A Field of Gold

Wednesday Addams had known Enid Sinclair for three years, two months and eleven days.

During that time, she had learned many things.

Enid slept with one foot outside the blankets unless the temperature dropped below thirteen degrees.

She became irritable when she had not eaten for more than four hours, although she insisted she was merely “feeling a little snacky.”

She could distinguish between twenty-three shades of pink but continued to describe all of Wednesday’s clothing as black, despite several garments being charcoal, onyx, raven, ink, midnight and, in one regrettable instance, very dark grey.

She cried at animated films.

She snored when exhausted.

She liked the crusts cut from her sandwiches but refused to admit it.

She drank hot chocolate with cinnamon, three miniature marshmallows and enough whipped cream to suffocate a lesser beverage.

She hated being ignored.

She feared being forgotten.

And her birthday mattered to her.

This final fact had caused Wednesday considerable difficulty.

Her first attempt at a birthday gift had been an antique silver wolf trap.

It had been beautifully preserved, historically significant and rendered harmless by the removal of its internal spring mechanism.

Enid had stared at it for twelve full seconds before asking whether Wednesday was threatening her.

Her second attempt had been a first-edition medical study on hereditary lycanthropy.

Wednesday had considered the volume fascinating.

Enid had opened it directly to an illustrated chapter on nineteenth-century experimental skin removal.

She had not spoken to Wednesday for the remainder of breakfast.

The third birthday had coincided with an outbreak of carnivorous mould in the east wing, a student disappearance and Wednesday’s temporary expulsion following what Principal Rosin continued to call “the trebuchet incident.”

Wednesday had handed Enid a black envelope containing fifty dollars.

Enid had thanked her.

She had smiled.

The smile had been wrong.

Polite.

Careful.

The sort of smile Enid gave strangers who accidentally stepped on her shoes.

Wednesday had despised it.

This year would be different.

This year, she had a plan.

Unfortunately, everyone else had also developed plans.

Bianca Barclay approached first.

She intercepted Wednesday outside the library precisely six weeks before Enid’s birthday and fell into step beside her.

“Have you bought Enid’s gift yet?”

“Yes.”

Bianca looked sideways at her. “Really?”

“No.”

“I knew it.”

“You appear disturbingly pleased by my lack of preparation.”

“I’m pleased you haven’t already bought her a ceremonial dagger carved from the femur of a convicted murderer.”

Wednesday paused.

Bianca stopped with her.

“You haven’t, have you?”

“The provenance of the bone was unverified.”

“Wednesday.”

“I returned it.”

Bianca closed her eyes briefly.

Wednesday resumed walking.

Bianca hurried after her. “Okay. Enid likes jewellery.”

“She already owns jewellery.”

“That isn’t how jewellery works.”

“An inefficient system.”

“Get her something personal. A necklace. A bracelet. Something that means something.”

“A restraint decorated with stones.”

“A gift.”

“A socially acceptable restraint decorated with stones.”

Bianca sighed. “You could take her somewhere.”

“She frequently accompanies me to crime scenes.”

“I mean somewhere she would enjoy.”

“She enjoys crime scenes.”

“She enjoys being with you. That’s different.”

Wednesday’s step faltered so slightly that anyone less observant than a siren would have missed it.

Bianca did not.

Her smile sharpened.

Wednesday looked straight ahead. “Your assistance is unnecessary. I have a plan.”

“You just said you hadn’t bought anything.”

“My plan does not require a purchase.”

Bianca’s eyebrows rose. “You’re making something?”

Wednesday’s expression became glacial.

Bianca lifted both hands. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But remember that Enid is a person, not an unsolved cipher.”

“Those categories are not mutually exclusive.”

Yoko cornered her two days later.

She appeared beside Wednesday in the dining hall, set down a cup of suspiciously red liquid and said, “Concert tickets.”

Wednesday continued slicing her toast into equal rectangles. “No.”

“Weekend in New York.”

“No.”

“Private room at that karaoke place she likes.”

“I would rather be lowered into a septic tank.”

“You wouldn’t be singing.”

“I would still hear it.”

Yoko leaned closer. “Matching jackets.”

“No.”

“Matching rings.”

“No.”

“Matching tattoos.”

Wednesday looked at her.

Yoko grinned. “There she is.”

“I have a plan.”

“Does your plan include Enid enjoying herself?”

“Presumably.”

“That was not a reassuring pause.”

Ajax tried next.

His intervention occurred after fencing practice, when Wednesday was cleaning her sabre and he was waiting for Bianca.

“What about one of those big blankets?”

Wednesday did not look up. “All blankets possess measurable size.”

“No, I mean a weighted one. Enid likes being warm, and they’re supposed to feel like someone hugging you.”

Wednesday’s cloth stopped against the blade.

Ajax, mistaking silence for interest, continued.

“She likes hugs. You could get one of those blankets and then when you aren’t around, it would be sort of like you were.”

Wednesday slowly raised her head.

Ajax reconsidered every decision that had led him to this conversation.

“The blanket would impersonate me?”

“Not really.”

“It would lie on top of Enid and simulate physical intimacy.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds weird.”

“It was already weird.”

“Right.” Ajax shifted backwards. “Maybe just buy her some socks.”

“I have a plan.”

“Great. Good. Love that for you.”

He left before Bianca had finished changing.

Eugene’s advice was considerably more sensible.

“Flowers,” he said.

They were in the apiary. Wednesday was helping him catalogue a newly established colony while Thing sat on the edge of an empty hive and removed a splinter from his index finger.

Wednesday glanced at Eugene through the mesh of her veil.

“Flowers are amputated reproductive organs presented during periods of celebration and grief.”

“Enid likes them.”

“They die.”

“Not if they’re still growing.”

Wednesday went still.

Thing stopped working on the splinter.

Eugene looked between them.

“You could get her something in a pot,” he suggested. “Sunflowers are her favourite, right?”

Wednesday’s gaze moved towards the meadow beyond the apiary.

The ground there was uneven and frequently waterlogged. Insufficient.

“She likes lots of flowers,” Eugene continued. “Wildflowers. Daisies. Poppies. Cornflowers. She said once she wanted to visit one of those huge flower fields where you can’t see anything except colour.”

Wednesday turned towards him.

“When?”

Eugene blinked. “Last spring. We were helping Ms Thornhill’s replacement clear out the greenhouse. Enid found a seed catalogue and started talking about it.”

“What precisely did she say?”

“I don’t know. Something like, ‘Imagine waking up and the whole world is flowers.’”

Wednesday stared beyond him.

Thing tapped twice against the hive.

Yes.

It had potential.

Eugene leaned closer. “Was that helpful?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I already have a plan.”

Agnes DeMille arrived in Wednesday’s room carrying a notebook labelled:

BIRTHDAY OPERATIONS: MAKING ENID CRY IN A POSITIVE WAY

Wednesday looked from the notebook to Agnes.

“Leave.”

“I have fourteen options.”

“Burn them.”

“One involves a surprise abduction.”

Wednesday’s hand stopped above her typewriter.

Agnes beamed.

“Explain.”

“We put a sack over her head, take her into the forest and make her follow a trail of blood to her own party.”

“The blood will attract predators.”

“I accounted for that.”

“How?”

“The predators are part of the party.”

Wednesday considered it for three seconds.

“No.”

Agnes opened the notebook. “Option two involves a coffin, six trained ravens and a chocolate fountain.”

“No.”

“Option three requires Pugsley.”

“No.”

“Option four requires two Pugsleys.”

“Biologically improbable.”

“Not with enough electricity.”

Wednesday rose from her desk, took Agnes by the shoulders and rotated her towards the door.

“I have a plan.”

“Does it involve blood?”

“No.”

“Fire?”

“Not intentionally.”

“Kidnapping?”

“No.”

“Are you sure it’s a birthday?”

Wednesday pushed her into the corridor and closed the door.

Thing crawled out from beneath Enid’s bed.

Wednesday looked down at him.

“You told her nothing?”

Thing signed an emphatic denial.

“Good.”

He added something else.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “The north field is too small.”

Thing disagreed.

“The rune requires a diameter of at least thirty feet. The resulting growth would be confined by the wall.”

He signed again.

“Yes, I have considered the old cemetery.”

Another gesture.

“Because Enid would object to flowers fertilised by decomposing pilgrims.”

Thing drummed his fingers against the floor.

Wednesday looked towards the window.

Beyond the stained glass, Nevermore’s grounds stretched beneath an iron-grey sky.

Dark stone.

Dark trees.

Dark water.

The school had been designed by people who regarded sunlight as a personal failing.

Enid had spent three years pouring colour into its corridors.

Perhaps it was time Nevermore returned the favour.

Wednesday’s family became involved during the following weekend.

They had invited her home under the pretence of discussing Pugsley’s latest disciplinary hearing.

The hearing had involved three stolen cadavers, a homemade lightning conductor and a partially reanimated goat.

Wednesday considered the punishment excessive. The goat had suffered no lasting harm beyond an understandable distrust of church bells.

She realised the true purpose of the invitation when she entered the family conservatory and found Morticia waiting with tea.

“My little storm cloud,” Morticia said, smiling. “Sit.”

“No.”

“You have not yet heard what I intend to say.”

“It concerns Enid’s birthday.”

Morticia’s smile deepened.

Wednesday remained standing.

“Bianca contacted you.”

“She expressed concern.”

“She violated my confidence before I had given it.”

“She believes you may present Enid with another artefact associated with wolf hunting.”

“The trap was decommissioned.”

“I know, darling. You explained that in your seven-page defence.”

Wednesday’s mouth tightened.

Morticia poured a second cup of tea.

“A meaningful gift need not be perfect,” she said. “It must merely reveal that you have paid attention.”

“I pay attention to Enid constantly.”

The words escaped before Wednesday could execute them.

Morticia’s eyes warmed with unbearable maternal understanding.

Wednesday considered throwing herself through the conservatory glass.

“I see,” Morticia murmured.

“You see nothing.”

“Of course.”

“I have a plan.”

“Does Enid know how you feel?”

“This conversation concerns a birthday gift.”

“Most conversations concerning Enid appear to concern considerably more than their stated subject.”

Wednesday turned towards the door.

Morticia’s voice followed her.

“Whatever you give her, let it contain something of you.”

Wednesday stopped.

Then she continued walking without answering.

Gomez found her in the armoury.

“Wednesday!”

He spread his arms as though they had been separated by decades rather than ninety seconds.

“My magnificent little viper! Your mother tells me you require romantic guidance.”

“I require a new family.”

“Excellent! Romance frequently leads to one.”

“This is not romance.”

“Of course not.”

Gomez swept an arm around her shoulders.

Wednesday tolerated it for four steps.

“For your mother’s twenty-seventh birthday,” he said, “I filled the family crypt with black roses and hired an orchestra to play beside the open grave of her favourite governess.”

“Grandmama killed that governess.”

“And Morticia never looked more radiant.”

“I am not hiring an orchestra.”

“Fireworks?”

“No.”

“A duel in Enid’s honour?”

“No.”

“A declaration written across the sky in the smoke of burning enemies?”

Wednesday paused.

Gomez’s moustache lifted hopefully.

“No.”

“Pity.”

“I have a plan.”

Gomez placed both hands over his heart. “Is it grand?”

Wednesday thought of the rune.

Of the sprawling grounds.

Of roots tearing through soil.

“Yes.”

His face transformed with pride.

“Then make certain you are standing close enough to see her expression.”

Pugsley found her in the laboratory.

He was holding a circular metal device fitted with wires, pressure gauges and what appeared to be a detonator.

“I made Enid a birthday cake.”

Wednesday stared at the device.

“It lacks cake.”

“The cake goes around it.”

“What does it do?”

“At midnight, it fires coloured icing in every direction and releases six hundred paper butterflies.”

Wednesday examined the pressure gauge.

“The chamber will rupture.”

“Only if the icing is too thick.”

“It will remove the wall.”

“Enid likes open-plan rooms.”

Wednesday took the device from him.

Pugsley frowned. “Are you confiscating it?”

“I am preventing you from accidentally embedding confectionery in Enid’s skull.”

“So you care about her.”

Wednesday placed the device inside a steel cabinet.

“I object to cleaning icing from brain tissue.”

“What are you getting her?”

“I have a plan.”

“Can I help?”

“No.”

“Does anything explode?”

“No.”

“Can I change that?”

“No.”

Uncle Fester’s contribution came at dinner.

“You should steal her something.”

Enid was not present. Wednesday had ensured it before agreeing to attend.

Fester chewed thoughtfully.

“People like stolen things. Adds sentiment.”

“That is not sentiment,” Morticia said. “It is criminal provenance.”

“Same thing in this family.”

“What would you suggest?” Wednesday asked despite herself.

Fester brightened. “The moon.”

Pugsley looked impressed.

Gomez nodded. “Ambitious.”

“The moon cannot be stolen,” Wednesday said.

“Not with that attitude.”

“I have a plan.”

Fester squinted at her.

“Does it involve digging?”

Wednesday said nothing.

Fester grinned.

“Lurch!”

The butler appeared in the doorway.

“Bring Wednesday the good shovel.”

Lurch returned three minutes later carrying a long-handled steel shovel sharpened along one edge.

Wednesday accepted it.

“Thank you.”

Lurch inclined his head.

Fester pointed triumphantly around the table. “I helped.”

He had, although Wednesday would never confirm it.

For the next five weeks, she and Thing worked in secrecy.

The rune itself occupied fourteen pages of an obscure manuscript written by a sixteenth-century outcast botanist who had been executed after accidentally turning a royal courtyard into a carnivorous marsh.

The original diagram was incomplete.

The lower quadrant had been destroyed by mildew, the central binding symbols were written backwards and one annotation translated loosely as either growth through joyful memory or entrails beneath the singing moon.

Wednesday spent nine nights determining which.

Her first practice attempt caused the grass surrounding the rune to grow six feet in eleven seconds.

Thing had vanished beneath it.

Wednesday located him by following the stream of obscene gestures emerging above the blades.

The second attempt produced sunflowers.

For seventeen glorious seconds, she believed she had succeeded.

Then the flowers opened.

Each contained a wet human eyeball.

The eyes blinked in unison.

One focused on Wednesday.

Her left arm immediately went numb.

She stabbed all twelve flowers before the paralysis reached her shoulder.

Thing kept one of the eyeballs in a jar.

The third attempt summoned a creeping vine with rudimentary intelligence, territorial aggression and a preference for fingers.

It wrapped itself around Thing and attempted to drag him beneath the soil.

Wednesday severed it with a machete.

Thing refused to participate in the fourth test until she provided protective gloves and a written assurance that any future sentient vegetation would be destroyed promptly.

The fourth test worked.

Almost.

It produced seven daisies, a tulip and one deeply confused potato.

Wednesday stared at them for a long time.

Thing patted her ankle.

She returned to the manuscript.

The problem was not the rune.

It was not the incantation.

It was the focus.

Rune magic required more than precision. It demanded intent so singular that the spell could not mistake it for anything else.

Wednesday’s mind did not operate singularly.

It contained unsolved murders, cello compositions, escape routes, forensic questions, ancient grudges, half-written novels, methods of torture, meteorological observations and Enid.

Enid laughing.

Enid sleeping.

Enid talking with her hands.

Enid leaning against Wednesday during film nights.

Enid bloody after the Hyde attack.

Enid in the woods beneath the full moon.

Enid placing a brightly coloured plaster over a cut on Wednesday’s finger.

Enid smiling that wrong, careful smile over an envelope containing fifty dollars.

Wednesday tried again.

This time, she imagined a different smile.

The spell worked.

On the morning of Enid’s birthday, she woke at seven thirteen.

Wednesday’s bed was empty.

That alone was not unusual. Wednesday often woke before dawn to write, practise her cello or conduct activities Enid had learned not to ask about unless she was prepared to hear phrases such as “post-mortem buoyancy.”

What was unusual was the room.

The curtains had been opened.

A mug of hot chocolate waited on Enid’s desk, still steaming. Cinnamon dusted the whipped cream. Three miniature marshmallows floated at the edge.

Beside it sat a chocolate cupcake with pink icing and a single black candle.

A folded card rested against the plate.

Enid sat up, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Wednesday?”

There was no answer.

Thing was gone too.

Enid crossed the room and opened the card.

The front contained no illustration.

Inside, in Wednesday’s severe handwriting, were the words:

You have survived another year despite your continued disregard for self-preservation. An achievement worthy of acknowledgement.

Below it, squeezed into the corner as though Wednesday had added it under duress, was another line.

The hot chocolate contains fresh cinnamon. Do not accuse me of using the powdered substitute.

Enid smiled.

A real smile.

Then she looked again at Wednesday’s empty bed.

She checked the bathroom.

The corridor.

The music room.

The crypt.

Wednesday was nowhere.

“She probably has something planned,” Yoko said at breakfast.

Enid stared towards the dining hall doors.

“Wednesday hates birthday plans.”

“She hates other people’s birthday plans.”

“She left before I woke up.”

Bianca exchanged a glance with Yoko.

Enid caught it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bianca said.

“That was absolutely a something look.”

“We don’t know where she is either,” Ajax said.

Bianca kicked him beneath the table.

“Ow.”

Enid frowned. “Wednesday told all of you she had a plan.”

“She told everyone she had a plan,” Eugene said. “Very aggressively.”

“She threatened to preserve my tongue in a jar,” Agnes added.

“That was unrelated,” Bianca said.

“It happened during the birthday conversation.”

“You licked her typewriter.”

“I wanted to know what literary obsession tasted like.”

Enid pushed her breakfast around her plate.

Wednesday missed first lesson.

Then second.

By the time Enid crossed the quad after Outcast History, worry had settled beneath her ribs like a stone.

Wednesday did not miss lessons without a reason.

Usually the reason involved danger.

Sometimes a corpse.

Frequently both.

Enid had taken out her phone to call her again when a hand closed around her wrist.

She spun.

Wednesday stood behind her.

For one terrible second, Enid barely recognised her.

Mud covered the knees of her trousers.

Dirt streaked both cheeks and had gathered beneath her fingernails. Her braids were coming loose. A tear ran along one sleeve of her blazer. There were leaves in her hair, and exhaustion had hollowed the skin beneath her eyes.

She looked as though she had spent the morning tunnelling out of a grave.

“Wednesday!”

Enid grabbed her shoulders.

“Where have you been? Are you hurt? What happened? Why are you covered in dirt?”

“There is no time for your usual avalanche of questions.”

“My usual what?”

Wednesday took her hand.

Not her wrist.

Her hand.

“Come with me.”

Enid forgot the rest of the sentence.

Wednesday pulled her across the quad.

Bianca noticed first.

She rose from the fountain wall.

“Is that Wednesday?”

Yoko turned. “Why does she look freshly exhumed?”

Ajax, Eugene and Agnes followed them.

Other students noticed the procession and joined out of curiosity.

By the time Wednesday dragged Enid through Nevermore’s great doors, almost half the school was behind them.

Outside, the building loomed against the pale sky.

Nevermore had never been colourful.

Its black stone devoured sunlight. Its towers cast long shadows over the grounds. Even the trees seemed to grow in shades of ash, iron and old bone.

The greenhouses held colour.

The people held colour.

The school itself seemed determined to drain it from the world.

Wednesday led Enid to the top of the front steps.

“Stand here.”

“Wednesday, what is happening?”

“Remain precisely where you are.”

Enid looked past her.

A massive rune had been carved into the gravel drive.

It stretched from one side of the circular approach to the other, its lines cut deep into the earth. Rings intersected with sharp geometric patterns. Symbols curled around the edges in a language Enid did not recognise.

Students spread along the steps.

Teachers emerged through the doors behind them.

Principal Rosin pushed through the crowd, saw the rune and stopped dead.

“Miss Addams.”

Wednesday walked towards the centre of the drive.

“Miss Addams, rune magic has been prohibited on school grounds for eighty-seven years.”

“An unnecessarily cautious policy.”

“It was introduced after a student turned the western tower inside out.”

“His line work was deplorable.”

Principal Rosin descended one step. “What does that rune do?”

“In theory?”

A murmur passed through the crowd.

Enid’s heartbeat accelerated.

“Wednesday,” she called.

Wednesday looked back at her.

The exhaustion vanished from her expression for one brief moment.

Something softer replaced it.

Then she faced the rune.

Thing crawled from behind a stone planter.

He was just as filthy as Wednesday.

A seed sack had been tied around his wrist like a backpack.

He dragged himself onto the steps and collapsed beside Enid’s shoe.

Enid crouched.

“Thing, what did you two do?”

Thing rolled onto his back and weakly signed:

Too much.

Wednesday reached the final break in the rune.

Only a narrow gap remained between two carved lines.

She pressed the toe of her shoe into the gravel.

“Miss Addams,” Principal Rosin warned.

Wednesday dragged her foot across the gap.

The lines connected.

She spoke.

The words were low, rhythmic and ancient. They seemed to scrape against the air.

The rune flashed silver.

Several students stumbled backwards.

Silver became green.

The earth trembled.

Green deepened, brightened and erupted into gold.

Light raced along every carved line until the entire rune burned beneath Wednesday’s feet.

Thin golden tendrils wriggled free from its edges.

They slithered across the drive like luminous snakes, splitting into dozens, then hundreds. They vanished beneath the lawns, beneath the pathways, beneath hedges and trees and stone walls.

The light travelled farther.

Across the courtyard.

Around the lake.

Towards the forest.

Then it disappeared.

Silence fell.

Nothing happened.

A student near the back laughed.

“Is that it?”

The ground exploded.

Sunflowers burst from the earth beside the front steps.

Enid gasped.

The stalks shot upwards, thick and green, leaves unfurling as they grew. Buds formed, swelled and opened into enormous crowns of gold.

More erupted along the drive.

Then the lawns came alive.

Wildflowers surged through the grass in waves.

Red poppies.

White daisies.

Blue cornflowers.

Purple lupines.

Pink clover.

Foxgloves, buttercups, asters, irises and sprays of tiny blossoms Enid could not name.

They raced across the grounds with impossible speed.

Colour flooded every empty space.

Flowers climbed the banks of the lake.

They spread beneath the trees.

They poured around gravestones and curled over the edges of pathways.

Sunflowers rose higher than the students, their golden faces turning towards the weak morning sun.

Nevermore’s bleak landscape disappeared beneath a living tide.

The school had always looked as though it could swallow colour.

Now colour swallowed it.

Students shouted.

Someone screamed.

Eugene began laughing.

Ajax turned in a circle with both hands on his head.

Yoko removed her sunglasses.

Bianca stared across the grounds, speechless.

Even Principal Rosin appeared to have forgotten she was supposed to be furious.

Enid stood at the top of the steps with one hand over her mouth.

The whole world was flowers.

Then she saw Wednesday sway.

“Wednesday!”

She ran.

Wednesday’s knees buckled just as Enid reached her.

Enid caught her beneath the arms and lowered her against her chest.

The golden rune flared brighter.

Wednesday’s body jerked.

Bianca saw it.

“It’s still feeding from her.”

She sprinted across the gravel and drove the heel of her boot through one of the rune’s central lines.

The light shattered.

The magical current snapped.

Wednesday inhaled sharply and went limp against Enid.

“Wednesday?”

“I remain conscious.”

“You almost collapsed!”

“I briefly reconsidered standing.”

Enid pushed Wednesday’s hair away from her face.

Her skin was cold.

Bianca dropped beside them.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“That the rune would cease drawing power once the growth cycle completed.”

“And did it?”

“Evidently not.”

“Wednesday!”

“I already possess one person shouting my name. Your contribution is redundant.”

Thing reached them and slapped Wednesday’s shoe repeatedly.

“Yes,” Wednesday said. “Your concern has also been registered.”

Enid looked across the grounds.

Flowers moved in the wind, bright and endless.

Her eyes filled.

“You did this?”

Wednesday looked away. “Thing assisted.”

Thing sat upright and signed rapidly.

Wednesday’s jaw tightened.

“What did he say?” Enid asked.

“Nothing of consequence.”

Thing repeated himself more slowly.

Enid’s mouth fell open.

“You’ve been awake since three this morning?”

Wednesday glared at him.

Thing gave her a rude gesture.

Enid tightened her arms around Wednesday.

“Why?”

“The initial planting proved insufficient.”

“What initial planting?”

Wednesday appeared to realise escape was impossible.

She exhaled through her nose.

“Thing and I spent four nights distributing seeds across the grounds.”

“You planted all of these?”

“Approximately twenty percent of these.”

Enid blinked.

Wednesday continued with visible resentment.

“The birds consumed a large portion. The crows were particularly systematic. The squirrels appeared to regard the operation as a personal challenge.”

Thing signed angrily.

“One bit Thing,” Wednesday added.

Thing displayed a tiny bandage wrapped around his thumb.

“We returned this morning to replace the missing seeds,” Wednesday said. “The rune accelerates and amplifies growth, but it cannot create viable plant life from nothing.”

Enid stared at her. “How long have you been planning this?”

Wednesday was silent.

Bianca folded her arms.

“Tell her.”

Wednesday’s eyes sharpened. “You are testing the limits of my depleted restraint.”

“Tell her.”

“Months,” Wednesday said.

Enid’s breath caught.

Wednesday looked towards the flowers rather than at her.

“The correct rune was difficult to locate. Botanical rune magic is no longer taught because most surviving texts are incomplete, deliberately misleading or written by practitioners suffering from ergot poisoning.”

Principal Rosin had approached close enough to hear.

“You practised forbidden rune magic without supervision?”

Wednesday ignored her.

“I tested it repeatedly.”

Thing began signing again.

Wednesday grabbed his wrist.

“No.”

Enid looked between them. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Thing wriggled free.

His hands moved.

Enid’s eyes widened.

“The grass grew six feet?”

“A minor calibration error.”

“With Thing underneath it?”

“He survived.”

Thing slapped her knee.

“You found him.”

“Eventually.”

Enid looked horrified. “What else happened?”

Wednesday said nothing.

Thing answered.

Bianca’s expression changed from concern to fascination.

“The sunflowers had what?” she asked.

Wednesday closed her eyes.

Enid stared at her. “Human eyeballs?”

“They were anatomically impressive.”

“They paralysed you!”

“Only partially.”

“And you stabbed them all?”

“They were looking at me.”

Ajax arrived behind Bianca, heard the final sentence and decided not to ask.

Thing continued.

Enid looked down at him. “A vine tried to eat you?”

“It lacked a digestive system,” Wednesday said. “At worst, it intended to bury him alive and absorb nutrients through his decomposition.”

Thing punched her shin.

Wednesday’s face remained impassive.

“It failed.”

“You nearly got eaten by a plant,” Enid said faintly.

Thing pointed at Wednesday.

“And she nearly got eaten too?”

Wednesday shifted against Enid’s arms. “The word ‘eaten’ is being applied with reckless inaccuracy.”

“What happened after that?”

“The fourth attempt produced a potato.”

Enid stared.

“A normal potato?”

“As far as I could determine.”

“Where is it?”

Thing pointed towards Wednesday.

Enid looked at her.

Wednesday’s expression warned her not to continue.

“You kept it?”

“It was the first organism produced without hostile intent.”

Behind them, Eugene made a strangled noise and covered it with a cough.

Enid looked at the flowers again.

The sight was too much.

The scale of it.

Everywhere she turned, there was gold and blue and red and pink. Sunflowers surrounded Nevermore’s gates. Wildflowers stretched towards the forest in shining ribbons.

Wednesday had researched it.

Practised it.

Fought carnivorous plants for it.

Planted seeds across the grounds in the dark while arguing with squirrels.

She had woken at three in the morning to make certain it worked.

“For me?” Enid whispered.

Wednesday finally looked at her.

Mud streaked her face.

A leaf remained tangled in one loose braid.

Her eyes were exhausted, wary and far too open.

“It is your birthday.”

Enid gave a wet laugh. “You grew me a birthday?”

A flush touched the tips of Wednesday’s ears.

“The phrasing is offensively sentimental.”

“It’s accurate.”

“The flowers will remain for several weeks, provided Eugene assists with their maintenance. The sunflowers may require structural support. Some are larger than anticipated.”

“Wednesday.”

“The western lawn also contains a disproportionate number of daisies because Thing split one of the bags.”

“Wednesday.”

“And there is a possibility that the poppies near the cemetery may induce unusually vivid dreams.”

Enid placed both hands around Wednesday’s face.

Wednesday stopped talking.

“How did you make it work?”

Wednesday’s eyes shifted.

“You said the rune needed focus,” Enid continued. “What did you focus on?”

The entire school had gathered around them.

Wednesday became acutely aware of it.

“No.”

Enid smiled through her tears. “Tell me.”

“This is neither the time nor the location.”

“After all this, you don’t get to become shy.”

“I am not shy.”

“You’re hiding from me.”

“I am sitting in your lap in front of most of the student body.”

“You nearly fainted.”

“I did not faint.”

“Wednesday.”

Bianca cleared her throat.

Wednesday looked at her with murder in her eyes.

Bianca smiled sweetly.

“Tell her.”

Wednesday would kill her later.

Painfully.

Possibly with flowers.

She looked back at Enid.

“The spell required a single intent,” she said.

Enid waited.

Wednesday’s hands curled against the front of Enid’s blazer.

“I considered what I wanted the result to accomplish.”

“What did you want?”

Wednesday glanced at the endless flowers.

Then at Enid.

“I wanted to see you smile.”

Enid’s expression crumpled.

Wednesday continued before courage became impossible.

“I have demonstrated a consistent inability to select suitable gifts for you.”

“You’re not that bad.”

“You believed the wolf trap was a threat.”

“It was a wolf trap.”

“It was an antique.”

“It had teeth.”

“They were decorative.”

Enid laughed, and Wednesday’s breath caught.

That smile.

That was the one.

Wednesday looked at it as though checking the spell had truly worked.

Her voice became quieter.

“I thought that if I could make you smile on your birthday because of something I gave you, then perhaps I would not have done too badly.”

Enid stared at her.

Around them, the flowers shifted in the breeze.

A sunflower dipped its heavy golden head above Wednesday’s shoulder.

“You did this just to make me smile?”

“Yes.”

“You spent months learning dangerous magic?”

“Yes.”

“You fought eyeball flowers?”

“They initiated hostilities.”

“You got into a territorial dispute with squirrels?”

“I will win eventually.”

“You planted half of Nevermore before sunrise?”

“Thing planted the northern border incorrectly. Some of those flowers may technically belong to the neighbouring estate.”

Thing made an outraged gesture.

Enid laughed again.

Then she leaned down and kissed her.

Wednesday went completely still.

The crowd vanished.

The school vanished.

The wind, the flowers, the rune and the distant sound of Pugsley shouting, “Finally!” all ceased to exist.

There was only Enid.

Warm hands against Wednesday’s face.

Soft lips against hers.

The faint taste of chocolate and cinnamon.

For one stunned heartbeat, Wednesday did nothing.

Then her fingers tightened in Enid’s blazer.

She kissed her back.

Enid made a tiny sound that nearly caused Wednesday’s recently depleted heart to stop altogether.

Somewhere behind them, Ajax began applauding.

Yoko hissed at him to stop.

Agnes joined in.

Eugene joined Agnes.

Within seconds, half the school was cheering.

Wednesday broke the kiss and looked at them.

The cheering died instantly.

Enid rested her forehead against Wednesday’s.

Her smile was brighter than every flower surrounding them.

“You got it right,” she whispered.

Wednesday’s eyes moved across her face.

“Then the gift was adequate?”

“It was perfect.”

“I distrust perfection.”

“Then it was spectacularly, ridiculously, dangerously you.”

Wednesday considered this.

“Acceptable.”

Enid kissed her again.

Nevermore stood dark and ancient behind them, its towers cutting into the grey sky.

But for once, the shadows did not win.

Flowers covered every inch of the earth.

Sunflowers burned gold against the black stone.

And at the centre of it all sat Wednesday Addams, filthy, exhausted and held tightly in Enid Sinclair’s arms, finally watching the smile she had spent months trying to grow.