the door. Already looking away from them, Regina Wednesday waved a hand at the door, which slammed shut in their faces of its own accord.

Trudging back down the stairs, Wednesday stewed internally. Her mind ran through a dozen different options for carrying out a second, untraceable murder of a member of Adam and Regina’s family in the same week. But she just let Enid take her elbow, and drag her back out of the sorority house. It only been several minutes since they first arrived, but Wednesday was already entirely over the party, and wanted nothing more than to crash back in her room.

Outside, leaning against the porch railing, they ran into Yoko again, now with Divina. The couple were engaged in disgusting public displays of affection, their lips and hands on one another in a way that reminded Wednesday of her parents. Even without having drunk anything, Wednesday wanted to puke.

“Oi, Sinclair, Addams,” Davina said, breaking away. “Yoko said she spotted you. Good to recognise some faces, and see at least one”—Divina smirked at Enid—“friendly face around here.”

“We’re leaving,” said Wednesday.

“Nooo, Wends, we only just got here,” whined Enid, still tugging at her arm.

Wednesday had thought that she was leading them out of the party, and said as much.

Enid replied, “Just for some fresh air after dealing with that jerk. I figured you needed out for a few minutes. But if we leave now, this doesn’t count as having been to a party!”

“A bunch of fur jocks just turned up, and it stinks of sweat in there now,” Yoko said. “No offence, Enid.”

“Oh, no, I agree. Noticed that on the way down. Growing up with my brothers means I hate it more, not less,” said Enid with a shrug. “We could go have our own party – Wends and I have a decent amount of space. Acceptable compromise, Wednesday?”

“You want the snake and the charmer in our room?” Wednesday sneered. “We have a killer to find.”

“Classes haven’t even started, and you’re investigating a new murder already?” Yoko asked, ignoring the first part of Wednesday’s statement. Many of her former peers had built up an inoculation to her insults over the last three years, unfortunately. “Is that a personal record?”

“For investigating a murder at a new school? Perhaps. For committing one…? That’s a different matter,” Wednesday said with a dark stare. (The statement wasn’t a lie. Just the implication of it. Wednesday had never intentionally murdered a classmate. Yet.)

Inevitably, the snake and the charmer did end up following them back to Gertrude Hall, arm-in-arm with Enid on either side, while Wednesday stayed several steps ahead. It was more tolerable than the house party, and Yoko and Divina were content to talk with Enid on her side of the room, while Wednesday sat at her desk and tried to block out the conversation. Shortly before midnight, she tried aggressively using her typewriter (no reaction), replacing her cello strings (mild looks of annoyance), and then finally pulled out a partially complete taxidermy project. At this last passive-aggressive endeavour to bring the night to a close, Yoko actually seemed more interested in what Wednesday was doing, but Divina would have none of it, and dragged her girlfriend from the room before Wednesday could complete even one new stitch.

“Must you?” Enid asked, her face contorted and refusing to look at Wednesday’s setup, despite the fact that any blood had been long since drained. In response, Wednesday stayed silent but merely began packing up her tools and the pre-cleaned, road-killed mongoose hide that her Grandmama had gifted her for Yuletide, the flesh having served as dinner a few days prior.

“You know,” continued Enid. “They’re not the worst people that you could be friends with. Yoko shares lots of both style and interests with you, and Divina would be down for anything, if you ever needed extra hands for some less-than-legal activity. You just need to give them the time of day.”

“They should invest in watches,” Wednesday said dryly.

“You should invest in being nicer,” Enid retorted, though she said it without much sting.

Letting the subject otherwise drop, Wednesday just gave her roommate an eyeroll that was nevertheless something of an admission. Wednesday didn’t actively dislike either of their former classmates, just treated them with the same passive distaste as everyone else. The fact that, in addition to a standard practice of sarcasm and insult, she had actually allowed them into her room and to then leave alive should’ve spoken volumes about her level of tolerance. Besides, she even treated them better than Pugsley.

Nevertheless, Enid too seemed to have had a long enough day. Before long, the two of them climbed into their respective beds, Enid curling around a very spherical unicorn plush, and Wednesday settling into her comfortingly cadaverous position.

Over the weekend before classes began, Wednesday made absolutely no progress on investigating the murder of Adam Wednesday. As much as she had detested having to work with Sheriff Galpin before his gruesome murder in her second year at Nevermore, and then had never really managed to be in Sheriff Santiago’s good graces, small-town constabularies functioned very differently to those in a city. Security at the police headquarters was much higher here, the receptionist unwilling to disclose who was working on the case, and none of the detectives that she independently identified would entertain any of her questions. There was no such thing as a casefile left serendipitously in the backseat of an aging hatchback vehicle. The greater degree of procedure, as well as Wednesday’s knowledge that city law enforcement came with an even higher risk of systematic violence without real consequence, left her with little taste to push her luck.

But the killer was thorough. The little that Wednesday could glean between the lines of the non-statements from the police, some digital snooping with Enid’s help, and the few public statements so far, suggested that everyone involved was truly at a dead end, as Regina had claimed. Without a crime scene to personally investigate (apparently, the murder had taken place in a car, which had been scraped for evidence and then already gone to the wreckers), it wasn’t that Wednesday couldn’t follow the trail so much as the trail simply not existing.

Her only consolation, if one could call it that, was that a message like this wouldn’t be a one off, especially if the killer thought that it hadn’t been properly received. Despite darkness being her preference in a literal sense, being in the dark figuratively didn’t sit well with Wednesday. But she had a feeling that the killer would know if Wednesday didn’t take the right meaning from their actions, and only ensure that the next one was clearer. The next body would drop soon, and she’d be ready for it.

In the absence of progress, the remainder of the weekend wasn’t unpleasant. Enid disappeared once or twice to catch up with her other friends again, but otherwise she and Wednesday spent essentially two whole days together, exploring the best spots in the nearby town, identifying escape routes, locating where their classes would take place, stashing emergency supply caches, meeting a few unremarkable fellow members of Gertrude Hall, and setting traps on their door and windowsills. It was about as normal as Wednesday could expect for starting somewhere new. More and more students appeared as the weekend stretched on, with flocks arriving by the time it was Sunday afternoon. But Wednesday’s death glare was still just as effective, and no rooms existed past their own door, so she endured it in relative peace.

Then Monday struck.

Their respective schedules didn’t align well at all. Wednesday had all mornings, with a free day each Thursday. Enid had at least something every day, the majority of her lectures and workshops in the afternoons. And though Wednesday’s literature course was in the same building as Enid’s media and theatre courses, but often not on the same days. Chemistry classes and labs took place in a completely separate wing, which was another five minutes for Wednesday to walk from their dorm compared to where most of the arts were taught. It would have been a nightmare to coordinate on the fly, so Wednesday ended up writing out a shared calendar that showed when it was possible to grab lunch together, which Enid subsequently colour coded with neon highlighters, much to Wednesday’s displeasure.

Luckily, both had kept their evenings relatively free. Wednesday had Eskrima (a Filipino, knife-based martial art) once a week, but at least that was on the same night the dance group that Enid had signed up for. Yes, Enid was determined to ingratiate them into campus social life, but otherwise, the two girls could at least return home to one another’s company at the end of each day. After so long together, Enid remained a constant noise in Wednesday’s space, but her mind now saw it as more of a background white noise than an invasive cacophony. Without Enid, the room felt altogether too quiet.

However, the lunches that they could grab together became something of a staple in Wednesday’s weeks pretty quickly. Especially the longer break right in the middle of the week, when they were able to wander off campus and find somewhere that simultaneously was quieter and served better food than any of the university shops. They weren’t officially working lunches (not for study, of course, but for investigative business), but it became pretty common for the main topic of discussion to be Wednesday’s latest line of inquiry.

Adam’s murder continued to gnaw at Wednesday, but while she waited for the killer’s next move, they busied themselves with other ‘cases.’ More often than not, this was simply an anomaly or suspicious-looking individual that one of them had noticed on campus. Enid freely admitted that she much preferred this kind of small-time sleuthing, over the terrifying intersection of extreme violence and the supernatural that they had experienced several times at Nevermore, and that Wednesday seemed to be itching to find again. But Wednesday made a point of not complaining. The little mysteries didn’t risk Enid’s physical safety, and seemed to scratch the same itch as gossip-mongering, which meant that Enid was remarkably invested. So Wednesday continued to keep an eye out for the strange and the conspicuous, and would share her observations in a conspiratorial tone over their meals at a little Mexican restaurant that they found. Each time, Enid would lean in with a sparkle in her eyes, eager for their next case.

For the most part, classes were a non-event. Despite actively advertising that it accepted and wanted to support Outcasts, this was predominantly a Normie-run institution. Between her high aptitude for absorbing new material, and little chance of any physical harm occurring even in the chemistry labs (let alone the literature lectures), Wednesday found that her study was more of a time filler than a challenge. At least the material was new, so she was learning, but it didn’t take a lot of concerted effort.

Enid too was largely thriving in her courses. At least, the practical elements of her theatre papers were the perfect match for Enid’s talents and personality, and she had significantly more and more informed views on the media content than on any courses at Nevermore. The theoretical components of both disciplines were a little more of a challenge for Enid, who didn’t necessarily lack the understanding, but merely the rigour and the inclination toward research and essay writing. Over the first few weeks, however, Wednesday also built into their shared schedule various study sessions, to body double with Enid to help her focus on her assignments, and to work through the structure and arguments of her writing.

Overall, Wednesday quickly decided that tertiary education suited her personality significantly more than high school had, while leaving her with more time for her independent pursuits. She just found herself sometimes wishing for something unexpected to occur, before catching herself and admitting that, no matter how exciting, it was probably preferable that not every year of her education was defined by a life-threatening event that shook her entire world and sense of self.

Three smaller occurrences crossed their path before the first month was out, none of which Wednesday could be certain were related to Adam’s murder. She filed away the details of each, waiting for a pattern to emerge.

In the second week, as Wednesday and Enid headed out one evening to work on their first assignments together at their new go-to café, a pest control trap just off to the side of the path had something large and dark crushed in its jaws. Being familiar with both mechanisms of death and practices of conservation, Wednesday was at first more surprised to see it so close to a public throughfare, especially where people could walk their pets. Upon closer inspection, however, she discovered that it was a raven. Such birds weren’t common in the area, but not entire unheard of. However, they tended to be too smart for this kind of trap, and uninterested in the kind of bait usually on offer.

Then, that weekend, when Enid ordered takeout for the two of them plus Yoko and Divina on the Saturday night, all of their meals arrived with any piece of red meat still entirely raw and bloody. The delivery driver, who Wednesday chased down and cornered just off campus, had seemed almost dazed, and had no recollection of any problem with the order. By the time that she arrived back at their room, Enid had already called the restaurant, and a replacement order was on the way, but the staff member on the other end of the line was convinced that they’d sent out a perfectly normal set of meals.

Finally, almost two more weeks after the takeout debacle, when Wednesday was starting to get fidgety about no other developments, a scream filled the air right outside her Friday morning chemistry lecture. The whole class immediately distracted, Wednesday hurried for the door. In the courtyard outside, surrounded by several onlookers, one already on the phone to emergency services, an olive-skinned girl with long black hair was curled up on the concrete. The side of her head was bruised and bloody, the wound dripping down onto her almost entirely greyscale outfit.

The injured girl locked eyes with Wednesday, despite the size of the crowd quickly forming. Scenes of her vision in the cemetery came rushing back into Wednesday’s memory, as they had done the night that she had spoken with Regina. Something old and mechanical—a typewriter, she thought, but maybe she was just projecting an item from her own life—being used to bludgeon the girl’s skull, but leaving her alive and awake enough to stumble out into the open air. The scream echoed through Wednesday’s mind again, the same that she had just heard, realising that it had also appeared in her vision the month before.

Whatever these seemingly random events were, the pattern still indiscernible to Wednesday despite her best efforts, each one felt personal.

And now, finally, in ramping up their dramatics, the killer had finally given Wednesday a victim to interrogate.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Hidden Presences

In which Wednesday continues to run into dead ends, but also gains allies

With a quick command, Wednesday sent Thing to sneak into the ambulance with her phone, ready to report back with its final destination. Unlike Nevermore, which preferred to keep most matters in house, and otherwise there was only the one small hospital in Jericho, Wednesday couldn’t be certain where the killer’s latest victim would end up. The larger city was simultaneously a blessing and a curse for sending Thing, as he would definitely be more out of place than at a specialist school for Outcasts, and had to navigate greater crowds and more dangerous roads than in Jericho. However, one could duck around a corner and immediately disappear more easily in the chaos of a city, and the denizens of this place were more often disaffected and distracted by their own business. Still, Wednesday felt an unfamiliar pang of apprehension as he scuttled beneath the ambulance and leapt up to hold onto the undercarriage, while also trying to maintain a proper grip on her device.

Her impromptu tracking mechanism established, Wednesday didn’t bother to head back into her lecture. It was unlikely that it would properly resume anyway, as law enforcement had also arrived and begun to talk to witnesses, and any focus or momentum that the class had was now inevitably lost to the chaos. Instead, ensuring that she herself didn’t get cornered by the cops and the campus security, Wednesday beelined back to her dormitory. Without her phone, she was hoping that Enid would be home and not out somewhere being social. Today was one that they often found a little time to grab lunch together, but Enid wouldn’t be expecting her roommate for almost another half hour.

“…Are you here? I need your phone,” Wednesday was already asking as she pushed open the door to their room.

“Hello to you too,” Enid replied. She was sitting on her bed, with a textbook propped up on her lap.

“Oh good. And you’re not using it. Even better,” said Wednesday.

A little sheepishly, Enid lowered her textbook to show Wednesday where her phone was sitting between the pages.

“Ah, I stand corrected. No one was even here—who were you hiding it from?”

“I guess it’s, um, habit,” Enid said, avoiding eye contact with Wednesday in embarrassment.

“Right, well, never mind. I’m expecting a text from Thing any minute.”

“You’re out of breath, talking super quickly, and have sent thing away? Tell me what happened,” Enid said.

“A clue,” was all that Wednesday responded.

“Go on.”

“Well, a girl ran past my chem lecture, screaming, with blood pouring from her head.”

“Shit, Wednesday, that’s intense. Like, yes, okay, maybe it’s related, but is she okay? The poor thing! Were there lots of people around?” asked Enid.

“She’ll be fine. It clearly wasn’t meant to be fatal. The quantity of blood was impressive, but not more than I’ve survived before. The killer wanted me to see it. I’m certain. Thing’s with the ambulance.”

“So, we’re going to whichever hospital she ends up at?”

“She might not be awake for a day or two, but yes. That gives us time to figure out a way in.”

As Wednesday was speaking, Enid’s phone went off. Wednesday went to grab it, but Enid held the device up out of the way. “Chill, Sherlock.”

“I need to know where Thing is.”

“I know. Which is why you don’t need to snatch my phone to answer a phone call from Agnes,” said Enid, punctuating her words as if Wednesday had been the one to just sustain a head injury. But Wednesday relented, dropping to sit on her own bed across from Enid, who answered the call with an affectionate, “Hey, psycho, sup?”

Whether simply not thinking of it, or intentionally trying to annoy Wednesday, Enid hadn’t put her phone on speaker. Wednesday could only vaguely hear the pitch and cadence of Agnes DeMille’s voice, as the younger Nevermore student explained something at length.

Enid’s side of the conversation didn’t exactly reveal much more: “Oh yup … Really? Damn … Sure, of course! … But that definitely sucks … Yeah, she’d love to have you, haha … When? … That works!”

“Care to share with the class?” Wednesday asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.

“Our favourite little freak is coming to stay,” Enid explained.

“First, I’d have assumed that was at least half my decision. Second, why? Third, when? Fourth, why?” Wednesday asked.

Over the course of their final year at Nevermore, her and Enid had continued to grow closer with the young Vanisher. Their other friends variously joked about Agnes being their apprentice, their pet, and (to Wednesday’s greatest chagrin) their daughter. But, ultimately, the uncanny younger girl had genuinely become a friend. Sure, the friendship was defined by its sarcasm and passive aggression, but neither Enid nor Wednesday would’ve allowed someone that deep inside of their bubble to allow such back-and-forth to occur if they didn’t care for them. When Agnes had first revealed herself on Prank Day two years ago, Wednesday had been convinced that, despite the fact that she may have otherwise admired whatever was wrong with Agnes, the Vanisher had gone too far, tried too hard, and put the wrong person in danger by targeting Enid. However, since having come into her own and becoming, as Wednesday and Enid had encouraged, her own freak, Wednesday looked back and figured that it wasn’t so out of character that one of her close friends had once been her opponent and stalker.

Upon graduating Nevermore, Enid had cried saying goodbye to Agnes, and Agnes had stared at the pair of them with such wide eyes (even more so than usual) as if desperate to burn their image in her memory. Agnes wouldn’t graduate for several more years, and was essentially trapped at the boarding school just as they had been until she was eighteen. But they also were at significantly different points in their lives, and there wasn’t really a practical way or logical reason to try to maintain anything more than a digital presence in each other’s lives. Wednesday had not expected to see her in person anytime soon.

“She’s… god, Wednesday, it’s pretty awful,” Enid began. She sighed, took a breath, and continued, “Her dad doesn’t want her home. Sounds like summer didn’t go well. Because their school terms are different, and started earlier, Nevermore has a week’s break even though we don’t. She, um, didn’t really want to be on her own at Nevermore, and one of the teachers with family out this way offered to give her a ride if we’d have her.”

“I—right, okay,” said Wednesday. “I’m going to need some time to prepare for that mentally, but… good, I suppose. If that’s what she needs. Where will she stay?”

“Um, here?”

“This room is often too small for even two, Enid.”

“It’s only a week, and she can bunk on my side if she needs to. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine. How long do I have?”

Enid winced slightly, as she explained, “Um, she will get here late tonight.”

Her eyes going wide, spine stiff, Wednesday didn’t respond. Staying sitting on her bed for a full minute of silence, she eventually stood and swiped Enid’s phone from her hand (in response to which she received a pout and an indignant “Hey!”), and marched out of the room.

“What about lunch?” Enid called after her.

“If you happen to turn up at our usual spot in twenty minutes, you might find me there if you’re lucky. But don’t follow me right now, unless you wish to be hamstrung,” muttered Wednesday.

“See you soon, then!” Enid said, with exaggerated brightness.

Of course, Wednesday did go right to their favourite on-campus lunch location. They only really made it off campus over lunch to a better café on Wednesdays. But she did need the time alone, and several other students wandered near and then promptly excused themselves at Wednesday’s intense glare. She pulled out Enid’s phone, still not having heard from Thing, and navigated to their group chat with Agnes.

The previous interaction had been an argument between Enid and Agnes over the name of the chat:

[Little Psycho changed the name of the group to ‘The Three Musketeers 💀👻🐺’]

Big Bad Wolfie: nuh uh thats not happening 😡😡😡

[Big Bad Wolfie changed the name of the group to ‘Addams & Sinclair Detective Co 🔎 (+ Agnes)’]

Little Psycho: If we’re detectives, you’re the mascot at best or maybe the potted plant 😂

[Little Psycho changed the name of the group to ‘The Two Musketeers coz one of them died 👻💀’]

Big Bad Wolfie: oh stuff u your obvs 3rd wheel

Big Bad Wolfie: (oops pls dont kill me wends! *youre)

Wednesday Addams (do not change my name!): Hello, Enid and Agnes. You are acting like children. Please grow up. In addition, I am once again bemused that you corrected one error, but decided that the remaining two errors and lack of punctuation were permissible, Enid. Insincerely, W.A.

Big Bad Wolfie: see?? its ENID and agnes not agnes and ENID

[Big Bad Wolfie changed the name of the group to ‘💀🐺👻’]

Wednesday Addams (do not change my name!): Hello. Enid, I will tolerate the emoticons this time. Agnes, please do not change the group name again. Worst wishes, W.A.

[Little Psycho changed the name of the group to ‘💀👻🐶’]

Little Psycho: Oh I’d already done it 😅

Little Psycho: Soz

Little Psycho: I’ll fix it!

[Little Psycho changed the name of the group to ‘💀👻🐺’]

Big Bad Wolfie: …

Big Bad Wolfie: 😠😤👿

Little Psycho: jk jk chill

[Little Psycho changed the name of the group to ‘💀🐺👻’]

Wednesday Addams (do not change my name!): Hello. I better not get more notifications on this subject, or the next people notified will be your next of kin. Yours terribly, W.A.

Big Bad Wolfie: yes maam 😭

Little Psycho: 🫡

As unnatural as such a response was, rereading their messages almost brought a smile to Wednesday’s face. Almost. They didn’t actually use the group chat very often, as Wednesday would be the first to admit that she was not the most responsive. In fact, it was a point of pride. She also knew that, despite their bickering, Enid and Agnes messaged each other directly most days, in a chat called ‘Mortal Enemies (👻 vs 🐺)’. They primarily communicated not only with the little emoticon pictures, but also the bigger ‘meme’ pictures, though Wednesday still didn’t know what the connection was between the latter kind of image and the use of theories of genetic transmission to explain the evolution of cultural practices.

She was about to digitally accost Agnes and demand more warning next time, but then realised that having the younger girl around for the week could be very useful for her investigations, and decided to bottle up any further frustration.

Then, a ping came through, from Wednesday’s own number (which, unlike the group chat, she’d allowed Enid to slightly modify, though not quite into a nickname, appreciating that Enid recognised that she had a heart as black as midnight):

🖤Wednesday🖤: Thing Addams reporting with intel. At Central Hospital, Accident and Emergency Ward. But listened in, wound is dramatic but superficial, girl to be discharged to university infirmary tomorrow morning. Awaiting orders. Thing over.

In his typical dramatic fashion, it was obvious that Thing was enjoying being back to investigative antics. Wednesday typed out her reply:

Enid: Hello, Thing. This is Wednesday using Enid’s cellphone. Please keep watch overnight, and return with the ambulance in the morning. New intel on our end: codename “Thin Air” will be arriving in the evening, and can assist in our further investigations. Over and out, W.A.

In response to which she immediately received:

🖤Wednesday🖤: ???

Since Enid had used the same double or triple question marks before to signal a query without asking an explicit question, Wednesday interpreted the implication without too much trouble. Sighing, especially at having to reopen the conversation after her very definitive farewell, Wednesday explained:

Enid: Hello, Thing. I am referring, of course, to Agnes DeMille, and am offended that my clever moniker for her was unappreciated. Given her talent for going unseen, it felt appropriate to use part of the idiom “to disappear into thin air,” which I had presumed all people of minimal intelligence or higher would recognise. I am disappointed to have to explain it to you. Please carry out your assigned mission as discretely as possible. You do not have possession of my cellphone for the sake of ‘chit-chat.’ Stay vigilant. Over and OUT, W.A.

Thing reacted to the message with a ‘thumbs up’ emoticon, which Wednesday let slide, as it felt uniquely appropriate coming from the disembodied hand.

Having finally received an update, and pleased that she wouldn’t be required to trek into the city proper and infiltrate a hospital, Wednesday let out a breath and sat up straight to keep an eye out for Enid. There was literally no chance that her roommate didn’t follow, even if Enid did take the hint and give Wednesday a few minutes to sort through her own thoughts. If Wednesday stormed out, the solution was never to risk her ire by chasing after her. Unless you were the enigma known as Enid Sinclair, who had proven time and time again that, while she’d give Wednesday a little space to breathe when asked for, short-term reconciliation was important and inevitable.

She wasn’t at all surprised, then, to see a head of wavy blonde hair appear across the courtyard in which Wednesday sat, eighteen minutes after Wednesday had walked out of the dorm. Adding the thirty seconds that it would yet take to close the distance, Wednesday accepted that Enid had mostly waited for as long as she’d requested.

“Yo. Got your fumes out, yeah? Ready for the poor, strange, abandoned child to join us for a bit?” Enid asked by way of greeting.

“I don’t fume. I seethe, and I glower. And,” said Wednesday with a very firm glare at Enid. “She is not our child.”

“No, but she is a child, which is how I described her,” Enid pointed out. “The idea that she is ours is on you.”

“She will have to grow accustomed to a single, widowed caregiver without a single maternal instinct in her body, if you speak a further word about this inane and inaccurate topic,” threatened Wednesday.

“‘Widowed’ implies that we’re m-a-r-r-i-e-d,” Enid said, spelling the word out in a sing-song voice.

“I was ironically entertaining your delusions by way of a conclusory statement to the subject.”

“So you don’t think I’m wife material?”

“I—” Wednesday began. She frowned, slightly. “I do not believe that wives should be reduced to their material value. It’s perhaps one thing that I can agree on with my father and his attitude toward my mother, despite all of their other despicably intimate behaviour.”

“Aww, my little grumpy feminist. Don’t be too hard on your parents. It’s nice, seeing a couple who show how much they still love each other. I’d like to experience that, some day. My parents certainly don’t provide a good blueprint,” said Enid.

“Note that I will likely grow to resent your presence if I have to endure seeing you act like my parents with your future partner,” Wednesday said, receiving a raised eyebrow from Enid that she wasn’t sure how to interpret. “But your parents, or at least your mother, are perhaps at best blueprints for the contemporary devolution of humanity into swine, and even then they provide less utility as at least a farmed animal can be turned into a decent meal. I bet Esther would taste foul, much as she deserves to go on the butcher’s block.”

Enid shook her head, eyebrow no longer raised, as she visibly dropped whatever she had been thinking. “I appreciate your enthusiasm for my… emancipation? Is that the right word? But please don’t murder my mother. I know you wouldn’t get caught, but I’m not sure if interrogated that I wouldn’t crack under the pressure, and you’d end up in jail anyway.”

“So, just to be clear, it’s not actually the murder of your mother with which you take issue?” Wednesday asked. “Just the risk of the consequences returning to haunt me?”

“Wednesday Friday Addams, I will be disappointed in you if you kill my mother, but I will admit that I appreciate where the sentiment comes from, and have felt it myself sometimes. I’m my own adult now, though, and half the country away. Even if she’s not dead, she’s dead to me, and that’s enough.”

“I will refrain for now,” Wednesday promised.

“Good. Anyway, Agnes? Got any ideas?”

“Well, she can help me access the infirmary once the girl who got her skull bashed is back on campus, and then, next week, she could sneak into…” Wednesday began.

Enid sighed, and cut her off. “I meant… any thoughts on what we might need while she stays? Or fun places that we could take her? Do you think she’ll want to sit in on any of our classes?”

“Enid, you’ve met Agnes. If I tell her that I’m being goaded and threatened by an unknown killer, and have a witness to interrogate, and want her help… Or, you suggest going to the mall or dragging her along to your lectures… Which do you think she’ll decide is the most fun?”

“Damn. No, you’re right. But can we at least find some time to hang out together? In a normal way.”

“I would remind you that our ‘normal’ is not exactly, well, normative. But, fine. We can show her the best coffee, and the nearby cemeteries, and that Mexican restaurant, and that abandoned basement underneath the Politics and History building. And, if you can persuade the RA to let us borrow it, we can watch a film on a sheet with the projector, so long as you promise that it is a genuine vote on which film, and not just ‘Enid gives puppy eyes until we watch a romantic comedy’,” said Wednesday.

“That’s… still a pretty weird agenda, but it sounds like about as good as I’m going to get. I am not going back into the basement, but the movie is a good idea. Just… please, can we draw the line at slashers that are basically torture porn?” Enid asked, definitely bringing out those very same puppy eyes.

“I will ensure that any of my horror recommendations use gore in narratively meaningful ways, and the tiebreaker will fall to Agnes. We both know whose film taste she will favour,” said Wednesday.

Enid sighed. “Fine. Fine! I recognise that this is you compromising. God, Wends, this is like a million miles from who you used to be, and yet I still end up watching things with you that give me nightmares for days!”

“If you’re not legitimately scared, what excuse will you use to sit knee-to-knee with me, and burrow your face in my shoulder when you think something is about to leap out?” Wednesday asked, giving Enid a teasing smirk.

“I—I—” Enid stammered, trying to defy Wednesday’s implications. Her shoulders dropped. “Yeah, okay, fine. You only let me hug you when there’s blood and gore, and since I really don’t want it to be my blood or your blood ever again if I can help it, your movies are the only other thing. It’s who I am, Wednesday! And you starve me of it.”

In response to her somehow-even-more-inflated puppy eyes, Wednesday simply rolled her own.

“Oh! We should go to Target or Ikea and get like an air mattress and a pillow and whatever other furniture we can fold and stash away for when she visits,” Enid said, dragging the conversation off in a completely different direction, her voice turning shrill with excitement.

“And whose money are you proposing we use to fund this foul excursion to the altar of capitalism?” Wednesday asked.

“Yours, of course!”

The day continued to tick by, Enid’s afternoon theatre class coming and going, and neither girl heard anything further from Agnes. They ordered takeout to their room (luckily, no raw steaks dripping with blood this time), including enough for a third person. Agnes had said that she would arrive later in the evening, but Wednesday still thought that was fairly ambiguous, and could’ve meant in time for dinner depending on when the younger girl drew the arbitrary line between ‘evening’ and ‘night.’ Though, Wednesday admitted to herself that she shouldn’t have been all that surprised. After their rocky start in Wednesday’s second year at Nevermore, with Agnes deciding to remain as strange as ever, but own it for herself and not just imitate Wednesday, it became quickly apparent that one of Agnes’ core traits around those with whom she felt comfortable was ensuring that no one expected her next move. Wednesday and Enid had become good at predicting the Vanisher, and also noticing when she was invisibly present, but that only pushed Agnes to up her game. Always wanting to get one over them.

As Enid had kindly labelled it once, Agnes’ number one hobby was ‘fuckery.’ Not the word that Wednesday would have used, but after looking up this particular variant of what was apparently the world’s most versatile curse, she decided it was entirely appropriate.

It was entirely unsurprising, therefore, when a voice suddenly manifested out of thin air, right as Wednesday was ready to give up and head to bed, and said as much to Enid. In Agnes’ snarky, higher-pitched tone, the voice said, “Aww, what a shame. I was sure she would’ve arrived by now!”

And, though ‘unsurprising’ in the general sense, the specific moment of reveal definitely got the better of Wednesday, who had to force herself and draw on every ounce of her control and reserve to not jump a little, or let Agnes see any reaction on her face. Enid, on the other hand, very much jumped. And squealed. And swore. And lunged for where Agnes had materialised, claws out.

As she was tackled to the ground, Agnes let out a laugh, which quickly turned into her breathlessly asking for mercy. Though still very much amused. “God, down puppy. Get off me. You win! But, ah, I got you so good.”

“The only thing you’ll be getting are these claws in your throat,” Enid growled. But, even as she said as much, Enid was pulling their guest to her feet, and pulled her into a tight hug. Tight enough, of course, to further crush the breath out of Agnes, but Agnes simply squeezed her back.

“When?” was all that Wednesday asked, by way of greeting.

“Good to see you too, little viper,” Agnes said, clearly intentionally goading Wednesday by mimicking one of the names that she must have heard Gomez use in the past. “Maybe I’ve just grown in my power, and can walk through walls?”

“When?” Wednesday repeated.

“Right behind the delivery driver,” Agnes admitted, dropping heavily to sit on the side of Enid’s bed.

“That was hours ago!” said Enid, falling next to her and flopping backward onto the bed in a dramatic fashion. “You let the food go cold for the bit?”

“Anything for the bit.” Agnes beamed at each of them.

“Maybe not walk-through-walls good, but you have gotten good,” Enid said. “From the tiny little flicker in her eyes, not only did I not sense you, but Wednesday didn’t either!”

“Now, listen here. I—” Wednesday began. She paused, looked at Agnes and then away, and then crossed her arms. “Fine. Yes. I’m out of practice, and I didn’t notice you.”

“I’ll add that to my jar of compliments from you. Which is currently just an empty jar,” said Agnes, miming screwing open a lid and looking sadly inside the imaginary vessel.

“I thought you were past caring what I think about you?” Wednesday asked. Her tone was deadpan, but this was known to all of them as a common point of teasing.

“As an object of stalkerish worship? Sure,” Agnes said with a smirk. “But, and I don’t know if you’ve heard of this, but there’s such a thing as liking your friends and wanting them to like you back.”

“Inconceivable. Horrifying. Cruel and usual,” Wednesday replied, scrunching her face in mock disgust.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Transparency

In which Wednesday balances emotions and infiltrations

“Hey, um, do you want to talk about it, Agnes?” Enid had asked, as the three girls were preparing for sleep the previous night. They’d finished the last of the (gone cold) pizza with Agnes, and otherwise kept the conversation fairly casual. How their respective classes were going, updates on others they knew who are still at Nevermore, what it feels like to be more independent here at the university compared to a boarding school life.

“I—” Agnes had paused, then shook her head. “Not tonight. The drive took a while, and the plans only changed yesterday, which is why I didn’t ask earlier. But, yeah, I guess it’d be good to get it off my chest sometime soon.”

The final moments of their time awake having turned solemn, Wednesday pulled her sheets up high to her chin, arms crossed stiffly over her chest, listening as Agnes rustled softly into her makeshift bed on the floor. The new air mattress squeaked slightly, but those physical noises were also punctuated by careful sighs and long breaths as the younger girl tried to calm herself into sleep. Emotional vulnerability was not Wednesday’s forte, unsurprisingly. But, as she struggled to drift at first, and then eventually fell asleep, the sighs and silences weighed on her mind, experiencing an uncomfortable echo of Agnes’ emotions for herself. Empathy (which is what this was, as far as she could tell) was not something with which Wednesday had much practice, but had been bubbling up in her chest periodically over the last three or so years. She blamed Enid.

Still, those same gnawing feelings persisted even as Wednesday awoke on Saturday morning, just as the sun began to rise. From their breathing, the other two girls were still fast asleep. Typically, on a weekend, Enid would likely sleep for at least another hour or two. Agnes was an early riser, if not quite as early as Wednesday, but was likely both physically and emotionally tired from the last few days. Wednesday’s first impulse was to get out of the room, and find some headspace somewhere else, letting them eventually wake to find her gone. Her second impulse was to make a racket and force the sleeping girls to wake and have to suffer through these emotions too.

Instead, she put aside her old habits, and simply sat in bed reading until the sun had risen a little higher and, its rays stretching into the room and across the other girls’ faces, the two of them began to stir. Ultimately, this still meant having her own space to think, and being semi-productive in her own room, without either being used to take out her discomfort on her friends, neither of whom deserved it. Still, it wasn’t the kind of discomfort that sat pleasantly within Wednesday, unlike say a mild poisoning, and by the time Enid gave a low grumble and Agnes pulled herself up to sit, Wednesday was dreading the morning.

Because, not only did Agnes need to speak her piece, but her relationship with her father was not dissimilar to Enid’s relationship with her own family, and such a conversation would inevitably unsettle both of them. Wednesday knew, objectively, that her connection with her parents was fundamentally positive, especially in comparison to her friends’ situations, but that only made her more nervous. Maybe even a little guilty. She knew that Enid would’ve wished for parents as accepting as Gomez and Morticia, and yet Wednesday had the privilege and the arrogance to reject the genuinely infinite affection and support that her family freely offered. It was genuinely something that, along with recognising the value of her friends, Wednesday was trying to actively process, in a way that she could still manage within (or, maybe, despite) her predilection toward independence and intensity.

Stretching while still groggy, Wednesday saw Agnes shift in her peripheral vision, before the girl destabilised the essentially weightless mattress, and landed heavily on the floor. It was fortunate that the bed wasn’t raised any higher.

Enid was immediately awake, though stumbled a little as she struggled with her own sheets to disentangle herself. Rushing over to Agnes, Enid knelt next to their guest, cooing over her with concern. The look on Agnes’ face was obviously one of embarrassment, but masked over with fury.

Instead of saying anything, Wednesday merely pivoted her head the slightest bit, and looked over the top of her book at the other two girls, raising an eyebrow.

“I know there’s a smirk behind those pages. Enjoying my misery?” Agnes asked.

Wednesday lowered her book further, placing it on her lap, to reveal an entirely impassive expression. However, she let her amusement shine in her eyes, feeling the anxiety of the morning flooded out by the ridiculous moment. Enid caught the look, and started softly laughing. Still seated on the wooden floor, Agnes pouted. Enid laughed harder. And then Agnes couldn’t hold out any longer, and joined in with a still-embarrassed giggle.

“I think we need coffee,” declared Wednesday. “Lick your wounds, then we’ll head into town. My shout—but when is it not?”

Given the limited offerings of Jericho for cafés or other such establishments, Agnes seemed to highly approve of the strange, grungy, and fairly quiet spot that Wednesday and Enid frequented. The younger girl’s style had continued to evolve (away from being a direct mimic of Wednesday, that is), and now the three of them made a very odd trio. Between Wednesday’s stark monochrome, with everything perfectly in place; Enid’s nauseating pastels and patterns, though these days punctuated here and there with one or two darker influences from her roommate; and, Agnes’ choice of still largely dark colours, but more rich tones than Wednesday, whether forest greens or deep reds, all wrapped up in a style that Agnes was attempting to label ‘vintage reporter chic’… They were definitely not a combination that the average onlooker would expect.

They found a booth in a moody corner, beneath a fading poster of what Wednesday assumed to be some niche British punk band, perhaps from the ‘90s. The staff shortly brought over their orders, as no one else had been in the queue for coffee. A quad espresso, the same but over ice in a glass, and a loaded butterscotch milkshake with rainbow sprinkles and a chocolate swirl and a double shot. Despite Wednesday having given the order for all three, the server didn’t miss a beat in handing over each drink to its correct owner. She wanted to be annoyed at being so easily typed, but seeing the way that Enid had at least a splash of every colour present in her drink’s sprinkles, and made a delighted sound at her first sip through the novelty straw, Wednesday admitted that it would’ve been more offensive if the server had needed to ask.

After waiting for Enid to finish a particularly long and loud slurp of her drink, Wednesday decided to break the ice, get to the point, and ask Agnes, “Do you want to tell us about what happened over the last few days, and over break, and who I need to make suffer to fix it?”

Agnes let out a long sigh, staring down into her glass. “There’s hardly anything to say. Not that you don’t already know. My father finds any excuse to make every problem and inconvenience my fault. Whether I’m there or not. He builds up a list of grievances in my absence, and invents new ones when I’m around. I guess, maybe… you two helped me to have a little more spine over our time together, and he didn’t much appreciate my attitude. He made a call to Nevermore, partially drunk one night, and insisted that he didn’t want to deal with me ever again, and either they could take me back or else I had the choice between a military school or living on the streets. At first, the school assumed, as did I, that he would relent with sobriety and time. But when my dorm mother called to confirm that he would actually take me home again, he refused. He’s legally obligated to pay for the completion of the school year, since he’d already signed the contracts before his drunken rant, but has cut me off after that. The administration is looking into scholarship options for me, or potential sponsors from the Outcast community, but otherwise I’ll legally fall under the care of the state if they aren’t able to both fully fund and take custody of me. I didn’t want to stay at school this week, with no one who understood, and…”

As she trailed off, Enid was already in tears. “That’s so shit, Agnes! Like, I know exactly what it feels like to not be wanted by your parents, but at least I was the one to make the decision to cut them off. And that was when I became an adult. This is, like, a thousand times more shitty and petty and messed up of your dad!”

“If we take a cab, we can make it to his place by evening. My parents will cover any costs, and probably be envious that they don’t get to take out the trash with us. I’ll hold him down, and you can pick any weapon you choose, and then I’ll help you make it look like an accident,” Wednesday said, her voice low and dangerous. Part of her knew that this was her old habits creeping out, using threats extremity and violence to demonstrate how much she cared without explicitly admitting it. But it was hard not to see red as she heard their younger friend speak.

Agnes gave a dark, humourless laugh. “I appreciate it, Wednesday. But he’s not worth the effort. I’d appreciate some help making sure that I don’t have to leave Nevermore, and maybe some legal action, if I don’t have to be personally involved too much, to make sure that I can get some of my most important stuff and documents back. He’s a miserable, lonely man, and letting him suffer that way without getting my hands dirty is good enough for me. Fuck him.”

“Yeah, fuck him!” Enid called out in agreement, a little too loud and getting a glare from the waitstaff. Not that there were any other customers to disturb.

“Well, in that case,” Wednesday said, then swiped Enid’s phone from the table (her own was still with Thing, who hadn’t yet provided an update again that morning), hitting one of the few contacts in Enid’s phone that she actually recognised. When it connected, she said, “Hello Lurch, can you please pass me to my father?”

Sharing a glance, unsure quite what scheme Wednesday was pursuing without explanation, the other two girls just listened. Enid didn’t even react to Wednesday helping herself to the phone, too curious and shocked that Wednesday was obviously calling home.

“Father, please. This is a business call, though one with a worthy cause. There is no need for such theatrics. It’s barely been a month since we last saw each other. Yes, yes, I know that your heart begins to slip into sentimentality long before mine does. May I make my request?”

Wednesday knew that she was being a little dramatic, keeping her friends in the dark for now by only letting them hear one half of the conversation. But, what was the point of life if not to be a bit of a thorn in the side of the people closest to you, especially when you were actually doing them a favour?

“Right, well, do you remember my junior acquaintance, the one with fiery hair and a knack for disappearing? Yes, Agnes. Agnes DeMille, to be specific. Do a little digging on the family, if you’re curious—bring them no harm, or, no physical harm—but you won’t have to dig very deep to figure out why this is necessary. She needs a sponsor for the rest of her time at Nevermore, as her pathetic excuse for a father has done what no Addams would dare and disowned her. Can you contact the school, and arrange something? Right, yes, excellent. No, we’re not looking for a name change at this point. She’s her own person, and it would go to her head but also distract her from being herself if we named her an Addams. But, yes, okay, I hear you. She’s invited back to the manor for any long breaks, so long as she behaves. Thank you, father. Yes, I will try to call again more often. Right, I’m hanging up now. Goodbye.”

Over the course of the conversation, Agnes’ already large eyes had grown impossibly larger. And, Enid had the gall to be staring at Wednesday with a proud and amused smirk. Wednesday didn’t know what else the two of them should’ve expected—even for the stoic and independent Wednesday, loyalty to family was the very highest principle by which every Addams lived. That meant both condemnation of anyone who treated their family in the way that Agnes’ father did, but it also meant knowing when a lost and unusual individual needed a family with whom to belong.

“Wednesday…” Agnes said, but was otherwise at a loss for words.

In response, Wednesday merely shrugged.

“That’s, like, the most wholesome thing you’ve ever done!” said Enid. “Though, won’t pretend I’m not a little bit upset that the little psycho got invited into the Addams family before I did…”

With a dramatic eye roll, Wednesday said, “Firstly, was almost getting killed to protect the school two years in a row not more selfless, if we must tally my contemptable virtues? And secondly, I just explicitly forbade my father from anything remotely resembling a formal adoption. Why would you want to be part of the family of horrors and nightmares, anyway?”

“Your sacrifices at Nevermore were noble and momentous, yeah, but I specifically said this was wholesome, Wends,” Enid argued. “And, as far as the other point goes, I—” (a sudden, awkward pause) “—you know what? Never mind, if it’s not obvious to you.”

Choosing to ignore whatever it was that Enid was implying, Wednesday turned back to Agnes. “As an expression of your gratitude to me, though I do not expect repayment, I would ask you to consider lending your aid to my latest investigation.”

With something more concrete to grasp onto and respond to, Agnes said, “Oh, right, um… I mean, yes! Duh? Did you think I wanted to visit because I like going shopping and painting my nails with you? What is it? A murderer, or a stalker, or someone criminally insane?”

“Hey!” Enid protested, in response to the pointed comments at her less-unhinged hobbies.

“All of the above,” Wednesday said. “A stalker, who has committed murder and several other insane acts to get my attention. It’s been maddening for weeks, but we finally have a lead.”

Enid groaned, but Wednesday could hear beneath the sound that her annoyance wasn’t fully genuine. If Wednesday and Agnes were scheming about a case, Enid would want to be right in the thick of it with them. In fact, Wednesday reminded herself that she would need to navigate the other two girls’ participation carefully, so that it didn’t become a game of one-upping each other for their contributions. That would inevitably distract from solving the actual puzzle at hand, in addition to generally being frustrating to exist in the middle.

“How can I help?” Agnes asked, eyes shining with eagerness.

“The killer’s latest victim survived—was intentionally allowed to by the killer, I believe—and is being transferred back to the campus infirmary sometime this morning. There will doubtless be security, but less than at the public hospital. Of course, since when was security a problem when you are around?”

“Oh!” said Agnes. She hesitated for a moment, though, looking a strange mix of excited and guilty.

“Spill it, whatever it is,” Wednesday insisted.

“Well, um, we haven’t had a lot of time to catch up about, well, most things, yet. I’ve been working with one of the senior Vanishers. I don’t know if you know her, and you’d probably find her annoying, but she tolerates me and seems genuinely willing to help me, um, grow in my abilities.”

“Just to be clear, because we did ask last night—you can’t walk through walls, right?” Enid asked.

Agnes shook her head. “It’s still just invisibility, but…”

“But?” Wednesday prompted.

“Wednesday, please take my hand,” Agnes said.

“I don’t do touch,” said Wednesday.

Not verbally replying, Agnes merely extended her hand across the table, palm up. As she did so, she pointed looked at where Enid sat next to Wednesday, their shoulders very clearly touching, even if Enid was the one leaning in.

“Fine,” said Wednesday, and placed her stiff hand on top of Agnes’ palm.

A moment later, the world swam around Wednesday. It felt almost like being in one of her visions, where edges blurred and colours faded. But the café and Enid were still exactly where they had been, only she seemed to be perceiving them through some kind of faint distortion. Agnes also still sat across from her, but unlike Enid, was still crisp and in full colour. The younger girl was grinning at her, waiting for a response.

Still processing whatever was happening, Enid’s surprised exclamation came first. As she spoke, clearly seeing what had happened from an outside perspective, it clicked in Wednesday’s mind at the same moment. “You’re invisible, Wednesday!”

At the realisation, even as Agnes withdrew her hand and Wednesday’s sight settled back to normal, she felt the corners of her lips twitch. Wednesday didn’t even want to resist the smile, as it spread across her face, terrifying glee shining in her eyes. Agnes all but flinched at seeing so many of Wednesday’s teeth.

“Oh no,” said Enid, staring between Wednesday and Agnes with horror. “I don’t know if you can even imagine what you’ve just unleashed, Little Psycho.”

A little after ten o’clock, after they had finished their drinks and were meandering back to campus, Enid’s phone finally chimed with a message from Thing.

🖤Wednesday🖤: Thing Addams reporting with an update. Hospital transfer vehicle has departed for the university, yours truly on board. ETA is 1030 hours. Awaiting orders. Thing over.

Enid managed to not let Wednesday snatch the phone away this time, and insisted on replying herself:

Enid: thingie! hope ur safe! 🥰🥰🥰

Enid: will meet u outside student admin building

Enid: regroup first 🥸 have plan 2 get in

It did feel like a cruel trick that the universe was playing on Wednesday, that she had an accomplice who could turn her truly and completely invisible, but that it required skin-to-skin contact at all times to activate and maintain. She had joked with Agnes that, maybe, Wednesday would be able to go invisible on her own if she carried one of Agnes’ severed fingers with her. The hypothetical victim of said amputation did not find it amusing. Luckily for both of them, it was Agnes’ intention not just her flesh that controlled the power, so it was out of the question.

Right about as they were arriving back at the edge of campus, a van with hospital branding drove past the trio, heading in the direction of the infirmary. Hurrying the other two girls a little, Enid in particular protesting that she couldn’t go back to their room first to prepare, they made it to the student administration building just as the doors were swinging shut behind a paramedic pushing a wheelchair.

The sound of fingers snapping twice came from behind Wednesday, who simply gestured for Thing at her waist, without taking her eyes off where the wheelchair had disappeared. She felt him climb up and into her bag, at which point she held it open to watch as he signed an update. Paramedic will stay until midday to monitor handover. Patient fully cleared and discharged, but expected to remain supervised as she rests until Monday morning. University security has promised to be stationed outside her dorm building and classes for at least the next few weeks while police investigation is underway. Aside from your inevitable impatience, she will probably be least watched over the weekend as no one expects her to be targeted again while directly in the care of the administration.

“Thanks Thing,” Wednesday said quietly. “You remain effective, and may keep all of your fingers.”

The disembodied hand showed her exactly what he thought about that with a very specific finger, but there was amusement in the action.

“Should we wait for night?” Enid asked. “It’s not like you can talk to her while invisible, if the paramedic is still in the room.”

“He’ll be gone by noon. Only minimal staff in the building over the weekend. I suspect, given the only access to the quiet rooms in the infirmary is past the main desk, that they won’t permanently station someone in the room. We can get past reception and security easily, and then we just have to convince her to talk to us without calling for help,” Wednesday said.

“There’s a good chance that she’ll scream if three people suddenly appear in her room, and it wouldn’t exactly inspire her to feel safe if you did something to physically stop her from calling out,” said Enid.

“Well, for one, I can only bring one person invisible with me at a time,” Agnes explained.

“Wednesday, don’t tell me…”

Wednesday looked at Enid with a genuine apology in her eyes, though her expression otherwise remained resolute. “Can you be lookout, and create a distraction if necessary?”

Groaning melodramatically, Enid said, “But I’m always lookout. You say you want my help, but then leave me outside.”

“Enid, I know it’s boring, but it’s important. You’re also the last line of defence for if things turn dangerous. Agnes and I are sneakier, but you’re the one secretly packing werewolf muscles,” said Wednesday.

“I won’t accept your flattery, but I guess that you’re not going to let anyone else do the talking, and I’m not the one with the literal genetics for being a freaking stalker. Just don’t have too much fun without me!”

“Put your theatre courses to use, and entertain the guards?” Wednesday suggested.

“Won’t that be suspicious?” asked Enid.

“Only if you’re not any good.”

They vacated the area for the next while, though Thing stayed to confirm upon their return that the paramedic had indeed left, that no insurmountable, additional security had arrived, and that the killer’s victim hadn’t been moved again. Fortunately, at least on that front, everything was going to plan.

With a few more tiny details squared away as they returned, Enid found a seat within sight of the entryway, and Wednesday and Agnes disappeared from view, talking at a moderate volume about Wednesday’s chemistry class. Once around the corner, confirming that no one else was watching, Wednesday forced herself to reach out a hand and place it high on Agnes’ shoulder, where the neckline of her top allowed Wednesday just enough space to directly touch skin. She resisted the shiver of discomfort, her force of will to stay connected greater than her dislike of physical touch. As Agnes concentrated, the same sensation of the world shifting and fading just ever so slightly washed over Wednesday once more, signifying that they had become invisible. Though Wednesday was not typically jealous of the abilities of other outcasts, not feeling like she needed anything flashy to hold her own, she would freely admit that she would pay a very high price (in cash or blood) to be able to literally disappear. Especially if there was a way for it to be possible without having to basically snuggle up to someone else. It would’ve been marginally easier if it was Enid, though Wednesday did trust Agnes. Not that Enid would’ve been quiet enough for the invisibility to not be immediately given away.

There was one security guard posted outside the main doors, but said doors continued to be latched open in their usual fashion, even for the weekend. Both being slight of frame and used to keeping their footsteps quiet, Agnes and then Wednesday behind her carefully made their way up the low concrete stairs and into the building. Then, both a receptionist and another guard were talking intermittently in the foyer. The door behind them to the hall of which the infirmary rooms branched was also open, but if the guard moved so much as an inch, say if he stopped leaning on the reception counter to stretch, would not leave the girls enough space to squeeze past. Communicating as best she could with subtle pressure on Agnes’ shoulder, Wednesday signalled for them to wait, and they both all but held their breaths.

After a few minutes, the guard took a long moment to stretch, and made to pace the room as he asked the receptionist another inane question about family or something. Not wanting to get trapped again, if he returned to his previous position when the receptionist inevitably struggled to keep the conversation up again, Wednesday pressed Agnes forward, and they slipped past the counter and into the hall beyond. There was a nurse on duty, or perhaps having been called in to be close to the transferred patient, but seemed sufficiently preoccupied in one of the rooms, working through some sort of paperwork.

Working their way down the hall with utmost caution, Wednesday had Agnes peer around each of the door frames, as most of the doors were not fully closed but closed enough to obscure a full view into the rooms. As luck would have it, the only occupied room was the second-to-last at the far end of the corridor. Inside, as Agnes very carefully and slowly pushed the door open, Wednesday noted that the figure inside was asleep. The room was otherwise vacant. And, the sleep seemed natural, as the patient had no notable monitoring equipment attached.

The more shocking part of it all was the girl herself. Wednesday had observed, the day before, how the killer’s victim appeared to share a number of generic traits with Wednesday. Similar skin tone, maybe suggesting Central or South American heritage, with glossy black hair tied back. It was deeply uncomfortable to notice, however, just how similar the two girls were. Clearly still not wanting to say anything aloud, Agnes nevertheless stiffened noticeably next to Wednesday, and took in an audible breath. Though Wednesday had been confident that the string of occurrences were not random, practically seeing herself laid out on the bed, face drained of blood and with a slight sheen of perspiration, there was no longer any doubt.

Whoever the killer was, they wanted Wednesday shaking in her boots.

Unfortunately for them, Wednesday showed fear for no one. All they’d done was given her a lead.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Enemies of My Enemy

In which Wednesday learns some information about the killer (and maybe begins to learn some things about herself)

“So, how are we going to wake her?” Agnes whispered at Wednesday.

Naturally, Wednesday had figured that the quickest route possible—whether a good shaking or a cup of water or a sharp jab—would be sufficient. That was unlikely to keep their presence here undetected, however, and she scowled as she contemplated a more… cautious approach.

“Well, most people waking up to my face scream and think they’re seeing a serial killer,” Wednesday admitted, keeping her voice as low as possible.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have a much better effect,” said Agnes.

“If Enid were here, even if the victim was jolted rudely out of her sleep, she’d probably wake up smiling and thanking Enid for her kindness and enthusiasm.” Wednesday overlaid her tone with an attempt at sarcasm, but it also wasn’t far from the truth.

“Is that from experience?”

Wednesday glared at Agnes. “Focus. I’m not sure what you’re implying, but keep it down. Never mind, I’ll just do it.”

Stepping forward to the bed, and pulling free from Agnes’ grasp, the now-visible Wednesday channelled Enid’s openness, and her mother’s gentleness, and her father’s authenticity as much as she could. The expression on her face was possibly no better than her usual cold stare, but when it came to comforting people, it surely couldn’t be worse. Laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder, she gave a slight squeeze, and whispered softly for her to wake up.

“Wha—” the girl sat up with a start, fear in her eyes. Her voice threatened to rise, but as she caught sight of Wednesday over her, instead of growing more vocal, the girl strangely deflated. Letting out a breath, as if to steady herself, the girl simply said, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Woken by a stranger after being attacked by a murderer, I would’ve expected a more dramatic response,” said Wednesday. “Convenient, since I would like to stay undetected, but perhaps also disappointing.”

“I—fuck. There’s no world in which I’m happy to see you, but if I scream, things will be much worse.”

“Explain,” Wednesday commanded, though still attempting to keep her volume low.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Gabriella Reyes. And thanks to you, I got stalked and kidnapped and bashed in the head,” the girl—Gabriella—replied.

“You’re being remarkably calm about this. Impressive,” said Wednesday in a deadpan.

“I’m scared shitless, Wednesday Addams,” Gabriella said, a tremble in her voice betraying her. “But I’ve been given instructions. If I fuck this up, she won’t let me go next time…”

“She?”

“Feminine voice, not very tall. Maybe young, like us. But that’s honestly all I know.”

“This is the killer?” Wednesday asked.

“Well, since I’m not dead…”

“Not you I’m referring to,” Wednesday cut her off, causing Gabriella to turn very pale. Or, more pale than she had been.

“She grabbed me on the way out of my dorm two nights ago. I was gone for less than a day, so I guess no one yet thought to look for me. I don’t know where she kept me, but she showed me photos. Of you. Really did a number on my skull, and then pushed me out into the courtyard where you supposedly had class.”

“I knew it was a message.”

“What the fuck is happening that some freak is using me, attacking me, to get to some random?”

“I…” Wednesday began. She sighed. “I don’t know. You’re the first clue where not all of the evidence has been fully scrubbed.”

“Right, I’m a clue. Listen, Wednesday—like, what kind of name is that, anyway?—I don’t know what messed up game this is, but I have something that I’m meant to tell you. If I don’t get it right, or if any staff or authorities find out… She’ll know, and she’ll be back for me,” Gabriella said, her words stuttered and threatening to rise as her eyes pricked with tears. But the fear that the killer had instilled in the girl was clearly stronger than anything else that she was feeling, and she kept her voice down.

“I will listen,” Wednesday said. Putting on her most genuine expression (despite that sounding like a contradiction), Wednesday lowered herself to be crouched next to Gabriella. Comparable verticality ought to marginally reduce a perceived power imbalance, and Wednesday needed this girl to calm down.

“‘Child of Woe, you have stolen the future from me. I will have it returned. You need not concern herself with finding me. I shall make myself known when the time is right. I will make it more painful than you can possibly imagine’,” Gabriella quoted to Wednesday, clearly pouring all of her will into keeping her voice level and getting the words right. “Now, that was everything, so get the hell out of here, and keep your fucked up shit out of my life.”

“Look, Gabriella,” Wednesday said. This only earned her a hard stare from the girl, who then gestured weakly toward the door. But more needed to be said. Wednesday continued, “I am genuinely impressed with how in control you have been in this interaction. I apologise, which is not something that I do often, for the harm that has come to you because of someone else trying to get to me. If you—” (she took a breath, summoning the courage to be considerate) “—if you need to, find me at the top room of Gertrude Hall. It is protected. I would speak with you again, if you are willing, but the offer is genuine regardless. I will not have a murderer on the loose befouling my name.”

“Something tells me that I’m just as likely to get murdered in your dorm,” snapped Gabriella. Her eyes shot to the door again.

“Normally, I’d take that as a compliment. However, you should take it as an indication that I can handle whatever this is.”

“Sure. Now fuck off.”

Wednesday felt Agnes’ narrow fingers meet her exposed wrist, and the world tilted around her again. Suddenly able to see right through where Wednesday was standing, Gabriella let out a panicked noise, clamping her own hand to her mouth before it got too loud. Before they could risk anyone coming to investigate, or otherwise wanting to check on Gabriella, Wednesday and Agnes quickly left the room and made their way from the building and out of sight before turning visible again.

“That was… both effective, and kind of you, Wednesday,” Agnes said.

“It was more effective than I anticipated, though I still wish for more information,” Wednesday admitted. “And my offer was proportionate. I will not have whoever this freak is keep the upper hand, and I will not have guilt hanging over me because of her victims.”

Agnes shrugged. “Don’t worry, you’ve still got the coldest heart I’ve ever met. But you’re rational and reasonable, despite what everyone else might think, and sometimes it’s rational to show kindness. You weren’t going to get her to open up again if you threatened her back.”

“I doubt she’ll show,” Wednesday replied.

“I don’t know. She’s spooked and desperate, and you extended an olive branch. Lonely and scared people will go to extremes, sometimes.”

“Is that from experience?” said Wednesday, parroting Agnes’ earlier jab.

“Yes and no. I’ve done as much, but I think so have you.”

“Stop trying to be wise or empathetic. It doesn’t suit.”

“Hardly. It’s not wisdom. It’s the result of obsessive stalker behaviour, collected and curated over time and aggregated into a facsimile of emotional intelligence,” said Agnes, looking far too proud of herself.

“At least that’s more in character. We should find Enid.”

“Right, well—”

Wednesday didn’t hear the remainder of Agnes’ reply as she felt her body become heavy, and her sight fade to black. It seemed that her mind had been working overtime in the last few minutes, refusing to let her succumb to a vision while in danger of being caught. (Convenient, for once.) But, now that they were out and her thoughts had shifted to the next step, the images came all at once.

This was not a new vision. It felt more like remembering, only Wednesday did not typically experience memories with such tangibility. This was echoes of the vision from the cemetery, a month before. The silhouette that Gabriella had described—a young-looking woman, likely no taller than Wednesday—flashed through her mind, but with no further details than she already knew. Gabriella’s muffled pleading. The words that the terrified girl had repeated to her carried on the wind. You have stolen the future…

Then she was back. Only moments had passed. Agnes was kneeling next to where Wednesday lay on the ground, apparently having rolled her onto her side to stop Wednesday from biting or swallowing her tongue. They were lucky that it had been lawn, not concrete, beneath where Wednesday had gone down. Another figure was there, but Wednesday couldn’t make out anything clearly more than a little way in front of her face. A familiar, comforting voice reached her, however. Wednesday was so tired, the vision having drained all of her energy. But Enid was here now, and could get her home.

So Wednesday let unconsciousness take her, even as she began to feel warm arms slip under her arms, pull her from the ground, and cradle her close.

The sky outside seemed to already be getting dark by the time that Wednesday awoke. It took her a moment to fully come to her senses, at which point she inwardly groaned at how much of the day that she had lost. However, another sensation was distracting, and so novel that it wasn’t immediately obvious what was happening. Some kind of strange, sharp-but-pleasant tingle was moving in waves over her skull. Not like any headache, enjoyable or otherwise, that Wednesday had experienced before.

Rolling slightly, Wednesday then suddenly sat up straight, causing Enid (who had been sitting on the edge of Wednesday’s bed) to jump a little in shock.

“Yikes, Wends, take it slow. You were out for ages,” Enid said, trying to guide Wednesday to lay back down again.

“What were you doing?” Wednesday asked, unable to stop an accusatory tone entering her voice.

“We were staying with you, to make sure you were okay,” said Enid. She gestured to the other side of the room, where Agnes sat, clearly having been doing something on her phone but was now looking over at the pair of them.

“Specifically, Enid Sinclair, what were you doing to my head?”

Noticing an amused look in Agnes’ eyes across the room, then hearing a giggle from Enid, Wednesday shot her a glance of even more intense accusation. Enid stifled the laugh, and said, “Sorry, but I checked your temperature at one point, and you nuzzled into my hand. Seemed to find it comforting. So I kept at it, mostly just stroking your hair with my nails, and it calmed you down.”

“Physical touch elicits in me the very opposite of calm,” Wednesday insisted.

“Okay, yeah, sorry for touching you while you were out to it. It just seemed to be helping…”

Relenting, Wednesday let herself fall back onto the bed, and sighed. “I—thank you, I guess.”

“You looked like you were about to start purring at any moment,” Agnes chimed in. She sounded far too amused.

“Though humans lack the anatomical requirements to replicate a feline’s purr, I would be more than willing to prove that to you with a live demonstration. Care to lay yourself down for a vivisection?” Wednesday threatened.

Such threats were, disappointingly, long since effective on Agnes, who simply laughed again.

“Moving on,” said Wednesday. “We have lost almost a whole day thanks to my vision. Did the little psycho at least relay what occurred, so that I do not have to repeat it?”

“Yeah, creepy threats that the killer terrified the poor girl into relaying to you,” Enid summarised.

“Which is definitive proof that the killer—she—is actively targeting me and committing these acts as a way of communicating. We need to anticipate before she can make her next move.”

“That… makes sense,” said Enid. “How do we track her down?”

Wednesday paused for a long moment. Her brow furrowed, imperceptible to most but obviously noticed by the other two girls in the room. “Historically, if there was a monster in the woods, that’s where I’d stake out to spot them. If they were at school, there were only so many people and so many places to hide, that it didn’t ever take too long for a lead to appear. If I was opening a cold case, there were police files that I could swipe and pick up where the official investigators were too stupid or narrow-minded to see all of the clues. But…”

Making her way from Enid’s bed to the chair at Wednesday’s desk, Agnes replied, “Unlike the woods or school, this is not a closed environment, and the killer could be any one of many thousands of people. And, as far as we know, there’s no official record of the various crimes. We don’t even know exactly where any of the crime scenes are.”

“Correct. Our adversary knows what she is doing, and is using chaos to achieve her anonymity. I was convinced that speaking to the vict… to Gabriella, would give us enough of a lead. I know more now than I did before, but none of it is useful. I don’t even know what I did to supposedly ‘steal the future’.”

“How do we anticipate her, then?” Enid asked.

All Wednesday could do in response was sigh. It took her a long minute, staring into her hands, to vocalise the only realistic answer. “We can’t. The only consolation is that she will get desperate, or at least eager, as her game plays out. She’s gloating. She will make a mistake.”

“I don’t like the idea of, you know, just waiting for another dead body. I thought that’s what we were doing all this time, and then—not that she died—Gabriella got hurt and we’re still just stuck,” Enid said.

“Trust me, Enid. I am finding this all very frustrating.”

“Hey, um,” Agnes said. The other two girls turned to look at her. “I know I said I was excited to help out and catch the killer. And I am. Genuinely, if we could be chasing them down now, I’d be thrilled. But…”

“Yes?” Enid asked.

While at the same time, Wednesday said, “Out with it.”

“Being here is a million times better than back at Nevermore, let alone with my dad, but… can we do some things? Not just wait around? I’ve only got a week.”

Wednesday wanted to rile against this, but held her tongue and forced herself to admit that, especially as they were actually at yet another dead end, Agnes wasn’t wrong.

In not responding immediately, Enid spoke up, saying, “Oh! Of course. We’ve got classes still, but one of us is almost always free. And we’ve got all of tomorrow to hang out. We could…”

“Go to the mall?” Agnes asked, cutting Enid off.

Uncharacteristically lost for words, Enid beamed and her shoulders shook excitedly.

“I thought you were better, more interesting, than that, Agnes,” said Wednesday. “Why would you want to subject yourself to that cesspit?”

“Well, for one, I’ve never been to a mall. Father wouldn’t take me, and it’s not like there’s one near Nevermore. But, that’s not really why,” Agnes admitted. “I liked what we started doing in the quad together last year. Sitting and watching people, and coming up with horrible backstories for them. I kind of know who everyone of interest is at Nevermore now, and it’s boring without someone to do it with anyway. I’m losing my stalker’s touch.”

“Eww, only our little psycho would turn a mall trip into something creepy. She definitely gets that from you, not me,” Enid said, pouting.

“We are not her—” Wednesday began, but didn’t give Enid the satisfaction of finishing the retort. “Fine. We can go worship at the capitalist altar and entertain ourselves with plebeian miseries. However, I decide when my tolerance has expired, and we will leave without further questions.”

Apparently that was a sufficient compromise, and the other two girls readily agreed.

Later that evening, after they’d had yet another takeout dinner, and Agnes was showering before bed, Enid came over to where Wednesday sat at her typewriter, and perched on the end of the black-covered bed.

“Yes?” Wednesday asked, not looking up from her keys. Not that she had typed anything meaningful in the last few minutes, still stewing in frustration over the killer’s identity.

“Oh, um, I just wanted to—” Enid began. There was obvious uncertainty in her voice, maybe even nervousness.

Wednesday collected herself for a moment, and then swivelled in her seat to face her roommate. “Your tone and word choice indicate that you are processing something emotionally, and would like to work through it aloud. While retaining my right to end the conversation if it strays into a topic on which I am uncomfortable advising you, I would rather you speak your piece than let it fester inside you. I quite like the sensation of something rotten eating away at my insides, but I know it is not to your tastes.”

“That’s, um, very kind?” Enid said, a little taken aback. “It might be about an uncomfortable topic, though.”

“Being?”

“You.”

Herself now caught off guard, all that Wednesday could respond with was, “I see.”

“So, can I…?”

“I suppose. You have piqued my curiosity, despite my likely distaste of being… vulnerable about this particular subject matter,” said Wednesday.

Looking her directly in the eyes (Wednesday did not let herself flinch), Enid said, “I know I saw you have visions before. Back at school. But, that was Nevermore. Weird things were always happening. And others knew about psychic powers, and even how to handle them. When it got worse two years ago, with the black tears and everything—and I know you didn’t appreciate this at the time—but at least your mother was there. But, here on our own, in public… I don’t know how to look after you. It’s like watching someone have a seizure. And then you end up unconscious for hours, sleeping it off. And… I don’t know. I’m struggling to process it after this morning.”

“I’m fine, Enid,” Wednesday replied.

But she knew that wasn’t the right answer, and Enid’s deflated expression confirmed as much. Enid had repeatedly put herself at risk for Wednesday, in response to Wednesday putting herself at risk for little reason other than her ego. Yes, that had resulted ultimately in succeeding several years in a row against forces of evil, but this wasn’t even Enid calling her out on her recklessness. Merely Wednesday’s automatic, uncontrolled response to her abilities.

“I appreciated being turned to not swallow my tongue,” Wednesday said after a pause. She forced herself to speak slowly, to ensure that the words came out correctly. “And I accept that you needed to physically move me to a safer space, and therefore excuse such physical contact and give you permission to do so again in the future. I would trust the judgement of few other people, if any, if and when I am unconscious. You are the rare exception, despite your lack of judgement on other aspects of life”—Wednesday glanced meaningfully at the pastels that decorated Enid’s side of the room—“And, as much as I loathe the lost time, sleep is particularly effective at restoring me following psychic activity. My mind needs to rest, which I admit I am not good at allowing it to do while I am awake.”

Faint tears threatened in the corners of Enid’s eyes, though they didn’t fall. She said, “Thank you, Wednesday.”

“What for?”

“Your honesty. I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Swallowing hard, Wednesday forced out her response. Not because it was unnatural to feel, but because she had no practice in speaking with such vulnerability. “The feeling is incredibly mutual.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: Mall-evolent Forces

In which Wednesday is forced to go... shopping

Over the course of her young life, Wednesday Addams has survived the fires of destruction brought on by the hatred of a resurrected puritan, has been hunted relentlessly by a shape-changing monster in the guise of a friend, and has brought low the secret leader of a malicious and greedy cult. She has also, slightly more mundane but still traumatising, endured the public schooling system as an Outcast (and simply as an outcast), been raised by a very strange family, and learned to tolerate a roommate who was her complete antithesis.

Yet, nothing in those eighteen-and-a-bit years prepared her for the hellscape of the local shopping mall. The crowds, the consumerism, and the cacophony. Even with all of her personal growth and having faced very real threats to her life, Wednesday genuinely wished to call down death upon herself and everyone else the moment that they entered this Gehenna, this Tartarus, this place of brainwashed and corrupted souls. Enid’s pure glee, and even Agnes’ surprising eagerness, only made things worse. Was she wrong to allow these people into her life, if they could not see through the illusion before them? They were a liability to her safety and sense of self, to her intellect, to her wallet, to every moral and immoral standard to which she adhered. Wednesday wanted to be sick.

Unfortunately, death was not an option available to her this day.

Their first stop was coffee, which Wednesday could at least get behind conceptually. Though, the idea of a café in kiosk form right in the path of the thoroughfare through the centre of the mall was utterly irrational and infuriating. Wednesday received a stranger look for her quad espresso than Enid did for her order than was essentially a dessert. It ended up being vitally important that Wednesday could nurse her beverage as a way of keeping herself sane in this place, grounding herself with the rich and bitter experience when all else threatened to tear asunder her body, mind, and soul from one another. Earplugs might be necessary if they were here too long.

Then, the ‘retail therapy’ began. Though the supposedly therapeutic outcomes in this instance were the fundamental inverse of improving her mental and emotional wellbeing. What might have helped was another, more amusing objective to occupy Wednesday’s mind while enduring the excursion. However, on their walk into the city centre, Enid had also already shut down traumatising other shoppers, making a game out of shoplifting, and destabilising the corporate governance behind the mall. Wednesday was determined to make at least one child cry, and hiding it from Enid would just have to be part of the fun.

Over the course of the morning, they visited eight clothing stores (indistinguishable fashion so ‘fast’ that it was supersonic), four beauty stores (over-scented), three shoe stores (definitely contributing to the spread of foot fungi), one toy store (emblematic of the deteriorating standards of child rearing), one videogames and collectables store (even the geeks and nerds engaged in capitalist idolatry), and one piercing parlour (though unsightly and unsanitary, at least shoppers could get stabbed with needles). Agnes managed to find one or two things to buy, mostly clothing, and Wednesday merely handed her an Addams’ family credit card, refusing to interact with the store clerks herself. Of course, Enid’s haul was excessive. Her werewolf strength was put to ‘good’ use as she continued to accumulate paper bags with stringy little handles and adorned with insipid brand iconography.

Not to mention that, before she would decide to purchase anything worn, Enid insisted on garnering Wednesday and Agnes’ opinions with impromptu fashion shows in the little changing cubicles that each store provided. However, when asked for her views, Wednesday did make a point of being forthright. If she was going to have to look at Enid in these clothes, or hear her pace around in new shoes, then Wednesday figured that she ought to be candid, to prevent at least the most egregious acquisitions. The only problem was that, once Wednesday compartmentalised and pushed aside the fact that everything that Enid wore was nauseating, objectively distinguishing between the various outfits and accessories was genuinely challenging. Enid’s confidence and joyfulness each time she stepped from behind the little curtains had a greater impact on her overall aesthetic than the specific qualities of any one item of clothing. The most ridiculously flared or ripped jeans? Well, Wednesday universally despised all non-black denim, so clearly whichever pair made Enid smile the brightest was the pair that looked best. Pink-and-lime platform shoes? An insult to all things holy and unholy, but as long as they didn’t clack too loudly, Enid’s enthusiasm to wear them to this party or that event was more than enough to placate any offended god or devil.

Three moments would continue to weigh on Wednesday’s mind for the days to come, among the monotony of the rest of the experience. Two of those moments were related to Enid, while (unfortunately) one specifically related to herself.

In the store that sold jewellery-like accessories and offered piercing services (Wednesday would not call it a true ‘jeweller,’ as it sold nothing of any real metallurgic value), Enid and Agnes were teasing one another in front of a selection of—and this was truly one of the greatest horrors of Wednesday’s existence—belly button piercings. Wednesday was doing everything that she could to tune the other two girls out, while also feeling the need to stick close to them to avoid being accosted by one of the store’s retail workers. They circled as falcons, looking for the weak ones separated from their groups to corner as prey. It took Wednesday a moment, therefore, to realise that another voice had joined her friends’ conversation.

“O.M.G., it’s been too long!” Enid was saying.

Agnes added, “Oh yeah, you were in that all-years literature seminar with me, right?”

A young man, who’d clearly spotted them while walking past the shop, was politely smiling in recognition at Agnes, seeming to have just disengaged from a much more familiar hug with Enid. His eyes still flickered back to Enid, even as he addressed Agnes. “Yup, though I guess we didn’t talk much. It’s good to see both of you! Are you studying near here, Enid? Also, hi Addams!”

Despite her friends’ acknowledgement of this random male youth, Wednesday found that she had no recognition of ever seeing him, let alone remembering his name. She didn’t respond to his greeting, and instead Enid replied, “Yes! Wends and I are at the university nearby. Are you there too? Agnes is just visiting us for the break.”

“I got a bit of a gig in Jericho,” the boy said. “Might study next year, but wasn’t ready yet. I’m just here ‘cause it’s break at Nevermore too—not for me, but drove my little brother here to visit our grandparents.”

The weird mix of familiarity yet completely inane small talk began to make Wednesday feel physically ill, as well as generally getting on her nerves. There was nothing remotely memorable about this person, or she would have mentally catalogued his existence at least once, and yet he felt like he had the right to barge in on their day and claim Enid’s—well, Enid and Agnes’—attention.

Cutting Agnes off as she was asking after the supposed brother, who was apparently in her year and they at least didn’t actively hate one another, Wednesday glared at the interloper. She asked, “Who are you?”

“Wednesday!” Enid protested.

“No, it’s alright. I’m Thomas. I don’t think we had any classes together, but, well, it’s hard not to know who Wednesday Addams is.”

“Right. Well, if it wasn’t clear, we’re busy and not looking for additional company,” said Wednesday.

“I—” Thomas began. “Right. Sorry. I’ll go.”

Enid didn’t say anything further to stop him from leaving, but rounded on Wednesday as soon as he was out of sight. “What the heck was that, Wends? Rude!”

“I don’t like people,” was all she said in explanation.

“No, it’s more than that. I can read you, despite what you think.”

“Fine. I didn’t like him, and how he invaded. We’re spending time together, and it’s already challenging enough for me to be here as it is, and then you want to throw small talk into the mix?”

“I understand that you are… let’s say, socially adverse, but learn to be polite, Wednesday! Also, you’ve still got your secretive tell on your face. Spill.”

“I do not have a tell,” Wednesday objected.

“You do,” said Agnes, physically moving to side with Enid.

“Great, now you’re ganging up on me. Fine. Fine!” said Wednesday. She breathed out, and then added, “I didn’t like him because he was looking at you like he wanted to, I don’t know, eat you or something.”

“Oh, now that you say that, she’s not wrong,” said Agnes. “Wednesday and I don’t get that much, I don’t think—serial killer vibes and all that—but guys at school did tend to be a bit gross and obvious around you.”

“I—” Enid started, then paused, frowning. “I guess?”

“Of course Wednesday needs to learn some manners, but I can’t see you being cut up too much about her acting jealous,” Agnes said. She jabbed an elbow into Enid’s side, making the other girl flush and glare back.

“You mistake protection for envy. Whether he meant physical harm or not, it was an aggressive act, and that is not acceptable toward you,” Wednesday argued.

Fortunately, the other two girls dropped whatever they were thinking, and Wednesday forced herself to mentally move on. She still had several hours to endure.

The second moment was in one of the shoe stores. Not the same one at which Enid had found the ham-and-peas-coloured platforms. (Wednesday would never describe them as such to Enid’s face, knowing that would be the last thing she ever said, and Enid would end up imprisoned for her brutal murder.) This particular shop was a little more mature, its décor still very much a façade, but one that attempted to evoke old money with leather and stained wood, rather than the pastel and bubble-gum aesthetic that a lot of the other brands followed. They were ostensibly looking for new, practical boots for Agnes, who had ruined several cheap pairs that she’d been able to afford with her limited funds on various stalking and investigative outings into the woods around Nevermore.

What Wednesday did not expect, however, was to find something that she liked. Many of her clothes were either vintage, occasionally modified, having been in the family for generations; or, if new, they had been bought via catalogue, with Wednesday’s mother simply ordering in a range of black items periodically, and sending back any that Wednesday rejected. Any clothes that Wednesday had ever bought on her own and in-person had been second-hand items, though she could count as such on her hands, including the gothic dress that she had worn to the Rave’n in her first year at Nevermore.

Standing next to her, so close as to almost be touching shoulders, Enid practically vibrated with excitement. Somehow, Enid had caught on right away that Wednesday had spotted something of interest, before she’d had a chance to even process that fact for herself and ensure that it didn’t show on her face.

“They’re so you!” Enid exclaimed. “You have to get them!”

The pair of boots set before them were—of course—completely black. Unlike so many items of fashion, they genuinely seemed to simultaneously make a visual statement that Wednesday appreciated, while still being practical enough to run across all sorts of difficult terrain. The heel was robust enough that she wouldn’t have issues with balance or grip, but tall enough that she might even be able to be at eye level with Enid for once. The leather was genuine, not over-shined, and supposedly from a reclaimed source. Other than that, Wednesday wasn’t entirely certain what drew her to the shoes. These were all things that suited her, but weren’t objectively impossible to find. However, upon spotting them, something in the shape or the presentation or the surprise of actually finding something tolerable… Wednesday had a sensation of need that she rarely, if ever, felt in the context of material possessions.

“I… I don’t need new shoes right now,” Wednesday said, forcing the words out a little.

“God, Wends. We’re not here for essentials. We’re here for the fun little extras that make life worth living!” Enid protested.

“Plus, you’re not that far off needing something,” Agnes said. “You’ve had the same combat boots since I first met you, and they’ve seen some shit in that time.”

“Three years isn’t really very long for a good pair of boots,” Wednesday insisted.

“Counterpoint—they’d look cute on you,” Enid said.

“How is that relevant?” asked Wednesday. However, relevant or not, Enid couldn’t know how much that comment affected her… or, maybe she did, and that was exactly the point.

“How are you relevant?” (What an insult, on Enid’s part.)

So, of course, Wednesday walked out with a new pair of boots.

Finally, the very last clothing store of the day was worse than being dragged over the coals. Well, even coal-based torture was occasionally a pleasant sensation, whereas Wednesday had never felt so out of place as this.

The store had something of a sporty or surfy bent, and the only black items in sight were wetsuits, in which Wednesday had little interest. Every other piece of clothing was bright or heavily patterned or both. And so many of them were shockingly revealing. Despite the comparative lack of fabric, nothing cost less than the much fuller items in other stores. At least with the wetsuits, unlike the casual swimwear, you were getting in quantity what you paid for.

“Is there even anywhere for you to swim?” Agnes asked as Enid browsed the selection.

“I’m sure there’s a pool we can get a pass for. This isn’t Jericho. But that’s not even the point! How can I pass up something this adorable? Besides, we could plan a holiday…”

“Enid, it is getting close to time to leave and find lunch. Given, as our little psycho has pointed out, there is no practical reason to acquire a new swimsuit, let’s not spend too long here?” Wednesday pleaded.

“But…” Enid said, giving each of them a devastated pout. “Can I just try one? They’re all cute, but this one is definitely so on brand for me. It would be criminal to not at least see what it looks like!”

It had been a long time since Wednesday had found a way to deny Enid when she made such a pathetic face, and apparently this instance was no exception.

They wandered toward the back of the store, where there was a line of changing rooms modelled after brightly coloured, miniature boatsheds. Enid darted into the furthest one, possibly recognising that she didn’t really want to be visible to the majority of the store when she showed off the outfit that she’d selected. Posting themselves outside to wait for the reveal, Agnes seemed to have reached the point that Wednesday had much earlier, no longer having the tolerance for remaining in this chaotic and crowded place.

After a minute or two, Enid hissed her name through the bright orange door. “Wends. It’s unlocked. Can you look in here?”

“Why can’t you come out?” Wednesday asked.

“Because… it’s cute, but we’re not at the beach, so,” Enid said. “So! I’m feeling awkward about it.”

“You don’t have to show us, then,” Wednesday pointed out.

“Please just get in here? I want to know what you think, but only you, not anyone random,” said Enid.

“Do you want…?” Agnes began, trailing off as her question was obvious.

“It’s a bit cramped in here,” said Enid.

“Oh, yes, right, of course,” Agnes replied, something in her voice making it sound as if Enid’s mundane explanation had a depth of meaning that Wednesday couldn’t place.

Acquiescing with a dramatic sigh, Wednesday pushed into the changing space. Enid was still facing away from her, but with the floor-to-ceiling mirror, Wednesday could see the whole outfit at once, front and back.

“Enid, you are barely wearing anything at all.”

Wednesday didn’t know how to make a subjective comment on the style of the swimwear, so kept to the simple facts of what she was witnessing. In all honesty, the two-piece outfit was not nearly as scandalous as half of what the store had to offer. Many of the options were little more than three small triangles held together by string. Enid’s choice, however, was simply a pair of (still very short) shorts, in a subtly striped pattern of peach and pink, with a cropped tank that matched in colour but was divided vertically down the middle instead of the narrower stripes.

It was still more of Enid’s skin than Wednesday had ever seen.

“It’s just a body, Wends. And it’s hardly that skimpy! There are probably girls wandering around this mall right now in non-beach outfits that are basically the same,” said Enid. “Putting aside that this is just what swimwear is like, what do you think?”

“The colour palette is garish, though that’s no surprise. Your stomach is exposed, which isn’t ideal for such a vulnerable part of your body. And you still don’t have anywhere to wear it,” Wednesday replied.

“Most of that still wasn’t an opinion. Casual clothes for around home are one thing. But if I wear this, it’ll not only be in public, but in the kind of place that lots of cool and attractive people hang out, and everyone is taking photos. I need to know whether you think it looks good.”

“It’s… tolerable given the kind of clothing in question, and certainly less unflattering on your figure than on anyone else.” That was perhaps the most embarrassing thing that Wednesday had ever needed to admit, despite primarily couching her vague compliment as a double negative, not a truly positive comment.

Clearly knowing Wednesday well enough to hear what was being said underneath the words, Enid didn’t appear remotely offended. Instead, she absolutely beamed at Wednesday, and gave a little twirl. “I’m so glad you like it! I saw it and just knew. Now we just need to find you something for when we next go on vacation.”

“There is no universe in which I will give into that demand,” Wednesday said with as much finality as she could manage.

Luckily, Enid chose not to deploy her pleading eyes, merely muttering about Wednesday being ‘no fun,’ and turning again to start changing back into her original outfit. Not being ready to see even more than she just had, Wednesday made her escape. Agnes was still waiting just outside, with an expression of deep amusement, which Wednesday was tempted to wipe off her face with the knife hidden in her boot. Instead, she elected to ignore the younger girl. She folded her arms, and stared into the middle distance until Enid emerged, properly clothed once more.

Despite physically surviving, and even leaving with a purchase of her own, Wednesday concluded that her time at the mall had been more harrowing than even she had imagined. They would not be returning to repeat the experience anytime soon.

They had walked a full forty minutes from campus to reach the shopping complex that morning, but agreed to take public transport back to the university after grabbing their midday meal. The bus would be its own kind of torture, but anything was a reprieve after being psychologically suffocated in the mall. Wednesday had been hoping that they could pick up food that was comforting to her, preferably Mexican, but all of the places on offer at the mall or nearby that claimed any connection to Central American cuisine deserved to be cursed and burned. In particular, Taco Bell was so far from her family’s authentic cooking that Wednesday would’ve been more likely to forgive a pasta or curry restaurant claiming to be Mexican than subject herself to the insult that was Taco Bell. Instead, she consented to a generic chicken-and-salad wrap that shared many ingredients with but at least wasn’t claiming to be a dish from her heritage, and took the occasional uninspired bite as the bus made its way back toward their home.

A few blocks out from the university, Wednesday’s lunch still only half finished, something akin to the sound of an explosion reached her ears. As the bus wobbled and limped to a halt, it became clear that a tyre had blown. The general din of the vehicle grew as the other passengers grumbled and shouted and pulled out their phones.

“Alright, apologies, but everyone will need to disembark,” the driver called back to them. As the energy in the bus stepped up yet again, he instructed, “Slowly! Row by row, please, starting at the front. Another bus will be coming past in twenty minutes, but you may otherwise need to arrange private transportation to your destination.”

Having managed to claim a seat toward the front of the bus, Wednesday and her companions were out before too long. Most of the other passengers who had exited before them had already wandered off, with only one or two bothering to wait for the replacement. They were close enough that it was simply easiest to walk back to their room. But Wednesday needed to check something first. Stepping around to the front of the bus, which no one had paid any attention to yet as the driver was still busy ensuring that the stream of people leaving his vehicle didn’t turn into a stampede, the cause of the ruptured tyre was immediately obvious.

Unless you included the Addams family’s driveway, very few roads were commonly littered with wicked-looking caltrops. Before Enid and Agnes had caught up, Wednesday was already moving away from the bus to sweep the area, convinced that her stalker had to be the cause. Of course, she could have set this up just early enough for the bus to be the next victim without remaining personally in the area, but Wednesday would be a failure of a detective if she didn’t at least check.

However, it was Agnes that spotted the message first, rushing to reach Wednesday and yanking her back by the elbow.

“What the hell?” Wednesday asked.

“Look up.”

Only a few metres from where the bus had been forced to stop, hanging from a high awning in front of some kind of office building, was a particularly gruesome sight. Wednesday made a lot of dark comments about the kinds of things that she found fun, but if forced to be honest, had never truly been one to torture random animals. She hunted, and enjoyed dissection and taxidermy. But the sight above her immediately brought to mind the vile murder of her pet scorpion, Nero.

A large dog, well-enough groomed aside from its wounds to have surely been someone’s pet, had been strung up like a carcass in a meat works. Wednesday didn’t know breeds well enough to identify its exact type, but it was broadly wolfish in the face, with predominantly sandy-blonde fur. Not at all unnerved at the sight of blood or gore, it was the sheer disrespect, gall, and pointlessness of the action that lit a roaring blaze of rage inside her chest.

That anger, however, was drowned out moments later by something much more akin to fear. All three girls seemed to notice the specific nature of this horrific message at the same time. Each of the creature’s ears had been painted with unmistakable colours.

One blue.

One pink.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Toil, Trouble, and Bubble

In which Wednesday catches the killer's first real mistake (and Enid catches something else...)

Asking Enid to, somewhat uncharacteristically, call the authorities, Wednesday made the most of the time until their arrival, scaling a downpipe on the building from which the message-in-canine-corpse-form was suspended. It was imperative that Wednesday had the opportunity to inspect the killer’s work personally before anyone else swooped in to deal with it, which would of course result in her being pushed out of the way. However, she also didn’t want to deal with the practical clean-up work right now. Cops could at least be put to good use disposing of the body and ensuring that the sidewalk was scrubbed of blood splatters.

The awning of the office building, the reception of which was thankfully closed given that it was Sunday, rose several metres above the sidewalk, and stretched not quite two metres out over it. Having to put her limited, amateur-bouldering skills to use, Wednesday climbed like some squirrel or opossum along the underside, thankful for her lightweight form. Finally able to grab onto the protrusion from which the rope holding the dog was suspended gave Wednesday a moment to breathe and solidify her grip. Heights did not bother her, but she’d hoped that if her demise was to be in the form of falling from a building, it would’ve been a much taller one and for a much more interesting reason. As it was, the direct threat to Enid in the form of the dog’s stained ears didn’t give her the option of the plummeting death right now. Wednesday was needed alive.

It was a delicate balance—literally—reaching out past any final handholds with a small switchblade that had been hidden up Wednesday’s sleeve. Emergency protection for any of the horrors that may have befallen them at the mall, and all that. Wednesday Addams was always prepared. The rope was thick enough that she had to saw a few times, especially without being able to put much pressure on it at arm’s length. Eventually struggling enough to need to try something else, Wednesday wrapped her legs around the girder as tight as she could, and swung her upper torso out to grab hold of the rope with her other hand, above where she was cutting.

The rope finally gave. But, as it did, Wednesday felt her vision grow foggy, and a shiver shot through her spine. Fighting the vision as best she could (though, that was always a futile thing), Wednesday could not maintain her grip with her legs.

Turns out that it was her time to plummet, after all. Battling with the psychic pull on her mind, Wednesday couldn’t even call out. Before she could even fully register what was happening, Wednesday landed with a forceful impact. But, surely concrete would’ve been less forgiving than…

Wednesday’s mind was suddenly overtaken with the vision itself, any resistance to its insistence knocked out of her as she collided with… whatever had been below. From a low-down perspective, filtered through a more limited range of colours than Wednesday was used to as a human, she watched the silhouette of a small woman approach. Presumably viewing the world as the now-deceased canine, Wednesday felt a growl rumble in her chest and throat, before being cut off as the dog noticed the smell of raw meat. The woman held out a chunk of flesh, red and bloody, and Wednesday cocked her head in interest, carefully creeping forward out of a classic pitched-roof-and-weatherboard dog house. It was dark, including in the home of which she was in the yard, the dog’s owners absent or asleep. Eyes back on the meat, mouth beginning to salivate, Wednesday barely caught the lower half of the killer’s face as she stepped close enough for the dog to be able to make out any details in the dark. She had a wide, pristine smile that was likely more unsettling to Wednesday than she knew her own toothy grins could be to others. Many of the other details that were fleetingly presented in the dog’s peripheral vision would allow Wednesday to rule out specific subjects, but also didn’t narrow her search down all that much. Skin that, especially seen in the dark, could’ve indicated someone anywhere from Caucasian to Hispanic to East-Asian. Shoulder-length hair that was likely not as black as her own, but perhaps dusty brown or even dark blonde.

Then a glint of something, and a sensation of… not pain, it was too quick for that. But pressure, and sharpness, in the back of her neck.

As Wednesday experienced the canine’s cruel and wasteful, but at least quick, last breaths, the vision pulled at her. Only, not to bring her out, but sucking whatever sense of self she maintained—not a physical body, but still some kind of awareness of where she was situated within the vision—toward the killer.

Without any further sense of transition or time passing, Wednesday was seeing out of the killer’s own eyes. But the scenes that she viewed, flashing in rapid succession before those foreign eyes, were themselves familiar. Wednesday didn’t know how she knew that this was the killer’s perspective, other than that there were small tells that this wasn’t her own. Subtle shifts in how light and colour were processed by the foreign eyes.

But the scenes themselves, Wednesday knew all of from her own life. At first, she considered that maybe this killer had been stalking her for much longer than she realised. Right back to the events that had her expelled from her last public school, and right the way through her time at Nevermore, up until a series of images from her time at the Addams family’s manor before moving out to come here to study. The perspective wasn’t from outside, however. It was even more familiar than that. Wednesday was… seeing her own experiences, her own memories, played back at her.

That seemed impossible, when she knew within the throes of the vision, that these were the killer’s eyes, not her own. And, not only were they her memories, but also her previous visions. Snippets of Crackstone and the Hyde, from before she knew Tyler’s hidden Outcast identity. The gravestone that had threatened Enid’s death, which Wednesday had almost given her own life to prevent. Enid’s wolf form running through the Canadian wilderness, as Wednesday and her Uncle Fester tracked down the transformed Alpha.

There was a shift in the vision again. So disoriented from seeing her life and visions as if she had been someone else, Wednesday didn’t realise at first that she was coming to. The awning from which she had fallen stretched above her, out of focus, partially blocked by a shadow of a face. She blinked. Enid.

But Enid was not looking at her. Did not see Wednesday flicker back in and out of consciousness. Wednesday could hear her friend—had Enid managed to catch her?—arguing furiously with someone outside of Wednesday’s limited area of view. She was practically berating them.

“I know you’d just love for it to be that easy. A bunch of Outcast girls to blame. But ask the bus driver. Check security cameras. We arrived here after. I called you! And I just know that, with all of the media attention on state mistreatment of Outcasts recently, and joint Normie-Outcast advocacy groups in front of the Senate, that your career would end right now if you make the wrong call. The ambulance is almost here. The paramedics can check her, but then you will let us go home. It was a psychic episode—don’t give me that look, I know that you know, however uncomfortable it makes you, that psychic abilities are real—not a psychotic one. Stop crowding her. Now!”

With a sense of pride blooming in her chest, despite still being pretty out of it, Wednesday felt unconsciousness crowd her mind again. Unable to keep her eyes open, Enid’s voice faded, and Wednesday’s world went black once more.

When Wednesday next awoke, she was back in their dorm again. Apparently, having to be carried back by her Werewolf friend, tucked into bed, and mothered (smothered, maybe?) until she regained consciousness was becoming a pattern, not just an isolated incident. Enid’s slightly extended claws raked carefully through her hair, and Wednesday let herself feign continued sleep for another few minutes, as once she admitted to herself and Enid that she was awake, such activity could not be allowed to continue.

“Hey, your heartrate and breathing shifted. Are you waking up?” Enid eventually asked. The voice wasn’t accusatory, calling Wednesday out on her tiny deception—besides, she genuinely was still dragging her way out of sleep—but merely gentle and considerate.

“Mmmm,” Wednesday mumbled, forcing her eyes open. Time had passed, as it had with her last vision. She had lost the entire afternoon.

“Stay horizontal, Wends. But now that you’re awake, you should drink and eat something. I’m sure being catatonic takes it out of you,” Enid said.

Ever thoughtful, a glass of water and a granola bar were already on hand. Not necessarily the most exciting meal, but one that Wednesday could stomach without much thinking, and would hopefully restore some of her energy before they could have a proper meal. Wednesday leveraged herself up ever so slightly, while still staying low to comply with Enid’s insistence that she didn’t stress her body by sitting, downing the water. The bar she ate more slowly, nibbling at the corner as her mind settled into the world of the living once more.

“What happened?” Wednesday managed to ask after another few minutes.

“You fell, when trying to get the… um, the dog down,” Enid explained.

“I remember falling. Did you catch me? What happened after?”

“She moved so fucking fast,” came Agnes’ voice. “Werewolf instincts are famous, but it was downright impressive even considering that.”

“Oh,” said Wednesday. “Thank you.”

“Well, of course! I wasn’t going to like, not rush over and catch you,” said Enid, as if her actions hadn’t literally prevented Wednesday’s brain matter from being spread all over the concrete downtown. “It was chaos, but I guess not all that much happened. I sent Agnes off a ways, invisible, in case there was major trouble and we needed her to go get backup. The cops arrived, and it was a bit tense, but I, well… Without going fully physically Wednesday, I channelled you a little and got them to back off.”

“I… I remember some of that,” said Wednesday. “You did good.”

It was such minor, vague praise, but apparently enough to make Enid blush. Wednesday supposed that she rarely gave active compliments, no matter how vague, often instead settling for double negatives. I don’t hate you. I don’t not tolerate you. And so forth.

Pushing on, Enid continued, “The ambulance and someone from the city turned up not long after. You were cleared by the paramedics. You’ve got, like, two stitches, but they said it was just to be safe, and they’ll dissolve out on their own. Maybe a slight concussion, though since you didn’t actually hit anything other than, well, me—or, my arms, I guess—they said it could just be shock, or something to do with your visions that looks like concussion or shock. It wouldn’t be possible to tell until you woke up, but I assured them we’d take you straight to the infirmary here if anything seemed amiss.”

“I’m fine,” Wednesday protested. She briefly realised that a trip to the infirmary could get her close to Gabriella once more, if she wasn’t already discharged, but ultimately that wasn’t worth being trapped herself and fussed over by strangers.

“I know, I know,” said Enid. “That’s why you’re here, not there right now. The man from the city, not sure if he was like pound or waste or whatever, but got the… the body out of sight pretty quick, to reduce any panic. I don’t think we’ll be seeing it again.”

“That’s… probably fine,” said Wednesday.

“But isn’t it our best clue, and our only new lead?” Agnes asked.

“Lucky for me, I do not need my witnesses to be living nor human,” said Wednesday.

“That’s both creepy and cryptic,” Enid pointed out. By this point in their friendship, Wednesday knew that all that Enid meant by the statement was to use a little sarcasm to call her out on holding back information—to ‘share with the class,’ as Enid sometimes said—not anything more judgemental.

“I had a vision. Well, I guess that’s obvious. But, I saw the dog get attacked, and then… I really don’t know what to make of the rest,” said Wednesday. She did her best to explain, sticking to the direct facts of what she’d witnessed in her vision, not yet ready to offer an interpretation. However, Wednesday did make it clear that it wasn’t just memory or trauma, which she’d experienced in a vision-like way before, but felt very strongly that the repetition from her past visions and history was intentional. And that she knew, somehow, that it wasn’t her own eyes that been showing her these things.

Enid frowned, and Agnes merely watched on, unblinking as usual. Both were evidently confused and concerned. Enid said, after a long moment of silence, “Yeah, I’m not sure what to make of it, either. But, the message, if you can call it that. It wasn’t just me overthinking it, right? The dog was—” (she swallowed audibly) “—me, wasn’t it?”

Nodding slowly, Wednesday said, “Yes, I believe it was the killer extending the threat to include you. Apparently, I’ve either missed something that she’s trying to tell us, or simply not given her a satisfactorily dramatic reaction to her previous… ‘messages’.”

“Wends, we need to get some more food into you, help you clean up, and put you back to bed. However…” Enid trailed off.

“Out with it,” said Wednesday, a little snappishly. As per usual, she had little tolerance for hedging and hesitancy in conversation, though with Enid, that was often less in line with her general frustration toward everyone else, and more about needing or wanting to know Enid’s view on the matter—and that Enid was okay—before Wednesday’s own thoughts could settle.

“Well, last time I was threatened this seriously. You know, your premonition of my grave. You, well, you ultimately acted in what you thought was my best interest, and you did spend months of your life hunting me down and bringing me back to, um, to myself, I guess.”

“That is what I did, yes. And I would not do any less, faced with the same situation again,” Wednesday said.

“That’s the problem, though,” said Enid. “I… I need you to do different, this time. You can’t keep me in the dark. For one, I know about this threat this time. But, even if I didn’t, you need to trust me to handle myself in the face of danger. Like, not leave me in danger, obviously. But we’re better, safer, stronger together, Wends. Don’t rush off and try to fix this without me, or for me. Okay?”

“Enid, I—” Wednesday began. Embodying some of her own pet peeve for a moment, she hesitated. Sighing, Wednesday continued, “If faced with the exact same circumstances, acting on only the experience and knowledge I had at that point, I doubt that I could have made a different choice. It was how my brain was capable of processing and acting on my need to protect you. However, this is not that situation. Because I have the knowledge, now, of what happens when I push you away, supposedly for your own safety. It is never a better outcome. You’ve saved my sorry skin as many times, if not more, than I have yours. Not that it’s about paying you back. I simply cannot envisage succeeding against the forces of evil without your assistance. Sure, a regular, Normie serial killer is a walk in the park. Happy to take on one of those if you’re away for the weekend. But I have yet to survive supernatural evil without you, and I am confident now that I shouldn’t try.”

“That’s—well, it’s a pretty long-winded way of saying that you’re sorry and you’ve grown as a person, but I accept,” Enid said, grinning down at Wednesday with a mocking glint in her eyes.

Wednesday simply rolled her own eyes in return.

“If you two are done,” Agnes interrupted.

“It is important to debrief after major incidents in a case, and to ensure that all members of the investigation are on the same page so that they can trust one another going forward,” Wednesday said.

“Yeah, Agnes. We’re partners in this investigation, and we trust one another,” Enid said. The tease in her voice was back, which Wednesday had been noticing more and more recently, but still didn’t know what it was between Enid and Agnes that caused such comments, sounding like they dripped with meaning but holding none that Wednesday could uncover.

Reminding them, which Wednesday realised she did often forget, that she was still a much younger teenager, Agnes stuck her tongue out at Enid. After getting a sneer back from the older girl, Agnes said, “Well, come on, then. You mentioned dinner, and I’m starving. If your partner can stand, then get your partner up, and bring your partner to dinner.”

“We could order in?” Enid suggested, ignoring whatever implications that Agnes was trying to make. A detective’s work was never done, sure, even over dinner, but Wednesday thought that the emphasis on the professional aspects of their friendship was overkill.

“We did that the last two nights, and it sounds like it’s almost all you ever eat,” Agnes countered. “I’m here to hang out and pretend I’m a college student for the week. Surely it’s faster, easier, cheaper to go to the cafeteria?”

“Money is no barrier,” Wednesday said.

At the same time, Enid replied, “I think you’ll regret your choice, but there’s only one way for us to prove that.”

After a decidedly lacklustre dinner served by the university’s limited weekend staff, which Agnes admitted was inferior even to Nevermore’s more bougie fare, Wednesday did find herself needing to crash again. Ever since regaining some degree of control—or, at least, managing to not be completely out of control—with her psychic abilities again, the stress of them on her energy was still high. Whether she’d damaged something permanently, or if she still had some kind of block to fully accessing her visions, Wednesday wasn’t sure. Her mother thought that things were largely better, but Morticia Addams had a very different experience with her psychic senses despite mother and daughter both technically being vision-oriented Outcasts. And Wednesday, though her relationship with her mother had significantly improved during and since her second year at Nevermore, was still not always the most forthcoming to Morticia’s invasion of her personal space, physically or psychically.

Monday mornings typically came with both Literature and Chemistry lectures, essentially back to back. However, Enid had the foresight (even if Wednesday initially grumbled about this) to obtain a note from the paramedics explaining Wednesday’s situation, and need for continued rest. Though they were relatively confident after Wednesday having been fine, other than tired, at dinner the night before, because concussion was a risk, Enid and Agnes had teamed up against Wednesday to convince her to stay in bed. Agnes was to be watchdog while Enid sourced breakfast—refusing to provide coffee, which was the very worst part of the experience—then they both ‘supervised’ all morning until Enid had to go to her early afternoon Media course.

However, the morning wasn’t all that painful in the end. Lack of caffeine aside. The three of them thoroughly documented Wednesday’s visions about the killer to date, and compiled the best description of her that they could from the limited glimpses and descriptions. They spent a significant amount of time theorising what ‘stealing the future,’ from Gabriella’s message, might mean, as well as whether the threat aimed at Enid had further significance beyond riling Wednesday up, and what the vision-within-a-vision experience through the killer’s eyes could possibly be trying to tell them. That first task, putting as much as they could in writing, felt like a productive step forward. Though it wasn’t as much progress as Wednesday would’ve liked, especially since it had now been over a month since she first saw Adam Wednesday’s grave, it nevertheless demonstrated that some real progress had been made, and gave them a relatively clear outline of the nature of the case and the kind of foe they were up against. The remainder of their discussions, however, felt purely speculative, and Wednesday was no closer to being confident what the messages and visions meant than she had the day before.

After Enid had left for class, giving it a good few minutes for Agnes to get a little bored without the chattier of the two roommates to distract her, Wednesday stood and stretched. Though Agnes might have, in many ways, possessed more in common with Wednesday, the two of them alone said little unless they were actively plotting something, and the conversation had petered out with Enid’s departure. That meant, one, that Agnes would start looking for a distraction soon, and two, that she would be naturally predisposed to expect her time alone with Wednesday to involve mischief.

“Can we go for a bit of a walk?” Wednesday asked, keeping her tone purely neutral.

Unfortunately, Agnes had been around her too long, and wasn’t buying it. “WWET, Wednesday? What Would Enid Think. We are not going to chase this investigation any further until she is back.”

“You used to be fun,” Wednesday replied.

“No, you thought I was infuriating but had utility, and then tolerable still with utility, and now back to infuriating, if only for this moment, but manipulatable. You’re probably right about most of that, except for the very last point. I’m standing firm.”

“What if I promise on my brother’s grave that we won’t leave campus, and won’t do anything directly related to the case?” Wednesday asked.

“What, as if Pugsley’s grave holds any weight in such a promise,” said Agnes. “You will allow me to vet a full itinerary, which I will text to Enid, and we will not deviate from it. You will put your promise in writing, in our group chat, in response, and it will be on the grave of your latest manuscript. I will bury it where you cannot find it again, and I know you only have the one copy, if you defy me.”

“You’re, what, eight year’s old, little psycho? Since when did you give orders?”

“Since they were actually Enid’s orders, which I know you won’t ignore. Admit it, you’re whipped,” Agnes replied.

“Whipped? I guess that’s an appropriate metaphor for her discipline style,” Wednesday admitted. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.”

“Yes, a very appropriate metaphor,” Agnes said, rolling her eyes.

In the end, the ‘itinerary’ wasn’t particularly long. It had one item, and when Wednesday explained to Agnes what she wanted to do, Agnes actually relented and didn’t send it to Enid. However, Wednesday was still required to write out her oath that they would not get up to any trouble on their casual walk, or else forfeit all documentation on Viper’s latest escapades.

A few minutes later, Wednesday and Agnes stood outside of Psi House. The offensively Greek-inspired sorority accommodation at which Yoko and Divina resided.

“Addams. And the little… sorry, and DeMille,” Yoko greeted after another Fang that had answered the door yelled up at her. “Aren’t you still meant to be at Nevermore, Agnes? To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“I have a favour to ask,” Wednesday said.

“Of course,” came Divina’s voice from behind Yoko, who then wriggled under her girlfriend’s arm to give Wednesday and Agnes an equally harsh stare to Yoko.

“Look, Wednesday. You often mean, um, if not well, then at least not the worst. I know you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t think it mattered. But, would it kill you to start with small talk, for once? Pretend you’re happy to see us?” Yoko asked.

“Yes. It would be a most unpleasant death,” said Wednesday with a deadpan.

“Fiiine,” Yoko said, drawing the word out with an eyeroll. “What insane activity are you asking of us this time?”

“Well, it’s Enid,” Wednesday began.

“Is she okay?” Divina all but shouted, pushing forward from Yoko to grab Wednesday’s shoulders.

Ignoring the breach of her personal space, for now, Wednesday nodded. “The only torture that she is currently experiencing is Media. But there’s a chance that she won’t stay safe. I need your help.”

“Wednesday Addams asking for help?” Yoko said.

“You literally just accused me of only ever talking to you when I needed help,” Wednesday pointed out.

Yoko sighed. “Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll cool it. You could’ve texted, but I guess I appreciate that you showed face? Anyway, if it’s Enid, of course we’ll be there. But, um, Addams… have you at least told her about this first?”

It was Wednesday’s turn to give a loud sigh in return. She pushed Divina off, and said, “Yes, mother. Enid is entirely aware of the danger and its context. The only thing that she is not aware of is that I’m asking you to… urgh, join our investigation.”

“Any reason for this particular secrecy?” Divina asked.

“Because I’m still me?” Wednesday suggested.

“That tracks,” said Yoko. “Does it have to be now now?”

“Her lecture ends at three, so if you have, I don’t know, noses to powder or amphetamines to take. You’ve got time. But I insist that you come with us today. The killer is making moves more and more frequently.”

“Killer, right, of course,” said Divina. “I guess you can come in while we powder our noses and dose up on our study drugs.”

The group of four began walking back to Gertrude Hall shortly before Enid’s class was scheduled to finish. In fact, as they made their way up the stairs to the top-floor dorm room, the sound of quick and eager footsteps appeared behind them, and Enid had caught up by the time they had reached the top. Her reaction upon seeing her friends was loud and obnoxious, but Wednesday took that as a good sign. For all that Enid continued to insist that it was Wednesday who was her best friend, and had stuck by Wednesday’s side through many dangerous situations, Wednesday knew that she didn’t exactly inspire the greatest sense of calm. Her obsessive approach to her investigations, and frequent lack of sense of self-preservation, often only made Enid more anxious. Having backup would help.

Besides, Yoko and Divina could be backup in more than one sense. A near-immortal undead and a mind controller could come in handy. The small crowd of (mostly ex-) Nevermore students in the hall leading to Wednesday and Enid’s door was not, however, the most surprising thing, even if Wednesday couldn’t imagine having actively sought any of her present company out when she had first arrived at the Outcast school.

Rather, it was the sixth figure, who she spotted crying silently, curled into her knees right outside the dorm room door. From a few paces away, with her face hidden, it once again felt like Wednesday was essentially looking at her doppelganger. She looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching, fear in her eyes.

“Wednesday?” Gabriella asked, still looking terrified but her immediate nervous reaction fading when she recognised who was approaching.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: The Six Musketeers

In which Wednesday considers the effectiveness of actually having... friends?

Having pushed Agnes’ air mattress to one side, and generally rearranging their desk chairs and other mismatched furniture, after a few minutes a makeshift circle of seats was created, and each of the girls—occupants and guests—took a place. This was more people than Wednesday had allowed into her personal spaces in a long time. In her tower at home, though she had a reasonable total floor area, it was spread over multiple levels of small floors, with narrow staircases between (and even a ladder to the very top space). Besides, her family knew that crowding her in her own rooms would put their very lives at risk. At Nevermore, since she and Enid had… talked some things through, Wednesday hadn’t been required to put up with more than one or two other guests at any given time. Their agreement, which Wednesday presumed still applied here: Wednesday would tolerate invitees, but would be given advanced warning where possible; Enid would limit who she invited so that there were never over five people total in the room.

Given that Wednesday was the one to ask most of their current visitors—Yoko and Divina directly, and she guessed that Gabriella counted as an indirect invitation from the other day—she swallowed her discomfort as best she could.

Enid had been softly (for her) chattering with Yoko and Divina since spotting them on the stairwell, but otherwise conversation between the full group stayed uninitiated. Unfortunately, that implied that they were all waiting for Wednesday. Being the one to summon them, unusual in and of itself, there was clearly some anticipation—whether curiosity or fear or both—that created a tension in the room.

“I suspect you are all wondering why I have gathered you here today,” Wednesday began, looking to each of the other five girls in turn, making an acceptable amount of eye contact before moving on.

Yoko snorted, and Enid grinned. The former asked, “Is that a pop-culture reference, Addams?”

“I concede that it is a line lifted from Agatha Christie, not an original phrase, but I was not under the impression that she was still considered culturally popular,” Wednesday replied.

“You know that she doesn’t know memes or anything else chronically online,” Enid pointed out.

“The social evolutionary concept or the images… you know what? Never mind,” said Wednesday. “Dramatic moment ruined, I shall be candid instead. As Enid, Agnes, and Gabriella know… this is Gabriella, by the way. There is a stalker, killer, et cetera on campus. Targeting me, specifically, but has attacked Gabriella. The most recent development—which in addition to Yoko and Divina, you are not aware of, Gabriella—is a direct threat to Enid. The bus that the three of us were on yesterday had its tires shredded, and pulled to a stop beneath the corpse of a large, golden dog, hanging from a building, with parts of its fur painted in pink and blue. So, while not in so many words, I think you can all see why this leaves no ambiguity as to the intention of the threat.”

“You don’t seem stoked. Wouldn’t you usually be thrilled at this kind of thing?” Divina asked.

“In some circumstances, or perhaps another version of me, yes. But this killer has been toying with me and my enjoyment has been slowly eroded into pure frustration. To explicitly promise harm toward Enid, on top of this, makes it unacceptable.”

“Figures. Poking the bear via you probs assured this killer’s doom, huh, Enid?” Yoko smiled with what Enid would probably describe as a ‘shit-eating’ grin.

“It was pretty awful, Yokes,” said Enid, more somber than her usual in responding to her friend. “If Wends hadn’t collapsed in a vision, almost cracking open her skull—which, you know, traumatising in its own right—I think I wouldn’t have managed to not fall apart. Like, not just the threat itself, but it was someone’s pet, I’m sure. Wends is right. She’s mocking us.”

“She?” Yoko asked.

For the first time, other than quietly thanking Wednesday as she’d pulled her to her feet and into the room a few minutes ago, Gabriella spoke up. “Some psychopath with a vendetta against your goth friend. Thinks Wednesday ‘stole her future’ or some shit.”

“And we have reason to believe that she’s one of us. Well, not just an Outcast. Another psychic,” Wednesday explained, and gave some brief details about her latest vision, and how they seemed to be filtered through the killer’s eyes.

“Wait,” Gabriella said. “You’re all Outcasts?”

“Well, we’re all friends from high school, mainly,” said Divina, with a dry tone. “Just happened to be an all-Outcast school.”

“I—sorry, I’m not, like, you know… I don’t have a problem with Outcasts!” Gabriella spluttered a bit as she tried to explain herself. “I’ve just never really met any. So I was a little surprised.”

“Turning invisible in your room didn’t tip you off?” Wednesday asked.

“I was, admittedly, a little out of it. Also, that was only you… wait, but you said psychic…” said Gabriella.

“That’d be me,” Agnes explained. She almost seemed playful as she popped in and out of sight.

“Between the fact that it was super normal at Nevermore, and that a lot of Normies find it uncomfortable, and that it can be a bit insensitive to go around asking, we don’t tend to actually stop and explain what each of our unique deal is when meeting people. Some Outcasts aren’t so fortunate to be able to blend in, such as Gorgons, but most of us just find it easier to take advantage of being ‘Normie-passing,’ as it were,” Enid explained. “There’s like a whole debate between ‘Outcast pride’ versus keeping a low profile. If pushed, I think we’d all be proud. And no one here is actively hiding anything. But I guess that most Normies don’t expect you to be an Outcast, and it’s easier not to correct them. Like with any other hidden minority, I guess.”

“And does this—the whole, well, serial killer business—is it something that you have to deal with often?” Gabriella asked.

“Yes,” Wednesday said, stating it as a pretty simple fact given her experiences.

However, she got some kind of intense or confused or amused look from the four other Outcast girls. Yoko was the one to give voice to the reaction, and said, “It’s really not an Outcast thing. Just a Wednesday thing. Danger of being her… friend? If you can call us that.”

“I’m content with acquaintance for you and your girlfriend. You are officially upgraded from ‘not intolerable stranger’,” Wednesday conceded.

“That’s… good?” said Yoko.

“What are we going to do about the stalker?” Enid asked, switching them back to the original topic of conversation. “I presume you either have a plan that requires Yokes and Divi, or you don’t and therefore came to the surprisingly rational conclusion that we need backup?”

“Rude,” was all that Wednesday replied, though she somewhat remarkably didn’t really feel much sting when that kind of comment came from Enid. Several of the other girls quietly chuckled. She resented that, however. “Unfortunately, I do not have a plan for catching the killer. She seems to know me remarkably well, for someone I don’t even recognise. Half a face doesn’t mean much when it comes to a stranger, but I’d like to think I’d recognise the mouth and chin of someone in my life. Anyway. What we do need to plan for, and is the purpose of this gathering, is security arrangements. For Enid, was my initial intention, but potentially Gabriella now too. And, more broadly, likely for everyone with a connection to me who attends this university. So, Yoko and Divina, I was planning to ask you to support me in ensuring that Enid—and Gabriella—are never entirely alone or unaccounted for, and it also might be in your best interests also. I do not know who she might come after next.”

This immediately turned the entire room tense. Not that it had been particularly jovial before, but it certainly hadn’t been heavy with this stark sense of what was at stake.

“Right. I’m… hardly happy to hear that it’s this serious,” Yoko said. “But, if it is, then I agree. No person in this room should be without a ‘buddy’ for the foreseeable future. No idea what kind of Outcast this killer might be, though signs point to a seer, but if a vampire knows anything, it’s that a lone target is an easy target.”

“A… a vampire?” Gabriella asked in a quiet voice, eyes going wide.

Yoko gave her a fang-filled grin and a sardonic wink. “Better to have one on your team, though, babe.”

“I have taken the liberty of pulling your timetables. Well, Agnes and I have. I am still torn on avoiding becoming a complete slave to technology versus expanding into the new and exciting world of cyber-crime and online stalking,” explained Wednesday. “Though, I’ll have to find a copy of yours, Gabriella. But adding another person should only make arranging things simpler. As it currently stands, there should be no time at which all of us are expected to be in completely different locations with no flexibility. Except for Gabriella at night.”

The newest acquaintance in the group did not look pleased at that, but didn’t immediately speak up with concern or a solution. Wednesday didn’t entirely know how to solve that particular concern, since she wasn’t about to invite a near-stranger into the room with her and Enid. It was already pushing her comfort enough to have Agnes sleeping here, who she actually admitted that she could probably call a friend.

With Agnes’ situation on Wednesday’s mind, the youngest girl spoke up, asking, “What about me, after my break?”

Wednesday had thought of this too. “Depending on your preference, you have two choices: You can return to Nevermore with a trusted adult, and I will contact administration about the threat, but I suspect that the killer will maintain her focus here. Alternatively, if we cannot resolve these matters within the week and you do not feel safe travelling back or staying at Nevermore, I will inform the administration that you will need to stay here for your own protection, and you will continue to be part of our rotation of… ‘buddies,’ as Tanaka so sickeningly put it.”

The only response from Agnes was a small, serious nod.

“Right, well. Please exchange contact details. And, as much as it pains me to say this, if everyone could allow location services to be accessed by the others in this room. That makes my skin crawl, personally, and may also create risk should one of us become compromised. However, I think that the benefit of being able to find anyone else in this room on short notice outweighs the danger and my discomfort. I will distribute a revised plan for how we will manage to prevent anyone from being alone, as well as the best descriptions that we have so far about the nature of this threat and how it might be possible to identify our enemy. Be careful about how outwardly suspicious you act, as we do not want to force her hand too strongly—as much as I would love to force her out into the open—but also be cautious. I am open to suggestions about other proactive avenues that we could take, and if there is anything that you require to carry out keeping yourselves and one another safe, consider money no object. We will continue to discuss this and adapt our plans as needed over the coming week.”

With that, Wednesday essentially dismissed the group. The other three girls visiting this room stuck around for a while, however, which she decided to tolerate for Enid’s sake. Where Wednesday found solace in solitude, and knew that she could survive if isolated, it was just as important for Enid to feel psychologically supported as physically protected. Personally, Wednesday had not assigned herself a ‘buddy’ (they really needed a better word for that… ‘partner’ or ‘companion’?) that wasn’t either Enid or Agnes at either point, and primarily bothered to include herself for their sakes. Bringing Yoko and Divina in was necessary to fill the gaps when Wednesday needed to attend class, after Agnes had potentially departed depending on her choice, so that someone could look out for Enid.

The image of the painted dog swaying slightly as it hung from the awning continued to surface in Wednesday’s mind. Only, her memory was already warping the canine form into something larger. A blonde wolf, which had come to her defence so many times in the past. Wednesday could not let that future come to pass.

After all, in Wednesday’s mind, it simply wasn’t possible for the future to exist without Enid in it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: ‘Behind you, a distraction!’

In which Wednesday works to distract Enid from recent events

Wednesday Addams, who spent her summer vacations getting caught by serial killers—only to turn the tables, traumatise them in return, and then bring them in, closing cases so cold that they were Antarctic—found herself genuinely daunted by the prospect of the upcoming week.

The plan to ensure that everyone (or rather, Enid, and the others merely by extension) remained safe from the stalker/killer/dog-murderer’s schemes did not involve Wednesday subjecting Enid to her Chemistry and Literature classes. Despite her persona’s inclination toward cruelty, Wednesday was not that cruel. Apparently, however, she might have been masochistic, as Wednesday had assigned herself the responsibility of accompanying Enid to all of her Media and Theatre lectures and workshops. Though, at least those Wednesday could hopefully deceive herself into tolerating as they were technically ‘learning environments,’ even if not her preferred subject matter. On top of Enid’s classes, however, there was downtime to fill.

Only weeks ago, Wednesday had bemoaned the incompatibility of their schedules, which had complicated their options for eating lunch together or leaving at the same time in the morning. She genuinely preferred significant periods of solitude, but at those ritualistic touch points during her day, Wednesday had grown used to Enid’s presence over their time together at Nevermore, and the moment that Enid was back in her life here at university, her brain’s obsession with routine kicked back in and struggled to accept when their old cadence was broken by their new commitments. Now, despite their schedules being unchanged, Wednesday was concerned that they’d have entirely too much time together. Enid didn’t do ‘comfortable silences.’ She filled the space with her train of thought, every observation and emotion. This applied whether they were in public or in their room, sitting still or on the move, actively engaged in an activity or passively killing time.

And, apparently, Wednesday’s brilliant intellect and razor-sharp instincts, when presented with the need to provide Enid with around-the-clock protection, had concluded that the best solution was to be personally present for the rainbow Werewolf’s every move. Enid was by far the strangest hyperfixation that Wednesday had ever experienced, and given her proclivity for stalking serial killers, that was saying something. Still, at least Wednesday could claim that, beneath all of the nauseating pastel, Enid Sinclair was a terrifying beast. If pressed, she was fairly certain that she could make a compelling argument that Enid was not that different from her other obsessions: innocent to the world, twisted underneath. Of course, even in thinking such things to herself, Wednesday could feel her own self-awareness that this wasn’t why Enid occupied so much of her mind. Did normal people actually go through life thinking this much about their friends, and not about escape routes and ambush locations and the telegraphed tells and weaknesses of strangers?

At least Wednesday was still thinking about all of those things. She just found herself caring about them not for herself, but ensuring that Enid had somewhere to flee if necessary, that Enid wasn’t about to get jumped, that Enid wasn’t being tailed by strangers.

Which brought her to the Tuesday afternoon handover.

Tuesday mornings were comparatively slow for Wednesday, with only Chemistry late morning rather than back-to-back lectures. Since Agnes was still around this week, she tagged along and sat invisibly on her phone to ensure that she didn’t get called on by Dr. Balinski. They’d taken the time before Chemistry to meet Yoko, Divina, and Gabriella (who had tagged along with the Fang and Siren at the end of the previous evening) for coffee, and Enid had gone with Divina to a Music seminar while Yoko and Gabriella had discovered—only thanks to Wednesday’s plan—that they shared a very similar degree programme, and therefore both had Human Geography on Tuesday mornings. Despite sounding like a lot of logistics to manage, it had honestly ended up as a pretty normal social interaction. Which means, for Wednesday, it was its own unique torture, but not significantly more horrifying than regularly being dragged along for coffee with Enid’s other friends, which had been happening about once each week so far. It was strange to have the addition of Gabriella, but though she didn’t have an Outcast connection with the other five girls, she was still at the same stage of life as they were and, if only because everyone else on the planet was more capable socially than Wednesday, the others seamlessly welcomed her into their time and spaces.

Chemistry completed, Wednesday stood directly outside of the open door to Divina’s Music seminar, arms crossed impatiently as, despite the hour having ticked over, she could still hear the obnoxious prattle of the students inside discussing how classical orchestral and piano music had become such a significant influence in the composition of Japanese Anime soundtracks. And, apparently, Enid had found herself right at home in the class that she wasn’t even taking, her energetic voice piping up several times to add her opinion. At least the ‘distraction’ part of the plan seemed to be working…

Once Enid and Divina finally strolled out of the room, acting like they hadn’t just wasted a full seven minutes of Wednesday’s time, the Siren gave Enid an enthusiastic hug and then nodded at Wednesday. It was a gesture of understanding and gratitude, entirely more familiar than most of Wednesday’s previous interactions with the girl.

Apparently filled with enough energy that she couldn’t contain herself, Enid bounded over to Wednesday and stopped just shy of hugging her. But very much standing in her personal space. Wednesday gave her roommate a harsh stare, which wasn’t that different from her glares of dismissal or rejection, but Enid had learned to read the nuance in Wednesday’s otherwise dead eyes, and clearly decided that she read tolerance there. Throwing her arms around Wednesday’s shoulders, Enid was allowed an extended ten seconds of contact before Wednesday disentangled herself and began to direct them out of the building.

“How was class?” Wednesday asked.

“Divi’s music degree seems so cool! And, like, she hardly even needs it, with how good she already is, but I guess that’s like you and your classes. Here for the formal recognition, though she’s also here for the social life, unlike others,” Enid replied, ending on a teasing tone.

“And the tutor tolerated your presence?”

“Tolerated? He thought it was the sweetest thing ever that our friend group were all looking out for each other while some ‘difficult personal stuff’ was happening in our lives. And also started spit balling about encouraging more students to do interdisciplinary drop ins to increase their interest and well-roundedness. I’m invited back for all future classes, and could even earn an audit certificate out of it!”

“When I sneak into lectures, it’s always: Why are you here, Ms. Addams? It’s inappropriate to take part in coroner sciences without being enrolled in this course, Ms. Addams…” Wednesday responded.

“You’ve just got to show them how enthusiastic you are about their topic! But, in like a friendly way, not in an arrogant or scary way,” said Enid.

“Maybe that works for music, but I feel less certain about forensics.”

“Have you tried smiling? Like, actual smiling?”

“Take a wild guess…”

The pair wandered to one of the campus’ more tolerable food vendors, a caravan that served Turkish and Greek meals (which mainly just meant kebabs), but seemed to disappear to greener pastures on weekends. Enid got on famously with the owner, ingratiating herself with the small amount of Greek that she knew from an interest into her heritage when young. Though, upon first seeing this, when Wednesday gave her complete order in fluent, albeit classical, Greek, she got more of a blank stare than an enthusiastic welcome. But coming here about once per week had become something of a habit, and the vendor politely greeted Wednesday so long as Enid was in attendance. Which, to be honest, was about the right level of social interaction for Wednesday to appreciate, with anything additional being far too intimate.

“We have almost two hours until your Theatre lecture, then enough time for a quick dinner, before Agnes rejoins me for knife-throwing and Gabriella has agreed to tag along with you for dance. I have an itinerary for how we can spend our otherwise unstructured time, which you’ll be pleased to know that I compiled digitally…” Wednesday trailed off, pulling out her phone.

Looking over her shoulder, Enid gave out an amused huff, and then began reading from Wednesday’s list. “‘Curricular library research. Psychic meditation. Bolt-hole scouting. Extracurricular library research.’ Not that that doesn’t sound super fun, but I’d hoped to maybe wander around the public gardens just over the road behind campus? They sometimes have little stalls and street performers and improv theatre and stuff. The weather is nice enough today that there’s surely something to see!”

“The weather is awful, Enid,” Wednesday corrected, gesturing to the piercingly blue sky and dismal absence of clouds. “And that hardly sounds like an intellectually productive use of our time.”

“Completely honest, Wends. You won’t hurt my feelings. If one of the two of us needed a little more academic support than the other, who would it be?”

Wednesday frowned, sensing a trap, but decided to play along for now. “You…”

“Correct. So, in the event that we decided to spend some time studying together, would we end up both working on your topics, or mine?”

“Yours…”

“And what am I studying?”

“Media Studies, including electives in Media Law and Journalism, along with Theatre (Performance) and Theatre (Theory), toward a double major in Arts,” Wednesday said.

“That’s… more detailed an answer than necessary, but yes. My current performance module is in improvisational practices within structured performances, and I’m planning to write my next essay on using dynamic environmental factors to bring life to static scripts. Does that sound like a sufficiently interesting and academic topic?”

“It does… given the discipline, at least…”

A mischievous grin spread right the way across Enid’s face. She became radiant, in the way that many religions described divine messengers as radiant in the sense that they were terrifying. She said, “Oh, unrelated thought. Wouldn’t it be useful for me, you know, academically, if there were examples of improvisational theatre using dynamic environments that I could visit, from which I could draw inspiration and practical case studies, especially if they happened to be taking place in nearby locations like, say, to pick somewhere random, local public gardens?”

“Enid Sinclair, it would appear that I have influenced you more than is good for my own wellbeing. That was utterly evil. I acquiesce, if only because I cannot deny that you have won… this time,” Wednesday conceded. “But, if anyone tries to draw me into their antics, they will lose limbs.”

“That sounds like a particularly dynamic environmental factor that they’ll have to learn to adjust to!” Enid said with a dark chuckle. She offered her elbow, saying, “Shall we?”

Not one to back down, from what was clearly still a competition of wits and resolve, Wednesday took Enid’s arm with a vice grip to demonstrate her displeasure, and allowed herself to be led across campus and into the gardens.

There were a grand total of three hawkers and/or performing vagrants to be discovered throughout the (actually quite impressively) large gardens. Wednesday noted that maintenance was a little subpar—the paths were clear of interesting roots, vines, or other obstacles and none of the flowers had been appropriately de-headed—but the space made up in quantity what it lacked in polish. Near the entrance, there was an elderly lady selling imitation animals represented in a disfigured manner using crochet (Wednesday tried to steer them right past, but Enid forced them to stop and ended up buying two—a dog and a blackbird, for some reason). Tucked within a semi-obscured glade surrounded by hedges, they found a mime (Wednesday at least appreciated the volume and colour scheme, but when the mime beckoned for Enid to participate in his next performance, and Enid tried to drag Wednesday in with her, and Wednesday took the opportunity to show the mime one of her hidden knives, both performer and crowd were suddenly eager for the entertainment to come to an end). Finally, there was something of a maze toward the middle of the gardens, where a scavenger hunt was being held. Children (and Enid) could take a list of items that could either be found naturally in the maze, or were hidden there, and could win a prize if they completed the hunt within forty-five minutes.

The list included the following:

Something round given by the earth. It wasn’t exactly spherical, but the squirrel skull that Wednesday spotted under a bush was fairly round, and came from the earth in the sense that all things came from dust and to dust they would return.

A message most mysterious. They found a bucket tied to a lamppost filled with slips of paper that bore various inane riddles, which Wednesday doubted was mysterious enough. In the end, she carved off a section of bark from a tree into which someone had scratched a phone number for unknown purposes.

Something green that provides its owner with a source of energy. Wednesday fortunately carried a piece of vintage uranium glass for luck, which glowed green when lit from behind, so she figured it was close enough.

The brightest colour you can find. Assuming that Enid herself didn’t count, Wednesday spotted a Cardinal, which she convinced Enid to use her enhanced Werewolf dexterity to snatch from a branch, and Wednesday decided to kill as humanely as possible given that this was a children’s event.

Five things of the same length. A box of discarded cigarettes, with six left so Wednesday tossed one, conveniently presented itself.

Something that represents change. Knowing that most of the world only ever changed when faced with fear or pain, finding a representative object proved more of a challenge than the rest of the list so far. But when a stray thorn made a gash in Wednesday’s arm as she pushed through some branches to cut their return trip out of the maze short, she decided that, even if she couldn’t hand it over, the mark represented a very minimal form of pain and danger, but one that others would likely fear more than Wednesday herself.

“Oh, that’s, um… You can keep those! We’re not, ah, collecting the items, just verifying that you have them,” the middle-aged woman waiting at the entrance to the maze explained. Which was odd, because she had a box of leaves and sticks and scraps of paper just behind her, but Wednesday figured that those must have been the unacceptable items. “Oh, and, right. Your prize… Your prize is the spoils of your curiosity!”

Thinking that such a prize was obtainable without such an easy list of items to gather, Wednesday was slightly annoyed, but hadn’t really expected anything more. Enid, however, growled deep in her throat, letting out a noise that originated more with her wolf side than her human voice, gesturing at another box tucked behind the woman.

“Of course, silly me! Forgive me. Discovering the fruits of your curiosity is only the main reward, but for such a… creative set of items, here, you can have…” the woman trailed off, rummaging in the box, and pulling out a little paper bag. She finished lamely, her smile to toothsome to be genuine, “This!”

This was apparently enough to delight Enid, and Wednesday was simply thankful that she hadn’t been required to give over her uranium glass for Enid’s acquisition (and had gained a new rodent skull as a bonus). Somehow, more than an hour had passed since they entered the gardens, so the pair decided to head back to campus. Wednesday admitted that tormenting mimes and collecting esoteric trinkets wasn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon with Enid, and that there was even something pleasant about strolling through such unbridled nature (though she still couldn’t get over how ridiculous it was that the flowers still had all of their heads).

Enid was humming softly to herself as she inspected her prize, which turned out to be mainly stickers, a few pieces of knock-off-brand candy, and a flyer for some religious or sporting or other social organisation—Wednesday didn’t bother to look hard enough to confirm—that the woman had been representing. The stickers immediately went on Enid’s water bottle, the candy in her mouth, and the flyer in a paper recycling bin once they were back on campus.

“Thanks for the cute little friend-date, Wends,” Enid said, cutting through what Wednesday had thought was a comfortable silence between them.

“Your safety is paramount, and your companionship is the least intolerable of all things living or undead,” replied Wednesday. “However, following that expenditure of time, social energy, and colour tolerance, would you mind if we sat quietly until it is time for us to attend your next class?”

Shuffling just slightly closer, until their knees were almost touching (but definitely not actually in contact), Enid nodded. The affirmative gesture seemed content, despite Enid’s preference for conversation, and Wednesday was pleased that they had this opportunity to now be engaging in one of Wednesday’s favourite pastimes together (that is, complete stillness and silence), having just filled Enid’s cup with pastimes that suited her.

Later than day, Wednesday and Agnes met up with Enid and Gabriella after their respective extracurriculars. Yoko and Divina would join them most evenings, but had some kind of event at their sorority today, but assured the others that they would stick together as a pair the whole time, until they would come to collect Gabriella for the night later. Ordering yet more takeout, the four girls headed back to Gertrude Hall.

Wednesday and Gabriella walked almost side-by-side, just incidentally, neither bothering to try to strike up conversation. Ahead of them, Enid and Agnes were chatting amicably, about nothing in particular, but, seeing as she didn’t have to actively participate, Wednesday decided that didn’t mind their voices as background noise to her walk.

As they reached the main entrance to Gertrude Hall, Agnes asked Enid, “How did today go?”

A little more quietly, perhaps to prevent Wednesday from hearing, but failing to do so if that was the intention, Enid replied, “Well, I think. The main thing we did was visit the gardens, other than class. She seemed sufficiently distracted from everything going on, I think, so I’d call that a success. Keeping Wends mentally occupied while there’s still almost nothing that we can do to catch her stalker is a good idea. Just unsure how we’ll keep it up all week, but one day at a time, right?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: Enforced Bonding Time

In which Wednesday is subjected to spending time with Enid's friends

The following day was typically Wednesday and Enid’s best opportunity to get a proper lunch together, and their new routine had become taking the time to walk into town and going to a real establishment. Neither had class directly on either side of noon. Enid had compared it to a ‘mini-weekend’ right in the middle of the week when it was needed most.

Said routine would not be going ahead today. Was nothing sacred?

Instead, Enid had apparently become excited at the prospect of endless and constant socialisation, as she interpreted Wednesday’s security schedule. The day before had shown both of them that, perhaps, though there was still physical danger about, they could each be trusted to not spiral too far. Claiming interest in a ‘girl’s day’—which was surely meaningless when everyone on Wednesday’s carefully planned roster identified as female—Enid had absconded with Yoko. One of the few classes that Gabriella and Yoko didn’t share was booked in the middle of the day, and Agnes had agreed to shadow their new Normie acquaintance. Though the principle of the ‘buddy system’ was still in place, Wednesday’s careful preparations had been completely abandoned, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty and chaos.

Unfortunately for Wednesday, the remaining person to whom she found herself assigned was a naturally excellent swimmer. It would’ve been preferable to drown.

“So, Wends, wanna go kill some time off campus then grab some lunch?” Divina asked as Wednesday approached. The Siren had been leaning nonchalantly against a pillar near Wednesday’s morning Literature class, occupied with something on her phone until she spotted her day’s charge.

(That is, Wednesday definitely felt, despite her own self-assured nature, that everyone else was viewing Divina as Wednesday’s babysitter that day, not the other way around. Nothing had been said, but then again, it was fairly obvious without communication.)

“Please do not address me with such familiarity,” Wednesday insisted.

“Sorry, Miss Addams,” Divina said. “I thought maybe now we’re all, you know, inner circle to whatever coven you have going on, Enid’s nicknames for you were fair game.”

“I can hear the insincerity in your voice, and will not acknowledge your attempt to rile me up. But those privileges are for Enid only.”

“Acknowledge it or not, I think it’s working, Wends,” Divina said with a grin.

“Insufferable fish person,” Wednesday muttered to herself.

Nevertheless, knowing that each could only push so far without disappointing Enid, and that pairing up at all times had been Wednesday’s idea, she allowed Divina to fall in step next to her without further comment. Wanting to do anything other than head into town now that Divina had explicitly suggested it, Wednesday pushed her defiance down and began to lead them off campus, giving into her preference for routine over her proclivity for contrariness. (Since when had she become so reflective of her own traits, let alone viewing them as shortcomings to be squashed? Probably since Enid started using therapy-speak to describe Wednesday, pretending to diagnose her with this and that using her infuriating little smile.)

At Nevermore, Wednesday had little to do with most of the Siren cohort, with Bianca Barclay being the obvious exception. With Bianca, her relationship had been one of rivalry. That word, in many ways, transcended the concept of friend or foe, referring to something at once more dynamic and more ancient, which Wednesday had grown to appreciate. There was respect and trust, even while there was competition and caution. She hadn’t considered Bianca either nefarious or threatening enough to ascend to the status of nemesis, but had put in the work to classify as the next best thing. However, Wednesday’s disproportionate exposure to Bianca versus other Sirens had potentially given her a slightly skewed view of them. Bianca was snide and confident, outspoken and expected to take the lead or the stage as the moment required. Though, with her upbringing, Wednesday should’ve known better than to reduce any group of people to a uniform set of traits presented by one individual, Bianca’s personality had been so ubiquitous and seemed to resonance so well with her song-based abilities that Wednesday had given into the heuristic of stereotyping Bianca’s fellow Sirens in her image.

Despite Divina’s teasing comments upon meeting up, their light conversation as the pair walked to the nearest cluster of shops and other civic buildings was remarkably free of acerbic jabs. There was an easy way about Divina that, for one reason or another, didn’t entice quite as many insults and threats out of Wednesday as Bianca had. Not that her mind didn’t conjure them, as that was simply habit with all people, but Divina shrugged most of them off, and soon Wednesday stopped bothering. With Bianca, her shrugging off of comments felt like arrogance, and pushed Wednesday to either persist until she got a better reaction, or (if she backed off) Wednesday would give up on the endeavour if only because Bianca had wound her up enough that the two stopped being capable of existing in the same room. This dynamic, fledgling as it was, with Divina was so much less inflamed. It almost left Wednesday uncertain how to act, as aggressive sparing—whether literal or verbal—came much more naturally to her.

“Enid said something about you not knowing she’d be your roommate again. How’d she manage that?” Divina asked as they walked.

“Cunning and subterfuge,” Wednesday replied.

“You sound… proud? Impressed?”

Sighing, Wednesday admitted, “Something like that. It would’ve been a lot easier for her to just tell me, but I cannot fault her for executing her plan using the kind of underhanded means that I taught her.”

“Oh, Addams, she’s always been a bit of a sneak,” said Divina. “She’s just nicer than you about it, and doesn’t only use her powers for evil.”

“Her wholesomeness is indeed nauseating,” Wednesday agreed.

“But you like being nauseated, don’t you?”

“There is torture and then there is torture. Compare the soothing bed of nails to the torment of a child’s voice. To be nauseated is a state of being, but its potential for enjoyment lies in its context and origin.”

“God, your way of talking can be fucking weird sometimes, Wednesday,” said Divina. It wasn’t a barb, however. Merely an amused observation. “And which is Enid?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does she make your stomach queasy in an enjoyable way, or not?” Divina asked.

“My tolerance for her particular brand of torture has evolved over time. It has shifted away from ‘not,’ despite all expectations.”

“That’s the stupidest way of saying you like her I could possibly imagine.”

“And what, is it better to say”—Wednesday steeled herself, already knowing that she would regret the impression that she was about to attempt—“O. M. G. She’s, like, totally wicked, or whatever drivel comes out of the mouths of internet-addled teenagers.”

Divina fully snorted. “That’s honestly amazing. Completely mixing up your slang eras, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard something so strange come out of your mouth since that day you danced through the quad to Blackpink.”

“This has been thoroughly established, that was not me.”

“At the time, experiencing it, we didn’t know that, so the impression I remember is still being baffled at Wednesday Addams, not amused at the antics of Enid Sinclair,” said Divina. “Still, don’t do it again. Go back to speaking like weird Old English poetry.”

“‘Hwæt. We Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon,’ is Old English,” Wednesday quoted. “You will find that my vernacular is remarkably modern, and would not pass as ordinary even as recently as the Victorian era, though I do maintain historical vocabulary where it is superior to its contemporary equivalents.”

“That had better not have been some curse,” Divina replied.

“It’s Beowulf. Learning it may even go some way to reduce the curse upon you that is the dismal modern literacy standard.”

“You would like old poems about wolves.”

“Though there are scholars who argue that the name Beowulf could include a lupine aspect, he is a man, and he faces trolls and dragons. Wolves barely feature,” said Wednesday.

“God you’re dense,” said Divina. She rolled her eyes with something that Wednesday almost thought could have been… affection?

“Says the fish person who doesn’t know Old English from Middle English from Early Modern English.”

“Listen, witch, you’re no more clued up on the important differences between current cultural moments and media.”

“Oh look, a bookstore. Maybe we can educate you.”

They had arrived at the township around which this part of the larger city orbited. This particular bookshop was one with which Wednesday was already quite familiar, having dragged Enid in often when they were nearby for lunch.

“Nah, sorry Wednesday, I’m not much of a reader. When it comes to books, I’d much rather shove a marshmallow on a stick while the books go up in sparking whirls.”

Wednesday froze in the bookstore entrance, and turned back to Divina. “That was not an exact quote, but I stand corrected. Please refrain from such violent means of censorship, however. I appreciate a good bonfire, and the dark, dystopian impulse of man, but I draw the line at burning books.”

“Since we’re being honest, I will admit that I had to memorise the first paragraphs of Fahrenheit 451 for a literature class several years ago. But, still, I picked the book and it’s still stuck with me. I don’t read as much as you might, but I’m hardly illiterate. Besides, though you may hate k-pop and all that Enid listens to, but I know you appreciate music, and lyrics and poetry aren’t so far removed, are they?”

“Hmm,” Wednesday mused aloud. “I accept.”

“What?”

“You make a compelling case, combined with the utility of your natural talents as an Outcast, so consider yourself accepted.”

“You make no sense, Addams. Despite what I said earlier, if you want to actually be able to hold a conversation, sometimes you have to speak like a normal person.”

Wednesday gave her best, unsettling smile, so that Divina would know exactly just how much she might come to regret this. “Oh, I thought it was obvious. Consider yourself accepted into the inner circle of my coven. Be warned. It comes with more sacrifices than privileges.”

“Do I get to call you ‘Wends’?”

“Sure, go ahead. Just know, it’ll cost you a finger or a fin every time.”

And then it was Thursday. The inexorable passage of time truly was tedious. The great temporal beast consuming her life moment by moment, hour by hour, day by day, never satiated. At this rate, Wednesday would wither and die before the ‘buddy system’ had served its purpose. Yet, at the same time, each minute crawled. Was this the experience of Sisyphus? Every minute seeming like an eternity, and yet weeks and months and years could pass and have felt like nothing upon reflection?

Perhaps it was just the present company, with her juxtaposition of near-immortality yet incessant immaturity that forced Wednesday’s mind into this dark place.

When Enid had suggested that morning that Divina might particularly enjoy her afternoon double-Media classes, along with the offhanded idea that maybe Yoko could keep Wednesday company… Wednesday was certain that this was no longer simply the other girls inadvertently disrupting with her carefully planned schedule in their own excitement, but a premeditated attempt on Wednesday’s sanity. She understood that Enid might want her to get to know her friends, but why on earth Yoko and Divina would actually want to grow more familiar with Wednesday was beyond her. Weren’t her consciously curated antisocial tendencies effective enough anymore?

Yoko herself was also a bit of an enigma to Wednesday. Spending time with Divina had surprised her. Starting from a position of essentially no preconceptions, other than what she had inadvertently superimposed from Bianca, meant that Wednesday was only operating in the context of her generalised misanthropy. However, being comparatively more familiar with Yoko didn’t serve to inspire Wednesday’s confidence in their time together—quite the opposite. If the vampire spawn had been a more traditional bloodsucking parasite committed to the exsanguination of her enemies, perhaps then Wednesday and Yoko might’ve seen more eye to eye. But Yoko seemed more to possess an aesthetic that promised darkness and depth, only to find that her personality and taste was far more aligned with Enid than Wednesday.

Maybe that’s what Enid wanted in a friend. A gothic exterior, but without authentic cold and darkness beneath. Perhaps Enid still hoped to uncover as such somewhere deep within Wednesday’s soul, and upon discovering that it simply didn’t exist, would eventually decide to walk away…

“Oi, Addams, we’re meant to be bonding. Y’know, given our mutual bestie and all that. Don’t forget: you came to me this time,” Yoko said, interrupting Wednesday’s spiralling thoughts.

So it was premeditated and intentional. Wednesday would have to think of a suitable act of revenge to get back at Enid later.

“I tolerate your presence because of the positive effect that you inexplicably have on our ‘mutual bestie,’ as you so inanely put it, and the utility that you can provide in her protection. If it makes it easier to understand the limitations of our specific interactions, however, feel free to consider yourself professionally contracted to the cause, rather than acquainted with me in any more personal sense,” Wednesday replied.

“What’s my hourly rate, then?”

“Hmm, how about, every hour you serve is an hour that you still live?”

Yoko merely rolled her eyes. “We’ve been over this. So long as you’re sweet on our wolf, I’m confident I’m safe. Come on, Addams. You can tolerate being social with me for the afternoon.”

“I hate all things sweet, except for sweet, sweet revenge, and have therefore never acted sweetly once in my life,” Wednesday corrected.

“Sure. Your date yesterday wasn’t sweet at all,” said Yoko.

“You know what else isn’t sweet? The atomiser in my pocket filled with garlic-infused water.”

 “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Good. Making people suffer without end is my preferred modus operandi.”

“You’ve got to put an end to Enid’s suffering eventually, though.”

“Are you suggesting that I murder her? That seems unlike you, and would not be my first preference despite the amusement that I generally find in death,” Wednesday said.

With a raised eyebrow, Yoko replied, “Quite the contrary. She’ll end up dying of longing at this rate.”

“You speak in riddles, Tanaka. And not particularly entertaining ones.”

“And you’re even thicker than I realised.”

Their afternoon continued as such. Pointless meandering to kill time, while the pair were both unable to put an end to their misery by one killing the other. Yoko made cryptic but meaningless comments, and Wednesday retorted with threats and insults. It should have been amusing, but instead she only grew more frustrated with every passing minute.

Eventually, Yoko dragged Wednesday along to one of her lectures. They ended up sitting as a four—Wednesday, Yoko, Agnes, and Gabriella—as this was one of the classes that the vampire and the Normie shared. At first, Wednesday attempted to take the opportunity to disappear with Agnes (literally, if necessary), but Agnes indicated that she was content and interested in sticking around, and Wednesday ended up imprisoned in a seat between Agnes and Yoko. A ninety-minute lecture on the efficacy of non-violent activism by oppressed minorities awaited them. Wednesday was unconvinced that she could survive the full time without committing some violent activism against the university institution.

What Wednesday didn’t expect was for this to be a topic in which Yoko was particularly invested. She didn’t know whether this was something specific to Yoko, or a point of tension for the vampire clans in Japan, or even a debate across vampiric society globally. Regardless, Yoko actively engaged in the class discussion in a way that Wednesday had never seen in the various courses that the two of them shared at Nevermore.

It was almost with awe that Wednesday listened each time that Yoko spoke up, largely in defence of necessary violence in affecting meaningful social change:

“All major change could be argued to be a form of violence, or at least entail violence in the process. Avoiding violence in activism is effectively just displacing where the violence occurs. If the minority in question avoids violent means, in many cases, they are merely prolonging the violence that is already being done to them.”

“Even Marx, who we so often laud conceptually in this class, argued that aggression was necessary, even if regrettable, in not only ensuring that transition was shortened, but in some cases that the transition could occur at all, didn’t he? And his philosophy can’t be meaningfully separated from the practicality of achieving it, not without minimising and ignoring the very real experiences of those he was advocating for.”

“Assuming that slow, iterative change will ever be enough is equivalent to believing in ‘trickle down economics’ or that not talking about sex with teenagers makes the problems there go away.”

“Democracy itself was only achieved through upheaval. And American Imperialism certainly hasn’t shied away from aggressively forcing democracy on others. While this is hardly something that I’d consider defensible, it is surely hypocritical to expect domestic advocacy and activism to have different standards.”

“Why should the state’s monopoly on tolerable violence be respected when the state barely upholds its own ends of the social contract?”

If Wednesday had instead come across her exact words but in writing, spelled out in some political tome within her family’s library, she would’ve considered it entirely Addamsian. Yoko argued for protecting outcasts (whether ‘Outcasts’ or just anyone rejected by society) with the dark and effective methods that Wednesday and her family favoured. She’d even heard similar statements, if a little less polite for an academic setting, from her father when discussing business that related to the tensions between the Addams or Outcasts and the government.

As Wednesday had said to Divina the previous day, for the Addams, actions required context to be evaluated. It was one thing for her and Pugsley to entertain themselves with her brother as a target for knife throwing, or subjecting him to the authentic torture devices in their basement. It was something else entirely to accept systemic violence against the powerless and marginalised, and not allow them the right and opportunity to defend themselves in turn.

“Tanaka,” Wednesday asked, pulling the vampire aside when the four girls made their way to a nearby social space to wait for Enid and Divina to be finished with former’s Theatre workshop.

“Yes, Addams?”

“That was… unexpectedly enlightened for a creature of the shadows. Your brain may not have decayed as much as I anticipated given your state of undeath.”

“Is that a compliment, unsolicited at that, Wednesday?”

“It is, at best, a concession that partially counteracts your many other aggravating personal qualities. Which is already very generous of me to offer,” said Wednesday.

“Wow, I’m flattered…” Yoko replied dryly. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose under her perpetual sunglasses. “But, well, thanks, I guess? Just because people have different tastes or social appetite to you doesn’t automatically mean that they’re less intelligent or aware. It’s nice to get the chance to prove that. Not that I should have to.”

Wednesday kept silent, as they caught back up to Agnes and Gabriella. Luckily, Enid and Divina weren’t long, and Wednesday gravitated back to her roommate to give herself space and time to avoid boiling over with irritation at herself Yoko from the uncomfortable degree of positive candour.

Honestly, the world would’ve been an easier place to navigate if other people didn’t possess rich interiorities. Not that anyone else could hope to match Wednesday, but being forced to encounter and acknowledge the fact that a non-negligible degree of sentience could, in fact, be found in people outside of Wednesday’s most immediate circle… It wasn’t like Wednesday rationally believed that she was the only sapient human in existence, but treating others as shallow, background characters in the story of her life simplified things immensely, and that tidy way of viewing the world had been explicitly challenged two days in a row.

Maybe the solution was to discover or invent some kind of spell or virus that could dumb everyone back down to a level that Wednesday would find acceptable. She’d have to ask her Grandmama if that was possible…

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Extracurricular Excursions

In which Wednesday survives the great outdoors

Far from being a gentle tapering off for the week, Fridays tended to be relatively intense not only for Wednesday, but most of the girls (aside from Agnes, of course) had multiple classes. In particular, though Wednesday’s schedule still remained frontloaded in the mornings, Enid typically didn’t wrap up until five o’clock in the evening, after a Theatre workshop that she admitted often was the most intense of the week. The proverbial freedom arrived eventually, however, and—as had become the disappointing new normal—Enid had invited the gaggle back to Gertrude Hall.

Sure, Wednesday may have found a begrudging new appreciation for their other… ‘friends,’ but enduring them as a collective was still a grating experience. Potentially even a dominant reason why Wednesday had such unflattering opinions of them in the first place, as the energy and volume was always higher, and the subject matters discussed always more trivial, when Enid, Yoko, and Divina occupied the same small space. Steeling her senses, Wednesday had to remind herself that at least the overall principle of this was her idea, as much as the execution brought her pain. (But, worth noting, neither the fun kind of execution nor the enjoyable kind of pain.)

Then things got so much worse…

“Oh! OH! I just had a thought,” said Enid. That was already a dangerous start. “Why are we just sitting around campus, when that’s surely where we’re most exposed? We should get out of town for the weekend! Keep it on the d-low and then, bam, unexpected camping trip.”

The glint in every pair of eyes around the room, apart from Wednesday’s own, grew dangerously bright.

“You think we’d be safer in the wilderness, with canvas walls if any at all, rather than in a real building that has been expertly bugged and trapped?” Wednesday asked, incredulous.

“You’ve put cameras and booby traps in our room?” Which was not, in Wednesday’s opinion, the part of her statement on which Enid should have focused.

“I didn’t say room. I said building.”

“That’s not better…”

“I hear you, Addams, but—” Divina said, speaking up. “I’m also a little worried about getting trapped here. You pulled a Siren and a Vampire into this, on top of Enid being a Werewolf—at Nevermore or out of the city, that’s a powerful advantage. It’s a lot more of a double-edged sword in populated Normie spaces.”

“Also, I think Enid might be thinking about another reason that she’s not sure how to raise,” Yoko said, with a direct but kind look in Enid’s direction. “Sorry, E.”

“No, you’re right,” Enid sighed. But she didn’t continue right away, glancing briefly at Wednesday and clearly nervous about to articulating her other thoughts.

Wednesday couldn’t read her roommate in that moment, beyond seeing her anxiety. Deciding to try negotiating, rather than letting multiple stubborn minds clash unproductively. (Who had she become!?) “Divina, your rationale has some merit, though I am not confident that it outweighs the benefits of remaining in familiar, protected territory. But, if there’s another reason, Enid—I think it’s important that you share. Has something happened this week?”

“Itsafullmoon,” Enid mumbled.

All that Wednesday gave her in response was a raised eyebrow to indicate that no one had properly heard Enid. However, for some reason Enid’s visible discomfort didn’t sit well with Wednesday, and she couldn’t find it in herself to give her roommate her usual accusatory glare.

Taking a deep breath and finding her resolve, Enid tried again. “This weekend. Saturday night. It’s… it’s a full moon.”

“Oh,” said Wednesday. She could tell that some vile mix of concern and compassion found its way into her voice. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I resisted last month, since we’d only just moved in,” Enid explained, apparently switching from silence to stream-of-consciousness now that the can of worms was open. She was speaking very quickly, stumbling a little over each word. “Back before I first turned, you know, when Ty—when the Hyde, um, and all that… There was this little tug whenever the moon was out, but it was still hardly more than a whisper even on a full moon and it wasn’t something that I knew how to embrace even if I wanted to. It got stronger after, but was still something that I could ignore without too much trouble. Was maybe even kind of nice, knowing that the wolf would answer if the moon was full enough, but transforming wouldn’t happen unexpectedly and out of my control. But then… the whole alpha thing, and the blood moon, and being stuck for so long… You know that I stuck around Nevermore whenever there were holidays that included a full moon. It was so hard to squash the pull. Like a chain wrapped around the wolf inside, and the fuller the moon, the more force pulling on it. I hid in the lupin cages when the moon was full. And, yeah, sometimes one of you was with me, but it happened maybe more times than any of you realise. Wolfing out was terrifying, partially from the anxiety that I’d get stuck again, but mainly just because the wolf is now so much stronger. What if I couldn’t control it? Would even the cages keep me—or, more importantly, keep all of you—safe? But resisting it wasn’t any easier. The moon would be trying to drag the wolf out of me, and knowing this, it felt like the wolf was pushing and clawing and struggling to get free too. And I was never able to do it more than one full moon in a row… So, on Saturday, I’m not sure that I have a choice but to…”

“It’s settled, then,” Wednesday said. Now, her words were more assured than even she expected. Enid and the others looked at her with uncertainty at what she meant. Wednesday continued, “We’re going camping.”

As they all should have expected, despite her protests and counterarguments, Wednesday Addams was of course the most prepared to survive in the woods on short notice. The preparedness of the others truly varied. Enid was used to the woods between her family and her time with Wednesday, but had absolutely nothing on hand by way of camping gear. Agnes had only ever been camping on that one trip while Dort was principal at Nevermore, but was at least already living out of a single suitcase. Yoko and Divina were somewhat more naturally equipped for the outdoors, given their Outcast types, but had little practical experience.

However, what Wednesday did not anticipate was Gabriella being their saviour. The newest, Normie member of this strange group not only had a car (even if fitting six would be a tight fit), but her family owned a largely undeveloped section on a remote lakeside a little over two hours away. She claimed it possessed some amenities—limited electricity from solar, a shed with tents and a barbecue and kayaks, and an adjacent outhouse—though would still require them to ‘rough it’ to a degree. Most importantly, there likely wouldn’t be anyone else for miles. At least, that was beneficial for Enid’s transformation and because, hopefully, it meant that the stalker would find it challenging to locate and access them. Wednesday wanted to remind them all, put the fear of god in their hearts, that this meant there would be no rescue if something did go wrong. However, babysitting five panicked girls was something that she’d rather avoid, and, besides, Wednesday had already concluded that law enforcement and emergency services and the like weren’t going to save them from a psychic stalker. That’s why they were dealing with this as a group, but otherwise alone, in the first place.

As the tallest, Divina called shotgun. Upon being questioned by Wednesday why exactly Divina thought that she was the most suitable individual to be responsible for wielding a shotgun, which Wednesday was surprised to hear that the Siren even owned in the first place… well, upon being educated in this particular piece of slang, Wednesday very quickly attempted to persuade and threaten and wheedle her way into not being one of the four squeezed into the back of Gabriella’s hatchback. To her absolute horror and disgust, somehow over the last days, none of the girls in the group seemed remotely phased anymore. No terror in their eyes, no squirming in response to her words. All that Wednesday received in response was belittling glares and raised eyebrows.

Oh, and Yoko daring to point out, “You are the shortest, so it makes sense for you to not only sit in the back but in the middle.”

Not willing to let the pathetic bloodsucker get away with that particular insult, Wednesday actually gave into her impulses and launched herself at the vampire. But Yoko only laughed, keeping Wednesday at arm’s length with her superior strength, until Enid grabbed Wednesday’s elbow and insisted that she knock it off. Reverting to a pissed-off scowl, and vowing revenge under her breath, Wednesday found herself surrendering. Damn Enid and whatever strange, manipulative influence she had over Wednesday’s mind. It had to be some biological Werewolf pack-leader thing, or a concoction that Morticia had snuck her roommate to keep Wednesday docile, or…

In the end, after packing as quickly but discretely as they could, Wednesday sat squished between Enid and Agnes. She drew the line at sharing the centre lap belt with Agnes, stating honestly that she’d rather risk being thrown through the front window in a crash. Yoko had the seat on the other side of Agnes, the younger girl acting as a buffer. Even if it was Divina in the front passenger seat, Wednesday’s ire about her circumstances continued to be focused on the Vampire.

For all of the torment that Wednesday had experienced in the eighteen years of her life, both physical and psychological, whether self-inflicted or imposed upon her by the world, not once had Wednesday been forced to sit in such close proximity with other human bodies for this long. All of the girls were on the thinner side, though they varied in height, so four of them did physically fit across the back seat. However, Wednesday’s thighs, hips, and shoulders were all pressed far too closely into the same of Agnes’ and Enid’s on either side. And, to be honest, it wasn’t any sense of claustrophobia that bothered her—Wednesday didn’t mind sleeping in coffins or straightjackets if the situation required—but the sheer warmth that other people radiated. Her preferred body temperature was low enough to compare to the recently deceased, unlike, it seemed, every other individual on the planet. They were furnaces, maybe even vessels of hellfire, to her icy self. And the only way to avoid such intense contact on one side would’ve been to press so much more into the other, or, Hades forbid, shift onto one of their laps.

Gabriella was an acceptable driver, though didn’t speed with the same comforting abandon that Lurch did. By contrast, Divina was not an acceptable disk jockey. Her taste was not only as bad as Enid’s, but without any of the (admittedly limited) restraint that Wednesday’s roommate had learned over the recent years living with Wednesday. All in all, it was a prison of heat and noise, and the only thing stopping Wednesday from vomiting was the fear that the other girls would refuse to stop and she’d be forced to endure that mess also.

So, instead, she forced herself to count the minutes. Not a pleasant task, with how slow they passed, but at least it demonstrated progress toward a distant escape.

(Enid’s knee, in particular, was just so warm.)

Shortly after what Wednesday hoped, based on her counting, was the halfway mark, she grew convinced that the oxygen in the vehicle was running out. The heat persisted, the music shut down any rational thought, and Wednesday began to feel her entire body and mind grow sluggish. It was almost like sleepiness, only such a sensation was surely impossible in these circumstances. And the roads wound in wide arcs as they entered more elevated terrain, which Gabriella took with a smooth ease, rocking Wednesday side to side (as much as was possible in her trapped position) in a way that threatened her with unconsciousness.

(And, god, Enid was warm.)

Soon, it was entirely too much, and Wednesday’s brain shut down from the trauma, and she fell into something akin to sleep.

“Hey, sleepyhead. We’re here,” a voice came, as if directly into Wednesday’s mind. She was vaguely aware of a firm pressure just above her knee, which squeezed in a rhythmic but insistent pattern. The voice was welcoming, comforting, though not at all like Wednesday had expected Death to sound when he finally came to claim her soul.

“Get outta the car, Addams. Geeze. Pull your weight.” This voice was not welcoming, revealing to Wednesday that she was unfortunately not passing over to the afterlife. Because it was Yoko’s voice, and the two of them had better not end up in the same place once their lives came to an end, not to mention the many centuries that the Vampire was likely to live beyond Wednesday.

But whatever kind of pillow was under her head was so very soft and warm. Not her usual preference—firm, flat, and cold, as close to a slab of stone as a pillow could get—but something in its gentleness kept Wednesday’s consciousness from fully rousing. There was also a faint resonance where her ear pressed into the surface, as if a distant heartbeat echoed through this strange pillow.

“Maybe we can just stay here for a bit? She seems happy?” This was the first voice again. It wasn’t right in her head, but came from above. Still, it was very close. Wednesday realised that it sounded a lot like Enid.

“Whipped,” came Divina’s voice, filled with amusement. “You’re like a cat mum, resigned to their fate even if the world burns down around them, so long as their precious baby is still on their lap.”

Wednesday didn’t understand the reference, or the relevance to whatever ambiguous conversation was taking place.

“Shut up. She’s just comfy. Isn’t it nice to see her face so peaceful, for once?”

Another pressure was then applied to her head, also warm, pressing her ever so slightly down onto her pillow. Then, this force shifted and adjusted to become gentle scratches to Wednesday’s scalp through her hair. It was a familiar experience, a lot like how Enid would stroke her hair when caring for Wednesday after a vision.

Wait.

Within seconds, Wednesday was out of the car, and storming off into the nearby woods. She barely stopped to get her bearings, and only didn’t stumble on wobbly legs out of sheer humiliated determination. Each and every one of them would suffer. A stake for Yoko, Divina sliced into sashimi, a terrible ‘accident’ befalling Gabriella in her car, Agnes’ body simply never being found again… Not to mention Enid. Enid. The Werewolf should’ve known better than to take advantage of Wednesday’s vulnerable state having been unceremoniously knocked out. Wednesday would ensure that Enid… that she… it didn’t matter. Something horrendous would present itself as an appropriate punishment. A series of many inconveniences over the course of her life, endless cold and intimidating glares, spiders in her bed… something!

(Her lap had just been so very, very warm.)         

Wednesday had no issue with the dark, even in foreign woods, but did eventually admit to herself that disappearing right on nightfall with no sense of where she was or where she was going may not have been her most rational decision. Not that it wasn’t a valid decision, given the psychological warfare that she had been subjected to upon waking up, but the practicality of how she had executed it was, just maybe, somewhat questionable.

In some senses, all forests were the same. They relied upon common basic principles, adapted to different climates, but all coming down to cycles of energy transfer. They were ecosystems, in which every part simultaneously competed with and relied upon every other part for survival. Wednesday was good at systems, and was experienced in survival. At the same time, however, this forest was very different from those she had spent time in before. The spatial separation from her well-trodden territories resulted in enough deviation that she found herself second guessing how close or far sounds may be, or whether the local varieties of given plants were still safe or not compared to near Nevermore or her family’s home.

Fortunately, there was one mitigating factor that ensured that Wednesday did not get entirely lost in this foreign land. Unfortunately, that factor happened to be a Werewolf’s heightened sense of smell, and the relevant Werewolf in question happened to be one Enid Sinclair.

“Alright, I know you’re embarrassed, but I’m not leaving you out here to wallow in your self-pity. So what, you fell asleep on a friend during a road trip? We’ve saved each other’s asses plenty of times. Surely it’s not a big deal, let alone a bigger deal, that you got a little eepy and had nowhere to curl up except on your bestie. It’s not like you had a nap on Yoko!”

If Enid had tracked her down here, trying to hide herself in a bush or behind a tree wasn’t going to suddenly invalidate her ability to track Wednesday. And making another run for it was out of the question, because, even in human form, any Werewolf would be faster than Wednesday, let alone Enid as an alpha. So Wednesday settled for stubbornness, collapsing into a seated position against a tree without trying to hide the noise, giving a loud huff, but otherwise refusing to reply to her pursuer.

“Hey, Wends,” said Enid, rounding the tree against which she sat to kneel in front of Wednesday.

“I would like to die in peace, thank you very much,” she responded. “Go back to talking about your feelings and hugging each other and whatever other disturbing things you people do.”

“Sounds lame. I’m definitely too goth and twisted and weird for that. I think I’ll sit next to you and we can die out here together,” Enid said. And she did just that (the sitting, if not the dying), and a moment later her warm knee and thigh were pressed up against Wednesday’s again.

Wednesday chose to neither acknowledge Enid further nor pull away. Keeping her eyes set strictly forward, unblinking, she focused on the various sounds of the forest—birds and the wind through branches and leaves—and waited for Enid to be the one to break their stalemate and leave.

It was actually remarkable how long Enid lasted. The sky, or what little of it was visible through the canopy, had grown completely dark. A few stars showed themselves, and clear enough that Wednesday assumed they’d be visible in full force from a clearing. The soundscape shifted slightly as the birdlife settled fully, the next verse of nature’s chorus taken up instead by nocturnal insects.

But Enid did crack, eventually. Wednesday felt her take a frustrated breath in, and begin to rearrange her legs. However, instead of standing as Wednesday had expected, Enid merely shuffled over slightly, away from Wednesday at first, but so that she was just the right distance to collapse (rather heavily, and Wednesday wondered if she would bruise from the impact) with her head in Wednesday’s lap.

“What the hell are you doing? Have you gone feral?” Wednesday asked. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, her entire lap occupied with the weight of her roommate, so she held them awkwardly midair, hovering so that she didn’t have to rest them on Enid’s head or shoulder.

“We’re dying out here, remember? Please do so silently.”

“You’ve climbed on top of me!”

“Now,” Enid began with a strange mixture of nervousness and humour in her voice. “That would look entirely different.”

“Well, whatever you call it, this is precisely the position that I was forced into that caused this mess, and you think it’s okay to just reverse the roles and subject me to your unbearable warmth again?”

“Damn right it’s un-bear-able. Because it’s totally wolf-able,” Enid said with a snicker.

“Get off me,” Wednesday demanded.

“It’s not weak, Wends. I promise. You’ve gotten really good at letting yourself draw strength from other people in practical ways. Especially working with me and Agnes, not against us or without us, whenever there are challenges or mysteries or anything else. This really isn’t that much different. You were tired, and when you’re tired, I want you to be able to lean on me. Now I’m tired, because it stresses me out when you run away, and I’d like to think that you’ll let me lean on you in return. Literally and figuratively.”

Trying to articulate a response would’ve either revealed too much of Wednesday’s uncertainty and turmoil, or else she wouldn’t manage to find the exact right words and would only confuse herself more. So Wednesday simply didn’t reply. She didn’t let her arms fall to rest on Enid, but did manoeuvre them to be folded across her own stomach, even if that meant they pressed a little into Enid’s shoulder blades in the process of moving them there.

After another few minutes, Enid spoke again. “Hey, Wends? If what it takes to prove to you that this is okay is stubbornly sleeping out here all night, then that’s what I’ll do. But the others will have a fire going, and there are mats or stretchers that’ll be a lot more comfortable than the knobbly roots you’re sitting on, so could we consider going back?”

After a pause, Wednesday replied, “I am sorry.”

“Hey, no,” said Enid. “You’re figuring things out. Not every case reveals all of its clues straight away. That includes the most wickedly complex case of them all: the case of Wednesday Addams. Why don’t I text the others—it seems like there’s at least some signal still—and threaten to rip their faces off if they say anything?”

“That is very generous of you,” said Wednesday.

She genuinely appreciated Enid offering to use the kind of threats of aggressive retribution that Wednesday appreciated, but more than that, appreciated that Enid understood her enough to know how to ease some of the tension. The wrong kind of joke would’ve only made things worse, but Enid more often than not knew what to say. Whether it was the content of her words, or just that she said them with no expectations or judgement of Wednesday—either way, it was a dynamic that Wednesday had never really shared with another before. Previously, the only person who could help Wednesday get back to baseline was herself, and anyone else simply made it worse (even family, or sometimes especially family), which was a challenging position to be in if and when the cause of Wednesday’s distress originated with herself.

Enid flicked off the text, not hiding the screen away from Wednesday and it did in fact consist of a very violent threat (if undercut by wolf and blood and skull emojis), before pulling herself up out of Wednesday’s lap. Once standing again, Enid extended a hand, saying, “There, done. Shall we?”

Needing still to prove a little that she was still herself, Wednesday didn’t take the hand, but walked close beside Enid back through the trees, not letting herself flinch away if their shoulders brushed a little now and then.

“Just, Enid…” Wednesday began.

“Mhmm?”

“I don’t do lap cuddles, okay? I accept your reasoning, and will let this go, but I’m not about to become someone I’m not and change everything about how I do—or don’t do—touch,” Wednesday explained.

“Of course not! And I’m not at all asking you to. Just know that, if there’s ever a specific reason, or even an unspecific reason, or no reason at all, that you decide that you need or want something like that, you’re allowed to ask, and I’ll be here to provide,” said Enid.

Wednesday nodded slowly, still not able to picture a scenario in which that would be her solution, but accepting that Enid’s offer was genuine regardless.

In the end, Wednesday discovered that she’d only managed to wander less than ten minutes from where the other girls had set up camp, in a small glade within visible range of Gabriella’s family’s supply shed. Having definitely spent longer than that while storming away, Wednesday realised that she must have twisted and turned more than she expected, but didn’t admit as much to Enid. Agnes, Yoko, Divina, and Gabriella were all seated on logs or camping chairs around a flickering fire, and merely gave Wednesday soft-but-not-too-soft looks without saying anything, other than Agnes gesturing to an open spot on the log next to her.

The rest of Wednesday’s night passed mainly just staring into the small bonfire, her thoughts flitting back and forth between the safety and warmth that fire provides, and the danger and unpredictability that it can bring. She absorbed very little of the soft chatter around her, merely letting time pass as roaring fire became flickering flames became glowing embers.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: Death by a Thousand Hints

In which Wednesday's troubles seem to have followed her all the way into the woods...

One of the defining contradictions at the heart of Wednesday Addams was this: She was at once utterly enamoured with discomfort, and yet was absolutely a creature of habit. Sleeping in the remote, pitch black woods with the uncanny sounds of night life unimpeded by the thin canvas of the tent that she shared with Enid, laying on a thin bedroll through which she could feel the twigs and stones of the earth was a conceptual delight. It was spooky and kooky and grim and unpleasant, all things that brought Wednesday joy. However, it was also different. At least Enid’s semi-wolven mutterings and her incessant rearranging was consistent, and went some way to lull Wednesday into the illusion of familiarity. But it still wasn’t her bed, in her room, surrounded by her things. It wasn’t so much the crick that she could already feel settling into her neck that put Wednesday off, but the fact that it was a slightly different-feeling crick than her particular arrangement of pillows would have given her back home. Or, well, in Gertrude Hall, but there wasn’t really any arguing that her dorm room, much as it had been at Nevermore, was home at the moment.

The slow morning that followed only perpetuated Wednesday’s experience of being hyper-aware of her personal dichotomies. They ate a meal that was not far off survival rations—granola bars and very burnt coffee made over the fire and beef jerky—with the expectation that they’d have something grander if Enid or possibly Yoko was able to successfully hunt a deer that night, or maybe Divina could snatch some fresh fish. It reminded Wednesday of the many times that she’d disappeared into the forest around her family’s manor when desperately needing a break from their proximity, or had decided to prove something to herself, and lived off stolen snacks and then what she could forage or hunt for up to a week. However, that was also now many years ago, and these weren’t her woods either, so it took a bit of persuading herself to reimagine her surroundings as on the tolerable side of familiar, not the intolerable expanse of the completely foreign.

Lunch did end up being fish, roasted whole on the open flame, which was very outside of Wednesday’s ordinary diet. Divina had scouted the nearby lake, only a few minutes’ walk from their campsite, and informed them of her executive decision that, though a little cold, the weather was perfect and the water was delightful, and they would all be spending the afternoon on the lakeside, swimming and soaking up the sun. Wednesday hated both of those things. Enid told her that she didn’t have a choice, but was welcome to see how blue in the face she could get sitting on the lakebed, or could climb a dangerous, overhanging tree to get out of the sunlight and add a little thrill to the experience, if she must. It was a tolerable compromise, if only just.

Wednesday’s self-appointed, post-lunch task was the disposal of the fish carcasses. Which, of course, she actually left out under a makeshift snare a few metres into the woods, not necessarily all that dedicated to successfully catching anything but merely amusing herself to see whether she could. She kept one of the skulls, which had survived being caught and cooked well enough to make an acceptable trophy if nothing more exciting wound up in her trap.

Upon returning, the other girls had finished cleaning up and had retreated to their tents to change. Enid called out from their tent, the walls no better barrier for sound in that direction either, after her heightened hearing must have caught the noise of Wednesday trudging back toward camp in her combat boots. “Hey, Wends—can you help me tie this up?”

It had only been six days. And Wednesday’s memory was powerful and accurate. But some combination of the artificial air and the all-encompassing cacophony of the shopping mall that they had visited must have interfered with her process of forming new memories, or otherwise caused them to be scrubbed from trauma. So, it caught her completely off guard when she held the flap that acted as the tent door out of her way, and ducked into their temporary living arrangements. Enid was wearing very short peach-and-pink-striped swim trunks, with the full and terrifying length of her legs exposed to the air. Her hair had been pulled up into as much of a ponytail as possible, hastily held together with a bright orange scrunchie, though lose strands were abundant around her neck and ears. Worst of all, as she held the cropped tank top to her front with a palm, which Wednesday had entirely forgotten was tied at the back rather than fully connected, Enid’s entire shoulder blades and spine right down to her tailbone were on display. The girl was gesturing awkwardly with her other hand, holding the pink string behind her toward Wednesday, trying to hand it to her to tie up.

Wednesday did not take it. Not out of any malice or amusement from not helping Enid. Nor from any specific attempt to prolong their shared awkwardness. Merely, she couldn’t. There was just… so much Enid, standing right there, that it took even Wednesday’s remarkably fast and competent brain a good long minute to finish processing the experience in a rational way.

“Um, hello?” Enid asked. “Help me be a little less nakey, please?”

“Oh, right, um,” Wednesday said (eloquently).

Reaching forward, standing at an awkwardly far distance for the task. Wednesday snatched the strings out of Enid’s hand. One that needed to lace up the back and be pulled tight in a not-quite corset fashion, and another that held up the front of the top by looping around and tying at the back of Enid’s neck.

“You didn’t need help at the mall,” Wednesday pointed out.

“I pre-tied and shimmied in. But that doesn’t work when you’re going to be out with others and moving around. I need it to be tied evenly and tightly.”

“Kidnapper tight, or just shoelace tight?” Wednesday asked.

“Oh, um, shoelace tight but double knotted, maybe?”

The process took forever. Threading the stretchy string through the tiny loops on each side of the top, ten holes in total, each one requiring Wednesday to be in directly physical contact with Enid’s skin. Then, the whole lot needed to be re-tightened several times, working from the lowest up, until the top fitted snugly across Enid’s form. Still needing her hand to hold the rest of it in place, Wednesday had to reach around Enid’s shoulders to take the neck straps from her, hands briefly brushing against her clavicle, before pulling it together in a bow from behind.

“So, um, do you need any help?” Enid offered after she was finally all strung up.

“My swimming attire is entirely more practical, and my preference is to change into it in private,” Wednesday insisted.

“Oh, right. Nothing to tie or zip or help pull over your head?”

Wednesday rummaged in her bag, and pulled out a long-sleeved top made of some synthetic material, which hugged her tighter than she otherwise liked, but made sense for swimming. It was reminiscent of Pugsley’s fashion with its horizontal stripes, unfortunately, but there were only so many options available, firstly, in monochrome, secondly, in her size, and thirdly, that provided sufficient coverage. She waved this in Enid’s direction by way of communicating: See, a normal shirt. I’m good. Clearly not understanding, Enid reached out to take hold of it, and Wednesday had to snatch it back before gesturing for the other girl to hurry out of the tent.

After pulling the rash shirt on, Wednesday completed the outfit with a mid-thigh skirt that hid a slightly shorter pair of shorts in the same material beneath. Not wanting to waterlog her boots in the lake, but unwilling to walk the distance there with her feet bare, Wednesday had also brought some niche swim shoes that tightened around the ankle with a strap. They looked terrible, but it was better than being forced to share her toes with the world.

Once again, Wednesday was the last to complete her task, and the other five girls were all milling about the camp in their various swimwear. Yoko, Divina, and Gabriella all wore less material than Enid, somehow, even if Gabriella had thrown a loose flannel shirt over her shoulders. Agnes, apparently the next most sensible in the group to Wednesday, was in a dark-green one piece. Despite the amount of skin on display, for whatever reason, Wednesday was convinced that something about the colour or the cut of Enid’s shorts and cropped tank was easily the most obscene. Maybe because it was the brightest, it demanded the most attention? Or maybe it was just the way she walked and stood and generally just existed in it with a far greater level of comfort than she ought?

“Hey!” Enid called. She blinked a few times, taking Wednesday in. “O.M.G. I’ve never seen you in a swimsuit, but that’s so cute. It’s one hundo Wednesday-core.”

“Assuming that you are not referring to historical usage of the word ‘cute’ relating to my intelligence or shrewdness, I resent that description. If you must comment, the practicality of these items of clothing should be their most significant feature,” Wednesday replied.

“My apologies,” Enid said, though her voice lacked any convincing contrition. “You’re so practical. I could gush about how practical you are all day.”

“Please don’t.”

“Um, Wednesday,” Divina spoke up. “Speaking of practicality, the weight of your clothing is a major concern when swimming. I’m not sure that your white tights are particularly practical, or safe, if you end up out of your depth—literally.”

This comment entirely baffled Wednesday at first. She paused, then said, “I’m—I’m not wearing tights.”

“Oh my god, Di. You can’t just say that to pale people,” Yoko said, doubling over in laughter.

“What—Oh. Oh! Oh…” said Divina. One of those ‘shit-eating’ grins spread wide across the Siren’s face. “‘The beacons are lit. Gondor calls for aid!’”

Every one of the girls other than Wednesday began to crack, giggles and snorts breaking through.

“I will drown all of you pathetic, insipid, shameless imbeciles with your hideous sun-stained flesh,” Wednesday threatened.

Diplomatic as always, despite her proclivity toward loud and colourful chaos, Enid stepped up to Wednesday’s side. She reached out to hold Wednesday by the elbow. “Why don’t we get to the water, where everyone will be submerged and all swimsuits will be out of sight?”

“That is where the drowning can most effectively take place,” Wednesday said by way of concession, and grumbled all the way.

Enid didn’t let go of her arm as they walked.

When it came to swimming, Wednesday had no fear of the water. Where others might reference Caligula as a cautionary tale about futility, Wednesday’s perspective was that the Roman emperor simply wasn’t dedicated enough, ruthless enough, and undoubtedly didn’t bring enough knives in his attempt to murder the sea. Also, Enid wasn’t wrong. One of Wednesday’s favourite water-based activities was training her ability to hold her breath, and a solidly blue complexion was a good indicator of success. It was one of the few acceptable ways in which Wednesday would accept the concept of ‘putting some colour into her cheeks.’ And, if she ended up drowning, then so be it. Her time would come when it would come, and Death had never deterred Wednesday from forging forward with her existence.

There was one missing factor in all of this, which Wednesday had refused to admit to her friends, not even to Enid. One that, as each of the other five girls made their way into the water, it became quickly evident that she alone lacked.

Wednesday Addams was not a very capable swimmer.

That isn’t to say that she’d drown in a puddle. She could keep herself upright, and not panicking went a long way to reducing the danger even if her technique wasn’t very refined and her strength left much to be desired. Some approximation of a doggy paddle, however, was about all that Wednesday could manage, with very little ability to move with any speed across the surface of the water, and a tendency to begin to sink with very little provocation.

And why should she have told anyone? It obviously hadn’t come up in the whole time that she had known anyone else here, which meant that it couldn’t be all that important. Not once had there been a situation in which Wednesday had been required to do any actual swimming in the last three-and-a-bit years. She’d fended off murderers and fanatics more often, and that’s where Wednesday had focused her learning as a child, so clearly (at least until today) her priorities had been just fine, thank you very much.

Of course, she wasn’t about to break the air and admit her shortcoming out of the blue. So, Wednesday simply followed, walking forward into the water. It rose over her shoes, then to her knees, and soon Wednesday found the water lapping gently at her throat. Being the… furthest down on the height spectrum within this group, Wednesday reached this point some time before any of the others, but she wasn’t about to give in. While she couldn’t surge ahead, lower half transforming into something purposely evolved for traversing the water, like Divina was doing, Wednesday would not be left behind. (She didn’t really even want to be in proximity to other people at the best of times, but this was about fortitude and winning. In any kind of race, one had to move through the pack to reach the front.)

Yoko, too, appeared to be content keeping her feet on the bottom, rather than shifting to swimming. The advantage that Yoko had, however, was needing very little oxygen compared to a fully living being. No matter how much she trained her lung endurance, it would simply be impossible for Wednesday to ever match the natural capacity of an undead in this matter. More surprising, perhaps, was Enid. It shouldn’t have been—canines and lupines were innately competent in the water. But where Wednesday seemed to sink when all else was equal, Enid floated without even trying.

Soon, Wednesday’s head was beneath the surface of the lake. She slipped across that threshold without a sound, and pushed on. Her visibility dropped pretty much immediately with the low opacity of the water. As far as she knew, no one else had noticed.

However, after about a minute or so, there was movement and then pressure at Wednesday’s back. Something warm and soft pressed against her spine, and then wrapped around under her arms and enveloped her entire torso. Hopefully, she was being dragged into the maw of some eldritch creature of the depths, clutched in the grasp of one of its slimy tentacles. Not that the experience of warmth lined up well with that conclusion.

Rather than being pulled down, Wednesday found herself propelled upward, and breached the surface of the lake with strong yet gentle arms. Which, of course, belonged to Enid. Who had somehow circled back behind Wednesday, which Wednesday herself wouldn’t have been capable enough at manoeuvring through the water to do so that quickly or without making a scene.

“Alright, I said you could go blue, but don’t leave us to deal with your corpse, please,” Enid chastised. But it was still clear in her tone that it was with a smile, even if Wednesday couldn’t see her roommate’s face.

“I’m fine,” said Wednesday.

“Do you want to swim back to the shore and dry out with me?” Enid asked.

“Let me down and I’ll walk.”

“…along the bottom? Wends, you can swim, right?”

Attempting to become a dead weight achieved nothing. Enid’s buoyancy well offset Wednesday’s tendency to sink. Wriggling wouldn’t help either, she knew, with how much physically stronger Enid was. Her lack of response, or successful escape attempt, however, was enough to tip Enid off.

“O.M.G. You can’t!”

Wednesday refused to acknowledge the realisation with any kind of reply.

“Alright. Well, we can hang out on the little beach or in the shallows, but not where it’s too deep for you. Come on,” Enid said.

The taller girl kicked off, and pushed the two of them back toward the lake’s edge. Enid’s feet reached the ground first, and it was a few more long strides before Wednesday was able to take her own weight without her nose being beneath the water level. It was thoroughly embarrassing. And, even then, Enid didn’t let go immediately. Essentially emotionally blacked out from the mortification and forced proximity, Wednesday’s mind didn’t connect properly with her limbs to extricate herself from Enid’s embrace.

In the end, in utter humiliation, Enid scooped Wednesday up when the water got too shallow, and carried her to where their towels were all laid out (Wednesday’s the only one in the shade of a nearby tree).

“For your own safety, I will be taking you to swimming lessons when we’re back on campus. If you don’t want to be thrown bodily into the pool with a stranger, you’ll accept my tuition as a compromise.”

“You wouldn’t…” Wednesday managed. However: Enid would. Nothing Wednesday could threaten the Werewolf with seemed to have any effect anymore.

As if in echo of the version of Enid in Wednesday’s own mind, real-Enid said, “Oh, I definitely would. Think of it as acquiring a new practical skill to add to your already impressive suite of talents. Might be useful for breaking in—or out—of somewhere someday.”

“I wish to break out of your wicked clutches right now,” said Wednesday, mostly muttered beneath her breath.

“Why?” Enid asked.

That question completely stumped Wednesday. Wasn’t it completely obvious?

“Because I’m not fond of physical touch?” Wednesday replied, the response coming out as a question in its own right.

“Yeah, but, not as much as you used to be. And, since there aren’t knives through my eyes, and you’ve elected to all but snuggle into my shoulder, it seems that maybe, even if only with me, you might actually like it…”

“This is ridiculous,” said Wednesday, and shifted her weight to roll out of Enid’s grip, landing ungracefully but it was less embarrassing than staying carried like a child in her roommate’s arms.

“You’re allowed to evolve, Wends,” Enid said, perhaps in one of the most serious tones with which she had ever addressed Wednesday. But not with the angry-seriousness or the sad-seriousness of several of their previously most heavy conversations. This was neither criticism nor disappointment nor fear. Merely… fact? The tone in the voice not conveying emotion, but attempting to appeal to Wednesday’s rational brain that change was acceptable. Still, there was also fondness, which smoothed the edges of the comment. Enid continued, “We’ve talked about seeing strength differently. I think this is similar. Every signal that you’re giving suggests that you really, really want… comfort, I think is the best way to describe it. Even with your whole vibe and upbringing and ethos, you’re not required to deny yourself comfort. It doesn’t have to be public, it doesn’t have to be all the time, and it can always be on your terms. But, every time recently that you’ve blacked out from a vision, or your brain has shut down and put you to sleep out of stress, your body has reached for someone—for me—to find safety. And even when you start to wake, and just a little bit of your mind is back online but not fully present… Well, you hold on even tighter, push in even further. It’s only when you’re conscious enough to observe your own actions, and acknowledge that they might be observed by others, that you finally, violently, pull away.”

This revelation from Enid left Wednesday frozen again. There was no response that didn’t make her look like a petulant child, an irrational thinker, or a touch-starved lunatic in denial. However, Wednesday also knew that Enid would never break her boundaries, even if she encouraged Wednesday to let her push them occasionally. So, she would set one for now, for her own psychological safety.

“I am too far out of my comfort zone away from home,” Wednesday admitted. She drew on all of her history and self-control and desperation to speak with a level tone, embodying the archetype of herself that she’d so carefully built until Enid had come along and eroded it away. Even then, the content of her speech was vulnerable, and the stoicism in her tone couldn’t fully erase the changes that her mind had gone through, willingly or otherwise. “And, tents and trees cannot provide me with the illusion of security and privacy that I require. Can you please refrain from excessive physical contact for the duration of our time away? I give you permission to force me to resume this conversation, though I will warn you that I will not want to and doing so is at your own risk, when we are home and no one else is with us in our room.”

“Of course, Wends. That’s entirely reasonable. Thanks for asking. Let’s just be normal—or, well, whatever our strange version of normal is—and enjoy hanging out in the woods with our friends, yeah?”

“Still not sure that ‘enjoy’ and ‘friends’ naturally fit in the same sentence for me, but, yes, that is what I am requesting,” said Wednesday.

“Alright. Let that tension out of your shoulders, then. Or, at least back to your regular level of tension. You’ll get cold if you don’t get dry. Maybe even try laying in the sun for a bit? You might surprise yourself. It’s a great way to get warm without, um… without a person being the one to provide warmth.”

Enid’s volume dropped as she progressed through making this particular comment, likely realising that she was on thin ice about not carrying on the conversation about touch until they got home. However, having made her point, Enid gave Wednesday a soft smile, and moved their towels to both be in the sun, side by side, but still left them a good space apart, so that there was no risk of accidental touch.

Surrendering herself to being horizontal beneath the sun’s brutal radiation, knowing that she would need to escape back to the shade soon, but letting the person-less warmth wash over her. Kind of like a hug.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: Angel of Death

In which Wednesday witnesses Enid wolf out, and discovers that danger is afoot

Dinner came and went in something of a haze. It seemed that Wednesday’s mind needed the chance to shut down and dissociate a little to reclaim its usual cadence and control. She was sick of undergoing embarrassment after embarrassment, and really just wished for a mystery to solve or an exam to ace or her brother to torture. Just something to reassert her sense of identity. Sure, Enid may have been right that change was not only inevitable, but could even be a positive thing, but Wednesday had no desire to lose the core of who she was. She wouldn’t become a soft, fragile thing.

Even pre-wolfing out, as a Werewolf, Enid was an apex predator in either form. So too was Yoko. (At least, Wednesday conceded, the people with whom she was being forced to show vulnerability were terrifying killing machines…) And, for all that Enid was squeamish, though this had lessened a little over the years, when her brain kicked into hunter mode, the wildlife didn’t stand a chance against her and a Vampire working together. Their meal didn’t end up being a deer, in the end, but a full roasted boar. It was sadly missing the requisite apple sauce, which was important for adding the sting of cyanide that complimented pork so well. Not that, in her withdrawn state, Wednesday really registered much of the experience of eating.

As the sun began to set, however, Wednesday pushed through the fog on her mind. This evening was important. Enid needed to transform, and having spent long weeks helping Enid find a way back to herself after her first alpha transformation, her roommate needed all of the support that Wednesday could offer. And this was a different kind of openness. Wednesday was the one standing strong, ready to protect. (Not to mention the barely contained eagerness at getting to see Enid’s other, beautifully terrifying form once more.) Tonight required Wednesday’s full faculties. She had to be at the top of her game.

Some full moons, when Enid wasn’t able to hold back her wolf form, she allowed herself to shift only for the very strongest few hours of the moon’s power, between midnight and the witching hour. However, being here so far away from any civilisation, and surrounded by her friends—not to mention the strain on her body and mind of having refused to transform during the last full moon—as soon as the lunar light was bright enough after twilight had given way to darkness, Enid led the group away from their camp to another clearing that she had identified nearby while hunting with Yoko. Nervous as to how aggressive her wolf-self would be before the trauma of the transformation fully settled and she came back to her senses a little more, Agnes, Divina, and Gabriella were instructed to wait just within the tree line. Yoko was allowed further forward, knowing that she had the physical strength and speed to look after herself, and also to get Wednesday out if Enid turned fully feral.

Because, for some reason, Wednesday was not expected to hang back. Quite the opposite. Enid insisted on Wednesday waiting with her through the transformation. Not that Wednesday had any problem with the danger, but not only did Enid express her need for Wednesday’s close-by support, but was genuinely certain that her wolf-self posed no risk to her roommate. There was logic to that, Wednesday supposed, even if it reduced the thrilling stakes of taking that gamble. Enid had wolfed out the very first time to protect Wednesday, and had accepted her first alpha transformation to save Wednesday also.

“If anything, I think that my wolf’s instincts care more about your safety than even my own,” Enid admitted. “It wants out, and I can feel how restless and eager it is, but each time that I look at you, even the wolf feels different. No less aggressive, but the nature of the aggression shifts. It wants to see you with its own eyes, to know that you are still safe after all that it has given to protect you. And, it wants to hunt for you and defend you. Or, more than that, maybe even hunt with you and fight alongside you. Not that it’s really separate from the rest of me, but it’s easier to describe that way. The way that it is acting around you actually raises the level of aggression toward everyone else by comparison. To be honest, that’s probably the main reason why I’m certain that the others need to stay out of sight at first.”

Hearing this left Wednesday very conflicted. She did not need to be protected. She did not want to be protected. But, she had also won the loyalty and respect of one of the most powerful creatures that existed, not only by general standards, but even by Werewolf standards. The (figurative) force of violence that resided within Wednesday’s soul would kill and die for Enid, and the (literal) force of violence within Enid would kill and die for Wednesday. But, together, nothing would stand in their way. The knowledge of that was almost euphoric.

“I’ll be here,” was all that Wednesday responded, her tone characteristically neutral, despite everything that boiled beneath the surface.

Enid was wearing wrapped cloth in place of a top that would unravel as her torso expanded, with a beach towel draped over her shoulders to further ward off the slight chill. After her first transformation, and Wednesday liked to think that her practicality had rubbed off on Enid, the Werewolf had acquired a pair of track pants held together with snaps, which fully came apart along the sides to avoid being damaged as she transformed.

Within minutes of that final reassurance to Wednesday, the moonlight became strong enough for the shift to begin, and Wednesday watched on in awe. Despite how attached Enid’s wolf-self was to her roommate, Wednesday had never actually seen the moment of transformation with her own eyes. Her very first and alpha-first shifts had been in reaction to Wednesday being in danger, but not in situations where Wednesday herself had been able to witness. Then, after bringing Enid back from being trapped in her alpha form, she had refused to allow the following full moon to take control. After that, they were back at Nevermore, and Ms. Capri had insisted on carefully monitoring Enid’s transformations for the entire year, only allowing Wednesday or others near Enid once she had confirmed that Enid-in-wolf-form was stable and safe.

Still, it was not merely the novelty of the transformation that Wednesday found magnificent. She was certain that, if she were allowed the privilege of witnessing it again, she would never grow bored or unimpressed with what she was seeing over the course of a lifetime.

The transformation process looked at once to be enormously painful and yet so perfectly cathartic. Enid cried out and then howled as her bones cracked and her flesh expanded. But the sounds weren’t in terror or distress. Wednesday was sure it must feel like being stretched on the rack until your spine clicked just right, or that brief high that came with asphyxiation in the very last moments of holding your breath before needing to suck in oxygen again, or the jolt of energy and danger and life when Uncle Fester or, more recently, Pugsley would send thousands of volts of electricity through her bones. The wolf was an itch, and only in Enid’s physical form being fully broken and remade would it be genuinely scratched. Wednesday could only imagine the satisfaction and bliss that came with that powerful and restorative torment.

Within moments, there stood before her a towering creature of muscle and fur, teeth and claws, its eyes bright and deadly. The howl of its relief and fervour filled the sky, and could doubtless have been heard for miles. Wednesday thought that the way that it resonated through her bones would never truly fade. Enid was glorious.

And, in those bright and deadly eyes, even as the wolf snarled and looked around wildly to gain its bearings, when its gaze landed on Wednesday, she saw an undeniable flicker of recognition. The Werewolf saw her and knew her, and bowed its head toward the much smaller figure. Not in any sense of hierarchy or submission, but in trust and acknowledgement. Even without words, the look told Wednesday, ‘we are pack, bound by ties stronger than blood.’

After a few minutes, the full extent of Enid’s restlessness subsided somewhat, though she was clearly still vibrating with energy and excited to run and hunt in this form. Pausing, however, she gave a low not-quite-bark in the direction of the treeline, whether remembering having instructed her friends to remain there or identifying their location by smell. Reading the signal, Agnes and Divina stepped out, and Yoko rushed right up next to Wednesday to stand before the mighty wolf. Gabriella peeked out with significantly more caution from behind, but, upon seeing Yoko throw her arms around Enid’s furry barrel of a torso, let a nervous but genuine grin slip onto her face and approached (if a little more slowly) the centre of the clearing where the other four still-humanoid girls were admiring their no-longer-human companion. It was very rare, Wednesday expected, for a Normie to witness a Werewolf transformation and survive, let alone be a welcome observer and participant in the moment.

They each seemed to have their own agenda with the wolf. Agnes simply wanted to snuggle into the fur. Having reached out to feel it for herself, as well as her previous time spend with Enid stuck in wolf form, Wednesday knew that it was dense and not necessarily all that plush. But it was nevertheless warm and soft in its own way. As Enid struggled to stay still, Yoko’s enthusiasm to run and play with the wolf kicked in, and the pair of them dashed around the glade and in and out of the nearby woods at astonishing speed. The Vampire could also more than take the full brunt of Enid’s force, as the Werewolf threw herself on her friend and pinned her to the ground, only to be rolled over and the position reversed as Yoko drew on the full extent of her vampiric strength. (Respective claws and teeth stayed withdrawn, however.) Divina mostly hung back, though watched with a bright smile and joy in her eyes as her own girlfriend chased and wrestled with the Werewolf. By her side, Gabriella still seemed not entirely certain whether she could approach the wolf, but Enid charged over to the two of them periodically, insisting on nuzzling into their hands and chests, playfully snapping at them without teeth (it took Gabriella a few leaps and yelps to realise that this wasn’t a source of danger), as her way of insisting that they were welcome here too.

Then, of course, there was Wednesday. The full time that Agnes was cuddled in, and intermittently throughout Yoko’s playfighting and the little visits over to Divina and Gabriella, Enid would frequently return to Wednesday’s side. Each time, the wolf almost bowled her over, insisting on standing foreleg to arm, nipping at Wednesday’s arm until she placed it up over the Werewolf’s shoulder. For all of the excitement of her other interactions with their friends, there was a confident, settled contentment each time that Enid returned to Wednesday, and it was by Wednesday’s side that Enid would look to the shining moon above and give her deepest, most soulful howls. Of course, with two months of built-up energy, Enid would inevitably get distracted again, and dart off after Yoko or dash into the woods toward a sound or smell. But each instance that she returned, there was a resolute look in Enid’s eyes that seemed to promise Wednesday that there would never be a time that Enid didn’t find her place once more at Wednesday’s side.

The night stretched on. Periodically, one or more of the girls might wander back to the camp for more food or water, or another layer to throw on as the temperature continued to drop. Gabriella decided at one point that, despite how strange but honoured she felt at the experience, she didn’t know if she could sustain a whole night awake with all of the nerves in her body on high alert, and retreated to her tent. Wednesday stayed in the clearing, simply watching.

Around two in the morning, Enid gave Wednesday a pointed but indecipherable look, and then ran off into the trees. It perhaps either meant ‘follow me’ or ‘stay here,’ both of which of course Wednesday would’ve responded to in the same way: trailing after Enid, as there was no way that she’d let the Werewolf instruct her to remain behind. Of course, Enid was essentially an order of magnitude faster than the very human Wednesday, but Wednesday seemed to have interpreted correctly, as it was never more than a minute before she caught up to the wolf, who was looking over her powerful shoulder and waiting for Wednesday to appear behind her, before dashing off again. It seemed, based on how she moved, that Enid wanted the two of them to hunt.

After what must have been around twenty minutes, Wednesday heard what she thought might be a triumphal growl. When she next caught up to Enid, the Werewolf had already caught what Wednesday realised wasn’t only a deer, but based on how large it was even compared to Enid, was a full-on elk. The golden eyes of the wolf shone, even giving the illusion of producing their own ethereal light. (Unless, perhaps, Enid’s eyes truly could glow?) With her snout, Enid gestured for Wednesday to approach. Demonstrating more dexterity than an ordinary beast, and retained intelligence from her human-self, Enid began to dress her catch. Organs were removed and discarded, and the hide was separated with careful but confident swipes of her sharp claws. Understanding what was requested of her, Wednesday pulled out one of the many knives on her person, and knelt in the undergrowth next to Enid to participate in preparing the meat and skin for whatever purpose that the Werewolf had in mind.

Several parts of the elk, Enid ate then and there. It’s heart, chief among them. But it was a remarkably controlled and logical dissection, compared to each of the previous instances in which Wednesday had observed Enid’s wolf-self, which had been under significantly greater stress and danger. Just as the wolf bled into Enid’s human life, so too did both the rational and emotional awareness of the human still maintain a presence in Enid’s transformed state. Wednesday was pleased, however, that Enid’s aversion to blood and guts didn’t seem to bother her wolf-self in the slightest. Wednesday decided that, despite thoroughly enjoying the experience of hunting and preparing a kill with Enid, it likely wasn’t the wisest decision to partake in the raw meat of wild game, especially not so far from civilisation. But, they would need breakfast and lunch tomorrow, and even then there was plenty of meat that they could return to the city with. So she sectioned off numerous cuts, always offering them to Enid first but being politely rejected in most cases, before carefully wrapping each piece in some fabric that she had brought with her for this very purpose if the chance arose. Though, in all honesty, Wednesday hadn’t necessarily known that this would happen, and that she’d be invited to participate, she was simply always prepared (and, maybe a little bit hopeful in this instance too).

When they were almost finished, something else seemed to catch Enid’s heightened sense of smell, and she was suddenly reared up at her full height, teeth bared.

“What is it, Enid?” Wednesday asked, dropping her latest bundle and taking out a slightly longer and significantly more wicked-looking knife of her own.

With her inferior vision in the dark, or rather all of her inferior senses compared to Enid, Wednesday could not spot whatever had the Werewolf on the defensive. Dropping back onto her front paws, Enid slowly but purposefully stalked forward, continuing to snarl aggressively at something hidden within the trees. As they progressed, Wednesday thought that she spotted movement, and then definitely heard the rustling of leaves and a twig snapping, where both Enid and Wednesday had the instinct or skill to move silently through the woods.

Enid pounced, blade-like claws forward, and appeared to have successfully pinned something to the ground. The way that she continued to growl, face directly over her catch and saliva dripping from her gums, Wednesday knew without a doubt that this wasn’t just another prey animal, but something that Enid viewed as a significant threat. But also, for some reason, not one that she was immediately driven to kill instead of first capture and intimidate.

As Wednesday drew close, she could make out a form that was… definitely the size and rough shape of a human. With just enough little cues to tip her off that it wasn’t one of their friends. But Enid’s large torso obscured most of Wednesday’s view, in addition to very little moonlight filtering this far through the trees. What she did see, however, was a pair of hands rise toward Enid’s face, struggling to resist where the Werewolf had the person’s body pinned by the shoulders.

But it only took the briefest touch.

Enid howled in pain, rearing back again, and then toppling to the ground with her front paws clutched defensively over her skull. Leaping into action, Wednesday put herself in front of Enid, but the other figure had already scrambled to their feet and was running into the trees. Not wanting to step away from the Werewolf, in case the person circled back or Enid was severely injured, Wednesday nevertheless didn’t feel that she could turn to inspect Enid right away. Full instinct kicked in, and the world around Wednesday seemed to spin. She was vaguely aware of throwing weapons in the direction that the person had run, and then a blur of her own movements that her conscious mind was suppressed too deeply to fully understand. This was a rare state, but not one with which Wednesday was entirely unfamiliar. Bad things could happen when Wednesday’s subconscious mind took over like this, but that was almost always because bad things were happening already. It was just something that she had to trust, in the same way that Enid had chosen to trust her wolf to not be a danger to Wednesday, as her training and her darker nature took control and did what was necessary to survive.

After a length of time that Wednesday had no real way of estimating, she felt herself collapse, and the world went fully dark.

A dream came to Wednesday as she lay unconscious, presumably still deep in the woods. She felt it wash over her mind, as if radiating from a source nearby into the thoughts of anyone it could latch onto. Asleep as she was, Wednesday only had a vague presence of mind, but it nevertheless seemed to resemble a vision more than her typical, soothing nightmares.

Wednesday ran through a forest. The same forest, it seemed, that they were currently in. Ahead of her, visible among the trees as she got close, was the form of a wolf. Of a Werewolf, Enid to be exact. The wolf, upon seeing her, ran into the trees again. Wednesday found the wolf every few minutes, catching up, until the wolf took off again. Then, in a small clearing, the wolf had caught… an elk?

Part of Wednesday realised that this was exactly what she had just experienced. The chase, the hunt, the carving up of meat and flesh side by side. Only, it was still that uncanny and unplaceable, but also undeniable, texture or sense or certainty that this was a vision not a memory. Just like… Wednesday’s mind, still in the unyielding grasp of sleep, fought for understanding. Just like… like the vision that she’d experienced from the body of the dog strung up in the city. Wednesday was watching her own life, through her own eyes, but behind those eyes, she was watching as if from the mind of another.

Then came the moment when Enid realised that they weren’t alone. The growl, the predatory stance resumed. A figure on the ground. Only, this was different. Wednesday could see the figure in full clarity, despite the darkness around them. But it wasn’t a clarity that provided detail or identifying features. It was as if she were viewing a storm trapped in human form. Chaos, unknowability, all revealed unobscured to her eyes, but so unstable that there was nothing on which to pin any comprehension. It was as if she was seeing the idea of a person, not in a visual or physical sense, but a manifestation of everything that a person can and can’t, should and shouldn’t, will and won’t be.

Rushing forward, no difference between simply following along with the motions that had already occurred and acting on the unchanged but very present impulse that she had to get to Enid, Wednesday watched once more as those arms—only, they had been flesh before, she was certain—reached out for Enid’s head. The moment contact was made, Wednesday’s perspective was ripped from whatever displaced location it had held within her own body, and pulled through the air toward the roiling and shifting figure. As her psyche collided into that non-flesh, Wednesday was suddenly seeing through its eyes, looking up at Enid as she pulled away in pain and terror. However, at the same time, Wednesday’s consciousness was surging along the figure’s thin arms, into Enid’s skull, worming her way toward the portions of Enid’s mind where, Wednesday somehow knew, dreams formed before seeping into the rest of the mind. And then…

Wednesday ran through a forest. The same forest, it seemed, that they were currently in. Ahead of her, visible among the trees as she got close, was the form of a wolf. Of a Werewolf, Enid to be exact. The wolf, upon seeing her, ran into the trees again. Wednesday found the wolf every few minutes, catching up, until the wolf took off again. Then, in a small clearing, the wolf had caught… an elk?

Part of Wednesday realised that this was exactly what she had just experienced. And… had already dreamed? The sequence repeated again and again, the half hour or so of Wednesday’s own memory shown back to her through her own eyes but someone else’s consciousness. Each time it got to the point where the figure invaded Enid’s mind, it took Wednesday along with it, placing the dream and… Wednesday would be back at the start. Or, maybe, another layer deeper. Dreaming the dream that Enid was dreaming of her, from within Enid’s mind, where she would place the dream again, only to be pulled in to dream it within the dream within the dream within…

Waking with a start, her body moving before her mind fully pulled itself from the endless vision, Wednesday realised that she was crouched above someone else, her knife at their throat.

“Yo, chill, it’s me,” said Yoko, hands raised in surrender. Of course, the Vampire likely could’ve bested Wednesday if they were truly fighting, given that Wednesday hadn’t had the chance to prepare an ambush or have on hand the necessary weapons to do serious harm to the undead. Not that killing Yoko was the point, she reminded herself.

“Right,” said Wednesday, not really an apology, but pulling backward.

“You two were out for hours. We’ve only just managed to rouse you. And Enid is still being stubborn—though, hard to tell if that’s just her normal morning ‘tude or the result of… whatever happened to you,” said Yoko.

“We saw some of it,” added Divina. “Though not enough to make sense of it. You were standing over Enid’s crumpled form, eyes wild, throwing knives off into the trees. Then, dashing about, seeming to be tending to Enid with a strange, terrifying mix of efficiency and complete insanity. Luckily, whatever happened, she wasn’t physically hurt.”

“You… you were like, like an angel of death, Wednesday,” said Yoko.

Agnes spoke up, from nearby. Wednesday was still gaining her bearings. The younger girl said, “We couldn’t even get close until you blacked out. You were a blur of knives and glares and battle cries around Enid, and didn’t seem to recognise anyone at all.”

Only partially taking this in, Wednesday shook off the last of whatever unnatural sleep had been thrust upon her. Enid had collapsed in pain. Whoever, whatever, that figure had been had done something to Enid’s mind, affecting her in the real world but also in both of their dreams. Enid…

Was curled up next to Wednesday, tugging at the blanket that one of the other girls must have thrown over her now-back-to-human form. The Werewolf whimpered slightly, but if Wednesday was reading the expression right, it was in fact mainly in protest to being woken. Though there was still the occasional flinch that may have been triggered by a dream.

“Enid, hey, wake up,” Wednesday called, hunching over the other girl and gripping her shoulder firmly through the blanket.

“Wednesday—wha…?” was all that Enid managed in response, but she sat up a little onto one elbow, the other arm still holding the blanket over her bare torso.

“Are you okay? How is your head? What did… that person do to you?” asked Wednesday in a flurry, not pausing between each question for an answer.

“Hey, give her time,” said Agnes.

“I—” Enid began. She took a deep breath, fully rousing herself. “There was someone, wasn’t there? It’s hard to remember what I see and do as a wolf, let alone through this fucking headache.”

“You smelled them, or sensed them, and had them pinned down when they managed to grab your head. You weren’t physically hurt, but they did something to you,” explained Wednesday.

“They… I dreamt all night, Wends. The same thing, over and over again. I was you. Chasing me, carving up my catch, seeing me pounce, being sucked into my brain. And then it would start again,” said Enid.

Looking around each of the other girls, all four of whom had assembled again by this point and were clearly deeply freaked out at having seen even what little they did and then not being able to wake the pair, Wednesday steeled herself, and said, “I had the same dream. Exactly. I don’t think I just entered your mind at the end. I think I was experiencing whoever attacked you invade your mind, and place the dream there, and then sucked down into the next dream as it was planted, only to experience it all again.”

“Who were they, Wends?” Enid asked, voice shaky and full of fear.

“I—I don’t know,” Wednesday said, hating to have to admit to it, but truly feeling like she hadn’t had the upper hand this entire time. Not against the stalker. And surely… “But it has to be the stalker, right?”

“Could it just have been some insane freak hiding out in the woods?” Gabriella asked.

Shaking her head, Wednesday said, “No. Because it wasn’t just a dream. It was a vision. And it felt exactly like the vision that the dead dog gave me. Enid’s right that we were looking through my eyes, but it wasn’t me looking. It was…”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. That was not good.

“Wends, what? What did you figure out?” asked Enid, clearly noticing how Wednesday had frozen, the look in her eyes giving away that her thoughts were moving too fast for her to speak them.

“I don’t know that we can get ahead of them,” said Wednesday after a long minute, when she finally caught up to her own mind. “They—she… she gets visions like me, I think, but not looking in from the outside. Or weird, cryptic ones that don’t quite line up with literal reality. She, somehow, maybe, gets visions of my life, through my eyes, before it even happens to me.”

“That’s… weirdly specific, and pretty fucked up,” said Yoko.

“So our stalker always knows what you’re going to do before you do it?” Enid asked.

“I honestly don’t know. I guess that’s how she followed and found us all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, at least,” Wednesday suggested. “But, we have no way of knowing if she sees everything that I will do, or just bits. Or whether what she sees can be changed. Or whether she even fully understands what she sees. I don’t even know if my hypothesis is correct, but it would explain…”

“It makes a weird sort of sense,” Divina said. “Always one step ahead. When you told us about the dog… there must have been, like, only a few moments of window to act, so that she didn’t end up stopping another bus, or someone spotting the dog before you. And if she can mess with minds, that explains the time that we were in your dorm and the delivery guy showed up with piles of bloody meat. Because that was her, right?”—Wednesday nodded—“Because you came back saying that he didn’t remember anything that had happened.”

They continued discussing for a few minutes, but mostly just went around in circles, unable to reach any new conclusions based on the limited information that they had gained. Besides, though she was fairly adept at pushing such sensations down or enjoying her way through them, the headache that Enid had described was plaguing Wednesday as well, not quite letting her brain function at full capacity. However, she realised at one point that Enid was still technically naked, clothed only in a blanket, in the middle of the woods.

Yoko had grabbed clothes at some point before returning to this spot while they slept. But, it seemed that whatever had been inflicted upon Enid, much more directly than the dream that Wednesday seemed to have experienced by proximity or whatever weird connection that she had with the stalker, had done a number on her body. Sore all over, Enid tried to change beneath the blanket, but her limbs were heavy and slow in their responsiveness.

“Please don’t hate me, but…” Enid began. She looked at Wednesday with fear, but also humiliation and need, in her eyes. “Can you help?”

Grabbing the blanket and holding it up as a screen, Yoko gave them as much privacy as she could and barked at the other girls to start heading back to camp and packing up. There was no way that any of them really wanted to stay and try to recover the rest of the trip, as they had intended to leave in a few hours anyway. Careful where she put her eyes, Wednesday helped Enid into her undergarments, and then loose trackpants and a hoodie. Strangely, however, unlike tying Enid’s swimsuit up the day before, Wednesday’s mind interpreted this experience as entirely different. She and Enid had fought together, however briefly, against an unknown assailant, and now Wednesday had the chance to look after Enid just as Enid had been the one to physically protect Wednesday the night before.

More than anything else, Wednesday was reminded of the hug that she had Enid had shared—the very first one—after Enid’s fight with the Hyde and Wednesday facing down Crackstone. They had held each other for so very long, and only broken apart from exhaustion. Even then, however, other than hobbling up the stairs to their room, the pair had refused any help or touch from anyone else, insisting that they needed to care for one another’s wounds. Wednesday had very clear images flash through her brain of holding Enid upright under the shower, still partially clothed, but both of them more vulnerable than possible either had been with anyone else ever, not just Wednesday with her aversion to touch and being exposed, but Enid too in how she let Wednesday minister to her wounds and see her in all of her weakness and damage and skin.

Because, in those moments, just like right now as Wednesday was fully present for Enid in her time of need, it hadn’t been about anything sappy or nauseating like she ascribed to her parents’ affection for one another. Nor was it the lack of self-control and teenage hormones that Wednesday saw whenever she had the misfortune of witnessing Yoko and Divina right up in each other’s faces. And it wasn’t even the fleeting but all-consuming pining that others like Xavier in her first year at Nevermore, or Pugsley last year, had shown with their latest infatuations, and that Wednesday had feared that she was falling into if she let herself be physically close to her friends like in the car ride out of the city two days before.

Wednesday didn’t really know what it was instead. But there was a sense of depth, and permanence, and inevitability, and even… somehow… strength, in what she and Enid were able to provide for each other. Feeling that she still wasn’t remotely ready for the conversation that Wednesday’s mind chose that moment to remind her she’d promised Enid, about touch and everything else, Wednesday nevertheless had the sense that something had clicked, or was about to, in her subconscious, that would, just maybe, finally make all of this confusion that she felt make sense.

Eventually, Wednesday, Enid, and Yoko made it back to the campsite, where Gabriella’s car had already been reloaded, and anything being left behind had been stashed back in her family’s shed.

“I, um, I’m not very good at this. All of this, well, the mystery stuff, but also the Outcast stuff, but…” Gabriella said, breaking the tired silence that weighed upon all of them, as they were all climbing back into the old hatchback. “But, I’ve been thinking about the dreams that you described, Wednesday. And the—the message, that she left me with before you found me. ‘You have stolen the future from me.’ I wonder if, maybe, but maybe this is silly, but I wonder whether she thought that your life, that she had been seeing, was meant to be her life. But figured out eventually that it belonged to someone else. To you. And she, well, hates and resents you for it.”

Wednesday paused outside of the car door, considering. “I’ve always had some hatred for my abilities, but also always had the strongest sense of possessiveness over them. When I lost touch in the past, it was traumatising. And, without them, there are things that I never would’ve figured out, people who would’ve been hurt far worse, and truths that would’ve stayed buried. I would’ve been furious if I ever felt like they’d been stolen by someone else, and that everything I’d ever seen was a lie, or was someone else’s fate.”

“And… she plans to make you pay for it,” Gabriella continued. “As if ending your life or whatever she has planned is how she’ll get her own… destiny? Well, will get back whatever future she feels like she’s been denied.”

It made more sense than Wednesday was comfortable with. Because, as she’d surmised that morning after waking up in the woods, it left very little chance that they could ever gain the upper hand. But it was also deeply unsettling, to think that someone else watched her life unfold before she did, without Wednesday ever having been aware of it. And that the person didn’t just want to steal something physical from her, or cause her pain, or pretend to be her, but was fully convinced that Wednesday did not deserve any second of her own existence…

What did that even mean for her own identity? Her future, or free will, or control over her own life?

Wednesday did not sleep a minute on the ride back to the university. In fact, she barely even registered how tightly squeezed she was once again in the back of the car. The dream that the stalker had forced on her, and the implications if they were correct about the stalker’s abilities, circled again and again in her mind, refusing to offer any solution, and genuinely filling Wednesday with more fear than she’d felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: We Need to Talk

In which Wednesday and Enid have a long conversation

Upon arriving back to Gertrude Hall, there suddenly felt like an infinite number of frustrating things to get through. And that didn’t even count needing to go back to class tomorrow, or the little repetitive aspects of life like laundry and meals, especially after having been out of town for two nights. In reality, Wednesday probably only had a handful of important tasks, but adding these to the swirling chaos of thought in her mind after all that they’d encountered and discovered about the stalker, and still being very cognisant that Enid would want to have that conversation sooner rather than later, definitely made it seem that everything was piling up.

A list. Putting everything down in writing. That would help.

Wednesday made a point of asking for space for the next few hours to breathe. Gabriella was more than happy to duck away with Yoko and Divina. No doubt the Vampire and Siren were safer than her being alone, but neither put her in danger as directly as Wednesday and Enid, nor reminded her quite as often or as obviously of the strange world of Outcasts and serial killers that she had become inadvertently wrapped up in. Agnes and Enid weren’t being subtle about the fact that they didn’t want to leave Wednesday entirely alone, whether because of their ongoing commitment to the ‘buddy system’ idea, or maybe just because they were concerned about her. It should’ve been vexing, and would once have gotten on Wednesday’s nerves a lot more, but since they were at least managing to occupy themselves on Enid’s side of the room without too much noise, Wednesday didn’t actually mind the soft sounds of life in the background.

So, as much isolation as she could arrange right now acquired, Wednesday sat down at her typewriter. It had been far too long since she had used it for anything other than assignments. Her creative energy and her impulse to pursue whatever mystery was front of mind apparently drew on the same reserves, and the latter had definitely been the stronger obsession recently.

Wednesday Addams – Important Tasks (Presented in likely order of completion):

1. Discuss near-term intentions with Agnes DeMille, contact Nevermore Academy if necessary;
2. Debrief with Thing Addams, reestablish surveillance protocols;
3. Transcribe recent evidence for future reference;
4. Initiate researching candidates for psychic-type classification of stalker (then ongoing):
   • University library – unlikely;
   • Nevermore Academy and Nightshade libraries – worth investigating, contact Pugsley and Eugene;
   • Addams Family archives – highest chance of success, most challenging to coordinate (Mother or Father least painful to contact?);
   • Grandmother Frump – potential, likely to require transaction or sacrifice;
5. War Council with acquaintances in physical proximity, develop strategy for stalker. Possible attendees:
   • Enid Sinclair, Werewolf (unquestionably);
   • Agnes DeMille, Vanisher (yes);
   • Yoko Tanaka, Vampire (likely but regrettable);
   • Divina Carmen, Siren (as above);
   • Gabriella Reyes, Normie (unvetted, identify safe method for exclusion);
6. Survive discussion of personal matters with Enid Sinclair.

Well, seeing it all laid out in this way, Wednesday still found the list daunting, especially as some of the items involved significant uncertainty as to their difficulty, scale, and timeframe. However, it was only six things, and she figured that this could be fairly quickly cut down to five if she just started at the top and stopped procrastinating…

“Agnes?” Wednesday called out, not even bothering to turn around to where the other two girls still chatted.

“Yes, Wednesday?” the younger girl replied, with the vocal equivalent of standing to attention. Agnes may no longer possess her utter obsession with Wednesday, nor find her friend particularly intimidating (unfortunately), but she was still always eager to be of assistance in any inevitably strange activity that Wednesday suggested.

“Your opportunity to return to Nevermore is at four this afternoon, correct?”

“Yes, Ms. Weissman, like me, was here for the whole week, and can give me a lift again,” Agnes confirmed.

Wednesday nodded, swivelling in her chair. “You have two choices, neither of which seem optimal, so I shall not make the decision for you. Remain, where you can be directly protected and potentially also assist, but risk displeasure of your educational institution and the chance of falling behind, and remain directly within reach of the danger that we face. Or, depart to ensure that your education is uninterrupted, which would also remove you from proximity to the stalker but simultaneously remove you from proximity of the direct protection that Enid and I can provide.”

“I mean, it’s hardly a question, Wednesday. Of course I’d prefer to stay.”

“Are you sure, little psycho?” Enid asked, her voice betraying both concern and affection. “You really ought to prioritise your classes, and while I agree with Wends that it feels like we can better protect you when we can see you, I’m not sure that it’s rationally correct—” (this with a glance shot at Wednesday for emphasis) “—when the stalker is almost certain to ignore you if you leave, in favour of keeping her eye on her target: Wednesday.”

“Hence why I did not rule out either option immediately,” Wednesday said, really more directed at Enid than Agnes. Though it was clear that Enid was only speaking out of concern for the younger girl, and though Wednesday could tolerate many things from Enid, she still didn’t particularly enjoy being called (even if indirectly) irrational.

Agnes sighed. “I am already ahead on my reading and homework for my classes. And, if I fall behind, I have… means of ensuring that I can catch up.”

“You can’t just use your abilities to sneak a look at the exam answers, Agnes,” Enid said, as Agnes’ insinuation wasn’t subtle at all.

“I mean, she can,” Wednesday pointed out.

“Semantics. She shouldn’t.”

“I think you put too much credit in the structured assessment approach of the American education system, with its focus on memorisation, when it has no meaningful correlation to the nature of knowledge acquisition and usage in adult life. I am solid on the concepts, and do not need to prove this to you or myself through regurgitative practices. Exams are merely hoops to jump through to entertain school administration,” said Agnes.

At this, Wednesday felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward and her eyes widen slightly. Unfortunately, both Agnes and Enid caught this, and the look that they gave her in return told her that they knew this was the equivalent of Wednesday essentially beaming with pride at Agnes.

“Fiiine,” Enid conceded. “Just don’t get caught.”

“Never,” Agnes promised. She looked back to Wednesday again, saying, “Also, protection goes both ways. You said ‘probably assist,’ but you know that I can hold my own, give as good as I get, and could be the difference between this going completely south or the two of you making it out alive.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t completely erase the possibility of all three of us meeting our end. Leaving could mean your survival,” said Wednesday. However, she knew that conviction wasn’t present in her voice, and was honestly glad that Agnes wanted so badly to stay.

“I’m staying,” said Agnes.

“I know.”

Dialling for the reception at Nevermore, which being a full-time boarding school remained open even in the middle of a Sunday, Wednesday was greeted by a voice that was far too cheerful for her liking. Steeling herself to navigate bureaucracy without making things worse, she explained the situation.

“Agnes DeMille. Yes, that’s her. No, I am not her legal guardian, but you will find that her legal guardian is incompetent and undeserving of the title, that he has surrendered all decisions about Agnes’ life to the school, and that her presence at Nevermore is funded not by her pathetic father but by your most significant benefactors, the Addams. Yes, call Gomez if you must, but it would be much simpler to take my word for it. I know you know who I am, and that any such games only waste both of our time. Feel free to check her records, I am confident that she is not at risk academically. This is a matter of her personal safety. No, returning her to school would not be best on that front. And, no, escalating this will only make things worse, and I will personally ensure that doing so will come back to bite you. While you’re in her files, you’ll also note that myself and Enid Sinclair are listed as alternative emergency contacts, and held mentorship roles for Agnes while we were at Nevermore. The school made the decision to trust us with her wellbeing, and you are being asked to trust us again now. No? Either way, she will not be returning, so be thankful you at least have been made aware of that. My father will be in touch.”

“That didn’t sound great,” Agnes said, deflating a little.

“Nevermore knows that I will always do what I must, even if they don’t like my methods. They also won’t want to displease my father. They know that you are safe, and they will not win this if it turns into a legal battle, so we’ve done what we can,” said Wednesday.

“If you say so… Maybe—and, like, I don’t want to be presumptuous, but maybe—your family could take over my guardianship from my father or the school? It doesn’t have to be permanent, only until I’m eighteen, and I’m not asking you to agree to me changing my name, and…”

“Agnes, enough,” said Wednesday. The younger girl shrunk into herself further. “Agnes, sit up straight. I am not rejecting your suggestion. It is logical and would likely prove helpful in complex situations such as this in future, which precedent suggest will continue to arise periodically. Just let me handle it.”

One call to Gomez Addams later, and not only was the first item on Wednesday’s list now complete, but the process of formally emancipating Agnes and bringing her into a much more suitable family was underway. And, biting the bullet on item number four, Wednesday had given her father instructions to search the Addams’ library and archive for information related to their stalker and her abilities. Gomez had sounded far too pleased for Wednesday to have gained yet another stalker—‘you’ve basically had one every year since you first started at Nevermore; it almost makes me jealous, if I wasn’t so happy for you’—so Wednesday steered the conversation as efficiently as she could through her research needs, and promptly ended the call.

They still hadn’t seen Thing since returning. Then again, it was still only just about now that they had originally intended to arrive back on campus, so he was possibly off on whatever casual espionage he’d decided to entertain himself with that day, or had found a nice spot for a nap. So, Wednesday was about to get started on item number three (documenting their recent clues), when she heard Enid’s phone ping and then the Werewolf bounced across the room to show her.

🩸🎶blood sucker, fame fucker🎵🩸: sup. divi has a short-notice swim meet thing this evening n the coach doesnt like me n we need someone 2 go w her or stay w me so gabby can go

“Has she ever heard of capitalisation?” Wednesday asked. “Will you go?”

“I, um, wondered if we could send Agnes,” said Enid.

“Any particular reason?” Because, based on Enid’s expression, there was definitely a reason.

“We were going to talk, remember?”

“Oh. I did not anticipate that you would insist on today.”

“I won’t insist, but it’s a good chance, and I really think that we should talk sooner rather than…” Enid said.

Cutting her short, Wednesday replied, “Though it is out of the order of tasks that I have created for myself, I will reprioritise if it is important to you that we speak today.”

“Um, yeah, I’d like that. Please.”

One short handover later, with no one wanting any of the others to even be alone walking to meet their ‘buddy’ after the events of the weekend, Wednesday found herself properly alone with Enid in their room for the first time in over a week.

Enid planned more of the logistics of how they would have this conversation than Wednesday would’ve thought. Many of the little things seemed arbitrary or unnecessary at first, but Enid made the point of explaining each, starting off even this part of their discussion with complete candour and care. For the louder and more chaotic of the two girls, it was clear that Enid had experience and awareness around having difficult or simply important conversations that Wednesday had never given herself the chance to learn. After all, in so many other parts of her life, she had found being abrasive more than sufficient.

So, they sat side by side on the edge of Wednesday’s bed. Enid explained that physical closeness was important, demonstrating comfort and trust. At the same time, however, they weren’t actually looking at one another, not unless they actively turned. Apparently, this was what Enid referred to as a ‘driving conversation,’ which was a phenomenon that allowed two people to be frank and vulnerable with one another while in a car, both emboldened and protected by being somewhat trapped together but at the same time free from the direct stare of the other person. They’d both acquired and eaten a decent lunch after dropping Agnes to the other girls, to reduce the risk of ‘hangry’ reactions. And, each had a water bottle on hand, both as something to justify a pause to think when necessary, and for if one of them genuinely ended up with a dry throat as the result of complex emotions manifesting physically. Finally, Enid had assigned each of them one of her plush toys. This was the only thing that Wednesday had really tried to resist, but Enid insisted. So long as she didn’t cause permanent damage, Wednesday was to use this too-round, black-and-white cat creature to squeeze in her hands or to her chest if she felt agitated and needed to work that energy out in a practical way.

Each of these things, in different ways, felt to Wednesday like admitting and allowing weaknesses. However, the way that Enid explained it all also demonstrated that there were intelligent and logical things that could be done to improve the experience of difficult conversations, and that maybe this was no less of a skill to learn or a rational strategy to employ than how Wednesday had methods for managing so many other, more unusual situations. Being physically prepared for conflict and danger was something that Wednesday understood, and although she didn’t see Enid in such a light—if anything, with Enid she felt the most safe—there was nevertheless a murmuring of disquiet within Wednesday’s chest that was not dissimilar to the instincts that told her to be on her guard when closing in on the end of a case.

“Comfy?” Enid asked, once they were sat and all else was to her satisfaction.

“Never, neither physically nor emotionally. But I am ready,” Wednesday replied.

“Would you like to start by sharing your experience or thoughts on physical touch? Or would you like me to go first?”

“I do not know how to formulate my experience or thoughts on this matter into meaningful words.”

Enid asked, “What if I asked you some specific questions, to narrow things down?”

“We can try that.” Wednesday didn’t really have a better idea, as she wasn’t succeeding in refining what to say on her own.

“What goes through your mind when you realise that you are giving into physical contact too much, and need to pull back?”

“Oh,” said Wednesday. No starting off easy, then? “Fine, okay… I think… my instincts take over and I react in the same way that I do to danger. It’s a kind of stress, maybe, but in a productive way. At least, productive when I am actually in danger.”

“Do you have any sense of why your brain treats positive or neutral physical contact in the same way that it treats being in danger?”

There were simultaneously a million reasons, and also none that felt quite right. “Some of it is undoubtedly habit by this point. But, maybe it’s not dangerous to me physically, but it is dangerous to the image that I have built of myself, both for myself and that others see.”

Enid asked, “Do you think you’d react differently without anyone observing you?”

“Well, there will always be at least two witnesses: myself, and the other person. But, maybe. However, in some ways it’s also worse. Because surely closeness in private is… I don’t know, less constrained by social expectations? Not that I typically put much stock in those, but they can provide useful protection. Most people limit both affection and violence when observed by others.”

“You do know that I will never push your boundaries further than you’re comfortable with, even if I occasionally test them for whether you are open to exploring them? That includes in public or in private. Having you alone does not change what you need.”

“I… I do trust that, yes. That does not inherently make it less challenging subconsciously,” said Wednesday.

“Which is perfectly fine!” Enid assured her. “I’m just hoping that getting some of these things out in the air can help you to respond more consciously in future, before your anxiety kicks in.”

“I don’t have anxiety, Enid.”

“You don’t lack confidence, and you don’t feel a lot of fear, but I think that maybe anxiety is exactly what lies underneath some of your need to always be the smartest person in the room, to remain untouchable—literally and figuratively—and to throw yourself at things other people are scared of to prove that you are in control of your reactions and emotions,” Enid suggested.

Wednesday frowned, her eyes flicking sideways briefly to her roommate. She said, “I do not think that I am currently willing to expand the scope of this conversation to diagnosing my twisted mind with therapy-speak.”

This earned a laugh from Enid. “That’s fine. I mean, I think it’s all related, but we can stay a little more obviously on topic, if that’s what you want. We’ve talked a bit about why you pull back from touch. But, before that happens, what do you feel in those half-aware moments when you actually lean into and seek out touch?”

“My sample size is yet to be statistically significant,” said Wednesday.

“I’m not expecting you to form a unified theory of how you react to physical contact in all instances with all people. Just… what kinds of things were going through your sleepy little brain in the few times that you have woken up on my lap or similar?”

“I—” Wednesday began. She paused. In some ways, in such moments, she wasn’t thinking or feeling anything. And that was part of the problem. But, she forced herself to continue, saying, “I think it’s more basic, more literal, than any nuanced emotional reaction. It’s just observations. Warmth. Softness. And, perhaps a little more abstract, but… safe? Only ever with you, though.”

“We’re only talking about you and me. You never need to get to a point where you’re as much of a hugger as I am.”

“Do not worry. I shall not.”

“So, you go from physical sensations—temperature and pressure—drawing you in, and making you feel secure, to pulling away once it fully registers in your mind.”

“I suppose so,” admitted Wednesday. “You are not a person, not perceived as such, at least, when you’re only a collection of sensations. It’s… it’s in coalescing as a person that I panic.”

“Right, like hearing sounds at night. If they’re just the wind, then they can be soothing or annoying, but either way are neutral. If you suddenly realise that it’s a person in your house, then it doesn’t matter what the direct experience of the noises feels like, the context suddenly overrides everything else, and it triggers fear.”

“A person in my home at night wouldn’t trigger fear. Not for me, at least. They will be the one to experience terror.”

“Don’t go all literal on me now, Addams. I know that you understand metaphors, Ms. Aspiring Author,” said Enid, her voice dry with mock annoyance.

“It is not… inappropriate as a comparison if I were to interpret it through the perspective of someone other than me. Yes, it goes from being a neutral set of experiences to something more like invasion.”

“Do you think that clear signalling would help?” Enid asked.

Wednesday paused, then said, “I’m not sure.”

“Well, let’s try, if you’re willing?”—Wednesday nodded, and Enid continued—“I am going to reach out and take your hand. You don’t have to enjoy it, but tell yourself that it is coming, and see how you feel when you’re not suddenly realising that you’re in a position that you didn’t expect.”

With a barely visible nod, Wednesday steeled herself a little for the touch. Even with Enid’s warning, the moment of contact nevertheless couldn’t be fully anticipated, as it was nevertheless a change from separation to connection. Part of Wednesday’s brain still resisted, wanting to see this as a threat, but enough of her remained calm.

“Maybe, it could help,” said Wednesday. “For some kinds of touch in some situations. It’s certainly better than being caught off guard.”

“Okay, well, that’s something that I promise to be more intentional about. There are still your visions, when I might need to touch you to keep you safe. But would you prefer that I then let you be, rather than continue to provide you with touch in attempted comfort?” Enid asked. She removed her hand, clearly not wanting to press Wednesday too far in this moment of vulnerability. Wednesday simultaneously mourned the loss of Enid’s warm palm, and also felt herself let out a breath of relief.

However, she didn’t immediately respond to the question, as Wednesday didn’t know how to answer that.

“Are you feeling both ‘yes’ and ‘no’?”

God, Enid seemed to just see right through her. Even with her hand gone from Wednesday’s, being observed and understood made her feel a bit trapped. But, as Enid wasn’t incorrect, Wednesday pushed through that sensation and nodded again.

“I think I understand you a little better, now. Thank you for sharing,” said Enid. Wednesday bristled at how this only further emphasised just how much Enid could read her and how much of her usually withheld self she had exposed to her roommate, not only now but over the last few years. After not getting a response from Wednesday, Enid asked, “Can I ask a slightly more challenging question?”

“This torture gets worse?” Wednesday responded.

“Hey, you love torture,” said Enid, giving her a teasing giggle.

“Proceed.”

“So, you can tolerate greater touch from me because we trust each other. Yes, we’ve experienced obvious proof of that through things like saving each other’s lives. But you’ve also simply been in the same space as me for a long time now, and that familiarity helps you to not feel like I’m going to surprise you in a bad way,” said Enid.

“That is not a question.” Wednesday only received a raised eyebrow at this. She sighed, and replied, “Yes, you are correct.”

“Are you…” Enid began. For some reason, despite her calm and confidence throughout the conversation so far, even Enid paused for a careful breath here. “Are you at all still uncertain about touch—mine, specifically—not just because of your habits and instincts and personality, but because you aren’t sure what it means? Or, is meant to mean?”

“I don’t understand,” Wednesday admitted.

“You don’t have many personal connections like ours. If any. If you had a clearer sense, internally, of how you defined us and what the expectations are and what was and wasn’t okay within our dynamic, would some of your uncertainty ease?”

“I know who we are, Enid. You’re my roommate, my best friend, and the person who always has my back.”

Enid almost looked a little sad at this, which Wednesday wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret. Those were all things that she had never used to define anyone else, meaning that Enid was far and away the closest that Wednesday had ever let anyone.

Shaking off whatever the little moment of disappointment had been, Enid asked, “Yes, but… I’ve been your only roommate, your only best friend, and sometimes one of the only people who has your back. Without precedent or experience, do you have an innate sense of how much touch you think a person like that should be given, or allowed to give?”

“I—I guess not?” Wednesday admitted. “But I also did not think that there was an exact quantity of touch in proportion to levels of friendship that is universally followed.”

“No, of course there isn’t. However, tell me, how much touch are you personally willing to tolerate with a stranger?”

“We’re not talking about instances of conflict or other acts of violence, right?” Wednesday asked dryly.

“No, sorry to disappoint,” Enid said with a laugh.

“Then, obviously, the answer is none.”

“What about an acquaintance?”

“None.”

“A friend?”

“Preferably none, but they will not be automatically disemboweled if the situation warranted some limited contact, or it was accidental. They would at least earn the opportunity to explain themselves.”

Enid nodded at this, clearly leading somewhere that Wednesday was yet to spot. She asked, “What about family?”

“It varies. Because the line between violent and non-violent contact in my family specifically is blurred. And I tolerate touches such as hugs if it is the path of least resistance to returning to my preferred state of isolation,” said Wednesday.

“What about a romantic partner, not yours specifically, but say between your parents? What is the expectation there?”

“They make me want to vomit,” Wednesday said.

“Right, but, is their example what you expect most romantic relationships to follow?”

“I—to a degree? Or, rather, I would expect that there are types of touch that only exist within such a relationship.”

“We’ll talk about intimacy outside of relationships another time…” Enid said, partially under her breath. But she didn’t give Wednesday a chance to respond, before saying, “But, in general, that makes sense, and applies to most people. Where, then, on that spectrum is the level of touch that you’re okay with from me?”

Wednesday simply didn’t have an answer to this. She shrugged.

“So, you have immediate answers to every other type of relationship, but not ours. Perhaps, then, there is a lack of clarity that is preventing you from knowing how much touch you want, or at least tolerate?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, we could try two things. One, do you want to define touch boundaries? Not just the kinds of touch, but where and under what conditions. We can define what works for us by setting out expectations from the ground up,” suggested Enid.

Wednesday nodded that she’d heard this, and for Enid to continue with the other option.

Enid said, “Or, we can work from the top down. Define us, what kind of friendship we have, and the level of touch that you can accept, or that you might even want, can naturally flow from that? Not that we can’t do both, but I think understanding our dynamic might help you reach conclusions about what you’re okay with more instinctively?”

“I don’t know,” said Wednesday. “Because you have wormed your way underneath the shield behind which I keep my emotions, and therefore I cannot define you as I do literally everybody else. They each have a rational definition. You, on the other hand, would necessitate an emotional one. And I do not know if I am capable of understanding my own emotions enough to figure that out.”

The look that she received from Enid was perhaps one of the softest that Wednesday had ever seen. “Oh, Wends. That’s okay. You can do the thinking, I can do the feeling. That’s part of why we work!”

Another silence. Wednesday was feeling smaller and smaller, with every answer that she was unable to conjure.

“Hey, um…” Enid began.

Looking directly at the Werewolf, Wednesday spotted that, though the softness remained, Enid’s expression had been overcome with an anxiety of her own. “Yes, Enid?”

“What if I, um, suggested one option for how we could define us?” Enid asked.

“Enid, at this point, as much as I like to be the one who has all of the answers, I’d be endlessly relieved if you could just tell me the right answer so that we could move on from this uncertainty and vulnerability.”

With an audible swallow, Enid replied, “Well, I don’t know, but this might make things more complicated.”

“I don’t know that it can get more complicated. As long as you have an honest suggestion, your truth will be easier to navigate than the chaos and ambiguity in my own mind, I am certain,” Wednesday assured her.

“Well, with no expectation of what this means for touch or literally anything else… If even ‘friend’ is something defined rationally by you, outside of your ‘shield,’ but I’m on the inside,” said Enid. “Maybe, even if you hadn’t fully thought about it this way before—or thought about it this way at all!—maybe, we could see whether we vibed with the idea of maybe giving it a go at trying out whether maybe it’s not unacceptable to maybe…”

“Please, Enid, whatever it is, that onslaught of filler words is giving me a headache.”

“Okay,” Enid breathed. “Okay! Do you maybe want to try out whether our relationship could be… romantic?”

Wednesday’s mind shut down.

“Or! No, never mind. Forget I said anything. That’s clearly too much. And, I know that you probably wouldn’t have realised that’s the way you felt if it had been the case, but maybe I way over-read what I thought were your unintentional cues, and it’s not the case, and…”

It took a moment for Wednesday to reboot as Enid spiralled. Several long seconds of further babble went unheard. She had no faculty to cut Enid’s word vomit short, her brain still re-remembering how to even think, let alone act or talk.

“…and if you’re now super uncomfortable and want me to move out, I can…”

“Enid,” Wednesday managed.

The girl next to her gave a frightened little squeak. “Yes, Wednesday?”

Needing to channel her thoughts and feelings about this as much as possible through her familiar, rational, intellectualised frameworks, Wednesday slowly said, “I had never considered that romance might conveniently explain the strange amalgamation of emotional and sensory experiences that I have come to associate with you, as that kind of affection or attraction is not something that I have previously experienced or wanted, and therefore I have no way of recognising it. It is not, however, inherently incompatible with my perception of you. If you genuinely believe, and are not trying to force this on yourself for my sake, that defining us in this way is appropriate, then I am willing for us to test whether formal courtship is a suitable way of moving forward with our relationship.”

Enid’s eyes had grown progressively wider as Wednesday had spoken. Hesitatingly, she said, “I think that, though I’m not entirely fully in control of my brain right now, that counts as a ‘yes’?”

“It is tentative, but affirmative. I will need time to reassess how the many confusing experiences that I have had recently all align satisfactorily with courtship and romance, but now that you have introduced the possibility and option for my consideration, I find it unexpectedly… fitting, for all the things that I haven’t understood about how I think and feel about you.”

“O.M.G.,” Enid all but squealed. Wednesday briefly regretted this entire conversation and where it had led, as she experienced the onslaught of energy that radiated off Enid in that moment. However, a greater part of her relished it, and found herself hungry for more of this kind of excitement and affection. “I honestly thought we’d just end up, like, writing a list of where I could and couldn’t touch you and when. I almost didn’t say anything, but it felt like maybe it was the right time, even though it wasn’t really a romantic moment and we were both feeling super awkward. But I’m so glad I did. Of course we can just take it slow! You don’t have to decide if this is right straight away. But if you’re really willing, I’d love nothing more than to be your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” Wednesday said, trying out the world. “Hmm. A bit modern for my tastes, but acceptable. I will need to find alternatives that suit my vernacular, but I approve conceptually.”

Well, somehow, their conversation had gotten well off track from the more basic question of touch. However, Wednesday felt like maybe they needed to return to the topic in order to round out all of these unexpected revelations and decisions. They were still just sitting next to one another on the edge Wednesday’s bed, Wednesday silently processing with her hands in her lap, and Enid vibrating with excitement but clearly going through a combination of her own emotional processing as well as trying to give Wednesday space and not immediately overwhelm her.

“Enid?” Wednesday asked after a few minutes.

“Yes, dear?” Enid asked. Then: “Sorry, too much too fast?”

“I consider ‘dear’ relatively neutral and traditional as far as pet names go, so it is acceptable in private,” said Wednesday. “Anyway, I have a question for you.”

“Yes, dear?” Enid asked again, this time with more certainty and a sparkle in her eyes. Wednesday could’ve identified the exact colour of Enid’s irises on a swatch if asked, but hadn’t ever really let herself consciously admire how bright and warm and brilliant they were.

“Now that we are courting, would you like a hug?”

Enid actually burst out in laughter.

“Have I fundamentally misunderstood the entire premise, progression, and conclusion of this conversation?” Wednesday asked, genuinely unsure what she said that was incorrect or otherwise warranted that response.

“Of course not, Wends. It’s just… it’s adorable, and wholesome. I’ll always ask you first, I promise, but you know I’d take a hug even if we were never anything more than casual friends. Of course! Come here.”

Wednesday shuffled over awkwardly until her knee touched against Enid’s. Pivoting, she let Enid’s arms wrap around her neck and shoulders, while Wednesday placed one arm around Enid’s waist. She honestly wasn’t sure what to do with the other arm. However, Enid knew enough for both of them, and pulled Wednesday in tight. It was as if she was in the world’s most luxurious, heated straight jacket.

Melting into Enid’s shoulder, Wednesday let out a contented sigh. Maybe, more than this just being a worthwhile experiment, this is what she’d been unknowingly feeling for and seeking from Enid for years. The silence now broken, the can of worms opened, the floodgates unlocked… Wednesday had a sudden feeling that there was no going back from this.

She might not be ready to admit to Enid yet, but part of Wednesday could already imagine growing old with this girl, and, even after that, she wanted their bones to rest side by side for all eternity.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: Bad to Worse

In which Wednesday's stalker gets desperate and escalates her plans

As much as Wednesday would’ve preferred to not have to see another living soul besides Enid for a good week or more, only minutes after the hug that all but sealed her soul to Enid (oh no, was her mind slipping already, like her father?), Agnes texted to check that she was okay to return to the dorm room, and bring Yoko. Enid offered that they could say no, but Wednesday relented, deciding that there was no logical reason to refuse them and hoping just a little that she could regain something of her normal composure if forced into it by others. Not that this wasn’t a euphoric (if unexpected) development in her personal life, but positive emotions such as euphoria would take some getting used to. One builds up tolerance to new poisons in small doses, after all.

This would change more than just how Wednesday herself saw Enid, however. It would seep and spread throughout her life, reshaping the perspective of all her acquaintances, never to allow Wednesday to return to simply being solely herself, untethered. This she accepted, but that didn’t necessarily erase the trepidation.

“Agnes, Yoko, I must inform you that Enid and I are now courting,” Wednesday announced once they arrived and the door was closed behind them, not even waiting for them to sit or say hello.

“Wends! You didn’t need to tell everyone right away,” Enid yelped.

“It is a non-negligible development that I do not wish to make uncomfortable through misinterpretation,” said Wednesday.

What Wednesday had expected was some combination of the following:

• Shock (Wednesday Addams does not do romance!);
• Confusion (Wednesday Addams must have finally gone mad and is rambling!);
• Fear (Wednesday Addams must be plotting something, and this cannot be safe for Enid!);

Or, perhaps, and this prediction brought with it the most anxiety for Wednesday:

• Enthusiasm (Wednesday Addams is disgustingly human and has feelings and we need to celebrate this in the most nauseating yet inane ways imaginable!).

What Wednesday had not expected was the almost dismissive, seemingly unfazed reaction that this news received. It was almost impressive, the two recently arrived girls showing little expression on their faces that nearly rivalled Wednesday’s own characteristic stoicism.

Agnes responded first. “I honestly didn’t expect this to happen until after we’d solved the whole stalker thing. You don’t typically have bandwidth for more than one thing at a time, Wednesday.”

“Well, I did sit her down for a rather candid conversation, even if this wasn’t the outcome that I specifically went into it with,” Enid said. Her face had gone completely red, and she had sunk into sitting on her own bed with hands nervously in her lap.

“I resent both the implication that I am not intellectually flexible and that you believed you predicted this, little psycho,” said Wednesday.

This got a laugh from Yoko, who added, “Oh, Addams. Agnes wasn’t off in some unhinged delusion of her own. We’ve all been waiting for this.”

Wednesday shot a look at Enid, who went even more flushed. Enid said, “What? Why do I get singled out for what they said?”

“Because you must have told them that you had… intentions regarding me.”

“Hardly,” said Agnes. “I mean, sure, we eventually cornered her and got the truth. But she’s been giving you eyes since, like, I first met you.”

“The wildcard wasn’t Enid, it was you,” Yoko said. The Vampire took a step forward, standing right on the boundary of Wednesday’s personal space, and Wednesday had to resist the instinct to take a step back. Yoko was still giving a sly smile, but it almost felt predatory. Wednesday would not be intimidated by this parasite, over something as trivial as romance. “I pinned her as batting for both teams right when we first met. For you, however, I had the odds at about eighty-five per cent that you were already fully head over heels, and fifteen per cent that we were misreading your serial killer vibes as repressed romantic interest.”

“I can still give serial killer vibes even if I engage in a romantic relationship,” Wednesday said defensively.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Yoko asked. Her posture relaxed, still amused. “Anyway, you’re not the most subtle around Enid. I just wasn’t one hundred per cent because even my highly refined gaydar was a little confused as to whether you were fruity or just cuckoo.”

“I did not claim to be gay, Tanaka.”

Yoko raised an eyebrow. “And yet…”

“I understand that I am courting an individual of my own gender. But, as I understand it, to be a ‘lesbian’ would require me to experience sexual attraction toward women,” said Wednesday. Surely that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But…” said Yoko. Now the Vampire did seem to physically retreat, if only half a step. Her gaze flicked to Enid with what seemed like concern, and then back to Wednesday. “I—what? But you like Enid, right? Or is this some weird Addams thing that I don’t understand, or…? Enid, is Wednesday—”

Not wanting to know what Yoko was about to accuse Wednesday of doing (as if she would ever cause any intentional harm to Enid), she cut her off, saying, “Yoko, I like Enid. I do not look at women and experience carnal desires. Those two statements are not mutually exclusive. The way that you view your partner and other people is foreign to me. It does not lessen my commitment to this courtship. But it does require you to shift your expectations of what, for me, said courtship entails.”

“Sorry, Addams, I didn’t mean—” Yoko said, but trailed off.

“Wednesday?” Agnes asked, getting her attention. There was a subtle shift around the edges of the younger girl, which didn’t show often, but Wednesday knew meant that she was pushing herself through fear at what she was about to say, and refusing to turn invisible. “Um, you don’t have to pick a label, but it is possibly worth you looking to whether you think you could be ace?”

Wednesday gave Agnes a quizzical look. “You suggest that as if I am unfamiliar with the term. Quite the contrary. I have for many years considered myself unequivocably asexual and aromantic. I simply do not see the point of announcing this to anyone. I had no interest in people, so it was none of their business. Though I would’ve been content as a unique being among ignoble animals, it nevertheless was gratifying as a child to find that there was a definitive subset of humanity who were capable of prioritising their brains over their loins. This… personal development between Enid and myself, it brings the second part of that identity into question, but I do not believe it invalidates the first”—a breath out, which showed a little more annoyance than Wednesday intended—“Now, I did not intend to explain my entire psychological profile, merely provide you with a factual update. May we move on?”

“Yeah, guys, don’t be weird about Wends and I dating. We’re totally chill about it,” Enid said. She had risen quietly during Wednesday’s speech, and stepped up next to her, crossing her arms and giving the other two girls a withering stare that didn’t quite come off as convincing.

This wasn’t even something that Wednesday and Enid had found the chance to fully discuss yet, and Wednesday pushed down her quiet fury at being forced to do so in front of others. But they needed to understand what… insinuations and assumptions that she would and wouldn’t tolerate from their friends. Enid’s proximity, right at her shoulder, strangely helped, despite how their closeness more generally was the trigger for this debacle. (Also, Wednesday was subtly hopeful, with how gentle and careful Enid had been in initiating the conversation that brought them to this point, and how she somehow managed to read Wednesday so accurately even in the face of all of Wednesday’s emotional fortifications, that her proclamations about her identity wouldn’t have shaken Enid and caused division between them after literally only minutes of the start of their courtship. Right?)

But, neither Yoko nor Agnes pushed the matter any further. They simply rolled their eyes in almost perfect unison. Yoko conceded, “I’m not looking to get staked in the heart tonight, so, sure, backing off. Enid, I’m sure that you’ll have more to share when your beau is not present to be thoroughly mortified.”

Enid giggled, blushing again. “Um, yeah, I might…”

Somewhat naively (which was not a state of mind that she tended to ever find herself in), Wednesday had assumed that they would be forced to wait around, carrying out some research but otherwise at another standstill, until the stalker made her next move. (That was, if she wasn’t forced to endure more interrogation about her relationship with Enid.) They still didn’t have any meaningful way of tracking this enigmatic psychic down, after all. And, well, the stalker did indeed make the next move, it just didn’t require them to wait very long at all…

Seemingly, directly encountering Wednesday and Enid in the woods, and almost being bested by the Werewolf, had put their stalker on edge, and pushed her into much more desperately going on the offense. Maybe the stalker even thought that they had seen her clearly enough to identify her again. If only. But part of Wednesday couldn’t help but feel her anticipation build that this might not just drag on, leaving her in the dark, for much longer.

Scores of students gathered outside the oldest heritage building at the heart of campus, most of whom probably ought to be in their Monday morning classes, instead gawking at the extravagant threat scrawled across the aging brick and plaster. Few paths from one side of the university to the other didn’t cut right through this spot. Wednesday and the five other girls watched on as staff and law enforcement tried to tame the crowd, failing miserably. This was even more of a spectacle than Gabriella screaming as she ran through the courtyard with a bloody head wound.

Written in blood across the façade were the words:

ADDAMS

SINCLAIR

TANAKA

CARMEN

DEMILLE

REYES

ALL THESE MUST FALL

The text covered essentially the entire front face of the building. It was clearly not just red paint, as the eviscerated corpse of what looked like might have once been a goat was splayed out at the base of the steps leading up to the main doors. Its chest cavity was rent open and the entire scene looked disturbingly ritualistic. From where the goat was positioned, more blood had been used to draw out radial lines that snaked right across this particular courtyard in all directions, and out across campus. These had likely been what enticed so many onlookers to find the gruesome display before it could be removed. Or, Wednesday hoped that this was merely theatrics, and there wasn’t some grand spell at play. Though she didn’t necessarily have the strongest sense for such magics, Wednesday at least couldn’t sense the kind of charged air that she had experienced with Crackstone and around some of her stronger visions. How the stalker had managed this uninterrupted was unclear, though Wednesday assumed it was related to the yet-undefined psychic abilities that this individual uniquely possessed.

“Well, fuck,” said Gabriella, her voice quiet and her complexion going deathly pale.

“Fucking fuck,” was Yoko’s eloquent response in agreement.

Within half an hour, the entire space in front of the central building had been cleared of people. Police had put up tape barriers, and workers were in the process of erecting scaffolding in front of the message to both obscure the words and likely begin the process of cleaning up the mess. The goat was nowhere to be seen, which Wednesday was particularly annoyed about, as it was likely her best chance of getting another psychic glimpse at the stalker, given what she had experienced with the dog a little over a week before.

The six of them named in blood had been rounded up. Wednesday had no desire for her own detective work to be interrupted or entangled with the police, but given that five of the university’s students had been very explicitly identified and threatened (plus Agnes, a minor), it appeared that she had little choice. Strangely, in contrast to many of her previous investigations, Wednesday had genuinely not done anything particularly incriminating in pursuing this mystery, and though she withheld plenty on principle, found that she actually spoke honestly enough when interrogated until the cops were finally willing to let her go. She didn’t even need to be nervous that the others would break and spill anything inconsistent with her own story. Sure, the assigned investigators would likely make some inappropriate comments about Outcasts, but there was nothing problematic to spill.

By the afternoon, all classes for the rest of the week had been cancelled. Students who were able were encouraged to go home or find other accommodation. Police crawled every inch of the campus, and stood posted outside of all dormitory buildings. The university administration was in full damage-control mode, releasing statements about prioritising student safety and putting its entire focus on ensuring that campus could reopen (without danger) as soon as police had apprehended the individual in question. All in all, it was exhausting even to just watch, let alone when Wednesday was forced to answer the same questions several times over, or confirm written statements, or remind her interrogators that it was unacceptable to victim blame her or her friends because of their Outcast status.

Then, by the evening, Lurch had arrived with the Addams family hearse. A significant part of Wednesday wanted to stay on campus, elusively shadow the official investigation, and corner the stalker once and for all. However, the stalker had followed them all the way to the woods, and had been watching her (at least via visions) while at Nevermore, which was a long distance away. Despite now living here full time, Wednesday admitted that she was not embedded enough in this city to have the home advantage. Hopefully, in returning home, the stalker would follow again, and this time find that the full might and strangeness of the Addams clan stood between her and her prey. Wednesday came to the conclusion that it was the right decision to keep her friends safe, even if she itched to put herself out there as bait and bring this to a head as immediately as possible. Besides, it seemed to be a thing, now, that Wednesday Addams saved schools from serial killers. It was best for everyone (well, for Enid, and everyone else benefitted by extension) to draw away her psychic drama from a populous Normie university and city. The fires of suspicion between Normies and Outcasts, which she had already seen on display multiple times that day, would do to avoid being stoked any further.

By this point in the day, Gabriella was a complete mess. Still not sure how much trust she could summon for the relatively new addition to her life, Wednesday had nevertheless offered Gabriella to come with the rest of them back to New Jersey. But the girl simply wanted out. Her sentences had lost any real coherence, she was jumping at anyone who got too close or spoke too loudly, and her hand kept drifting to where her head wound—more symbolic than serious, but still traumatising—had been inflicted.

This was simply not her world, and for all that she had faced a crash course in all things strange and deadly with a brave face over the last week, there was clearly only so much that her mind could take. After all, seeing Enid transform over the weekend had shaken Gabriella significantly, even though she objectively had nothing to fear. Add to all of this the very obvious reminder that she was still an active target for the stalker, who seemed to know their every move, was more than Gabriella could process. Her grandfather drove across several states to collect her, and she wouldn’t look any of them directly in the eye. Wednesday just hoped that it wasn’t a mistake to allow Gabriella to go on her own, but such was outside of her control.

As so many things seemed to be these days.

And so, with Agnes claiming the passenger seat and attempting to make some kind of small talk with Lurch, the other four girls climbed into the back of the vehicle, and settled in for the long drive across a good portion of the country. Lurch had no doubt done some very dangerous driving (though not out of character) to arrive to collect them as quickly as he had.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen: Haunted by the Future, Stalked by the Past

In which Wednesday endures the drive home, and her tolerance for human company is further stretched

The scene that Wednesday watched take place in the back of the Addams family hearse, across from where she and Enid sat facing backward, was terrifying and eerie in its blend of being familiar yet a crime against all things holy and unholy.

Where Morticia and Gomez Addams would ordinarily sit, Wednesday forced into face-to-face proximity across from them, her parents giving into grotesque displays of affection and sensuality… another pair sat, instead. One tall and pale, long black hair, a sly grin on her face. Different from Morticia in her ever-present, round sunglasses and grunge attire, but nevertheless uncanny as a placeholder. The other had hair slicked back, even though no moustache, but a devoted grin and sporting a blazer (albeit one more modern). Wednesday didn’t know what was worse: to imagine Yoko and Divina as her parents; or, to picture Morticia and Gomez in teenage, vampire-and-siren form. Either way, they were equally all over one another, something about the emotional rush of being threatened by a serial killer yet getting a free holiday out of it, and travel there in a luxury vehicle, put the couple into a passionate frame of mind.

Enid had merely rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. Evidently much more inoculated to the sight. Wednesday made her usual threats—something about seared tuna with garlic, which she’d feed to Pugsley—but they were routinely ignored.

Luckily, after only about half an hour once they had left the city proper, Yoko and Divina succumbed to sleep. It was still nauseating to see them so thoroughly entwined in one another, but at least it was silent and still. Well, mostly silent. Turned out, for someone who needed oxygen less than a regular mortal, Yoko snored more than Wednesday could’ve guessed.

“Hey, do you wanna chat about, you know?” Enid asked, her voice low enough to not rouse her friends again.

They were seated with a few inches of space between, but Enid shuffled over until her hip and knee were only just not touching Wednesday. Wednesday could feel the warmth of the Werewolf anyway.

“Well, her target list has obviously expanded to include all of us. So, ultimately, we need to escalate our response as well. I am somewhat loath to add my parents to the ranks, and thus make them targets also.” Enid went to make an appreciative noise for how much Wednesday cared, but Wednesday cut her off, saying, “…only because they’ll be far too giddy to have a serial killer after them, as it’s probably been years since their last good stalking—”(an eye roll from Enid)“—but having the home advantage and keeping the inevitable destruction away from the city seemed the most strategic move. I do not want to deal with yet another semester cut short. What is the point of an education if everyone gets passed out of pity? I intend to win.”

“Right, yes, well, that does all seem sensible, but…” Enid replied, trailing off.

“That’s not what you meant, is it?”

A blush. Enid said, “No. Not really. Like, we were already being stalked, and I was already a target. The dog was a much freakier message to receive, personally. But we’ve only just, you know, evolved in our friendship, and the next day you’re about to be home. To bring me home.”

“Under extenuating circumstances,” Wednesday pointed out.

“When have you ever been in a circumstance that wasn’t extenuating?”

“If all of my life has been unusual, then by definition, from my perspective, none of it has been extenuating.”

“And yet you used the word just now,” Enid argued.

“Compared to everything else, a romantic relationship is rather out of the ordinary for me.”

“Arguing semantics to avoid the point of the conversation, however, is perfectly normal Wednesday behaviour.”

Clearly listening in, Agnes betrayed herself with a snicker.

“Shut it, little psycho,” Wednesday said. But, honestly, though she would’ve wanted to vomit had anyone else been listening in and reacted with such mockery, Wednesday’s mind made an inexplicable exception for the younger girl. Maybe it was just to be expected, given how much of their lives that she had already invisibly observed. The other option was fondness on Wednesday’s part. So it was probably just her staple stalker-ish behaviour.

Nevertheless, Enid squeezed up even closer (now pressing their legs together with a pleasant pressure), as she continued. “I just, you know—there are no expectations from me, alright? We don’t have to look a certain way to your parents, and, hell, we don’t even have to tell them. I know you chose transparency with our friends, but we can do whatever feels right or most comfortable for you.”

“Maybe… I’ll test the waters a little first. Mother will no doubt have seen something in a vision or otherwise see right through us, but her and I are at least good at dancing around one another without admitting anything, which might be better than allowing her to get all emotional and excitable about us.”

“Eventually, though, right? I know you might’ve had more than your fill of your mother’s doting, and are trying for a more neutral relationship with her after years of her pushing too hard and you pulling fully away”—Wednesday hated being so obviously seen, but it was Enid, so she supposed it came with the territory—“but, you know, I could do with a mum, even if just a borrowed one, who would actually be happy for me about us. Not right now! Your comfort is most important with your own mother this time, but someday,” Enid said.

At the mention of her own mother, the energy and joy that permeated every part of Enid’s existence dimmed just a little. Esther was about the only thing in this world that could consistently have this effect on Enid, even cut out of her life completely and only evoked indirectly. Wednesday would make her suffer, one day. (If Enid allowed it, of course.)

“Enid, dearest,” Wednesday began. This received a shocked and flushed look from Enid, to which Wednesday only rolled her eyes a little, as this is precisely what Enid had signed up for, was it not? “Pacing ourselves for my parents’ inevitably over-eager reaction to our courtship is merely for my own sanity, to give me time to adjust. I have no intention on creating additional distance between you and them. You are the love of my life, and therefore already a permanent fixture in the Addams clan. Perhaps the brightest one since Cousin Itt married Margaret, who is somehow even more pink in her attire than you’ve ever managed, but nevertheless irrevocably claimed into our family. Even should I pass away or be struck by madness, my parents will no doubt always provide you with all the love, home, and support that you could ever want or need. I intend to give all of that to you and more. Just… let me work up to the hurricane of emotions that I will need to endure first.”

“Wends… I, um, oh god,” said Enid. “I think you just broke a record in speedrunning ‘I love you.’ We only confessed yesterday!”

“I don’t understand? Did you not believe that I love you?”

Enid blushed even deeper. “I mean, yes, I hoped and believed. I’ve been in love with you for, like, years. But most people don’t say it. We hide how nervous we feel behind the word ‘like’ for as long as possible, until ‘love’ spills out when we’re finally brave enough.”

“What a strange, and disappointingly weak, social custom. Enid, I would not have accepted your affections if I did not love you. I would never court for amusement or obligation. I hope that this does not dissuade you, for I do not know how I would recover, but… my expectation was that we shall persist with one another until we rest in our graves, and even they shall be dug side by side so that we may decay together for all of eternity.”

“That’s probably the most disgusting and most romantic thing that anyone has ever said to me ever,” Enid said with a giggle. “Wednesday Addams, I love you too. I love you. Let’s just keep the dying in the far future for a while, yeah?”

“I do nothing by halves. I will love you in full. We shall live together in full. And, should I die sooner than you should like—if so, hopefully in spectacular fashion—I swear that I shall return to haunt you so that you are not alone.”

“Speedrun was right. From zero to one hundred, refusing every emotion, to this?”

“Blame my father,” Wednesday said.

“I—how so?” Enid asked.

“I will elaborate another time. Soon, I promise. But, my home would be a more appropriate venue for such a conversation than the back of a car.”

“That makes me very nervous…” Enid said.

Wednesday gave a small laugh. “Maybe it should. But, don’t worry, I think you shan’t be unpleased.”

“Maybe it’s a sapphic thing,” Enid mused. “I know we had the whole chat about asexuality—which, by the way, I didn’t know for sure, but I wondered—but I think this relationship still counts as sapphic. Anyway. You may have said ‘I love you’ on day two, but it’s basically a given that gay girls pine after each other for years, only to go from ‘do you like me?’ to ‘I love you!’ in record time. If I remember correctly, Divina let it slip to Yoko after they’d been dating for only a week.”

“If I must be typecast, at least I am still winning,” Wednesday said dryly.

Humming to herself for a moment, Enid then said, “Well, it’s not like I was much more subtle. I did tell you that you were my pack, like, super early on.”

“I didn’t realise that was a romantic confession,” Wednesday admitted. At the time, it had felt important, and yes carried with it a certain evocation of familial loyalty, but it hadn’t registered in the way that Enid seemed to be implying.

“It was and it wasn’t,” explained Enid. “Like, if you’d taken it as one, I probably would’ve run with that. But I also think that even I wasn’t ready, even if I, um, yeah, I already had a… crush. Sounds so lame to put it like that now, but still. Anyway, I think it was important that we went through everything after that moment first, continued to grow, you know?”

“I suspect that, ‘crush’ or not, you would have found me significantly less tolerable in that capacity two years ago,” Wednesday said. Then, changing topics, “I am, to be honest, rather weary. It would appear that I have tolerance yet to build up on experiencing emotions. Or, perhaps, it is anticipatory of returning home and the toll that shall take, no matter how much I am also looking forward to it.”

“You could, um…” Enid began, sounding a little nervous. “Take a nap? Like, on my legs?”

“Bold, Sinclair. But, it would seem that we have crossed the relevant threshold to take such an activity from intolerable to appropriate.”

Allowing herself to lie down, and to intentionally initiate such close contact with Enid, was a little awkward at first. Wednesday did not typically bend so easily—in a literal sense—nor embrace warmth and proximity. But there was a pull there also, to indulge in the security that Enid provided. As Enid would say, there was a different kind of strength in them together, from what either Wednesday or Enid could find alone. Maybe it would take the stalker a little to catch up and plan her next move, but Wednesday nevertheless needed all of her reserves of strength to readjust to being home, with Enid, and perhaps she could find that strength in allowing herself to rest. Here, safe, with her Werewolf.

Small snippets of the recurrent dream-vision that Wednesday and Enid had shared in the woods returned to haunt Wednesday as she dozed. However, her mind somehow knew the difference, that this wasn’t a returned assault of the psychic attack, but merely memories. Or, perhaps, there was some psychic residue, echoes of that night, but Wednesday felt (thankfully) more detached and less trapped. Being vaguely aware of the warmth of Enid’s thigh beneath her head, easily radiating through her tights, seemed to help as well. Still, it wasn’t a nice dream by any stretch, especially not with its association with how that night had ended.

Wednesday didn’t know how long had passed, but found herself being gently shaken awake by Enid after what must have been a few hours. Those same sensations upon waking, as she had experienced after falling asleep on Enid when they had left for the woods on the last Friday evening, all still persisted. Warmth, softness, Enid’s claws lightly scratching her scalp and running through her hair. This time, however, Wednesday recognised what each experience was, rather than the confusion that had resulted in panic the last time. Letting out a soft sigh, Wednesday blinked her eyes open, to see Enid looking down at her with the most gentle expression.

“Hey, Wends. Wake up, my love,” said Enid.

“I have to admit,” Wednesday said, after a moment to fully rouse herself. She extracted herself from Enid’s lap, but still stayed leaned into the girl’s side. “It’s the most exquisite form of torture to awaken only to be blinded immediately by your radiance.”

Enid giggled, saying, “Somehow, you’re a completely different person and yet still the most Wednesday you’ve ever been.”

“Do not worry. I remain as cold and as violent as ever. But you are on the inside now, bound to my heart, with all of my coldness and my violence in service to you.”

“Dark, but romantic, I think?” said Enid.

“Remember, cara mia, you have come to my aid and defended me with your fangs and claws more times than I have for you. I must simply spend the rest of my life repaying that debt.”

“If you two can stop gushing for a minute—god, Wednesday, if you’d wanted me to stop staking you two years ago, you could’ve just crushed my image of you like this!—we woke her up for a reason, remember, wolfie?” Agnes said over her shoulder from the front seat. But there was no real bitterness, even if Wednesday could detect some distinct nervousness.

“What happened? I assumed we were stopping, but is there a problem?” Wednesday asked.

Enid said, “Agnes thought that the car behind us had been there for a suspiciously long time. We conferred, and think it’s been right on our tail since we left. And it’s been hours, including multiple turn offs.”

This caused Wednesday to sit straight, the hint of a frown showing in her eyes. “Have we tried to shake them, to see how they react?”

“No, we thought we’d ask you first. Have only just talked about this,” said Agnes. “Should we try now?”

Thinking for a moment, Wednesday shook her head, and then replied, “Maybe not, actually. I’d be interested to observe them for a while.”

Conveniently enough, Wednesday and Enid were seated where they could look out the rear window of the hearse. It was partially tinted, and the car following them wasn’t so close behind that the driver was specifically discernible. A somewhat run down, olive green sedan, unassuming except for the fact that a stalker would naturally want their car to appear unassuming. Wednesday quietly committed the registration plate to memory, just in case.

For the next half hour or so, including through one fairly significant fork in the road where the other direction headed toward a major city, the green vehicle continued to follow. Too far behind to really be hassling them, but consistent enough that Wednesday’s suspicions only grew. If this person was tailing them, the stalker or otherwise, they weren’t specifically trying to hide the fact. But perhaps they thought that staying further back would be more obvious to someone who would recognise such things, like Wednesday, and were trying to act like they were just an ordinary traveller who happened to be going in the same direction. Lurch was also taking routes that avoided populous areas, allowing him to maintain speed and cut corners with fewer witnesses, and still the other car stayed right behind them.

“Let’s work on whether you can make a whole car invisible, Agnes,” Wednesday noted at one point. “Whatever attempt this person is making is a little pathetic, or else they’re very confident. Either way, they could use some subtlety.”

“That seems like a stretch, but sure, we can give it a go—later,” said Agnes. “But, could they just be going the same way as us? What do you think?”

“Lurch, once around the next corner where we briefly lose sight of them, slow right down. I want to see how close they’re willing to get, and if we can make out who it is,” Wednesday said by way of reply. “Be ready, pay attention, both of you, in case we only have a moment to get a glimpse.”

Without anything more than a low grunt, Lurch did as told. The current terrain was fairly windy, as they were moving through hills, the road twisting and turning between or up and over the regular changes in elevation. So, it wasn’t long before they rounded a bend tight enough that the sedan disappeared for a good twenty seconds or so, and Lurch breaked slowly enough to not let the vehicle screech noticeably.

Moments later, the green car appeared behind them, and Lurch was now driving slowly enough that the other driver needed to slam on their own breaks to avoid a collision. Still, the angle was awkward and the moment still brief, and Wednesday only got a vague look at what seemed to be a dark-haired man with glasses. Of course, that didn’t mean that this person wasn’t following them, it just reduced the chances that it was the stalker herself, maybe only someone associated with her.

What Wednesday did not expect was for the other car to react so poorly to the sudden stop, breaks and tires screaming in protest. As it came to a complete halt, there was already some smoke seeping out from the bonnet, and the entire vehicle shuddered concerningly. It stayed there, the driver potentially unable to start it up again, looking for all the world like they had prematurely brought the car to the end of its miserable life.

“Should we, I dunno, help?” Enid asked.

“Not if it’s the stalker!” replied Agnes.

“No, actually, maybe this is a good chance. There are six of us, if we wake the idiots up, in the middle of nowhere. We have the upper hand, still some lingering surprise, and the opportunity to resolve whether this is in fact someone who needs to be… dealt with,” said Wednesday. It was a good plan, if one that didn’t allow a lot of time for refinement, but at least it would get them some kind of answer sooner rather than later.

“If you’re sure…” said Enid.

“Enid, beloved. You are the most frightening and lethal of all of us. It will be fine,” Wednesday insisted.

“Aww, that’s so sweet, Wends!”

Rousing Yoko and Divina, though Wednesday decided that Lurch should probably still wait with the car, in case somehow this was still a trap despite seeming like they had the upper hand, the five girls exited the vehicle. Agnes did what she could to slip out invisible, taking any advantage that they could get. The sleepy couple protested a little, but pulled themselves together fairly quickly upon hearing what had occurred.

“I hunger for this bitch’s blood, fucking stalker,” Yoko grumbled. It was unclear if this was simply her usual melodrama, the truthful result of her anger, or merely her being surly about having been woken up. Still, points for the right attitude.

As they cautiously approached, Enid right by Wednesday’s shoulder at the front, the impact on the other car became increasingly more obvious. It was not going anywhere anytime soon. The particular green wasn’t so much a choice as an inevitability for such an old vehicle, and Wednesday, despite knowing little about most cars, had to wonder why the driver trusted it at all to make such a long trip. The driver had also exited, and was leaning over the bonnet, potentially trying to figure out how to lift it open while avoiding making things worse.

“Who are you and why have you been following us?” Wednesday called out, some few metres back.

“Following you…? What, sorry? Did you do that on purpose?” the young man responded, turning around to stare at them. A pause, and then, “Wait, Wednesday?”

“A stranger knowing who I am does little to assuage the stalker allegations,” Wednesday said.

“Hey, I haven’t stalked you since that time you tried to teach me in middle school, and immediately decided that I was hopeless and shouldn’t bother trying again.”

Wednesday frowned, trying to piece together… “Joel?”

“Oh good, I’m not as forgettable as you made me fear,” said Joel Glicker with a broad grin. It was a little crooked, like always, but seemed more certain than his anxious expressions when they were younger. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“And yet, you have changed,” Wednesday pointed out.

Joel was one of her few friends from her early teenage years, though they had only ever once been at the same school and that had only lasted a few months. However, there were a good few years where Joel was her parents’ go-to invitee whenever they decided that Wednesday needed company to an event or over a break. Neither had ever been sent back to Chippewa, but had nevertheless formed some kind of bond over their shared trauma. Wednesday had a brief image of how much Enid might have fit in at summer camp, and shuddered. (The consolation was that Enid had, firstly, a brain, and secondly, the ability to rip every one of those other girls limb from limb.)

The boy standing before her, smiling far too joyously for someone who was now stuck in the middle of nowhere without a functioning form of transportation, had definitely changed. He was now definitively taller than Wednesday—had possibly shot up more than Pugsley, even—and his hair and glasses, though still very nerdy, also suggested a little more intentionality. A self-aware kind of nerdiness, of someone who had grown into themselves. He still wore a checkered and collared shirt, but one that just maybe his overbearing mother hadn’t bought for him. Most of all, however, was a sort of calm in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Holding her with a mock-critical eye, Joel responded, “Yet, I’m not sure that you’ve changed at all.”

“I have focused any personal growth internally, upon refining the depravity of my mind,” said Wednesday.

“Right, naturally. Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” Joel asked.

“I suppose it is polite, and I would rather not leave you to all make introductions without my mediation,” said Wednesday. She bumped slightly against Enid’s shoulder, saying, “This is Enid Sinclair. Terrifying in Werewolf form. Even more terrifying in her pastel outfits and platform shoes. As of very recently, she is my… well, the modern word is ‘girlfriend,’ I suppose.”

At this, Joel’s eyes absolutely lit up, a mixture of surprise and pride. “Oh my god, you have changed, then. Imagine it! Wednesday Thursday Friday Addams, in love?”

“I will ensure that you meet the same fate as your car for using that nickname,” she threatened.

But Joel ignored her. He looked to Enid with a conspiratorial smile, and said, “Best part is, it abbreviates to W.T.F.”

“That’s so good,” said Enid, in a stage whisper as if pretending that Wednesday wasn’t right there. “Thank you for the inspiration.”

“Moving swiftly onward,” said Wednesday. “Behind me are my ex-girlfriend’s groupies, Yoko Tanaka and Divina Carmen.”

“She’s already told Enid that they’ll be buried together, so ignore her,” said Divina. “Nice to meet you, Joel, was it?”

“I thought you were asleep!” Wednesday said with an accusatory bark.

“Only mostly. I thought you were a cold-blooded cryptid, and yet here we are.”

Wednesday sighed, regretting every minute of all eighteen years of her life. Attempting to recover, she gestured toward where Agnes stood, who then popped back into visibility. “And this is Agnes, a much more competent though still ultimately failed stalker of mine, who I have converted into a sycophant who serves my bidding.”

“By which she means I’m the only person other than Enid who regularly got invited to movie nights when we were all still at high school. Pleasure,” said Agnes.

“Your friends are all very… Addams-esque,” said Joel. Though clearly referencing their various strange abilities, he had barely reacted to Agnes’ reappearance, nor to the comment about Enid being a Werewolf. Despite the intervening years, Joel seemed to not have lost his conditioning to all things spooky and kooky.

“I was forced to attend a school for the supernaturally deranged,” Wednesday said, as if that explained everything.

“It’s called Nevermore. Caters to Outcast teens,” supplied Agnes. “Wednesday herself is still an outlier, even by our standards, though.”

“Naturally,” said Joel with yet another wonky grin.

“And, everyone,” Wednesday interrupted to continue. “This is Joel Glicker. World-record holder for the most allergies, once my unlikely counterpart brought together by the extreme torment that was summer camp, and a tolerable lackey if you ever need to carry out a coup against a bigoted regime.”

“That’s basically as high praise as anyone can get in Wends-speak,” said Enid. “Damn, Joel, it must’ve really been quite some trauma bonding.”

The inevitable outcome of this strange reunion was, of course, everyone else insisting that they give Joel a lift. Wednesday conceded, considering that his breakdown was in fact her fault, and it was maybe tolerable to see him again. A tow truck was called, and Wednesday insisted that they simply wreck the car and she’d pay him back for it. Apparently, Joel was not particularly attached (“It was all I could afford, and never once did I have a good time in that death trap”). After transferring a suitcase and some other loose items, he took the seat next to Yoko, across from Wednesday.

“Do you also live in New Jersey, Joel?” Enid asked.

“Nearby enough,” he replied. “But, honestly, what shocked me more was seeing Wednesday’s name written in blood. Not the blood, of course, nor the threat. Just that we’d ended up in the same place again, on the other side of the country.”

“You’re at uni with us?”

“Kind of. My programme is split across two schools in town. Only so many marine palaeontologists to go around, I guess.”

“You study dead fish?” Yoko asked. “Somehow, not surprised, for Wednesday’s friend.”

“Dead aquatic reptiles, but sure,” said Joel with an awkward laugh. “Though, to be fair, I’ve encountered at least two species that everyone else believes to be extinct for millennia in the time I’ve spent with the Addams.”

“Of course you have.”

The conversation was hypothetically palatable, but Wednesday still found herself shrinking into her seat. She liked Joel, one of the few people that she could admit as much about. And it should’ve been gratifying to see him get on well with her girlfriend (apparently, Wednesday was allowing herself to settle for that word) and their other acquaintances. But she had a nervous suspicion that the result of this strange collision of worlds was going to be more teasing and torture (not the good kind) for her.

Trying not to sound too bitter, as he didn’t do anything to deserve it, Wednesday asked, “Where were you headed, Joel? If it’s not too far off our route, we can drop you all the way.”

“Oh, just home, given, you know, the whole serial killer business. I could’ve hidden away at my dingy apartment, but I needed a break and it was a good enough excuse since almost half of my classes are cancelled. Was planning to stay with dad—of course, since neither of us are talking to mum still—but even that’s not going to be all that great.”

That felt very candid to Wednesday, for something for Joel to be sharing with a group of mostly strangers. However, she reminded herself that he had always worn his heart on his sleeve. They were outsiders for very different reasons, even if they’d found a strangely functional dynamic between them. It wasn’t entirely unlike how Wednesday and Enid’s friendship had been for much of their time at Nevermore. Perhaps Wednesday should’ve seen more of a pattern earlier—Joel, Eugene, Enid—but each had been so unexpected and so unique that she didn’t stop to think of any of them as more than a complete anomaly. Though, that wasn’t fair either; none of the misfits who had become the cheese to her chalk, so to speak, deserved to be reduced to merely a pattern or a stereotype. But there did seem to be a certain type of person, counterintuitive though it was, who Wednesday initially found intolerable but grew to appreciate. Something about… contradicting her but accepting her, not trying to change the parts of her that everyone else feared, but accidentally changing something deeper along the way. Enid would have a better way of explaining it.

“God, tell me about it,” Enid said. “The parental trauma in this car alone is through the roof, Wednesday aside. Yes, I know, dear”—after a sharp look from Wednesday—“your affectionate, supportive, doting mother and father gave you such trauma. Hence why we’re all going to crash at the Addams’. Well, that and drawing out and dealing with the stalker.”

“Yeah, I guess we brushed over that,” said Divina. “Honestly, Joel, you’re right. Wednesday’s love life is actually a lot more surprising than having a violent killer on our trail, at this point.”

Joel laughed, a hearty, genuine sound. His confidence seemed a lot higher than when he had been under his mother’s thumb and not given the chance to be himself. He said, “Death does follow the Addams, though only sometimes like a bloodhound. Often, more like a needy puppy.”

“We’d still rather not let it catch us this time,” Enid said.

“Of course. Just know that it’ll always be nipping at your heels, now that you’ve been… inducted? Is that an appropriate way of putting it?”

For anyone else, the idea that their new relationship brought with it such an intimate link with death would’ve been terrifying. But, Wednesday found herself pleased when Enid simply laughed. That really was what made their emerging relationship different—Enid had seen all of Wednesday’s strangeness, had taken it in stride, and had instead focused on making sure that Wednesday was safe and felt seen regardless. All reservations aside, she decided that she was glad that Joel and Enid seemed to be getting on well.

Of course, until Enid said the inevitable, which Wednesday should’ve seen coming and found a way to prevent. “Well, Joel, if it’s really going to be a bit awful for you to stay with your dad, I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Addams would be happy for you to visit again, right Wednesday?”

“Oh! It’s been forever, but honestly sounds great,” Joel said, beaming his lopsided smile. “Don’t ask Wednesday, though, she’ll try to say they’d rather not have me. But Morticia and Gomez are great, so I’d definitely like to at least swing by and say hello.”

This was going to be what killed her. The stalker couldn’t compete with whatever social hell this would become.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen: Creepy and Kooky and Claustrophobic

In which Wednesday's social capacity continues to be under the executioner's axe

After several hours of witnessing the beginning of her own demise (that is, Enid and Joel becoming fast friends), Wednesday had never been more relieved to see the decrepit towers of the Addams family manor rise over the trees and wrought iron gate. It was Tuesday morning, Lurch having driven them through the night. Over the years, more and more of the surrounding land had either been abandoned or bought up by the Addams, which in addition to the forest that already existed behind the graveyard, resulted in a remarkable amount of seclusion from what Wednesday remembered from when she was much younger. It was definitely an improvement on having neighbours like the Womacks, though Gomez still bemoaned the lack of a good golf target.

The gate creaked open of its own accord, allowing Lurch to bring the hearse up and around to the front entrance for the full dramatic effect. (For all of his tendencies toward silence, the butler still possessed a strong Addams flair.) Usually, if she had been returning home alone, Wednesday would’ve simply gone in from the back, and straight up to her room without needing to pass through any of the main halls, after Lurch pulled up directly under the coach house. But this was the first time that several of the guests had ever visited, and even Enid hadn’t been in the most lucid and appreciative state during her previous arrival, so Wednesday allowed Lurch his little performance. At least, allowed him the opportunity to bask in the dumbfounded reactions of the newest visitors at their first sight of the house, but upon pulling to a stop, Wednesday had other plans.

Naturally, the manor doors remained resolutely shut. However, Wednesday knew that this wasn’t to suggest any indifference from her parents. Morticia and Gomez were no doubt pretending as best they could to be ready to be surprised upon their guests arriving, and they too would be indulging in the performance of bursting through the doors with all of the melodrama that the pair could muster, right at the last minute.

This time, Wednesday decided that she would play along, but not in the way that they expected. No, if there was to be drama, she wanted the upper hand.

“Agnes,” Wednesday suggested, coating her voice in a particular sheen of nonchalance that she knew would raise the suspicions of the other passengers. Enid and Agnes especially. “I expect that my parents are beside themselves with glee, giggling maniacally behind the front doors, waiting to put on a show for everyone. Wouldn’t it be a shame if we turned the tables on them, instead?”

The younger girl did not always possess the same degree of darkness within Wednesday, but she would nevertheless have made a fine Addams with how eager she could be for a good prank. Agnes grinned out the words, “What do you have in mind?”

Slipping out the far side of the car from the manor, after instructing Lurch to take as much time as he could unloading the various suitcases, Wednesday had Agnes carefully escort each of the other guests around the house invisibly. Joel and Enid both knew the house well enough by now, even if it had been a little while, so were able to ensure that Agnes, Yoko, and Divina found their way to the rear entrance that Wednesday had mused on earlier.

Climbing back into the hearse, only to emerge on the side facing the house as if only departing the vehicle for the first time now, Wednesday closed the door behind her with a slam. All hint toward mischief erased from her face, under her well-trained mask of impassivity, Wednesday calmly took her time ascending the steps to the front doors, and knocked definitively with the brass ring.

As predicted, the doors swung wide, pulling inward. Gomez and Morticia, though always presentable, stood particularly tall as they each took a step forward, arm in arm, Gomez already calling before he could see who stood there, “Welcome, honoured friends, to the…”

He paused. Wednesday filled the silence with: “Hello, Father. I do not require such an ostentatious welcome, though I am equal parts gratified and horrified that you place such value on my presence. I shall be sure to remind Pugsley who the favourite is.”

“Mi tormenta, we—” her father began. “Well, we were under the impression that you would be bringing guests.”

“You were quite insistent on the phone with Lurch, my dear, that there would be several others. We thought at first that he must have misheard just how many other actual living people you had invited with you,” added her mother.

“You are well aware that I prefer solitude. Has my absence truly addled your minds so greatly that you misremember me as a pathetic socialite?” Wednesday asked.

Gomez chuckled, a still genuine sound as he was enjoying the back and forth with his daughter, but Wednesday nevertheless caught a hint of his uncertainty. “Of course not, little viper. Our memory of you remains as off putting as ever. We had just… misunderstood.”

“Yeah, Wednesday, we didn’t understand. But of course you haven’t made any friends, how silly of us to think,” came a voice from behind her parents. Enid appeared in the hall around a corner. Of course Enid would take the chance to turn the moment around on Wednesday, at least a little.

“Welcome home, my violent, evil, chaotic princess of darkness,” added Yoko. (Wednesday made a mental note to check that she still had holy water stashed in her bathroom cabinet for… later use.)

Agnes appeared out of her invisibility, Joel with her. The younger girl said, “And who is this riffraff darkening our doorstep?”

Apparently, they had all come up with lines to greet her, none of which left Wednesday with any control over this interaction anymore. Though, it did take her parents a brief second to recover, and even achieving that was a triumph. Before Joel or Divina (who stepped out beside Yoko) could chime in with their two cents, Gomez was already letting out a full-bellied laugh.

“Aha, well played! A fine, if non-violent, surprise to receive on this delightfully overcast morning,” her father exclaimed. Generally throwing his arms wide for whoever would take him up on a hug, he surveyed the guests arrayed already inside their home. Both Enid and Joel stepped into the embrace, because of course they did.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that our dearest wolf is incorrect. These do, in fact, appear to be friends, Wednesday,” said Morticia.

“Mother, I have collected tolerable acquaintances. If I cannot be in this house alone, it will be preferable to at least have an alternative to listening to yourself and father get carried away with your… nauseating tendencies.”

With that, Morticia stepped back with a smile that seemed far too pleased and soft to Wednesday. (So what, she had friends? Wednesday could still kill half a dozen men while blindfolded, and Morticia was not one to talk when her only company was her husband and a semi-sentient houseplant.) Wednesday strode inside the manor with her typical assured pace, and informed her parents that they would tolerate proper introductions and reunions over lunch. And not a minute sooner.

“Very well, get settled,” said Morticia. Then, clearly unable to help herself at playing host a little, added, “It is wonderfully unpleasant to see you all, girls. And Joel! What a horrific surprise. Make yourselves at home. Let me know if anything is too comfortable, and I’ll see that it is resolved right away.”

Naturally, the Addams’ home was more than large enough to provide rooms for the current set of guests. There was, of course, some things to tidy up to make it more… accommodating. Several deceased family members needed to be gently intimidated to not haunt certain areas too dramatically for the duration of the stay. One of the spare bedrooms had the overflow of Pugsley’s explosives collection, which Wednesday unceremoniously shoved back in his own room—and who was to say if she left it in such a state that it was highly likely to detonate on him when he next opened the door. But, overall, the Addams may have been strange, but they were nothing if not excellent hosts. Gomez apologised to each of the spiders whose webs he dusted in the room assigned to Joel (the spiders themselves politely relocated, of course), and Morticia had found a particularly nice coffin stashed in the dungeon for Yoko’s comfort.

In the end, the lodging arrangements were as follows:

• Joel was given the same room that he had previously used, which had gathered dust that he would find problematic in the years since his last visit, but they did their best to ensure that it was allergen-free. He insisted that they leave the cursed portrait of a long-dead cousin thrice removed, as it added to the ‘charm’ of the place (his words). At least it only made threatening noises every fourth night, and the blood that it dripped disappeared without staining anything at sunrise.
• Yoko and Divina were offered a space with its own ensuite, as well as secret access to the ancient sewerage network that led all the way to the nearby lake, for if their Siren guest felt the urge for a swim. It was on the ground floor, and had even sunken a little into the earth over the years, to give Yoko that homely, dungeon-like feeling. (Both were very polite about how… ‘considerate’ and ‘thoughtful’ these things were.)
• Agnes had been set up in a small room largely used for storing the furniture that Gomez had acquired in the hopes that it would be haunted, but stashed here if it proved to be a disappointment. In sum, it was remarkably close to the exact furnishings needed for a bedroom, though Agnes would need to endure an unreasonable number of nightstands for only one bed. (Six, if you could believe it!) This room was the only one within proximity to Wednesday’s own bedroom, occupying half of the next floor down in her tower.
• Finally, Enid would stay on a low bed and mattress that she and Lurch managed to maneuverer up the narrow stairwell in Wednesday’s tower, in Wednesday’s room. Wednesday specifically did not want to get carried away and suggest that Enid join her in her own bed, as that was something likely still some distance into the future, not to mention that they hadn’t told Wednesday’s parents yet. The raised eyebrow from Morticia still filled Wednesday with indignant fury.

However, the process of moving everybody in quickly chewed up the entire morning, and the lunch over which Wednesday had promised to allow her parents to exercise their nosiness was upon them before she felt mentally prepared. Wandering around the manor to collect her various guests, Wednesday led quite the parade toward the main dining hall. Ordinarily, lunch was an affair that took place at the rustic table in the kitchen itself, with the dining hall reserved for dinners or important occasions. Today, though, Wednesday (correctly) predicted that Morticia and Gomez weren’t willing to wait until evening to celebrate having visitors. (Or, maybe more accurately, overexert themselves in response to the perceived need for celebration that Wednesday had so many friends.)

As predicted, throwing open the doors to the dining hall, a full Addams-style spread was laid out across the blood-red table runner, the right number of high-backed chairs pulled out for the gathering, and each suit of armour along the side walls assuming their most formal postures. Luckily for the other students, though it may have been amusing to see their reaction to only having the Addams’ finest cuisine on display, there was also relatively ordinary food spread throughout as well. Roadkill on one plate was balanced out with roast chicken on another. Mystery soup (featuring ingredients that still moved) and not-so-mystery soup (barley and sacrificial goat, which was relatively normal) were both available. There were breads with and without crickets baked in. And, most guests had something tailored to their unique tastes as Outcasts, even though all of them could’ve eaten regular food if necessary. Blue-rare roast beef for Enid. A pitcher of blood for Yoko (with only a small chance of being human blood). An entire raw fish, seemingly cured in lemon and salt, for Divina. And a hamburger for Joel (this, a standing joke to cater to his ‘weird’ food tastes in years past). Only Agnes was without something custom, but Wednesday had already seen Gomez sneak her a paper bag of candies and chocolates earlier, along with a ‘welcome to the family’ hug that Wednesday decided to let slide.

It would be a little strange to have this meal without Pugsley, but Wednesday supposed that her brother was the one member of the Addams who knew all of their guests the best. There had been quite the negotiation between the Addams’ siblings at Nevermore in Pugsley’s second year there, when he started showing up when Wednesday was already suffering through socialising with Enid’s friends. (Fine, their friends.) This was thanks to Eugene, and Wednesday was silently grateful that her first friend and her brother were getting along after a rocky start as roommates, but that did not include wanting to put up with (for example) Pugsley and Bianca in the same conversation, or Pugsley and Ajax. Of course, Pugsley’s absence didn’t mean a quiet dinner with only Morticia and Gomez. Not that any meal with her parents was ever truly quiet. However, the more family members, the higher the volume, was the general rule.

Already seated at the table, Wednesday spotted Grandmama Addams—higher on the crazy, lower on the backstabbing than Grandmother Frump—already with a plate piled high with several slices of sheep-eye aspic. (This was one classic family dish that Wednesday couldn’t stomach, not because of the eyeballs, but because of the texture of the jelly.) Next to her, buckled down with leather straps as per usual to stop him from climbing up on the table (a double standard, as Gomez would probably do the same before the meal was over), her youngest brother Pubert looked on in awe at the array of individuals who made their way into the room. While Pubert may be used to all things kooky given his family, his exposure to the wider world of Normies and less-Addams-esque Outcasts was limited. He exclaimed happily at seeing Joel, of course, and knew Enid by now, but grunge Yoko plus preppy-punk Divina plus autumnal-chic Agnes were likely more unusual in Pubert’s eyes than any of his aunts, uncles, or cousins.

Agnes, sitting to Wednesday’s left, leaned in slightly and asked, “Why do you give him a little moustache?”

“Why did the universe give you red hair?” Wednesday asked in reply.

“Wait, he actually has a moustache?”

“From the moment he was born. Hence the name ‘Pubert.’ Or, at least, I think my parents are aware of the pun, but there’s always a chance it’s the world’s most ironic coincidence and they just thought it sounded appropriate.”

“Huh,” said Agnes, sitting back slightly. “I’m not sure why that’s the thing that’s shocked me most. I barely battered an eyelid at the sentient plants, or even at the six nightstands, but a cute little kid with facial hair…”

Shrugging, Wednesday said, “My father’s genetics must just be that strong. Skipped Pugsley, of course, but a moustache would look sleazy on him anyway.”

“It’s a little sleazy on Pubert too, to be honest, but in like an adorable way. Like a child on Halloween dressed up as an old-timey gangster.”

“Oh, father shaved it for him for Halloween last year. The most frightful, over-committed costume I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something. I couldn’t sleep that night after seeing the photo. Luckily, it had grown back by morning,” said Wednesday. It was truly a memory that had left her scarred.

“Right…” said Agnes. “Um, anyway, it’s fun to be meeting your family.”

“Just you wait. They’ll be asking you personal questions and enquiring about your interests and wellbeing soon.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Have you met me?”

“Touche,” Agnes conceded, and then turned to where she became caught in conversation by Gomez. The interrogation began in exactly the way that Wednesday had just predicted.

The meal lasted long past what could reasonably be called ‘lunch.’ There was a dessert course, obviously, once again with a combination of cuisines to suit the table. Wednesday was not all that fond of sweet things, but couldn’t help but smirk a little seeing just how delighted Enid, on her right, reacted upon seeing a full, three-tiered cake frosted in blue and covered in rainbow sprinkles. How her parents (or, more likely, Lurch or Grandmama) had sourced the required ingredients on such short notice was beyond Wednesday.

“E-nid!” Pubert called across the table. A year and a bit ago, all he had managed was ‘Nid,’ but now appeared to be overemphasising the first syllable. “It’s you-cake!”

Next to Wednesday, Enid grinned brightly and replied, “It looks just like me, right, little man? Do you want some?”

“Yes please! Will have Wenday’s slice too. She’s ‘lergic,” Pubert insisted.

“Of course! Unless, maybe, should I eat the extra slice?”

“No! For meee!”

Another grin, and Enid precariously balanced two slices on the one utensil, and glanced sideways at Wednesday before fixing her gaze back on Pubert. “Are you ready?”

“Enid, no,” Wednesday said. But, there was honestly no conviction in her words. This was unavoidable.

Cake went flying across the table, sprinkles raining down across all of the other dishes (which Wednesday would now need to pick out to safely eat). Pubert, however, was no stranger to such shenanigans, and already had his bowl raised above his head to catch the airborne dessert. It nevertheless impacted his bowl hard, destroying any structural integrity that the cake had left, and resulted in a decent dollop of frosting landing in his grease-slicked hair.

“Nice catch,” congratulated Enid.

Grandmama was talking to Yoko and Divina. Asking far too probing questions. Did they drink each other’s blood? Was Yoko allergic to shallots and chives too? When was the last time that Divina lured a sailor to a watery grave? Was kissing difficult since they both had fangs? Still, the pair seemed mostly delighted at the attention, or at least at the novelty of everyone else in Wednesday’s family being more social than her, even if there was the occasional little grimace at the lack of any sense of boundaries.

The conversation between Joel and Morticia was a little to far away for Wednesday to listen into, but it seemed unnecessarily amicable.

Then there was wine and cheese and little poison shots to swill. Only grape juice and a mild cyanide blend for Pubert, of course.

Then, cigars. Well, not really a full course in its own right, but Gomez pulled a cigar out and lit it on one of the candles (usually, if Pugsley was here, her father would try to catch his lightning with the cigar still between his teeth—alas, not today), and offered around the table. Everyone refused except Yoko, who shrugged and claimed that she could wash out her lungs if needed, and that potential cancer cells in Vampires were just as dead as the rest of their cells. Gomez thought that this was the most marvellous thing, and did in fact leap up on the table in excitement. A speech followed, which Wednesday tuned out.

After a few minutes, however, Wednesday realised that someone was talking directly to her. She got an elbow from Enid, and shook out of her dissociative trance to hear her father ask, “So, we know that there was a horrifying event that brought you all here, not just for the pure pleasure of our company! Tell us what went down, my sharpest thorn?”

“We, collectively actually, have a stalker. Their dramatics scared the university administration. An excuse to leave, plus a better prepared location to lure our foe, meant that the logical conclusion was a lovely family visit,” Wednesday explained, refusing to give any emotion or detail.

“A stalker! Oh my, how thrilling,” said Morticia. “One that means you harm, I hope?”

“We have all been signalled as her targets—well, not Joel, we just destroyed his car thinking that he was tailing us—and condemned to bloody deaths.”

“Joel, dear, borrow any of the cars you like when you need to head off,” her mother offered, otherwise unfazed, before returning to the main topic. “That is quite the predicament. Do you think she has room on her hit list for a few more Addams, perhaps?”

“Mother, please do not try to steal my stalker. Find your own,” Wednesday said. Though, in all honesty, she knew that she would eventually need to enlist her parents’ support, if they were to solve this particular problem without Enid coming to harm. Or, well, any of the others two, Wednesday supposed.

“The full force of the Addams’ armoury and spellcraft is at your disposal, Dread Commander Addams,” her father said, with a formal military salute but still retaining a gleam in his eyes.

“Naturally. You couldn’t withhold them from me if you tried,” said Wednesday.

It was so easy to slip back into her usual habits at home, but Enid was laughing softly under her breath through all of it, which added a strange but endearing new layer to her family’s verbal sparring. Enid knew how to hold her own in such a conversation, as Wednesday had experienced during the Werewolf’s previous visit. (Well, once she was no longer only able to participate in meals as a Werewolf.) But she seemed content to let Wednesday work it out of her system or have the fun, whichever Enid assumed it was. And, it was surely a spectacle for Agnes, Yoko, and Divina. Each of their expressions was a mix of bemusement, awe, and humour, as they came to terms with just how Wednesday had become her unique self. They’d met her parents before, and knew Pugsley, but, here in the manor, it was an entirely different game. Especially because knives periodically flew, not just desserts, something in the mystery soup tried to escape only to be flattened into the tablecloth by Grandmama with the ladle, and at one point Gomez reenacted an entire fencing duel from his youth, one-sided, while navigating his footwork around the many dishes, candles, and other table décor.

By the time that lunch was over, it should’ve almost been time for dinner. The Addams truly did nothing by half measures.

It was almost midnight before Wednesday was finally, completely free from the clutches of socialisation. Her parents hadn’t wanted to let her friends go, and her friends hadn’t wanted to be dragged away. Only once Wednesday’s death-glares went from probably conceptual to undeniably authentic did Morticia, upon noticing, guide Gomez to begin winding down. Enid also noticed, because of course she did, and promised that the others would be able to find their own ways to bed, but that she would ensure that murder was kept to a minimum that night—by ushering Wednesday back to her (no, to their) room.

To make up for the fact that all of their linens were void-black, or at most a deep charcoal, Lurch had apparently found every cushion in the house that bore actual colour, and piled them all on Enid’s low bed. They were still mostly burgundies and olives and royal purples, or perhaps had tassels in gold or maroon, so it was a subdued rainbow, but a rainbow nevertheless. Wednesday knew that Enid would’ve been more than fine sleeping in black sheets—Wednesday’s allergies didn’t work in reverse for the Werewolf, merely an aesthetic aversion—but also that Enid would be delighted with the care and effort demonstrated by such gestures.

“Join me!” Enid called, letting herself fall backward into the mountain of pillows. They all but swallowed her form completely. Not dissimilar, Wednesday thought, to her regular pile of plush toys.

“Bold of you to trust that no one left snakes or spikes beneath the pillows, my love,” Wednesday said, settling down next to her with a little more grace.

“Nah, I know that’s how your family might show you love, or their enemies their loathing, but they’re really just big softies, and know that I’m a big softie, and would never,” Enid insisted.

“That puts them at a strategic disadvantage, if they underestimate, well, not your strength but  your willingness to do the unexpected. We can use that to our benefit,” said Wednesday.

With a laugh, Enid pulled Wednesday down into the pillows with her. “Oh, shut up. You can schedule some friendly knife throwing or something tomorrow. But, admit it, you’re glad to be home, and I know you can tell that they’re glad to have you. And that you’ve brought home friends! The circumstances may be less than ideal, but I expect that only makes your parents all the more pleased.”

“I—” Wednesday began. She could barely see through the pile of cushions, and shoved several aside until she could finally lock eyes with Enid. “I chose to come here. We didn’t strictly have to. There were other options, if necessary. But this is, in many ways, a place of safety for me. For us. Nevertheless, I do find certain elements of being home to be… challenging. I find socially engaging with several friends at once simultaneously tedious and overwhelming, and the same when I’m in a room with lots of family. Can you imagine what it does to my poor, tortured brain to endure both at the same time?”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” said Enid. “Like, no, I can’t actually imagine it, but I can nevertheless understand that it must be draining for you. And all of the teasing on top of that. You know that we tease out of affection, right?”

Wednesday sighed. “Yes. That doesn’t make it better. Sometimes, it makes it definitively worse. I felt genuinely claustrophobic at some points during lunch.”

“Maybe you can find a way to reassess how you perceive it? What if you treated it as a form of psychological torment?” Enid suggested.

“You’re honestly the next most tolerant and understanding individual about Addams’ behaviours and proclivities since Joel, but you know by now that there’s torture and then there’s torture. If we weren’t all so verbose yet unhinged at the same time, navigating the chaos of how we use and what we mean by negatives in our speech would’ve tied us all in knots by this point. Then, of course—though, you’ll admit this to no one—there’s the difference between the idea of something and the experience. Getting stabbed by an undead pilgrim? What a concept. Absolutely thrilling. Feeling the knife twist, and my vision start to blur? Would not recommend.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I do understand, Wends. Just wondered if maybe there’s a way for you to, you know, enjoy the fact that so many people care for you and want to spend time with you,” said Enid. The Werewolf pulled Wednesday in close, so that Wednesday’s head was laying on Enid’s shoulder, an arm wrapped around her back. “I certainly care for and want to spend all of my time with you.”

“Enid, beloved, never fear. You are the exception. I shall explain the ins and outs of it tomorrow, but suffice to say, it doesn’t matter if there is an ancient curse or a hyperactive strain of genetics that influences how I feel about you. It is still real, genuine, true. It may have hit me all at once, only days ago, but I think we both know that was only it reaching my conscious mind. I have loved you for years. And, thus, I care for and want to spend most of my time with you, even if I’d prefer everyone else kept far away,” Wednesday explained. She let herself include the little teasing jab in that final comment, but knew that, though she still required solitude in many ways, there would never be a day in which she wouldn’t prefer her shadow brightened by Enid.

“Your brother may have gotten the moustache, but you got your fathe…” Enid started.

“Don’t you dare,” said Wednesday, cutting her off.

In response, Enid didn’t finish the statement, as the implication had already been made more than clear. Instead, she tightened her grip around her girlfriend even further, the pair of them now truly buried beneath the avalanche of cushions. Enid drew the fingers of her other hand through Wednesday’s hair, softly scratching at her scalp with just slightly extended claws in the way that made Wednesday fully melt.

After several minutes, Enid said softly into her girlfriend’s ear, “I love you, Wednesday.”

However, Wednesday barely registered the words. Drained as she was from putting up with all of the noise and drama and teasing, she had let herself drift into sleep. Her own, fully functional bed, barely over a metre away, could be damned.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty: Lesson Planning

In which Wednesday plans for how to ready her friends for the upcoming warfare

Wednesday awoke on the morning with which she shared her name, feeling exceedingly warm and secure, but also a little itchy.

After several minutes of pulling her brain forcibly from sleep, her predicament became clear. She and Enid had spent the night curled up with one another on Enid’s makeshift bed in Wednesday’s tower bedroom. That explained the warmth. And, Wednesday admitted, the sense of security probably had something to do with Enid’s arms around her waist. It appeared that Enid was not the source of the irritation on her skin, in particular on the left side of her face and her right arm. No, that would be the cushions. Fortunately, they were still all in relatively dark shades, or else Wednesday would’ve woken up absolutely covered in hives (if she woke at all), following her colour-allergy medication losing its effectiveness in the night. But there were nevertheless little raised lumps, no doubt red and angry, where Wednesday’s cheek had a navy cushion resting against it, and where her opposite arm was trapped beneath Enid and pressed into a wine-red throw pillow.

“Mmphf, Eemib…” Wednesday managed, mumbling the words into Enid’s shoulder where her head had been firmly pinned. The Werewolf didn’t stir. Adjusting her head slightly, as much as she could, Wednesday tried again: “Enid!”

“Huh, wha—” was Enid’s equally eloquent reply. Her eyes betrayed the heaviness of the sleep that Enid had been in, though there was also a spark of wildness to them as she got her bearings and pushed her wolfish instincts back down. Then, cheerfully, “Oh, good morning.”

“I need to get up,” Wednesday said.

“But it’s still early. Surely you can snuggle for a few more minutes,” Enid protested.

Sighing, and wrenching herself out of Enid’s grip, Wednesday ended up kneeling on the bed over her girlfriend, ensuring that Enid had a full view of her face. “We cannot do this again. Look at what it’s done to me!”

“Oh, I—I—” Enid began. She looked genuinely horrified and remorseful. “Was it traces of my wolf’s fur? My perfume? Just… me in general?”

Rolling her eyes, Wednesday explained, “No, beloved. It’s the colour.”

Enid actually had the gall to let out a giggle at this admission.

“It is not funny. You are fortunate that these items were not several shades lighter, or you may have woken up with a fleshless corpse in your arms.”

“Ew,” said Enid. “I just forget, okay? For a full year, we all just thought it was a strong preference. Then, even though I did find out for real, it didn’t come up often because of the pills.”

“Well, if you are going to be in contact with me during the night, either I am going to need to seriously up my dosage, or we are going to require some practical changes. I prefer black, but I will not react to white, grey, or neutral tones so long as they are sufficiently desaturated. The kinds of dark purples and blues of the night sky or the deepest parts of the ocean can also be tolerated in small doses, but prolonged contact overnight such as this—” (she grabbed and tossed across the room the navy pillow that had caused her face to react) “—will still leave me itching for hours.”

“That’s going to be a challenge, you know. Finding pyjamas that are still cute without being colourful. I suspect this will require a shopping trip together,” Enid said. The girl really should’ve been feeling worse about how her entire lifestyle risked sending Wednesday into anaphylactic shock, but apparently preferred to use it as leverage for getting Wednesday into retail stores again.

“If you would like a hug good morning, you will need to extract yourself from the offending pillows in question. You have twenty seconds, or I’m leaving to shower and get dressed.”

Enid was out of bed before Wednesday had even finished the sentence, and had thrown her arms around the smaller girl. Feeling herself lifted fully off her feet and crushed against Enid’s chest, Wednesday briefly regretted offering a morning hug at all. Though, part of her might admit under extreme duress that there was something comforting about the firm pressure, and being so tightly enveloped. Like being buried alive.

Much to Wednesday’s unease and frustration, it seemed evident that her guests were all quite prepared to treat this entire tactical retreat as a vacation. Such a notion was untenable. Though Wednesday had been forced to recognise, over the course of time and many near-misses, that rest and calm were important factors in being able to take on great challenges, the pendulum threatened to swing too far, putting them all at risk of complacency. Morticia and Gomez weren’t much help, either, as they seemed more interested in entertaining their present company than entertaining the idea that real danger was on the horizon.

This was not a foe who Wednesday could outthink. Not for lack of intellectual prowess, but solely because of the infuriating ability to predict and know Wednesday’s next move through whatever strange variation on psychic vision that the stalker possessed. So, the only real option was preparedness. The stalker would sneak around their defences. Would see their plans. Would know their weaknesses. Therefore, Wednesday needed to ensure that their defences severely limited her stalker’s options, that their plans accounted for an informed and disruptive opponent, and that there weaknesses were fully armoured and mitigated. Cleverness could often best strength, and Wednesday relied on this fact throughout her life. However, if they were strong enough, their bulwark impenetrable, no foresight could ensure success for their stalker.

One thing that Wednesday did not intend to do, however, was babysit five other acquaintances, who would likely be more unruly in collective than toddlers. In fact, she was certain that Pubert (though, he was pushing six years old, which felt impossible) would be better behaved, and that was saying something.

There was no way of knowing how long they had before the stalker would strike. (Not to mention that Wednesday was working under the assumption that they would be followed here, which may have been a logical conclusion but not a foregone one.) Nevertheless, time to invest in preparation was the necessary resource here, so Wednesday knew that she would need to assume that they had no time at all, but then not waste any time that they did end up with before the stalker made her next move. Between knowing that there was little that she could accomplish with the entire group, and expecting that each of her friends would likely suit a different role in their survival, Wednesday decided that the best course of action was to work with them individually. Even if that meant that their situation escalated before she had been able to spend the time on each person.

The order of operations, though, was obvious. Start where there is weakness, to shore up the largest cracks in their defences. Wednesday could, at least these days, begrudgingly admit that none of her friends were objectively weak. This wasn’t about highlighting their failures and rubbing them in. It was about recognising where improvement would make the most difference, both for the survival of the individual in question and for their ability to effectively contribute to the overall group.

Therefore, Agnes first. The one for whom Wednesday, uncharacteristically, felt the most responsibility. But also the one who, with just a little push, could likely make the most progress in their limited time. As a Vanisher, and a wickedly intelligent and observant one at that, Agnes was likely their most valuable asset, at least until things became physical. Making the most of what little surprise they could hopefully manage (Wednesday didn’t think that an invisible person would show up in a vision, but couldn’t say for sure), and then readying Agnes to look after herself when things inevitably turned bloody, appeared to be the best use of Wednesday’s time.

Second (unsurprisingly), Enid. Oh, the Werewolf was absolutely their strongest line of defence. Especially since the stalker did appear to prefer operating at night, and though she had already bested Enid once, Enid was also the only one of them who had noticed the stalker nearby in the first place, not to mention briefly managing to pin her to the ground. If Enid could avoid the stalker’s hands—the weakness in question, that needed strengthening—then Wednesday would feel much more confident about their chances of success. (Of course, there was also the matter of Enid’s… emotional wellbeing in this time. She had proven, without a doubt, that she was stronger than Wednesday had given credit for during some of their time at Nevermore, but Wednesday still didn’t wish to see her girlfriend panic and doubt herself as the shadow of the stalker continued to loom over them.)

Yoko and Divina could likely be managed together, as Wednesday’s third priority. In fact, putting aside that she found much of their romantic dynamic insufferable, they did work well as a team, and had more years of experience supporting and protecting one another than Wednesday and Enid, even just as friends. Wednesday conceptualised the Vampire and Siren’s role in their survival as preventative. Given her undeath, Yoko was fast and could take a beating. And Divina’s ability allowed her to manipulate from afar, possibly ending any physical altercation before it began, if they had enough warning to make use of her song.

There was also one other thing that Wednesday wanted to test with Yoko and Divina, that (unfortunately) might require her mother’s involvement. With absolutely no offense intended toward Enid, Wednesday knew that her girlfriend’s mind was vulnerable. She was an open book, she felt her emotions strongly, and Werewolves were classically creatures of brawn not subtlety. No matter how intelligent, Wednesday knew that Enid didn’t innately have some of the same mental defences that her friends may in fact possess. For one, Sirens could be controlled by other Sirens, but it was much more challenging. Their minds were used to the patterns of manipulation, and could recognise and shrug off psychic control more easily than other types of Outcasts. Perhaps this could give Divina an edge against the stalker. And Vampires—though this was more of a stretch—also had enthrallment abilities, even if this took significantly more to accomplish than a Siren using their song, as well as presumably a mind that functioned differently by mere virtue of no longer being fully alive. It wasn’t much, but perhaps it could make the difference, even if only seconds, when facing the stalker’s onslaught.

Finally, there was the wildcard: Joel. Though, Wednesday was far more comfortable with and prepared to integrate her childhood friend into her plans than the complete stranger that had been Gabriella. Nevertheless, the objective with Joel was to avoid confrontation. Wednesday did not wish for him to ever end up in the line of fire with the stalker, when each of her other friends were literally built differently and more able to handle themselves. (Plus, Joel was yet to be explicitly named as a target, and should stay that way.) On the other hand, Joel possessed a certain proclivity for focus and detail that a number of the others weren’t naturally inclined toward, except perhaps Agnes. Gomez had yet to find anything of note in the Addams’ archives, though there hadn’t been a lot of time between Wednesday’s request and their arrival. This could, if the universe gifted them the luxury of time, be an invaluable way for Joel to contribute while staying out of the stalker’s immediate sights.

Wednesday did not bother to draft a complete schedule for her plans this time, seeing how quickly disregarded her last attempt at this had been. (Sure, the intention behind the ‘buddy system’ had held, but Wednesday was still put out how ready to ignore her careful planning the others had been.) Nevertheless, she informed the group over breakfast that she would seek them out and spend time with them individually or in pairs over the following days, if the stalker did not turn up first, to ensure that they were ready to face anything. The remainder would be free to engage in whatever activities that they saw fit, though Wednesday strongly encouraged them to not waste their time completely, and try to find ‘fun’ things to do that at least incidentally familiarised them with the local area or helped them stay active or, at the very least, kept them from obtaining foolish injuries. Her friends thought this sensible enough, if only because it meant that only one person had to be sacrificed to Wednesday’s whims at a time, while the others could be blissfully free of her attention.

Well, there was one specific person who didn’t hold that view, of course. Enid fell in step beside Wednesday after they had eaten, linking their arms together, and said, “So, I’m first, right? A whole day that we can spend as a date, you teaching me how to dodge knives, and me staring lovingly into your eyes…”

“Enid, beloved,” Wednesday began. She was quickly discovering that this particular pet name was her girlfriend’s favourite, and it always elicited a warm smile and a slight blush. “You have my nights, and shall sit by my side during meals, and if anything is amiss, I shall drop all else for you. The stalker appears? My knives are in service of you, above anyone else in this house. However…”

Enid gave a melodramatic pout. “I knew that was leading toward a ‘but’.”

“I actually used the word ‘howev…’ Never mind. I had hoped to focus on preparations with you tomorrow, but today, I believe that my time is best spent with Agnes. She has a lot that she can do to help us through this, but will need to know the ins and outs of this home and its inhabitants to do so. And she is also the least able to defend herself physically. Obviously, her invisibility gives her a significant advantage, but should it fail her, even Joel is probably in a better position, if only because he is physically larger.”

“Aww,” said Enid, pulling Wednesday into a tight side hug. “You’re being such a good mum.”

A hug, no matter how firm and warm, was not enough to counteract the offence of the statement that Enid had just made. Wednesday aggressively wriggled out of Enid’s hold (there was no dignified way to extract herself), and said, “Last time you made such an insinuation, I promised that she would lose a mother, and I would become a widow. Just take a moment to think about how much higher the stakes are for Agnes now that our relationship is no longer a hypothetical for the sake of the joke.”

“Oh, I’m going to be thinking all day about our relationship, don’t worry,” said Enid. She raised her eyebrows as if there was any kind of insinuation behind the vague statement at all. “All I know is that I’m safer with you now than ever.”

“I’m going to find Agnes—not our daughter, our friend.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One: A Vignette of Vigilance

In which Wednesday prepares her friends to face the stalker

(Part 1: Agnes DeMille)

Agnes DeMille’s talents, naturally, fell into the domain of stealth and subterfuge. According to Wednesday, the point was not to bother teaching Agnes skills that she could not meaningfully master in the space of a few days. Rather, Agnes should focus on honing her strengths. This was something on which Agnes and Wednesday saw entirely eye to eye. Being well rounded was an inefficient way to live one’s life. Rather, one should focus on innate strengths, and use these creatively to fill any gaps. Wednesday, for example, could typically forgo social graces, when intimidation was equally effective. Likewise, for Agnes, she often relied not just on her invisibility but also on the benefits of her obsessive personality and heightened attention to detail to make up for the more boring parts of life (or, she supposed, the parts that she wasn’t as naturally good at). Learn enough about other people through careful observation, and things like empathy could be approximated with pattern recognition and logic.

Having hunted her down after breakfast, Wednesday had given Agnes a conceptually straightforward regimen for the day. It would not, however, be easy to complete in practice. Put simply, it was this: Sneak up on and scare four members of the Addams family.

Of course, Agnes was entirely aware that every one of the Addams was very aware of their surroundings, possessed their own unique form of paranoia, and typically felt little by way of fear. In brief, Agnes’ assessment of each family member was thus:

• Gomez Addams had a heightened awareness for the physical space around him, and would spot anything amiss within seconds despite seeming so nonchalant on the outside.
• Morticia Addams operated with a psychic sense and a deep emotional insight, and could rarely be caught off guard even if for some reason deprived of her physical senses.
• Thing was challenging to read, and it was nigh on impossible to tell in which direction he was looking or how carefully he was listening at any given time, without any obvious alternative organs for processing sensory information.
• Grandmama Addams was one with the house, and had a tendency to disappear in one direction only to turn up coming from the other without any rational justification for how she had moved from one place to the other.
• Pubert Addams was likely easier to sneak up on, but almost nothing frightened him, and it was rare that Pubert reacted with anything more than a laugh, the weirdness within which he had been raised so pervasive that he seemed born incapable of shock.
• Finally, Lurch too may be possible to stealthily approach, but he responded to anything and everything with a similar energy to a concrete wall.

And yet, somehow, Agnes was required to achieve a ‘hit’ on Gomez, Morticia, Grandmama, and Thing (that is, tag them with a weapon of some sort) without being caught prior to succeeding, or to get some clear reaction of surprise from Pubert and Lurch. Not to mention Wednesday herself—supposedly, though Agnes’ friend would consider sneaking up on anyone else in her family a sufficient objective, there was no way that Agnes wasn’t going to rise to Wednesday’s not-so-subtle taunt that surely the Vanisher couldn’t possibly catch Wednesday off guard.

It hardly felt like training. More like being thrown to the wolves, and hopefully coming back stronger, if she didn’t sustain too many wounds (whether literal or just to her pride) along the way. But Wednesday insisted. If Agnes could prove herself capable of fooling the diverse Addams clan, the stalker surely didn’t stand a chance. Agnes decided to start with Thing. She knew him the best, had a good idea of where he would be, and felt that he perhaps had fewest defences against her invisibility.

First task was to gather information, and use her connections to her advantage. Therefore, pulling up their ‘Mortal Enemies (👻 vs 🐺)’ chat, Agnes exchanged a few quick texts with Enid:

The Unfriendly Ghost: oi wru

Some Rando Wolf: wow

Some Rando Wolf: heard of manners??

Some Rando Wolf: doin nails

The Unfriendly Ghost: lame. with thing?

Some Rando Wolf: no with wends she loves it sooo much

Some Rando Wolf: duh thing

Now, ordinarily, having Enid nearby would have spelled Agnes’ doom. With her Werewolf awareness, especially her refined sense of smell, Agnes found it nearly impossible to sneak up on Enid at the best of times. Her success upon arriving at Gertrude Hall to visit Enid and Wednesday had come down to the other two girls being a little out of practice, using the delivery guy as cover for any sound, and sneaking into the alchemy lab several nights in a row back at Nevermore to figure out and finish a potion that would mask her smell from even a Werewolf. But Agnes didn’t need to stay hidden from Enid for hours. Only get past her to land the hit on Thing before Enid noticed that anything was amiss. The few drops left of the scent-masking potion would have to do.

Wednesday hadn’t said anything about not using all of the tools and tricks at her disposal, after all. No fact, knowing Wednesday, it was probably encouraged. Not that Agnes would have any potion left for if and when the stalker arrived… maybe she’d need to see if Morticia had the ingredients to make something similar.

Going invisible, Agnes applied the liquid that (so very strangely) smelled like… something? Genuinely, that was the experience. Like trying to describe the taste of water, or the sensation of room temperature. It wasn’t absent, but it was utterly unplaceable and unremarkable. Enid was staying in Wednesday’s room, to no one’s surprise, and Agnes predicted that Thing would have gone to her. While Thing may have quite the collection of his own of moisturisers and exfoliants, it was Enid who boasted the much more comprehensive array of polish.

The door at the top of the tower stairs was closed. Not fully, but enough that Agnes would’ve needed to push it open, and that wouldn’t go unnoticed. Which was frustrating, after Agnes had spent agonising minutes avoiding any creaking noises as she had ascended. However, maybe the door would’ve been too obvious anyway. Enid and Thing may not be consciously suspicious of Agnes trying to sneak into the room, but the slightest sound near the door could catch their attention, as anyone else popping up to say hello would come that way.

Fortunately, even before Wednesday had issued her challenge this morning, Agnes had automatically begun casing the house out of habit. There was a large window in her own room, the floor below, with a trellis that stretched further up the tower. Opening said window wouldn’t be quiet, but it also wouldn’t be a sound associated with Agnes approaching Wednesday’s room, merely doing her own thing in her own space. The next obstacle, of course, would be getting in through one of Wednesday’s windows, but Agnes knew for a fact that Enid couldn’t stand marinating in the fumes of her own cosmetics, once again because of her strong sense of smell, and ought to therefore have the windows wide open.

Out the window. Up the trellis—which was crumbling a little, but the vines wound through it were likely tougher than the wooden lattice would’ve ever been. And into the top room of the tower. It was almost too easy.

Thing all but leapt, and then skittered away defensively, upon receiving a sharp prod with one of Agnes’ daggers. When the Vanisher appeared to claim her victory, the hand signed his disappointment and annoyance at her at great length, but Thing’s shock and ire (and Enid’s, who almost took off Agnes’ nose with her claws before realising what was going on) were easily redirected. All that Agnes needed to do was point out that Wednesday was making her do it.

Speaking of which, however… a moment later, all three looked up at the sound of slow applause. Sitting at the top of the next set of stairs, which wound up further into the tower to where there was a small library and reading nook, Wednesday peered down on the events that had unfolded. Agnes had absolutely no clue how Wednesday had known her first target, and arrived unseen before her.

“Well done, little psycho,” said Wednesday, bringing her claps to an end. Though Agnes knew that Wednesday wouldn’t give the praise if it wasn’t genuine, the clapping had nevertheless felt at least a little sarcastic coming from Wednesday. “That’s one. Three to go.”

“Oh, look who it is,” Enid said, not even giving Agnes a chance to reply. Claws came out with an audible click. “You’d better have another escape route up there, because I have a disembodied hand to avenge.”

Agnes was already making her way out of the room, laughing quietly to herself, as Enid sprung toward Wednesday. Fearing for neither of them, of course. There was no world now in which Wednesday would harm a hair on Enid’s head, despite her threats remaining violent and creative, and the worst that Enid would inflict on Wednesday was likely tackling her to the ground in a way that would definitely be more suggestive than aggressive. Even if it wouldn’t really lead to anything, Agnes didn’t need to see that.

Well, if she were to be thrown in the deep end, Agnes decided that next she might as well fully commit. Despite having little real information about Wednesday’s paternal grandmother, Agnes had a sense that Grandmama Addams may very well prove the most challenging target. She would try once, and if the terrifying witch of a woman (literally, Wednesday had told her, it was not merely a standard Addamsian insult) couldn’t be bested, then Agnes would move on. Though the entire family was enamoured with the strange and disturbed, Agnes was discovering that only Wednesday tended to show disappointment at imperfection. The rest thrived on it, so Agnes was trusting that a failed attempt to sneak up on Grandmama would merely be met with amusement, not derision.

Not that Agnes had any chance of success if she kept planning for the eventuality of failure…

Very quickly, however, her plans fell apart. And not in the ‘oh no, a door was not open wide enough’ way, but in a manner that emphasised just how truly experienced and eldritch the older Addams woman was, barely beneath the surface. Whether or not her apparent insanity was an affectation, it nevertheless disguised the full extent of Grandmama’s cunning. It was strange to consider a scary façade to be disarming, but Agnes concluded that there was the spooky-scary exterior that even in its frightfulness definitely distracted one from the deeply powerful interior.

It had only been ten minutes since Agnes had decided upon Grandmama as her second target, when her failure was proven inevitable. As always, information came first. Grandmama wasn’t specifically interacting with any of the other Addams or guests, which made her challenging to pin down. Over the last day or so, Agnes would spot a tangle of grey hair disappear through a doorway, only to creep up invisibly to the room in question and find it empty with no other exits. Or, she would hear Grandmama’s cackle echo down a hallway from one direction, even while knowing that she had seen the woman on the other side of the house only moments before. The one consistency was the kitchen. It doubled as both a space for food preparation and a laboratory for alchemy, both of which were keen passions of Wednesday’s grandmother. So, careful to remain as undetected by mundane senses as possible, Agnes approached the kitchen door, and peered inside without even letting out a breath.

Agnes was convinced that she hadn’t made a sound. Her invisibility was fully functioning. There was even probably some lingering scent masking from the potion that she’d used to hide from Enid. And yet…

“Don’t even try it, little sprite,” came Grandmama’s voice through the doorway. “My granddaughter ought to have told you to not even bother. You young ones can’t sneak up on me.”

With that, Agnes honestly had no notion of what she could do differently to deceive the witch on a second attempt, and merely turned on her heel and marched away. That had been even less than Agnes had hoped for, and she thought that she had already been realistic about her chances. Hopefully the next target would allow her even a sliver of possibility of success…

Now a little put off by potentially being detected by unnatural means, or simply many many decades of living her strange life, Agnes elected to approach Wednesday’s father next. A formidable man (though maybe now her father too… that was something to process more another time), but one who relied on physical prowess and natural charisma rather than the eldritch or the occult. Agnes was fairly confident that Gomez had no secret talent for seeing through invisibility.

The Addams patriarch was deep in an enthusiastic explanation turned performance of a particular fencing manoeuvre when Agnes found him in one of the manor’s various lounge spaces. It did not appear specifically intended for sparring or training, but that was entirely irrelevant to Gomez, Agnes was sure. Opposite, in a plush armchair, sat Wednesday’s childhood friend, Joel Glicker. Far from being either bored or intimidated by the older man, Joel was giving Gomez his full attention. Eyes wide, not necessarily in awe (though there might have been a little of that), so much as pure eagerness. Like Wednesday, it seemed that Joel was interested in absorbing knowledge about everything around him. Unlike Wednesday, he let every ounce of his excitement and curiosity show on his face. Agnes wasn’t sure whether she should find it comparatively endearing, or a major character weakness for being so open.

“And then, though every other master would tell you that a flip is undoubtedly a waste of energy and time, and could leave you open to your opponent, I tend to find that very few foes take the opening, so shocked as they are with a display of unexpected acrobatics. And, besides, what fun is fencing without risk and drama? You only need a little elevation, and some carefully applied force, and…” Gomez was saying, and paused to emphasise his point by completing a full backflip then and there, before continuing: “Voila!”

“Damn, Mr. Addams. I’d worried that maybe you’d grown old in the years since I was last here, but clearly not,” said Joel, the teasing tone reflected also in how his eyes shone behind his glasses.

“Aha, well, you’ve certainly grown bold, my boy,” Gomez added, seemingly trying to sound offended, but failing spectacularly. He grinned, and said, “I like it! I’m so glad that you not only ran into my little viper, but have turned up with a biting tongue.”

The obstacle here, Agnes realised as she continued to watch the exchange, is that Gomez never seemed to stand fully still. Even in this pause from his fencing demonstration to comment on Joel, there was still a constant motion that emphasised his words and reinforced his dynamic presence in the room. Agnes herself was a creature of inertia, preferring to find her position in a space and hold it for as long as necessary. By contract, Gomez Addams took the whole room as his stage, and made use of every inch.

As he returned to discussing his sword techniques with Joel, Agnes entered the room and found herself darting out of the way every few moments, even when she tried to stick close to the walls. Gomez wasn’t even actively targeting her—in fact, he seemed entirely unaware of her presence—and yet Agnes genuinely felt like she was being harrowed at the end of his blade. (If this was what it was like to be Gomez’s unwitting opponent, Agnes decided then and there that she likely shouldn’t even bother with Morticia…)

However, Agnes was patient. This was one quality that she excelled in that even Wednesday lacked. Stalking took sitting and watching for hours. Her talent was one that required constant attention and focus. So, given that Gomez wasn’t actively pursuing her, Agnes watched and waited for her opening.

Gomez froze mid-lunge, upon feeling the prick of Agnes’ knife on the back of his neck.

“Ah, it appears I’ve been compromised. Serves me right for not paying attention to my surroundings! Now, pequeña fantasma, am I to meet my end today, or is claiming your victory over this old man sufficient?” Gomez asked, dropping his foil and raising his hands over his head. Despite facing away from Agnes, she could hear the wide smile on his face.

“You may live to see another day,” Agnes replied, removing her blade from where its point rested against his spine.

“And you may live to attempt your next target.” Once again, as she had with Thing, Wednesday seemed to appear out of nowhere the moment that Agnes had achieved her hit on Gomez. “My father is distractible, which enabled your victory, but you nevertheless did well to avoid accidental dismemberment from his blade.”

Agnes merely mumbled something to herself about what the point even was of being able to turn invisible if Wednesday was around.

Alright, that was two successes and one failure, but all targets where Agnes had been required to land a ‘hit’ with a weapon. If she wasn’t planning to go after Morticia unless she had no other choice, Agnes had to pivot to attempting to scare either Lurch or Pubert. Somehow, though she didn’t necessarily even need to sneak to the same extent, nor land a physical blow, this task felt equally as daunting.

As it turned out, the pair of them were together. And with Yoko and Divina at that. Though Agnes didn’t know the full extent, from what she had witnessed and heard so far, Pubert Addams was perhaps the most durable member of the Addams clan yet. Not physically invulnerable, but incidentally unable to be harmed. Something about the universe, some coincidence or accident, always manifested to prevent anything bad befalling the youngest Addams child. Wednesday had offhandedly mentioned that she and Pugsley had tried and failed to ‘get rid’ of Pubert many times when he had first been born—and, this had sounded more intense than the kind of dangerous ‘play’ that the two older siblings often engaged in. Since then, Wednesday had grown to not only tolerate her baby brother, but even (though Agnes doubted that Wednesday would admit it aloud) adore him in the same way that she did the rest of her family.

And yet, the threats upon Pubert’s life continued. Only, now it was no longer jealous older siblings acting out, but the entire family testing the limits of how far fate would stretch to keep its supposed favourite child alive. Agnes didn’t want to think about what would happen if they discovered that limit, but as (according to one story) Pubert had survived the very same piranhas that Wednesday had sicked on Pugsley’s bullies at her last high school before Nevermore, it seemed that maybe there simply was no limit.

Thus, an invisible Agnes found Pubert, Lurch, Yoko, and Divina in the graveyard behind the manor, playing taser tag. Without Pugsley or Fester present, all participants had to resort to technologically generated electricity, but this was typical for Pubert and Lurch anyway, Agnes had to assume. Unless they were solely targets when playing with the other Addams… As undead, neither Lurch nor Yoko were at risk of their heart stopping or their brain frying from the current. How and why Divina felt comfortable playing was beyond Agnes. Maybe there was some conductive property of her anatomy—her scales, perhaps?—but Agnes was not aware of anything specific.

In and out from behind the sculptures and gravestones and cenotaphs, the two teams would dart about and attempt to catch one another with their weapons, which would usually leave anyone else incapacitated. Lurch had trouble hiding, but the longest reach. Pubert moved like his body was infused with primordial chaos. As less experienced participants, Yoko and Divina were on the defensive, but Yoko was fast and it seemed that nothing was against the rules in this particular game, so Divina was making plenty of use of her Siren song. Not to fully lock anyone out of the game, but to momentarily freeze them or send them scampering so that she could get her own hit in.

Agnes would, once again, have to be fully alert and prepared to dodge, despite not even being a known player. Unless… Wednesday had never said that the fear had to be elicited purely through surprise.

This triumph would take more planning and preparation, but it would be worth it.

By this point in their friendship, Agnes was well past her stalkerish obsession over Wednesday. However, that didn’t mean that she had abandoned all that she’d learned and acquired over that time period. Spending a good hour or more, Agnes dug through her things, worked on her appearance with makeup supplies stolen from Enid and Morticia, and even raided her friends’ various suitcases and closets. There was a brief moment in which Agnes worried what she might walk in on when she entered Wednesday’s tower bedroom again for the second time that day, but, of course, Wednesday had shown up upon her score against Gomez. Still, though the room was empty, part of Agnes couldn’t convince herself that somehow Wednesday could be in multiple places at once.

Prepared for the greatest fright that either Pubert or Lurch had possibly ever received, Agnes crept back to the graveyard invisibly. The full force of taser tag had come to an end, but the four participants were still present. Pubert seemed to have endless energy, and would try to rush Yoko or Divina (or even Lurch) periodically, to get in another zap, but Lurch’s long arms would encircle the young boy just before he could get out of reach, and hold him in place until he had calmed down. The Vampire and Siren both had hair standing up in all directions and wide looks in their eyes, but were still grinning, even if tiredly. From where they slumped against a gravestone bearing the statue of some ancient Addams relative with a ridiculously oversized hat, Divina was attempting to tame Yoko’s tumbleweed of hair, and failing miserably. This would result in them both getting the giggles, and ending up peppering each other’s faces in kisses until Divina pulled herself together to try again.

Agnes positioned herself in the middle of the cemetery, right in front of Lurch and Pubert. And let her invisibility drop.

The reactions were golden. Pubert actually yelped in fright. Her two friends stared in shock, and then burst out in manic laughter. And Lurch’s eyes legitimately widened slightly, his mouth falling open by just a millimetre to let out a small breath of surprise. Somehow, this very tame response was the most unlikely.

“I’ll count it, but if you ever do that again, no one will ever find your body. Not because of how well it is hidden, though that too, but because I will tear you apart into individual cells and scatter them across the earth,” said Wednesday, once again appearing suddenly in the moment of Agnes’ success, striding out into the graveyard looking furious. Which, for Wednesday, meant darkened eyes and a slight furrow of the brow, but it was enough for Agnes to identify the emotion clearly.

“It was effective. You can’t fault me for that,” Agnes replied, giving a spin to show off her costume.

With some careful makeup, and a wig that she’d decided could come in too handy one day to throw out, Agnes looked at least upon first glance like the spitting image of Wednesday Addams. Right down to the deep brown of her eyes, achieved with one of her many sets of contacts for… just in case. However, her attire was the furthest from Wednesday’s aesthetic possible. Not even the two-toned, mostly dark clothing that Enid had worn while in Wednesday’s form during Agnes’ first year at Nevermore. No, this was full rainbow, all pastels, entirely pinched from Enid’s wardrobe. A yellow and orange sweater, a teal skirt over polka dot leggings, chunky platform sandals in purple, and six differently coloured ribbons wound into the braids of the black wig. Agnes was even sporting a psychedelic purse and hot pink lipstick.

“I will have my father disown you,” Wednesday threatened, again. It didn’t sound hollow, unlike some of the offhanded intimidation that Wednesday had thrown at Agnes since they had become friends.

However, Agnes merely continued to bask in the shock and awe and fury of her audience, knowing that Wednesday couldn’t win this one. Gomez would probably only appreciate Agnes even more for how well she’d pulled off this abominable victory.

Risking one last jab before turning invisible and fleeing in a full sprint, Agnes added, “Honestly, Wednesday, we both know that this’ll be your new look before long, anyway, given the whole… Enid situation.”

She barely escaped a pair of knives hurled in her direction.

That was four, with the last success counting for two. But Agnes, riding on the high, decided that she wasn’t done. It couldn’t be a real victory without getting one over on Wednesday herself, right?

Every step of the way over the last few hours, however, Wednesday had seemed to be tailing Agnes, or else she was preternaturally aware of Agnes’ location. Did Wednesday have a GPS tracker on her? Agnes couldn’t quite convince herself that her anti-technologically inclined friend would resort to such measures, if it hadn’t been for once getting a glimpse of Wednesday’s phone and seeing that she did, in fact, track Enid. But this was after Agnes had been ingratiated with the pair for the better part of a year, and there hadn’t been a dot for her. Was Wednesday really just that good?

Perhaps that was the point, but also precisely how Agnes would win.

Shortly after dinner, which may not have been as long as the lunch on their first day but was nevertheless once again a raucous affair, Agnes knocked on the door to Morticia’s study.

“Come in, dearest Agnes,” Morticia called. Yet another instance of uncanny identification. It was clearly the right choice to not target Wednesday’s mother.

Opening the door and taking the seat offered, Agnes asked, “Mrs. Addams, I have a question, or maybe a favour, to ask about my Outcast abilities.”

“Agnes, please, ‘Morticia’ is just fine. I’d even offer ‘mother,’ if that wouldn’t risk Wednesday never returning home again. But I’m afraid that I know very little about the abilities and culture of Vanishers.”

“Thank you, Morticia,” Agnes said with a shy smile. “And, that’s okay. It’s hopefully more of a general question than that. But you’ve worked with many different Outcasts. Multiple types of Psychics, the Sparks in your family, those you interacted with at Nevermore, and the witchcraft that runs through both your bloodline and your husband’s.”

“That is true. Very well, ask away, and I’ll do what I can to help, of course,” Morticia said. She returned Agnes’ smile, even if her own was more confident and knowing than the younger girl. It was not something that Agnes was used to from a parental figure, even if one that wasn’t entirely her own to call mother.

Agnes thought for a minute about the specifics of her question, then asked, “Each type of Outcast seems to not only have an innate power or nature, but the ability to grow their talents. For me, so far, that has included not only improving how well I can focus and maintain my invisibility, but expanding its effects to include another person. But that’s really all just come from pushing myself and practicing through repetition, rather than formal training. There are no Vanisher-specific courses at Nevermore, as there are only ever a handful of us, and there hasn’t been a Vanisher on staff in years, as far as I’m aware. So, my question is this: Is there anything that might apply to all Outcasts of all kinds, or that you think might be useful from your experience as a Psychic, for expanding my skills, beyond brute force?”

“Ah, a perceptive question, and one that I think, perhaps, I know the motivation for. Given the tales already spreading through the house of your antics today. I’m impressed with what I’ve heard,” Morticia said.

“Thank you, I think.”

“You make a frightful addition to the family, Agnes,” Morticia added. Agnes was getting used to interpreting such comments as compliments, but this one was also literally true in many ways. “Anyway, to answer your question. Maybe. Which, I know, is an unhelpful response. But I merely hedge my words to not overpromise when I’ve never worked with a Vanisher. But I do have three things, mere possibilities, that we could look into pursuing.”

“I’m willing to try, if you think it’ll be helpful. Anything that can make a difference, um… today?”

Morticia laughed, a low, rich sound. “There is, unfortunately, never a true alternative to patience. But I know you have that in abundance, dear. A clever loophole every now and then can’t hurt, though, can it? Very well, we’ll return to any of the slower approaches in the future if you’d like, but we can try one thing here and now.”

With that, Morticia rose from where she had been seated at her desk, and drifted over to the far side of the room. Overall, the study was decorated with a mixture of books, plants, and various occult supplies. The shelves were full, and the space low lit, but it was neither cluttered nor claustrophobic. Merely… intimate, perhaps. From a wooden cabinet, Morticia gathered a few things that Agnes couldn’t currently see, and brought them back to the desk.

“It is never a precise magic—then again, no magic is—but, over the years, many Outcasts and witches have stumbled across ways to capture non-physical essences in material form. Whether this is items of power, or alchemical potions, or symbols that unlock unnatural energies. The necklace that Wednesday bears, with her initial in the centre, is one such object. There is no real way to manufacture such things, as each represents a confluence not only of intention and creation, but also of fortune and infinite unseen and unpredictable factors. Nevertheless, such things have occasionally been an interest of mine, and this family is in the unique position to have a collection that stretches back through time, and that also seems to grow as the strange and unexplainable things in this world gravitate toward us.”

On the dark-stained wood of the desk between them, Morticia laid out four items. A ring, made of what may have been a dark iron, with several spaces for precious stones all of which were empty. Some kind of liquid, presumably a potion, that shifted in colour but otherwise looked thick and sluggish, housed within a tall crystalline bottle stoppered with a cork. Paper, folded, so that nothing yet could be discerned from it other than that the discolouration suggested significant age. And, finally, a regular-looking marble, mostly clear glass, with a swirl of red inside.

Morticia continued after each item had been carefully placed, equally spaced across the desk. “These four tokens have each proven to provide some kind of enhancement to the one that uses or possesses them. The iron ring is rumoured to bolster defences against fae influence, not that anything or anyone faerie in origin has been seen in many decades, but is said to do so through empowering the iron in the blood of the wearer, turning their entire body into a shield. Perhaps not directly relevant, but you may try it if you’d like.”

Unsure how exactly she’d even know whether such an item would be effective, Agnes hesitantly reached out for the ring, and then slipped it over her left index finger. This wasn’t a conscious choice, but simply felt right, she realised after having made the choice. A chill spread through her body, seeming to flow through her veins, starting from the hand on which she wore the ring. Agnes genuinely felt like her sense and control over her own body and mind was somehow stronger, as if the tethers between identity and soul and form were thicker than they had been before. However, flickering invisible and then back again, she felt no discernible difference. Perhaps it could bolster specific aspects of her abilities, but that would require further experimentation.

“Nothing immediate, not about my invisibility,” Agnes explained. “I could definitely feel something, but it seemed unrelated.”

“Very well. You may choose whether you wish to hold onto the ring or not, but feel free to try the next. An elixir, contained in a vial that will very slowly replenish any of the liquid consumed. This makes it very rare and powerful, but it comes with drawbacks. The one who consumes it, in so far as I have tested with other Psychic-types, will be able to maintain any visions that come to them for longer, and navigate them with more agency. It is perhaps comparable to lucid dreaming. However, consume too much in a short period of time, or even at all over the course of your life, and there is a risk that you will never wake from a vision. Also, when I say that it fills itself again slowly, do not underestimate just how slowly. A drop at most in a year, and it takes several drops to be effective.”

“This won’t… give me visions, or anything, right?” Agnes asked.

“My husband has taken a dosage, at my request, and experienced no such consequences. Then again, his connection to his ability has long since been severed, if Wednesday has told you about such, and perhaps it will affect you differently,” said Morticia. She picked up the vial, and held it toward Agnes on her open palm.

With even more hesitance than the ring, Agnes removed the stopper and, at Morticia’s direction, allowed four drops to fall onto her tongue. The liquid was indeed viscous, and each droplet hit heavier than Agnes would’ve thought possible, and the taste was deeply bitter as she swallowed. Like molasses infused with alcohol and some foul herb that she couldn’t immediately identify. Different to her experience with the ring, there was no obvious sensation in her mind or body in reaction to taking the potion. Nevertheless, once again, Agnes turned herself invisible.

“My, now that is interesting,” Morticia said.

Agnes looked around, but nothing seemed out of place. “What do you see?”

“It’s perhaps what I don’t see that is of more interest to you. You’re as invisible as ever, but not only can I see right through you, but it is genuinely difficult to focus on the space where I know you to be. My vision slides off you, as it were,” explained Morticia. She continued to observe Agnes for a minute, and then said, “Oh, it seems to have faded. I am not certain whether the dose would affect the duration or the intensity, or both or neither, but I can look at your chair again without my eyes and mind resisting doing so.”

“That’s… that’s very cool,” was all that Agnes managed.

“You may use it for today. Do not take more than one additional dose in the next twenty-four hours, and return it to me upon completion of your clandestine task.”

“I—thank you, I appreciate it,” said Agnes.

“Yet two items remain. Do you wish to continue?” After receiving a nod from Agnes, Morticia said, “A spell, not of the kind to evoke in an outpouring of magic, but one on which to dwell and meditate. Unfold the paper, but be cautious as it is fragile, and read the inscription silently to yourself.”

The yellowed parchment crinkled a little as Agnes very carefully opened it once, twice, and a third time until the full page was visible for her to read. Luckily, this did not result in any tearing. Written in a dramatic, outdated style, but which Agnes could still puzzle her way through, were a series of lines that made little rational sense. However, as she poured over them in her mind, Agnes found what she thought was the intended cadence, and could feel in the sounds more than understand in the words what the meaning of the spell was meant to be. It was a mantra that called upon the self to at once look inward and expand outward, and Agnes was sure that she could feel a mote of warmth in her chest from which her power radiated, and at the same time had a sense of everything around her for at least a metre or two without even having to directly look. It wasn’t so clear cut as to be visual in her mind, but nevertheless every nearby material detail seemed to reveal itself to her.

“What a strange feeling,” Agnes observed. “I think, maybe, it could help, but I would need to test it. Is it possible to memorise the words, or do I need to be reading them?”

“You may be able to achieve a similar, if less potent, effect if you fully memorise and internalise the incantation. Before the end of the day, I doubt you could achieve the depth of familiarity with the spell to make full use of it, but perhaps the basic memorisation of the words alone may give you just a little boost.”

Nodding, Agnes lay the paper back down in front of her, still unfolded. It was worth a shot, but she was still interested in the final item.

“And this,” Morticia said, handing over the marble. “Is a bizarre thing indeed. As far as I can tell, it is cursed rather than enchanted, and may have genuinely once been little more than a toy made from glass. Hold it under your tongue, and you will taste and feel like your mouth is filled with blood. For as long as you can keep it there, and hold your breath, you will find yourself stronger and faster than naturally possible. The increase in your physical abilities is unpredictable, person by person, and I cannot tell you an exact degree to which they will improve, but Gomez once used this marble to lift a truck. It appears at least comparable, sometimes greater, than what you could achieve while under the effects of an intense rush of adrenaline. For certain types of Outcasts with physical abilities, such as Werewolves and DaVincis, I have reason to believe that some of the power would carry over into their other form or the strength of their telekinesis, respectively.”

“That sounds… unpleasant, but powerful” Agnes said, but took the marble for herself, and nervously placed it under her tongue.

Immediately, her cheeks swelled with pressure, and a thick, warm liquid seemed to be pushing its way down her throat. The taste was rich and metallic, and stronger than Agnes had expected when imagining what it had tasted like when her tongue or gums had bled in the past. She wanted to vomit. How anyone could manage this for more than a second…

Retching and coughing, Agnes spat out the marble. It took several long moments for her throat and mouth to settle, and for the taste of blood to fade. Agnes still felt lightheaded, even as her breathing slowed and she forced herself back into a state of calm. She was shocked to find, even though Morticia had implied that the sensation was merely an illusion, that the table before her was not drenched in blood. The marble simply rolled slightly and came to a stop, clean, where Morticia held out her hand to prevent it from tumbling to the floor. Though she used a handkerchief, as the marble was not free from Agnes’ saliva. Which was mortifying.

“I think maybe not that one,” Agnes admitted.

“It would seem that it is more likely to hinder than help you, without taking the time to train yourself to ignore the sensations created by the curse’s illusion. Nevertheless, you had more positive interactions with the other three items. Take them for today. May they be of use in your endeavours. Please remember to return the elixir to me as soon as you are finished. We can discuss your ongoing possession of the ring and the spell should they prove to have synergy with your abilities, at a later time,” Morticia said.

“Thank you very much, Morticia,” Agnes said, giving her a genuine smile but knowing that her eyes were likely still wide in awe (and some lingering bemusement). “I cannot say whether they will work until I test them, but I’ll let you know. And I don’t need to keep any of them, I’m sure. I’m grateful to even be allowed to use them this once.”

“Please do return with that update, my dear. I am eager to see how you grow. And, these are family heirlooms, and you are family. Therefore, so long as they remain in your possession, they remain in the family.”

Agnes was a little overwhelmed with the generosity, and the sentiment of Morticia’s last statement. She could also feel, however, that the conversation had come to an end. Unlike with her own father, though, Morticia did not use a tone that made Agnes feel unwanted. Merely that she felt that she had sufficiently answered Agnes’ question for now, and was letting Agnes go to pursue the rest of her task. Agnes had no doubt that, should she have had another question, Morticia would’ve listened willingly and graciously. But Agnes had experimenting to do, and also genuinely didn’t want to take up any more of Morticia’s time, so left the room with another thank you and a slightly awkward bow. This only received her an amused smile from the woman—not one of mockery, but of… fondness?

Over the next hour, Agnes kept the iron ring on her finger, committed the lines of the spell to memory as best she could in the short time (generally, her memorisation ability was unparalleled, but without any logical meaning to the words, the jumble of sounds was more challenging to remember than Agnes was used to), but kept the ability-enhancing elixir in reserve for when it was time to enact her plan for real. Successfully testing one theory with Divina, who she found perusing the Addams’ library, and another with Pubert, who she caught trying to sneak up on her with a knife (what a cute kid!), Agnes felt confident that this was at least worth a shot.

All she needed now was to find enough willing accomplices, and share the plan without Wednesday finding out. That last part would be the most difficult, but perhaps if Agnes took them outside to a large enough open space, the distance could provide more security than any perceived privacy within the house.

Fifteen minutes to midnight. Wednesday had retreated to her room, after muttering something about everyone being far too talkative and friendly for this time of night. Of course, Enid bounced along afterward. Though Agnes knew that Enid would be first in line to essentially prank her girlfriend, she was also not a particularly compelling liar, particularly to Wednesday herself. So Agnes had kept the Werewolf in the dark also, with the added convenience that Wednesday was more than content to spend her evening with Enid and dismiss what anyone else was doing so long as she had her girlfriend for company.

The door was fully shut this time, when Agnes approached the tower bedroom. Not that it mattered. This was about theatrics, not about true stealth. Pushing it open, and not caring that it squeaked loudly, Agnes let herself in.

Wednesday’s response was immediate. “I know you’re there, little psycho. What do you want? Go to bed!”

Refusing to reply, Agnes let the plan unfold.

On one particularly loud floorboard on the other side of the bed, Wednesday clearly heard a creak, and swung. Almost faster than Agnes could register, Wednesday’s hand shot out to grab for where she predicted that Agnes’ throat would be. And caught something.

“Ow! You’re mean,” came a voice from the spot, before Yoko materialised from thin air.

“Tanaka,” was all that Wednesday said, her thoughts seeming to need time to catch up to the unexpected reveal.

Then, a book toppled off one of Wednesday’s bookshelves. A knife flew through the air from Wednesday’s hand, having conjured it from somewhere hidden on her person, and landed with a solid thunk into the wood.

Right next to it, another figure appeared. Joel, looking very put out, said, “Hey! That could’ve hit me!”

Enid began to laugh, and Wednesday scowled. The latter looked around the room in suspicion, and said, “Alright, that’s enough. You’ve all come up with something that I’m sure you think is very clever, but get the hell out of my room and go to bed.”

Silence.

Then, a depression at the end of Wednesday’s bed—which, Agnes hadn’t failed to notice, had both Wednesday and Enid sitting on it, with their legs under the covers, before Wednesday had jumped up—as if someone had just sat there. Without even really aiming for anything, Wednesday simply shoved in that direction, causing the person to topple off the bed with a laugh. Divina appeared on the floor.

“Is anyone not sneaking about my room like a ghost?” Wednesday asked.

Pubert gave himself away with a giggle, and then appeared right next to Wednesday’s face. Lurch reached over as he became visible, patting Wednesday on the head and then lethargically (but successfully) ducked out of the way of a swipe from another one of her knives. On the far side of the room, Morticia merely apparated with a sly smile, and then Gomez under her arm with a bright grin. (After earlier, Agnes hadn’t tried to recruit Grandmama.)

“Very funny. I hope you know that none of you will be waking up in the morning,” said Wednesday with a growl. She was not happy with being teased in this way.

“That’s if you don’t get taken out in your sleep first,” said Agnes. She made herself visible as she spoke, her knife already at Wednesday’s throat, unnoticed in the chaos of the less-stealthy crowd of recently invisible invaders into her space.

“Ah, DeMille. You know what, tearing you apart down to your very cells isn’t good enough. I think I’ll find the receipt, and return you to your father,” Wednesday said.

The girl was truly seething, for her to make such a threat. It genuinely stung a little to hear, and Agnes backed off with an apologetic smile. “I had to go big to win against you, Wednesday. Sorry for the subterfuge and dramatics.”

“No you’re not,” said Wednesday.

With a little laugh, Agnes admitted, “No, I guess I’m not.”

Wednesday collapsed back against her pillows with a sigh that Agnes could’ve sworn was almost a huff or a pout. Next to her, Enid reached out and pulled Wednesday into her shoulder.

“I’m such a proud mum,” Enid said, pretending to wipe a tear from her face. Then, she paused, and said carefully, “Oh, um, I guess that means the cat’s out of the bag, you know, as far as…”

Shit. Agnes had not thought about that when enlisting not only their friends, but Wednesday’s family. The evidence for Wednesday and Enid’s new relationship couldn’t be much more damning than the bed that they currently shared.

“Agnes…” Wednesday said, her voice growing dark.

“Hush, dear,” Enid interrupted. “Look around. I think they already knew.”

At this, Agnes too noticed that Morticia and Gomez were both still smiling, but there was definitely no surprise in their eyes. Lurch, of course, hadn’t given any outward response, but Pubert jumped up on the bed and tried to wriggle his way between Wednesday and Enid.

“Fine. Fine!” Wednesday said. Apparently, successfully pranking her and blowing the lid off her still-secret relationship in one foul swoop was what it took for real emotion to bubble out of Wednesday Addams. Agnes did not intend to do such again any time soon, lest even Enid couldn’t protect her from Wednesday’s wrath. With the deepest scowl that Agnes had ever seen on her usually impassive face, Wednesday added, “You win, Agnes. Consider yourself trained. But get out of my room—that goes for all of you!—and I will not allow any further comment on this matter or the matter of my… courtship, unless it is on my terms, or I will make good on my threats.”

Everyone filed out. If only while her fury still simmered, it was clear that no one believed that Wednesday was remotely joking. But she would calm in the morning, Agnes knew. In fact, she was truly looking forward to the look of begrudging pride that she predicted Wednesday would offer the following day.

Through the closed door as the last person exited, Agnes could hear Enid laughing long and hard.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Vignette of Valiance

In which Wednesday prepares her friends to face the stalker

(Part 2: Enid Sinclair)

Until this morning, Enid Sinclair had never woken up in the arms of someone whom she loved. And now, somehow, she yawned and blearily blinked awake to find Wednesday Addams, of all people, wrapped tightly around her. (Yesterday didn’t count, as Wednesday had already launched herself off the bed, covered in colour-induced hives, by the time Enid was sufficiently awake to register that it was morning.) This wasn’t something that Enid was feeling any disappointment or loss about—no, none of her high school boyfriends were people that, now in retrospect, she could even picture sharing her bed with—rather a sense of rightness and comfort that, finally, she’d found the love of her life and supported Wednesday to work through enough of her fears and barriers to be allowed to experience this moment of vulnerability. And, Enid expected that this would still be a fairly rare thing, as Wednesday so often woke so much earlier than Enid.

Not that the circumstances that had exhausted her girlfriend were ideal (even if they had been hilarious). Enid would need to be prepared to play diplomat between Wednesday and Agnes today, but for now, she just kept herself still and enjoyed being squeezed tightly against the small form of the girl who she loved. Werewolves loved intensely, Enid knew that she had her own history and experiences with both romantic and familial relationships that would inevitably be influencing her need for this kind of affection, and she had been forcing herself to be patient with Wednesday for years until they had finally confessed the other day. However, this felt different. It wasn’t desperation driven by any of those factors. It was merely… well, Enid didn’t have the words for it just yet. She presented a very emotionally intelligent façade a lot of the time, especially in contrast to Wednesday still working through how to let herself feel at all, but the truth was that Enid needed to sit with her emotions for a long time before they made sense. Felt them strongly, but in a messy, chaotic way that took patience to unravel. Perhaps not so different to Wednesday, except for how willing each was to acknowledge that they were feeling and that it was confusing and hard.

Well, this moment wasn’t confusing or hard. It was just nice. So, Enid did her best to quiet her racing thoughts. Focus on what she could feel. Wednesday was cold, but less like a cadaver as she claimed, and more like finding the cold side of your pillow on a warm night. But she was also still a living person, and therefore right where her torso was pressed against Enid’s side, a hesitant warmth seeped through their pyjamas into Enid’s ribs. There was a possessiveness to Wednesday’s hold that flooded Enid’s heart with both joy and a protectiveness in return. And Wednesday was just so small. Enid knew this of course. It had been a core tenet of her teasing for years. But until the last few days, the number of hugs that Wednesday had willingly shared Enid could have counted on her fingers, and each had been stiff, standing, and lasted for only a handful of heartbeats. She treasured every one, but this was so much better. Like a dam had burst—or, maybe more appropriate in Wednesday’s case, a small act of arson had started a raging forest fire—all of the need for closeness that Wednesday must have been pushing down for years came out all at once. The stoic, cautious girl still held back when others were around, and still seemed to have to wrestle with herself while awake, but as Wednesday herself had previously described in their life-altering conversation over the weekend, Enid was perhaps the first person who had ever found themselves on the inside of Wednesday’s walls. Wednesday was still figuring out what this meant, but it appeared to involve something very different to her usual.

Enid supposed that this made some sense, even if it would appear strange to anyone else. Wednesday possessed a number of traits that expressed themselves as control, aggression, coldness, and the like on the outside. But Enid genuinely believed that these came from a place of loyalty, enthusiasm, and carefulness that was primarily directed inward. Now that Enid was apparently part of that ‘inward,’ she could palpably sense the difference.

Okay, she was meant to be enjoying the moment, but had gone right back to thinking. Enid was in Wednesday’s arms. This was worth soaking in, brain quiet, body contented.

…and Wednesday’s heartbeat had changed. Her breathing became more deliberate. Clear signs that Wednesday was awake.

“Good morning, my love,” Enid whispered from where she was still nuzzled into Wednesday’s hair.

“I do not believe that I have ever grappled and restrained another person with such intensity outside of a combat situation, and perhaps not even then,” Wednesday remarked. Awake for mere seconds, and coming out with a full sentence and a reference to violence. Typical.

“You can grapple me anytime,” said Enid, not preventing any of her mirth or affection from being evident in her voice.

Grumbling instead of properly replying, Wednesday squeezed even more tightly. Enid felt the remaining air expelled out of her lungs, but as long as she had the chance to breathe again soon, it only made her feel all the more loved.

“Now, I don’t want to break this spell, but I suspect that you will switch to suddenly wanting to get up any second. So, I’ll ask directly. I still promise to do my best to be clear about the touch that I want. Can we stay like this for just five more minutes, and then we can get up and have whatever kind of day you want?” Enid asked.

Wednesday took a moment to answer. “I suppose that would not be… intolerable.”

“Perfect.” Snaking her own arms around her slight girlfriend, Enid pulled her into a hug of her own.

After breakfast with their other friends, at which the Addams continued to surprise Enid with all of the out-of-character food that they had somehow acquired to suit their tastes (there was whipped cream and salted caramel sauce and even more rainbow sprinkles for Enid to add to her coffee!), Wednesday was true to her word from the day before and pulled Enid aside for a dedicated day to focus on just the two of them. It may not have been a date, per se—they would need to find time for a real first date, and soon—but a day of practical training with Wednesday was the next best thing. It would probably have Wednesday more engaged and enthusiastic than a date anyway.

Their agenda supposedly consisted of three things:

• Strengthening psychic defences, to prepare for future attempts by the stalker to get inside her head again, like she had in the woods;
• Some kind of explanation that Wednesday seemed to be wanting to give Enid, but struggling to find the words over the last few days, about how their relationship might have more practical implications than Enid had realised, which Wednesday wanted to have in full privacy;
• A joined session with Gomez and Morticia, including a surprise that Wednesday refused to reveal until that afternoon.

So, the day’s activities were progressively more vague… But for all that Enid itched to know what all of this would entail, this was only because she loved a good surprise, and harrowing Wednesday about this only served to make her more excited. She just had to get through the first practical item first. Well, ‘get through’ was probably a bit unfair. Regardless of the specifics, it was time alone with her girlfriend, and at this point, Enid was still willing for that to involve almost anything. It was really not an ideal time to start a new relationship, alongside being tracked by a murderous stalker and finding oneself surrounded by a whole contingent of both friends and family. Every private moment was precious.

The pair wandered out of the manor, heading past the cemetery, toward the treeline. Enid instinctively reached for Wednesday’s hand, then had that instinct overridden by a more trained instinct to pull herself up on touching the girl, and then reminded herself that maybe it was something that Wednesday would tolerate now. However, before Enid had reached out a second time, clearly Wednesday had noticed, and Enid felt cold, narrow fingers slip into her own. It was hesitant, but Enid’s heart still flooded with warmth, and she squeezed back reassuringly.

After a few minutes of following a vague trail into the woods on the Addams’ property, Wednesday brought Enid to a clearing. From a distance, Enid had spotted several sections of forest that very much fit the spooky and strange aesthetic of her girlfriend’s family—gnarled trees with grey leaves and spiky underbrush. However, she wondered now if these were intentionally cultivated clusters maintained where they could be viewed from the manor, because the woods beyond were a lot more ordinary. Still dark and dense, and filled with strange plants and uncanny noises that Enid would not want to encounter in the dark. Still beautiful, in its own way, as the tiniest amount of sunlight pushed its way through the canopy to leave dappled light dancing across their path. The forest felt older than it had any right to in this part of the country. And yet, it was verdant and alive, wild not in its decay but in just how untouched it was.

The clearing itself appeared to be the result of where a particularly large tree had once fallen. The ground dipped slightly where roots must have been torn free, and several large logs now lay, partially reclaimed by moss and lichen and mushrooms, where they had either been too heavy to extract or too stubborn to decompose. There was a little more light here, though it still filtered down through the leaves of trees that overhung the space, and it was perhaps the most naturally whimsical place that Enid had ever seen.

“This is beautiful, Wends,” Enid said, stopping to take it all in.

“It is a favourite spot of mine,” Wednesday explained. “Quiet, unseen from the house. And it is evidence of the wonder that comes from death and decay. So many new things alive, because of one great thing that succumbed to the passage of time.”

“God, of course that’s why you like it,” said Enid. But this didn’t cool the warmth in her heart even a fraction. Enid had known for a long time, but was also realising again every day, that she loved Wednesday for just how strange she was, and all of the bizarre ways in which she saw the world. She continued, “It’s pretty colourful for you, though. Green leaves, yellow moss, blue lichen, red and purple and brown mushrooms.”

“I have taken my pills, and colour out in nature seems to have a less potent effect on me than artificial paints and dyes and plastics, even if bright organic hues still make my skin crawl with prolonged exposure.”

“Aww, I think that’s just your way of saying that you find it beautiful out here too.”

“I said as much, Enid. The rot in this place is pulchritudinous,” said Wednesday.

“You would use the ugliest word for pretty things,” Enid laughed. “But I think you like seeing the bright new life bloom here too.”

“It is all insipid and dull compared to you. Any predator should think twice, with the poisonous signals that your proclivity for colour send.”

“You’re so sweet.”

They took a seat, side by side, on one of the fallen logs. The moss made it a little damp, but it was also soft and comfortable. By this point, between her childhood with a large Werewolf family and her more recent life alongside Wednesday, Enid was used to the minor inconveniences of the woods. Of course, she shuffled a little closer to Wednesday, until their knees were touching, and leaned a little into her girlfriend’s shoulder. What was the point of a romantic walk in the woods with your girlfriend, where she would teach you to defend your mind against a psychic stalker, if you couldn’t get a little cuddling in along the way?

For the next two hours or so, Wednesday took Enid through a number of mental exercises. They were all actually things that felt somewhat familiar to Enid, who had seen Wednesday meditate and practice and study these kinds of techniques in their final year together at Nevermore. Wednesday’s aunt, Ophelia, had left behind a book not unlike Goody’s, with its own dark secrets and dangerous spells, but after two years in a row of almost dying to the consequences of her visions, Wednesday had managed to approach learning to use and control her second sight with a little more caution the third time around. Not that there hadn’t been close calls and unexpected revelations in their senior year, but Wednesday had even on occasion come to Enid to ask—indirectly, begrudgingly, but nevertheless actually ask—whether Enid thought that a particular course of action was rational, or to let her know if she seemed to be putting herself at too much risk.

However, Enid had never herself engaged in these specific psychic practices. There had been no need. She’d gone through a new age spiritualist phase once before Wednesday had arrived at Nevermore, determined to find any means to help her wolf out that didn’t involve Werewolf conversion camps, but had quickly discovered that, although she liked the look of the precious crystals, such things felt hollow (and certainly didn’t help in any practical way) when she lived in a world in which some of her friends had actual and innate talent with witchcraft and divination. These exercises felt entirely different. Less materialistic, more grounded. And, by this point, Enid wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the idea of communicating with an inner self, or envisaging controls and defences in her mind, or tapping into undefinable energies within her body. All such things applied to Werewolves also, even if in different ways.

Supposedly, all such techniques were imprecise. But Wednesday promised that, if Enid was faced with the kind of situation that she had experienced with the stalker while camping, she stood a better chance at resisting the imposed vision with these tools to call on. They still didn’t really know how powerful the stalker was, or what other ways she could unexpectedly use her abilities. Nevertheless, knowing how to identify foreign psychic energy, how to regain some agency and potentially extract oneself less painfully from a stubborn vision, and even how to go about disrupting the focus of someone attempting to use their psychic abilities all gave Enid a little more confidence about their inevitable upcoming encounters with their intimidating opponent.

Then, Wednesday pulled out and placed a tote bag on her knees, to which Enid had previously paid little attention. Wednesday said, “I doubt there is more that I can do in the time that we have to teach you to protect your mind, but there is more that you should know that could mean the difference between life and death. I have… brought some things along, which should help.”

“Like, magical artefacts? Agnes was telling me at breakfast…” Enid began, and then trailed off. Her girlfriend had been remarkably tolerant with their younger friend that morning, but her eyes still darkened just slightly at the reminder of Agnes’ shenanigans from the night before.

“No,” said Wednesday, closing off that line of conversation. “Water. A snack. One of your smallest plushies, so that it didn’t inhibit our passage through the trees, for you to squeeze. I myself have the head of a doll from my childhood, as I find it soothing to run my thumb over the rough texture left by severing the head from the body with my very first steam-powered guillotine.”

This was not what Enid had expected. She chose not to think too much about the alternative to a teddy that Wednesday had chosen as a comfort item, and was genuinely proud and impressed that Wednesday had taken so much onboard from Enid’s own preparations for their previous serious discussion. Taking a water bottle and a few cookies wrapped in paper—Enid had discovered that she actually quite liked the crunch that crickets and grasshoppers added to the biscuits, after forcing herself through the first bite each time—and then placed the palm-sized stuffed elephant that Wednesday had selected from Enid’s things onto her lap.

“Enid, beloved, there are consequences to being my paramour of which you were unaware upon entering into this courtship. I apologise for not having the opportunity or the courage to explain them to you earlier. Though you will soon discover that doing so shall likely cause me to decline into misery and death, if you wish to reconsider our romantic relationship upon hearing these revelations, I encourage you to do so. My suffering shall be mine to carry, and should have no bearing on your decision,” Wednesday said, already attempting to keep her tone calm by stroking the decapitated doll’s head.

“Wends, I’m literally one hundred per cent sure that, whatever it is, it’ll be fine,” Enid promised.

“Still, let me explain before you make your decision,” said Wednesday. She took in a deep breath, and swallowed, before speaking again. “You see, I am cursed.”

“Hardly surprising.”

“Please let me finish.”

“Sorry!”

Wednesday continued, “At least, we call it a curse. There’s some chance that it’s genetic, or an unstudied Outcast ability. Nevertheless, through my father’s bloodline, a curse is carried that affects all Addams. If certain conditions are not met by the accursed individual, they will wither in one way or another, until it brings about their end. Some have died from literal heartbreak. Others have lost all appetite until they starved to death. Yet others have simply been plagued with statistically improbable demises immediately after the curse caught up to them.”

“That sounds… dark. And not even in a way that you’d enjoy,” said Enid.

“Precisely. It is torment for an Addams, even with our twisted pleasures and entertainments.”

“What are the conditions that you have to fulfil?”

“If only it were so simple as a ritual or a sacrifice or a quest. Rather, the condition is often out of our hands. Now that I have fallen in love, it shall consume me as my driving force. So long as it persists, and on my end I have no control over this and it shall persist for the duration of my life, it shall do so with a fervour unmatched. And, the metaphysical bond that I share with you, and all other members of the Addams family, will grow ever stronger. However, should I ever walk away from you or should it ever become unrequited, I will lose myself. No Addams has avoided death or madness for more than a few years, most only surviving months at most, after experiencing heartbreak.”

“Oh, I—wow, heck,” Enid said. It was simultaneously a lot to take in, but at the same time, perfectly in line with everything that she had come to understand about the Addams. “But, like, kind of not surprising?”

“I literally just told you that I will die if you don’t love me. That’s like putting you in a cage, or a collar, and I do not wish for you to be forced into such a prison,” Wednesday insisted.

“Yeah, but, based on your intensity, I kind of already figured that I’m stuck with you,” said Enid. “And… I’ve kind of claimed you too. The whole rhetoric about ‘mates’ and all that is highly overexaggerated. Normies fetishise it, and other Outcast groups sometimes even use it to spread false information about Werewolves for various political games in the Outcast world. Most of the younger generation avoid the word entirely. But it does have some basis in truth. There is a biological, not just social, drive toward monogamy in Werewolves. And it is a known phenomenon that Werewolves are particularly likely to follow that archetype of passing away within weeks of each other, if they live to an old age and one of them goes first. We’re also super sensitive to smell, as you know, and therefore over time the scent of the people who we love becomes more cemented and brings us comfort, while the scents of strangers become less tolerable and more overwhelming. It’s not a strict, unbreakable thing like your curse seems to be, but trust me that, if you choose to stick with me, the chances of my attachments to you fading rather than growing are very slim.”

“I always looked at my parents and saw their affections for one another as a chain. It is why I swore off all such feelings for myself. How true that metaphor has proven already to be, and yet how little I mind its weight. In fact, I already sense that, if it were to be lifted from me, the subsequent lightness would leave me hollow and I would dissolve and fade away,” Wednesday said.

“Shit, Wends, you continually come out with these comments that are somehow the most romantic and most disturbing things ever.”

“Do you expect anything else?”

“Of course not! I’ll have you know that, among the chronically online, I’m considered just as poetic in my use of emojis. You’re just not fluent enough to appreciate it,” said Enid. (She was only mostly joking.)

“I shall accept your tiny images of hearts from now…” Wednesday said, but then paused, realisation sparking in her eyes. “Wait, the black hearts with my name on your cellphone. I always interpreted them as your recognition that I do, in fact, have a dark and tormented heart.”

“Ah, yeah, that. Caught red handed. I told you, I’ve been in love with you for years. It’s just convenient that you were technoilliterate.”

“I don’t think that’s a word.”

“But you understood it.”

“Touché.”

“Anyway,” Enid said. “You mentioned that there were… impacts, of the curse, that I should know?”

“Yes. The primary evidence against it being genetic is its lateral transmission. Though it may take some time to manifest, there is a tendency for the curse to affect the recipient of an Addams’ love. Not if they wouldn’t genuinely reciprocate regardless, but upon accepting our affections and returning them, you might find the curse reinforcing and bolstering the way that you feel also.”

“What, you’ve passed on your curse to make me love you more? How horrifying,” said Enid.

“You are lucky that I have grown more accustomed to your particular brand of sarcasm, or else you risk the curse causing me to spontaneously combust right now with such a comment,” Wednesday said dryly. “More practically, there will be almost negligible, and yet in retrospect undeniable, ways in which the curse will protect you. Tiny fates may shift, with harm missing you by a sliver where it would’ve found you before. The fractional increase to your desire to survive or endure or keep fighting to return to both myself and my family will make just enough difference for you to push through more trials than you would’ve before. Your sense of self, especially when you are with me or thinking about me, will be just that little bit more firm and certain, when faced with doubts. We are not invincible by any means, but the universe seems to be hellbent on keeping us around, not for our own sakes, but for the sakes of those we love.”

“That’s like honestly so cool. I get why you think it might be a lot to process, but it just sounds to me like we’ve literally got destiny as our biggest shipper,” said Enid.

“I—what? Where is the universe shipping us to? I presume you mean figuratively?”

At this, Enid burst out laughing, and pulled Wednesday in closer. She planted a firm kiss on the top of her girlfriend’s head. In response, Enid felt Wednesday stiffen slightly, her heartrate increase, but the other girl then let herself melt into Enid’s arms.

“It doesn’t matter where the universe ships us to, as long as we’re together,” Enid replied.

“That still doesn’t explain anything.”

“Just shush and enjoy this lovely moment together. No more thinking.”

Wednesday merely grumbled, but did not try to extract herself from Enid’s arms.

The attempt to curb her own enthusiasm profoundly failed. Enid knew that she could act like a bit of an excited puppy sometimes, and, though she didn’t show it, felt a little sting each time that someone found the puppy-Werewolf comparison funny enough to mention. Not that she disliked that she was an energetic individual. Quite the opposite. However, it could get ahead of her occasionally.

But Wednesday had told her that there would be a surprise.

Though Enid had not known exactly what their conversation in the clearing in the woods before lunch was going to entail, any surprise there was clearly going to be information. Something told Enid that this second surprise was going to be different. A gift? Enid wasn’t sure. But that only caused her anticipation to boil even more forcefully in her chest.

Early afternoon, Wednesday had taken Enid by the hand (again!) and led her through the halls of the manor until they stood before a heavy wooden door. Wednesday had to pull firmly to dislodge it from its frame, revealing a set of stairs that descended into a dim haze below. The light sources seemed to be gas lamps, instead of the electricity that (though dated) had been updated throughout the rest of the house.

“Are you taking me down into a dungeon?” Enid asked, teasing.

Unfortunately, Wednesday’s answer was more direct than Enid expected: “Yes.”

“Oh, um. Should I be worried?” She wasn’t, but it was nevertheless vaguely concerning that the Addams had a dungeon at all. Not that she should be surprised.

“Always,” said Wednesday. “Never let your guard down around an Addams or while in their domain. However, now that you have been welcomed into the family, consider yourself part of the danger, not the endangered.”

“Super reassuring,” Enid said dryly.

The stair wound down into the earth, before opening out into a large stone room. It was very much decorated in the style of a dungeon, but in some ways a very fictional one. Like you might expect from an old vampire film, with iron fittings elaborately shaped and a plush, blood-red carpet running down the centre of the space. Though, none of it felt cheap, like a film set may have. Enid was entirely convinced that any bones and instruments of torture were highly authentic. Still, it was a strange mix of horrifying and cozy.

Morticia and Gomez Addams stood at the far end of this room, in front of another wooden door, the latter holding a guttering torch. Neither of Wednesday’s parents ever merely existed in a space, they commanded it. Enid didn’t know if she’d ever seen either Morticia or Gomez sit or stand or walk in a way that didn’t seem entirely posed. Not in a shallow way. Like masters of the stage, fully confident in themselves and their place in the world.

It was Morticia who spoke up first, saying, “Welcome, petite louve. Our Wednesday has informed us of some of the exciting dangers that you and your companions may face. In a wonderful turn of fate, I was reminded that the Addams are in possession of something that we ought to have remembered and offered for your use long since. Though it does feel appropriate to share with you now, given… developments that we have recently been made aware of in your lives.”

“Mother…” Wednesday said, in a warning tone.

“I’m not saying anything more,” Morticia promised. “But the facts are the facts, and you of all people must acknowledge that we must consider all information before taking action, no?”

When Wednesday didn’t immediately respond, Enid said, “I’m super grateful that you’ve accepted me so quickly and fully! I don’t need any gifts, but that doesn’t mean I’m not excited if you have something for me…”

“It has been a long time since a true prisoner has been housed in these cells,” Gomez said. He gestured at the side rooms separated from the central corridor with intense iron bars. “Not those unwilling, at least. Some Addams have a taste for such things. Nevertheless, it has primarily found itself converted into storage, though still for a range of strange and interesting relics. We do love a good, dramatic reveal, as you’ve surely figured out, lupacchiotto. Follow us, and we’ll see what treasures we’ve stashed in our dingy basement.”

The older couple ushered Enid and Wednesday through the far door, into another stone room, but this one lined with shelves and cupboards. It would all be mismatched, if each item of furniture didn’t share a common minimum age of surely at least a century. Cloaks hung in rows from ornate, open-fronted wardrobes. There were several full suits of armour. And, in the back corner, and honest-to-god pile of what seemed to be solid gold coins. But there were also odd little statues, and fading oil paintings, and even some contemporary objects than seemed out of place—children’s toys and sports equipment and even a microwave—but were no doubt stored here for some curse or curiosity that they possessed.

“This is a fricking treasure vault,” Enid said. She could tell that her awe was fully betrayed by her face, as she tried to take in the chaos of the space and everything that it contained.

“Wednesday, little viper, I must ask. Please forgive me. Our understanding is that you have… lifelong intentions toward Enid?” Gomez asked.

Wednesday sighed. “Yes, father.”

“Fantastic. I just needed to confirm,” said Wednesday’s father. He grinned widely, and emphasised this with throwing his hands wide to encompass the room. “As such, consider this your treasure vault, my dear wolf. Take care. Many a thing in here could drive you mad with a mere touch—unless that’s what you’re seeking, of course!—but our home is your home, our wealth is your wealth, and our delightfully cursed objects are your delightfully cursed objects.”

“I—okay, wow. I don’t think I’ll feel right just, you know, taking things at random. But I appreciate everything you’re offering! Honestly, I do,” Enid replied.

“Well, for now, we have identified one item that we wish you to accept, my dear,” Morticia said.

From one particular cabinet, tall and decorated with what appeared to be a brass or even gold inlay, which she used an old key to unlock, Morticia pulled out a coat hanger that seemed to hold a… white fur cardigan or jacket? Even colourless, it was dramatic and strangely reminiscent of something modern, even though Enid was certain that it was much older, and that there was more to it than met the eye. But she owned similar items of clothing, including in a bright pastel pink, that Enid knew for a fact that made Wednesday sick to even look at.

The fluffy item of clothing was passed to Enid. As she ran her hands over the fur, she thought that maybe it felt like…

“Werewolf fur?” Enid asked, a little confused and concerned. That was not an acceptable thing in the Werewolf community, to turn a lupine pelt into any such item of clothing or decoration.

“Let them explain, beloved,” Wednesday said, placing a hand cautiously on Enid’s arm. Not that Enid was planning to throw out accusations right away, but could nevertheless feel an anxiety and even a little anger instinctively rise in her chest.

“Ah, insightful,” Gomez said. “Though the circumstances of its creation and acquisition are unique. You may still find it not to your tastes after I reveal its story, but it has a stranger history than you can possibly imagine.”

Between the pair of them, Morticia and Gomez relayed to Enid and Wednesday the bizarre story of this bizarre coat:

More than a hundred and fifty years before, a powerful witch of the Addams clan found herself in a bitter rivalry with an influential Werewolf pack leader. The origin of the dispute was lost to time, and quickly became irrelevant regardless, as each action elicited a desire for revenge, and each reaction further cemented the animosity.

Their retaliations ranged from epic to petty. It consumed them such that neither ever married nor had a family of their own, their sole obsession their battle. Once, the Werewolf torched the witch’s garden. Once, the witch caused all of the Werewolf’s kin to suffer a plague of lice. Once, the Werewolf hired an actor to court the witch to steal her secrets. Perhaps most petty of all was one of the witch’s curses upon her foe, placed many years into their war: that each time that the Werewolf transformed beneath a full moon, all the fur would fall from his body.

Infuriated and embarrassed by this affliction, the Werewolf came to the witch’s home and demanded that the curse be lifted. Seizing the opportunity for even more mischief, the witch told the Werewolf that if he collected the fur that he lost during the next full moon, and fashioned it into a coat, that wearing it again would revert the magic.

However, ever since falling under this curse, the Werewolf had put himself in exile from his clan, unwilling to be seen in such a state of shame by his pack. And he did not know how to carry out this task alone.

The witch offered that the Werewolf could stay with her for the coming weeks until the next full moon, and carry out the labour that she needed around her home as payment for the roof over his head and the reversal of the curse. He begrudgingly agreed.

Over the following weeks, the witch and the Werewolf were at each other’s throats daily. However, in time, their living arrangements began to change the cadence of their arguments little by little. To the surprise of no one except the witch and the Werewolf themselves, as passion and proximity are wont to do, the witch realised that perhaps she did not feel so spiteful toward the Werewolf. And the Werewolf discovered that perhaps he did not feel such hate toward the witch.

Now, the unlikely pair were already aging. The witch’s hair was silver and wild, and the Werewolf’s fur, before it fell from his body upon transformation, had turned completely white. Nevertheless, something like love kindled between them.

For a dozen full moons, the witch contrived a reason why the coat of fur could not be made. A convenient wind scattered the fur too quickly. The location of the transformation caused the fur to be scattered in the mud. The stars were not aligned for the removal of the curse to succeed. But, of course, the truth was that the witch had merely suggested this ‘cure’ as a way of further humiliating and mocking the Werewolf. And now, she did not know how to admit it.

The morning after the twelfth full moon, the Werewolf returned to the home that he now shared with the witch, carrying a sack of fur over his shoulder. He roused her from their bed, and said to her, “Dearest, there are no excuses left. I have my fur, the stars are aligned, and the weather is fine and pleasant. Will you return to me my coat?”

The witch could not respond without breaking her lover’s heart. So, she said, “Well, my darling, you see…”

But the Werewolf did not let her finish. He said, “But you cannot, can you? All this time, and it was merely a ruse.”

“My love, I am filled with remorse and guilt,” said the witch. “I have not known how to tell you the truth.”

The witch, however, did not expect the Werewolf’s response. For he smiled, and said, “I am old, beloved. And this last year, I have chosen you over my pack. After all of the worst of ourselves that we have shown one another for many years, what shame can I feel in front of you for something as small as the fur on my body? Nevertheless, I require one thing as payment.”

“Anything, my wolf,” the witch promised.

“A month from today, when I next transform, you shall shed your clothing with me, and we shall bear this embarrassment together under the full light and watchful eye of the moon. It shall cleanse us of any lingering shame, and ensure that we move forward as equals. I do not know that I truly have many years left in this world, but I would rather spend them in my accursed form with you than in my full glory with the pack that I left behind.”

When the next full moon came around, the witch did as promised, and the pair stood bare in the moonlight and let it wash them of their shame. As the night grew bitter and cold, however, the Werewolf presented his witch with a gift. He had watched her sew and mend her clothes over the twelve moons, and taught himself to mimic her craft. And so, he offered his own fur, sewn into a coat, to keep his beloved warm.

Now, the witch had no power to remove the curse. Such things, once cast with such hatred, are not so simple to reverse. However, the act of forgiveness and acceptance from her Werewolf erased the last lingering shadows of a lifetime of animosity. She had loved him for the better part of a year, but the expulsion of such things from one’s soul is not an easy feat. Yet, now without even a shred of hate from which to draw its power, the curse had no source, no anchor, and faded in the moonlight.

The Werewolf howled in surprise and delight as fur returned all over his old but powerful form, and the witch and the Werewolf danced with one another for the rest of the night, both cloaked in his thick, white fur to keep the cold at bay.

In the morning, the Werewolf said to the witch of the coat, “Keep it, please. May you never lack warmth, no matter how far apart we may be, or how frozen the night becomes. May it hold you and protect you as I would, even long after I am gone.”

Enid genuinely lost herself to Morticia and Gomez’s tale, and shook herself back to the present only to find her cheeks stained with tears upon its conclusion. Though she knew that Wednesday would deny the comparison, Enid couldn’t help but see the parallels with her own life. She was simply grateful to have found her love so much younger, and without the decades of strife and pain first, than the witch and the Werewolf. Early on in the story, Enid had grown angry that the witch could bring such a shameful thing upon the Werewolf, but his forgiveness and acceptance of her had resonated so strongly with Enid—including in her experience with Wednesday—that she wondered if it was, perhaps, the greatest thing in the world to be cursed with love and vulnerability.

“Thank you, that was beautiful,” Enid said.

“Yes, very touching, mother, father,” Wednesday said. Enid could feel her girlfriend resisting rolling her eyes. “But what does it do?”

“It makes me feel happy and warm inside,” Enid protested. “Does it need to do anything else?”

“Hardly helpful when facing down a murderous stalker.”

“Girls, please,” Morticia interrupted. “Enid, it does in fact serve more of a purpose than its sentimental value and its material warmth. There have been a small number of Werewolves connected to the Addams family over time, though none that are in Wednesday’s direct bloodline. Several found that, upon wearing this coat, it would fuse with their own fur whenever they transformed, becoming as white and pure as the brightest moon. And, it would remain wrapped around their forms to keep them covered and warm upon reverting. This alone, I trust, is very convenient for a Werewolf.”

“Oh god, like you wouldn’t believe,” said Enid. If this were true—and she had no reason to doubt it—then gone were the days of carrying a towel out into the woods to transform, and of returning to consciousness in her human form completely exposed in the cold.

Gomez added, “You will also find that, in your wolfen form, your mind is clearer, and in your human form, that your senses are keener. It ties together the two halves of your existence, allowing them to share their strengths without the barrier of transformation in the way. Do not worry, you will not lose your human mind to the wolf’s instincts, nor your wolf’s prowess to your humanity. For once, among all of the cursed things in this room, there are only blessings to be found here.”

Later that night, Enid suggested to Wednesday that perhaps she should let herself transform. It was one of the abilities associated with being an Alpha, despite the lack of a full moon. But it was also something that Enid had avoided since her fateful transformation under the blood moon. What if she couldn’t turn back? What if she lost control?

However, now with the knowledge of the bond that she and Wednesday would share for the rest of their lives, and the courage of the story and the coat gifted to her by the Addams, Enid no longer felt nearly as afraid. Still a little nervous, but confident that, even if something did go wrong, there was nothing that Wednesday wouldn’t do to make things right again. And, besides, she desperately wanted to test the uses of the coat. All afternoon, Enid had been trying to see whether she could notice any difference in how much she could tap into her lupine senses and instincts while human, and though it was subtle, was convinced that they were stronger. Being able to retain more of her conscious faculty as a wolf, however, would be an altogether more amazing thing.

The two of them headed back out to Wednesday’s clearing in the wood once the moon was high. It was still waning, and was still greater than half illuminated, only a few days after it had been full while Enid and her friends had been camping.

As she transformed, Enid couldn’t miss the look of awe in her girlfriend’s eyes. She knew that Wednesday was enticed by her power, but could also see the deeper affection that they had found for one another underneath.

And, indeed, her full coat of fur did turn white. (Except, because of course, for the pale pink and blue that still remained on her ears.) Once she had fully shifted, Enid turned to present her new self to her girlfriend. She was already able to tell that she was more lucid, and would hopefully have clearer memories upon reverting.

Wednesday stood, and reached up to place a hand on either side of Enid’s face. Nuzzling into Wednesday’s palms, Enid let out a contented huff.

“Ma louve,” Wednesday said, her eyes locked with Enid’s. “You look beautiful in white.”

It was a good thing that Enid could neither blush nor speak. She had no way of knowing if Wednesday was implying the same thing that Enid was hearing. For all of her intelligence, Wednesday had a tendency to overlook the non-literal connotations of her words. But it hardly mattered. The sentiment was the same. Bells echoed through Enid’s skull, and she howled to the moon in joy.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three: A Vignette of Violence

In which Wednesday prepares her friends to face the stalker

(Part 3: Yoko Tanaka & Divina Carmen)

Yoko Tanaka knew that, today, the world’s tiniest avatar of death and woe would come for her soul. After all, Wednesday had announced as such at Friday’s breakfast, demanding that Yoko and Divina meet her in the armoury by ten o’clock, and not a minute later. Thanks to the recent developments with Enid (speaking of which, fucking finally), the Vampire trusted that she and her Siren would come out the other end of the day alive, but was still fully expecting to be harrowed. If what she’d heard from Agnes and Enid was anything to go by—though Enid had been silent on several specific elements of her time with Wednesday the day before—they were in for an intense day.

It was strange, spending time with and coming to better understand Wednesday Addams. Yoko herself, before Wednesday had arrived at Nevermore, was generally considered high on the goth-and-intimidating scale of the school. Though modernised through her own, grunge-inspired aesthetic, in many respects, Yoko was a bonafide Vampire inside and out. With several decades behind her, even if parts of her body and mind refused to progress at the same speed as those around her, Yoko was confident in who she was, and had claimed her niche. She loved plenty of contemporary and feminine things, as her friendship with Enid demonstrated. However, red and black remained her colour scheme, a dark scowl her signature greeting to strangers, and her K-pop playlists were equally balanced with haunting classical music, hard metal, and hard metal reinterpretations of haunting classical music.

But then there was the Addams heir. Short with doll-like features, and yet the aesthetics of harmlessness and innocence stopped there. Yoko had grown used to Wednesday’s glares and threats, but each disturbing stare and vicious promise outdid any equivalents that Yoko’s mind summoned. Where Yoko had grown up in a wealthy, formal family who even owned and maintained a traditional castle back in Japan, Wednesday lived in a goddamned haunted mansion. The blood-red accents of Yoko’s wardrobe had once felt like statements of the shadows in her soul, but she had never once seen a drop of any colour in Wednesday’s attire. Literally the only way in which Wednesday lost out on the edgy-and-spooky scale to Yoko was in their choice of girlfriends. Where Divina was cool and collected, with her slick hair and effortless style, Enid was rainbows and chaos incarnate. Even then, the more that Yoko thought about it, the truly counterintuitive development (in the sense that, upon first meeting, Yoko would’ve thought Enid the furthest thing from Wednesday’s type, because since then it certainly hadn’t surprised anyone), and taking into account that Enid was actually a terrifying killing machine when she needed to be, probably fit with Wednesday’s twisted schtick perfectly.

Genuinely, these reflections weren’t from a place of jealousy. Sure, sometimes she envied how few fucks Addams was able to give (though she’d learned more and more that Wednesday did, in fact, give a few fucks, if only for her family and for Enid). However, the dominant feeling was simply one of bemusement. The thought recurred to her frequently: How was Yoko the Vampire, and Wednesday merely human? It felt like the universe was having a little private joke with itself at their expense.

Still. Yoko was glad to be onside with Wednesday these days, and honestly happy for Enid to have found a girlfriend who—in her own, disturbing or at least kooky ways—would love and defend her even until death. There was no future that Yoko could imagine in which, now together, the unlikely couple would ever part. She’d seen how strong the simp-age was in their eyes, not to mention how many times Enid had come to complain or gossip or opine in Yoko’s room over Wednesday this and Wednesday that. And Wednesday was surely only more extreme in her obsession, if how she treated her other interests and close relationships were anything to go by. Hell, Wednesday had almost maimed a girl last year in retribution for accidentally stepping on one of Eugene’s bees. God help anyone who dared to even look at Enid wrong.

Unlike what Yoko had heard of the past two days of “Wednesday Addams’ Stalker-Prep Boot Camp,” however, today’s attendance seemed to snowball. This may have been Wednesday’s home, but that didn’t change their host’s interpersonal energies, and so Yoko and her girlfriend continued to drive a fair amount of the social activity around the house. Gomez too spent a large number of his hours seeking out conversation with the various guests, drawing them into family activities. So, when Gomez, while passing them in the hall after breakfast that morning, had let slip that he was to be involved in whatever Wednesday had planned for the day, Yoko’s expectations of the day and her spirits were significantly lifted. She was sure that Wednesday would be a capable teacher, just maybe not a fun one…

Pubert had been with Gomez, and expressed his eagerness to come along and “watch Wenday slice ‘em up!” Then, Wednesday’s youngest brother had mentioned it to Joel, who shrugged nonchalantly but had a glint of excitement in his eyes at joining Pubert as an observer. By that point, it was everyone invited except Enid and Agnes. And given that those two were the most likely to tail Wednesday in the absence of anyone else to hang out with, Yoko was expecting a full house. Hopefully they all wouldn’t solely sit in the proverbial bleachers and judge.

“Ah, so much for private tutelage,” Wednesday announced, upon realising what Yoko already knew when seeing all of her guests plus her father and brother in the armoury. “Very well. If you’re here, you will make the most of the opportunity for improvement. Otherwise, if you are a distraction, you will leave. This morning is for martial training, followed by an afternoon of preparatory activities in the woods. And don’t think that you can just pick and choose the fun bits. If you’re still here in five minutes, you’re here all day. Got it?”

The veritable army arrayed before Wednesday, though a rather hodgepodge and unruly one, gave a mixture of nods and begrudging-but-affirmative grumbles (and one enthusiastic but teasing salute from Enid).

Wednesday continued, gesturing for Gomez to join her at the head of the room, saying, “Many of you have participated in fencing and other martial sports in the past. As such, this should not be fully foreign to you. However, a warning is nevertheless required: training with the Addams is a very different beast to the rigid and coddled approach taken within the realm of formal education. For those who were at Nevermore, Coach Vlad was strict as a teacher, but he was hardly vicious as an opponent. Also, no weapon in his classroom had much physical weight, nor were blades and spikes in much use. This will not be the case today. There is no motivation to avoid taking injury if there is no risk of taking injury.”

After receiving the various responses of anticipatory grins to blank stares to disturbed frowns, Wednesday and Gomez ran through a wide range of weapons available in the Addams’ armoury. There were items that Wednesday or her father showed off with pride, but noted weren’t feasible to be on offer today—a heavy iron morningstar on a chain and a family-heirloom claymore chief among them—but otherwise gave an overview of the kind of combat style associated with each weapon, and therefore who might be more or less suited to such an approach. Yoko herself was familiar with a fair array of weaponry, though mostly in a ceremonial sense other than the fencing foil, thanks to her heritage. However, she knew that Divina had touched basically nothing outside of martial sporting endeavours, and by the looks of it Joel was being thrown into the deep end also. It was of little surprise that Enid by this point was entirely unphased, though she still seemed to be more interested in particular weapons based on how elaborate their designs were rather than any practical metrics. And Agnes absolutely lit up at a pair of wicked looking daggers.

About a half hour later, initial weapon choices had been assigned across the entire group:

• Yoko herself had claimed a naginata, because she was nothing if not a sucker for fully leaning into her aesthetic, and knew that she had the Vampiric strength to manage a heavier weapon.
• Divina, seeing that her girlfriend had taken on something connected to her heritage, had gone with a similarly long and heavy item that reflected her own background, in the form of a trident.
• Agnes claimed the very daggers that had excited her earlier in the presentations.
• Enid had insisted that her claws were all that she needed, which Gomez and Wednesday seemed perfectly content with, Wednesday even letting something slip under her breath about her girlfriend already being a living weapon, which was essentially the highest love confession that Yoko could imagine from her. (Not that Yoko would say as such out loud.)
• Joel went for a crossbow, which Wednesday indicated would likely require a different approach to training with to the rest, but admitted was a good choice to keep Joel at range without the physical advantages that most of the other Outcasts possessed.
• Finally, Pubert took the morningstar that Wednesday had specifically ruled out, which seemed far too large and cumbersome for him, but neither she nor Gomez actually batted an eyelid at the choice. Yoko was looking forward to seeing what Wednesday’s little brother managed with this—it would either be truly impressive or very entertaining, she was sure.

Weapons selected, the next step was defences. When Wednesday first announced this, Yoko was convinced that they’d shortly all end up in full plate armour, and had no idea how Wednesday expected them to prepare themselves in such a way again in future if the stalker caught them off guard. However, she shouldn’t have been surprised to find that Wednesday was, of course, much more practical than this. Sure, the strange girl may have preferred historical weaponry, claiming that they never ran out of ammunition and allowed one to get in close and fight dirty, but Wednesday’s first love would always be effectiveness over performativity. As such, they were each issued with military-grade undershirts, which they would apparently be expected to find a way to integrate into their clothing at all times going forward.

“So, they’re our PJs too?” Yoko asked, mostly joking.

“That depends whether you believe yourself invulnerable, or at least sufficiently alert, while you sleep,” Wednesday replied, with an entirely serious deadpan.

As far as Yoko herself was concerned, she could react quickly and withstand a beating if necessary, but Divina, Agnes, and Joel all gulped and looked uncomfortable at the implication. Wednesday explained that they would’ve been assigned such protections upon first arriving, except that her Grandmama had needed time to tailor the armour to each of their sizes. Which meant that the elderly Addams woman (a) was a capable seamstress, (b) knew her way around military-issue clothing, and (c) had (literally) sized each of them up without taking actual measurements. All of which only increased Yoko’s simultaneous admiration and fear for the uncanny witch.

Curiously enough, Wednesday did not don such a shirt, nor did she assign one to either Enid or Pubert. For Enid, at least, this made some sense. The Werewolf may have been just as stab-able as the rest, but she did have accelerated healing and, perhaps more importantly, needed to not be trapped in such a garment if and when she needed to transform. The reason for Pubert’s exception was beyond her, but was surely something either terrifyingly eldritch or concerningly sadistic, neither of which Yoko wished to dwell on.

Then, the strange little army was paired off. To begin with, they were matched like-with-like. Fortunately, this meant that Yoko and Divina were to work together with their polearms, while Enid and Pubert would square off with their close-contact weapons, and Agnes and Joel would be taken outside by Lurch to practice at range on archery targets. Wednesday promised that they’d try some other combinations later, as one’s enemy should not be expected to bring the same skills and styles as oneself to any given fight. Yoko just hoped that she wouldn’t be expected to defend herself with a literal stick against a psychotic redhead throwing knives while invisible…

Despite her earlier predictions, the rest of the morning was actually a blast. Yoko’s primary experience with Wednesday in combat-oriented classes was watching the girl face down Bianca when they had been at Nevermore. Even after the dynamic between Addams and Barclay had shifted from pure disdain to kind-of-friendly rivalry, there was still a persistent intensity and viciousness to their fencing matches. And, sure, Wednesday was true to her word today and kept up the pressure, insisting that they all ‘go for blood’ to maintain the stakes of the training session. However, the tiny goth (one way that Yoko had learned to inoculate herself against Wednesday was through the kind of monikers that were best left unspoken aloud) was fixated on raising all of their capabilities, not on humiliating each of them in cruel and spiteful ways. Which actually meant genuine suggestions for improvement, feedback that was constructive even if still biting, and even the occasional concession following moments of success. (That being said, Yoko also thought that some of this could be traced back to the positive effects that Enid was having on her girlfriend. Wednesday would always be a pocket-sized murder goblin, and Yoko knew that Enid wouldn’t have it any other way, but that Enid did expect her girlfriend to learn how to actually be friends with other human beings on occasion, especially if they were people who Enid herself cared about.)

Not to mention Gomez. The Addams’ patriarch was an absolute riot. Gomez grinned maniacally all morning, in a way that would’ve been horrifying if it wasn’t at the same time so genuine and open. The man was somehow even faster than Yoko could muster with all of her Vampiric physiology, but took such delight in the sparring that it was infectious. Also, unlike his daughter, Gomez seemed even more thrilled when one of his students bested him than he did with his own successes. Yoko couldn’t help but match his energy when he stepped in and took Divina’s trident to demonstrate something to the pair, or when he squared off against the Siren in Yoko’s place. Especially when Divina managed to pin Gomez against the wall, eliciting a truly jubilant chuckle from the man, who rewarded her with a violent but adoring bear hug in response.

The advice that Gomez provided was variously more and less practical than Wednesday’s suggestions. At one point, when posing Yoko and Divina opposite one another in a particular stance, rearranging their footing to maximise both stability when defending and power when attacking, he gave such poignant wisdom as: “My dears, remember the objective of every battle—take fewer hits than your opponent!”

Yet, even as he pronounced this nearly tautological advice, Yoko could feel the difference made by the small adjustments to her feet and knees, and how to use her legs to put greater strength behind her slashes and thrusts with the naginata, that Gomez had shown her.

Not to mention the fact that Yoko had always loved sparring with her girlfriend, even if it had been only either in formal settings like fencing, or much less serious situations like mock-wrestling (or ‘wrestling’) in… other instances. Yoko’s main passions lay outside of sport, but she still found working out her energy—whether frustration or boredom or excitement—in a physical way cathartic, and Divina was a far bit more actively inclined than her girlfriend, so the two regularly engaged in miscellaneous activities from hiking to swimming to the aforementioned ad-hoc play-fighting. Divina got this wicked glint in her pale eyes, which Yoko knew was mirrored in her own red irises, and they egged each other on to the point where even Gomez stopped to whistle at their aggression at one point, and Wednesday stopped to point out that, yes, she wanted them to take this seriously, but that also meant approaching their bouts with skill and strategy, not just barbarism.

For the most part, Yoko was invested and distracted enough that she paid little attention to the other pair facing off in the room. However, she did get a few glimpses, and was thoroughly bemused every time. It appeared that, between what she’d learned over the last few years since first wolfing out, her alpha status, and whatever strange magics Wednesday had worked on with her yesterday, Enid had only become all the more terrifying since Yoko had last seen her practice with her claws. Where previously Enid’s nails had comfortably extended by a few centimetres, sharp but ultimately still identifiable as fingernails, she was now slashing at Wednesday’s moustachioed little brother with veritable talons. Thick, curved, and wicked like those of her actual wolf form. And, they could take a blow from the spiked iron ball that Pubert flung about himself with wild abandon with little consequence. Though, Enid’s main tactics still seemed to be dodging (which she did with grace and speed unparalleled, empowered by the wolf blood in her veins) and blocking or catching the main handle of the morningstar, as the spikes on the head were nevertheless worth avoiding even for the powerful Werewolf. (Yoko genuinely loved the oxymoron that was her friend, the terrifying beast growling as she fully committed to her onslaught on a literal child, all while still sporting her bright pink varsity jacket and the pink-and-blue tips of her blonde hair whipping about her face as she fought.) Enid was truly a sight to behold, and for all of her stylistic juxtaposition in this mouldering and gothic mansion, was one hundred percent at home among the Addams.

Despite being said ‘literal child,’ faced down with a Werewolf half again his height, Pubert appeared to be having the time of his life. His sleeves and collar were close to shredded by the end of the morning, but not a drop of blood was to be seen. Yoko had spotted him block numerous slashes from Enid, and actively dodge out of the way, but his primary defensive tactic somehow seemed to just be… luck? He tripped out of the way of Enid’s claws as many times as he intentionally dodged, and many of her blows simply didn’t land where they ought to have. And Yoko could tell that Enid wasn’t holding back. Pubert was not normal, but presumably Wednesday, Gomez, and Enid all knew this. Hence absolutely no fucks given as the instructing Addams watched on without concern, their reactions punctuated with glee as the strange pair of combatants honestly seemed to be going for the kill.

When Morticia strode into the room, unfazed at the violence and regal as ever (Yoko and Divina had secretly agreed years before that, if she weren’t knocked down several points by being Wednesday’s mother, they both thought that she could content for the most attractive woman alive), and announced that lunch would be in an hour, Wednesday called the practice to a pause, and sent Thing—who had been watching from her shoulder for most of the morning—outside to collect Agnes and Joel. Yoko was breathing heavily, even for a Vampire, but knew that she had a stupid smile spread across her face from the long battle that she and her girlfriend had just fought, neither landing any real blows, but escalating the intensity and melodrama of it minute by minute as the squared off, apparently evenly matched.

For the last section of the morning, however, Yoko’s earlier trepidation came partially true. While she wasn’t positioned across from Agnes and her knives, she did swallow heavily to find herself paired with Joel. Yoko had not been prepared for just how joyous and evil the look in the Normie boy’s eyes would be, especially after several days of getting to know the otherwise gentle and nerdy boy. No wonder Wednesday took a shine to him. He was like as if half of Wednesday’s personality had been crammed into Eugene’s brain and body, which was a counterintuitively horrifying prospect.

Elsewhere in the expansive room, Enid was facing down Divina, close-quarters muscle and claws versus arms-length grace and trident. Yoko would’ve loved to watch, but was anticipating dodging and blocking for her very life for the next forty-five minutes or so. Past them, Agnes was preparing to bring the fury of her daggers upon Pubert, who was still smiling ear-to-ear in the face of danger. Participating in anti-stalker training that included literal children attempting to slaughter one another (and enjoying it) had not been on Yoko’s bingo card this year.

With barely any time to spare to rinse off and change for lunch (maybe she and Divina would just have to ‘save water’ in the basement shower… though that would probably only take longer, knowing them), Yoko finished the morning entirely frazzled. The final activity had essentially been ‘survive Joel,’ and though Joel’s own objective had been to maintain distance from Yoko as, though he had a small buckler strapped to one arm to block, he had no close-range retaliation options, Yoko was shocked with how quickly he managed to reload each time and send another terrifying projectile in her direction. It really didn’t help that Yoko’s status as a Vampire put the fear of god in her about anything remotely stake-like. And, at least anecdotally, her understanding was that kevlar or carbon fibre or whatever military armour was made out of these days could stop a bullet, crossbow bolts still punched right through anything across history that technology had dreamed up.

Honestly, how Wednesday and Pugsley had any unfrayed nerves left, with how they had greeted each other (in public!) by throwing knives while back at Nevermore, was beyond her. Or, perhaps that was entirely why they were as unhinged as they were, after a childhood of such concerning oddities. Yoko wondered how many child-protection service agents were buried in unmarked graves in the Addams family cemetery.

Lunch was as wild an affair as every meal with the Addams so far. The food had largely become more ordinary, with Grandmama and Lurch neither pulling out the same stops for the more extravagant and bizarre family favourites, but also not customising dishes for each guest to the same extent. Yoko was still generously provided with goblets of blood, which she understood Nevermore organising given the significant number of Vampires on their roll, but that she’d had to source through family contacts since moving to university. However, she continued to not ask too many questions about where the Addams sourced the blood from. Some days it was human—and seemed to lack the telltale signs of unwillingly harvested blood—while other days it was from some kind of cattle. Whether the Addams had a thrall deeper in the basement, a cursed vessel that constantly leaked with blood, or a standing, above-board arrangement with the local blood bank… Yoko wasn’t sure which would be more surprising.

Nevertheless, meal complete, Wednesday directed everyone who had attended training that morning to change once more, and be prepared for the rough terrain and muddy ground of the extensive and wild estate around the Addams family manor. Yoko had literally just thrown her still-packed camping gear into the hearse the evening of their departure, neither she nor Divina having yet bothered to unpack after their fateful trip, otherwise she doubted that she’d have thought to bring anything appropriate for what was apparently going to be quite the afternoon of mucking in.

Having heard the afternoon plans, Yoko was very glad that Wednesday had roped others in. Why on earth the tiny emo had decided to put trapping the woods on the list for Yoko and Divina’s day, not anyone else’s, remained undisclosed. She was willing to bet that it was either intentionally spiteful, or at least simply because they were lowest in Wednesday’s hierarchy of tolerable people. Well, that was until Wednesday reappeared on the back porch, fully kitted out in black waders over a black-and-white mock turtleneck, a shovel in one hand and a canvas sack of what appeared to be rusty bear traps in the other.

The excitement barely concealed behind Wednesday’s dark eyes was palpable. Maybe Wednesday thought that she was being generous to her new ‘friends’ by offering them this activity? (Even if this was the case, it did not change that Yoko remained unenthused to be traipsing through mud and roots and insects. Sure, she was neither warm enough nor had blood that attracted creepy crawlies, but it was the principle of the thing, okay? Bats and snakes and toads were great, mosquitos and slugs and beetles were not.)

The only person who hadn’t joined them from the morning was Gomez. He’d made some very thinly veiled comments over lunch about how distraught he had been away from his wife for an entire morning, despite how much fun that he’d had, and needed to ‘recharge in her presence.’ Wednesday had threatened to vomit over the table if he took his inuendo any further. Though Yoko didn’t exactly want to witness anything further for herself, she thought it was honestly amazing just how much love Gomez and Morticia showed for each other. Her own family may not have been as toxic as Enid’s, as standoffish as Divina’s, or as broken and absent as Agnes’ (wow, there really was a lot of family trauma in this group), but there was a strong commitment to formality and privacy in the intense blend of Vampiric and Japanese culture, both of which were practiced in a traditional way in her childhood home. Yoko’s parents had been together for over a century, and seemed happy together, but were always stiff in the presence of others, including their own children and those they had sired into vampirism.

Over the last few days, Pubert had ingratiated himself with all of his sister’s guests. Having spent the morning attached to Enid and then Agnes, he was apparently intent on sharing his attention around, and had waltzed up to Divina in a miniature set of waders that matched his sister, though he wore a grey collared shirt beneath. (Yoko had not missed Wednesday’s scowl at realising how her mother had dressed Pubert.) When Yoko had tried to take her girlfriend’s hand on the opposite side to the youngest Addams, he had declared that such was unacceptable. Though, when Yoko had made a joke about Pubert ‘stealing her woman,’ Pubert had only looked at her in confusion, before clarifying that he wanted to be in the middle. Once again, walking through an ancient and gnarled forest to place bear traps and wire snares, while holding hands with a child who had sported a moustache since birth, was also not on Yoko’s bingo card.

In all, the afternoon was less up Yoko’s alley than the morning of sparring had been, but honestly not the worst way to spend a day. The woods were spooky yet enchanting in their own way, and Yoko found that she didn’t mind babysitting the weird child with Divina. She was not convinced that she ever wanted one of her own, but had very much imagined herself as the cool-if-slightly-offbeat aunt if any of her friends ever had kids, and this was pretty close. Though, Pubert himself fit as much if not better into the cool-if-slightly-offbeat category.

“Hey, Yoka, what about there? Oh! Or there?”

Throughout the years, Yoko had suffered many nicknames (Yokes and Yoko being common from Enid), but smiled to herself at the younger Addams’ mispronunciation. “Why not both? Plenty of traps to go around!”

She watched in concern, which was beginning to morph into amusement as Yoko came to understand the oddly unbreakable streak of luck that Pubert possessed, as the child strained to force open the jaws of a trap. It snapped shut five times before he managed to fully set it, each time managing to only just avoid having at least a finger, if not an entire arm, cut through by the rusted but still wickedly sharp teeth. Absolutely no fear showing on his face, Pubert would cackle in joy at the near miss, and go right back to trying again.

They must have set up scores of various defences throughout the forest by the time that they were called in to get ready for dinner. There were pre-existing pits that were covered with netting and leaves, wires for tripping and for snaring and for clotheslining strung between trees. And, of course, the vicious bear traps hidden in the underbrush. Despite keeping a map of all trap locations (which Wednesday herself refused to look at, stating that it would only give the stalker an edge—which was a fair call—but also that none of them could possibly hope to hide a trap that she couldn’t spot—rude and presumptuous), Yoko and Divina resolutely decided that they would not be returning to the woods until this whole ordeal was done and every single trap had been deactivated and accounted for.

Pubert, on the other hand, ran full tilt back through the trees, managing to barely miss half a dozen traps, and set off three or four that Yoko had to reset behind him.

All in all, Yoko didn’t really know how confident that she should or could be that the traps would do anything. However, she decided that, actually, it had been a good idea to put some serious, physical labour into preparing. Whether or not this had been Wednesday’s intention, it had been grounding and felt productive. She would sleep that night with a naginata perched at her bedside, knowing that one misstep could take a leg off their foe if she approached in the night, and both were comforting thoughts.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Vignette of Vexation

In which Wednesday is forced on an errand for her mother amidst her attempts to prepare her friends to face the stalker

(Part 4: Even More Guests...)

Wednesday Addams has always been a chronic early riser. Mornings were a time that so many others despised, and gave her an opportunity to adjust to the world of the living with slightly fewer interruptions. It was also an efficient use of the day, and limited the fraction of time that Wednesday spent unconscious and vulnerable. Not that she wasn’t also a night person, frequently staying awake until sometime between midnight and the witching hour, resulting in an average of four or five hours a night on a good night. Nevertheless, unlike others, her limited rest didn’t often get too much in the way of keeping up her focus and energy. No, that was definitely affected much more by factors like socialisation and tedium than by a lack of sleep.

Still, it was Saturday morning, and the cadence of her life had… changed in some unexpected ways since her courtship with Enid had begun. Wednesday’s internal clock still roused her at exactly thirteen minutes past six each morning, if she didn’t have reason to be up earlier. However, where before there was no justifiable reason to stay in bed, when there was always plenty else to do, there was now a significant task that could only occur if she remained wrapped up in the covers for another hour or two at minimum. That being, of course, the reinforcement of the emotional bond that she shared with one Enid Sinclair via tactile expression of affection. Also known as ‘snuggling.’ Not something that Wednesday had ever accounted for in her expectations for her life, but she had done the research. There were even small but demonstrable restorative properties of such activities, in addition to the importance of investing in one’s romantic partner for mutual positive gain over time.

(Also, Wednesday admitted that perhaps she didn’t hate being held in Enid’s arms. And how could she actively appreciate the experience if she only ever engaged in it while unconscious?)

All of which was to say, for once Wednesday found herself in the entirely unprecedented position of her mother ascending the tower to insist that they get out of bed, and Wednesday being the one to resist the early morning.

“My darlings, I have an errand for the two of you to run. You’ll need to arrive in town by eight. The day is beautifully drear, with a foretelling of hail even, which is all the more reason to rise and enjoy the day,” Morticia called through the door after giving three precise, clear knocks.

“What about your assignment requires our labour, mother?” Wednesday questioned back, having to pull her face out from where she was nuzzled (what a thought!) into Enid’s shoulder to ensure that her mother could hear her.

“Can’t a mother ask her girls for a little support every now and then?” Morticia asked, her tone making it evident that she was being cryptic on purpose. “Besides, what could my cold and heartless daughter possibly be doing to not wish to rise and make the most of the day? Surely not enjoying being in bed, and surely not because of the warmth of her belle?”

“Mother, I will—” Wednesday began.

However, Enid cut her off with a tight squeeze and a laugh. “Coming, Morticia. Just give us a few minutes to finish enjoying the warmth.”

Wednesday scowled at her girlfriend, but honestly couldn’t summon the same fury at Enid that her mother still elicited from her. Especially not upon seeing the playful glint in Enid’s eyes. It was as if Enid liked something about the feeling of being caught, despite her cheeks flushed with ha touch of mortification.

“You couldn’t even pretend that we were in a less compromising position?” Wednesday asked.

Blushing further, Enid squeezed her again and teased, “What, the cold and heartless Wednesday Addams feeling embarrassment? I thought nothing fazed you.”

Wednesday merely glowered in return.

The original plan for the weekend had not involved offering her guests any kind of sabbath from their preparations. The stalker wouldn’t be honouring the arbitrary division of weekdays, so nor should they. Besides, the others were getting what basically amounted to a fully paid vacation in the countryside as it was. They could return Wednesday’s generosity by taking the (very much shared) peril as seriously as she was.

However, with this new errand thrown into the mix, Wednesday informed Joel over breakfast that his turn for her attention would have to be postponed at least until late that morning, if not after midday. Her childhood friend gave her a look of mock disappointment, before turning back to Agnes without a care in the world to continue a discussion about what sounded like comparing forensic versus paleontological practices of specimens retrieved from the ocean. (Which, to be honest, sounded like a rather appropriate and engaging conversation for over breakfast to Wednesday, but she was still preoccupied with, firstly, continuing to turn the case of the stalker over and over in her mind and, secondly, trying to discern what her mother’s arcane intentions were behind turning her and Enid into her personal couriers for the morning.) Joel was a conscientious individual who was always happy to help with whatever schemes that Wednesday dreamed up, yet refused to take her too seriously. That is, more so than most other people in this world, he was always willing to give her the time of day, but also was willing to push her a little when she herself took things a little too seriously. An anomaly outside of her family for many years, but something that seemed to be contagious recently, if her other guests’ attitudes were any indication.

At half seven, Morticia was hurrying Wednesday and Enid out of the door, to where Lurch had already pulled up one of the family’s various vehicles other than the car for their use. Wednesday, naturally, had never bothered to obtain a driver’s license. If called on, she could drive—in fact, made an excellent getaway driver—but in the few times that they’d needed to travel by car without Lurch, had left this role to Enid. For Enid, it was very much something that she’d actively pursued as a form of independence, given her… less than stellar relationship with her hellspawn of a mother and wet blanket of a father. In fact, Wednesday often completely forgot that Enid actually had a car back at the university, as they could walk so many places, parking elsewhere in the city was terrible, and the student parking on campus was not located conveniently in relation to Gertrude Hall. Her car was also in worse condition than Gabriella’s hatchback had been, and couldn’t have fit four girls across the back seat even if they had tried. So they basically wrote it off as a last resort. Hopefully it would still be there when they eventually got back to school… Or, maybe, it being stolen would finally take it off their hands, and Wednesday could get her parents to buy Enid something more functional.

All things considered, Enid was a fine driver. Though, she was a little cautious compared to what Wednesday was used to, and taking her rundown car out of the mix made the experience even less harrowing. Wednesday guessed that it took a significantly longer period of practice, say the better part of a century, to balance how one drove to be just the right, slightly excessive amount of thrilling and perilous.

The drive from where the Addams lived on the outskirts of civilisation into the town of Westfield was only a little over twenty minutes, and Wednesday allowed herself to be grateful that Morticia wasn’t expecting them to travel across to Manhattan or even all the way down to Philadelphia for whatever strange mission this was. All that Wednesday had been told was this: arrive at the central station by eight, to await handover of Morticia’s delivery. Even Lurch wasn’t asked to perform this kind of courier work usually. Though most packages delivered to the Addams tended to be abandoned outside the front gate, few postal workers willing to brave the full trek up to the front doors.

Pulling into one of the station’s short-term parks, Wednesday stared out of the passenger window, waiting for some indication that any of the travellers exiting the main station building had business with her mother. Hopefully the severe black vehicle that she and Enid were in would make a clear enough statement, even if it wasn’t the hearse, and to be honest Wednesday was merely looking out for someone in equally severe black attire, with no other clues to go on.

When Wednesday’s quarry did arrive, however, there was no denying that the individual in question was exactly who they had been sent for. And they were dressed in (mostly) black, though a tad more white than Wednesday’s own wardrobe tended to include.

“Enid, beloved, this is a waste of time. Let’s head home,” Wednesday said, aiming for casual before Enid spotted the latest arrival.

Of course, by this point, Enid knew her girlfriend well enough to read beneath her tone. Looking around, Enid spotted who Wednesday had moments later, and was already calling out the window, even as she was swatting at Wednesday’s arm in an amused reprimand. “Pugsley! Over here!”

Another figure stepped out from behind Wednesday’s brother, the pair of them waving eagerly, and Wednesday wasn’t sure whether to be more or less pleased at the sight. Less because it meant yet another body to take up space in the already over-populated manor. However, she settled on more because of the specific identity of the person in question: one Eugene Ottinger.

Enid clearly noticed Eugene too, and beamed even wider, calling, “Oh! Eugene!”

Moments later, her girlfriend had tumbled out of the car (despite it still idling), and had pulled the two younger boys into an aggressive hug.

“You seem surprised,” Eugene observed.

Wednesday, from within the car, said, “Mother neglected to inform us of the specifics of your arrival, and left us under the impression that we were here to collect an inanimate parcel. I suppose”—a look at Pugsley—“that she was half right.”

“Nice to see you too, sis,” said Pugsley. His lips twitched into something resembling a grin. “You can also have a hug if you get out of the car?”

“Enid, I must inform you, I live in here now,” Wednesday said, locking her passenger-side door for emphasis.

The conversation that took place in the car fell into the familiar tête-à-tête between the Addams siblings, with Enid and Eugene chiming in periodically but mostly just amused to be back in the cadence of Wednesday and Pugsley slinging cruel but affectionate insults at one another.

“Vacation was the other week. Why are you skiving off now, Pugsley?”

“Mother suggested that we visit for the night, after finding out that you and your friends would be visiting, as a surprise. Be grateful! We took the overnight train for you.”

“Well, at least we have one more flesh shield for the stalker.”

Or, a little later on as they drove:

“Wednesday, there’s a disturbing softness in your eyes. Has your brain finally deteriorated?”

“You are mistaken. I am as sharp as ever. Would you like me to prove it to you, brother?”

“He might as well know, or he’ll find out from someone else, Wends,” Enid pointed out.

“Fine. Pugsley, Eugene, I must inform you that Enid Sinclair and I are formally courting.”

“Wednesday Addams, in love! What a plot twist!”

“Pugsley Addams, surviving past infancy. We never saw it coming. Still, there’s time to correct the fact that you’re still alive.”

Eugene’s reaction, by contrast, was more in line with how a normal person would respond, even if his enthusiasm made Wednesday bristle. “Oh my god, Wednesday! Enid! That’s super exciting. Yoko used to joke about it, but I honestly just thought she was teasing…”

“That Vampire has a business of sticking her fangs where they don’t belong, and will one day suffer for it. I am unfortunately unable to deliver her karma, if only under duress from Enid,” Wednesday said with a scowl.

“Thanks guys! Or, at least, thanks Eugene. Pugs, I will have you know, it’s the kind of plot twist that an author could only dream of writing, and a very satisfying one at that,” said Enid.

“Please don’t encourage him…” Wednesday did not need her brother to have any additional ammunition to torment her. That was meant to exclusively work the other way around.

“You know,” mused Eugene. “I guess this explains some things…”

“It’s a recent development, Eugene,” Wednesday pointed out. “Beforehand, there was nothing to explain.”

“Oh, well, um—” he trailed off.

Wednesday looked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “You are being irritatingly coy. Out with it.”

“I don’t know if you remember, but back in your first year. Well. When the Rave’n was coming up. I was. You know. I thought maybe I had a chance, even if a tiny one, at going with. Well, with Enid,” Eugene said, his face flushing fully red.

“Euggy! O.M.G., that’s so cute,” Enid said. “If I hadn’t come down with a case of the stupid for Ajax, we totally could’ve gone together.”

“You mean as friends, presumably?” Eugene asked.

Enid smiled in the rearview mirror. “Hey, still counts. Had to wait a while before this one”—elbowing Wednesday—“was ready for any type of interpersonal relationship other than mortal enemies or complete indifference.”

Unsure entirely what to make of this exchange, Wednesday said, “Um, Eugene, I will admit that I was pleased to see you, but I will reassess that position if you have a problem with my relationship.”

At this, however, Eugene just laughed. A genuine, unconcerned sound. After a moment, he said, “Oh god, no, Wednesday. I’m over the moon for you guys. Just embarrassed at myself from a few years ago.”

“Don’t worry, sis, he’s over your paramour anyway, aren’t you, Eugene?” Pugsley added, now his turn to elbow his friend.

“Oh! Is there a special someone, Eugene?” Enid asked, fully taking her eyes off the road this time to look back at him in excitement.

(Wednesday would happy experience an automobile accident right about now to get her away from this topic of conversation.)

“Well, um, yeah,” Eugene said with another blush. “There’s a Gorgon in my Outcast history class, who I’ve gone on a few dates with now. They were a recent transfer, part way through last year, so you might not remember them. Aris? And get this. I’ve been working on something with my bees. With a bit of concentration, I can see through them. It’s a bit strange, since they have compound eyes, but then also receive visual information from three additional ocelli on their forehead…”

“Eugene, you realise that you’ve stopped talking about your date and got onto the topic of bees again?” Wednesday asked. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

“It’s relevant, I swear. The multifaceted way in which bees process visual information makes them largely resistant to Gorgon influence, which means that I can keep my eyes closed but spend time looking at Aris even without their head coverings. They’ve got these really neat, copper-coloured snakes with dark bands, and slight little frills around their heads. We’ve taken to hanging out in that one spot in the woods, you know, a little way behind the Hummer shed? And just talking while my bees and their snakes can interact with each other without any problems, and it’s really nice.”

“That’s honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Enid gushed.

“I am glad that you have found a practical solution to overcome the barriers in your romantic relationship, Eugene,” Wednesday said. Which was as much active interest as she was ever willing to show in someone else’s love life.

Eugene obviously understood that this was the best compliment that he’d get from his stoic friend, blushed again, and despite Enid’s more enthusiastic response, gave Wednesday his slightly embarrassed smile as he said, “Oh, thanks. Yeah, I’m pretty happy.”

In response to which Wednesday said, “Good. Can we speak about something else?”

The four of them bustled out of the borrowed car upon arriving back at the Addams estate. (Or, well, Enid, Pugsley, and Eugene bustled. Wednesday waited for their enthusiastic exit to be over before calmly removing herself from the passenger seat. The threat of Pugsley’s hug at least one factor that still hung over her head.) As they had been upon Wednesday and her friends’ arrival earlier that week, Morticia and Gomez were clearly excited enough to be playing up the drama of the moment, and the front doors spilled open in performative fashion. Behind her parents, the other occupants of the house—permanent and guests—all spilled out, several surprised and happy exclamations flying in both directions as the various groups realised who else was here. Wednesday bemoaned not having her earplugs, or the headphones that Enid had gifted her at their graduation last year, to help her escape the madness.

Instead, her only option was to tune out. There were some sixty-odd combinations of greetings possible, before everyone had exhausted their reuniting.

Toward the end of the cacophony, however, Wednesday did hear Pugsley exclaim in shock, “Joel? Is that you? It’s been years!”

Joel stepped forward with a large grin, and gave Pugsley a firm hug. “Pugs! You won’t believe it—or, well, you probably will—but your sister thought I was stalking her, and basically ran me off the road, and then I needed a ride, so now I’m here!”

“Typical,” said Pugsley, rolling his eyes. “So… you’re the stalker that Wednesday mentioned?”

“Hardly. There’s actual danger, I’m afraid. No idea why your parents decided that now was an appropriate time to bring you home, but I guess maybe this is something that they wouldn’t want you to miss out on?”

As they were catching up, Eugene approached. “Hi, I’m Eugene, Pugsley’s roommate.”

At this Pugsley paused. He took a long look at Eugene, then at Joel, and then back at Eugene. Without saying anything, he grabbed his roommate’s shoulders and repositioned him next to Joel, a bemused frown still dominating his face. Stepping back, he formed his hands into what Enid would call ‘finger guns,’ pointing at each of the other boys.

From one side, both Yoko and Divina burst out laughing. The Siren said, “Oh my god, Pugs, you’re so right. How did I not think of that first? Honestly, cut Eugene’s mop of hair and put him in flannel…”

Everyone but Wednesday thought this was hilarious. Enid was immediately taking a photo, and appeared to be plugging it into some website to generate a ‘meme’ image that Wednesday didn’t recognise. What, they were amused that two human beings of similar age from a similar part of the world had vaguely comparable features, which could be emphasised by artificially introducing additional similar features? Had none of them ever seen two boys who both wore glasses before?

Later that morning, when Wednesday took a rare moment to bother checking her phone, she had a notification that a new group chat had been created. All of the current and ex-Nevermore students currently at her home were included, along with Joel. It had been assigned a representative image of two cartoon men in red-and-blue leotards, with Eugene and Joel’s faces edited over top in an unrealistic way that would deceive nobody. A few messages had already been exchanged, including other variations on the first image.

Even if her brother and Eugene were only staying for the one night, this was going to be a long weekend. Wednesday immediately clicked into the settings menu of the chat to locate down the ‘leave group’ option.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Vignette of Veracity

In which Wednesday prepares her friends to face the stalker

(Part 5: Joel Glicker)

“What, we’ve just got here to hang out with you all, and you’re making us do homework?” Pugsley asked, incredulous.

“I am not some undertrained lackey of underfunded educational institution, claiming to further your learning through assigning meaningless tasks for you to complete outside of class time. This is research, for a practical problem, in which we are collectively engaging in order to more efficiently find a solution,” Wednesday corrected.

It had been a long time since Joel Glicker had the pleasure of watching the Addams siblings bicker. For all that they had obviously grown up, in many ways they had also not changed one bit. Observing their dynamic was one of Joel’s very favourite forms of entertainment.

The point at which he and Wednesday had drifted was unclear. Though, Joel would admit now that it had been pretty passive on both sides, so he wasn’t surprised. Joel had never been confident enough as a child to reach out, and Wednesday would continue to insist that she didn’t have or need friends even as they would spend hours together talking and exploring the woods and making mischief about the mansion. It was Morticia, of course, who had been both the motivation and the practical force behind arranging time for them to hang out. Then Wednesday had begun bouncing between high schools, and Joel’s family situation had become… more complicated, with his parents’ separation. Without ever having built the practice of communicating on their own, soon it was suddenly years since Joel and Wednesday had last spoken.

Their reunion earlier in the week had been about as Addams-esque as Joel could’ve imagined. It was a little strange to see Wednesday simultaneously even more competent and calculating than ever, and yet surrounded by friends and even a girlfriend, but it was also nice that his strange friend had grown without losing her dark core. Like Joel himself: as much a nerd as ever, still medicated for a million allergies, but he could laugh at himself now, and was much more confident in how he presented himself. Pugsley had also grown significantly, though mostly in the sense of physical growth. Where he had once been a perfect match with his sister in height, now he towered over Wednesday in a way that Joel was sure irked the shorter girl endlessly.

The ‘homework’ to which Pugsley had referred actually sounded interesting, as long as there was in fact information to be found on the topic in question. Wednesday had asked her father, apparently, to dig through the family archives for any information on Seers or other psychic-type Outcasts that might explain or give them an edge against this stalker that Wednesday had her friends had somehow acquired. Though Gomez himself hadn’t, in the very limited time between the request and Wednesday’s arrival, struck metaphorical gold, the Addams library was vast and could feasibly contain all sorts of forgotten secrets. Also, it sounded like Mr. and Mrs. Addams had requested that Pugsley and Eugene sneak several specific tomes out of something called the “Nightshade’s library” at their Outcast school, which may be of use to the group. And all of this was something that Joel had discovered a knack for in recent years. He could easily pass hours sifting through books and articles, following rabbit holes and red herrings, and generally getting lost in a world of information. It was a useful proclivity now that he was at university, if only his enthusiasm extended to actually staying on topic and turning his research into the required assignments…

Still, this was to be Joel’s task for the weekend, as part of the bootcamp that Wednesday had been dragging her friends into since arriving back in New Jersey. It was at once something that he could enjoy, could excel at, and could do while potentially limiting direct interaction with or attention from Wednesday’s stalker. Maybe. It seemed at this point that the stalker was simply out to burn Wednesday’s entire world to the ground. Though Joel was quietly hopeful that the stalker had overcommitted, given just how many enemies she’d made by bringing the whole Addams family and a large handful of other irate Outcasts into her sights.

After a long day the previous day engaged in very physical training, several of Wednesday’s other friends had conjured excuses to avoid spending their weekend with their noses in dusty old books. Joel too was a little sore, though this was a restful (or at least distracting) enough way to spend a Saturday afternoon that he might very well have chosen to entertain himself in the library anyway. As it was, in addition to having conscripted her brother and Eugene, the only other two lackeys that Wednesday had managed today were Thing and Agnes. (Well, Enid was present, and it was honestly so wholesome the way that Wednesday and her girlfriend just happened to always be joined at the hip, but she had curled up in an armchair nearby with her phone and headphones, claiming that her very important contribution today would be to ‘supervise.’)

“Quiet, please,” Wednesday said, cutting straight to productive with her typical dismissal of niceties. “I will provide an overview of what kind of information that we are searching for, and then I will pass to Joel to organise a collective research and documentation system. The predominant gap in arming ourselves for this war is knowledge. Let us not go another day crawling about in the dark.”

Though Joel had not necessarily expected (let alone been informed) that he would be required to manage everyone else in the library, he was sure that a simple strategy for doing so wouldn’t be too difficult to come up with on the fly. All that it really required was covering a range of material without either significant gaps or overlaps. He found it more amusing how, despite her push back against Pugsley’s ‘homework’ comment, Wednesday stood before them with all of the oddness and ego and posture of a professor. It was a very similar experience to being faced down from the podium by one of his palaeontology lecturers.

Pulling out a full-on investigation pinboard that Joel had no idea when she’d managed to put together, considering it certainly hadn’t been in the car a week ago, Wednesday continued, “We have limited information about the nature of the stalker’s abilities, but not nothing. Our best clues were also obtained in scenarios where I did not always have the time or mental faculty to make acute observations. Nevertheless, we have narrowed down several key defining features of her second sight.”

With reference to her visualisation of their investigation, Wednesday went through the limited puzzle pieces that they’d managed to obtain as thoroughly as she was able. Joel had heard a lot of this in passing over the last few days, but seeing the full picture (or, perhaps more significantly, how much of the picture was missing) was daunting. In archetypically appropriate red marker, Wednesday had already written out four clusters of key characteristics that she had observed, in addition to various other pieces of evidence about the case that were less relevant to uncovering her specific Outcast-type.

Outcast type: Seer/Psychic

Unconfirmed: vision source – trigger-induced (W.A.), dreamed (X.T.), other?

Perceived through eyes of W.A., includes W.A. life + visions of visions

Unconfirmed: non-W.A. visions

Confirmed: sees future / Unconfirmed: past/present

High clarity, can pinpoint location/time/etc.

Can induce visions in others

Forced sleep, dream visions, trap in repetition?

Confirmed: requires physical contact / Unconfirmed: type of touch – at least hands to head

Potential further effects: muddle/erase memory (delivery driver), prevent physical resistance (G.R.), cause psychic pain (E.S. – separate, or consequence of induced visions?) – maybe one ability of cognitive disruption

Unconfirmed: speculate may likewise require contact

Sometimes stalker appears obscured in visions, shifting/unstable, resembles storm within form

Unconfirmed: only if seen via W.A. vision (why?)

Some detail (e.g. hands, chin, silhouette) visible via others (canine, G.R.)

Then, without any further warning, Wednesday’s eyes were drilling right through Joel’s skull, awaiting his contribution to the day’s research activities. Luckily for Joel, he had several years of interpreting Wednesday’s unverbalised expectations, even if these skills needed a little dusting off.

“Right,” Joel said, stepping up and clearing his throat. The word caught a little, so he tried again. “Right. I think we can keep this pretty simple. Divide and conquer. For the first stint, which I will have a better sense how long it will take once we’ve made a start, let’s all split up simply by section. Select a shelf, work your way through it, and focus on triaging the books rather than reading them thoroughly. Leave anything irrelevant, and we will begin to make piles of potentially useful topics or types of texts as they arise. I suspect that this can remain our focus for all of today.”

Trying to remember the various habits and tricks of his own professors, Joel paused to make sure that there weren’t any completely lost faces in the small crowd. After receiving a few nods, but mostly blank stares waiting for him to continue, Joel cleared his throat once more.

He continued, “Then, likely tomorrow, the actual reading will start. Obviously, if we find a book titled ‘An Idiot’s Guide to All Psychic Abilities and How to Use Them for Stalking,’ we can take a look right away. But, in general, this may involve combing through some not-so-obvious texts, so it’s a good idea to whittle our list down today. We can discuss how to efficiently digest what you’re reading without this literally taking weeks first thing tomorrow. Any questions?”

Over dinner that night, the Addams mansion’s dining table packed end to end with family and guests, Gomez turned to where Joel, Wednesday, and then Enid sat to his left. “So, my budding scholars, how fared today’s hunt for knowledge?”

The immediate reactions that the Addams patriarch received were not heartening. Enid gave the most dramatic sigh, despite having mostly managed to avoid getting roped into the work. But even Wednesday looked subtly pissed off, while Pugsley looked like his mind had been turned to sludge from boredom, and Eugene had a defeated expression that felt like an exact echo of Joel’s own feelings.

“That bad, huh?” Gomez asked.

“We’ve made good progress, Mr. Addams, in terms of how much of the library we’ve got through on a first pass. It just hasn’t been very successful yet. Even I can only stomach so much research, when I don’t have the luxury of time to go down random rabbit holes but haven’t hit upon anything relevant all day,” Joel explained.

“Did you know that you were bringing us home just to get given more homework?” Pugsley asked, directing the question to his mother.

“I told you, it’s not homew—” Wednesday started.

But Morticia spoke up, replying, “Since when have you expected anything other than the pleasures of torment from your sister? Besides, I know that you would’ve complained about missing out on investigating a stalker if you hadn’t been here.”

Pugsley only grumbled in response.

“Still super happy to be here, though, Mrs. Addams!” Eugene said. “And your library is pretty amazing. Some books in there are older than anything I’ve ever seen before, I’m sure. Do you know if there’s anything in there on…”

“…Bees?” filled in at least four or five other voices at the table.

Joel had already picked up on this particular obsession over the course of the afternoon, but couldn’t help but laugh aloud at just how predicable Eugene apparently was on this front. Honestly, it wasn’t all that different from how Joel’s classmates at university reacted whenever he got distracted by his own hyperfixation on ‘dinosaur fish,’ as they tended to call them. For all that Wednesday had continued to insist that she thought the comparison between him and Eugene was overblown, any time someone brought it up that afternoon (which happened at least half a dozen times, when one or the other would find something amusing or fascinating, and launch into a miniature, impromptu lecture to their friends), Joel himself was willing to admit a certain similarity in both personality and image. Probably the one thing that stood out as distinct, however, was that Joel had probably still been more awkward than Eugene even toward the end of high school. He was both slightly envious but also relieved to meet someone who was more sure of themselves and owned their interests and quirks while still subject to the hellscape that was the secondary education system.

Dinner continued amicably, though at the Addams’ house this of course included plenty of creative insults and threats. Morticia and Gomez had a significant impact on the tone of the conversation, remaining the perfect (if strangest) hosts that they’d always been. However, Joel could still imagine much of the same banter and camaraderie continuing to orbit around Wednesday, despite her own lack of participation in it. Maybe having his car totalled by Wednesday’s suspicion was what he had needed. Yoko and Divina were hilarious in their sarcasm and sharp observations; and, Agnes and Enid, though very different in their own rights, knew how to push Wednesday’s buttons in all the right ways (without anyone losing an eyeball or a limb).

Maybe instead of just going his own way again upon returning to school—whenever that would eventually be—Joel would be able to stay more connected with Wednesday this time around. Whether he had always been inclined toward being an outcast (even if not an Outcast), or if the Addams had rubbed off on him as a child, he truly felt that these were his kind of people.

Would just be nice to hang out with them without the looming threat of a violent and vindictive stalker.

The same group started right back into their research after breakfast the following morning.

By time that the call to lunch rolled around on Sunday, Joel and the others had found two relevant passages. Though neither seemed to sufficiently define the stalker on its own, collectively, and if assumed to manifest uniquely when combined in one individual, they did a remarkable job of explaining the odd mix of abilities that the stalker had demonstrated so far. Enough, even, that Wednesday admitted that she was impressed (had hell frozen over?), and announced a pause in any further research for now, to give them time to share the information with those not present, and for her to process it personally.

The first excerpt was from a medical diary that documented illnesses and other conditions with psychic rather than material origins, as well as some less well-defined consequences and symptoms of psychic experiences, both firsthand in Psychics and secondhand in those connected to them. Joel did notice that Wednesday visibly grimaced as he had flicked past a page about physical symptoms of psychic exhaustion, which he would have to ask about later. The key piece of information in this book read as follows:

Psychic ‘spill’ has been documented in a small number of instances where repeated and intense psychic impetus is situated around one individual, and spreads beyond them to affect others.

The originator of the excess psychic energy is termed a ‘Primary Seer,’ and the recipient a ‘Secondary Seer.’ Note that these are not formal Outcast-type classifications, merely relative roles in the process of psychic spilling. Both parties are statistically more likely to be Psychics themselves (but not exclusively) due to their existing affinities with the ether, and Primary Seers are most likely to be individuals who are linked to many significant supernatural events in their past or even in their life to come. Sometimes this arises when certain ‘fates’ centre on a given individual, but it can also result from extensive but coincidental proximity.

The form that such a spill may take can include:

• Vision bleed, where a particularly strong or significant vision shown to the Primary Seer will be shown in parts or whole to one or more Secondary Seers in physical proximity and/or emotional connection to the Primary Seer, either in parallel to or over time following the original vision;
• Displaced visions, where a vision originally shown to the Primary Seer is subsequently shown again to a Secondary Seer, to whom the original vision may have no or limited relevance (different to ‘vision bleed’ in that there is often no discernible cause or connection to explain the spill);
• Echoed events, where significant supernatural events experienced by the Primary Seer are witnessed simultaneously via a vision to a Secondary Seer, theorised to be the lingering energy of fate coalescing into actuality;
• False projection, where the Primary Seer falsely imagines or misremembers an experience, the inconsistencies or inaccuracies of which influence visions of the same events by other Seers (in such cases, it has been observed that the Primary Seer is typically an individual who is either a particularly powerful but unstable Psychic, or else may be a less powerful Psychic but under significant trauma);
• Recursive visions, where a Secondary Seer is in such a situation to experience in-person an event involving a Primary Seer, which is also shown to the Secondary Seer psychically, causing a feedback loop wherein the Secondary Seer’s direct and indirect perception of the event may collapse, compound, and/or be re-experienced repeatedly until the excess psychic energy dissipates.

Generally, such cases of psychic spills occur as the result of circumstance or happenstance, with no credible evidence of any types of people having a disposition toward being a ‘Primary’ or ‘Secondary’ Seer, nor of a hierarchy of Seer primacy. The caveat to this is that powerful Psychics may be more likely to receive sufficiently intense visions to result in excess psychic energy, causing them to fill the role of Primary Seer, but this does not predispose them to always be in the Primary position or prevent them from being in the Secondary position in other instances.

Individuals who have multiple experiences of being a Secondary Seer—or even following receipt of a single particularly complex, significant, or distressing vision—are at high risk of derealisation, dissociation, or other identity-based instability. For those who have never previously experienced a psychic episode, receiving one from a foreign source may in itself be traumatic, especially if the content of the vision is disturbing. Alternatively, for a Psychic who is used to being the ‘intended’ recipient of visions, they may not recognise the vision’s foreign source, which can conflict with how they process their own second sight. That is, whatever form of trust or mistrust that the Psychic has regarding their visions, or whatever interpretive frameworks that they have built to attempt to understand them, may not suitably translate to a passed-on vision, disrupting the ability of the Psychic’s mind to process and recover from the psychic episode.

This particular book had been found by Joel himself, who had been focused on finding and skimming through anything that resembled the documentation of scientific experimentation or observation, given that this was a format with which he was very familiar through his studies. Somewhat depressingly, a lot of other examples that he had found were derogatory or at least not particularly generous commentary from non-Outcasts, seeking at best to explain Outcasts in unsuitable Normie frameworks, and at worse to generate fear and mistrust about anyone with supernatural heritage or abilities. It filled Joel with a sharp sense guilt on behalf of the groups within the scientific community that still held to such intolerant and outdated ideologies.

Joel handed it right to Wednesday, bypassing the triage system given just how directly relevant the text felt to the descriptions that he’d received of the stalker.

“The stalker’s abilities appear to contradict the assertion by this… Dr. Fredrickson, in that she seems to have consistently functioned as a ‘Secondary Seer’ to both my visions and my life over a long period of time, rather than one-off experiences. Not that I’d complain to discover that it was the result of her being a weaker Psychic than I am,” Wednesday reflected after reading it through several times. “Nevertheless, if we assume that the author is either incorrect or that the stalker is an unprecedented case, this idea of ‘spills’ would explain how she sees my experiences and shares my visions. The reason why she’s linked to me specifically is still very unclear, and in its consistency this feels more to me like an ability in its own right rather than an affliction. But we have found nothing else to explain it and I see no good reason to discount this as a suitable answer.”

About an hour later, the next (and last) meaningful piece of information was uncovered by Eugene, in a book that he and Pugsley had brought with them from the clandestine library at their school. It had been dismissed at first, between Wednesday scoffing at its vintage ‘learning is fun’ textbook aesthetic, and Eugene then admitting that he’d taken it only because he’d noticed that it included chapters on Outcasts with affinities for reptiles, rodents, birds, and insects. However, this personal interest had drawn him back to the book later (which would’ve very much been an unproductive distraction, had he not struck gold about two thirds of the way through), resulting in the important discovery.

The book, which Joel thought was particularly classic with its overdone academic title, was called ‘A Sympath Taxonomy and Fostering Sympathy Across Outcast-Animal Relationships.’ It included an entry that described a specific type of Outcast ability that no one in the room had previously heard of:

Rare Sympathetic Subtypes: Inducers or Cuckoos

To understand Inducers, it is first worth briefly diverging from our focus on Sympaths to consider another Outcast group, the Psychics. Psychically inclined Outcasts are typically characterised by the experiencing of some kind of ‘second sight,’ whether in the form of visions, premonitions, or dreams, that may show the past, the present, possible or definitive futures, or abstract representations thereof. There is considered a ‘familial’ link with sympathetic Outcasts, especially those that communicate between minds, such as Telepaths, Entomopaths (i.e. Swarmers), or Ornithopaths (i.e. Avians).

On the spectrum between these two families of abilities exists the ‘Inducer,’ also referred to as the ‘Cuckoo’ as a derogatory term. This latter name mirrors the tradition of naming Psychic subtypes after bird species, while alluding to the way in which the Inducer gives rather than receives visions, likened to the brood-parasite behaviour of the Cuckoo species, which places its own eggs in another (typically unwitting) bird’s nest.

Inducers can share memories or imaginings with others, typically requiring either physical touch or some other physical behaviour to connect the Inducer with a recipient. Some less-powerful Inducers are only capable of communicating with willing recipients, while others can force their ability onto their target. The recipient of an Inducer’s ability will experience this in a manner that has been repeatedly likened to a Psychic’s ‘second sight,’ in that it may include sending them into an immediate vision-state, entering and contaminating the recipient’s memories, or influencing the recipient’s subconscious or the content of their dreams. This is the main quoted source behind the distrust of Inducers, and the use of the name ‘Cuckoo,’ as a Psychic who is targeted by an Inducer will often not be able to distinguish between an authentic vision, premonition, or dream and one that has been planted by an Inducer.

Current Outcast registries and databases (though it is always worth noting their tendency for incompleteness) have recorded only fourteen confirmed Inducers throughout history, at the highest estimate. This number has been aggregated from multiple sources by the author, and is current as of 1992, following the publication of both the Nevermore Outcast Statistics Report and the American Supernatural Census in that same year. Inducers should therefore be considered under-studied, and some variation on how their abilities are currently understood is likely.

Closing this book and taking a long moment to process, Joel and all others paused to await her reaction, Wednesday eventually said, “Honestly, this was more successful than I expected. I think, in aggregate, these two definitions provide a functional theory of what the stalker is, which is worth carrying forward. But—and note the gravity of this uncharacteristic word choice on my part—the combination of conditions and abilities in question sounds like a fucking nightmare to be faced with.”

Joel wholeheartedly agreed.