Chapter Text
Like clockwork, on the night of the full moon, Wednesday and Enid end up in the lupin cages together. Enid sits in the middle of her designated cell, body covered only by the fleece blanket she uses to provide herself some modesty with before wolfing out, so she doesn’t have to tear apart her entire wardrobe, and Wednesday is sat on the outside of the bars, her back sunk into the metal, legs crisscrossed and a book laying open in on her lap.
“Still human, Enid?” Wednesday quietly inquires as she turns a page, even if she knows the answer, judging by the lack of bones snapping and teeth snarling.
“Still human,” Enid responds with a sigh. “It’s barely just eight. Give it time. Capri warned me that the timing can be unpredictable every month because I’m an alpha. Could be early in the evening, or late into the night. We’ll never know.”
“As much as I enjoy the element of surprise when it comes to ambushes and violence, the unpredictability of your inner wolf can be quite frustrating,” Wednesday says.
“But you love her all the same,” Enid says, voice teasing from behind Wednesday. “Right?”
Wednesday’s heart thumps wildly in her chest. The idea of love is something new for her and Enid both, something serious and protected by the teenage delusion that what is here will always be here. It’s taken weeks, maybe months, for Wednesday to settle down with the idea that Enid—and her big werewolf inside her—is all hers, but now that she’s given herself time and their relationship the space it needs to bloom, she’s decided that, maybe, she is okay with falling madly in love, as long as she’s able to experience the “mad” in “madly in love.”
“Of course I do,” she promises Enid. “That’s never in question.”
She hears Enid giggle her soft, lilted human giggle, and feels the ice melt from around her black heart. Very few things can turn Wednesday’s hardened soul into softened putty, but Enid is one of them. It doesn’t take much for Enid to pry a positive reaction out of Wednesday; even her simple laugh or her dimpling smile is enough to win her over, but more exciting than that is the large alpha werewolf that comes creeping out of Enid’s human skin once every month.
The alpha wolf and Wednesday have only met a few times before; the first time being when Enid dug her out of her grave under the skull tree, and the second being when Wednesday finally found her werewolf cowering away under a thicket of trees some weeks after she had ran off into the moonlight.
Now, they meet every month, under the silver light of the moon overhead, under the careful guidance of Miss Capri, who has given Wednesday many complex warnings to heed about the intricacies of being an alpha and what might happen if Enid gets a little too excitable in her cage. Wednesday keeps a rope—because she couldn’t find a leash strong enough to tame Enid, and the woman at the local pet shop gave her the oddest look when she asked where she could find the industrial leashes—and a bag of treats on hand, for when Enid finally returns unscathed and without scathing anybody else.
Miss Capri stressed the importance of rewarding lone alphas, especially one as rare as Enid, so that they might not feel so alone and unwanted and take it out on the first thing they see, and Wednesday is trying to overcome her fear of emotion in order to provide Enid with the praise her wolf needs, but it’s more trial and error than anything else. The treats have been helping in small quantities, but werewolf Enid is more like a dog and demands to stick her snout in the whole bag if she isn’t satisfied with the mere morsels Wednesday offers, which prompts the bag to rip open and scatter kibble everywhere, and Wednesday doesn’t yet know how to properly reprimand her without wounding her feelings.
Just as she has in the past few months, Wednesday worries. She worries about Enid and her wolf, worries if she’ll come home to her, worries if tonight will be the night she is hunted down by other werewolves. So far, they have been lucky, thanks to Miss Capri smothering Enid in a protective layer of her own scent to mask the alpha scent on her fur, but Wednesday fears that one day, it won’t be enough to keep the predators at bay.
She worries herself for awhile, not even reading her book, only turning the page when she’s lingered long enough, until she hears the thump of the blanket hit the cement floor and the sound of bones cracking and snapping. She’s learned that it takes approximately twenty seconds for Enid to go from full human to full werewolf, and so she counts up to nineteen, and then she discards her book and stands up, turning on her heel and immediately looking up to find a big werewolf with the prettiest eyes she has ever seen in an animal, even in the ones illustrated in the monster picture books she read as a child.
Enid towers over her, wet snout snuffling between the bars. Wednesday offers the werewolf an open palm to properly scent, and Enid happily obliges, her tail practically wagging with relief. Once she’s had her fill, she bids Wednesday’s skin goodbye with a subtle lick, and lowers herself to the ground. She nudges the lock with her nose, whimpering at Wednesday.
“If I let you out, you promise to return right here?” Wednesday asks her. Enid whines, scratching at the bars. “Enid. I asked you a question.”
Huffing, Enid’s wolf snuffles the metal again. She whimpers at Wednesday, dutifully baying at her. Wednesday has also learned that a singular bay means that Enid is agreeing with her, and two bays means she disagrees. Fortunately, Wednesday hasn’t heard two bays more than once before, and that time was fair play, because she knew Enid would never consent to playing fetch with her.
“Good,” Wednesday says, sliding the key into the lock. Enid eyes the lock greedily, a string of drool escaping the corner of her mouth. “Collect yourself, Enid. You’re going to the woods, not to a barbecue.”
She opens the cell, letting Enid crawl her way out. Enid knows that the cell opening does not mean she immediately gets to run free. She stops at Wednesday’s side, nudging her leg with her snout. Wednesday gently pats the space between her ears, giving the left ear a little scratch of commendation, because so far she can only praise Enid through body language.
“I will be here when you return,” Wednesday promises. “If you haven’t returned by two, I’m going to wake Miss Capri, and then you’d better hope you’ve been hunted down. She was very specific in her instructions to not wake her unless you are in danger.”
Werewolves can’t tell time, but they do have internal clocks that are set to the phases of the moon, both monthly and nightly, and Enid knows it’s time to head home to Wednesday when the moon is at its brightest, but she’s always a bit miffed that Wednesday has to remind her one last time.
“Understood?” Wednesday asks, raising an eyebrow.
Enid’s wet nose sputters with snot. Wednesday stoically wipes the mucus off her cheek and glares up at Enid.
“Quit being a brat,” she demands. “Capri’s rules. Not mine.”
Enid bows down and apologetically nuzzles Wednesday’s thigh. Wednesday pats her head again in forgiveness, relishing in the warmth she provides. When they pull away, Enid stands up on her back legs again, letting out a howl that could wake the dead.
“Go on,” Wednesday urges, even if her heart aches at the idea of Enid leaving without her. “I’ll be waiting when you get back. Use caution. Come back to me.”
Baying at Wednesday once, Enid takes off into the night, howling the entire way into the woods.
Wednesday somberly watches her go, a feeling of absolute dread overcoming her. She sits back down on the floor and pulls Enid’s blanket from her cage, disregarding the fact that it’s bubblegum pink, and wraps it around her shoulders in a safe cocoon that reminds her of human Enid holding her on a particularly difficult night plagued by intense visions and black tears.
She keeps track of the time on her watch, waiting for Enid to come home, and keeps Miss Capri on metaphorical speed dial the entire evening.
—
Of course, Enid’s werewolf has to push Wednesday to her limit every chance she gets, and Wednesday’s limit in particular tonight is having to wake up Miss Capri in the middle of the night to chase down a feral alpha werewolf who can’t abide by simple rules. Wednesday would really, really rather not walk all the way over to the staff quarters to rouse an irritable Miss Capri and drag her out of her bed, rope in one hand and treats in the other, but once the clock strikes two and there is no werewolf to be found, Wednesday springs to her feet and tosses Enid’s blanket aside.
“Of course wolves can’t tell time,” she mumbles to herself, tying her shoes with trembling fingers. “What a stupid thing to think.”
She goes to exit the lupin cages, walking on shaky legs and trying not to let the worry consume her, and as she reaches the entryway, the gruff sound of a guttural growl intertwined with a human voice shouting “CAREFUL, ENID! WATCH MY HEAD!” startles her. She grabs onto the brick wall leading out of the cages, peeking her head around it. At first, there is nothing but a faraway voice that sounds a lot like Agnes but could, in theory, be any teenage girl, and then the unmistakable silhouette of a werewolf comes barreling out of the shadows.
Enid is back, but this time, she’s not alone—far from it, actually.
“Enid, drop her,” Wednesday demands, gesturing to Agnes, who’s being toted around between Enid’s jaws, held only by the scruff of her sweater like she’s Enid’s precious baby or a prize she found for Wednesday to mount upon her mantelpiece. “Drop her, Enid. She is not a chew toy.”
And Enid readily obeys. Agnes hits the ground with an unimpressive thud at Wednesday’s feet. Wednesday shakes her head in disbelief, not quite comprehending the situation after so many sleepless, worrisome hours she spent agonizing over Enid. Agnes’s big eyes blink absentmindedly up at her, bloodshot and with nothing more than bewilderment and a certain emptiness that Wednesday often recognizes in Enid when she’s having a particularly depressive spell. If it weren’t for the steady up-down of Agnes’s chest, Wednesday would safely assume that she’s dead and Enid has brought what’s left of her for proper burial.
“It’s far past lights-out,” Wednesday tells Agnes, hovering over her. “I understand that it’s a weekend, but you’re going to get in trouble for a third time, and you know the old saying; three strikes, you’re out. Typically I would be impressed by someone willing to break the rules, but it was unsuccessful the first two times you did it, and I just can’t applaud you for your mediocrity when you have the advantage of invisibility at your fingertips.”
“You’re up, too,” Agnes says. Her voice sounds painful, like her throat is burning, and the words get jumbled up on her tongue. “Hypocrite.”
“Miss Capri is aware that I’m here,” Wednesday tells her. “Someone needs to tend to Enid while she’s wolfed out. She’s a special case. You, on the other hand, have no business being in the woods so late. There are predators out there who enjoy seeking out little girls who wander alone.”
Enid snorts, offended by the comment. Wednesday gives her a cold yet apologetic glance before fixing her gaze back onto Agnes, who’s laid out on the ground with her arms sprawled over her head. Agnes doesn’t move, giving Wednesday a real chance to look her over, and she does, taking care to examine every inch of exposed flesh. Alarm bells ring when Wednesday comes across a particularly concerning cut on Agnes’s forehead, crusted over by auburn hair. It doesn’t seem to need stitches, just by the looks of the shallowness alone, but Wednesday frowns deeply at it, a familiar fury in her chest.
“What happened to your head?” she demands at Agnes.
Agnes says nothing. She doesn’t ignore the fact that Wednesday is talking to her, but she doesn’t make a real effort to answer her. She turns her head to the side, focusing on the grumbling werewolf next to her, and reaches out a lazy hand to pet Enid’s leg.
“I asked a question,” Wednesday tries again. “What happened to your head, Agnes?”
While Wednesday is busy trying to pry anything out of Agnes, Enid’s wolf growls and stalks into the open cage. She laps up some water out of her bowl, hydrating herself after what surely was an exhausting trip carrying a teenage girl between her teeth. Wednesday waits for Enid to get comfortable in her cell, bundled up with her blanket and gnawing on a stick she found last full moon, before she kneels next to Agnes’s face and leans in.
“I might not have a werewolf nose, but I smell beer,” Wednesday says. She takes a big inhale at the corner of Agnes’s mouth. “Cheap beer. You’ve been drinking, and not even anything worth the urine that it becomes.”
“Was not,” Agnes defends.
“You reek of lies,” Wednesday tells her, throwing Enid a disappointed look. “I’m very disappointed. Although, I’m quite impressed by Enid’s strength. Carrying dead weight is no easy task.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m too heavy?” Agnes asks, eyes impossibly larger and glassy. “I thought the freshman fifteen was only for college students.”
Wednesday sighs. “When Enid has shifted back, the three of us will go up to our dorm.”
Agnes visibly tenses up, her entire body rejecting the idea. She blinks once or twice, sucking in her cheeks.
“Can’t I just go to bed?” Agnes grumbles, comically crossing her arms.
“No,” Wednesday immediately replies, her sharp tone leaving little room for argument. “I need to attend to your wound. It’ll get infected and you’ll develop sepsis and die.”
“I can take care of it myself. You taught me how to treat wounds,” Agnes huffs. She continues to press Wednesday’s buttons with a pointed glare, but Wednesday only steps back and surveys her with a scrutinizing stare.
“I never taught you how to treat wounds,” Wednesday says. “You must’ve been imagining that.”
A pink, guilty flush creeps up Agnes’s neck. She noticeably swallows hard and stares at Wednesday until her eyes dry out, and then she’s forced to blink, forcing out a lone tear that travels down her cheek. She hastily wipes it away with her fist like a child would.
“I was spying on you when you cleaned Enid up after she fought the hyde,” Agnes admits. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. That was the first time I had ever seen you show any empathy to anyone.”
Wednesday’s jaw clenches and quickly relaxes when she notices Agnes flinching. She looks over her and extends a hand out for her to take.
“Get up,” she demands.
Wary, Agnes accepts the helping hand and pulls herself up to stand. She braces herself using the cold bars of the cage and wraps her trembling fingers around the metal, wincing at the pain in her head. She absentmindedly touches the oozing cut and seems surprised when her hand comes away bloody.
Bones begin to snap, startling Agnes, who goes to turn around before Wednesday puts a warning hand on her shoulder and spins her back around. She can practically feel Agnes’s heart thrumming wildly under her palm.
“She’s just shifting back into human form,” Wednesday reassures. “She’s fine.”
Agnes wordlessly nods, both too tired and too drunk to care much about anything. Wednesday takes a peek between the metal, her muscles unfurling at the sight of Enid, now human and very naked, sprawled out on the floor of her cage. She opens the door and leaves Agnes slumped against the bars as she enters the cell and lowers herself down to Enid’s level. Enid is positively exhausted by now, but she still smiles and gives Wednesday her full attention. Her physical tail has vanished, but her metaphorical tail is wagging a mile a minute.
“Where did you find her?” Wednesday whispers as she’s tilting a bottle of water at Enid’s lips.
Enid gratefully laps up the water and glances nervously at Agnes, who’s curled in on herself. “The woods. There was a bonfire that was dying out. I saw the light and followed it. I know it was risky, but…my instincts. I have to trust them.”
There is a plethora of questions that Wednesday wants to ask, starting with the condition in which Enid had discovered Agnes, but Enid is tired, and Agnes is a little drunk and injured, and Wednesday just wants to get them both situated in a more comfortable environment. Someone has to be the rational almost-adult, and it’s not going to be either of them.
“I need to treat her cut,” Wednesday tells Enid as she passes her a pile of clean clothes. “Do you need assistance dressing yourself? Need assistance with your undergarments?”
“What would you say if I said yes?” Enid teases.
“I would agree and assist you, and then we would go back to our dorm and prepare for bed,” Wednesday blandly says.
Enid pouts. “You’re no fun.”
“No foreplay in front of the child,” Wednesday replies quietly.
“I can hear you!” Agnes exclaims, clamping her hands over her ears.
Enid giggles and sits up with Wednesday’s help. Wednesday turns her back while Enid dresses herself, exiting the cage. Agnes peeks up at her, expression painfully innocent and sweet despite the blood crusting over into a gnarly scab.
“We’re going home,” Wednesday says. “You’re not getting away that easily. We are going to discuss this.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Agnes mutters and kicks a stone across the pavement. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m plenty of things,” Wednesday says, trying to keep her temper to a minimum. “Dramatic is not one of them.”
Enid snorts at that, earning a sharp glare from Wednesday. She innocently blows her a kiss and continues pulling her sweatshirt over her head while Wednesday returns her attention to Agnes, who sulks with her arms crossed and her face screwed up like a petulant child.
“I can take care of myself,” Agnes mumbles. “I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not asking you what you need or don’t need,” Wednesday replies as she opens the cage door for Enid to step out whenever she’s ready. “Your cut needs to be cleaned, and I would also like to know why you vanished into the woods in the middle of the night when you know that there are predators out there who seek out lonely, vulnerable little girls.”
Agnes goes to protest and give another excuse, but Wednesday quickly raises a questioning eyebrow, which prompts her to close her mouth. By now, Enid has finished dressing her human self in some sensible clothes and shoes. She emerges from her cage, partially relieved to be done with this for another month, partially concerned about Agnes’s injury now that she’s able to take a proper look at it.
“Let’s go to our dorm,” she says, parroting Wednesday, who smirks, fulfilled.
“Agnes, lead the way,” Wednesday says, gesturing to the narrow dirt path that extends to the gates of Nevermore. “And if you vanish, I will kill you the next time you show yourself.”
Rolling her eyes, Agnes stomps down the dirt path with her arms still crossed and blood drying in oozing lines down her forehead. Wednesday and Enid pace themselves behind her but keep a watchful eye out, ensuring she doesn’t vanish into thin air, their pinkies intertwined between them under the silver lamplight overhead.
—
Upstairs, in the uppermost part of Nevermore, Enid and Wednesday settle into their dorm as they usually do after a night of howling and waiting up, but this time, Agnes is with them, preventing either of them from getting too comfortable or falling asleep. Agnes ditches her dirty, torn clothes in favor of Enid’s oversized tee from California. It goes all the way to her knees and keeps her modest enough for her comfort.
The three of them congregate in the bathroom, and while Wednesday is retrieving her first aid kit from the cupboard, Enid scoops Agnes up and lifts her onto the edge of the sink like she’s made of paper, which doesn’t surprise Agnes, considering Enid has given her piggyback rides and, once or twice, scooped her off the ground when some little shit normie kids knocked her down while they were visiting the town square.
“Can’t I just go back to my own room?” Agnes sleepily slurs. “Tired.”
“Not until I’ve cleaned your wound,” Wednesday says as she opens her first aid kit and dabs a little alcohol on a cotton ball. “And you’ve given us an explanation.”
Agnes closes her eyes when the cotton ball touches her open flesh. Wednesday tentatively wipes away the wine red crust until the gash is completely clear and unobstructed. Enid idles by, observing how Wednesday’s hands are so much more gentle now than they’ve been in awhile. One could argue that Agnes doesn’t deserve such kindness, but even Wednesday knows better than that.
“It was stupid, I know,” Agnes mumbles as Wednesday is swiping a healing ointment over the cut. “The vampires invited me to their bonfire. They’re older. I thought they wanted me to go because I was cool or something.”
Enid lingers over Wednesday’s shoulder, keeping her eyes on Agnes. Agnes is fidgety, tugging at a loose string on Enid’s shirt, and she’s looking anywhere but at Wednesday.
“I guess that’s not why they invited you,” Enid surmises.
Agnes’s shoulders slump. “No. They were trying to scare me. We were drinking. They gave me beer so I would feel older like them, I think. When the fire started to go out, somebody put a bag over my head and tried to suffocate me. I kicked them in the crotch and got away. When I pulled the bag off my head, I was dizzy from the beer and lack of oxygen, and I fell and scraped my head. And that’s when I heard them laughing at me. They were…calling me a big baby. Told me that I shouldn’t be scaring people if I can’t handle being scared. One of the girls said this is what I get for always sneaking up and spying on people.”
Wednesday’s jaw noticeably clenches. She sticks a bandage to Agnes’s cut and moves her auburn hair away. Her dark eyes travel from the wound and down to the rest of Agnes, taking note of the bruises traveling down her legs and the filth caked under her fingernails. She exhales, satisfied that her skin is only damaged from the fall and not an attack.
“Who invited you to this bonfire?” Wednesday asks.
“Some of the senior vamps,” Agnes replies with a shrug. “They tricked me. I was a fool. I thought that they really wanted me to go. They said that if you and Enid are willing to be friends with me, I must be cool. You don’t like anybody, Wednesday. I really believed that they thought I was cool because you like me. But all they really wanted to do was scare me as payback for all the times I snuck up on them and eavesdropped on their conversations. I’m a vanisher, that’s my thing. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”
“I want names,” Wednesday demands.
Agnes’s eyes grow heavy and she lets out a big yawn that smells of alcohol. “Tomorrow. Tired.”
“Convenient,” Wednesday passively says as she grabs a new toothbrush from the cupboard. “You don’t have to shower, although I prefer it, but you do have to brush the funk out of your mouth.”
Agnes tilts forward and leans her forehead on Enid’s shoulder, closing her eyes. Enid glances up at Wednesday, concerned and nervous, and gently rubs Agnes’s back.
“The beer is getting to her,” Enid tells Wednesday. “She’s probably never drank before.”
Wednesday puts the unused toothbrush on the sink for Agnes to use in the morning, because something tells her that Agnes won’t be going to her own room tonight.
“Put her to bed,” Wednesday says. “On her stomach. I don’t need her to aspirate her vomit.”
Enid raises a surprised eyebrow. “You want her to stay here? Have you gone soft?”
Wednesday’s forehead frustratedly creases. “I’m not soft, Enid. I simply think it would be too difficult and obvious to drag her back to her room so late. We can deal with this in the morning. Use your werewolf strength and bring her to bed. Watch her head. You’ve already chewed her up enough.”
With a telling smirk on her face, Enid slides her arms under Agnes’s weak ones, hiking her up off the sink. Agnes purrs in confusion for a moment, lifting her head off Enid’s shoulder before letting it fall back down. She winds her arms around Enid’s neck, pushing her nose into the skin at the base of her throat. Her legs wrap around Enid’s waist, leaving Enid no choice but to hoist her up and put both arms around her.
“My bed or yours?” Enid asks Wednesday, carrying Agnes out of the bathroom with Wednesday precariously following behind like a dutiful parent.
“Yours,” Wednesday immediately says. “You and I can share mine for the night. We won’t be sleeping much anyway. It’s quite late.”
“Is this just an excuse for you to cuddle me in bed?” Enid asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Sinclair,” Wednesday gripes.
Enid winks playfully, still holding Agnes close to herself. Wednesday shoves off all the stuffed animals from the bed and pulls Enid’s floral comforter down, prompting Enid to lay Agnes down against the pillows. She turns Agnes over so her cheek is pressed flat on the mattress and close to the edge in case she needs to vomit. Wednesday puts Enid’s trash can nearby and helps Enid tuck Agnes in, reveling in the quiet that overcomes them.
On any other night, Wednesday would change into something more comfortable after bringing Enid home from the woods, but the evening has gone far too haywire for her to give an iota of attention to the fact that she’s not in pajamas. She’ll have to make an exception tonight, because Enid is already taking her by the hand and leading her over to her bed that she pressed against the wall.
“She’s not sneaking out of here in the morning, Enid,” Wednesday says as she removes her shoes and gets into bed first, nearest the wall. “I’m not going to let her go without names.”
“I don’t think she’ll be getting up early enough for that, really,” Enid says, sliding in next to Wednesday. “She’s out cold.”
“She’s going to have a nasty contusion and a throbbing headache,” Wednesday notes as she lays flat on her back and crosses her arms over her chest.
“We’ll worry about it in the morning,” Enid says, flicking off Wednesday’s bedside lamp. “Just like I’ll worry about her throwing up in my bed in the morning.”
Enid throws an arm over Wednesday’s waist, bringing her close. She buries her nose into her shoulder and takes a big inhale of the inky, earthy scent as her eyes close.
“I still want names, Enid.”
Enid kisses a lone freckle on the exposed skin of Wednesday’s shoulder before tossing a leg over both of Wednesday’s, securely locking her in place against her.
“In the morning.”
Wednesday huffs but reluctantly closes her eyes, listening to the sound of Agnes’s heavy, intoxicated snoring across the room. She wouldn’t dare admit it to Enid, but she counts every one of Agnes’s breaths until she’s drifting off into an uncomfortable sleep.
—
And just as she expected, it isn’t very long before Wednesday wakes again, but this time it’s to the feeling of her nose being pushed into the wall and the blankets coming undone from around her. She twists onto her other side and goes to berate Enid for shoving her when she knows that partners absolutely do not shove each other, but she’s quickly stopped by the sight of Agnes wedged between her and Enid, clinging desperately onto Enid, who still snoozes under the pink morning light seeping in through the window.
“Agnes,” Wednesday mutters, glaring down at the mess of red hair fanned over Enid’s chest. “You have your own bed.”
Agnes makes a soft noise, like she’s telling Wednesday to mind her own, and then her eyes open just a bit, wide enough to get a proper, painful look at Wednesday. She jams her fist into her eye to block out the light, whining. Wednesday notices a crusty patch of yellow sick staining the shirt Enid let Agnes borrow, and she wrinkles her nose.
“I threw up,” Agnes whimpers. “On the floor. And myself.”
Wednesday grumbles and reaches over Agnes to shake Enid awake.
“Enid, she threw up.”
Enid shoves her head under her pillow. “It’s your turn with her. She woke me up earlier because of her headache.”
“I’m not cleaning her up, Enid,” Wednesday declares.
“Your turn, Wednesday.”
Begrudgingly looking at helpless Agnes, Wednesday sighs. “I’ll clean you up as soon as you give me names.”
Enid pops up like a loaded spring, her hair a golden halo around her head.
“Wednesday! You can’t give her an ultimatum! She’s sick!”
Wednesday looks down at Agnes, who is looking both innocent and like she’s one breath away from projectile puking, and takes a brief moment to collect herself before hurling herself out of bed and fetching the empty trash can from nearby the puddle of vomit on the other side of the room. By the time she’s rushing back with the can outstretched in preparation, Agnes is already leaned over the edge of the bed and emptying what’s left inside of her onto the floor.
Wednesday drops the can and puts a hand to her head while Enid blissfully sleeps the morning away.
This parenting thing really bites.