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No matter how much Wednesday wanted to rush off to find Enid, even she understood that moving through a dense forest at night was a bad idea. Not just because she risked tripping over an exposed tree root and spraining her ankle—injuries didn't scare her in the slightest; they actually appealed to her—but also because navigating in the dark was infinitely harder. Unlike Enid, she didn't have great night vision, and Wednesday couldn't afford to miss anything because of that.
Uncle Fester, her only human companion on this rescue mission, had ventured deeper into the woods a few minutes ago, presumably to catch something for dinner. Wednesday wasn't hungry anyway. She used the solitude to once again read through Aunt Ophelia's diary, making herself comfortable on a lightning-felled log by the fire. She needed something to occupy her mind. This time, as with all the other times, she found nothing on its pages to latch onto—at least, not yet.
Wednesday frowned. Over the past few days, she had picked up the diary so often that she had nearly memorized its contents. She was sure she could even replicate the drawings on its pages if she ever lost it. So she set the diary aside.
The forest at night was unusually quiet, and Wednesday had always loved that ominous, dead silence. The only thing that interrupted it was the crackling of the fire, which sent sparks up into the night sky. Wednesday followed them with her eyes. They rose higher and higher until, for a moment, they mingled with the stars, and then vanished forever...
The stars. Wednesday's gaze lingered on the stars. She knew this view all too well.
---
Wednesday's left hand moved along the cello's fingerboard with astonishing precision, her right hand drawing the bow across the strings with confidence. She could already feel her wrist beginning to ache from the intense movements, but she was determined to play the song to the end. At the same time, even completely focused on her playing, Wednesday couldn't help but sense a presence behind her. When the final note faded from the strings of her cello, Wednesday slowly straightened up and lowered her bow, silently waiting for that person to speak behind her back.
"That was great, Wednesday," Enid finally said, clearly aware that Wednesday knew she was there. "I like that song."
Wednesday finally turned to face her roommate. Enid was standing outside by their shared window, wrapped up in a blanket. Black blanket.
"Is this mine?" Wednesday asked flatly, giving it a slight nod. An answer, of course, wasn't required.
Enid blinked and looked down at herself as if just now noticing.
"Oh, yeah," she replied, a little flustered. "I actually brought this for you—since it's cold out—but I got so caught up listening that I ended up wrapped myself in it instead. Sorry."
Enid started to take the blanket off, but Wednesday stopped her with a small wave of the bow she was putting away.
"You can keep it. Warm-blooded creatures like you can't handle the cold."
"What about you?"
"I like being cold. It reminds me of the mausoleum."
"Right." Enid didn't seem surprised in the slightest.
As Wednesday silently put away her cello and sheet music, Enid walked over to the balcony railing. Only a few seconds passed before she spoke again, gazing upward.
"You know, the stars are so clear here. Back home in San Francisco, I could only see a few. You couldn't even make out any constellations."
Wednesday joined her at the railing.
"Light pollution is the price humanity pays for its fear of the dark."
"I guess so." Enid smiled. "But I'm glad it's so dark here. I mean, I know the basic constellations from textbooks and the internet, but finding them in the actual sky is completely different. It's great that I can actually do that here."
Wednesday followed Enid's gaze and realized which constellation she was looking at, perhaps without even knowing it.
"Do you know the constellation Lupus?"
"Lupus?" Enid turned to her roommate. "Honestly, I've never thought about it. Is there one?"
Without waiting for an answer, Enid pulled out her phone and started typing rapidly, the black blanket slipping slightly off her shoulder. Wednesday watched as the dim light from the screen illuminated her face. Perhaps her gaze lingered there a little longer than necessary.
"Found it!" In less than a minute, Enid enthusiastically turned her phone toward Wednesday, forcing her to step closer to her roommate to see what was on it. The screen displayed an image of the constellation. "It really does look kind of like a wolf."
Enid began shifting her gaze from the phone to the night sky and back again, presumably trying to match the stars above with the ones on the screen. Her head darted back and forth, searching for familiar outlines, but Wednesday knew that among such a vast number of stars, it was nearly impossible. Unless you knew where to look.
"Enid. You're looking in the wrong direction," Wednesday noted. Enid paused to look at her questioningly. "Do you know where Scorpius is?"
"Um," Enid quickly scanned the sky until her eyes landed on a bright red star. "Yeah, right there, its heart." She pointed proudly at the glowing dot. "I know that."
"Good. Now look west from its tail."
Enid complied, searching the sky again until she finally recognized the constellation. Wednesday could tell by the spark that instantly lit up her roommate's eyes.
"I see it!" Enid pointed to the Lupus she had finally found, beaming at Wednesday. "So, that means the Corvus constellation has to be around here somewhere, right? You know, for balance." She smiled meaningfully.
The corners of Wednesday's lips twitched upwards, almost imperceptibly.
"It is. Look a little above and to the right of Lupus. There are four stars forming a quadrilateral. That's Corvus."
"So they're neighbors even up there," Enid concluded with a smile, looking at the other constellation. "I'll try to find Corvus in the San Francisco sky during summer break. It has some bright stars—maybe I'll actually see it."
"Maybe you will," Wednesday replied skeptically. "Or maybe by then it'll be lost in the evening twilight. It's not very visible in the summer."
Enid just chuckled.
"Either way, I hope when you're looking at Lupus, you'll think of me, too."
Wednesday silently turned her head toward Enid. Her roommate and her neighbor among the stars was still admiring the night sky, now completely wrapped in the blanket, her arms tucked away. Suddenly, she seemed so fragile to Wednesday, despite all her wolf powers. And so beautiful. Wednesday saw the starlight dancing in Enid's eyes and tried to convince herself that the only reason she hadn't gone back to their room was that she enjoyed looking at the stars in the sky, not the ones shining in the girl's eyes.
Before she could consider what that meant, a sudden gust of wind made Wednesday involuntarily shiver. A chill ran down her spine.
Somehow, Enid noticed. Without a word, she lifted the edge of her blanket—no, Wednesday's blanket, she reminded herself—inviting her to step under it. Wednesday stared at the black fabric, then looked at her roommate, as if asking a silent question. Enid smiled softly in return, leaving Wednesday virtually no chance to refuse.
And she stepped closer. They had already been close, but now their shoulders touched as Wednesday allowed the black blanket to be draped over her. It smelled like Enid. Like her lavender shampoo, a scent that, for some reason, had always been calming.
They stood there for a while longer in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's warmth. And watching the stars.
---
The fire was beginning to die down, pulling Wednesday back to reality. She threw a few more branches onto it to keep it going, then heard a faint rustling beside her.
Wednesday looked down. Thing had climbed onto the fallen log next to her and was gesturing, pointing at her face.
"Your eyes are glassy. Is it the smoke?"
Wednesday blinked. Then again, again, and again. She wasn't going to cry.
"Yes. I accidentally threw some pine branches in the fire," she lied. Thing clearly didn't fully believe her, but he didn't press the issue. Wednesday was grateful for that.
The sky above her was just as black, but now partly obscured by clouds. She tried to find Lupus, but that part of the sky was, frustratingly, hidden. Still, Wednesday knew it was there. She just couldn't see it.
Despite everything, the stars here were still perfectly visible. And looking at them, Wednesday could almost hear Enid's voice. Hear her laugh. See her smile.
Either way, I hope when you're looking at Lupus, you'll think of me, too.
Wednesday will find Enid. And Enid will find Corvus in the summer sky, just like she wanted to.