Chapter Text
Autumn in Nevermore usually brought a thick fog that Wednesday’s lungs deeply appreciated, but it also brought a dampness that made Enid’s knit sweaters double in size on the clothesline. Their relationship, now a comfortable certainty established for almost a year, worked in a silent choreography of extreme compromises. Wednesday tolerated the scent of strawberry lip gloss and the K-pop posters; Enid accepted the India ink stains on the sheets and the fact that "good morning" was often replaced by a dead stare that promised violence.
However, on that Wednesday night, the room's harmony was severely threatened by a bright, colorful flyer.
— No — Wednesday sentenced, without taking her eyes off the keys of her typewriter. The sound of metal hitting the inked ribbon echoed rhythmically, a dry counterpoint to the pop music playing in Enid’s headphones — which, unfortunately, were loud enough for Wednesday to catch the electronic beats.
— Wands, you didn't even look! — Enid whined, flopping face down onto her girlfriend's bed. She stretched the glossy paper right over the paragraph Wednesday was trying to finish about a notary’s poisoning. — Look at this face. It’s a ferret, Wednesday. A mini albino ferret! He looks like a little white noodle with ruby eyes. He totally matches your color palette if you just ignore the fact that he's cute.
Wednesday stopped her fingers mid-air. She slowly turned her neck, a stiff movement that always made Enid’s spine chill in a strangely pleasant way, and stared at the flyer. In the photo, a tiny, elongated mammal was wearing a minuscule pink ribbon bow.
— He looks like a rat that was stretched on a medieval torture rack, but without the aesthetic refinement of suffering — Wednesday declared, her voice flat and ice-cold. — Besides, ferrets have scent glands that exude a sweetish musk. I refuse to inhabit a space that smells like a mixture of biological decomposition and cheap drugstore cologne.
— He won't smell bad if we give him a bath! — Enid countered, rolling onto her back and holding the flyer against her chest, pouting. — And the room really needs some new energy, you know? A third element. Thing is always busy playing online chess with cousin Itt or doing his nails with that strengthening base coat I gave him. We need a baby. A fur baby.
Thing, who was perched on top of Wednesday's gothic wardrobe organizing some empty poison vials, stood up on his fingers and made a series of rapid, indignant signs. "I clean my own cuticles and I am an excellent listener, Enid. I don't need competition with four paws," he gesticulated, clearly offended.
— See? Even Thing agrees that introducing an irrational creature into this ecosystem would be a catastrophic mistake — Wednesday pointed out, returning to her typing.
— Oh, please, Wands — Enid murmured, crawling across the mattress until her head was resting sideways, right next to Wednesday’s hands operating the machine. She looked up, blinking her blue eyes with that canine vulnerability that Wednesday had already exhaustively cataloged in her previous treatise. — All our pack friends have a pet in the dorm. Yoko has those ugly fruit bats hanging from the ceiling, Divina has an aquarium with fluorescent jellyfish... I just wanted something for us to take care of together. Like a real couple.
The writing stopped again. Wednesday Addams had many barriers, but Enid’s emotional pleas involving their relationship status had an annoying effectiveness of nearly one hundred percent. She let out an imperceptible sigh, her shoulders relaxing by a millimeter. She looked at her girlfriend, observing the colorful streaks of her hair scattered across her charcoal-gray comforter.
— If your intention is to introduce a sentient life form for us to share the responsibility of suzerainty, I have my own counterproposals — Wednesday yielded, reaching for the bottom drawer of her desk.
She pulled out a considerably heavier catalog, bound in genuine leather of questionable origin and with the title engraved in faded gold letters: Practical Guide to the Captivity and Maintenance of Minor Subsoil Fauna.
Enid sat up with a start, her eyes shining.
— Oh my God, you gave in! Let me see what you thought of!
Wednesday opened the book to a page marked with a black ribbon.
— This is the Scolopendra gigantea, the Amazonian giant centipede — Wednesday explained with an enthusiasm that most people would reserve for a sunrise. — It can grow up to thirty centimeters long, possesses venomous claws capable of causing excruciating pain in humans, and feeds primarily on mice and small lizards. It would be excellent for keeping the room free of insects and any unwanted dorm inspectors. We could keep it in a reinforced glass terrarium under my bed.
Enid grew pale, fixing her eyes on the detailed illustration of an arthropod full of jointed legs and sharp pincers.
— Wednesday... that is not a pet. That is a biological weapon. If that thing escapes at night, it's going to eat my toes while I sleep!
— It is extremely hygienic — Wednesday defended, narrowing her eyes. — And the venom is not lethal to healthy lycanthropes. It would only cause localized necrosis and a delirious fever for forty-eight hours. An interesting anthropological experience for your blog.
— No! No way am I having a thirty-legged nightmare living in the room — Enid crossed her arms, pouting. — Next option. And preferably one without an exoskeleton, please.
Wednesday leafed through the book with a hint of disappointment.
— Very well. How about a New Caledonian crow? They are known for their superior intelligence, ability to make tools, and multigenerational grudges. If someone insults us in the courtyard, the crow can memorize the individual's face and pass the information down to its descendants, ensuring that person's lineage is tormented for decades.
Enid tilted her head, pondering for a second.
— Look, the grudge part is kind of useful, I admit. But birds poop on everything, Wands. Can you imagine my side of the room fully decorated with bird modern art? No way. And they make way too much noise in the morning. I like to sleep in on weekends, and you know my werewolf smell and hearing get super sensitive.
The impasse was created. For the next two hours, the room divided into a zoological war zone. Enid pulled up options on her phone: pet mini-pigs wearing socks, fluffy chinchillas that needed volcanic ash baths, and angora hamsters that looked like cheerleading pom-poms. Wednesday rebutted each one with scientific arguments about the biological fragility and existential uselessness of those creatures, counterattacking with Mexican redknee tarantulas, cane toads whose mucus caused gothic hallucinations, and emperor scorpions that glowed under ultraviolet light.
Thing watched it all from the edge of the desk, turning his palm from side to side as if he were watching a particularly intense tennis match. Answering a silent request from Wednesday, he climbed down and brought a cup of chamomile tea with two drops of nightshade extract to calm the Addams' nerves, while Enid gesticulated tragically in the middle of the room.
— We are getting nowhere! — Enid exclaimed, throwing her hands up, her temporarily neon-yellow painted nails shining in the dim light. — All I want is something I can hug and that won't try to bite me, and all you want is something that could be used in a witch trial!
— Biological balance demands that a predator be efficient, Enid — Wednesday explained, keeping her voice in the same professional tone she used to describe autopsies. — Animals bred purely for the aesthetics of human futility suffer from severe existential crises. I will not tolerate a depressed animal sharing my literary space.
Enid paused, took a deep breath, and looked at her girlfriend. She realized that, despite the refusals and terrifying options, Wednesday hadn't closed the book and gone back to ignoring her. She was still there, arguing, dedicating her precious writing time to debate the family structure of that peculiar union. Wednesday was trying, in her own twisted, Addams way of being.
The blonde walked over to Wednesday’s desk, bypassing the dark wooden chair. Leaning down to get into her girlfriend's line of sight.
— Wands — Enid said, her voice softer now, bathed in that gentle tone she used when she wanted to disarm the Addams after a sharper argument. — What if we make a deal? No pet from my catalog, and no creature from your witchcraft book.
Wednesday arched an eyebrow, her scientific interest subtly piqued.
— Proceed.
— There’s a shelter for rescued animals on the outskirts of Jericho. It’s not one of those big pet stores, it’s a small place that takes care of animals that were abandoned or that... well, that are just a bit too weird for normal people. Animals that were found near the Nevermore forest and that humans didn't know how to handle.
Wednesday blinked slowly.
— Animals rejected by conventional society due to behavioral or aesthetic anomalies?
— Exactly — Enid smiled, knowing she had hooked her girlfriend through her appetite for the bizarre. — We go together on Saturday morning. We walk around, look at the animals and, if — and only if — we find a creature that pleases both my werewolf instinct and your taste for... slightly sinister things, we bring it to the room. If we don’t find anything, I promise I'll drop the ferret idea and never mention a mini-pig again. What do you think?
Wednesday analyzed the proposal with the coldness of a chess grandmaster. The risk of Enid falling in love with a mangy, droopy-eyed stray was high. On the other hand, the mention of a shelter for rejected and deformed creatures near the boundaries of the Nevermore forest piqued her morbid curiosity. Besides, spending a morning watching Enid’s frustration or joy while dealing with animals was a pastime that Wednesday, secretly, considered far more entertaining than she would ever admit out loud.
She looked at Thing. The hand articulated a thumbs-up sign, seeming relieved at the prospect of an outing that would get the two of them out of the room before they started throwing throwing daggers.
Wednesday turned her dark eyes back to Enid. She extended her right hand over the desk, fingers straight and palm facing up.
— Deal closed, Sinclair. But under one strict condition: if the animal shows any inclination to emit high-pitched sounds in the early morning hours, it will be trained to sniff out truffles under Thing's supervision in the dense forest, and will lose the right to asylum in our dorm.
Enid let out a crystal-clear laugh, the kind that always made Wednesday’s stomach contract in a way she suspected was an ulcer, but which biology books insisted on calling something else. She didn't shake Wednesday’s hand like a businessman; instead, she slid her fingers between her girlfriend's, intertwining their hands over the cold wood of the desk.
— Deal, my goth girl. Saturday morning, we have a date at the monster shelter.
Wednesday didn't pull her hand away. She allowed Enid’s warm fingers to heat hers for a few long minutes, while the sound of the rain outside finally began to fade, giving way to the complicit silence of Nevermore's night. The first battle of the pet war had ended in a temporary armistice, but the real trial by fire would begin when the doors of that shelter in Jericho opened for both of them.