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Some things in life can be both a blessing and a curse. The phone Xavier gives Wednesday before she leaves, on the other hand, turns out to be just a curse, and not the fun kind. She had had such high expectations. Her very own stalker. How thrilling.
But her stalker must be playing hard to get, or perhaps waiting on her return to Nevermore before truly setting the game afoot. She knows something is coming, but it seems she must be patient. There will be clues, mysteries, missteps and misadventures. Just, not yet.
No, for the time being, Wednesday is stuck at home with her smothering family and halls she has already pulled all the greatest mysteries from.
She will never, ever admit it, but her mother wasn’t necessarily wrong about Nevermore. She wasn’t right, either. Wednesday just wants to be back where the mystery and trouble finds her. It had been refreshing, really. Practically titillating.
It has nothing to do with the fencing team, or secret societies (maybe if The Nightshades were a modicum more discerning, but they really will just let anyone in these days), or friendship. And she’s certainly not there to meet her soulmate like her mother and father.
Wednesday already has a soulmate, and her name is Lady Wisdom. Knowledge is power, and Wednesday intends to be as powerful as possible. Love just makes people silly and stupid.
Case in point:
“Ah, mi cariño,” Wednesday’s father’s voice echoes off the marble busts and vaulted ceilings of the library.
“My love,” Wednesday’s mother coos back, and Wednesday slams closed the text she had been perusing to stand up and stalk out, past her parents to the sanctuary of her room.
The phone, though—back to the phone. As she settles onto her bed with her book, the phone vibrates in her pocket. Again.
Enid does not communicate like a normal…anything. She uses more emojis than she does actual letters, her grammar is somehow even more atrocious than on her blog, and she texts constantly.
She texts about the weather (abhorrently sunny; California sounds like paradise, which might as well be hell to Wednesday); she texts about her breakfast (even her bacon and eggs are smiling—it makes Wednesday want to stab them in their cheery, yolky eyes); she texts, unfortunately, about her family, which is somehow even larger than Wednesday’s own, and they’re all so…so…jovial.
Enid even texts Pugsley, who had taken one look at Wednesday’s Black Rectangle of Doom and immediately wanted his own. Wednesday had tried to convince her parents of the evils of social media, using her roommate as a poignant example of what can go wrong, but it had had the opposite effect. They’d all piled in the hearse, taken a trip to the Apple store and come out with a phone for Pugsley, a phone for her father, a phone for her mother, a phone for Thing, and a (gag) family plan.
Wednesday’s hope had been that with a more loquacious Addams to message, Enid would leave her alone. If she’d anticipated just how wrong that could go, she never would have given Pugsley Enid’s number. It doesn’t even cut down on the messages Enid sends her, which Wednesday is half-convinced is some time manipulation trickery. She swears she and Pugsley receive texts from her at the exact same moment, and they’re not even in a group chat.
Enid had tried adding Wednesday to some of those, too, but Wednesday has to draw the line somewhere. She blocks Bianca out of spite, and that at least brings a curl of joy to her blackened heart.
“Can Enid come spend New Year’s Eve with us?” Pugsley asks over dinner three days after the phone fiasco.
Wednesday’s fork clatters to her plate. The knife she grasps calmly in her fist. “Absolutely not.”
Her mother ignores her entirely. “Of course, querido. What a lovely chance to entertain.”
“A new face in the manor!” Her father claps his hands together in glee. “Delightful! Stupendous!”
“There’s a full moon on New Year’s Eve,” Wednesday says, trying to interject some sanity into the conversation. “Enid is a werewolf who has just begun to harness her powers.”
“Why, no one’s howled at the moon from the conservatory in years. What sweet music she’ll bring to our haunted halls.” Her father’s eyes go misty and a far-off look dawns on his face—he’s a lost cause.
“Mother.” Wednesday turns to her right, hoping for a more logical ally.
“I think it’s a lovely idea, dear. Fester left his good set of chains last time he stopped by, after he escaped that wretched asylum. The one with the mealy biscuits he loved so much. I’m sure he won’t mind if Enid borrows them for a night or two. Such a sweet girl.”
“Then that’s settled. Wednesday, extend the invitation.” Her father takes her mother’s hand and gives her a look that has Wednesday’s nose scrunching in disgust. “Do you remember your first visit, mon cheri? Such fun we had. The long, desolate strolls in the crypts. The way you handled that chupacabra with the fire tongs.”
Wednesday does not like where this is going. “Father, Enid is just a friend.”
That was very much the wrong thing to say. Her father’s eyes fill with proud tears. Her mother’s lips turn up in a knowing smile.
“Where shall we put her?” her mother ponders. “Would she like the company of Great Uncle Arnold’s spirit? We could put her in the Gray Room.”
“Perhaps the guest dungeon?” her father suggests. “So she’s closer to the chains.”
“Gomez, it’s so chilly down there. We can simply move the chains.”
The scrape of Wednesday’s chair against the stone floor quiets them all as she stands with a huff. “If you’re going to insist on this buffoonery—and I highly recommend against it—she will stay in Aunt Agatha’s room.”
“Oh, the Blue Room! An excellent choice, my carnivorous snap dragon.”
“There are no carnivorous snap dragons, Father.”
Wednesday does not flounce out of the dining room. She exits with dignity and poise, and her pigtails absolutely do not flap behind her.
Of course, if Enid doesn’t accept the invitation, then there’s nothing to worry about.
Enid accepts the invitation.
Wednesday doesn’t know why she’s surprised. No talk of venomous roaming spiders, bloody poltergeists, or having to deal with Wednesday’s relations (living and dead) prove to dissuade her.
The day before New Year’s Eve dawns perfectly gray and gloomy, and Wednesday rises from bed feeling ready to take on the world until she remembers what day it is. Enid arrives today. And she’ll be staying until the start of their next semester at Nevermore. Two full weeks.
As if they won’t get enough of each other when they have to share a room again. Wednesday just doesn’t understand the need for a visit. All the same, she prepares to meet their guest with all the hospitality an Addams must show. Some traditions not even Wednesday is willing to fight against anymore, and this is one battle she lost long ago.
Her eye catches on her doorknob as she’s braiding her hair where her snood hangs, limp and taunting.
#
Lurch drives down to the train station to pick Enid up at noon, and Wednesday’s family can barely contain their excitement. It’s tiresome, and just serves to remind her of how much more tiresome her life is about to become. She ducks into the Blue Room to make sure everything is ready and finds her mother fluffing pillows.
She ducks back out before her mother sees. She’d just take that wrong, too. Wednesday wasn’t checking for Enid’s comfort. She was just making sure there was still a bed in there. They have to put her somewhere, after all.
The family hearse pulls up the drive not long after that, roof piled high with luggage, and they all gather outside to greet their guest, Wednesday pushed to the front by her overeager father. Beside her, Pugsley is practically drooling with excitement.
Good. He can entertain Enid.
The idea is a futile one. Enid steps out of the hearse in all her fuzzy pink mohair sweater glory, takes a look at the grounds around her, the mansion in front of her. Then her gaze lands on Wednesday.
Wednesday takes a step back. Her father’s hand settles on her shoulder and pushes her forward again.
Enid’s eyes go big and dewy. Her smile stretches wide across her face. Wednesday closes her own eyes and takes a deep breath, waiting for it.
“EeeeeEEEE, Wednesday!”
Enid releases the handle of the garishly pink rolling duffle bag she’s lugged out of the hearse beside her and Lurch ambles up to grab it before it falls over. She begins to vibrate, then hops up and down a few times before scampering across the pavement to bound up the stairs, arms open wide.
“Stop.” Wednesday holds up a hand.
Enid pulls up short and nearly falls over backwards. The smile never falters.
“Hello, Enid.” Wednesday holds out her hand to shake. “Welcome to our home.”
Enid’s hand is warm and soft when she clasps it around Wednesday’s. She doesn’t let go. If it means she doesn’t have to hug, Wednesday will allow it. For a moment.
“Enid, darling.” Wednesday’s mother sweeps around her and wraps Enid in the embrace that Wednesday had shunned. “We’re so glad to have you. I know Wednesday has been dying to show you all her favorite haunts.”
“Please, Mother.” Wednesday finally drags her hand back from Enid’s death grip. “It’s uncouth to exaggerate.”
“Thank you so much for the invite, Mrs. Addams, Mr. Addams.”
Wednesday doesn’t know how her parents can deign to look at Enid with such cheer. Her smile is so blinding Wednesday can’t bring herself to stare for long.
Wednesday’s father steps up and wraps an arm around her mother’s shoulder. Her mother releases her hold and leans back into the embrace.
“Mr. Addams was my father,” Wednesday’s father insists. He must be watching those old mundane sitcoms again if he’s reaching for that tired joke. Enid giggles politely and Wednesday tries not to wretch. “Call me Gomez, my dear.”
“And you must call me Morticia, darling. We’re all family here.”
This time, Wednesday can’t hold back the gagging sound. Enid looks over curiously, still smiling.
Always smiling. Smiling smiling smiling. Wednesday’s face would fall off from all the work of that smiling if she tried. Perhaps werewolves have stronger facial muscles. She should look into that. It would behoove her to learn more about them now that Enid is coming into her own. Wednesday needs to prepare.
“Wednesday, why don’t you show Enid to her room? Pugsley, come along.”
“But Mother—” Wednesday and Pugsley complain at the same time.
“Now.”
Enid is disturbingly quiet as Wednesday leads her into the manor and up the staircase, down the hall, and up another staircase. When they reach the Blue Room Wednesday stops and turns, finding Enid’s eyes on her, still big and dewy.
“What?” Wednesday asks. “What is it?”
Enid bites at her lip. Her smile twitches.
“Enid.”
“You’re wearing your snood.”
#
“Wednesday?”
Wednesday’s bedroom door creaks open. Enid is quite possibly the least sneaky person Wednesday has ever met.
She sits up and turns on the lamp on her bedside table. Enid is standing in the doorway with a pillow clutched to her chest, fluffy yellow slippers peeking out from beneath her pink striped pajamas.
“I think there’s a ghost in the room next to mine,” Enid whispers, sotto voce as always.
Wednesday stifles a frustrated yawn. “That’s why I didn’t let mother put you in that room. Great Uncle Arnold’s perfectly harmless.”
“Well, yeah. Except. He’s kind of…moany?”
“That would be the gout. He doesn’t realize he doesn’t have feet anymore. Didn’t you bring your headphones?”
Enid ignores the suggestion. “Can I sleep in here? Please, please, please Wednesday?”
“No. Go back to sleep in your room.”
Enid pouts, but she turns around and trudges back down the hall.
Wednesday does not feel bad about that. Enid has a perfectly good bed. Mother can talk to Great Uncle Arnold in the morning. He almost always listens to her.
She wakes up again several hours later and has to reevaluate her opinion on Enid’s sneaking abilities. At first, she’s not sure what she heard, just knows that something is making noise. The noise sounds out again—almost a snore, but not quite. A growl, then. A very familiar growl.
Leaning over the edge of the mattress, she takes stock of just who’s taken up residence on her floor, and is wholly unsurprised. Enid is sprawled out on her back, head and pillow digging into Wednesday’s nightstand. One leg is wedged under the bed and her hands twitch at her sides, rainbow claws extended. She lets out a little yip and rolls over, moonlight falling on her sleep slack face as she turns towards Wednesday.
“Enid,” Wednesday hisses.
Enid growls again and buries her face in the pillow.
“Enid.”
Enid sleeps like the dead. Wednesday doesn’t even know why she bothered to try. She takes the throw blanket from the foot of her bed, tosses it over Enid, and rolls back over to try and get some more sleep.
Enid squeaks, then growls again before letting out a sleepy sigh and going silent. Wednesday pulls her pillow over her head anyways—it’s only a matter of time before Enid starts back up.
Puppy dreams, she thinks bitterly.
#
“What did I tell you about sleeping in your own room?” Wednesday asks pointedly over breakfast the next morning.
Enid looks chastened. Probably thought she got away with it, which is ridiculous seeing as Wednesday covered her up. She’d been gone by the time Wednesday got out of bed, the blanket folded and back in its spot at her feet.
A shame. Maybe if she’d been stepped on she’d learn her lesson. It’s really the only way Enid learns, Wednesday has found. She’s half tempted to pull out a rolled-up newspaper, except her parents wouldn’t approve of smacking a guest on the nose.
“I’m sorry.” Enid’s smile drops even further. It makes Wednesday feel—some sort of way. Emotions are so uselessly complicated. “But your Uncle. He’s very loud.”
Pot, meet kettle, Wednesday thinks.
“Mother, Great Uncle Arnold is keeping Enid awake. Please have a word with him.”
Her mother glances up from her toast. “Of course, dear. Perhaps it’s been too long since we’ve had company. He did so love to droll on at family functions when he was alive.”
After breakfast, Wednesday abandons Enid to Pugsley, who wants to show her all his favorite graves. But then everything is too quiet (damn Enid and her sounds), so she hauls her cello out to the balcony overlooking the bone gardens and puts her mind to less idle use. Thing brings her something suitably mournful to play, and she lets her thoughts drift off as she cradles her bow and fingers the strings.
At the peak of the final crescendo a howl joins the music of her notes. She would be angry, but it suits the melody.
Standing, she leans the cello against her chair before peering over the railing. Below, Enid stands with Pugsley, her hand covering her mouth like she hadn’t meant to let the howl out.
“Sorry, Wednesday,” Enid pulls her hand away to shout up at the balcony. “I missed hearing you play.”
“Hmm.”
Wednesday makes her way back to her cello and retakes her seat. “Vivaldi,” she commands, and Thing scampers away to find the sheet music.
“Oh,” she barely hears over the first sharp notes. “This one is my favorite.”
It’s coincidence, of course.
“Shut up and turn the pages,” she demands when Thing makes it known he disagrees.
#
Wednesday’s plan had been to let Pugsley tire Enid out, leaving her with both an afternoon to herself and an evening of at least relative calm. Sometimes, even the best laid plans go awry.
By eight o’clock they’ve all reconvened in the parlor for the evening’s festivities, but Pugsley takes one look at the settee, gingerly sits down, yawns, and proceeds to topple over and pass out.
Pugsley has not tired Enid out. Enid has gone and tired Pugsley out, and is still somehow vibrating with ill-contained energy.
“We had so much fun!” Enid is regaling Wednesday’s father with her day of adventures, Pugsley already snoring a few feet away.
Wednesday walks over to the window as her mother sits down at the piano. Her father will undoubtedly join in once he’s managed to pry himself from Enid’s mundane tale. Outside, the moon is just beginning to rise.
Halfway through her parents’ second duet, Enid joins Wednesday at the window. It was only a matter of time, after all. Wednesday steps a few inches to the side to make room.
She’s expecting Enid to start blathering on right where she left off with Wednesday’s father, but she takes up silent vigil at Wednesday’s side instead, hands laced behind her back, rocking on her heels. It seems silence she can occasionally achieve, but standing still is too much to ask.
“Why would you choose to come here?” Wednesday asks; Enid’s eyes are growing wider as she stares at the moon—a distraction seems in order.
Enid looks over at her like Wednesday offered her ketchup on her birthday cake. “Didn’t you invite me?”
“Pugsley invited you, but that’s not what I meant. It’s a holiday and a full moon. I’d think now that you can wolf out, as you say, you’d want to enjoy that with your family.”
Enid shrugs a shoulder. “I missed you.”
“We’d have seen each other in two weeks. We live in the same room.”
Enid’s smile cracks a little before she catches herself and pastes it right back on. “Glad to hear you missed me, too.”
Ugh. This is why Wednesday doesn’t do friendship.
“In the name of honesty, I will admit I may have missed…certain aspects of your company.”
Enid’s smile finally reaches her eyes. Slowly, as if she’s about to grab a viper by the tail, she slides her hand into Wednesday’s. Wednesday allows it, if only because a happy Enid is a less volatile Enid. And also, maybe, because it’s warm. She prays her parents are too entranced with one another to notice.
“I love my family,” Enid says softly after a moment. Wednesday knew there was more; she tries not to feel too smug. “But they can be a lot. My mom, especially.”
“I…can sympathize with that,” Wednesday admits.
Enid’s hand squeezes around her own. “We did the big family wolf out last month. The first one I really got to get in on, you know? And it was great.”
It’s Wednesday’s turn to squeeze—there’s a lie in there. She can hear it.
“It was OK,” Enid corrects herself when Wednesday looks over. “No—it was…It was—”
Wednesday is not a good shoulder to cry on, but she has a feeling the tears are coming whether she’s ready for them or not. She fights back the instinct to flee. Enid needs—
She needs a friend.
Wednesday can be a friend. She can. She just needs practice. It’s not like she was instantly a savant the first time her parents sat her down in front of a cello. This is just like that, she tells herself. She is practicing, and she is getting better.
“They would still love you, even if you never managed it.”
Enid swallows hard. Wednesday assumes she’s fighting the tears. It makes Wednesday think of Nero’s headstone, the last time she gave into the hot prickle behind her own eyelids. Maybe she’ll take Enid out there tomorrow, show her Wednesday’s favorite graves. Pugsley has such plebeian taste in the dead.
“I think you’re getting our families mixed up,” Enid tries to joke.
It might be the hardest thing she’s ever had to admit, but Wednesday Addams does not back down from a challenge. “I’d still love you. Either way.”
Enid sucks in a sharp breath, and when Wednesday finds the courage to look over again, Enid’s eyes are wet at the corners, tears threatening to spill over.
“Did that…make it worse?” Wednesday guesses. She needs more practice with this than she’s ever needed with the cello.
But Enid just shakes her head. She brings Wednesday’s hand to her lips and brushes a kiss across her knuckles. It’s…not the worst feeling in the world.
“No. It didn’t make things worse. I love you, too, you know?”
It’s a thing Wednesday has been led to believe that friends occasionally do, if they’re close. Tell them they love each other. But Wednesday really, still, Enid aside, doesn’t do friends.
Even Enid, in a way. If this is what friendship feels like, it’s more intense than anyone’s ever bothered to mention.
It wasn’t a lie, though. Wednesday’s just afraid—if she lets this emotion out, she’ll have no control over it. She’s afraid she’ll become obsessive. She’s afraid she’ll never stop loving Enid, even if Enid gets tired of her, like people tend to do.
She’s accused Enid of being exhausting, but she’s had that accusation leveled against herself, too, more times than she can count.
Wednesday turns sharply when her parents finish their song. “Mother, Father. Enid and I will be outside for the rest of the evening. Enid requires more space for her lupine form.”
“Of course, darling. Take Thing with you. He’s been cooped up all day. And wear your scarves.”
“They’re called snoods, Mother.”
With Enid’s hand still in hers, she tugs her…friend behind her and out into the hall. “Regardless of who loves you for what, wolfing out is now a thing you can do. You should learn to enjoy it.”
With Thing on her shoulder, her black snood wrapped around her head, and Enid at her side, she makes her way out into the cold of New Year’s Eve. Above them, the moon hangs heavy, pregnant and, to Enid she’s sure, enticing.
Enid looks up at it, her eyes still a little watery. Then she looks over to Wednesday, and for a moment she looks so lost that all Wednesday wants is to fix it. It’s not right. It’s not Enid. She wonders if it all wouldn’t have been easier if Enid hadn’t come back to her, if she’d really moved into Yoko’s room. If Yoko would know what to do.
She doesn’t like that thought much. It makes something tighten in her chest. All these damned emotions.
She must do something, though. If there’s anything Wednesday’s good at, it’s solving a puzzle.
Thing taps her shoulder and points up at the sky.
“No.”
He taps harder and points again.
Wednesday sighs. She hasn’t done this since she was seven and Aunt Ethel came back from Cambodia with a nasty case of Lycanthropy herself. Not the inherited kind like Enid, either. The fun, rip you to shreds, no control kind. Aunt Ethel, of course, had to be shackled, but she’d always rather enjoyed that no matter the circumstances, and it had calmed her when the voices of the family joined in.
Squeezing Enid’s hand—Wednesday’s afraid she’s opened Pandora’s box with that allowance; she may never get her fingers back—she tips her face up to the sky. From the corner of her eye she catches Enid watching, waiting.
Wednesday lets out a howl.
In the distance, a howl answers back, then another, and another. Enid gasps, but Wednesday returns their call.
“Real wolves,” she explains when she turns and finds Enid’s too big eyes still trained on her. “They won’t come much closer, but I imagine they’d appreciate an actual addition to their chorus.”
Enid sniffs and wipes at her eyes with the back of her free hand. She lets out a watery chuckle. “That was pretty good, though.”
“Music is the heart of a family, as my father says. Howling is a kind of music. Now it’s your turn to play for me.”
“I—should I—” Enid’s eyes dart to the tree line and back to Wednesday. Always back to Wednesday. “All the way?”
“If you want to. I can hold your things.”
It’s freezing out and they’re right in the middle of everything standing out here in front of the manor. Enid’s too excited, it seems, to care about either. She sheds her clothes into Wednesday’s waiting arms, lines her pink fuzzy boots up neatly at Wednesday’s feet, and gives her a nod.
“Actually,” Enid rubs her hands up and down her bare arms, shivering. “Could you—?”
Wednesday turns around. Enid should be allowed her privacy, if she needs it. She trains her eyes on the front door and tamps down on her curiosity. One day, maybe, Enid will let her watch.
She can control what she sees, but this close it’s impossible to not hear the vicious, wet shred of flesh and cracking of bone. It must be a fascinating process, the transformation. Wednesday wants to study it.
Behind her, all goes quiet. Then Enid snorts once and there’s pressure at Wednesday’s back that she takes as her sign to turn around.
Enid is…quite large. Which Wednesday knew—she’d saved Wednesday from the hyde, after all, and lived to tell the tale. But it had been dark, deep in the forest surrounding Nevermore, and Wednesday had been distracted with the need to track down Laurel. Now, on a clear night under the light of the full moon, the manor illuminated at her back, she can take in Enid in all her lycan glory.
It’s a monster in front of her indeed, but a glorious one. Wednesday is not prone to smiling, ever, but she feels her lip twitch.
“Well, go on then.” Wednesday waves her hand towards the trees. “Commune with your fellow wolves.”
Enid tosses her great, shaggy head to the left, then the right. She looks, perhaps, unsure of herself.
“You’ve already gotten my howl. I’m not doing it again.”
Enid huffs, and yips. Then she gathers her courage, and when she tosses her head this time, she opens her maw and lets loose. The whole pack of wolves that roam the Addams property join in, not just the three that had answered Wednesday. When Wednesday glances up and over her shoulder, her parents are watching from the window—no doubt anyone in a five-mile radius heard that.
The wolves howl again, and Enid looks towards the trees before turning back to Wednesday.
“You’re quite a bit bigger than them,” Wednesday warns her. “Play nice.”
Enid snorts and nods. Then she turns around and bounds off into the trees. Wednesday follows at a more leisurely pace, Thing on her shoulders.
They stay out until Wednesday can’t feel her fingers or toes and Enid is a slobbery, panting mess from running. It’s hard to tell through all the fur, but Wednesday thinks she looks happier.
#
When Enid comes into Wednesday’s room later that night she has neither the heart nor the energy to turn her away. She slides over and pulls the covers back without a word. Enid clutches her pillow and her eyes go wide and happy. She scurries across the room and slides into the bed.
Later, Wednesday wakes up to sweaty, smothering darkness and what sounds like a lawnmower buzzing against her skull. She does not panic. She does kick at the leg trying to tangle with hers.
The buzzing is Enid. She’s pressed her face to the back of Wednesday’s head and she’s not quite growling, but not quite snoring, either. Wednesday might be inclined to call it a purr.
The sweat is from Enid pushing her whole body against Wednesday’s back, and the smothering darkness probably has to do with the pillow Wednesday pulled over her head to block out Enid’s sounds. It doesn’t do much good, though, when Enid’s head is under the pillow with her.
Wednesday doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad about elbowing Enid in the stomach, especially when it doesn’t even work. She does it again, and this time she doesn’t hold back.
In a flash, she’s flat on her back with a snarling Enid perched on top of her, claws extended. It’s more of an inconvenience than terrifying. She stays very, very still, until Enid’s brain seems to come back online after being pulled so violently from sleep.
With a little gasp of horror, Enid throws herself off Wednesday and right off the bed. She lands on the rug with a thump and a whine. Wednesday rolls over so she can see over the edge.
“I’m sorry. Oh, my gosh, Wednesday, so sorry. So, so sorry.”
“You should apologize for cuddling me like a teddy bear. The threat of disembowelment was almost fun.”
Wednesday’s words don’t seem to sink in. Enid keeps looking between her still extended claws and Wednesday in horror. With a grumble of displeasure, Wednesday reaches over and turns on the light.
“I’m fine. See? I elbowed you; you startled. You can come back up here if you stay on your side. The claws I don’t mind, but I draw the line at snuggling.”
Just a moment ago she’d been sweating. Now, alone on the bed, she feels the chill start to creep in. Usually, it’s a feeling she can appreciate, but after having the heat of another body pressed up against her, the cold doesn’t seem so appealing.
“I really am sorry, Wednesday,” Enid repeats as she crawls back into bed. She stays as close to the edge as she can manage. “Do you—maybe I should go back to my room. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ll just be creeping back in after a few hours. Go back to sleep.”
Wednesday is prepared for it the next time it happens–the touching. Enid’s sleeping form has been shifting closer and closer, and with a rumbly snuffle, she makes her way across the last two inches to close the space between their bodies. Her arm comes up to drape over Wednesday's waist.
Wednesday grabs Enid's wrist before she can let her arm drop. When Enid comes awake, Wednesday is ready. The bones of Enid's wrist shift beneath Wednesday’s fingers as her claws come out, but when she instinctively wakes in attack mode Wednesday uses her weight against her.
This time, Enid is below her, wrists pinned up by her head on either side of the pillow, fingers flexing as those sharp rainbow razors try to find something to bite into.
"Enid. Calm down."
Enid snorts and her eyes focus, then go wide. She opens her mouth, but Wednesday beats her to it.
"Stop it. Your apologies are making me weary. I can clearly protect myself."
Enid's eyes narrow. The remorse is gone from her face. In its place, determination.
Wednesday is expecting her to rise to the challenge, but perhaps not quite so valiantly. The air leaves her lungs as she finds herself flipped over, back hitting the mattress. They bounce in place a few times, but Enid is holding her down by her arms and when they settle, she looks smug.
Then, just moments later, horrified.
Wednesday refuses to listen to the apologies again. She abhors both the sentiment and the repetition. Usually, she would never stoop to something as provincial as wrestling, but Enid clearly has some full moon aggression left to work out. She kicks out, wraps her knee around Enid’s leg, and twists.
The tussle is brief, but it leaves the blankets a tangled up mess at their feet, a pillow missing half its feathers, and Enid and Wednesday both panting for breath, side by side.
Wednesday blows a stray feather away before it can land on her face. “A draw, then.”
She’s surprised to find she’s not sure who would win in a real fight. She’d held off on most of the acrobatics, but Enid had held back on the claws.
Enid tips her face towards Wednesday; somehow, her pillow came out unscathed. “Wednesday Addams accepting a draw?”
Wednesday’s eyes narrow. “Would you like to pull out the rapiers, instead?”
“No!” Enid squeaks. “A draw is fine.”
“Hmm.” Wednesday reaches over to turn the light off to hide the smile that’s threatening at her cheeks. “Are you feeling better? Can we finally sleep?”
Enid straightens out the blankets and pushes her pillow half over onto Wednesday’s side.
#
Wednesday has never voluntarily spent as much time with another person as she does with Enid over the rest of their break. At first, it’s an annoyance—Wednesday is a creature of solitude. She’s spent entire days in the company of no one other than her own mind, and that’s how she prefers it.
But even Enid runs out of gossip eventually, and she takes to finding her own projects to amuse herself while Wednesday works or practices or studies. Aunt Agatha had left a tote bag full of yarn in the family colors in the closet of Enid’s room, and she begins a snood for Pugsley when he whines about wanting to match. She writes in her blog while Wednesday works on her novel, or plays games on her phone in the library while Wednesday surrounds herself with research.
In turn, Wednesday lets Enid lead her all around the manor, exploring. She’d thought it would be boring, but Enid is curious and asks about every family portrait, about the construction of each secret passage, about all the untimely deaths that happened in each room. On the rare occasion Wednesday doesn’t know, they head back to the library and Thing helps them find the correct year in the family annals.
It lacks the excitement of their adventures at Nevermore, but it holds its own sort of charm, Wednesday finds. Just…being in someone else’s company, if you can stand that person to begin with.
#
“This…” Wednesday starts their last night before returning to Nevermore. “This friendship of ours.” The word still sticks in her throat. Something about it feels off. “Is this really what having a best friend is supposed to be like?”
Enid normally jumps at the rare chance to educate Wednesday. Tonight, though, she’s silent, and Wednesday puts down her book to look over. They’re propped up next to each other against Wednesday’s headboard, Wednesday with a book on Lycanthropy Enid had proudly found earlier that day, and Enid with a comic. Enid’s eyes peel away from her story to peer back at Wednesday.
She looks guilty.
“So,” Wednesday concludes. “It’s not, then.”
“I didn’t say that,” Enid tries to defend. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
Enid frowns. “It’s not…not like having a best friend. You are my best friend.”
“But?” Wednesday pushes.
Enid’s face starts to turn red. She opens her mouth, then shuts it again with a clack.
Wednesday sighs. She hates it when her parents turn out to be right. They’ll never let her forget this one.
But Wednesday has made a promise to herself to always be truthful in her own mind. Lie all she wants to the world, but never to herself.
“So it’s best friends, but it’s also something more,” Wednesday deduces.
Chewing at her bottom lip, Enid lets her eyes drop back to her page. “Only if—it doesn’t have to be.”
But she wants it to be. Wednesday can read between the lines.
Setting her book on the nightstand, Wednesday reaches out and takes Enid’s to set down, too. Then she leans over and presses their lips together. Enid’s eyes fall shut on a whimper that Wednesday feels vibrate against her mouth. She keeps her own eyes open.
It’s nothing like kissing Tyler. Which is a good thing—Wednesday doesn’t have nice visions, and she hopes to never see Enid in one. Thus far, destiny has proved hard to change, but she would set the world on fire if it meant saving Enid.
With a strangled little half growl, Enid pushes away from the headboard and as far into Wednesday’s space as she can manage. Her hands claw at the pillow behind Wednesday’s back, and suddenly, there are feathers.
Feathers everywhere.
Again.
“Enid,” Wednesday mumbles against Enid’s lips.
Enid’s eyes slit open and she pulls back. “Hmm?”
“You ruined my pillow.”
Enid looks around, takes in the carpet of feathers now surrounding them. She doesn’t look like she much cares.
“We can share,” she says, and dives back in to press little kisses to the corner of Wednesday’s mouth, to her cheek, her ear.
Wednesday makes a sound. It is not a giggle, because she is not ticklish. Enid grins against her face and moves back to her lips.
When they finally fall asleep later that night, Enid doesn’t even pretend to start on the other side of the bed, and when the arm falls over Wednesday’s waist this time, Wednesday lets it stay.
She’ll spoil Enid at this rate, she thinks. Their fingers tangle together as they drift off to sleep.