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Chapter Text

Bubblegum pop was blasting through Enid’s headphones at a volume more suited to a club than her cozy little dorm writing desk. She was finishing off her latest entry with a flourish perfectly timed to the beat of the current song when a pale hand shot out of nowhere and snagged the arrow that would have impaled the stuffed unicorn plushie on the desk beside her.

Her claws shot out, and she leapt a mile. Her headphones dropped onto the desk.

“Wednesday,” she snarled, twisting around in her chair to glare at her roommate.

Wednesday turned to a guilty-looking Thing, who was busy trying to scoot a crossbow beneath Wednesday’s bedsheet with a pinky. “That won’t do,” she scolded. “It’s far too slow. String it more tightly and try again.”

Enid took a deep breath, forcing down the wolf that had immediately bubbled up beneath the thinning wall of her self control. “Wednesday,” she said again, more calmly this time. “What on earth are you hunting?”

“A horror,” Wednesday answered shortly. Seeing the question in Enid’s gaze, she elaborated: “A mutant of nature. A grotesque being who thrills in merriment and mocks the darkness with cheer, vibrancy, and light.”

Enid exhaled slowly through her nose. “You’re hunting...Santa Claus?”

“Please, Enid. Don’t mention that fiend so close to my personal favored holiday. Not until I successfully subdue him.” Wednesday’s lips twitched malevolently, almost a grin. “Then, there will be only one celebration this time of year.”

Wednesday abruptly grew solemn. “This year, I will not fail.”

“Uh, aren’t you forgetting Thanksgiving?” Enid pointed out.

“A celebration of genocide. Hardly an excuse for a party.”

“Yeah, and I guess you already took out a pilgrim,” Enid muttered. “Okay, so what’s the target practice for?”

Wednesday scowled. “An unknown demon. A ghoul so twisted it would surely drive one mad to look at it too long. The horrors it leaves in its wake are a premonition of the madness to come.”

Enid’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, that’s all I needed to hear. I’m out.” She pulled her headphones back over her ears. “Whatever you’re up to, leave me out of this one. If it’s worse than a Hyde, then I want nothing to do with it. Thanks, but no thank you.”

Wednesday sniffed and turned on her heel. Enid might have imagined it, but she thought she saw a faint moue of disappointment on Wednesday’s features.

Luckily, if Enid could count on one thing, it was Wednesday not being able to let anything go.

This time, Enid was busy painting her nails on the balcony. The fall breeze rustled the dead leaves by her feet and reddened Enid’s nose and ears with a hint of winter chill. She was admiring the cold autumn sunlight glancing off the many gorgeous, Gothic spires of Nevermore when she heard the window creak open.

She turned to find Wednesday standing three inches behind her. She jumped with a gasp, barely snagging her polish bottle before it tumbled over the edge of the balcony and splattered a couple of fanging vamps below ‘moonshine silver.’

“There is an aberration in the Addams manor that I require your specific skills to evict,” Wednesday deadpanned, oblivious to the minor cardiac event she had inspired in her roommate. “Posthaste, otherwise we will be forced to cancel our usual Hallow’s Eve festivities. Which of course, you’re invited to.”

Enid took a few seconds to digest this information and return her breathing to normal. “Would this be the horror you were describing earlier? Because if so, I’m good. Hard pass.”

“My parents and brother are in immediate danger,” Wednesday insisted. “I am my family’s only protection. They’re helpless without me, and this creature is poised to exploit my few but regrettably insurmountable weaknesses.”

“Didn’t your dad teach you how to swordfight before you could walk? And since when do you ask anybody – not just me, literally anybody – for help?” Enid tried to order the many, many questions assailing her brain all at once. “Also, isn’t your house basically filled with horrifying, mind-bendingly freaky ghoulies? What’s the problem with this one?”

“It enjoys...color,” Wednesday gritted out, like that was an offense worthy of hanging.

“Wednesday, I’m not going to go full wolf inside of your family’s creepy mansion just because something that dared to enjoy color is now living there. I enjoy color,” Enid pointed out.

“Which is why I’m enlisting your assistance in order to drive it out,” Wednesday said, like that was even a little bit reasonable to ask, or logical to think.

“Nope. No way,” Enid repeated, shaking her head. She was not about to get roped into another of Wednesday’s harrowing schemes. Not after the last few nearly got her killed – twice, at least.

Wednesday looked over her shoulder at Thing, who was tapping out a message on the window’s edge. “You are too prone to sentimentality. But in this case, I concur,” she drawled in response.

Enid only caught the last couple words. Tell her.

“Fine,” Wednesday grunted. She turned to Enid once more. “Thing feels it’s pertinent to mention that we suspect it to be some sort of spirit, which makes it capable of possession. Normally one of my favorite ways to pass the time. However, in this case, it would be excruciating. Not in a ‘screaming good time’ sort of way. And likely fatal.”

Enid’s heart froze in her chest. “Fatal?” she cried.

“My color allergy renders me particularly vulnerable to this fiend’s influence,” she explained.

Enid’s claws had shot out almost without her noticing. Only the prick of pain in her palms made her aware she had protectively stepped closer to Wednesday, already primed to attack an invisible threat.

Whatever overpowering and not-totally-unfamiliar sensation that had come over her since her first time wolfing-out was not going back in the box quietly, and she had a sinking feeling it was somehow tied to her roommate/best friend’s need to constantly be front and center whenever there was any danger. She retracted her claws and reconsidered Wednesday’s offer.

While most schools had spring break, Nevermore had naturally opted for a gloomier holiday. Normally, she would just be stuck in their dorm alone during the break anyway. It was only a week. Plus, this was a rare opportunity to spend some quality time with her roommate, even if, as usual, it meant she had to take leave of her better instincts and fling herself into the midst of some morbid mystery in order to do so.

“Fine,” she sighed. She was almost certainly going to regret this. “At least there’s a party. You did mention a party, right?”

Wednesday’s eyes glittered. “Of course. Bring formal wear. If you don’t have any, our tailor will make do. We leave tomorrow.”

That was how Enid found herself packed into the back of the Addam’s family hearse as it rumbled along a small, winding road through the dark wood that surrounded the Addams’ manor for miles.

The Addams’ towering butler, Lurch, didn’t say a word the entire drive, other than to groan in response to Wednesday’s occasional inquiry about arrival time. At first he had given Enid the creeps. Before they set off he had taken her bags out of her hands delicately – despite the fact each weighed a ton – and she almost shrieked. But she quickly found he was easy to talk to and warmed up to him in no time, taking some satisfaction in the fact that her chatter made Wednesday scowl deeper. She made a mental note to knit Lurch a snood. It would help bring out his skin’s deathly pallor.

She fell silent as they turned off the forest road, and the tires crunched along the long gravel drive that led up to the Addams’ estate. Wednesday’s parents had insisted that she stay the entirety of Halloween break, and she had agreed. She was beginning to regret that decision.

“Are you sure your parents don’t mind?” Enid asked for probably the umpteenth time.

Wednesday didn’t often deign to repeat herself, but she would occasionally make exceptions for Enid. “You’re doing us a favor,” Wednesday replied. “And I’ll remind you, you saved my life. They’re hopelessly indebted to you. As am I. Unfortunately, they may choose to show that somewhat...exuberantly.”

Enid was sure Wednesday could feel her vibrating from nerves. “What if it offends them that I’m so colorful? It’s one thing for them to see me from a distance at school. This time I’ll be in your actual house.”

“It will horrify them,” Wednesday promised. “Not to worry.”

“Great,” Enid wilted. Another question crept up, one she had been working up the courage to raise since she had agreed to come. She fiddled with the end of her scarf, wincing at how the bright pink wool clashed with the dark leather seats. “There’s also the whole issue of the full moon being right before Halloween.”

Wednesday’s gaze softened, ever so slightly. “Look outside,” she invited.

Enid peered out the window. At first, she thought that the sun had set. The trees along the road towered above the car, and gloom seemed to drip from their twisted boughs and puddle around their roots. The leaves grew so thick they blotted out any trace of sun, and the underbrush was only visible as dark, bulky shapes huddled up against the trunks, vaguely monstrous in the shadowy dusk beneath the canopy.

“Am I supposed to feel better?” Enid asked flatly.

“There are miles and miles of these woods. You can wolf out in complete privacy,” Wednesday assured her. “You can run to your heart’s content, and you will not encounter a single living soul, only the unnatural denizens of the Addam’s property.”

“Ugh.” Enid shuddered with a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. “I was with you up until that last part,” she muttered.

Wednesday inclined her head toward Enid, which to anybody else would have been the equivalent of taking her hand. “I’ll ensure you’re acquainted with all of them. None will harm you,” she promised, then paused. A grimace flashed across her face, like the next words caused her physical effort. “I’m also willing to accompany you, if that would ease your mind.”

Enid turned from the window to stare at her. “You would do that? You would stay while I was wolfing out?” she asked. Enid wasn’t sure whether or not she actually wanted Wednesday to stick around for that. What mattered most, in that moment was that – just maybe – she might.

“If that’s something you would want,” Wednesday replied. But it wasn’t the same thing as her saying that’s something I want, and Enid felt the momentary flash of hope fade in her chest.

The groan of metal hinges distracted her. The car had stopped before a set of massive wrought iron gates that were at least fifteen feet high and topped on either side by scowling gargoyles. There was no visible automated mechanism. Nonetheless, they swung wide to usher the car onto the Addams estate proper.

Enid was almost too busy staring at the gates that were closing by themselves to pay attention to their approach to the house. When she finally turned, her mouth dropped open.

“Uh, woah,” Enid muttered.

The Addams’ family manor was perched on the crest of a windswept hill, making it at least two stories higher than the surrounding swamp, cemetery, and what appeared to be a mist-wreathed moor stretching out behind it as far as Enid could see. The house rose into the gray sky like a dark crag, easily forty feet tall at its lowest point, and boasted several taller square turrets at the front and back. The mansard slate roof was steep and crowned with cast iron cresting. Narrow balustrades wrapped partially around the second and third stories, held up by columns that connected to a massive, drooping veranda laden with creeping ivy below. Most impressive was the house’s bizarre assortment of windows. Dormer windows protruded from the roof alongside skylights, and glass portholes intermittently peeked out from beneath the eaves. Tall, arched windows made up most of the façade and sides of the house, several of them large enough to easily span the entire wall of a room.

“It’s...” Enid stopped, not entirely sure what she was trying to say.

“French. Second Empire,” Wednesday filled in. “Terribly old.”

“Dark,” Enid finished. Slate-gray storm clouds hung low over the manor, like the house commanded its own weather. The sky rumbled ominously, faint lightning flashing behind the cloud cover. 

Enid spotted something even more alarming by the front door as Lurch pulled to a stop.

“Looks like your parents are waiting for us,” she said, suddenly apprehensive.

Wednesday’s face constricted. “Brace yourself,” she said ominously.

Enid wasn’t sure if she should expect to be greeted or attacked when Lurch swung her door open. The answer turned out to be, a little of both.

Enid stepped out of the car, and Morticia wasted no time wrapping her in an elegantly restrained embrace. It was like being draped in cobwebs of dark silk and perfumed with grave flowers.

“Enid. How dreadful of you to join us,” she murmured.

Morticia released her, and Enid only narrowly snagged the saber that Gomez tossed in her direction. He fell into a fencing stance and brandished his own weapon, perfectly set hair gleaming in the scant light. “En garde!” he called, a playful lilt accompanying his accent.

Enid froze, sword in hand, staring at him dumbly.

“A werewolf has other ways of defending herself from you, my dear,” Morticia reminded him.

“From me? Ah no, Tish! Any companion of my little storm cloud should have the chance to learn swordplay.” He winked at Enid mischievously. “For her own sake.”

Enid’s brain was short-circuiting. First, she was holding a sword, for some reason. And she was pretty sure Wednesday’s father had just implied she was Wednesday’s girlfriend. She also was probably supposed to be doing something with the sword, like attempt to stab him. In the Addams clan, was it rude to stab your host, or disrespectful not to? What exactly did he mean by ‘companion’? There was too much to juggle in the small space of seconds she had to process and react.

Mercifully, Wednesday stalked forward at that moment, looking every bit the ominous thundercloud Gomez had described. She snatched the saber from Enid’s hand. To her surprise, Wednesday stepped right in front of her and nudged her half a step backward with her shoulder blade. In a motion too quick to track, Wednesday’s saber arced through the air, colliding with her father’s only once before sliding down the length of the blade, artfully flicking the weapon out of his hand.

Which left Enid standing too close to Wednesday, close enough for her braids to brush the back of her hands, and to smell the faintly pleasant petrichor she associated with only two things: the air before a thunderstorm, and her best friend.

Wednesday didn’t move. “Enid is too polite to eviscerate you,” she announced. “I, however, am not. She is my guest. Treat her as though she is as dangerous as such.” She glared up towards the large windows a dozen feet above them. “Do you understand?”

Enid spotted Pugsley’s dark hair poking out from an open window. He rolled his eyes and tossed the – was that a grenade? – in his hand over their heads. It soared into the nearby swamp and was instantly sucked under the brackish water. It detonated with a muted ‘BLORP’ and a thick bubble of muck erupted on the algal surface.

Gross.

Gomez was laughing. Morticia was smiling adoringly at her husband, taking his hand and murmuring something in French that dragged his attention to her like a magnet. He grabbed her arm and began to pepper it with kisses. Enid blushed and averted her gaze. She was beginning to understand why Wednesday had such a complex about romance.

Wednesday stalked past them, not waiting for Enid to follow. “Lurch will take care of the bags. Come in. I’ll show you to your room.”

Enid instantly missed her proximity. And she was not about to let her best friend run off without taking the opportunity to tease her about this sudden, protective side of her she hadn’t seen before.

Wednesday paused to throw open the massive front doors. Enid skipped up behind her shoulder and leaned close. “So, what was that about?”

Wednesday spared a disgusted look back at her preoccupied parents. “They’re very excited to have a guest. That I have a guest. Please forgive their antics.”

“Not that – although we should talk about the whole sword thing – I mean you jumping in front of me when your dad looked like he was going to skewer me.”

Wednesday paused on the threshold, not quite facing her. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply you were helpless. I don’t doubt your ability to defend yourself.”

Enid shrugged. “I thought it was gallant.”

Wednesday’s shoulders stiffened. “I only wanted to ensure my family’s enthusiasm wouldn’t drive you away mere moments after we arrived.”

The foyer they stepped into was cavernous and poorly lit, despite the abundance of half-melted candles dripping wax down the length of their ornate iron holders and onto the floor. Everything that wasn’t made of dark, polished wood was arterial blood-red, from the velvet cushions of the settee to the aging wallpaper. The room was probably what vampires used as home décor inspo.

Enid feigned nonchalance. “Orrrr maybe you have a soft spot for me.”

“Careful,” Wednesday growled.

Enid stepped in front of her and quirked an eyebrow. “Is that why your dad thinks we’re girlfriends?” she asked innocently.

Wednesday scowled so deeply her mouth plunged into shadow, but Enid was rewarded by the faintest narrowing of her eyes.

Something snagged Enid’s pantleg, startling her out of tormenting Wednesday. She yelped and looked down to find the thick, shaggy rug she was standing on was actually a bearskin. It had torn off the hem of her pink jeans and now clutched the scrap of fabric in its jaws. It snarled, dead eyes glinting menacingly. She stumbled backwards onto the wood floor.

“It does that,” Wednesday said, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“I like these jeans,” Enid huffed, temper flaring. She got to her feet. It snapped at her again, just missing her ankle. She snarled back, following up with a full-throated growl for good measure. The rug clammed up, then spit out the sorry remains of her hem with a dainty ‘ptoo.’

Wednesday was staring at her, eyes alight. Morticia drifted past, sighing wistfully. “Oh how dismal. It’s been ages since we’ve had a proper wolf in the house. Grandmama’s rabid episodes just aren’t the same.”

Gomez trailed after Morticia, giving Enid a conspiratorial wink as they passed. “The best room to howl in is the conservatory. The acoustics are magnifique. It’s my personal favorite.”

Morticia beckoned. “That’s enough, darling. Let them both get unsettled first.”

Wednesday shot her parents a withering look. “Enid, If my father engages you in any further attempts at swordplay, you’re more than welcome to bring out the claws.”

“Only if you wish!” Gomez called over his shoulder. “It would be a treat, but I won’t be disappointed if you are not in the mood to maim.”

Enid sighed as the couple swept out of sight. It was going to take her a while to understand the quirks of Wednesday’s unconventional little family.

Wednesday was already making her way up the grand staircase. It was so dark, Enid almost missed it, despite the fact it took up the entire far wall of the foyer. Enid was about to follow her roommate, half-afraid she would otherwise get lost in the gloom, when a thought occurred to  her.

“Wait a minute. Where’s Thing?”

“I sent him ahead to prepare your room,” Wednesday answered.

“Oh.” Enid was touched that Wednesday had considered her needs. She had half-expected Wednesday to show her to some dusty, abandoned old wing and shove her into a drafty room with decaying drapery, mold-stained walls, and a rotting mattress. It seemed like the type of accommodations Wednesday would find homey.

Enid trotted up the stairs after her roommate. “Sooo what room am I staying in?”

She felt it was more polite than asking straight out who had died in there. Or what still lived in there – ‘lived,’ in a manner of speaking.

Wednesday shot her a cool glance. “I invited you here to help exorcise the spirit tormenting this place. So you’ll be staying in the room where the ghoul has taken up its ghastly residence.”

“Oh,” Enid said again.

Enid had just wolfed out for the first time, fought a Hyde, and survived officially meeting Wednesday’s parents. There shouldn’t be anything left to fear, but somehow, her heart was beating twice the normal rate. She was determined not to let it show on her face. Wednesday was counting on her to be brave. “Great,” she said weakly. “A haunted sleepover. Super fun.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday led Enid through a long hall to a door secured with a massive iron lock. She slipped out a key as Enid looked on, alarmed.

“It’s to keep Pugsley out,” Wednesday explained as the lock popped open. “There’s no reason to be disturbed. Yet.”

She grasped the handle, leveling a solemn look at Enid. “This is the cursed room. You’ll be staying here. My room is down the hall, should you need anything.”

With that, Wednesday heaved open the giant oak door, and Enid braced herself to run screaming for the hills.

She took blood seeping from the walls as a given, and disembodied voices shrieking from beneath the floorboards as basically inevitable. She had brought her noise cancelling headphones for that purpose and had resolved to just not look at the walls. But she would draw the line at dismembered body parts springing forth from the mattress to grasp at her in her sleep, or an oily shadow duplicating her own and following her in the mirror, or hair erupting from a drain while she took a bath, or any other horror movie scares that might be in store for her.

The door opened to the warm glow of half a dozen strands of string lights. After the dark hallways of the Addam’s mansion, it was like stepping into afternoon sunlight. The walls were deep green with wood paneling, and with the colorful strand lights, it reminded Enid of Christmas. There were no weird, haunted-looking paintings on the walls, only several bookshelves, some of which even held plants that seemed to be of the non-lethal variety. A large, handsome armoire sat in the far corner of the room. The bed was an imposing four poster and was made up with pink sheets. Even the dark chairs by the large arched window were upholstered in blush pink fabric. Across from the bed, a small fireplace cast warm, flickering light on the polished floor. Thing was hard at work stoking the logs with a poker. He set it down to wave at Enid as she came in.

It was cozy, colorful, and strangely homey. It was perfect.

“Wednesday!” Enid squealed. “This is gorgeous! I thought it was going to be a room straight out of a nightmare.”

“It is. Just not yours,” Wednesday muttered. She remained hovering by the threshold, not letting the colorful glow of the string lights fall on her skin. “Will you be comfortable?”

Enid was already sprawling backwards onto the giant bed. She sank into the soft mattress with a content sigh. Thing hopped up next to her. “Uh, yeah, definitely.”

“Good,” Wednesday said, her voice suggesting anything but. “Should the creature possess you, grandmama has volunteered to perform your exorcism free of charge. A great privilege. She likes you.”

In the excitement of seeing that the room was not in fact an active crypt, Enid had almost forgotten about the issue at hand. She sat up with a groan.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she complained. “Also, I haven’t even met your grandmother.”

“Grandmama is quite talented with a crystal ball and a little black magic. She’s familiar with you.”

Enid gulped. “Uh, yikes. Not going to even ask what that means. I guess I’m glad I left a good impression?”

“Dinner will be downstairs. 6’oclock sharp,” Wednesday informed her, already slinking away from the multicolor lights. “Attire is casual.”

“Wait!” Enid leapt off the bed. “You still have to show me your room!”

Wednesday looked like she would rather show Enid the inside of her ribcage. “Later. Perhaps,” she said before closing the door.

Enid laid back on the bed with a sigh. It was surprisingly comfortable, but something was missing.

The ghoul, hopefully, she thought. But she had an ulterior motive for coming on this trip, besides defending Wednesday from some creature with excellent taste in home furnishings. Staying with Wednesday was an opportunity to get to know her family and see where she had grown up, maybe even begin to understand what had shaped her into the Wednesday that Enid loved. She wished, more fiercely than she was willing to admit, that Wednesday would let her in, rather than Enid always having to put in the effort to pry everything out of her. She wanted Wednesday to trust her enough to open up, and to care enough about their relationship to want to – to care enough about Enid to want to.

Thing noticed her mood shift. He signed quickly, concerned.

“No, the room is perfect. Thank you, Thing,” Enid sighed. “I just...I came here for Wednesday. Not only to protect her, but to spend time with her. I just want her to share a bit of her life with me. I’m her best friend, but it’s like I have to interrogate her to learn anything about her.”

Thing nodded in understanding. He suggested a few ideas, which made Enid laugh.

“I’d love to do an actual sleepover, but I’m pretty sure if I go barging into her room in the middle of the night faking an emergency, I’ll get a knife to the sternum,” she chuckled. “Then again, if she’s right about the room being haunted, neither of us might get a choice.”

She told him about the ‘gallant’ comment, and he agreed wholeheartedly. “She totally is, right?” Enid giggled. Thing signed something else, and Enid nodded. “I get your point. She’s always been better about expressing herself through actions. I’ll be honest with her if it comes to it. But this has helped a lot. Thanks, Thing.”

Thing helped her get ready, even touching up her nails and helping with her hair, and Enid went down to dinner in much better spirits. She was careful to pay attention to the small gestures Thing had instructed her to look for – that Wednesday no doubt had a hand in – and a few that he didn’t.

First, he was right that the usual Addams’ family silver was nowhere to be found. All the cutlery was stainless steel, not just at her place but on the entire table. Even the candelabras had been replaced with harmless metals. It made Enid’s heart swell until her chest felt uncomfortably tight.

Enid’s designated seat was beside Wednesday. She didn’t comment when she sat down, but Enid felt her relax beside her. Wednesday didn’t eat until she did. When Wednesday’s parents asked her about school, and the conversation steered too close to the details of the Hyde attack, Wednesday was quick to swoop in, even though Morticia and Gomez only asked out of a morbid fascination with all things disturbing.

“Did you see the Hyde transform?” Gomez asked, the food suspended on his fork forgotten. “I’ve heard that even among the most horrifying outcasts, it’s especially grotesque.”

Enid shrugged. “Wednesday saw. But I’d imagine it’s not that different from wolfing out.”

Wednesday set down her utensils abruptly. “It is entirely different,” Wednesday interjected. “Werewolves are the embodiment of perfect synergy between the celestial influence of the moon, human intelligence, and nature’s ideal predator. They’re strong alone and in packs. Hydes are base, latent human impulse and ego subverted by the will of another, unable to survive without the influence of their puppeteer. There is no comparison to be made.”

It was the most Wednesday had said the entire meal, and even though it was a mostly pedantic assessment of Enid’s species at large, she still felt her chest swell with warmth.

She leaned closer to Wednesday as Pugsley pretended to snore. “Seems like someone has a soft spot for werewolves,” she teased.

Wednesday stared straight ahead, ignoring Enid’s comment, and ground her molars so hard Enid could hear them. Gomez leaned forward, almost launching the food off his fork. “Ah yes! Mi tormenta has always been fascinated with wolves!” He turned to his daughter, who looked and sounded like she was chewing glass. “Do you remember how disappointed you were when you were little and discovered you could not be transformed into one by being bitten? She was inconsolable!”

This last part was directed at his wife, who smiled and laid a gentle hand on his arm. In his excitement he had flung his forkful of food skyward, where it had fallen to land squarely on Lurch’s jacket lapel. He wiped it away expressionlessly. “Cara mia,” Morticia cooed. “Perhaps we should unearth the family scrapbooks. There is a darling picture of Wednesday with her first pincushion doll – she made it Pugsley, of course – on the roof howling up at the moon.”

“Brilliant idea!” Gomez cried. “I’ll fetch the shovel!”

Wednesday stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “That won’t be necessary. Should Enid find herself in need of torment, I will gladly escort her to the torture rack.”

Enid grinned. She was enjoying making Wednesday squirm. “I dunno, I was kind of looking forward to seeing some adorable baby Wednesday pics,” she said innocently.

Wednesday looked like she was about to go fully homicidal. She mastered herself and returned coolly, “I thought you wanted to see my room.”

Enid leapt to her feet. “Yes! Let’s go.”

She ignored Wednesday’s smug look of satisfaction – as though she couldn’t tell when she was being bribed – and turned to Wednesday’s parents once more. “Thank you for dinner Mr. and Mrs. Addams. I would love to see those pictures later,” she said sweetly.

Gomez clapped his hands in delight, and Pugsley cackled. If looks could kill, Wednesday’s would have melted flesh from bone. Enid shot her a winning smile and flounced past her out of the dining room.

Wednesday followed, still scowling darkly. She strode past Enid without looking at her. “Is there any particular reason you’re determined to terrorize me today?” she asked over her shoulder. “Do you need something dangerous to play with? If so, I’m happy to invoke some of the less pleasant Addams family spirits for your amusement.”

“Actually, yes,” Enid answered. Wednesday raised her eyebrows.

“Not about the spirits,” she rushed to add. “But there is a reason. I didn’t just come here to be your guard dog. I want to spend time with you – like actual, quality, best-friend-bonding time. I wasn’t expecting us to like watch Mean Girls and paint each other’s nails or anything – I don’t even care what we do – as long as we’re doing it together. You’re my best friend, Wednesday. I want that to mean more than just sharing a dorm room and saving your life every so often.”

Wednesday stopped so abruptly Enid nearly ran into her. “What? What is it?” Enid yelped. She huddled behind Wednesday’s shoulder and looked around frantically. “Is it the ghoul? Did you see it?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Wednesday said slowly.

Enid exhaled in relief. Leave it to Wednesday to react to feelings the same way anybody else would to seeing a ghost.

“Uh, yeah, Wednesday. Usually when someone invites you into their home, it implies a level of closeness beyond just filling in for the Ghostbusters.”

“Closeness,” Wednesday repeated. Her brows furrowed. “You think I don’t value the more sentimental aspects of our relationship.”

“Historically – not even factoring in the way you said it just then – no,” Enid huffed. Although maybe that was a bit unfair. “Or at least, not above whatever current mystery you’re trying to unravel or problem you’re out to solve.”

Enid wished it wasn’t so dark so she could see her best friend’s expression, but Wednesday set off again as though she hadn’t said anything.

“Wednesday!”

She didn’t turn. “Come with me,” she said. “I’d like to show you something.”

She led Enid up two staircases and along several hallways. The entire house – other than Enid’s room – seemed to be dripping with cobwebs, shadows, and rich, dark drapery that blocked out the small amount of light that managed to strain through the grimy windows.

They wove through dreary halls until they emerged in some sort of portrait gallery. The walls soared into a beautiful hammerbeam roof and were lined with oil paintings, depicting an endless array of ancestral Addams. Enid paused to examine a few. One man with a small moustache and pale skin smiled dashingly at the painter, one hand resting on the pommel of a sword, the other cradling his head in the crook of his arm. Next to his frame was a portrait of a dour little girl with shock-white hair beside a man who Enid assumed was her father. He was clasping her shoulder and gazing down at her proudly. Her hands rested on the handle of a battleaxe, an animal skull tucked under her arm like a beloved pet. Maybe it had been. Enid shivered and moved on.

Wednesday waited for her in front of a painting featuring a couple. In it, a long-haired wraithlike figure in a suit delicately posed beside their much larger partner, a six-foot-something woman who looked like a mix between a professional powerlifter and an ogre. Their fingers were intertwined, and both beamed out of the portrait blissfully.

“My aunts,” Wednesday explained. “Bella and Donna. Crossdressers, burlesque dancers, circus freaks, lovers, badminton world champions.” She gestured to a painting behind them, this one with two men dressed almost identically, although one had no arms, and the other had no legs. “Rob and Throb. Partners in crime, platonic soulmates, taxidermists. They were convinced they were meant to be a single person, and each mourned being born with a torso. While hiding out in the Alps after a heist, they found a doctor with some experience with corpses who was able to stitch them together. They lived the rest of their life as one person. Left their own instructions for exactly how they wanted to be stuffed, mounted, and displayed.”

She indicated another painting. “Ether and Formalda. Distant cousins, but inseparable. They invented their own language just so that they wouldn’t have to speak to other people. Helped uncontacted tribes hunt European anthropologists in the Amazon rainforest. They made a pact that when one died, the other would be buried alive with her. Unfortunately they died within minutes of each other on the operating table. Medical malpractice. Neither had a license.” Enid stared, but Wednesday seemed to feel that was sufficient for an explanation.

Wednesday continued along the wall, pointing out several more paintings and summarizing the lives and accomplishments of their subjects, mostly unusual couples with tendencies toward the macabre or eccentric. When Wednesday finished, they were standing once more before the portrait of Wednesday’s aunts.

“Odd pairs seem to be a recurring theme in the Addams family,” Wednesday summarized. “I think you’ll particularly enjoy meeting my cousin It and his wife Margaret at the party. A pity you couldn’t also meet Fester’s wife, but nowadays she fits in an ashtray.”

A realization had been creeping over Enid as she had been listening. She had tried to dismiss it as her own wishful thinking, but now, she was sure she hadn’t just imagined it. Wednesday had brought her here for a reason.

“Odd pairs, huh?” she repeated, staring at the portrait in case her gaze might accidentally tangle with Wednesday’s.

Wednesday studied the painting with a touch more scrutiny than was necessary. “When everything about you is strange, there is little that’s truly unbelievable. Not even finding your companion in the last place you would think to look,” she explained.

Maybe that was why the Addams were so accepting. They implicitly understood that everyone was strange in their own way, but not necessarily different from them. Enid could relate to the whole not-judging-based-on-appearances thing. After last semester, she had learned the hard way that the most boring, normal people could conceal gruesome monsters. And she was beginning to understand that even demented and twisted souls could have good hearts.

“An Addams selects their person, or persons, based on compatibility,” Wednesday went on. “Nothing else.”

Enid’s mind flashed back to a night not long ago in their dorm, when Wednesday had asked why she had decided to move back in after they had fought. Her own explanation echoed in her head: Because we work. We shouldn’t, but we do. It’s like some sort of weird friendship anomaly. She remembered the look of shock, then realization, that had flickered across Wednesday’s face. At the time Enid hadn’t thought anything of it. She assumed Wednesday had just never considered that she might be the victim of friendship. She wondered now if perhaps Wednesday had realized something more.

The feeling Enid had refused to examine, that had been steadily building since she saved Wednesday’s life – before that, if she was being honest with herself – was knotting in her heart like badly-healed scar tissue. It swelled and ached all at once, threatening to burst out of her throat, and she didn’t think she was going to be able to stifle it much longer. Not if Wednesday was implying what she thought. Not if she continued to give Enid more reasons to hope.

“Wednesday,” Enid began hesitantly, and Wednesday silenced her with a look.

“I don’t expect you to understand. I won’t burden you with the confusing tapestry of my family history, or the Addams name. But –” She inhaled through her nose. “You are my best friend. I fear it’s too late to change that.” Her tone turned despairing. “And every day I lose more hope that I would be strong enough to do so, given the chance.”

“I don’t want that to change,” Enid said quietly. “And it wouldn’t hurt to be asked. Maybe I’m not opposed to any of those things.”

Wednesday fixed her with a long-suffering stare. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t get along with others. I don’t like people, Enid. Just you.”

Enid fought the urge to reach out, either to hold her or shake her. She didn’t understand how Wednesday could be so brilliant yet miss everything happening right in front of her, and still have the audacity to think that Enid was the one missing the point.

“Wednesday, why do you think I saved your life? Why do you think I fought a Hyde for you?” An edge of desperation seeped into her words, sharpened by her rising temper. She clenched her fingers into fists, trying to force her claws back, and to keep them from shaking. “Why do you think I came here to protect you from some ghoul? Do you ever wonder why I keep trying to be your friend, try to be close to you, even when I get no indication that you even care?”

“Enid,” Wednesday said quietly. She looked up at the painting once more. “I am telling you that you are the only person for me.”

Enid’s chest was tightening, constricting with disbelief and rage. The wolf was slamming against her sternum, howling to be let out. She thought of when Ajax had stood her up, but this anger was something far more dangerous. She cared so much more this time. She cared so much it hurt.

“And I am telling you: I understand!” Enid cried. “You can’t just push me away! I get a choice, too, you know. Why can’t you understand that I’ve stuck around because I’m also choosing you? Why don’t you trust me enough to actually be open with me? Why can’t you trust that I’ll still care about you afterwards?”

Wednesday closed her eyes, and a muscle twitched in her jaw. Enid couldn’t tell if she was experiencing pleasure or pain.

“I see.”

“Do you?” Enid demanded. “Because it is really hard to believe you actually want to be my friend, from where I’m standing.”

Her voice wavered on the word ‘friend.’ It didn’t feel like it fit any longer. She refused to examine that. She was afraid of what it meant, what would take its place.

“Slowly,” Wednesday said, not quite pleading, but close. She opened her eyes, her dark gaze finally meeting Enid’s. It blew the flame of Enid’s temper right out. “Bear with me. I’m...evolving.” She gritted out the last word with considerable effort.

It was almost exactly what she had said to Enid that night in their dorm.

Hope replaced the anger in Enid’s chest, small and frail, but warm. Wednesday was trying.

She should be thrilled. Wednesday had confessed that she was meant for her. She should be skipping in little circles on cloud nine. Instead, it only drove the knife deeper.

It was never going to be enough. If the thought of even just caring for Enid as her friend was unbearable, then anything else would be too far. Enid had the choice of either forever choking back the sharp ache she got whenever she looked at the girl she had fought a Hyde for, or revealing her feelings to Wednesday and driving her away. Two unbelievably shitty options.

At least one left her with her best friend. And she could still be close to her, even if it stung. Enid could handle it; she had survived worse.

“Come on,” she said, aiming for a more upbeat tone, hoping her expression hadn’t revealed the direction of her thoughts. “Why don’t you show me your room?”

Wednesday’s eyes widened like Enid had offered to hammer the final nail into her coffin.

Enid offered her an encouraging smile. “Hey, one inch of duct tape at a time, right?”

Chapter Text

Enid was fully aware that by asking Wednesday to show her the bedroom where she had grown up, she was a good two bases past a marriage proposal and had at least one foot in the grave. She was counting on the fact that Wednesday had basically admitted to harboring a soft spot for Enid to slightly lower the chances of suffering a premature death at her hands.

She followed Wednesday through a maze of dark hallways, past Enid’s room, to the end of the hall. Tucked into an alcove, a wrought iron spiral staircase wound up, up into one of the manor’s square turrets, ending at a landing with a small door. The door was banded with iron and had a tiny, slotted window that could be slid open from the inside. Wednesday did not need to confirm that this was her room. All that was missing was a “Keep out if your name is Pugsley” sign, or an enormous flashing light display spelling out ‘DANGER.’

Enid waited while Wednesday unlocked multiple locks and disabled at least five booby traps, including a tripwire connected to a crossbow hidden in the wall, an axe that swung out of the ceiling, and a wire that electrified the doorknob. By the time she was done, Enid was bouncing on her heels. When Wednesday finally pushed open the door and ushered Enid inside, she was about to explode with curiosity.

It was small, despite the high ceiling, which curved upward with the shape of the roof and disappeared into the gloom. Enid stopped trying to make out the apex when several dozen small, glowing eyes appeared in the rafters at the sound of the door closing behind them.

Enid ventured further inside. It was so small that after a few strides, she was standing in the middle of the room. There was a double bed, a worn rug, a small wardrobe, and a writing desk beneath the single round window. The only light came from a single lamp on the bedside table, and a couple wall sconces drowning in cobwebs by the desk.

Wednesday’s cello rested on its stand in the corner. Her beloved typewriter was in its case on the desk. The list of personal affects began and ended there. In terms of decoration, the wall above the bed depicted some sort of violent hunting scene – in which the animals were hunting humans – that Enid decided not to study too closely, and an unexpectedly adorable octopus was inlaid in the bed’s footboard.

Enid had assumed Wednesday had gone the minimalist route with her side of the dorm since it was only temporary accommodations. But Wednesday’s childhood bedroom confirmed Enid’s worst fears: this was just what Wednesday was like.

Okay, that wasn’t exactly fair. In some ways, the bare room also reminded Enid about everything she liked about Wednesday. Each item had a place and purpose; nothing was superfluous. She was efficient, severe, and straightforward. What you saw with Wednesday Addams was what you got. In that light, the room was strangely reassuring. Familiar.

Enid traced the wood grain of the desk, slightly paler where Wednesday’s hands had rested on the edge, and craned her neck to try and see the view out the window. What did Wednesday stare at as she wrote? Could it be called daydreaming, in her case, or was it something more like doomseeing, because she was a Raven?

Wednesday was hovering by the bed, watching Enid like she was casually browsing through Wednesday’s diary, ripping out pages, and tucking them in her pocket.

Enid felt her stare and smiled. “Relax,” she said. “I live with you, remember? Nothing here is going to surprise me, no matter how many dead bodies you’ve got under the floorboards.”

“Not as many as I’d like,” Wednesday murmured. “Pugsley has been recalcitrant.”

Enid rolled her eyes. “You are the most secretive person I know,” she said.

“I prefer ‘private.’” Wednesday corrected. She paused. “But you’re right. I invited you here. You’re entitled to a few more of my secrets.”

Enid perked up. Wednesday gestured to a narrow door recessed into the wall that she hadn’t seen at first – not surprising, since the room was cloaked in gloom – to the left of the bed. “Would you like to see my favorite part of the house?”

“Heck yes!” Enid squealed. “As long as it’s not the torture room. It’s not, right?”

“A close second.” Wednesday said, steering around Enid. She opened the door, which led to a narrow set of stairs leading up, only wide enough for one person. There was no light; they simply ascended into darkness. Enid shuddered.

She trailed closely behind Wednesday, resting one hand against the wall to brace herself. It was so tight she could hardly lift her arm. Luckily after a dozen steps, they reached a small hatch. Wednesday flung it open, and cold wind swept down the stairway with a howl. Wednesday hauled herself up over the edge, and Enid followed.

They emerged onto a short widow’s walk. It was barely the length of their dorm’s balcony at school and half the width. It sat atop one of the square turrets that towered above the Addams’ manor, offering a view for miles around.

Wednesday stood at the railing. The gale-force wind whipped loose strands of dark hair around her face, which she had tilted upwards toward the glowering clouds above them. Leaves whirled around Enid’s head, and the blustering wind swept through her layers in a cold rush that snatched her breath away. Wednesday stood at the eye of it all, like it was her own private storm, and the thrill in her dark eyes when they fell on Enid was electrifying. Her gaze was lit like the underside of a flashing storm cloud: opaque, potent, dangerous. She was the most beautiful sight Enid had ever seen.

“This is where I play.” She indicated a chair and a music stand near the railing. “I come here to practice, and to think.”

Enid advanced carefully. The boards were uneven; they creaked with each of her steps, and several looked alarmingly rotted. Leave it to her roommate to pick the most decrepit, ominous structural hazard as her happy place. Enid took a deep breath and stepped closer to the railing, so that she was standing beside Wednesday. The wind tore at her clothes, threatening to bowl her over the edge.

“Thank you,” Enid said, surprising both of them. Wednesday frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“For showing me this,” Enid clarified. “It means a lot – you sharing this with me.”

Wednesday’s hand twitched a centimeter closer to Enid’s on the railing, so slight anyone else would have missed it. She eyed Enid from her periphery. “You are the only friend I’ve ever had, or desired,” she said. “I must no longer accept being a stranger to you.”

Enid moved slowly, as though approaching a dangerous animal; the irony that she was the wolf, and Wednesday the Raven, was not lost on her. She lifted her fingers, and tentatively laid them over Wednesday’s.

Wednesday’s nostrils flared, and she closed her eyes. Enid held her breath.

Then Wednesday’s head snapped back, eyes peeled wide, staring up sightlessly at the sky. Her body went rigid. She froze like that for a moment, head thrown straight back, fingers curled into claws, until gravity took hold. She began to tip. Enid felt herself falling with her, knees slamming into rotted wood. She caught Wednesday just before she hit the ground.

She felt so small in Enid’s arms. Beneath the heaps of black clothing, her body was gaunt and paper-light, and Enid had the absurd thought that her bones must be hollow like a bird’s. She laid her best friend down on the boards, wincing as her dark hair tangled in the splintered wood. She bit her lip. Wednesday would hate being held, but it felt wrong to set her on the dirty ground. Enid pulled off her jumper, the freezing air immediately chilling her bare arms, and bundled it up beneath Wednesday’s head.

She looked on, helpless to do anything except wait. Enid’s lungs were empty; she couldn’t fill them no matter how hard she tried. Wednesday did not move for what felt like hours, but must have only been minutes. It might be normal for a Raven, or at least for Wednesday, but it still felt awful, seeing her best friend like this, and not even being able to hold her hand.

Finally, Wednesday blinked, dazed. Enid couldn’t help it; she leaned close, her heart aching, feeling somehow responsible. It had been her touch that had sent her into this spell.

“Wednesday,” Enid gasped, and it was all she could say. The air swirling around them still wouldn’t flow past her throat.

Wednesday’s eyes focused on her at last, and she clutched Enid’s arm. Her words sliced her open and stuck, cold and sharp, in the middle of Enid’s chest.

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I should have never brought you here.”

Enid stumbled back, feeling true cold for the first time. Her heart fell still, and the blood froze in her veins. It stung like a slap.

Wednesday regretted this. She no longer wanted Enid here. With two sentences, she had rescinding any offer of closeness, even the hope of it. She was rejecting her, and Enid couldn’t understand why.

The shock wore off, and then all her feeling rushed back, in hot, angry waves of hurt. Enid’s eyes burned with it. Pulsed with surge after surge of stinging pain. Belatedly, she realized they were tears.

She was determined to not let Wednesday see her cry. She spun. At the entrance to the hatch she turned once. Wednesday was sitting up now, staring after her. She seemed fine. That would have to be good enough. Enid clambered down into the darkness and ran.

---

Wednesday watched Enid strolling through her room, as though she was not tramping through Wednesday’s private sanctuary. She would have felt less exposed than if Enid had insisted on inspecting every inch of her bare skin, or taking out her organs, weighing each, and putting them one by one into appropriately-sized canopic jars.

Thing would call her dramatic. Her parents would assume she was condemning Enid to untimely death. Pugsley would accuse her of favoritism.

It was worse than that. She had the sickly, sudden feeling of missing a step on the stairs. The realization that she had stepped out into air, and was at the mercy of unforgiving gravity to not snap her ankle. This was worse than any torture her family had yet to design, even in light of the memories from her fondest birthdays. She was trusting Enid.

And worst of all, she wanted to.

Enid felt her gaze and looked up, fingers lingering on the worn-smooth surface of Wednesday’s beloved writing area. She smiled with her ridiculous, wolfy grin that flipped up at the ends like her short-chopped blonde hair and made her eyes seem even deeper blue and utterly inescapable.

“Relax,” Enid said. “I live with you, remember? Nothing here is going to surprise me, no matter how many dead bodies you’ve got under the floorboards.”

“Not as many as I’d like,” Wednesday murmured. “Pugsley has been recalcitrant.”

Enid rolled her eyes. “You are the most secretive person I know,” she complained.

This coming from someone who posted every one of her activities online for complete strangers to observe and dissect. Wednesday forced that thought away. She was making excuses.

Enid had breezed into Wednesday’s heart, turned on all the lights, and started banging on every door and cupboard she had intended to keep locked until she was safely beneath six feet of soil. Enid may be oblivious to that fact, but to do so was her right. Wednesday had asserted as much in the family’s portrait gallery. Enid didn’t have to accept, but Wednesday had confessed, had promised herself and all the devotion and loyalty that she was capable of, and in doing so, had forfeited her right to shut her out. Wednesday’s wretched little black heart had a door for Enid now, and it was up to Enid to decide if she wanted it. It was only fair to give her a full account of what she would be signing up for. Nobody could say Wednesday didn’t warn her.

“I prefer ‘private.’” Wednesday corrected. “But you’re right. I invited you here. You’re entitled to a few more of my secrets.”

Enid stared at her like Wednesday had offered to stand on her head and walk on her hands for the rest of the night.

“Would you like to see my favorite part of the house?” Wednesday asked.

“Heck yes!” Enid squealed. “As long as it’s not the torture room. It’s not, right?”

“A close second.”

Wednesday moved before she could change her mind. Her feet automatically carried her up the familiar stairway to the little hatch in the roof. She opened it to the howl of the wind greeting her like an old friend.

She stepped out onto the barren platform and felt all the tension melt from her shoulders. The wind tore at her garments and sliced across her face in a biting caress. Pain reminded her that she still had more to lose; the merciless scream of a gale reminded her that there was something to live for, glorious destruction to be wrought. The clouds rumbled above her, and Wednesday glanced up to admire the ominous flash of lightning, seething just behind the gray curtain of mist.

She heard Enid’s step on the landing. When she turned, Enid was still, eyes wide, hair tossed in a pale flurry by the wind. She looked wondering and hesitant. Wednesday felt a pang of remorse. Perhaps she should have asked about Enid’s comfort with heights. The sky was of course a Raven’s preferred habitat, but perhaps a wolf would feel more in their element closer to the ground.

“This is where I play,” Wednesday explained. “I come here to practice, and to think.”

Enid gingerly stepped around several of the more damaged boards to join her at the railing.

“Thank you,” Enid said. “For showing me this. It means a lot – you sharing this with me.”

Wednesday had given Enid more than she thought she ever could, but she knew that for the bubbly, affectionate wolf, it was nowhere near enough. She would not allow Enid to be grateful for what was, at face value, the bare minimum. She knew herself to be a poor companion to Enid, but she must let that fact drive her to improve, not become her excuse to fail.

Her self-control would not give so easily. Her hand twitched in an aborted gesture, and she had to rely on her voice instead.

“You are the only friend I’ve ever had, or desired,” she said. “I must no longer accept being a stranger to you.”

She puzzled on the word ‘friend.’ It felt like they had shed it like an old, beloved coat that no longer fit. But calling Enid her companion would be presumptuous. She would have to ask Enid what exactly the character of their relationship should be.

Enid seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. She kept her bright, piercing blue gaze on Wednesday as she slowly lowered her hand onto hers. Wednesday steeled herself.

The usual skin-crawling sensation did not come. The contact singed up her arm pleasantly, like an electrical shock, and her fingers buzzed beneath the warmth of Enid’s hand. Curious.

Then a bolt shot through her, seizing her mind and snapping her out of this plane and into another.

She fell on her knees somewhere dark and moist that smelled pungently of pine. Her brain scrambled to catch up. Beneath her hands were damp soil and wet leaves. She was surrounded by familiar, ancient trees – the forest not far from the manor. The mournful call of a wolf rang out, tinged with fear and pain. Without understanding exactly how, she knew that it was Enid.

She tore through underbrush and low hanging branches, breath coming in short bursts. Her pulse was loud in her ears. Something else was crashing through the bushes not far behind her. A whimper sounded somewhere off to her right. She dove through a thicket and emerged to see the receding shape of Enid’s wolf, melting into a smaller, pale form lying still on the ground.

Enid’s hair was brilliant white in the moonlight. It fanned out like a halo beneath her head. Her breaths were shallow and weak. At first, she almost seemed to be sleeping.

Then Wednesday smelled the blood.

It was everywhere. It squelched beneath Wednesday’s boots as she crouched, fumbling in the dark to find the wound. The faint light of the moon gleamed on the metal teeth of a bear trap. The flesh of Enid’s leg was snarled in its jaws, blood mixing with metal and dirt.

Wednesday’s heart plunged. Fear like she had never known injected itself into her veins, mixed with dread. Her hands fumbled with the metal, but she couldn’t prise the powerful jaws apart. Panic was coursing through her like a toxin. Enid was losing too much blood too quickly. She was growing paler as Wednesday watched. Something crashed out of the brush behind her, and Wednesday heard a shotgun cock.

“Wednesday!”

Enid’s face swam above her. She realized she was lying on hard wood, something soft beneath her head. Enid leaned over her, eyes filled with concern. Wednesday didn’t know she could hurt like this. She reached for her without thinking, and her hand snagged on her arm. She was staring up at her face, but all she saw were the remnants of her vision: blood soaking the forest floor, and Enid’s still features, paler than they had ever been in life.

She had made an inexcusable error in judgement. Somehow she had put Enid in danger. Her sweet, energetic wolf was going to die here, unless Wednesday could find a way to stop it.

Fear curdled in her stomach, and she felt like she was about to be sick. She vomited words instead.

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I should have never brought you here.”

Enid’s face crumpled. Pain and betrayal flashed across her features. Then she was moving away. Wednesday didn’t realize the warmth of her proximity until it vanished abruptly, leaving Wednesday cold and confused. She sat up dumbly and watched Enid lower herself through the hatch.

She turned back once, tears in her eyes. Then she was gone, and Wednesday was alone.

Wednesday couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Her mind was replaying the vision, stuck on the waxy color of Enid’s skin against leaves, dark and shiny with blood. Her heart was convulsing in her chest in a way she didn’t recognize, wounded and panicked. She hadn’t meant to hurt her; she only wanted to protect her. She would do anything to protect her.

Thing popped up not long after Enid vanished, tapping angrily at the hatch door. Wednesday didn’t have time for his lectures. “Follow her,” she ordered tersely. “Make sure she doesn’t leave the house. Under no circumstances should she be allowed to venture out onto the grounds. If you run into Lurch, instruct him to comb every inch of forest for trespassers. No stone can be left unturned. Understood?”

Thing offered a few choice gestures Wednesday personally felt were uncalled for, before he turned to scuttle down the stairway.

“Thing,” Wednesday called. Her voice was high and strained. It did not sound like her own. “Make sure she’s safe.”

Chapter Text

“Tell her I don’t want to see her, and I don’t care that she’s sorry,” Enid sniffled. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her face was blotchy and rough. It stung to blink. At least she seemed to be out of tears, for the moment. “Tell her the minute this stupid ghoul appears and I eviscerate it, I’m leaving, and she never has to see me again.”

Thing nodded sadly and scurried off, leaving Enid in the merciful solitude of the one room Wednesday would never venture into. She buried her face in the bedspread, ignoring the dampness. Sobbing into the covers for the past hour had not done the duvet any favors. Thing returned once more, with another apology from Wednesday, a box of tissues, and a hot chocolate. Enid accepted all but the first.

She knew she couldn’t just run off in the middle of the night, but the idea was appealing. The fire was crackling cheerily in the hearth, but the coziness of the room offered no comfort. Not when Wednesday didn’t want her there.

Wednesday would probably never realize that she had been the first true friend Enid had ever had. Sure, there was Yoko and Ajax and Thing. But Wednesday was the shadow looming behind her whenever some douchey fur decided to give her a hard time about wolfing out late. She was the watchful specter that hovered nearby whenever Enid needed an extra boost of confidence or a mysterious helping hand. If a teacher punished her for being chatty in class, she knew it was only a matter of hours before they would come down with a strange illness, or fall prey to an unfortunate accident involving a misfired arrow, or find their car had mysteriously driven itself into a lake. She would inevitably spot an empty bottle of cyanide or a bow or a set of car keys on Wednesday’s side of the room later that night, which her roommate would hide without a word. On her worst days, she could count on Wednesday to be blunt and unsympathetic as ever, but ruthlessly caring when it came to ensuring she was looked after. Even when they butted heads, Enid never once doubted that Wednesday would be there for her when she needed it. Her roommate was arrogant, remote, spiteful, and melancholy, but she was also noble, trustworthy, loyal, and deeply caring. The thought of losing all that, of losing Wednesday, hurt so badly Enid couldn’t breathe.

Enid burrowed deeper into the soft bed, pulling the duvet over her head. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if this was the old Wednesday who had rebuffed her the first day at Nevermore, instead of the Wednesday that had held her after they had both nearly died. Or the Wednesday that had looked her in the eye earlier that night and told her that she was the only person for her. It was that Wednesday that Enid’s stupid impulsive heart had chosen, and the same one that, an hour later, had changed her mind and decided she no longer wanted her.

Wednesday’s words coiled into the shape of hate, fangs sinking inward. She was always too good to be true – someone who managed to love and accept her as a late-blooming, color-loving werewolf. Maybe Enid had pushed her too far too fast. Or maybe Wednesday had realized her mistake once her vision showed her some future where Enid failed to live up to whatever Wednesday had hoped for.

She just wanted to know why her best friend had so suddenly thrown her aside. She deserved some sort of explanation. She was owed that much, at least.

She wasn’t sure how long she laid there. Eventually the little clock on the mantel began to chime midnight. It echoed hollowly in the empty room. On the last stroke, the fire and the lights went out all at once. The room plunged into darkness.

Enid peered out from under the sheets, just as a blood-curdling scream tore through the quiet.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. She had forgotten about the ghoul.

Several more screams followed, coming from somewhere below the house or maybe outside, pitching into a horrible clamor that set the wolves howling somewhere deep in the woods. Enid pressed her hands over her ears and dove beneath the covers, quivering with fear.

She was a wolf. There was no reason to fear some kind of nightmare creepy crawly – unless of course it had no skin and tried to crawl inside her mouth, or decided to climb up the wall with its head on backwards screaming at her the whole time, or do literally anything other than stand still and let her run her claws through it several times.

Unnatural cold was seeping through the blankets. Enid wasn’t sure whether it was better to burrow deeper or try to ensure the creature couldn’t sneak up on her.

She slowly peeked out from beneath the covers. Her hands were shaking. She prayed that she wouldn’t find anything perched at the foot of the bed waiting for her and almost gasped in relief when she was greeted by nothing but the darkness of her empty room.

Maybe she had imagined the screams. Or it was one of Wednesday’s many undead relatives. The fire might have gone out by itself, helped along by a sudden cold draft going the wrong way down the chimney. There was probably nothing to be afraid of. She forced herself to take a breath.

Then one of the chairs next to the window shot backwards at a speed too fast for human eyes to track. Enid yelped and flinched back against the headboard. The other chair flipped into the air and crashed into the opposite wall.

Enid tried for a growl. She willed her usually unruly nails to extend and offer some form of defense. All she got was a whimper and a few centimeters of extra claw. Something about having an invisible adversary was seriously undermining her usual wolfy bravado. To be fair, she didn’t really enjoy watching horror movies in the first place, much less being in one.

She inhaled shakily. All she had to do was kill this ghoul. Then Wednesday would be safe, and she could leave. A simple, two-part plan. She tossed the covers aside, determined to fight this thing standing up, or at least not die lying in bed.

She set one bare foot onto the floor and immediately realized her mistake.

She barely even felt the fingers closing around her ankle before she was sprinting out of the room with all the wolf-endowed strength she had.

Naturally, her feet carried her to Wednesday’s door. She stopped in front of it, still panting, to consider if this was a wise idea after all. She certainly wasn’t ready to go back or anywhere near her room, but Wednesday had made it abundantly clear she was not welcome.

While she was still debating if the horror movie unfolding in her old room was more appealing than bothering the girl that had broken her heart, the door swung open.

Wednesday stood silhouetted in the light of her bedside lamp, looking small and more distraught than Enid had ever seen her. Her hair was still plaited, but loose strands hung around her face. Her brows were knit together so tightly that her forehead was creased into a single line, and her bony shoulders were notched up and rigid.

She didn’t appear upset that Enid had awoken her, or even that she was there at all. If anything, she seemed relieved. She stared at Enid, eyes holding a crush of feeling too murky and shifting for Enid to identify.

“Enid.”

Enid blinked, wondering if she had heard right. Wednesday’s voice sounded...unsure. Except Wednesday was never unsure. She was the most self-assured person Enid knew.

“I – I didn’t mean to wake you. I plan to leave as soon as –”

“No,” Wednesday interrupted.

She tugged Enid into the room with surprising force and slammed the door behind her. Before Enid could react, Wednesday pulled her into her arms.

What the fuck.

Wednesday’s fingers knotted into Enid’s shirt, like she wasn’t sure she was real. Enid wondered whether she had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Wednesday was voluntarily hugging her. And almost without meaning to, Enid found herself hugging her back. She rested her cheek on Wednesday’s narrow shoulder and pulled her against her. She was still hurt, and she was mad. But this was still the girl Enid would do anything for. She was still her best friend.

Wednesday pressed her face against Enid’s pulse, which naturally made it faster. Enid was too taken aback to be mortified. Wednesday mumbled something into her neck.

“What?”

She lifted her face without loosening her grip on Enid. “I apologize for hurting you. It was a misunderstanding.”

Enid pulled back to look at her face. Wednesday’s deep brown eyes were wide and desperate. Her unruly dark hair framed her sharp cheeks and curled slightly beneath her narrow chin. She was hauntingly beautiful, and Enid fought the urge to lean closer, ignoring how her stomach flipped.

“You don’t want me to leave?” she asked, pulling away.

Enid’s sudden distance made Wednesday’s heart beat faster. She was anxious, she realized.

“I never wanted you to leave. But it’s not safe for you here. By bringing you here, I’ve put your life in danger.”

Enid sighed. “If your vision was about the ghoul, don’t worry. I don’t plan on setting foot in that room again anytime soon. I’ll still help you get rid of it, but I’m not taking that thing on one-on-one without plenty of daylight. I’m pretty sure I just lost years off my life.”

Confusion clouded Wednesday’s expression. She shook her head. “It had nothing to do with a ghoul.”

“So what did you see?” Enid pressed. Wednesday’s eyes darted away from her.

“Seriously?” Enid huffed. “Wednesday, you owe me some sort of explanation, at least.”

“First I need to understand what I saw and figure out if it can be averted,” she said. “There may be no reason for concern.”

Enid rubbed her face. She was pretty sure Wednesday was lying. But she was exhausted, and trying to pry info out of her stubborn best friend was not only unappealing, but almost certainly futile.

“You know what? Fine. As long as you don’t ask me to leave again,” she griped.

Wednesday’s eyebrows did a little panicked wiggle. It was adorable, and infuriating. Enid crossed her arms. “Wednesday, if this vision was about me, then I get to decide what to do about it. If you really don’t want me here, then I’ll leave. But if this is a decision you’re making on my behalf based on information you refuse to share with me, then don’t expect me to listen.”

Wednesday jutted out her chin stubbornly. Enid wasn’t done. “If you meant what you said to me earlier, then show me you mean it. Quit pushing me away.”

Wednesday looked like Enid was torturing her with hot pokers. She narrowed her eyes, then nodded. “Understood. But you need to do what I say. No wandering the grounds without an escort. Don’t go in the woods. If there is any sign of danger, I will deal with it. Is that an agreeable compromise?”

Enid smiled triumphantly. “I think so.” She stuck out her pinky, which Wednesday eyed with almost comical suspicion. She intertwined them reluctantly.

“I will take the finger, Enid. Do not test me.”

“Pinky promises are sacred,” Enid said solemnly. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder and eyed the tiny bed. “Um, also, can I sleep here tonight? The screams and airborne furniture in my room kind of make it less than ideal for beauty rest.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. “Screams? Are you sure it wasn’t just Grandmama indulging in her midnight wail?”

Enid crossed her arms defiantly. “Can she move chairs without touching them? Because that happened. Twice.”

“If there were unseemly movements, it was likely Octo. He resides beneath the floorboards. He’s shy.”

Enid eyed the inlaid octopus at the foot of Wednesday’s bed with new understanding. “Octo,” she repeated slowly. “You know what, I’m going to leave that one for the morning.”

She wasted no time snuggling beneath Wednesday’s covers, before her best friend could change her mind. “Coming?” she asked.

Wednesday eyed the bed like it was infested with snakes. Actually, to her, that would probably be more appealing. “No.”

“You can’t sleep standing up.”

“I intend to hang upside down.”

“You hugged me earlier,” Enid pointed out.

A hint of color tinted Wednesday’s cheeks. “A moment of weakness,” she protested. “A brief lapse in sanity.”

Enid shrugged. “Sounds like you totally don’t care and are super prepared to explain it to anyone who asks. I guess that means I don’t have to keep it to myself.”

Wednesday’s eyes widened at her treachery. “If you decline to ever mention it again, I will concede the sleeping arrangements.”

“Deal!” Enid said brightly.

Wednesday slid beneath the covers on the opposite side of the bed. Unfortunately, since it was a double, that still placed her less than six inches away from Enid.

“This is blackmail,” Wednesday grumbled as she turned off the light. “If any one of your limbs ends up on this side of the bed, it will be forfeit.”

“Get a bigger bed.”

“Enid, there are three knives within reach as we speak.”

Enid sighed. “Look, the last time I tried to touch you it triggered some freaky vision that you won’t even tell me about. Trust me, I won’t get near you again.”

She didn’t quite manage to keep the sadness from her voice. Like it or not, the only person she wanted to be close to was Wednesday. Even now she thought of how Wednesday had held her just then, head tucked into the crook of her neck. She was in Wednesday’s bed, surrounded by her smell, inches away from her, and Wednesday was hopelessly oblivious to the things it was doing to Enid’s poor heart. She had been afraid of making Wednesday uncomfortable. Now, she was scared that if she touched her, she would plunge her best friend into another nightmare vision.

“Are my visions the reason you’ve been so hesitant around me?”

Enid’s heart stuttered to a stop.

“You have barely attempted to hug or touch me. Even before my most recent vision,” Wednesday continued. “I had thought that after the night Crackstone attacked the school, the situation might be...different.”

So Wednesday had noticed her distance since the Hyde incident. Which meant she hadn’t succeeded in concealing her feelings as well as she thought. Her pulse picked up.

Enid took her time answering. “I guess I didn’t realize that was something you wanted? I don’t know, I was really trying to respect your boundaries. ‘Not a hugger,’ remember? I figured – I don’t know – that night was kind of an extreme situation. I didn’t really expect a repeat of that, you know?”

She waited, listening to Wednesday’s soft breathing in the dark. Her heart was beating impossibly loud.

“Your favorite fillers are ‘I don’t know’ and ‘you know,’ which makes for bewildering syntax.”

Enid rolled her eyes, though Wednesday couldn’t see it. “Noted. That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t recall you posing one,” Wednesday countered. “Or rather, you phrased several statements as questions, without actually asking me anything.”

Enid was by this point too annoyed to be embarrassed. “Is that something you want or not? Affection, specifically.”

“No and never. Rephrase.”

“Fine. Do you want me to be close to you?”

“I would have thought I’d answered that already tonight.”

Enid rolled over with a huff. “If you’re going to be cryptic, I’m going to sleep.”

Wednesday was quiet for so long Enid thought the conversation was over. She let her eyelids grow heavy, resigned to the fact she was not going to get an answer.

“It isn’t unpleasant,” Wednesday finally said.

“Hm?” Enid mumbled.

“Being touched by you.”

Enid smiled. That was as close to an invitation as she was going to get. She reached out, then hesitated. “How do I know I won’t trigger some terrible vision?” she asked.

“You don’t. But if that’s enough to dissuade you, you’re not the wolf I thought you were.”

Not exactly the reassurance Enid was hoping for. It cut, a bit like the way her mother looked at her every birthday after Enid failed to wolf out year after year.

Her heart sank. “And what kind of wolf would that be?”

Wednesday's voice was just low enough to still hear. “The kind who promised not to shy away from darkness. Who would do anything for someone she cared about.”

Enid’s heart swooped painfully. Yep, this was definitely the girl Enid had chosen. For all their countless differences, nobody understood her like Wednesday Addams.

Wednesday was lying on her back, arms crossed over her chest. Enid resisted the urge to pull her close. That was a one-way ticket to a wooden box six feet underground. Instead she folded herself gently into Wednesday’s side, an outline to her shape.

She was cold to the touch, but to Enid, it was like she was lying in the sun. “If I’m in danger of losing a limb, I’d appreciate if you told me sooner rather than later.”

Wednesday didn’t reply, though Enid heard her heart rate slow. They laid there in the dark, silent other than the chittering of the bats high above them.

Enid tried to drift off to sleep. Her nerves would not let her. She was hyper-aware of her breathing, how loud her pulse was in the quiet room. Every one of her senses was on high alert. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was lying beside the girl she was falling for, or if it was the last remnants of her self-preservation warning her about Wednesday’s sudden praying-mantis-like behavior lulling her into a false sense of safety. Although Enid wasn’t foolish enough to think she was exempt from Wednesday’s violent impulses, she trusted that Wednesday wouldn’t try to murder her without good reason.

She inhaled the familiar singed-earth and stormy rain scent of her best friend, trying to block out the doubts clawing at the back of her mind. Being close to Wednesday was comforting, and not just because she was typically the most dangerous thing in any given room. She was fearless and self-confident – to a fault – which made Enid braver, too.

But tonight, Wednesday was scared. The vague unease that had been tugging at Enid's mind since Wednesday had flung open her bedroom door was sharpening into suspicion. Wednesday had put up almost no resistance to Enid sharing her room, even her bed. She had threatened violence at the mere mention of physical contact, then folded immediately. Even now, she was lying beside Enid, still as death, without so much as a complaint about her excessive werewolf warmth. She wanted to keep Enid close. Something had shaken her badly, and Enid was sure it had to do with her vision.

Enid intended to find out what it was. One way or another, she was going to figure out why Wednesday’s vision was haunting her, and what it had to do with Enid, if it killed her.

Chapter Text

Sleep eluded Wednesday. There was the strangeness of having Enid beside her in her bed, the horror of her recent vision replaying over and over again in her mind, and the suffocating feeling that there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

She laid there, unmoving, for hours. Her mind spun through scenarios – possible excuses to send Enid away, or to justify keeping her safely locked in the house, perhaps temporarily incapacitating her with the aid of Grandmama’s potions or over-the-counter sleeping medication until the end of the Halloween break. She dismissed each idea one by one. Her frustration deepened into desperation as her options dwindled. All the while she was careful not to wake Enid, who at some point had nuzzled into the crook of her neck and was slobbering on her shoulder. Her breathing was steady and loud, and Wednesday memorized it like her own heartbeat.

Gradually, the comfort of darkness slipped away. The first strains of gray morning light began to trickle through the window, inflaming Enid’s hair. Wednesday thought of her vision, Enid’s hair glowing pale as moonlight against murky, blood-spattered leaves. It made Wednesday’s chest ache until she thought her ribcage would concave.

She focused on the ridiculous cotton candy-blue and -pink highlights tickling her cheek. Enid took pride in her ability to dye them just so. She was constantly finding new colors to experiment with, though she always went back to pink and blue. Wednesday could no longer observe a hives-inducing pop of color without thinking how it would accent her best friend’s hair. How cruel that Wednesday had learned to love color, at least where it adorned Enid, only to be confronted by a future without it.

That line of thought would lead her nowhere. She clenched her jaw and went back to wracking her exhausted brain for a plan.

The light was golden by the time Wednesday gave up. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and throbbed with the promise of a murderous headache. She had wasted precious time. Enid’s life was hanging in the balance, and she had made no progress. She was only that much closer to losing her.

Wednesday extricated herself from Enid’s still-sleeping form and swung her legs off the bed. She made the mistake of looking back to check on her, to soothe some ache in her chest. Enid was curled up, still the perfect outline to Wednesday’s absent form. Her face was peaceful. Her eyelashes fluttered, in the grip of some restive dream. She was beatific, bathed in gold by the early morning sunlight. Here was the girl who embodied the exact opposite of Wednesday’s world, yet had quickly become the center of it. Wednesday’s universe had never needed a sun, but she would never be able to go back to loving the darkness more than this sight.

Some urge Wednesday couldn’t pinpoint made her lean down to press her face, briefly, against Enid’s forehead. She was impossibly warm to the touch, but Wednesday found she didn’t mind. It was Enid. Somehow, that had become her constant excuse. Every relaxation of her usual unyielding rules or lapse in her self-control was met with that refrain. It was fine, because it was Enid. It was Enid, so it was okay.

She wanted to be mad at Enid for taking a crowbar and prying her heart open like this. Instead, all she felt was overwhelming gratitude that Enid hadn’t left her alone, like she’d expressly and repeatedly asked.

Enid’s breaths grew shallow, and Wednesday quickly withdrew. She rose, dressed, and stole into the hallway without a sound. Urgency burned in her throat and quickened her steps. She needed to check that Lurch had followed her instructions to comb the woods last night in search of any danger. She would scour each treacherous ravine and slimy grotto herself, if she must. There wasn’t a moment to waste.

--

Enid awoke to early morning light streaming through the little round window above Wednesday’s writing desk. There was no sign of her roommate, other than a depression in the mattress, which probably still would have been warm if it had been left by somebody who generated body heat. She sighed and nestled her face into the pillow, enjoying Wednesday’s lingering scent.

Sometime just before she had woken, Wednesday’s smell had blanketed her. She had dreamt that Wednesday had gently pressed her face against Enid’s, nose brushing lightly over hers.

Enid’s heart twinged at the thought, especially after waking to find that Wednesday was nowhere to be seen. She strained her ears until she picked up voices somewhere in the hallway below. Well, Wednesday’s voice and Lurch’s answering grunts. She let herself drowse to the sound of their argument – if it could be called that, given that Lurch’s responses were exclusively monosyllabic.

Sometime later, she woke to the door creaking open. She recognized the near-silent footsteps, and the anxious tick of her roommate’s pulse. She yawned and stretched like a cat.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop,” she slurred sleepily, not bothering to open her eyes. “No percolating evil thoughts until after breakfast.”

She could almost hear her roommate scowling. “How would you know what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t. I just can tell when you’re stressed. Werewolf, remember?”

Wednesday no doubt employed some favorite torture-resistance technique of hers. Her heartbeat slowed to a crawl in less than a minute, resuming a steady, even rhythm.

“Creepy, how you can do that,” Enid mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Late morning. Go back to sleep.”

Enid roused herself, finally opening her eyes. “Why is there mud all over your boots?” she asked. “And why do you smell like rotting leaves and pine? Your face is all flushed. Did you – were you running through the woods?”

Wednesday’s black expression conveyed how eager she was to divulge her early morning activities. Enid threw up her hands. “All right, fine! Never mind then.”

Wednesday spun on her heel back towards the door. “Breakfast will be ready by now. I will give you a moment to freshen up before we go downstairs.”

Suspicion gnawed at the edge of Enid’s mind. Wednesday had taken some bizarre early morning jog – or more likely some awful equivalent that she found similarly relaxing, like spelunking in a haunted well – to clear her mind. Something had spooked her yesterday, and then she had practically fled after waking up next to Enid. It was starting to feel like whatever she had seen in her vision had more to do with whatever was going on between them than it did with Enid alone.

“Wednesday?”

Her roommate paused at the threshold. She caught Enid’s gaze out of the corner of her eye guardedly. Accusing Wednesday of being afraid would be unnecessarily cruel. Naming it outright would be like overturning a rock and exposing all the damp, soft-bodied creatures beneath to sudden daylight. She tried a different approach. “Look, I know this is – different for you. You can tell me if we’re – if this –” Enid floundered, no appropriate words presenting themselves. “– if I’m pushing you too fast.”

Wednesday looked annoyed. She hated when Enid danced around a point. Enid took a deep breath and tried again. “I want you to be able to tell me what you’re feeling. I don’t want you to be afraid of how you feel about this – us – me.” She winced. Great, she totally hadn’t made it weird.

Wednesday’s dark eyes were glittering, alive with some emotion Enid didn’t recognize. “Truthfully,” she said. “It terrifies me.”

Then she turned on her heel and left.

Enid took longer than she intended in the bathroom, after waiting forever for Thing to finish. She had refused to use the en suite in her original room. When she came out, Wednesday was in the same spot in the hallway, waiting patiently for her. Normally, Enid would be annoyed by the excessive supervision, but after the ghoul incident last night and the still-unknown terrors lurking elsewhere in the manor, she appreciated the company.

Wednesday led the way to breakfast without a word. She had cleaned the mud off her boots and changed clothes – she now wore another black sweater that swallowed her alive – but she still looked, Enid thought, a bit like hell.

She was stooping slightly, like being upright required concerted effort. She clearly hadn’t slept a wink. The bruised circles beneath her eyes matched her already morose features, and made her face seem almost perpetually in shadow. She caught Enid’s stare and hurried to walk a few steps ahead of her.

She brought Enid to a large, surprisingly bright kitchen with a little breakfast nook at the far end, complete with a cushioned bench seat set against a gorgeous bay window that overlooked the front yard. Across from the nook was an expansive counter and a little stove. Lurch was bent over it, wearing a blue-and white-checked apron trimmed with lace, busy prying waffles off a griddle and piling them onto a plate. The entire room smelled like sweet, fried goodness. Enid nearly swooned.

Until Wednesday slammed her backwards with the force of her whole body, briefly pinning Enid between her bony shoulder blades and the wall. The knife she had flung from somewhere within her sleeve twanged into the wallpaper a centimeter from Pugsley’s ear. He dropped the trap he had been setting – it had razor-sharp metal jaws and tiny legs powered by a wind-up key – on the ground, where it toddled a few steps then clamped shut on his own foot. He stifled a yelp.

“Geez, you’re tense today,” he griped. “Morning, Enid.”

“Hey, Pugs,” she greeted from behind Wednesday’s rigid frame. Wednesday stepped forward, just enough to free Enid. She remained only half a step in front of her, hovering like a malevolent guardian angel.

She glowered at Pugsley. “If you intend to do me bodily harm, you better attain your target. If any of your traps misfire, and Enid is injured, I will ensure you experience pain that will haunt your tormented soul long after your mortal flesh has succumbed to it, which I promise, will not happen swiftly.”

“Oh boy,” Enid muttered under her breath.

The whole not-touching-Wednesday thing that she was usually excruciatingly mindful of – except when she was excited, or distracted – was going to be a difficult habit to break, but this seemed like the time to try. She gently laid her hands on Wednesday’s shoulders, half-expecting another knife to appear somewhere near her vital organs as Wednesday tensed. She was relieved – and more than a little satisfied – when after a moment her shoulders lowered, and Wednesday melted under her touch.

Wednesday turned to her, gaze wary but free of malice. Enid let her hands slide down her arms to rest beneath her biceps. Partly because she didn’t want to let go just yet, and partly to stymie further attempts to skewer Pugsley.

“Maybe we eat first, before attempting to murder our siblings,” Enid suggested.

“You’re too soft on him,” Wednesday grumbled.

Gomez swept in behind them, having no doubt witnessed most of that disastrous interaction. “Ah, my little viper! You remind me of a younger version of myself. Si vicieuse quand elle défend les siens!” [so vicious when she defends her own!]

He gave Enid a wink. “How did you sleep, lobita?”

Enid was still struggling to remember literally anything from the single French class she had taken. Wednesday was too busy glaring daggers at her father to be any help. She gave up and answered, “Fine. Well, after I relocated – temporarily – due to ghoul-related disturbances.”

Gomez frowned. He poured two black coffees and passed a mug to Wednesday. “Which one? I’ll have to have a word.”

“It’s under control,” Wednesday gritted. “Pugsley, if you insist on staring, I will be forced to replace your eyedrops with hydrochloric acid. Again.”

Pugsley’s gaze was glued to Enid’s hands. “You’re touching her,” he said with naked horror. “I guess it was good to know you. I’ll say something real nice at your funeral.”

“No harm will come to Enid,” Wednesday snapped, a bit defensively. Both Pugsley and Gomez looked at her in surprise.

Enid grimaced. This was not going well. Somehow she had made her standoffish roommate even more dangerous. Part of her secretly enjoyed this protective side of Wednesday, but it probably wasn’t good for anyone else’s health. She released her best friend and herded her gently into the breakfast nook, before she could locate any more knives to hurl.

Enid sat, careful to leave plenty of space for Wednesday. She was surprised when Wednesday settled directly next to her, slumping slightly against her side. Something hopeful and uncomfortably pleasant flared in Enid’s stomach. She looked at Wednesday and raised her eyebrows in a silent question. “Ignore them,” Wednesday grumped. “I’ve never been afflicted with the need to explain myself, and you shouldn’t be either.”

“But you would tell me if I was embarrassing you, right?”

Wednesday looked at her like she had proposed swan-diving off the roof later. “I take pride in my presence being corrosive and unsettling. The fact that you nonetheless choose to seek out my company is a privilege, one I don’t take lightly.” Wednesday’s gaze flicked towards her, then away. “Don’t expect grand displays of affection. But to the extent I’m able to, I would submit myself to far worse torment, so long as it was at your hands.”

Enid focused hard on the empty plate in front of her as heat rushed into her cheeks. She was beginning to understand how Wednesday was Gomez’s daughter.

Luckily, they were both distracted by Lurch setting down several stacks of waffles in front of them. Even Wednesday seemed pleased, so much that she didn’t try to attack Pugsley when he and Gomez settled across from them to eat. Enid inhaled an entire stack by herself before she realized someone was missing.

“Where’s your mom?” Enid asked.

“She’s entertaining a guest in the conservatory,” Gomez answered. “Perhaps you girls could let her know she’s missing breakfast. You could offer to have them join us.”

Wednesday pushed back her plate and chugged the rest of her steaming-hot coffee in one gulp. Enid would have been alarmed had it been anybody else; with Wednesday, she was just impressed. She followed her out of the kitchen and back into the maze of halls, still not entirely sure that if it came to it, she would be able to navigate the sprawling house without a guide.

The conservatory was at the far end of one wing. Light streamed into the hallway as they approached, almost blinding after the dreary inner halls of the manor. Enid followed Wednesday through the double French doors and stopped. It was like stepping into the late autumn sun. Soaring glass panes arched into an apex roof that gleamed in the faint sunlight. Greenery crept freely up the walls and hung from dozens of dangling pots and trellises. The air was slightly humid and smelled of fresh, wet earth. Most of the growth was ivy, creeping vines, and dark foliage with shiny, barbed leaves. Roses climbed up one full wall, perfuming the air. Across from them a bed of orchids released a sickening scent of rot and decay.

At the center of the room was a small, round table surrounded by wire chairs. It sat in the light pouring from a floor-to-ceiling bow window. Morticia hovered elegantly beside it in the shade of a monstrous plant. It was the size of a person, with several heads composed of four-lobed leaves that parted, as Enid watched, to catch a hunk of meat that Morticia threw into the air.

Enid was so busy staring at the carnivorous plant that she almost missed the man speaking to Wednesday’s mom. He was leaning against the little table, appraising the plant and Morticia alike.

“...how grateful we are for the samples you’ve allowed us to test so far,” he was saying. “In order for us to begin to market the product, we still need to draw up a legal agreement. I hear your concerns about that, but this is a real opportunity to improve patient outcomes.”

Morticia stroked the nightmare plant’s leaves adoringly. “For a price, of course.”

“There’s a huge market for this,” he insisted. “If you give us exclusive rights to these toxins, we have an unbeatable niche. The compounds from this plant are unparalleled in medical science, and it doesn’t even begin to produce them until after a couple centuries. Other than yours, we can’t identify a single specimen even close to that benchmark, outside of historical records.”

“Cleopatra has been in our family for several hundred years,” Morticia affirmed. Enid realized Morticia was referring to the giant man-eating plant as she ran a gentle hand over its leaves once more. “Grandmama smuggled her through the trials.”

“The trials?” Chandler repeated.

“Salem,” Morticia clarified.

Chandler cleared his throat. “You’re implying that your mother was alive...during the Salem witch trials?”

“She was hung at them,” Morticia offered helpfully.

She noticed Enid and Wednesday and gracefully beckoned for them to join her. “Oh girls, how dismal of you to join us. This is Mr. Chandler. He works for a pharmaceutical firm.”

Chandler straightened. His beige blazer and red tie made him look more like a car salesman, and his overly polished brown brogues didn’t help. His gaze slid over Wednesday and Enid without interest. “Hello, ladies,” he breezed.

Enid offered a little wave. Wednesday tilted her head without blinking. It was a gesture Enid recognized from their science classes at Nevermore, whenever Wednesday was delicately selecting the ideal blade with which to dissect some unfortunate animal.

“I believe I heard you discussing an exclusivity agreement. You should know my mother would never agree to restrict scientific or medical knowledge to the private sector for the purpose of generating profit,” Wednesday asserted.

Chandler’s eyes narrowed. “Then you must also know that unless we patent these things, bad-faith actors can copy them, and people can get hurt.”

“If that’s your only concern, then you would of course be willing to sell at cost,” Wednesday returned evenly.

Chandler glared for a split second, then smoothed it over with a laugh. “You must be Wednesday,” he said dryly. “I heard about you. I believe you threatened the health insurance representative last time he was here.”

“I merely pointed out that many of us pay dearly to maintain our health, so that a dear few may profit off of our misfortune,” Wednesday said.

“No, I believe you cursed him. In Latin.”

Morticia sailed over to her daughter’s side with a serene smile. “She was quoting our family credo. ‘We gladly feast on those who would subdue us,’” she explained. “He mentioned prior authorization, I believe.”

Chandler stared, then wisely decided to change the subject.

"Is she another one of yours?" He indicated Enid, expression plain: what’s wrong with this one?

His tone made Enid’s skin crawl. He spoke like he expected the person with which he was speaking to apologize. This was a man clearly at ease with making people feel small – nothing new to Enid, and thanks to her mother, she was an easy mark.

She was suddenly back among her own family, being introduced to another skeptical relative or acquaintance, and failing to measure up. All she knew how to do was stick out. The bubbly one, the colorful one. The disappointment. She shrank a bit under his stare. For the first time since she had arrived, she felt exposed and out of place.

The Addams women silently flanked her. Wednesday slid closer, almost pressing into Enid's side. A dark scowl twisted her angular little face into a death mask, and her eyes gleamed with eerie light. She leaned forward, waiting for any misstep that would let him make her day.

Enid was surprised to feel Morticia's elegant fingers settle lightly on her shoulders. "We should be so lucky," she said, velvet voice so soft it seemed to come from far away. Enid felt like she was in a dream. Or maybe whatever was making her throat close was blocking her ears and making her head stuffy, too.

"Enid is my daughter's..." Morticia trailed off, exchanging a brief glance with Wednesday. There was a pause, a significant look. Then Wednesday scowled deeper, neck flushing the lightest pink. An expression of pain flashed across her face as she inclined her head.

"...companion," Morticia finished. The lump in Enid's throat swelled at the pride in her voice. "She is a member of the family. Not to mention a very promising young wolf in her own right."

Chandler’s eyebrows shot up. "Wolf? As in 'werewolf'?"

"What else?" Morticia crooned. Her eyes flashed. "Bold of you to drop in so close to a full moon."

Chandler eyed Enid with new interest and a distinct air of distrust.

"Oh Enid, that reminds me," Morticia said, turning her attention from Chandler. Enid looked up at her, and was immediately arrested by her dark eyes. They were so much like Wednesday's, with subtle differences - her gaze was hypnotic, intoxicating, powerful. Enid couldn’t look away. Morticia smiled and stroked a loose strand of hair behind Enid’s ear. The gesture was so gentle that the lump in Enid's throat threatened to dissolve into tears. "We will be out that night. We thought you may enjoy shifting with a bit more privacy, and we were dying for an excuse to pay cousin It a visit. Of course, Wednesday and Thing will remain, should you need anything."

Enid was speechless. Morticia turned her attention back to Chandler, and Enid took the opportunity to sneak a questioning glance at Wednesday. Her roommate shook her head.

So, Wednesday had not warned her family away. They had done so of their own accord, for Enid's benefit, without putting her in the position of having to ask them. Enid sniffed, stuffing down the swell of warmth in her chest before it could overwhelm her and well up into tears. She wished she had the words to thank Mrs. Addams, all of the Addams family. She couldn't remember ever feeling so cared for, without having to fight for it.

"Mr. Chandler, if you care to join us for breakfast, I'm sure Lurch has prepared more than enough food," Morticia invited.

Chandler's phone was already in his hand. He looked up, distracted. “Oh, no. That’s not necessary, I’m on my way out. Appreciate your time.”

Wednesday watched him hurry out of the conservatory. She went to the door and rang a small bell Enid hadn’t noticed.

In a minute, Thing appeared. “Follow Mr. Chandler out,” she instructed. Thing nodded and scurried off.

“What was that about?” Enid asked.

“A precaution,” Wednesday said coolly. “Never trust a man in a suit when he stands to make some money.”

--

Chandler strode outside and down the gravel drive. He turned and took a moment to snap a few pictures of the conservatory before he slid behind the wheel of his waiting Lexus. He connected his phone to the car Bluetooth and dialed an unlisted number, to which he also forwarded the photos. As it rang he put the engine in gear and peeled out of the Addams’ drive at a dangerous clip.

The caller picked up. "Good news,” Chandler announced. “The Addams will be gone the night after next. That’s when you'll make your move. Bad news is there’s going to be a werewolf hanging around the place. You'll have to deal with it first.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. What happened to ‘there’s no security,’ or ‘they’re crazy but harmless’?”

“Calm down. Just worry about getting the plant. As for the werewolf, I have a couple ideas.”

Chapter Text

Enid knew four things to be true about Wednesday: she would single-mindedly pursue something to the point of obsession, was willing to lie through her teeth as a means to an end, had no qualms about maneuvering people like chess pieces on a board, and was doing all of those things right now.

“You’re going grave-digging, in broad daylight, in this weather?” Enid asked, crossing her arms.

Wednesday glanced toward the small window above her desk, wincing at the brilliant sunlight streaming in. “The weather is dreadful, but it can’t be helped. I have bodies to exhume. My visions require touch, and it will help hone my control – communing with the dead is an integral part of a Raven’s training.” She tilted her head. “And yes, it’s best that I do it alone. Perhaps in the meantime, you could learn more about the creature haunting your original room.”

Enid wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily. “So this is not you avoiding me? And has nothing to do with the vision you had yesterday, which encouraged you to kick me out of your house?”

Wednesday’s expression softened, momentarily. “I would not send you away,” she said quietly. Her gaze darkened. “However, that vision only cemented the importance of being able to control my power.”

Enid surrendered. She was not going to gain any ground. Wednesday had selected some mysterious mission to throw herself into, and as usual Enid had no choice but to wait around until Wednesday was willing to tell her what was going on and accept her help.

“Fine,” she replied. “But if I decide to go wandering around the house or to investigate that room by myself and that ghoul attacks me again, I’m holding you responsible.”

Wednesday was already stalking towards the door. “You of course have free rein of the manor. I will do my best not to keep you waiting long.” She shot Enid a parting look that could have been described as tender, if Enid had seen it on anyone else. Then she left, closing the door without another word.

Enid sprawled back onto the bed. She scrolled on her phone for a bit, and then busied herself selecting a color for Lurch’s snood. She landed on sunset orange. Her mind wandered as she began to crochet the familiar pattern. She wondered, for the hundredth time, what Wednesday had seen in her vision. Even though Enid was pretty sure she had triggered it, even if the vision had literally been about Enid, Wednesday probably still felt no need to share details. There was no way Enid was getting the truth out of her.

Enid pushed those thoughts aside and turned to more practical matters. Like thinking of ways to get rid of Wednesday’s ghoul without getting herself killed, possessed, or worse. At least Wednesday’s grandmother had offered a discount exorcism, if need be. Pure wolf strength didn’t seem as useful in this situation as the ability to see things before they happened or dabble in questionable witchcraft.

Her fingers stilled. That was her answer – a crystal ball, and a bit of black magic.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a loud knock at the door. She set aside her work and pulled the door open to find Lurch’s hulking frame darkening the landing. She gasped and slammed the door in his face. “Wait just a sec!” she called. Lurch groaned affirmatively. She quickly shoved her yarn beneath the bed and ran back to the door. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “What’s up? Wednesday’s out, so it’s just me.”

Lurch nodded and handed her a folded bundle of familiar pink fabric.

“My jeans!” Enid exclaimed. She hadn’t even noticed they were gone when she returned from breakfast. She shook them loose and saw that the hem had been mended with tiny delicate stitches, in a thread almost identical in color to the original fabric.

“Lurch!” she gasped. “Did you do this?” He shrugged his massive shoulders, hunching so he could see Enid through the tiny door. “Thank you!” she cried.

He turned a deeper shade of gray, which Enid took to be him blushing, and began to shamble away.

“Hey, Lurch?” He turned in his gradual way, like an iceberg. Enid considered asking where Wednesday really was, but decided on something better. It was time for her to engage in her own subterfuge, maybe even beat Wednesday at her own game. She smiled up at Lurch sweetly. “Can you take me to Wednesday’s grandmother?”

--

Wednesday paused to catch her breath. Thing had given up entirely. He was sprawled on her shoulder, spent.

She had gone over every square mile of woods since that morning. She found no sign of the trap she had seen in her vision. Which only meant it had not been set yet – not necessarily that Enid was out of the woods, or that her vision would not come to pass. More frustratingly, she could not identify the exact location where the vision had taken place. She cursed herself for not paying more attention to the position of the moon, the direction the moss grew on the surrounding trees, the finer details of the rocks and leaves and trunks where Enid had lain, bleeding, as she watched.

She scrunched her eyes shut and replayed the vision in her mind for probably the thousandth time, straining to note any helpful details. She needed a new angle, new information. But always, she just reached the scene in time to find Enid bleeding out. Thing squeezed her shoulder as her breath hitched.

“I’m fine,” she gritted. She opened her eyes. “We go again.”

Thing signed something. Wednesday shook her head. “You go back. I’m not done yet.”

He interrupted her with the familiar sign for Enid. “I tried that already,” she insisted. “Last night, I hugged her. Nothing happened. No further physical contact has succeeded in triggering another vision.”

He jumped onto his fingertips with a playful twist.

Wednesday glowered at the appendage, ignoring the sudden heat under her collar. The warm weather was truly oppressive. “Of course. It was for purely information-gathering purposes.”

Thing leaned on his thumb, skeptical.

Wednesday shot him a glare that could have cut glass. Of course it needed to be a hug. Anything less would be unthorough. Wednesday did not do things halfway, and she had zero tolerance for slipshod work.

“Ask me that again, and you will be walking back,” she growled.

--

Lurch left Enid standing in front of the basement door. Well, Enid assumed it was the basement, but now that she was looking at it, she was pretty sure it was actually the dungeon. The stone walls smelled of mildew, centuries of moisture congealing in darkness that never gave way to sunlight. The flight of steps they had walked down had been equally slippery and were lit only by the light of candles mounted intermittently on the walls. The door before her was solid metal, weeping rust with age, with a heavy iron crossbar set across the front. The fact that the crossbar was on the outside of the door was probably not a good sign. Definitely the dungeon.

“What would Wednesday do?” she muttered under her breath.

She said it more to summon some much-needed courage than anything else. She had a pretty good idea what her roommate would do in her position. Wednesday would happily break into the dungeon and steal the crystal ball from her grandmother while she slept or something. Unfortunately Enid had no idea how to use a crystal ball, or any other magical object. Not to mention stealing from her best friend’s family, even with the full intent to return the stolen object, was absolutely out of the question.

She lifted the crossbar, grateful for her werewolf strength, then cleared her throat and knocked on the door. She winced as the sound came back as an echo. “Um, hello?” Her voice sounded high-pitched and afraid. She tried again. “Wednesday’s grandmother? Can I talk to you?”

Enid waited, wondering if she should just go inside, when the door creaked open with a loud squeal of hinges. She hesitated on the threshold, heartbeat unsteady. The room beyond the doorway was dim. The darkness was wreathed with smoke from a roaring fire she could hear somewhere to the right of the door. Its glow was the only light in the room, and it cast wild, leaping shadows across the floor without quite reaching the walls. It looked like the bottom of an impossibly deep pit.

“Are you going to stand there until the bats come out, or are you coming in?”

Enid jumped. The voice was old, with a slight speech impediment that suggested the speaker had very few teeth.

“Sorry!” Enid yelped, scurrying inside.

She was surprised to find that the chamber was massive, though it had been stuffed floor to ceiling with what looked like junk. Dried herbs were hung on every hook and rafter. Any available flat surface was stacked with stained books or dusty jars of unmentionable horrors or curiosities. Ancient, reddened tools hung from several hooks above her head. Enid couldn’t tell if they were stained with rust, blood, or both. Worse, stuffed, mounted, dried, skinned, embalmed, and fully mummified animals littered old wooden shelves and hung from the smoke-stained stone walls. She didn’t look too closely at what looked like very old, very large bloodstains surrounded by chalk etchings on the flagstone floor. If anyone wanted a glimpse into the inner life of the occult, they only had to spend thirty seconds in that room to be set for a lifetime.

She was so absorbed with the ick factor of the entire place, she didn’t notice one of the desiccated corpses begin to move.

It shuffled into the light from the fire, and the flames glinted off wild eyes and a crooked, yellow smile. It cackled, and Enid jumped.

“I knew you’d come to see me soon enough!” the old woman crowed. “But I’ll let you explain yourself. What brings you down here?”

Enid did her best not to stare. Wednesday’s grandmother looked like she was one of the bodies Wednesday had gone to exhume. She wore heaps of colorless, ragged shawls and shuffled around with the aid of a massive wooden stick topped with a skull. Her hair was more of a large, white mane, pronounced against her complexion. She slipped around Enid and beelined to a long table covered in glass flasks and bubbling pots. Despite her appearance, she had the energy and demeanor of someone fifty years younger.

“I – uh,” Enid wasn’t sure if she had lost her nerve or just her train of thought. Maybe both. “You’re Wednesday’s grandmother?”

“Cat got your tongue?” she cackled. “Call me Grandmama. Everyone does. You’re here because of my granddaughter, aren’t you?”

Enid paled. “How did you know?”

“Because you certainly didn’t come all the way out here to visit me!” She laughed so hard she snorted and doubled over, and then had to catch her breath. Enid waited, suddenly wondering if this was such a great plan after all.

“Fortune-teller humor. Ah, never gets old,” she said, still chuckling. She wiped a tear from her eye and grew solemn, all business. “Ok, kid, spill it.”

Enid was thoroughly unnerved by the surroundings, but there was some comfort in the thought that whatever she was about to say was probably not news to somebody who could see the future. Although, given that Enid was here to snoop on her granddaughter, it was probably best to tread lightly.

She hesitated. “You can see the future, right? Visions, using a crystal ball for divination, that kind of thing?”

Wednesday’s grandmother – Grandmama, Enid mentally corrected – shrugged, still puttering around the potions table. She grabbed a sealed jar off a shelf that held something that looked like a sea sponge. She wrenched open the lid, flooding the room with the scent of formaldehyde, grabbed the squishy specimen, and gnawed on it experimentally before dropping it into a steaming pot set over a flame. “Depends who’s asking.” She looked back at Enid, eyes glinting mischievously. “Or why.”

After feeling majorly unbalanced for the majority of the conversation, Enid’s mind finally stumbled to several conclusions. Grandmama was kooky, garrulous, maybe a little batty, and had both a short attention span and questionable taste in aesthetics. But she definitely knew more than she was sharing, and if Enid was going to ask for her help, she might as well come clean.

“Wednesday had a vision that’s been freaking her out. She won’t tell me about it, but I think it’s connected to me. I need to figure out what she saw,” Enid blurted. She paused and added. “Please don’t tell Wednesday.”

Grandmama clapped her hands together so abruptly Enid took a step back. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” she cried. “Bad news though, kid, that’s not how visions work. I can’t recreate what she saw, if that’s what you’re going for. You’d have better luck asking her, which should tell you how hopeless it is.”

Enid deflated. Grandmama shuffled up and jabbed her with the end of her stick. “None of that now! I didn’t say I couldn’t help.” Enid looked up hopefully, and Grandmama winked at her like they were planning a jewelry heist. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

She shooed Enid towards the table where several noxious liquids were bubbling ominously. The smoke and stench made Enid cough. “I can mix a potion that will let a non-psychic temporarily experience visions. Well, a vision,” she amended. “The ingredients are valuable. Plus, possible side effects include psychosis, so one shot is all you get.”

“That’s a side effect?” Enid gulped. “What are the others?”

“Can’t worry about it if you don’t know! Anyway, if my granddaughter saw something connected to you, this is your best chance to get an idea of what it was. Or not!” she said cheerily. “These things aren’t an exact science, you know.”

She gave Enid a shrewd glance. “You sure you’re up for this, wolfie?”

Enid took a deep breath. Wednesday might be the little dark cloud to Enid’s sun, but she meant more to her than she would ever know. If Enid had to risk drinking some dodgy dungeon draught from a nutty old witch to understand why her best friend was suddenly acting weird and pushing her away, she would do it. Enid nodded.

“Great! Well most of it’s done already.” Grandmama gestured to the pot boiling nearest her. “You took your sweet time coming to ask for my help. I just need some of her hair. Only way to ensure whatever you see is linked to her. Cough it up.”

Enid grimaced. “That feels...creepy. And invasive. Also, why would you think I have that handy? Who even keeps people’s hair anyway? That’s just weird.”

“Keep your shirt on, I should have some,” Grandmama announced, pulling out a rack labeled with all the Addams family’s names, along with a few Enid didn’t recognize. She grabbed a tube labeled ‘Wednesday’ that held a lock of raven-colored hair. “Just didn’t want to have to go to the trouble of replacing it if you had some on hand.” She tsked and shook her head as she uncorked the vial and added the contents to the pot. “Lovers don’t even exchange hair anymore,” she muttered under her breath. “Kids these days.”

Enid’s cheeks flushed, and she pretended not to hear.

“All righty!” Grandmama announced. “Now I need something of yours. Will ya part with a tooth? Nails work too, but they’re not as nice. Don’t have that good crunch.” She offered Enid a pair of pliers and some shears. Enid accepted the shears.

She clipped each of her claws into the jar Grandmama held. When she finished, Grandmama nodded approvingly and set the jar on a high shelf.

“Were those...not for the potion?” Enid asked.

Grandmama caught her skeptical look. “What? Werewolf claws are rare!” she protested. “And I’m not even charging! Consider it payment in kind.”

Enid crossed her arms. “You could have just asked.”

“No fun in that!” she declared. She elbowed Enid and winked. “Besides, next time I’ll be giving you the family discount.”

Enid’s heart flip-flopped. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“No more freebies!” Grandmama crowed in a singsong voice. She shoved past Enid to ladle the acrid mixture into a tiny bowl, wrinkling her nose. “All right. You’re going to want to take this straight down the gullet. Trust me – if the hair sticking to the back of your throat doesn’t get you, the smell will, and you don’t even want to think about the texture if you let it cool off.”

Enid stared at the steaming, murky sludge like something was going to burst out of the gray muck and grab her. She took a deep breath and held her nose.

The second it hit Enid’s throat, she choked and had to fight the urge to gag. Tears sprung to her eyes. It was revolting. The potion was simultaneously thick and oily. Mercifully, that helped it slip down her throat, though it felt like swallowing a hairy slug. She shoved the bowl back at Grandmama and shook her head to banish the taste.

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick,” she gasped.

Grandmama laughed. “Your choice, blondie, but I don’t do refunds.”

Enid’s vision wavered. She staggered backwards into the table. “What the –” before she could finish, her head swooped, and the room spun out of control. From far away she heard Grandmama’s voice saying, “Oops. Forgot to make sure you were sitting down.”

Then everything went black.

Enid blinked. She was suddenly in a different room. It was warmly lit, dim but still much brighter than the dungeon. Chandeliers draped with garlands hung above her head, illuminating a soaring arched ceiling decorated with elaborate moulding. The light gleamed off the polish of an ornately patterned floor. She realized she was in a sprawling ballroom, wearing a long, flowing gown. There were people milling around her, dressed similarly in floor-length gowns or tailored suits. Some wore masks or what looked like costumes, but all were elegantly appointed in rich fabric and boasted elaborate hairstyles.

None of them seemed to notice Enid, which was a relief. She had forgotten to ask Grandmama how visions worked – was she an active participant, or was she there as an invisible onlooker, observing without being a part of it? What was it like for Wednesday?

As though she had willed it, the crowd parted, and her best friend appeared. Enid’s mouth went dry.

Wednesday wore a floor-length black dress, the bodice tailored like a men’s waistcoat. Over it she had draped a silk tulle shirt with sleeves that flared at the wrists. The fabric gathered at her collar, where Wednesday had tied a shining black ribbon over her throat. Her braids were pinned to the sides of her head along with a sheer veil that covered only her eyes. She was morosely, breathtakingly beautiful, and she was looking right at Enid.

Enid watched as Wednesday waded through the other couples on the dance floor to join her. Every thought she had evaporated. She was so busy staring that she didn’t realize Wednesday’s eyes were devouring the sight of her as well, until she looked Enid over head to toe, mouth parting slightly. Her eyebrows rose approvingly.

The strains of a violin emerged above the surrounding clamor, signaling the start of the dance. Wednesday held out her hand. When Enid only stared, bewildered, Wednesday allowed her lips to twitch upward into an almost-smirk. “I promised you a dance,” she reminded her.

Enid didn’t understand what was happening, but she took Wednesday’s hand, because there was nothing on Earth she wanted more in that moment.

The small part of her that was not completely overwhelmed by Wednesday offering to dance with her was panicking. She didn’t know how to react. Casually touching – much less dancing with – someone was not Wednesday’s style, which meant this had to be something else. Enid was terrified by the hope flaring in her chest, stoked alive by what this might be, what it meant.

Then Wednesday wrapped her other arm around Enid’s waist and pulled her close. Enid couldn’t breathe. The music swelled, the violin now accompanied by a cello, then a piano, and the dance floor was suddenly a swaying sea of movement.

Enid was anchored to Wednesday’s dark eyes. She moved fluidly with the music, and Enid’s feet followed. She lead perfectly, leaving no room for Enid to question her own steps, guiding Enid like she was an extension of herself. Enid didn’t have to think, which was good, because her entire focus was on Wednesday’s hand firmly pressed to the small of her back and the resultant heat blooming in her stomach.

This was nothing like Wednesday’s dance at the Rave’N. Enid now recognized that to be a display of a predator’s prowess before battle, or the caress of a black widow before it strikes. Her dance with Tyler had been a warning; this was something else.

Wednesday spun her, and Enid instantly missed her proximity as she twirled beneath the dazzling light of the many chandeliers. She pivoted, falling back so that only her fingertips held Wednesday’s. She balanced on the balls of her feet for a moment, and their eyes met over their clasped hands.

Her roommate was stunning, but all Enid noticed was the way her eyes swallowed the light and held it, so that it smoldered somewhere deep in their core.

Wednesday tugged her back, and the ceiling rushed above Enid. Wednesday stepped forward to meet her, and suddenly Enid was pressed against her, in Wednesday’s arms.

Heat singed through her everywhere their bodies met. Wednesday’s arm was around her waist; the hand that was not holding onto Enid’s pressing insistently against her back. Enid’s fingers had settled on Wednesday’s chest, just over her collarbone. Their faces were inches apart.

Wednesday’s eyes met hers. They held a question, hungry curiosity burning in their depths. Penetrating, insistent, unfathomable and also comfortingly familiar, exhilaratingly close. Enid yielded to their pull, knowing deep in her bones that for the rest of her life, those dark eyes would be what she would return to, time and again.

Cold water splashed over Enid’s face and flooded into her nose. Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped, sending water straight into her lungs. She sat upright, coughing violently.

“That was way too long!” Grandmama admonished, holding a dripping bucket. “Are you out of your mind?”

Enid wiped her nose, eyes readjusting to the dim light of the dungeon room. “How was I supposed to know?” She shivered, soaked to the skin. “How long was I out?”

“Three weeks. We told your family you died,” Grandmama answered.

“What?!”

Grandmama cackled like a mad crow. “I’m just messing with ya! You were out twenty minutes. But any longer and it was sure to knock something loose in the old attic.” She tapped her temple and winked. “My granddaughter would have my guts for garters if I sent you back crazy as a loon.”

A cold, familiar voice broke in. “And why would Enid’s sanity be at risk in the first place, Grandmama?”

Grandmama and Enid looked up as one to find Wednesday hovering in the doorway. She was covered in grime, and the murderous look in her eyes suggested that either the grave-digging had not gone well, or that she had just decided there were two more graves to dig.

“Just a harmless experiment!” Grandmama called. She winked at Enid. “You girls have a nice chat.”

She reached into the folds of her many shawls, pulled out a fistful of something, and threw it on the ground. It hit the flagstones and instantly exploded into a thick, oily haze. Enid scrunched up her nose and waved her hand in front of her face to dispel the smoke. She was only mildly surprised to discover Grandmama was gone when she looked again.

“She does that when she’s lying, or finds herself in a dull conversation,” Wednesday said. She drifted over to examine the potions still bubbling on the table. “Do I even want to know why you sought out my grandmother and agreed to consume one of her potions?”

Enid coughed some remaining water out of her lungs. “Probably not,” she managed.

Wednesday joined Enid, who was finding it difficult to stand, or generally control her limbs. Probably a temporary aftereffect of the potion, but disconcerting nonetheless. She staggered to her feet, and Wednesday draped her jacket around Enid’s shoulders. Enid hadn’t realized she was still shivering.

“Tell me you still have all your teeth,” Wednesday demanded.

Enid nodded and clutched the jacket closer around her. She knew it was a mistake, but she couldn’t help searching for Wednesday’s eyes in the gloom. They were unreadable and vividly, impossibly deep, the same as in her vision. Enid felt light-headed. I promised you a dance.

“Enid,” Wednesday said, snapping her out of it. “You look like you’re about to be ill.”

Enid obediently bent over and vomited up a knot of hair and sludge. “Eugh,” she groaned. “Sorry.”

Wednesday frowned and cocked her head. “Do wolves get hairballs?”

“No,” Enid sighed. “Don’t ask. Knowing where the hair is from makes it worse.”

Chapter Text

Showering off the feeling of dungeon ooze gave Enid plenty of time to replay her vision in her mind. She let the hot water run down her neck and closed her eyes.

She returned again and again to the sound of Wednesday’s voice, her signature not-quite-smile, I promised you a dance. She remembered Wednesday spinning her beneath half a dozen gleaming chandeliers. And finally she thought of Wednesday – Wednesday Addams – pulling Enid into her arms and stealing her breath away with an unmistakable look.

It had felt distinctly different from a dream, but Enid was nearly convinced that’s all it was. There was no way the Wednesday she knew was capable of that. Not yet. Maybe years from now. More likely never. She had promised Enid she would try. She certainly was evolving; Enid could see that more and more every day. But unless her feelings were anything like Enid’s, there was nothing on Earth strong enough to encourage Wednesday Addams to shift an inch out of her comfort zone of physical distance, icy looks, and feigned indifference – barring a near-death experience, Enid amended mentally.

That did not stop Enid from thinking about the vision. It did not stop Enid’s eyes from lingering after Wednesday’s slight form just a little longer than necessary as they descended the large staircase for dinner. It didn’t stop Enid from noticing the graceful shape of her hands as she picked up her cutlery, remembering how they had held her as they spun in the middle of a grand dance floor.

In fact, Enid probably would have spent all night staring at her, if Pugsley hadn’t set off a cherry bomb beneath the table five minutes into the meal, or if, in the ensuing minor chaos, Grandmama hadn’t shot Enid a thumbs-up from across the table and waved a tiny vial filled with colorful dyed blonde hair in the air.

“Oh, you have got to be joking,” Enid muttered, hands feeling for the chunk that was missing from her hair.

“Unfortunately not,” Wednesday broke in dryly. “Grandmama is a shameless kleptomaniac, and Pugsley has terrible table manners. That meager explosion wouldn’t blow the lid off a tea kettle.”

“Ouch, sis,” Pugsley whined. He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. “That was just an appetizer. I have bigger ones that will blow your nose clean off!”

“Pugsley,” Morticia admonished. “Save those for dessert.”

Enid made a mental note to excuse herself before dessert. Then Morticia turned her magnetic gaze on her.

“Enid, darling, we’ll have to get you fitted with a dress for the dance,” Morticia said. “A few days should be just enough time. Unless of course you’ve brought formal wear with you.”

Enid blushed. “No, sorry – my family’s not big on fancy parties.” Another thought occurred to her. “But I haven’t gotten rid of the –”

“Enid,” Wednesday interrupted.

She shot her a look, and Enid was suddenly back in her vision with Wednesday’s gaze burning into her, sending a surge of something fierce and wistful clawing up from her stomach into her throat.

“I insist,” Wednesday continued. She stopped, grimacing slightly. “I will need someone to...” She inhaled through her nostrils and tensed like she was expecting a gut punch. “Accompany me.”

Morticia allowed herself a small smile, while Gomez immediately dove to cover Pugsley’s mouth as he leaned forward, eyes shining with mischief.

“Like a date?” Enid said, trying not to sound hopeful. Her stomach felt light. Maybe the Wednesday from her vision was in there somewhere after all.

Wednesday’s brows bunched into an angry little crumple. “No,” she snapped. “Never mind.”

She didn’t even follow it up with a threat or a verbal feint. In Wednesday’s world, that was almost a marriage proposal.

Enid smiled. “I accept,” she said, and the way Wednesday’s features relaxed made it worth it. She was pleased, even if she probably would rather be waterboarded than admit it.

Wednesday’s focus snapped to her brother, who was clawing Gomez’s hand off his mouth, sputtering to say something that he was almost certain to regret.

“Pugsley, if you insist on sharing your opinion, I’ll remind you I have thirty seven different kinds of snake venom in my possession, and only twenty-five antidotes. We are long overdue for an Addams’ roulette.” Wednesday’s eyes gleamed. “After dinner, perhaps?”

“That is so not fair – ugh! Fine,” Pugsley whined, crossing his arms. “But you better include any that cause necrosis.”

“Dibs on the ones that make you bleed out of all your membranes!” Grandmama crowed.

“That defeats the point of roulette, Grandmama,” Wednesday pointed out. She turned to Enid. “Care to join?”

Enid paled. “Thanks, but I think I’ll sit this one out. I have some crocheting I’m super behind on.”

Wednesday shrugged. They resumed their meal, which proceeded relatively peacefully, and Enid naively hoped that Wednesday would not actually inject her relatives with snake venom.

After dinner concluded, the family retired to a massive sitting room. It was filled with monstrous clawed furniture upholstered in deep, rich brocades. All of it seemed to have been designed for someone Lurch’s size, or larger. A roaring fireplace shaped like a dragon’s mouth took up most of one wall. The other walls were lined with cabinets full of strange artifacts and figurines, or well-loved books with balding binding. The lofty ceiling was painted to depict people being tortured in hell; it made the work of Hieronymus Bosch look like a children’s cartoon. Enid found the room mostly charming, as long as she didn’t look up.

Wednesday left and returned shortly with a small leather-bound case. Gomez and Morticia sat nearly on top of each other on the loveseat and watched approvingly as Wednesday aliquoted ampules of amber- or clear-colored liquid into syringe-tipped darts, which she loaded into what appeared to be a double-barrel tranquilizer gun.

Enid curled up in one of the massive armchairs beside the fire and pulled out her yarn. She was only half-watching as Wednesday alternated taking shots at Pugsley and Grandmama. She was still glowing from Wednesday asking her to join her family’s gala as her not-date. She wondered if a few days was enough time for reality to shift the required magnitude to allow her vision to come true. And there was still the question of when – and possibly, why – Wednesday had promised her a dance.

It was not something she would offer casually. Enid wracked her brain for any extenuating circumstances that could possibly have persuaded her best friend to promise such a thing, and came up with nothing.

Wednesday eventually grew tired of shooting her family members with venom darts and joined Enid in the armchair beside hers. Grandmama was sampling the last few drops of liquid from the spent darts, and Pugsley was lying prone on the floor. Enid deliberated if now was the time to probe Wednesday about a dance, while her roommate was still flushed and triumphant from successfully firing at least three darts into Pugsley.

Something stopped her. It didn’t feel right. She didn’t know when or what sign she would need, but something inside her would tell her it was the right time. At least, she hoped so.

“Pugsley is turning blue,” Enid said instead. “Not sure why the first couple shots didn’t work, but I think it was the last one that did it.”

“Addams are resistant to most poisons,” Wednesday said automatically, like that was a fact she had occasion to explain to people often. “It’s always a treat finding one that still has an effect.”

Wednesday’s kit held dozens of vials in individual velvet pockets and a tiny notebook. She trailed a finger over the labels as she consulted her notes. “Hm. That one has an antivenom. What a pity,” she sighed. She poured the contents of another vial into a dart and fired expertly at her brother. “Better luck next time, Pugsley.”

He gasped as the antivenom took immediate effect, and his autonomic nervous system resumed functioning. “Woah, awesome,” he chuckled. “I felt my heart slowing!”

“No need to brag,” Grandmama grumbled, seemingly unaffected. She saw Wednesday packing up the kit and shook her head. “Keep that handy, young lady! Your wolfie companion may find it useful.” She shuffled over and started rifling through the vials, squinting to read the tiny cursive labels.

Enid gulped. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Never say never!” Grandmama cried. She selected a vial, added the contents to a couple darts, and winked as she dropped them into the chambers. “This one packs a punch!”

“Thank you, Grandmama,” Wednesday said. “I’ll save it should Enid show an interest.”

Satisfied, Grandmama wandered off, still grumbling about the ineffectiveness of contemporary poison and how they used to knock a man dead within seconds in her day.

Enid stared. “I like her, but I don’t think I will ever understand her,” she muttered.

Wednesday shrugged. “Being able to see the future tends to come with a touch of insanity,” she said. “We should all be so lucky.”

She rose from her chair. “It’s getting late, but before we retire for the night, I’d like to revisit the matter of your room.”

Enid’s heart sank a bit. “Oh right. More fun with a ghoul,” she muttered.

“Not to worry,” Wednesday assured her. “I plan to enlist the help of my right hand – aside from Thing, of course.” Thing hopped up, offended, from where he was reclining on an ottoman.

They bid Mr. and Mrs. Addams goodnight. Enid gave Pugsley a departing wave, and he waved back from where he was still lying on the carpet. His skin was still deathly pale, but it was rapidly losing its bluish tint. Thing scurried after them.

Before she knew it, Enid was back in front of her original room. She tried not to flinch as Wednesday opened the door.

It looked completely normal. No sign of flying furniture, or grasping hands beneath the bed. She let out a relieved sigh, and then immediately panicked as Wednesday strolled inside.

“Wednesday!” Enid cried. She headed off her roommate just beyond the threshold, claws at the ready. “You can’t come in here! You said that thing could kill you!”

Wednesday waved her off. “I believe I said ‘likely fatal.’ We have no proof it would succeed in killing me.”

Enid glared, exasperated, as Wednesday steered around her. “Yes, exactly – we don’t know!” Enid emphasized. “And I would like to never find out!”

Wednesday ignored her. Enid had no choice but to follow her inside. She looked at Thing for help.

Stubborn, he signed.

“Enid,” Wednesday said. “If you were standing any closer, you would be on my shoulders. I can literally feel you breathing down my neck.”

“Deal with it,” Enid huffed. “If that ghoul shows up, it’s going to have to get through me first.”

Wednesday’s eyes darted towards her, then away. “You question my ability to protect myself?”

“I’m questioning why you think that’s not also my job, as your best friend, and the only one out of the two of us who is even a teensy bit concerned about your well-being,” Enid snapped.

She didn’t miss the way Wednesday’s face softened for a moment. Then her roommate turned around and started talking to the vent in the floor.

"Octo, I know you can hear me. Come out this instant." Wednesday leaned over the grate, tapping her foot impatiently. It would have been comical, if Enid was not suddenly fearful about who or what was about to crawl out. She spared a look at Thing, who signed quickly, reassuring her Octo was lovely, although he had a maddening tendency to cheat at chess.

A squishy appendage reached up through the slits to wrap itself around the grate, lifting it and carefully setting it aside. It unfurled until it was the same height as Wednesday, and Enid realized it was only a single, giant tentacle of what was clearly a terrifyingly large creature.

"You know what this is about,” Wednesday accused. “Were you in Enid's room the previous night, rearranging the furniture?”

The tip of the tentacle tapped the floor in a stilted cadence, which Enid guessed was Morse code.

“Oh?” Wednesday's brows rose and her eyes slid to the side, flashing danger. Her venomous gaze landed on Thing. "He did, did he?" she muttered.

Thing suddenly indicated that he had places to be and scurried off. Wednesday's eyes trailed him. "Well," she said turning back to Octo. "I entrust Enid's comfort to you. Ensure she is not disturbed tonight."

Octo saluted – or at least that’s the motion Enid figured he was going for, with just the one tentacle – and receded beneath the floorboards once more.

Wednesday turned to Enid. “Satisfied?” she asked.

Enid resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Leave it to Wednesday to assign a literal monster to watch over her, rather than realize Enid would have been content just being near her.

Normally she wouldn’t have minded. But now that she knew how it felt to fall asleep beside Wednesday, Enid wasn’t sure how to go about sleeping alone, much less in entirely separate rooms. She smothered the crushed remains of her hope underneath her usual upbeat tone. “Totally. Me and Octo versus the ghoul. Dream team. That creep doesn’t stand a chance,” she said.

Wednesday nodded, entirely missing Enid’s disappointment. She added, “Tomorrow you have a dress fitting first thing in the morning. I will be gone for most of the day. I have an appointment in town.”

Enid perked up, but Wednesday shut her down before she could open her mouth. “I would invite you, but it would make you an accessory to several crimes.”

“Naturally,” Enid sighed.

“Goodnight, Enid,” Wednesday said, already headed for the door.

“Goodnight!” Enid called after her departing back.

As soon as the door shut, Enid sighed and started preparing for bed. She took longer than usual because her mind kept drifting back to her vision. She put on her pajamas, back burning with the ghost of Wednesday’s touch, and stared at her own blue eyes in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth, remembering how Wednesday’s eyes had swallowed the light around them and pulled Enid into their irresistible gravity.

By the time she was under the covers, she was wide awake. She pulled out her yarn, deciding to crochet for a while. Eventually, as her hands looped through the pattern, an idea occurred to her.

The clock read thirty minutes to midnight. Perfect. She sprang out of bed and crouched beside the floor vent. “Pssst. Hey. Octo,” she whispered. “Are you there?”

She yelped when a tentacle obediently slithered up and out of the floor and quirked into the shape of a question mark.

“I know Wednesday is like, totally terrifying. But if the ghoul doesn’t show by midnight, and I promise to cover for you, will you do me a favor?” Enid asked.

Octo tapped an answer out on the floorboards. “Um, sorry, I don’t actually know Morse code,” she admitted. “How about two nods for ‘yes,’ one for ‘no’?”

The tentacle bobbed twice. Enid grinned. “Yay! Oh, and can this be our little secret?” Two nods.  “Pinky swear?” Enid extended her finger, and Octo wrapped a cold, slimy tentacle around it. She shuddered. “Gross. No offense. Okay, we’re going to majorly redecorate.”

Thirty-five minutes later, Enid knocked on Wednesday’s door a suitable amount of times to ensure she was awake and decent, and then jiggled the handle when she didn’t respond. After a second, her roommate swung the door open, glowering darkly.

“I fear last night’s embrace has inured you to my affections. I assure you, that is a dangerous habit to pursue,” she hissed.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that. Just more ghoul shenanigans,” Enid breezed. “Actually, the room like, reversed, and all the furniture is currently on the ceiling. Octo tried really hard to pull it down, but no luck. Some of us can’t sleep upside-down. So! I thought I’d join you in here.”

“It – what,” Wednesday fumed. She scrubbed her hands over her eyes. “Impossible. How is that even –”

“Look,” Enid interrupted, slightly sheepish. “I know you run cold and don’t adore sharing personal space, so you probably didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m sure Lurch can find a cot or something. Or I can curl up on the rug. Honestly, just knowing this room is ghoul-free – other than you – will help me sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If your infernal werewolf heat didn’t boil me alive last night, it certainly won’t now,” Wednesday grumbled. “I can also sleep elsewhere. I assume you would prefer to be alone.”

“Not really, no,” Enid admitted. “I’d prefer to be near you.”

Wednesday’s gaze held some strange emotion. She turned away quickly and walked over to the window, leaning on her desk with both hands. She spoke without turning around. “Due to circumstances I’m struggling to control or understand, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

Enid’s heart sagged. Wednesday still considered any warm, fuzzy feelings she had towards Enid akin to a bout of fever or a brief lapse in sanity. She tried not to be wounded by her words. Wednesday had already made so much progress just being her friend. It had to be enough. It was all she could hope for.

A fearful thought crept into her mind. She had assumed that as a Raven, Wednesday had seen something different than Enid had in her vision. But maybe they had seen the same thing after all.

Enid pressed her lips together, trying and failing to force down the ache in her chest. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that for Wednesday, a vision of them dancing to a romantic ballad had spelled doom, whereas it was all Enid’s hopes come true. She wanted to dismiss the suspicion as ridiculous or at least unlikely, but Wednesday’s earlier confession nagged at her mind: Truthfully, it terrifies me.

Wednesday’s next words didn’t do anything to alleviate her dread.

“I find myself suffering from your proximity,” Wednesday admitted. “Yet I don’t want to be apart from you.”

“Yeah,” Enid said. That much, Enid could relate to. She couldn’t help a touch of despair from seeping into her voice. “I know how you feel.”

Wednesday turned, and Enid’s traitorous brain conjured another scene from her vision, transporting her to the precious seconds before it ended. This time, she could almost swear she wasn’t imagining that she saw the same emotion in Wednesday’s eyes now. “I highly doubt that,” Wednesday said.

She abruptly shook her head and banished whatever softness Enid thought she saw lurking behind her eyes. Enid was about to give up and return to her room when Wednesday muttered, “We should sleep” and without prompting slid into bed, looking annoyed at Enid as she reached for the light.

“If you insist on staying, I’d like to rest now,” she griped.

Enid’s feet betrayed her, easily carrying her to the bed to lie down next to Wednesday. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer from being near me,” Enid grumbled.

It came out more wounded than cutting. Wednesday switched off the light, and she winced, grateful for the sudden darkness.

The silence stretched for almost a minute before Wednesday replied. “Not all suffering is unwelcome. Not all pain is unpleasant.”

“Not helping.”

“Pain means that you’re alive. Suffering means you can still want,” Wednesday clarified. “You remind me how much I can feel. The ways I can feel. Not all are familiar. That is terrifying.”

“You’re not charming your way out of this one,” Enid grumbled, but she felt herself already relenting. She curled into Wednesday’s side, just barely brushing her and yawned. “But I get it. Caring about someone is scary.”

Wednesday exhaled sharply out of her nose, like she did whenever Enid got her meaning but missed one of the finer nuances she wanted to convey. Enid drowsed as she waited for Wednesday to put a finer point on it. Her best friend was always operating on three different levels and simply expected everyone else to keep up. Enid was used to it. She had learned to wait, and let Wednesday explain herself.

She could picture Wednesday glaring at the ceiling, trying to wrestle her thoughts into words that made sense to anybody besides her. She burrowed into the pillow, and felt her eyelids grow heavy.

“I understand that having something to lose is the price of living,” Wednesday finally said. “But having someone you can’t live without is a fear unlike any I’ve ever known until now.” She paused. “Until you, Enid.”

In the darkness, the room seemed larger, large enough to swallow the enormity of the feeling and her voice as she spoke aloud. Her words were lost in the rumble of Enid’s soft snores.

Chapter Text

Enid had introduced Wednesday to Post-it notes, which she took to surprisingly readily for a relatively modern invention, and which Enid regretted almost immediately. Wednesday used them as excessively as a passive-aggressive flatmate, wrote them more tersely than marching orders, and left them in places like a lover.

Enid awoke to the fading scent of her best friend and a note on the pillow beside her. Written in perfect cursive, it simply stated: Proceed to breakfast without me.

Thing was perched on the desk. He greeted Enid as she tossed the note aside and scrubbed her eyes.

“She ditched you too, huh?” Enid asked. Thing nodded.

“Honestly, I want to be upset,” Enid sighed. “But I’m worried about her. She’s barely been eating, and she definitely hasn’t been sleeping.”

Thing suggested she had a lot on her mind. “I know,” Enid said. “But I’m her best friend! She could trust me with some of it, at least. I know it’s not her style, and I appreciate she’s gotten over her weird controlling thing where she thought she had to manipulate everyone for their own good. But now she’s replaced that with just shutting me completely out.”

Thing tapped the desk sympathetically, and Enid smiled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump everything on you first thing in the morning. Let me get ready, and we can go downstairs.”

She washed up, finding two more notes as she was getting ready. One was stuck to the bathroom mirror and read: Lurch has been instructed to make yogurt parfaits. ENSURE HE DOES NOT ADD RAT POISON. IF IT IS GREEN, DO NOT CONSUME PARFAIT.

The second was stuck to her shoes. It said: Dress fitting at 8AM. Thing will accompany you. Mention fabric preferences and any relevant style references.

As she was leaving, she found a third note fluttering from the back of the door. DO NOT EAT GREEN PARFAITS. IT IS NOT MATCHA. LURCH DOES NOT KNOW  WHAT MATCHA IS. Iron supplements are on counter re: full moon tomorrow.

Enid leaned against the door and let out an exasperated laugh. Thing quirked onto his ring and pinky finger in a question.

“It’s nothing,” Enid replied. “It’s just – there’s mixed signals, and then there’s whatever Wednesday is doing.”

Thing began to sign a sentence, then hesitated. He started over. Enid pursed her lips. “I do believe I’m her person. I just have no clue what that means to her, or what she actually wants.”

Thing pointed to Enid.

She smiled. “Thanks, Thing. But I think I have to hear it from her before I can really believe it.”

Thing reassured her that Wednesday had unfathomable emotional depth and force, most of which was dedicated to her family, and Enid. It was just that her capacity to express it could fit in a teaspoon.

That made Enid laugh. “If she hears you accusing her of being a softy, she’s going to take a finger. Luckily, your secret – and hers – are safe with me,” Enid promised. Thing indicated Enid, flipped over, and crossed thumb over his palm in an X.

“Me? And what secret would that be?” Enid asked, crossing her arms. Thing swayed on his fingertips smugly, pointed at Enid, and then rapid-fire listed examples before she could protest. Enid’s ears burned. She shushed him before realizing how ridiculous that was.

“Don’t you dare say a word to her or I swear – wait, I nuzzled her in my sleep?” she hissed. “Then why am I alive right now?”

Thing shrugged. “Oh my God, I’m never getting over that,” Enid groaned. “Maybe sampling the deadly parfait is the move after all.”

Enid trudged downstairs, suddenly grateful for Wednesday’s absence. It was going to be impossible to face her roommate knowing she was apparently even more affectionate in her sleep. She and Thing arrived in the kitchen to find that, unfortunately, Lurch had lovingly added rat poison to the yogurt parfaits.

Enid was forced to inform him that, unlike the Addams, she was not immune to most, if any, poisons. His ponderous brows rose in slow mortification. Thing supervised as Lurch prepared a rat poison-free parfait for Enid and presented it to her with an apologetic groan.

“It’s okay,” Enid said, gently patting his hand. “I’m sure it’s usually a hit.”

Pugsley bounded into the kitchen at that moment. His eyes lit up at Enid’s abandoned breakfast on the counter. “Lurch! You added my favorite. It’s even the green pellet kind! Wednesday is going to be so jealous that she missed it," he gloated.

He joined Enid at the breakfast nook and began inhaling the deadly yogurt confection. Enid tried not to stare, and failed.

“Sorry for the lack of excitement, by the way,” he said, mouth full. “I’ve been trying to give you a real Addams welcome, but I woke up with a note stuck to my forehead promising a slow, agonizing death if I messed with you. I probably could sneak you a bomb if it’s not lit, though.”

“Tempting offer, but pass for now,” she replied, secretly thanking her absent best friend. It seemed like Wednesday’s sticky note reign of terror was the only thing protecting her from the Addams’ lethal version of hospitality.

Which reminded her. She looked around for the iron supplements, then felt something nudge her foot. Thing had already rolled the bottle across the floor. She accepted it gratefully.

Pugsley watched her take a couple supplements with interest. “I can’t believe we’re going to miss you wolfing out tomorrow,” he sighed. “Thing was so lucky he got to see it the first time. Are you going to let Wednesday watch?”

Enid fiddled with her spoon, appetite suddenly waning. “I don’t know. It depends on if she really wants to,” she hedged.

Pugsley snorted. “She’s obsessed with wolves. She would love to. Although she’s probably being weird about it, since it’s you.”

He dug into a second parfait, not noticing Enid’s stare.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“You know. She doesn’t care about what anybody thinks, except when it comes to you. Making people uncomfortable is her favorite thing. She lives to make people squirm. You should’ve seen her when we were little – she freaked out so many of our babysitters, the agency ran out of people to send.” He shrugged. “But with you, it’s like all she cares about is how you feel. She probably already has some excuse for why she can’t be around when you wolf out, just in case you don’t want her there. Which is dumb, because we could’ve just switched places and then I could’ve stayed home instead.”

Enid groaned, letting her head fall into her arms. “You’re right. And she wouldn’t bother to ask me if I wanted her there. Even if I said I would, she wouldn’t believe me. Why is she like this?”

Pugsley answered, despite his mouth being full again. “I don’t know. She’s acting weird. Being protective, letting you touch her. She’s barely even tortured me since she got home. It’s like she knows she’s about to die or something.”

Dread shot through Enid like epinephrine. She snapped her head up. “What?”

Pugsley pointed to her parfait. “Are you going to finish that?” he asked.

She pushed it towards him, her mind already miles away, moving too fast for her to keep up. Wednesday letting Enid touch her, sharing her bed. Hugging her. Trying to get her to leave after she had her vision, refusing to talk about it, the sudden fear surrounding her bond with Enid. What if Wednesday wasn’t afraid of getting close to Enid, for her own sake? What if she was afraid of how it would affect Enid, if something happened to her? Wednesday was protective of her feelings; even Pugsley had noticed it. What if she was protecting Enid from something she felt she couldn’t tell her about?

What if Wednesday had foreseen her own death?

“I need to talk to Wednesday,” Enid blurted. Panic was making her pulse unsteady. “Where is she?”

Pugsley’s eyebrows rose. “Uh, what’s the rush? She’s probably out stomping around the woods again.”

Enid closed her eyes. She could not go wandering throughout the entire Addams property looking for her best friend. She would have to wait until she got back.

Pugsley’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Good luck figuring out what’s going on with her,” he scoffed. “She would rather die than admit something’s wrong. She got a cold one time when she was six, so she buried herself alive in the garden. If Lurch hadn’t gone out to plant some begonias, we would’ve never found her.”

Enid inhaled slowly, holding it for a few extra seconds in an attempt to slow her heart. “Fine. Then I’ll find someone who might actually tell me,” Enid vowed. “Thing, can you show me to the dungeon?”

Enid wasted no time descending to the deepest, darkest level of the Addams’ residence and pounding on the rusty iron door that led to Grandmama’s lair. Thing waited beside her, nervously dancing on his fingertips.

“What now? I’m busy!” Grandmama’s voice called from somewhere inside. “And I am not your couples therapist!”

“It’s important!” Enid yelled. “I need to know if Wednesday is going to die.”

Enid waited, heart in her throat. Finally, after seconds that felt like hours, Grandmama’s voice carried through the thick door. “Yes, she is.”

Enid’s heart plummeted. Then she slapped her hand over her face. “I mean soon!” she snapped.

She heard Grandmama’s faint cackle. Then the door swung open, and Grandmama’s withered face peered out at her from under innumerable layers of shawls.

“Fortuneteller humor! Anyways, that’s not something I can help you figure out at the moment. Death predictions require casting bones during a full moon.” Grandmama checked her watch, which looked like a sundial, except the symbols made no sense. “So you’re about a day too early. Sorry! Call again tomorrow night.”

She ducked back into the dungeon and slammed the door behind her. Enid’s claws had extended without her noticing. She tamped down the urge to swipe them across the stone wall in frustration. She focused on regulating her breathing. It was dangerous to lose control this close to a full moon. Even if every single one of the Addams family was determined to infuriate her this morning, she could not let that happen. Though she was sorely tempted.

“Thing,” she said, though it came out as a growl. “What did Wednesday tell you about her vision?”

Thing shrunk back towards the wall.

Remorse instantly flooded Enid. “Oh, Thing, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset at you,” she cried. She knelt and offered her cupped hands apologetically. Thing hopped onto them. “I’m just worried for her.”

Thing assured her the vision had nothing to do with Wednesday dying. Enid smiled, a little sadly. “I’m sure she told you that. But is there a chance she might have been lying?”

The little appendage paused, considering. He signed ‘no,’ and then, more slowly, ‘not to me,’ but his fingers were hesitant, unsure.

Enid shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll just have to corner her later, maybe once she’s back from town. That should give me enough time to figure out how to get the truth out of her. Or at least understand what’s wrong.”

She gently placed Thing on her shoulder and began retracing her steps to the normal living area of the house, trying hard to stem the fear coursing through her. She was more sure than ever that Wednesday was hiding something worse than she had initially suspected. And she was no closer to finding out what it was than the day she arrived.

--

Wednesday stumbled out of the shadowy woods, wincing as her sensitive eyes were assaulted by brilliant late-morning light. The sun mocked her, rising far too quickly in the sky. Her muscles were aching. Her neck was knotted and tight, and the heaviness of her limbs reminded her that she hadn’t had anything to drink since yesterday.

She had been out since before dawn, with nothing to show for it.

She dragged herself towards the welcoming shadow of the manor, cursing the physical limitations of her body, the unreliability of her visions, and the cunning of her unseen enemies. She slammed open the front door, ignoring the bear-rug’s rumbled greeting, and headed straight to her room.

It was, of course, in horrible disarray. Enid’s pajamas were strewn across the unmade bed, and countless colorful bottles of face lotions and moisturizers littered Wednesday’s writing desk. Half a dozen colorful shoes, most missing their pair, had been discarded in seemingly randomly areas of the floor. She rolled her eyes and beelined for the bathroom. She did her best to scrub most of the mud and forest grime off, drank enough water so that she was no longer at risk of passing out, changed her clothes, and then went to seek out the family chauffeur.

She headed for the part of the house that, next to the conservatory, had the best natural light. It was tucked away beneath the eaves, an attic apartment with several skylights and plenty of open floor space. The periphery of the room was filled with bolts of cloth, furniture draped in linen slipcovers, storage chests, mannequins, and the occasional torture device in need of repair.

She found Lurch finishing up fitting Enid for a dress. Her roommate was standing on a couple crates, alleviating the need for Lurch to stoop as much, with her arms raised so that Lurch could pin the fabric of the bodice. Wednesday had given him Enid’s measurements the day they arrived, and he had made quick work with the muslin. Of the three dress mock-ups he had made, Enid had chosen the sleeveless – the most flattering, in Wednesday’s opinion.

Enid turned, eyes lighting up at the sight of her best friend. “Wednesday! You didn’t tell me Lurch was your family’s tailor,” she cried. “He’s amazing! I’m totally getting sewing lessons from him after this.”

Wednesday tried to keep her eyes on the embarrassed butler, but they would not obey her. Even in the simple silhouette, Enid was striking. The light pouring from the skylight fell on her like an angel descended to earth. She positively floated in the light fabric. It hugged her ribs and waist perfectly, thanks to Lurch’s expert tailoring, and her bare arms were entrancing, held aloft with the grace and ease of a dancer. Wednesday found that her throat was more dry than it had been when she emerged from the forest, and an uncomfortable heat was rising from her core.

“Lurch,” she choked out, sounding a bit strangled. “If you’re finished, I need to go into town for an appointment.”

Lurch checked his watch, smacking a hand against his broad forehead at the time. He groaned in apology. Unfortunately, the groan sucked the pins held between his lips into his mouth. He swallowed with a wince.

Wednesday turned around while Lurch unpinned Enid from the confines of the dress, and did not move until she heard Enid’s bright voice behind her.

“So? How’s it look so far?” she asked. Wednesday turned, and almost flinched as Enid skipped up to her.

“To judge this early would be unfair to Lurch’s creative process. Besides, at this premature stage, it would simply be a review of the model, not the dress,” Wednesday said stiffly.

“Good to know,” Enid said, eyes dancing.

Wednesday glared. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Enid answered innocently. “It’s just that I saw your face when you came in, and based on what you just said, that was a reaction to the model.” She smiled. “Not the dress.”

Wednesday was sputtering a retort when worry flooded Enid’s expression. She froze as Enid reached up and rested her hand against her cheek.

Her thumb brushed the skin just beneath Wednesday’s eye. “Wednesday, did you sleep at all last night?” she asked.

She was close, leaning in, and her blue eyes were swimming with the emotion that she reserved only for Wednesday. It was tender and fierce, cushioned with hope and a softness that made Wednesday’s stomach seize.

And she was still touching her.

Wednesday spun around, keeping her back safely to Enid. The problem, Wednesday was beginning to realize, was that as Enid claimed more and more of her heart, she could no longer recognize the allowances she made for her, that she would never permit anybody else to get away with.

She hunched her shoulders defensively, feeling a bit ridiculous. This was Enid. What did she have to be afraid of?

“I’m fine,” she snapped, though it felt like her heart was squeezing too tightly with each beat.

“Sorry,” Enid sighed. “I know you hate anybody worrying about you.”

When Wednesday didn’t say anything, she added. “For the record, it isn’t necessarily about how little faith someone has in you. Usually it’s actually a reflection of how much they care about you.”

That thought had genuinely never occurred to Wednesday. It took her a moment to respond. “Regardless,” she muttered. “I’m fine.”

“Would you tell me? If something were wrong?” Enid asked softly. For some reason, there was fear in her voice.

Wednesday turned to look her in the eye. She answered honestly. “No.”

Enid’s face fell. Wednesday was bewildered by the emotion she saw there. She looked...crushed. Wednesday blinked, thoroughly confused. She didn’t understand how sweet, bubbly Enid could be so affected by her words. She hated it.

She stepped closer with all the intention of reaching out, and realized she had no ability or knowledge of how to do so. Which left her standing inches from Enid, looking up into her downcast eyes.

“But I would fix it,” Wednesday amended. “So that you would never have to worry again.”

Enid smiled, a little sadly. “Let me guess. You have a plan?” she asked.

“I always have a plan.”

“I know,” Enid replied. “Just once though, I’d like to be a part of that plan.”

Wednesday frowned. “You are a part of every plan. I could no sooner extricate you from my thoughts than I could remove the veins from my body. And lately, I would be more willing to undergo the latter. If I have ever laid out a plan, it was first and foremost with consideration of your needs.”

Wednesday was still trying to understand her confusion. How could Enid not know she was her first priority, always? “Enid,” she said, and Enid finally met her gaze. “My world had no gravity before, but now it has reorganized itself so that everything points back to you. Even I am not immune to that pull.”

Enid took a long, slow breath and rested her hands on Wednesday’s shoulders. “You cannot keep doing that,” she emphasized. “You can’t say the most heartfelt, poetic, borderline romantic things to me, and then continue to shut me out. I will lose my mind, Wednesday. I swear to God I will.”

“I have only ever told you the truth,” Wednesday insisted. This conversation was making less and less sense, and despite Wednesday’s best efforts, Enid seemed more distraught, not less.

Enid exhaled through her nose. “Wednesday, I am going to need you, at some point, to spell out exactly what I mean to you, and how you feel about me – us. I honestly don’t care what the answer is – all I care about is being your friend – but I need to know.”

Enid’s hands had moved to cradle her jaw, and despite their unnecessary warmth, Wednesday didn’t want her to let go. Something traitorous and alien in her stomach urged her closer, which she ignored. She focused on resisting the instinct to scurry away and stow her feelings somewhere dark and safe, away from probing questions and direct exposure. But she could not sift through the snarl of very uncomfortable, pleasurable, agonizing emotions seething in her chest while Enid was touching her like this.

“Enid,” Wednesday said evenly. “You are touching me.” Enid’s eyes widened, and she moved to pull away. Wednesday laid a hand over hers, stopping her. “You are – within reason – allowed to touch me. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe there is a greater significance to that, which you might have missed? An exception I've made for you, and no one else - my family included?”

Enid was frozen in surprise. Wednesday took the opportunity to withdraw from her grip, slowly this time. Deliberately. She was not running, and Enid needed to know that.

However, she had a plan to execute.

“I need to borrow your phone,” Wednesday said.

Enid shook her head and blinked like she was waking from a dream.

“Uhhh okay, sure. Not for the crimes though, right?” she joked with a smirk, handing it over.

Wednesday looked at her but did not respond. She slipped the phone into her pocket and spun on her heel. “My mother is expecting you in the conservatory for lunch. I will be back soon after.”

“Wait, why is your mom expecting me? Wednesday!” Enid called after her. “Promise me that my phone is not going to become evidence. Wednesday!”

Wednesday was already walking out the door and into the hall. “Not to worry. I would sooner destroy it than allow it to fall into the hands of the authorities,” she assured her.

Enid bounded to the door. “Destroy it?!” she shrilled.

Wednesday paused. The ghostly image of Enid in the toile was still burned into her retinas like onto photographic film. The unwelcome warmth began in her stomach again, and she had to force it down. She turned back to face Enid. “Were you still considering the color for your dress – I would suggest white,” she said.

“Actually, I was thinking – wait, you have an opinion?” Enid’s eyes bugged out in shock. “Like, an actual preference? And it’s white?” she moaned.

Enid had explicitly requested that she not engage in any further prose-laden overtures of affection. Wednesday could very easily comply with that. She chose, instead, to be an imp.

“What color would you paint onto a sunset?” she asked thoughtfully. “How would you improve the aurora borealis? Is there a shade that can do justice to a black opal, bismuth, or mother of pearl? No. It would be pointless, vain even. Therefore, I suggest white.”

Wednesday was enjoying the sight of Enid growing more and more incredulous and slightly flustered. “I thought you were just going to say because it symbolizes death,” Enid murmured, face turning a lovely shade of red that reminded Wednesday of arterial blood.

Wednesday turned to hide her satisfied almost-smirk and continued down the hall. “An added bonus.”

Chapter Text

Chandler stared at the puzzle in front of him, bored. It was one of those three-dimensional wooden brain teasers that were murder to assemble. He had googled how to solve it ten minutes after he bought it, and from then on displayed it on his desk. It was pretentious. He knew that.

He liked to loosen a single piece and set it closest to the chair opposite, so that if someone went to pick it up, it would fall apart in their hands. He would laugh it off with a careless ‘no problem, easy to fix’ and smugly reassemble it in front of them.

Surefire way to get the upper hand before the conversation even began.

Bozeman never picked it up. He probably thought it was some miniature sculpture or a paperweight, if he gave it any thought at all. An unlikely use of his limited brainpower.

Chandler appraised the puzzle, rather than at Bozeman, as the latter droned on. Anything was preferable to looking too long at the oaf in front of him. He hated Bozeman’s ridiculous bolo tie, the long-sleeve camo shirt he insisted on wearing with fatigues-style pants, and most of all the soles of the cowboy boots he was forced to look at, kicked up on his polished desk. Bozeman was not a verbose man, except when he had misgivings – which he had far too often for Chandler’s taste. Anybody would have thought he had been asked to plan an elaborate museum heist rather than a simple smash-and-grab – for a plant, of all things.

“Look,” Chandler interrupted. “I don’t care what you do. In fact, the less I know, the better. When I met you, you were just a security guard; now you’re literally hunting with the big dogs. If you can’t handle it, just say so, and I’ll find somebody else. I paid for you to go on that safari to go hunt big cats, right? Did you not learn anything? Take it, apply it, and get out of my office.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to worry about turning into the thing you’re hunting with normal predators,” Bozeman shot back. He tugged at his overgrown chevron mustache, eyes narrowing in distrust. “What if it bites me?”

Chandler sincerely hoped that it would.

“I’m reasonably sure it doesn’t work that way,” he sneered. “I also recall suggesting bear traps, which a hunter such as yourself could easily purchase, and would remove the need for you to get anywhere close to the damn thing.”

“So, you’re not one hundred percent sure,” Bozeman drawled. “What kills this thing? If I come face to face with it, am I going to need a wooden stake, or holy water? Garlic? Silver bullets?”

Chandler smiled, which was never a good sign. “I don’t care what you put in your gun. The point is, you only need to ensure it’s out of the way, so that you can do your job. I don’t care how, and you aren’t seeing the payment until this whole thing is done. So why don’t you leave, and ask someone who cares? Maybe try a little internet search, hm?”

Bozeman scoffed, but he finally slid his abominable boots off Chandler’s desk.

The desk phone rang. Chandler dragged his attention away from Bozeman and grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”

“One of the Addams children is here to see you,” the voice on the other end said. “She’s already on her way up.”

A surprise, certainly, though Chandler suspected he knew which one.

He smiled. Bozeman winced at the sight. “Not a problem. Although isn’t that what we have security for, Tanya?”

Tanya replied, “They’re not answering,” just as a sullen-faced sprite clothed entirely in shades of black threw open his office door with the audacity of someone who owned stock in the place. She stopped on the threshold and hovered there like one of the twins from the Shining.

“Your security is being dealt with single-handedly by my associate,” she deadpanned. “They’re easily frightened.”

“Wednesday,” he welcomed, trying to recall the day of the week her nutty parents had for some reason chosen to name their eldest brat. “What a surprise. I was in a meeting, but lucky for you, my colleague was just leaving.”

Wednesday shot Bozeman a scathing look. “Must be casual Friday,” she observed.

Bozeman’s pale, bushy eyebrows shot up, and his neck reddened. He shot a look at Chandler, who only smirked. Bozeman got up and left with a half-hearted grumble. He edged around the Addams hell spawn still standing in the doorway like she was contagious. Wednesday’s haunted-doll eyes followed him until he was out of sight, and then came to rest on Chandler.

He suppressed a shudder. Creepy kid.

Chandler motioned to the seat across from his desk. Wednesday instead chose to stand and glower in front of it.

He reclined more comfortably in his chair and plastered on a condescending smile. “So what brings you all the way down here, young lady? I believe your mother has my phone number.”

She folded her hands primly behind her back, face pinched into what Chandler suspected was a chronically sour expression. “Addams prefer face-to-face meetings when we terminate business deals, should the other party demand a duel to settle any disagreements on the matter.”

Chandler’s eyebrows rose. He had spent his entire career refining his ability to field any information he received, good or bad, with the appropriate amount of amicable indifference.

But this particular Addams was starting to get underneath his skin.

He covered up his reaction with a good-natured laugh. “Pardon me, but this is the first I’m hearing of it. I’m sure there’s just been a minor breakdown in communication,” he oozed. “Why don’t I get your mother on the phone?”

Wednesday’s eyes lit up, like it was the first interesting thing he had said in his entire life.

“I appreciate your poorly-disguised attempt at a threat,” she intoned with absolutely no inflection. “My mother is well aware. As are you, I’m sure, of our family’s organizational structure, such that any Addams is a representative of Addams Enterprises and can administrate any and all agreements made in the name of the family business. Consider this the termination of any current and future cooperation between the Addams family and your company.”

Chandler recalled that the overly buttoned-up corporate attorney had mentioned something to that effect. He couldn’t entirely recall what the lawyer had said because he hated his guts and tuned him out as soon as he opened his mouth, but whatever it was, it matched up with what this little goth gremlin was saying.

Of course, Chandler was not going to stoop to debating legalities or bargaining with an infant. He landed on another idea, and smiled at his own cunning. The Addams brat had presented the perfect opportunity to create a cover of sorts for tomorrow’s activities.

“Well, that’s a pity,” he said. “We would have preferred to work with you all towards a solution for such a critical health issue. Fortunately we’ve recently located another supplier, so I suppose all’s well that ends well.”

The look in her eyes made Chandler wonder how she would react to watching a malfunctioning fireworks show, or a particularly gruesome train crash.

“How fortunate,” Wednesday almost purred. “Especially since last time you called, Cleopatra was the only specimen anywhere near the age range required to produce the particular toxin your company is so desperate to acquire.”

“Well, we missed one,” he clipped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, as much as I appreciate you taking the time to visit, I have important tasks to attend to.”

Wednesday nodded to the brain-teaser on his desk. “Like solving children’s puzzles,” she said.

She reached out, and for a smug moment he thought she would pick it up. Instead, she slid the loose piece home. The completed toy sat there, mocking him.

“One more thing,” she added. She wandered over to the massive window that made up the back wall of his office and turned towards him, one eyebrow quirking up. “Is that your Lexus on fire?”

Chandler flew out of his chair and to the window. A cloud of black smoke was billowing into the sky from a conflagration in the parking lot below. Half the office was outside already, watching the flames leap into the air.

The fire was burning too intensely to confidently identify the vehicle, but he didn’t need to. He recognized the parking spot.

“SHIT, MY CAR!” he yelped.

He blew past the Addams kid, almost running into her as he bolted across the office and out the door.

Chandler burst out of the lobby just as the fire trucks arrived. His car was nothing but a fifteen foot wall of flame. As the firefighters rolled out the hoses, all he could think was that somehow, some way, that Addams freak had known. She was responsible for this.

He whipped out his phone and dialed, hands shaking with rage. Bozeman picked up on the first ring. “What the hell are you doing calling me right after I left your –”

“Shut up!” he yelled. Several of the spectators who had gathered at the sight of the fire turned to look at him. He retreated around the corner of the building, a safe distance from the growing spectacle.

“There’s been a change of plans,” he hissed. “That Addams brat is a problem. I’m coming with you tomorrow night, to ensure you don’t fuck this up. Also, I’ll need a lift.”

He startled, almost missing Bozeman’s response, and whipped around. He could have sworn he felt someone tapping on his shoulder just then, but there was no one to be seen.

--

Wednesday longed to enjoy the view of the car being engulfed by flames for a few moments more, but her task was not yet complete. She pulled a pair of black gloves from her pocket, slid them on, and bent to try each of the drawers in Chandler’s desk. All locked.

She pulled out her lock-picking kit and got to work.

It took her less than five minutes. The contents were a mix of personal and professional documents – financial statements, legal agreements, product release updates, and the like. She skipped over the company files and pulled out several bank statements for Chandler’s own local and offshore accounts, his tax forms, and anything with his signature. She took pictures of each, and neatly filed them back where she had found them. Then she pocketed the phone and slipped out of the building, her exit going unnoticed amid the wail of sirens and the rush of activity around the emergency vehicles.

Lurch was waiting with the Addams family hearse in the business park across the street. Wednesday slid into the backseat. She allowed herself to enjoy the sight of the flames roaring skyward from her window while she waited for Thing. After about ten minutes, he jumped through the window and motioned for Lurch to hit it.

Wednesday appraised him as they pulled out of the lot. “Nice work,” she said, handing him Enid’s phone. “Fester assures me you have an associate who would be happy to post these to the darker corners of the web. Ensure they can’t be traced back to this device.”

She glanced out the back window. Dark smoke rose into the fading evening sky, just visible over the tree line. “It’s a pity Chandler will almost surely fail to appreciate the irony of strangers profiting off of his personal misfortune,” she sighed.

Thing scrolled through the photos approvingly and got to work. Once he sent them to his contact over an encrypted messaging service, he reported the contents of Chandler’s brief phone call.

“So you were correct that he was casing the manor after his visit,” Wednesday mused. “His license plate number proved useful. And now we know he likely plans to abscond with Cleopatra tomorrow night.”

Thing signed a question, and Wednesday scoffed. “I don’t intend to tell them. They’re preoccupied with their visit to Cousin It’s, and with planning the family gala. Besides, I’m perfectly capable of handling this myself.”

The little appendage hesitantly tapped out his doubts. Wednesday frowned. “You’ve never questioned my abilities before. What’s gotten into you? Do I need to remind you I’m the one who put Tyler behind bars?” she demanded. “Chandler is a much less impressive monster. His type is far more commonplace. He’s a businessman.”

Thing thought better of whatever he was about to sign and began again. At the familiar symbol for Enid, Wednesday winced. “I’m aware it’s the same night my vision takes place. The timing is...unfortunate. Though I’m less concerned about not being there for Enid wolfing out than finding out exactly who is trying to harm her and how to prevent that from happening,” she said.

Her gaze drifted to the window. The trees beyond skimmed across her reflection. She didn’t need to see the dark circles beneath her eyes to remember that her efforts to avert the events of her vision had thus far been in vain.

Exhaustion accumulated over the past few days ached in her bones, but she was not going to slow down. Not until she was sure Enid was safe. She closed her eyes.

Wednesday did not yearn. She simply permitted herself, on occasion, to relive the feeling of nauseatingly soft, cotton candy-colored hair beneath her cheek, or the dazzling warmth of a sun burning through her darkest moods. It was as impossible to block out such thoughts, as hopeless as attempting to tune out her best friend’s eardrum-grating music, or the brightness of her laughter that had invaded Wednesday’s most private sanctuaries and replaced loneliness with its sound. Every altar Wednesday had erected to solitude Enid had promptly desecrated, ransacking even the sacrosanct quiet of her mind with light and noise and warmth.

Wednesday regarded these symptoms like a doctor would a particularly challenging bout of fever. Able to be overcome, perhaps, by the body’s defenses, but also, potentially, incurable – an intriguing prospect.

There was simply no way to inoculate against the crinkle at the corner of Enid's eyes that appeared, unfailingly, whenever they rested on Wednesday. If Wednesday had ever had the ability to resist, she had long since lost the will. There was no remedy for whatever Enid had done to her, the ghostly ache she had awakened in Wednesday's little black heart that deepened in her absence and swelled in her presence, just as surely as there was no future for her without Enid.

Her grip on the seat tightened. Desperation like a live thing clawed up out of her chest and into her throat. It filled her lungs, forcing out the air. She breathed through her nose against the suffocating dread and forced her eyes to focus on the trees speeding by beyond the window. This was no time for distractions or sentimentality. Enid was in danger.

And she was running out of time.

--

After Wednesday left, Enid considered her options. She could fake her own death, suddenly come down with an illness that would require her to isolate away from everyone, or have a one-on-one lunch with the elegant and intimidating mother of the girl she was falling for.

In the end, she decided on lunch.

To her credit, she found her way to the conservatory by herself, and mostly without incident. She only had to call into a vent and tap on the walls a couple times to ask Octo for directions. And once he had to gently nudge her around a carefully concealed trapdoor. Oh, and there was the suit of armor that was rigged to swing its axe at any passerby’s head, and another that fired arrows from a crossbow. Enid had found Octo’s tentacle wrapped around her waist, and before she realized he had already tugged her out of harm’s way as an axe or an arrow sailed past where her head had been.

After a good deal of charades, Enid gathered from Octo that Mr. Addams liked to be caught off-guard so that he could practice his parrying. Knowing that the house was booby-trapped on purpose did not comfort Enid one bit.

Nonetheless, she made it to the conservatory, only slightly flustered and definitely nervous, at the appointed time.

Mrs. Addams was already gliding among the flowerbeds, as though her feet never touched the ground. She moved from plant to plant, caressing their leaves, watering them, or reaching into the basket hanging from her elbow and grabbing rotting hunks of meat to toss into their waiting maws.

“Enid,” she intoned in her melodic voice, beckoning her closer. “Would you like to help me feed my snapdragons?”

She gestured to a cluster of plants that did indeed look like enormous snapdragons – each flower was at least the size of her fist – whose upper and lower petals parted to reveal throats lined with tiny hairs that Enid realized were hundreds of teeth.

Enid gulped. “Thanks, Mrs. Addams, but I’m not used to plants that eat the same things I do.”

“No need to be so formal, Enid. Please, call me Morticia,” she replied, dropping a chunk of meat into one of the dozens of waiting mouths. Several heads snagged it at once and started tugging the morsel to and fro, until Morticia scolded them gently.

“Perhaps you’re right, dear. They’re a bit unruly today,” she mused. “Thing refuses to go near them. The poor fellow holds quite a grudge, ever since they tried to play with him. We had to reattach a finger.”

She turned back to Enid. As soon as she wasn’t looking, the snapdragons began fighting over the meat once more. Enid was beginning to feel distinctly ill.

“Shall we lunch?” Morticia invited.

Enid sank into the chair Morticia pulled out for her. The tiny table had been set with small finger sandwiches – no actual fingers, since Wednesday had let the Addams know Enid was not a fan – along with crackers, cheeses, and a basket of fruit.

“I would love for us to become better acquainted,” Morticia said with a smile. “Your relationship with my daughter is very special. You are as well.”

Enid’s stomach flipped. ‘Special’ felt loaded, in a something-she-so-did-not-want-to-discuss-with-Wednesday’s-mother sort of way. She had no clue how she was meant to respond.

At least she was making some solid eye contact, if only because Morticia’s gaze was utterly inescapable. Enid was beginning to understand where Wednesday got her quiet magnetism from. Most people only noticed it when she walked into a room, the way she drew all eyes to her without even trying. Only Enid got to experience it in smaller, more intimate moments. How Wednesday could level the full weight of her gaze on Enid to convey more than she could in words, or pull her in with a look that felt like Enid was being lifted off her feet and held. She wondered whether Wednesday was aware of the effect she had sometimes. The memory of her vision rose, for the umpteenth time, to the front of her mind.

Morticia’s lips twitched knowingly. “You smile, when you think of her,” she observed.

Enid’s blood fled her every extremity and flooded into her face. Morticia’s smile deepened. “Ah so it’s true, mon chéri. You are as taken as my daughter.”

Enid opened her mouth, then closed it when nothing came out. Morticia waved off Enid’s apparent mortification. “Don’t worry, I won’t torment you. You are clearly tormenting each other enough. How wonderfully bleak.”

Enid was still desperately floundering for a response. What was she supposed to say to her best friend’s mom accusing them of being in love?

“Uh,” she said articulately. “What?”

Morticia was delicately plucking grapes one by one off a bundle and onto her plate, like she wasn’t giving Enid heart palpitations.

“I assume she has yet to tell you in so many words,” Morticia surmised. “You must understand. She’s deeply sensitive. Not everyone is prepared for that, and she will do anything in her power to hide it. It’s not her intention to be indirect. She is remarkably caring. She is limited only in the ability to express it.”

Enid snuck a look around the greenhouse for the appendage that was suddenly nowhere to be found. “You’re actually the second person to tell me that today,” she murmured.

Desperate for a topic change, she decided to bring up Wednesday’s odd behavior lately. Maybe Morticia knew what was going on with her, or could offer some insight into whatever she was refusing to talk to Enid about. She might even be able to get Morticia’s help.

“Actually,” she began. “I’ve been kind of worried about Wednesday. She’s hasn’t been eating or sleeping. She disappears at bizarre times to wander in the woods for hours on end. I don’t know what’s wrong. I was hoping – I don’t know – that maybe she had told you what’s been bothering her?”

Morticia’s gaze drifted off into the distance. “I couldn’t say for certain. It may be general malaise, the manifestation of a horrible congenital illness, a brief bout of insanity, or perhaps a sudden urge for death.”

Enid paled more with each option.

“I assume it is all of the above,” Morticia concluded. She sighed wistfully. “I remember when I was that age. I reacted the same way after meeting Gomez.”

Enid blinked, sure she had missed something. Morticia smiled at her bewildered expression.

“She’s lovesick,” she explained. “She is possessed. Beside herself. Death would, at this point, be a mercy, though one she can no longer indulge in because it would mean being separated from you, Enid.”

For the entire first part of Morticia’s explanation, Enid had naturally assumed they were no longer talking about her and Wednesday. Hearing her name following that disclosure had the same effect as if she had heard it said on the news, or as a winner of an international singing contest, or during a sentencing hearing. A shock frittered through her muscles, and her fingers clenched the edge of the table hard enough she was worried it might bend.

Morticia would be enjoying the remainder of lunch in pin-drop silence at this rate, because the capacity for speech had totally vacated Enid’s rapidly overheating body. Unfortunately, Morticia wasn’t done.

“Of course, you know by now that, should Wednesday offer and you accept, you would be an Addams. I fervently hope for that outcome,” Morticia added. “Regardless, I want you to know that you are already a part of this family, should you wish it.”

Maybe it was the humidity in the air, or the overpowering smell of earth and old meat, but Enid was beginning to feel faint. This conversation was unbalancing her, and she had to take several deep breaths before she could control her voice again.

“Thank you, Mrs. Addams – Morticia. You all have been so nice. Especially about the full moon and me wolfing out. It means a lot,” Enid managed.

Morticia inclined her head. “Of course, dear. And should you ever want company in future, our family loves an excuse for a collective howl.” She sighed wistfully. “Everybody is so busy these days. We don’t do it as often as we should.”

The thought of howling together as a family sunk deep, into a hollow place she felt whenever she was among her own family. Wolfing out should have fixed it, but it had only papered over the disappointment after years of failing to shift. She wondered if she would ever feel like enough.

“I – I don’t know how I can thank you. Or accept that, honestly. I don’t exactly –” Enid gestured to herself, indicating her colorful sweater and mismatched pink and orange converse. A familiar twinge of shame pinched her chest. “You know, fit the picture.”

Morticia tilted her head, in a way that reminded her of Wednesday when Enid said something that she didn’t understand, or vehemently disagreed with.

“You are a fine young outcast, Enid Sinclair,” Morticia said, her voice so soft it was only just audible. “You are entirely yourself – quite an achievement – and amazingly vibrant. Fierce. Singular. You refuse to compromise who you are. That is the type of spirit we Addams treasure.”

Enid was losing her grip on her emotions. Morticia’s words struck her with a wave of belonging that rocked her as though the ground beneath her chair had cracked. If she had been standing, it would have taken her out at the knees. She could only describe the feeling as being dropped from a great height, and after freefalling for longer than she could even remember, landing at last in the arms of people who understood her. It was the first time she could recall being candidly and wholly known, and wanted for exactly that. It felt like coming home.

It completely shattered her valiant attempt at presenting herself as Wednesday’s super chill and tough werewolf girlfriend. She swiped at her eyes, hoping that if Morticia noticed the wetness there, she would chalk it up to allergies.

Morticia rose slowly, and Enid stood, too. “And should anybody wish to dim that light or ask you to change, well...” she paused, eyes flashing. “You know the family credo. Not just pretty words.”

Enid nodded, not trusting her voice not to shake.

“Good girl,” Morticia said. “Now, I must attend to some of the gala preparations. Please enjoy the rest of your meal. Feel free to feed any leftovers to the plants. Most are carnivorous, and a select few are even venomous. The others are merely poisonous.”

A new level of distrust for the surrounding greenery came over Enid. “Even the roses?” she squeaked.

“No, those are only hazardous to Gomez. He’s allergic.” An enigmatic little smile stole across Morticia’s lips. “One of the things my daughter and I share is how we demonstrate our devotion to those we care for. For Gomez, I behead my roses. Wednesday, well – consider asking her about the allergy pills she keeps in her desk. Anaphylaxis can be quite romantic, with the right person.”

With that, she drifted out of the conservatory with barely a whisper of black fabric, sparing one last small smile for Enid.

Enid sat back down, trying to process everything that had just happened. The swell of feelings that Morticia had left in her wake was going to take a while to sort through, Enid knew that much. But there was a strange comfort in knowing that however odd the Addams were, they were family now, and no matter how incongruous Enid felt, her strangeness was exactly what made her belong here.

She had so many snoods to make.

Chapter Text

Wednesday returned late that evening smelling faintly of smoke, wearing an expression dark as murder.

She returned Enid’s phone with a muttered, “I despise technology,” and immediately prepared to venture back out, lacing up the pair of mud-caked boots that had been Enid’s enemy the past couple days.

“I’ll return shortly,” Wednesday said. “Avail yourself of my room, if the ghoul is still disturbing you.”

Enid had prepared for this. She pulled on a pair of Docs and her bright pink jacket, crossed her arms, and planted herself in front of Wednesday.

“I’m coming with you,” she asserted.

Wednesday snapped upright like a string in her spine had pulled taut. “No, you are not,” she retorted.

“You can’t stop me,” Enid insisted, jutting out her chin. “If you try to leave without me, I’ll just go out by myself. I’ll probably get lost, and then you or Thing or Lurch will have to come and find me anyway.”

Wednesday stared at her like she had sprouted a second head. Right on cue, Octo slithered an arm out of the crawlspace beneath the stairs, a picnic basket dangling from the tip of his tentacle. Enid accepted it.

“Thanks, Octo. I owe you!” she said brightly. The tentacle retracted quickly, likely before Wednesday could truncate it. Enid turned back to her roommate. “Octo said you like picnics. So! That’s what we’re going to do,” she announced.

Wednesday stared from the basket to Enid and then to where Octo had disappeared with plain fury and an adorable touch of disbelief. “You two are plotting against me,” she muttered, eyes widening with realization. “I have been betrayed.”

Enid shrugged. “You could think of it that way,” she replied. “Oooor you could admire how I totally figured out your plan for me to distract your mom all afternoon, and so I made my own plan to make sure that if you went running out again you would at least have something to eat, since you’ve skipped almost every meal for the past few days.”

Wednesday glared. “I don’t have time for this,” she grumbled. She wrenched open the door and stomped out onto the porch.

Enid followed, counting items off on her fingers. “I packed a lantern, a blanket, and a little thermos of hot chocolate. Even if it’s pitch black, we’ll still be able to enjoy roomie bonding time!”

Wednesday didn’t answer. She stomped down the porch steps like each had personally offended her.

“Whatever single-minded obsession you’re stubbornly forsaking all normal human functions for is not as important as remembering to eat and rest,” Enid called after her.

“It is,” Wednesday gritted, not slowing her pace. “Nothing is more important right now.”

Enid finally stopped, not sure why Wednesday's words had stung. “Not even me?” she asked quietly.

Wednesday recoiled like she had been shocked, shoulders bunching up around her ears. She stood frozen on the bottom step. It took several seconds for her shoulders to lower, and then a few more for her to turn around.

Her eyes were impossibly dark in the gathering twilight. Enid could feel the intensity of her stare nonetheless. She probably would know it even if she were blindfolded in the bottom of a well; Wednesday’s piercing glares registered in every sense. In anyone else they inspired fear, but not in Enid. Especially when she looked at her like this – like Enid was the only person on earth she ever wanted to behold.

“You are the most important thing, Enid,” Wednesday vowed. “I need you to know that.”

Enid’s traitorous heart twinged at the quiet, genuine feeling in Wednesday’s voice. She pushed it aside. She needed Wednesday to understand.

“It doesn’t always feel like that,” Enid admitted. “I’ve barely seen you lately. I keep thinking of – of what you said in your family’s portrait room. But you still won’t share whatever's bothering you, and you leave me alone all the time with no explanation, and –”

Enid flushed and trailed off. She was torn between the embarrassment of having to beg her best friend to spend time with her, and the realization of just how much she was asking of her. She wanted the Wednesday from her vision, without even knowing if or when she existed. Which wasn’t fair to the girl standing in front of her, looking slightly forlorn, a slump in her usually impeccable posture that betrayed her exhaustion. Something was eating at her, and Enid was worrying about her own feelings.

She was about to apologize, when Wednesday surprised them both. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I’ve neglected you. There is no excuse for it. I can’t ask you to believe you are important to me without offering proof.”

Her eyes met Enid’s. They caught the embers of the dying evening light in their depths, like stars at the bottom of a lake. “If you’ll still accompany me, I would like to show you something,” she said.

She turned abruptly and set off again.

Enid darted back inside to grab a couple flashlights she had left by the door and trotted to catch up.

Enid assumed they were headed into the forest. Instead, Wednesday kept to the outskirts of the trees. She seemed to be actively avoiding the reach of their branches. Every minute or so her gaze would dart between the darkness beneath the shadowy boughs and Enid with plain misgivings.

“Wednesday, you look like you’re about to crawl out of your skin,” Enid joked.

“I will be doing no such thing,” Wednesday retorted, scowling deeper. “It’s much harder than it looks.”

They continued on in silence. The only noises were their legs swishing through the damp, overgrown grass and the shrill of nocturnal insects beginning to emerge. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and stars were just blinking to life above the fading evening glow. Enid was startled by a rush of what sounded like wind fluttering through paper, and a shadow crossed overhead. Hundreds of bats were erupting from some subterranean level of the manor, taking wing into the night.

Wednesday eventually turned and led them into the murky gloom beneath the trees. The soggy damp of decaying leaves and moist soil filled the air. Enid switched on the flashlights, handing one to her roommate. The beams strained to slice through the pitch black. The darkness of the woods was deeper than the night sky, swallowed by the thick canopy.

It was quieter, and somehow closer, beneath the trees. The darkness pressed in and engulfed everything beyond the light of their flashlights. There was no clear path, but Wednesday walked like someone who knew their way blindfolded. She skirted every tree root and avoided each low-hanging branch like she had them memorized. Neither the scurry of nocturnal creatures nor creak of branches in the breeze seemed to faze her.

Enid shivered at the sound of invisible claws scrabbling against bark, but Wednesday’s presence was reassuring. She trudged through the maze of trunks like she was attuned to the magnetic poles of the earth. They walked for at least ten minutes, until Wednesday stopped without warning and switched off her flashlight. She waited until Enid did the same.

Chills skittered down Enid’s spine. Werewolf or not, being plunged into total blackness was unsettling. Except somehow, it wasn’t completely dark. In a break between the trees ahead, there was a faint, greenish glow. Wednesday set off towards it.

Enid stuck close by her side, determined not to be left alone. As they approached, the light grew brighter, enough to tinge the trunks around them a hazy green hue.

Enid didn’t have to wonder where they were headed for long. After walking another dozen or so yards, they emerged on an otherworldly scene. The trees parted to reveal a flat expanse, covered in dense, fuzzy moss and spiky tufts of underbrush. The ethereal light emanated from filmy green water, visible in gaps between what Enid realized were floating, grassy mats. She was transfixed. The glow mingled with the fog at the surface of the stagnant pool. It rose in tendrils like will-o-the-wisps and drifted up to vanish into the night sky, finally visible high above them.

Something snagged Enid’s waist and yanked her back. She stumbled into small, surprisingly strong arms.

She looked down into dark, critical eyes. Enid froze, caught between the suddenness of the movement and the fact she was pressed fully against Wednesday’s side, her best friend’s arm wrapped firmly around her waist. At her blank look, Wednesday took half a step forward and lowered her foot onto the moss inches from where Enid had been standing, pressing down lightly. The ground bobbed beneath her toe.

“It’s a bog,” Wednesday said, as a warning or an explanation. “Normally ideal for a midnight swim, but the bog creature is shy. Not to mention flesh-eating. We think it’s a scavenger, but there must be some reason why it produces the bioluminescent slime that illuminates the water – perhaps to lure unsuspecting prey into the depths.”

“Oh,” Enid said breathlessly. Aside from the fact that was an absolute rollercoaster of a sentence to process, she was finding it hard to formulate thoughts with Wednesday’s face so close to her own.

Her roommate's usually sharp, angular features were softened by the gentle glow from the water. Beneath her dark eyelashes, she could just make out the faint freckles scattered across her nose. Enid never fully forgot that Wednesday was beautiful; it was just a fact more conveniently shoved away someplace out of mind, especially when she was looking straight at her.

Enid tried to direct her attention anywhere else, and made the mistake of glancing down at Wednesday’s lips.

Something came loose inside her. A want she had carefully pushed to the periphery of her mind burst forth like an animal from a cage, all teeth and slashing claws. It had gnawed at her insides whenever the vision of her and Wednesday dancing rose in her mind. It had come obediently when her roommate unknowingly called to it, had howled to the tune of Enid’s own yearning as she slept beside her. Rather than being satisfied, every small hope and brief touch had made it more desperate. It emerged now with the bare determination of a starving predator, absorbed by the end of the hunt finally in sight.

Her world narrowed to that sharp hunger, Wednesday’s wary eyes, and the breathless centimeters between them.

--

Wednesday decided that her brief lapse in sanity was understandable, but nonetheless completely unforgivable. This was a fool’s errand, a waste of precious time, a pointless distraction, and, worst of all, Enid was loving it.

Every mental flagellation she subjected herself to – the urgency of time running out, the reminder that Enid must not set foot in the woods, the knowledge that her roommate’s killer may be lurking within the trees at this very moment – echoed in her brain with each passing second. She could not come up with a satisfactory justification for picnicking in a bog on the eve of her best friend’s demise other than that she could not bear the thought of Enid dying without knowing how much she meant to Wednesday.

That was simply unacceptable.

So, against her better instincts, she led Enid through the forest where she was soon to die, attuned to each of her roommate’s hesitant breaths like she was the only living thing for miles. Her nerves were jumping, fried by paranoia and days without sleep. She eyed the trees with red-rimmed eyes like each one was rigged to detonate in response to their footfalls, until they eventually arrived at her favorite place, which she barely acknowledged in favor of keeping every last shred of her attention razor-focused on their surroundings, and on the person who had become so precious to her.

Which was when Wednesday almost – nearly – breached the insurmountable wall of her own self-restraint. Enid teetered at the edge of the bog, and Wednesday reflexively reached out to pull her out of danger and into her embrace.

Wednesday found herself staring into clear blue eyes, and her keen mind failed her.

The causes were myriad. Sleep deprivation, possibly. The stress of the past few days and Enid’s impending death tomorrow, certainly. But it was also something lurking in Enid’s eyes, the part that she rarely let out, that Wednesday could not resist. 

The truth was, everyone else had missed the wolf prowling beneath Enid’s sunshiny demeanor until she transformed for the first time. Wednesday admired unfettered ferocity. She had an eye for it. She was who people pinned as most likely to press a knife against someone’s jugular. Only she understood that Enid would rip someone’s throat clean out. Had anyone else witnessed Enid’s fight with Tyler, they would be convinced of that as well. Just because Enid only unleashed that part of herself when protecting the people she loved did not make her any less fearsome, as a wolf or a human. That fact had never been lost on Wednesday; it had drawn her to Enid from the moment they met.

The greenish light of the bog shone on Enid’s cheeks and inflamed her hair. Even in the wan light, she was phosphorescent, like a radioactive sun in the dim woods. The sight was breathtaking. She was every bit as ethereal and dangerous as the bog surrounding them. But it was her eyes, an intoxicating mix of lupine hunger and human softness, that made Wednesday freeze – a critical miscalculation.

Enid leaned down, nose brushing hers. There was no hesitancy in her movements. She simply handled Wednesday like a mercurial or flighty animal, that may at any moment decide to end the entire affair however she saw fit. Enid did not seem overly concerned whether Wednesday chose flight or fight, despite the fact they both knew Wednesday fought to the death.

Her fingers found Wednesday’s cheek, palm cradling her jaw. If she felt fear, it was undetectable beneath the intensity of her gaze, searing into Wednesday. Wednesday could either resist or yield, but she found that she could not pull away. When she needed it most, her will had abandoned her. Some perverse part of her wanted to give in to what she saw in Enid’s expression. A curiosity that had been growing every day urged her to drop her defenses and let the full force of fierce want she sensed in her best friend consume her.

But the vision of Enid dying on the forest floor interrupted her wishful thoughts. Suddenly the memory of Enid’s blood beneath her fingernails felt more real than the warmth of her palm against Wednesday’s cheek. If she could not save her, she did not deserve this. She did not deserve her.

She closed her eyes, fighting through the confusing mix of sudden dread, promised pain, her own bitter disappointment, and above it all, the lingering ache of want, and said, “Stop.”

Enid stopped.

Wednesday couldn’t explain, couldn’t even try to articulate that there was something she needed to do first, that something was horribly wrong. The words died in her throat. There was no name for this kind of fear: she loved her, and it might not be enough. Even if she did manage to avert her death, she could not bring herself to believe she could be all that Enid wanted.

Wednesday opened her eyes to Enid’s sad, understanding gaze. She began to pull away, and Wednesday realized she would wait for her. She was not sparing Enid any pain, only prolonging it.

And selfishly, Wednesday wanted to see the wolf behind her eyes one more time.

Wednesday leaned in and brushed her cold lips over Enid’s cheek, at the corner of her mouth. Then she stepped back, letting her fingertips linger where her lips had been. Satisfaction flared in her chest at the look in Enid’s eyes.

“Not yet. Almost, I promise you,” she intoned. “You are the only person for me, even as I am.”

“Wednesday, I like the way you –” Enid began, but whatever she had planned to say was interrupted by the sharp snap of twig in the distance.

Wednesday did not hesitate. Her body flooded with strength and cold, severe focus. She grabbed Enid’s arm, ignoring the widening of her eyes and her lips parting in protest, and yanked her out of the trees at a speed that carried them to the front of the manor in half the time it took them to reach the bog.

Enid bent over her knees, panting. “Wednesday,” she griped. “What on earth was that about?”

Wednesday had no intention of wasting a single second explaining her reasons. She spun around, determined to catch Enid’s killer before they had a chance to strike. She took exactly five steps before everything went wrong.

First, her knees went funny. Then the ground tilted and rushed towards her, and she idly recalled that she had not eaten or slept for several days. A minor oversight on her part that was proving to be infuriatingly inconvenient.

Something grabbed her around the waist before her face could crater into dirt. The corners of her vision darkened, and she passed out.

--

Bozeman cursed under his breath. If his night-vision binoculars weren’t lying to him, there were two girls by a creepy, slimy pond, and one had almost spotted him after he shifted his weight wrong. Luckily both took off right after, leaving him to gather up his tools in peace.

“Freaky-ass teenagers,” he grumbled. “Making out in a goddamn swamp.”

He tossed a pair of pliers, a shovel, and a coil of steel cable into his bag and straightened, surveying the scene. No sign of anything amiss.

The low vegetation would hide the jaws of the bear traps well enough. But he had read on the internet that werewolves possessed near-human intelligence, which meant the bear traps might be too conspicuous. Hence, the second trap. It required a lot more effort to rig, but Bozeman was pleased with the result. Invisible, undetectable, and effective.

He kicked leaves, dirt, and some loose bracken over his handiwork, then took a deep breath and began the long trek back to his car, casting one last glance over his shoulder to assure himself he was not followed.

--

Wednesday came to gradually, aware of a weight resting squarely on her chest. She inhaled, trying to clear the wooziness from her mind and expand her lungs against the offending object. The tickle of bubblegum-scented shampoo beneath her nose revealed the culprit.

“Enid,” she gritted. “What. Are you. Doing.”

She forced her eyes open. She recognized the rafters above her bed, the walls of her childhood bedroom. She looked down to find Enid lying on her chest.

Enid flushed and retreated out of biting/headbutting range. Wednesday tried to rise and found her shoulder pinned beneath her roommate’s hand. They both glanced at the offending appendage, and Enid winced.

“Look, I didn’t know when you were going to wake up, and I couldn’t risk you sneaking off again,” she explained. “You didn’t give me much of a choice, okay?”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “How did I get here? How long was I out?” she demanded.

“I carried you. Um, about an hour?” she guessed.

“That means the trail has gone cold,” Wednesday snapped. She shrugged off Enid’s hand and sat up. Immediately, her head swooped, and everything momentarily went dark.

She blinked, and found Enid’s arm around her again, holding her up. Their eyes met, and the same strange energy from the bog crackled between them.

“Free me,” Wednesday demanded.

“What, so you can go keel over under a tree? Not on your life.” Enid’s gaze hardened. “If you want to try running off again without first eating something and getting a solid eight hours of sleep, be my guest. But you’re going to have to get through me, and I promise you –” She extended her claws with an ominous shink “– I will win that fight.”

Wednesday’s instincts were to defy the threat, but given the state she was in, she concluded that Enid was unfortunately correct. And it was likely whoever had been lurking in the woods was long gone, anyway.

Enid was still frowning, looking less like her usual easygoing self and more like a creature Wednesday did not want to tick off. Something clicked into place in Wednesday’s mind.

“You’re upset,” she realized.

Enid rolled her eyes. “Whatever made you almost – almost kiss me in a bog is apparently not enough to convince you to stop gunning for an early grave. So yes, Wednesday, I’m a little upset,” she snapped. “You fainted! You scared me. I thought you were having another vision, or – I don’t know – had died or something!”

Wednesday hoped her face would convey how little sense that made. How could Enid be mad at her? Especially because she was perfectly fine now.

Enid crossed her arms and fixed her with a glare that made the back of her neck heat up. “You can’t proclaim your feelings to someone and then try to die, Wednesday. I can imagine which option is more appealing to you, but as someone who cares about you, I think I should get a say.”

Pure surprise stilled Wednesday’s thoughts. “Enid, I’m flattered, genuinely,” she replied. “But typically, in our family, a proposal precedes the decision of how someone dies. I haven’t even told you my preferences.”

Disbelief replaced the anger in Enid’s face. She scrubbed her hands over her eyes and groaned.

“Eat the food in the basket, or your options won’t be how, they will be ‘now’ or ‘later,’” Enid growled. She reached down beside the bed to grab the picnic basket waiting there and shoved it at Wednesday.

“Pre-full moon crankiness I see,” Wednesday muttered, though her stomach growled at the smell of food. She opened the basket, and her heart ballooned. She stared at the contents. “It’s my favorite.”

“Yes, roadkill something or other. Honestly, I didn’t ask questions. Octo told me what to get, and I did. So...” Enid made a face. “Enjoy?”

“You scraped a dead animal off the pavement for me?” Wednesday asked. She tore off tiny bite-sized pieces and realized she was, in fact, starving. “Your time volunteering at Uriah’s Heap must have done something to you.”

“It was gross. So gross. I had to use oven mitts and tongs and even then, it was still – eugh,” she shivered. “You know what, never mind. I’m good if we never mention it again. Oh but, for the record, I don’t think Lurch should have a license. I had like, three different animals to choose from.”

Wednesday quirked an eyebrow. “He doesn’t,” she clarified. “He couldn’t get one if he wanted to. He’s legally blind. And more problematically, legally dead.”

Enid sighed. “I probably should be concerned since he literally drove us here, but – honestly? That explains a lot.”

She seemed marginally less enraged at the sight of Wednesday finally eating, so she kept taking little bites. Enid shrugged. “Anyway, you haven’t even asked what your mom and I talked about this afternoon.”

“I’m sure it was torturous. I can’t apologize, because your distraction served me well, but I will be sure to grovel lavishly later on, or consent to some unconscionable horror – perhaps allowing you to paint my nails a very very dark shade of blue – to make it up to you,” she muttered.

“Actually, it was nice,” Enid objected. “We talked about how you’re completely and hopelessly in love with me.”

Wednesday choked on a piece of meat so badly that Enid had to rush out and find Thing to help thump her on the back until she coughed it back up.

Enid waited until Wednesday had caught her breath to ask, “So, is now a bad time to ask about the allergy meds you keep in your desk?”

Wednesday felt the little color she had drain out of her face. She spared a quick glance at the drawer in question to reassure herself it remained undisturbed. She felt Enid was watching her and turned to find her grinning.

“You are henceforth forbidden from speaking with my mother,” Wednesday growled.

Enid flipped her short hair. “Good luck with that. We’re besties now.”

Indignation and resignation warred for dominance in Wednesday’s chest. She would have less trouble being angry had some part of her not suspected that her roommate would likely charm anyone she came into contact with, provided they had any sense of taste.

“Is there a single member of my family whose loyalty you have not yet corrupted with your insufferably sunny demeanor and ceaseless warmth?” she complained.

Thing, still perched on the end of the bed and clearly relishing the sight of someone torturing Wednesday for once, signed a cheeky ‘no.’ She glared.

“Well, speaking of, I had breakfast with your brother –” Enid began slowly.

“ Of course you did,” Wednesday muttered.

“– and he’s convinced you have some elaborate excuse lined up to avoid being around when I wolf out tomorrow,” she said, not quite looking at Wednesday.

The bite in Wednesday's mouth turned to sand. It sank to the bottom of her stomach like ballast. Enid was watching her from beneath her eyelashes, colorful nails restlessly picking at a loose thread in Wednesday’s duvet. Whatever she saw in Wednesday’s face seemed to confirm her worst suspicions.

“Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow,” Wednesday proposed. It sounded weak even to her.

Enid bit her lip and shook her head hard. “Clearly, there’s nothing to discuss,” she muttered. Wednesday’s stomach twisted. She saw tears gathering in Enid’s eyes. This was worse than her anger, which she loved dearly; this was disappointment. It stung like her storming out of their dorm room a semester ago, like an empty room. It filled her with fear.

Enid was already on her feet and heading for the door. Wednesday’s brain was not keeping up. It existed to query, to reason, to gather clues and evidence and assemble them into a clear picture that lead to the solution. Faced with emotion challenges, it became just another unlovely hunk of meat.

Wednesday grasped for something to fix, something she could do to rectify the situation. She reached out, and her hand landed on her boots. Enid must have unlaced them and placed them beside the bed when she had carried her upstairs. The logic was sound – she was running out of time, and if she could prevent Enid’s premature death, then it would remove the only obstacle to Wednesday being present for her wolfing out.

All Enid saw, of course, was Wednesday diving for her boots.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Enid snarled. She spun and stalked back towards the bed, her claws extended without conscious effort. Thing scurried under the desk.

Wednesday looked up, dazzled into speechlessness by the beauty of an enraged werewolf bearing down on her with murder in her eyes, still shiny with tears. She was mildly disappointed when all Enid did was haul her up by her lapels and toss her onto the bed with a gentleness that failed to even snap her teeth down on her tongue.

“You are not going anywhere until you rest,” she growled. “You passed out from exhaustion less than an hour ago! And even though you’re being a really shitty friend right now, and I’m hurt, and I’m angry at you, I’m not going to let you just wander out into the dark in the dead of night to faint or die or god-knows-what!”

“Why?” Wednesday asked, surprised. She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to read Enid’s face. “That seems both fair and appropriate in this situation.”

Evidently, she had once again missed the mark for empathy. Enid looked like she was one word away from strangling the life out of her.

“Because I love you more than I could ever be upset at you – even when you’re being a stubborn, unreasonable, terrible friend!” she cried.

Wednesday forced herself not to linger too long on the beginning of that sentence. “How do you intend to keep me from leaving? Keeping me prisoner?” she asked. The concept was not without appeal.

Enid slumped back on the bed. “Oh my God, no, Wednesday. I’m going to stay here and make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Especially anything that would deprive me of the pleasure of killing you myself.”

“It took you far too long to guess at least one of my death preferences,” Wednesday said softly. Enid glared, and Wednesday gathered now was not the time.

Chapter Text

Wednesday discovered a third bear trap nestled beneath the shade of some ferns. She released the spring, and its metal jaws snapped shut with a bone-shattering clang.

She pulled out a dog whistle from her pocket and blew into it, waiting until Lurch’s hulking form came crashing through the brush. Two bear traps were already slung over his shoulder. He frowned disapprovingly at the third before bending to rip it out of the ground, stake and all, with one mighty yank.

Fingertip-light steps came from the opposite direction, and moments later Thing popped out from underneath a bush.

“You checked the north side of the bog and down past the cemetery?” she asked him without prelude.

Thing saluted with his thumb.

“Lurch, have you finished sweeping the area by the mine? And the perimeter of the property?” Wednesday demanded.

Lurch nodded in his slow way. Thing signed a question, instinctively picking up on Wednesday’s mood.

“No, I’m not satisfied,” she clipped. “I’m almost certain the vision has changed, but not averted. The sense of malcontent that’s plagued me since I witnessed it hasn’t lessened. Enid is still likely to die tonight, but now I’m not sure how.”

Thing helpfully suggested hugging Enid again, which earned him a glare that could have stripped paint.

“Enid and I are – not on the best terms at the moment. She’s upset with me,” Wednesday muttered vaguely.

Which Wednesday thought was somewhat unfair, since she had given in to each of Enid’s demands. Not that she had much of a choice. She had been coerced into sleeping the night before simply because Enid had settled her impossibly heavy, blonde head on Wednesday’s chest and growled each time she tried to move. The cloying scent of bubblegum shampoo and the overwhelming physical contact had made it impossible to think up a coherent plan, and out of sheer desperation, Wednesday had succumbed to sleep.

She awoke first, but remained still until Enid began to stir. She kept her eyes closed as the weight of Enid’s head finally left her chest. There was inexplicable space within the seconds after she sat up and before she moved again, such that Wednesday had the distinct sensation that Enid was gazing down at her.

She kept her features still as Enid’s weight shifted, and the mattress bowed towards her. She assumed Enid was leaning down to check for life – sentimental, if pointless. Wednesday had learned how to slow her heart and halt her breathing for up to ten minutes at the age of six. Soft hair swept across Wednesday’s nose and cheeks, and had Wednesday been breathing, she would have stopped. After a moment, the mattress creaked once more, and Enid was gone.

Wednesday did not see Enid when she went downstairs for breakfast. She paused to grab a single waffle, almost to appease her unseen blonde voice of reason, and then immediately grabbed her pack, her boots, and recruited Lurch and Thing to help her conduct a thorough sweep of the woods.

Thing interrupted her thoughts to relay his conversation with the bog creature, who had reported some unusual activity the night before.

“What time was this?” Wednesday demanded. “What did it see?”

Thing tilted onto his pinky and ring finger, like he did whenever he had especially juicy gossip, and signed with just his first three digits. Wednesday’s cheeks heated up.

“I’m sure that it was mistaken,” she gritted through her teeth.

Thing shrugged, suggesting he thought otherwise. She shouldered her bag and turned away to conceal the heat rushing to her face.

“Let’s go. There’s more ground to cover,” she said. Under her breath, she added, “I’m going to kill that useless bottom feeder.”

--

Enid was already dealing with the full-moon jitters. Being upset with Wednesday was not helping the savage animal threatening to burst out of her chest and tear everything to pieces at the smallest inconvenience. When she almost shredded the shirt she was changing into after getting her arm caught in the sleeve, she decided to go for a walk.

The Addams property was perfect for long, aimless rambles. It was enormous and naturally varied, in its own gray, dreary way. Enid avoided the moor, recalling Wednesday’s advice on the car ride over  – “The voices calling to you are not real. Do not follow them” – and a passing comment made by Pugsley – “You should totally check out the moor! The banshees love new people, especially their flesh.”

That left the forest, which she decided to explore later that night, and the Addams family cemetery.

The cemetery was magnificent, if you liked macabre sculpture art and austere landscaping. It consisted of several acres of dead grass and creeping ivy studded with monuments and mausoleums in all shades of marble. Occasionally there were simple granite gravestones, but those were few and far between. Most plots featured elaborate sculptures depicting their inhabitants, or more commonly, how they had died. The mausoleums were engraved with images of suffering, or the events of the entombed’s life – sometimes both. Each section was tended with the utmost care. Gravel-lined paths wound among the dark ivy and brambles, which were clipped into neat, oddly-shaped hedges. It gave Enid plenty to look at, and space to think.

The weather seemed to sense her thoughts. The clouds hung low, rumbling in discontent and occasionally spitting rain. The darkening sky on the horizon promised thunder. She wandered between a pair of gargoyles perched on either side of a monument designed to look like a gallows and wondered if there was anything she could say to Wednesday to get her to understand, or if she would forgive her even if she did.

It wasn’t just about Wednesday missing her wolfing out. She was supposed to be her best friend. And Enid wanted her to be...more than that. So Enid kept putting herself out there, created opportunities for them to bond, all while Wednesday showed little to no interest. Up until yesterday, when for a moment she couldn’t quite believe hadn’t been a dream, Wednesday had leaned in, and Enid thought she was about to kiss her.

It was fine that she needed time. What Enid couldn’t understand, the part that hurt, was that she had given Enid reason to hope, and then ripped it away so abruptly she had left a wound in the shape of its absence.

Maybe it was Enid’s fault. She had let her vision get the better of her. She had actually begun to believe that Wednesday felt the same way as she did. Even if she were to take Wednesday at her word and accept that she was in some way her person, whatever feelings Wednesday harbored towards her were clearly nothing like what Enid felt for her.

The clouds released another sheet of rain, and Enid was grateful that it would hide how upset she was. What was the matter with her?

An insistent thought pushed to the front of her mind, and she realized her fears had already come true. Her feelings had changed, subtly, then all at once. She paused, and for a second she eyed the nearest statue – a man sans head – with gloomy envy.

She was in love.

It was an inconvenient truth that she had stowed away ever since she had nearly fought Tyler to the death – which should have been her first clue. At this point, she could no longer ignore it; it was bleeding into every interaction, into her every waking moment. Denying it was like trying to repress her transformations, like wallpapering over cracks in a dam. She could admit that it was taking over, or she could get dragged along for the ride. Either way, it was too late.

She had fallen for her emotionally repressed, fiercely protective, deeply secretive, and chronically sullen roommate. Worse, if the past few days were any indication, Wednesday had no clue, much less the ability to reciprocate.

Enid’s heart ached. It hurt, feeling how full it could be, suspecting the emotion would never be acknowledged or returned. Enid instinctively tried to push the pain aside, and found that she no longer could.

She considered coming clean about her feelings, and just as quickly decided against it. Wednesday would probably rather remove her own heart to safeguard against the possibility of reciprocation – as unlikely as that may be. Enid’s best hope was if Grandmama had a cure for this.

“En garde!”

Enid whipped around. Instinct took over, and her claws shot out. Nails collided with metal as she swung blindly at where the voice had come from. The saber soared through the air and landed several yards away.

“Magnifique!” Gomez cried. “What a hit! Had that been my neck I would be finished! Brava!”

He stood before the decapitated statue jauntily, like he hadn’t just tried to impale his houseguest. Impervious to the rain, he wore a tweed vest with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair immaculately laid despite the weather. The pleased surprise in his face was instantly tempered with concern when he saw Enid’s expression.

“What an odd sight!” he exclaimed. “Why is the sunshine to my little storm cloud so glum?”

Enid gathered her coat around her against a lash of rain, wishing she could shrink into it and out of sight. “Sorry, Mr. Addams,” she said. She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, since she was pretty sure it was generally accepted as rude to sneak up on someone and attack them. “I’m not really in the mood.”

“Nonsense, my dear!” he replied. “It is precisely when you feel down that a bit of a swordplay helps the most.” He retrieved the saber and offered it to her. “Now, do you want to discuss it, or simply thrash me? Your choice, petit loup.”

“If you think I have any chance of beating you, Wednesday has hopelessly oversold my fencing abilities,” Enid groaned.

She accepted the saber and slid her feet into position, falling naturally into her fencing form. It seemed she had no choice but to resign herself to Mr. Addams’ idea of therapy.

Gomez immediately inundated her with a flurry of strikes, which she did her best to parry. He did not advance at least, which she appreciated.

“Ha! I didn’t imply you would best me. I invited you to thrash me. A gentleman is open to all forms of maiming and grievous injury, especially if he is the one to declare the fight,” he clarified, the tip of his saber flicking through the air almost more quickly than Enid could track.

Enid turned her brain off and leaned into her strikes, sending Gomez backpedaling with a maniacal grin on his face. It seemed like she had the upper hand. Then with a graceful riposte, he lunged and knocked her blade to the side. She conceded the point and paused as he recovered.

“Thanks, Mr. Addams, but I’m not sure this is really cheering me up,” Enid admitted.

Confusion flicked over his features. “No, of course not,” he replied. “At best, I think it helps. With what, I’m not certain. I am only sure that it does.”

He gave her a wide, gap-toothed grin as the rain streaked down his face, and Enid found herself smiling back. His warmth reminded her of her own father. He only ever wanted the best for her. Even without always knowing what that might be, he would try his best.

“I have a love for grand gestures,” Gomez said suddenly. He pulled out a cigar case, despite the fact it was pouring rain, withdrew a cigar, clipped the end, then set it between his teeth. He offered one to Enid, who tried not to wrinkle her nose as she declined. “It is a mixture of confidence, a flair for the dramatic, and an estimation of what those around me deserve. Nothing less would suffice, you see. It’s in the Addams blood. For some, it makes us effusive. Eccentric. For others, it makes them woefully understated when it comes to expressing even their most passionate devotions, except in rare displays of extreme fealty. Dispensing frivolity in favor of death pacts, that sort of thing.”

He lit the cigar and drew his saber once more. “Which is to say, we are all quite passionate, though some express it more readily than others.” He whipped his blade skyward and then pointed it straight at Enid. “To that end – en garde! And look alive, my fanged friend. Your belladonna beau approaches.”

She barely caught the end of his sentence. Before she could adjust her footing, he was advancing with a vengeance, sword flashing. He lunged like a man possessed. Enid parried as quickly as she could, although her movements were more suited for wielding a flyswatter.

Gomez did not slow down. Enid backpedaled desperately across the grass, praying she wouldn’t trip backwards over a headstone and topple into an open grave.

Instead, she hit something solid. One hand fastened itself around her waist. The other ran down the length of her sword arm to the grip and slid the saber from her fingers. Wednesday did not bother to let go of Enid as she effortlessly fielded her father’s attacks. She parried once, then darted forward too fast for Enid to track. She feinted, twitched Gomez’s blade out of the way like an irritating gnat, and rested the point of her saber on his chest.

“Touché,” she said coldly.

Enid turned to find the same dark eyes she had been trying to forget about all morning resting on her. Rain poured down Wednesday’s cheeks and dripped from her hair. She was drenched to the skin, like she had been outside for hours. She should have look bedraggled. Instead, the raindrops clung to her eyelashes and shone on her pale cheeks, dark hair clinging to her forehead and her neck. She was striking, a marble statue left out in the elements. It made Enid’s heart stutter painfully.

Her arm was still around Enid’s waist. She had not moved to disentangle herself, or even to step away. If Enid was not sure it was impossible, she would have thought that Wednesday didn’t want to let her go.

“Well fought, mi tormenta,” Gomez said proudly.

Enid’s heart tightened, a twinge in her chest. She was abruptly reminded of the pain she couldn’t shut out, and her roommate’s role in tending that fire and then running from it like an arsonist. Wednesday’s dashing, handsome swordswoman routine was not getting her out of this one.

Enid pulled free from her grip, then stepped away. She assured herself that she imagined the surprise and faint hurt in her roommate’s expression. Gomez caught Enid’s intention and handed over his saber with a slight bow.

Enid hefted the cool grip in her hand, appreciating the weapon’s weight. It helped ground her. She spun on her heel, not entirely sure this was the best idea, and fell into her stance.

Wednesday never took her eyes off her. Her expression revealed nothing. If nothing else, at least Enid had finally gotten her attention.

Gomez took a seat on the decapitated statue’s neck, crossed his legs, and clapped his hands together. They both looked up.

“What say you, my dears? To touch? Or first blood?” he asked, puffing cheerfully at his cigar.

Wednesday’s wary gaze flicked to Enid.

“Blood,” Enid said, and the animal in her chest howled with satisfaction. “Obviously.”

Something rippled across Wednesday’s face too quickly to catch. Interest? Apprehension, maybe? Enid couldn’t be sure.

Wednesday sunk into a low stance and readied her saber.

Enid hated the way it made her breath speed up. Yet another thing about her best friend that, half the time, irritated her to no end – since it was the source of at least two-thirds of Enid’s problems – but that she also couldn’t resist: Wednesday never backed down from a fight.

Gomez jammed his cigar between his teeth, eyes alight, and signaled en garde, then ready. On the final signal, Wednesday and Enid exploded into motion at the same time.

Wednesday feinted, and Enid nearly crashed into her with the force of her lunge. Wednesday was forced to parry, dropping onto one knee on the sodden grass to evade Enid’s next strike and duck beneath her guard. Enid saw the point of Wednesday’s saber dip beneath her arm, but it froze just before it reached her stomach.

Enid let out a frustrated growl and knocked her hand aside. She tried again, pressing for space and using her significantly greater werewolf strength to try and force Wednesday back. Unfortunately, Wednesday was viper-quick. She dodged each of Enid’s lunges without blinking. She used her saber like an extension of her arm, and in seconds she had Enid on her back foot, parrying desperately, to no avail.

Enid blinked and found Wednesday’s blade centimeter’s from her chest. But once more Wednesday froze, staring at the point as though willing it to bury itself in Enid’s skin.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Enid said quietly.

Wednesday’s gaze flitted to Enid’s face, then back to her blade. A muscle jumped in her jaw.

She recovered, and Enid readied her saber. This time Wednesday opened with a feint that forced Enid’s advance to a halt. She followed it with a spin and a wide swing, slamming her blade into Enid’s with far more force than necessary. Enid responded with a riposte that would have moved their instructor to tears. Wednesday sidestepped it and used the opening to cut directly into Enid’s space. She stopped, her point just hovering over Enid’s collarbone. Raindrops dripped from the end onto Enid’s skin.

“To first blood, my darling,” Gomez reminded her.

Enid stared at Wednesday, daring her to end it. She didn’t move.

The wolf in Enid’s ribcage tore at the remnants of her patience.

“You won’t spare my feelings, but you can’t even bring yourself to draw a little blood?” Enid cried. “What is your problem, Wednesday?”

She glared at her best friend, waiting for an excuse, a response, even a jab – anything. They were both soaked to the skin, rain cascading from their hair into their eyes. The ground beneath their feet had turned to mud. Neither lowered their sword.

Enid could not be sure if it was an effect of the rain, but Wednesday’s dark eyes were magnified, nearly bottomless. They held an emotion Enid didn’t recognize, so full of feeling that she had the errant thought that only Wednesday could contain so much and survive.

Wednesday lowered her blade.

“You have me,” she said slowly, as though the effort of forming each word cost her dearly. “At a disadvantage.”

Enid threw her saber aside. Frustration was pounding in her temples, along with an instinct that was begging to take over and end the fight with claws and teeth alone. She forced it back behind a wavering wall of self-control.

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “You know the worst part? I can’t even make myself believe you meant to hurt me. I can’t even blame you! I understand you too well. But it doesn’t make a difference. Even if you do care, it’s clearly not enough.”

Enid turned and stormed towards the Addams’ manor, fighting back the tears stinging her eyes. She felt Wednesday watching her. She tried not to picture the despair that had flashed over her features at Enid’s parting words. Instead she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, vision blurring with rain and tears. She didn’t look back.

--

Wednesday watched Enid depart. An ache settled in her chest where her heart should have been. Her ribcage echoed at its absence, from too much empty space that was usually filled with whatever came alive inside her when Enid was near. Now she stood in the rain, alone and oddly hollow. She had battered herself bloody against the bars of her own self-restraint, to no avail. She had only succeeded in hurting the girl she loved.

“It seems at least one of my fears has already come to pass,” she said, mostly to herself. “I have proven to be a poor companion.”

“Nonsense, my little death bloom,” Gomez said. He slid from his perch on the statue and landed in the mud gracefully. “It is never so simple. Do you doubt her choice?”

“Constantly,” Wednesday answered without hesitation. “Every moment I’m conscious.”

Gomez chuckled. “Luckily, it is not for you to decide. The wolf made her choice, and she seems keen to let you know. Do you really think someone like Enid would select her companion poorly?” He winked. “Especially, when there are less challenging people she might have chosen?”

Wednesday had no answer to that. “Then what must I do? You know I despise grand displays of affection. It’s undignified for all parties involved,” she hinted pointedly.

“I assume that does not apply to present company,” he replied with a good-natured smile. “Just do exactly what she has asked of you! Have faith that you have both chosen well!”

Wednesday sighed. Her father’s view of romance was remarkably simple. Still, it was something to consider – later, perhaps. The rain was letting up, the clouds releasing a few last spatters that she barely noticed, but the gloom remained overhead. Wednesday didn’t need to consult a watch to know that it was already early evening.

Before long, it would be nightfall, and her family would be piled in the Addams’ hearse with Lurch behind the wheel, well on their way to Cousin It’s. The manor would be left empty, seemingly unguarded. Wednesday would wait, biding her time, until their uninvited guests appeared. Enid would be safely running through the forest, blissfully unaware of the danger.

Or so she hoped. Her vision was fuzzier somehow, harder to recall, but the sound of the shotgun cocking moments after reaching Enid still rang clearly in her ears. Where the other aspects of her vision now felt dreamlike, that detail was as solid and sharp as the dread lodged in her stomach.

Time had run out. She abruptly turned away from her father and followed Enid’s footsteps back to the house.

She needed to prepare.

Chapter Text

Enid’s entire body vibrated like wasps were trapped in her bloodstream. She tore through the shadowy hallways of the Addams’ manor with inhuman speed, feet pounding up the steps to Wednesday’s room. She burst inside just as a shudder ran up the base of her spine to her skull.

Her skin pulled painfully tight around her muscles, ready to erupt out of her flesh any moment. She dove to the floor and fumbled under the bed for her grab bag, the strap snagging on her claws.

Her fight with Wednesday had set off a chain reaction that the full moon, rising somewhere sightlessly above her over the manor, enhanced to a dizzying pace. The part of her brain that was not busy fighting the haze of transformation found it ironic. The first time she had wolfed out was to save Wednesday; why not transform after the same girl stomped on her heart?

As though in response to the thought, another full-body jolt rattled her frame, almost snapping her teeth shut on her tongue. She rushed out of the room, bag in hand. She reached the front hall in record time and sprinted down the grand staircase two steps at a time. The bear rug gave a frightened growl, choosing wisely not to nip at her ankles as she burst out of the front door into the gathering dusk.

A single urge forced her onward: reach the woods. She needed to make it to the woods.

She focused on that and pushed out everything else – the terrible contractions in her stomach threatening to double her over, the grumble of an engine followed by the crunch of tires pulling out of the gravel drive, a familiar voice calling her name –

The last sound sealed it. She had barely passed the tree line when all at once, her entire body seized. Scorching pain tore through every one of her sinews in a flash that made her see white. She fell to the ground. She heard the sound of her bones snapping and reforming and her own cry of agony become a growl, before darkness finally closed over her mind.

--

Wednesday watched as the family hearse trundled down the drive. She didn’t bother to return her parents’ cheerful waves. Thing stood beside her, awaiting instructions, but her mind was elsewhere. She stared straight ahead without seeing.

She replayed the memory of her vision, now so faded she could only grasp at small details – pine-scented air, a broken howl ringing through the trees, twigs and leaves crunching under her feet as she ran, only to arrive too late, always too late. The ominous click of the shotgun snapped her back to the present.

“There isn’t a moment to waste,” Wednesday said. “Let’s review the plan. If there are multiple intruders, you –”

She was interrupted by the manor doors slamming open. A streak of blonde hair and riotous color sprinted towards the woods faster than Wednesday could track. Her heart leapt. Enid was almost out of earshot; Wednesday called her name anyway.

Enid vanished into the forest, and Wednesday’s heart filled her throat. Fear thrummed beside her pulse. Every fiber of her being urged her to follow, not lose sight of her best friend. She steeled herself, and was surprised at how difficult it was to wrestle the swelling in her chest into temporary submission. She needed to stay focused, for Enid’s sake.

“Change of plans,” her traitorous tongue said. “Follow her. I will deal with the intruders. Do not, under any circumstances, allow any harm to come to her.” Wednesday surprised herself by adding. “Please.”

They both flinched at the feeling in her voice. Thing hesitated. He faced the woods, then turned back and signed one last admonishment. For a limb, he could be quite sanctimonious.

“I know,” Wednesday sighed. “I’ve been a fool, and a disappointment. If I can change the course of events so that she survives the night, I will apologize. I will do anything she asks of me.”

Thing wagged a finger. “Fine. And I will tell her,” Wednesday growled. “Now go. You’re wasting time.”

Thing nodded, satisfied, and took off towards the woods. Wednesday watched until he disappeared into the trees. She longed to follow, track down Enid and stay by her side, to ensure no harm could come to her. Instead, she turned on her heel and headed towards the house.

Wednesday had patrolled the woods all day. Along with Lurch and Thing, she had swept the entirety of the property at least twice and disabled each and every one of the traps they had found. She could not be certain who had set them and to what end, but nevertheless, if there was to be a break-in tonight, Enid would be safest in the forest, far away from the manor.

She had already prevented the circumstances that would have led to Enid’s death. She had successfully altered the course of her vision. There was no reason to believe Enid wouldn’t be perfectly fine, especially with Thing keeping a watchful eye on her.

Wednesday slipped into the house with an inexplicable sense of unease, the click of a shotgun lingering in her ears.

--

Bozeman’s truck smelled like cigarettes and gas station air freshener. The cracked leather dashboard was smudged with burn marks; it had clearly served as an ashtray more often than not. Chandler eyed the stained seats with undisguised disgust and wondered why he had decided to come along.

This had better be worth ensuring that the witchy little brat didn’t bury his boneheaded colleague alive before he could grab the plant.

He checked his watch for the thirtieth time and cursed under his breath. “Their godawful funerary car pulled out over an hour ago. How much longer do you intend to wait?” he snapped.

“Something isn’t right,” Bozeman muttered, squinting out of the dirty windshield into the gathering darkness. “I didn’t see that weird Victorian-looking child with them. The pale one, name’s a weekday or something? Looks like she sees dead people?”

“Wednesday,” Chandler snapped. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get going. I don’t know how long they’ll be gone.”

Bozeman grumbled. He yanked the keys out of the ignition and kicked open his door.

“Bozeman! Where are you going?” Chandler demanded.

“If she’s still around, we can’t risk her seeing the car,” he explained. “We’ll leave it on the road, go up the drive on foot. Less conspicuous.”

He slammed the door and rounded to the back. Chandler had to jump out and follow him. “And how do you expect to get the plant all the way back here? The drive is half a mile long,” he complained.

Bozeman shrugged. “With a property this big, I’m sure they own a wheelbarrow. Worst case scenario, there’s two of us.” Bozeman grabbed a large black bag out of the truck bed and tossed it on the ground. He unzipped it and pulled out a pump-action shotgun with a reverence usually reserved for religious votives.

Chandler eyed the gun like a live snake. “Is that really necessary?” he asked.

Bozeman checked the safety, loaded a handful of shells, and slung it onto his back. “I like to be prepared,” he said. “If anything goes wrong out there, it’ll just look like a hunting accident.”

He paused to toss his hat in the cab and tug on a beanie, then pulled up the hood of his camouflage hunting jacket. He locked the car and strode towards the giant gates guarding the perimeter of the property. Chandler had no choice but to follow him.

Despite the fact Bozeman had paired his trademark cowboy boots with camo, Chandler felt like the ridiculous one. He was wearing a navy track jacket, joggers, sneakers, sunglasses, and a dark baseball cap. At Bozeman’s insistence, he had tried to look inconspicuous. Instead, he looked like the type of person who snatched children into vans, and he hated it.

He caught up to Bozeman, who had paused before the gates. They stood slightly ajar.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” Chandler sneered, angling his body to slide through the gap.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Bozeman warned just as the gates slammed shut on Chandler’s arm and leg.

He yelped and yanked himself free. “They don’t like intruders,” Bozeman drawled. “I learned that the other day.”

Chandler didn’t know what ‘they’ Bozeman was referring to. He scornfully suspected it may be the iron gates. He scoffed and gestured at the entrance. “So how do we get in?” he demanded.

“Well, they also don’t like threats,” Bozeman said. He walked closer, and as Chandler stared, he addressed the iron bars directly. “Remember what I said? I’d bring some acid for those nice hinges of yours. Or I can douse them in liquid nitrogen and then give them a good whack with a crowbar. Alternatively, you could open up real nice for my friend and I here.”

The gates opened with a loud, angry squeal. Chandler waited for Bozeman to pass through first, then hurried in after him. The gates slammed shut on his heels.

“What the fuck was that?” Chandler hissed, as though the gates might hear him. “Bozeman, tell me what the hell just happened, right now!”

Bozeman continued up the drive, not slowing his pace. “You are going to see some weird shit tonight,” he offered unhelpfully. “You need to keep your cool.”

“Don’t tell me what to do! I have a fucking MBA!” Chandler snapped.

The house came into view, rising against the night sky atop the hill like a medieval castle. The moon hung low and bright, stretching the manor’s shadow down the drive almost to their feet. It transformed the barren branches of the gnarled, bent oak out front into jagged shadows that raked across the ground with the breeze. The night air was brisk, and near the house it seemed unnaturally still, even though the wind whistled in Chandler’s ears and dead leaves scuttled over the gravel. The place was ominous and foreboding in daylight; at night, it felt downright malevolent.

Chandler was comforted by the fact there were no lights in any of the windows, although he couldn’t recall if there ever were. On the far side of the house, the shining glass panes of the conservatory gleamed in the moonlight. If the goth brat was home, Bozeman couldn’t just go smashing windows, but with a place this huge, he didn’t exactly need to be a cat burglar to ensure nobody would hear him enter.

Suddenly, a howl pierced the quiet, reverberating through Chandler’s molars. A chill skittered up his spine and crawled over his skull. He stopped dead. It was the most unearthly thing he had ever heard – far too loud for a normal wolf, uncomfortably close, and overlaid with a low, threatening timbre.

Chandler’s Smart watch informed him his pulse was exceedingly fast and recommended that he sit down.

Bozeman had stopped, too. He looked around, hand drifting towards his shotgun. Chandler did the only think he could think of, while otherwise petrified with fear: berate Bozeman.

“You said you would take care of the goddamned wolf!” Chandler hissed. “I shelled out a fortune for traps, and yet, somehow, it’s still running around. If you don’t go take care of that overgrown guard dog, I will ruin you. Understood?”

He spat the last words like a curse. Bozeman stared at him. For a moment, Chandler worried he would turn around and leave him to deal with the wolf and the plant himself. Instead, Bozeman nodded. No doubt his better instincts were telling him to run, but Chandler knew, if nothing else, he could count on Bozeman’s pride. His sense of self-importance was entirely predicated on his ability to kill things. It remained to be seen whether he even had other talents.

“Wait here,” Bozeman grunted. “I’ll take it down myself.”

He turned and started jogging towards the forest in the approximate direction the howl had originated, the gun glinting on his back.

He disappeared into the trees. Chandler suddenly felt significantly less brave without a gun-wielding henchman beside him. But as he waited, and the silence stretched longer, he grew bored. The glaring light of the full moon illuminated the front yard and the stony drive. It poured over every dark corner and recess of the manor’s façade, almost as bright as day. That thought gave him the boost of courage he needed.

Surely, if someone like Bozeman could rob a house, then so could he. Leave Bozeman to fight with some wild beast. That would be a fitting match for his level of intellect and sense. Chandler was far better suited to attend to the more delicate part of the heist – acquiring the plant.

He tugged his baseball cap lower over his eyes, cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, and, seeing nothing, quickly crossed the last few yards to the house, crept up onto the porch, and reached for the door handle.

--

Enid was running. The wind cut through her fur and sang in her ears. The damp, earthy scent of the woods assailed her nose in a rush. She urged her legs faster, and her muscles responded enthusiastically, pumping with ready strength.

She could run endlessly like this. Trunks whizzed by, twigs snagging on her fur. Her panting breaths fogged the chilly air. She was movement and instinct, senses absorbed by the sounds and scents of the shadowy forest. She shook off every silly human concern, leaving them further behind with every stride. They already felt distant, unreachable in some fuzzy part of her brain she couldn’t understand well anymore.

Her attention was absorbed by the scurry of tiny creatures in the brush frantically fleeing her pounding paws, and the enticing scents of the woods – pine, oak, crushed leaves, rich earth, nutty bark, rotting bracken, mouldering fungi, clean, flowing streams, and the sharp, pungent trails left by warm and furry prey. The wolf especially loved the latter.

She was busy shoving her nose in a rabbit burrow when her sensitive ears picked up the sound of a conversation. She ignored it at first. Human voices were familiar to Enid, and the wolf part of her cared very little about such things. It was only when she grew tired of inspecting the burrow and was sniffing the air for other amusing scents to follow that her brain registered that something was off.

Two unfamiliar odors were mixed with the usual forest smells, carried to her on the breeze. The wolf couldn’t parse them. Enid had to concentrate very hard to recognize them: cigarettes and nervous sweat tinted with expensive cologne.

Her human mind crashed into the wolf’s in a sudden wave of clarity. Strangers were on the property. The Addams were gone. Wednesday was alone in the house.

That was as far as she got before the wolf eclipsed her mind once more. It distilled her alarm into possessive instinct and animal rage. The wolf did not need to think; it instinctively understood that her pack was in danger, and Wednesday was now another hunter’s prey.

A low growl rose from her chest and rumbled into her throat. She threw her head back and let loose a ragged howl. Then she spun, dug her claws into the earth, and took off toward the manor.

--

Thing was loyal to a fault. He loved Wednesday more than his own phalanges, and, next to Fester, Enid was his very best friend. Which is how he found himself in the unenviable position of scurrying beneath shrubs, clambering over rocks and knolls, and splashing through puddles and streams after a massive werewolf that seemed determined to run forever.

A howl rang through the trees, savage and sudden, and Thing almost jumped out of his cuticles. There was no mistaking that it was Enid. He quickly gauged how far away she was as the cry faded, and realized he was not even close to catching up to her.

He paused to weigh his options. He could either continue to pursue the giant wolf that was so dear to him and his mistress – despite the fact that said wolf was able to cover half a dozen yards in a single stride – or he could return to the manor and inform Wednesday of his failure. It took him less than a second to decide.

He sagged onto his fingernails and then took off after Enid once more.

Thing was scrambling onto a low-hanging branch to get a better view of where the trail led when he became aware of light breathing and cautious, practiced steps. He scurried behind the trunk and peeked out.

There wasn’t much light beneath the thick canopy, but after a minute or two, a large figure in a heavy jacket appeared. He walked with his neck bent, focused on the trail of pawprints. Slung on his back, gleaming in the faint light that strained through the leaves, was a gun.

Thing started. He danced on his fingertips in a fit of panic. He would not reach Enid in time to warn her. But he might be able to beeline back to the house and alert Wednesday.

Alternatively, he could deal with the man himself. He hesitated. If he failed, there would be nobody to come to Enid’s aid.

The man was nearing the tree where Thing hid. Thing made a snap decision. He waited until the man passed by, then he skittered down the trunk, estimated the distance, and leapt.

The man stopped short and glanced around. Seeing nothing, he shrugged. He adjusted the gun on his back and continued walking. Thing clung to the barrel. He flicked open the shell latch and carefully unloaded the magazine, dropping each shell quietly onto the soft bed of leaves on the forest floor.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about the shell already loaded in the chamber.

He waited until the tracks went around a bend. As the man turned to follow them, Thing flung himself to the ground and ran as fast as his fingertips could carry him towards the manor.

--

Chandler smirked as the door swung open. Typical of those trusting, oblivious Addams not to bother locking their house. He slipped inside the foyer and shut the door silently behind him.

Though it was never particularly well-lit the few times he had called, the interior looked starkly different at night. The candles weeping wax down their iron holders made grotesque shadows on the aged, bloodred wallpaper. The ancient settee by the door looked like a slumbering beast, and the grand staircase led up to a cavernous darkness so deep that it made him shudder.

He had just spotted the hallway that led to the conservatory when a low growl rumbled from somewhere behind him. He jumped a mile and spun around, eyes darting to the dark corners of the room. The sound stopped as quickly as it had begun. He backed toward the door slowly, until his foot landed on something soft.

Jaws snapped shut on his ankle. He screamed. He lunged for the hallway, forgetting his leg was trapped, and tumbled headlong onto the floor. He clawed at the floorboards, kicking backwards with his free foot. Another growl was accompanied by hot breath washing over his skin. The vice around his ankle loosened ever so slightly. He yanked himself free, pants tearing to the knee, then scrambled to his feet and plunged into the gaping darkness of the nearest hallway.

He sprinted down the corridor, his ankle throbbing with every step. He rounded a corner, and an arrow zinged past his face and embedded itself in the opposite wall. In shock he stumbled into a suit of armor. It came to life, slicing downwards with its battleaxe. Chandler fell backward. He opened his mouth to shriek, but all that came out was a strained gasp as he hit the ground. The blade smashed into the floorboards, missing him by a centimeter.

He dove beneath a small table tucked in an alcove. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. He gulped in air like a dying man, eyes peeled wide, casting around helplessly for his attackers. The suit of armor was still, slightly slumped over now. The unseen archer was nowhere to be found, and whatever creature had sunk its teeth into his leg had not bothered to follow the trail of blood he had tracked through the halls. His Smart watch helpfully suggested that he was experiencing acute tachycardia and instructed him to seek medical assistance.

Suddenly, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. It was nearly pitch black in the hall, with no source of light. He strained until he could just make out a long, flat object crawling – winding? – across the ground towards him.

He froze. His pulse pattered like rain against the floorboards. The strange shape inched closer, and at first, he thought it was a snake. It reached the table he was huddled beneath and began to wrap itself around one of the table legs. It wound tighter and tighter, growing thicker with each turn. He concluded that it was some sort of limb. His heart dropped as he realized that the creature it belonged to must be massive.

All at once it tensed, and with terrifying strength, it lifted the table into the air.

Chandler’s heart was pounding somewhere near his thyroid. He opened his mouth, and a soundless scream escaped as a rush of air. His aching ankle forgotten, he scrambled to get his feet under him, fingernails clawing at the floor for purchase. The undulating thing tilted back, holding the table aloft. He scrabbled out of the way just as it smashed the table to pieces right where he had been hiding.

He ran. Objects flew around him. Pieces of armor, vases, picture frames, furniture, sabers, bookends, knives, mirrors, candelabra, and other miscellany whizzed past his ears or crashed at his heels. Something struck him hard in the back once or twice, causing him to stumble, but each time he shoved himself back to his feet and ran for his life.

His legs carried him towards the room he knew best. Dripping sweat, gasping for breath, and bleeding from a not-insignificant amount of cuts and scrapes, he flung himself the last few yards down the hall and through the doors of the conservatory. The sound of airborne objects meeting walls or gravity abruptly stopped, and the patio doors slammed shut behind him. He spun. Through the glass he saw two large tentacles wrapping around the door handles. He was trapped.

The conservatory was eerily silent. The plants were dark, but the floor and walls were bleached pale by the moonlight shining through the glass walls and ceiling.

Movement caught his eye. He turned towards the plant that was the source of all his troubles. Its massive lobed heads drooped, apparently asleep. As he watched, a tiny, dark figure rose from behind the enormous pot. He instantly recognized the pigtails.

“You –” he snarled. His voice shook with rage, as she gazed at him calmly. “It was you – you’re the one who –”

“Planned this?” Wednesday finished for him. Her hands were folded behind her back. She approached slowly, eyes glinting with malice. “Yes, although your clumsy burglary attempt hardly required anything as sophisticated as a plan. My colleague observed you casing the manor when you visited the other day. You overheard when my family planned to be out of town. The rest was quite simple. All I had to do was wait.”

She was still walking closer. Chandler had had enough surprises that night. He backed instinctively away, until his foot collided with a planter box.

Wednesday’s eyes held an eerie, haunting light. She lifted her chin, and let her hands fall to her sides. He was relieved to see they were empty.

“Here’s what will happen,” she began. “You will submit to being tied up and put into the care of my kraken friend until the proper authorities arrive. You will plead guilty to the charge of burglary, and you will go to prison. And you will never, ever darken our doorstep again. Otherwise, I will employ each of my favorite torture methods in turn, which are – literally, not figuratively – quite medieval. Understood?”

By this time, Chandler had mastered himself. He still did not feel quite in control, but that only made him more desperate. He was not one to tolerate threats from anybody, much less an undersized teenager obsessed with black clothes and esoteric hobbies. And there was no way in hell he was going to prison. He straightened, hand twitching to where his tie would normally be, and glared down at the undead-looking brat.

“Actually, here’s what’s going to happen,” he sneered. “Once my colleague is done dealing with the wolf, he’s going to show you exactly –”

Wednesday’s face changed so suddenly that Chandler lost his train of thought. He had never seen an emotion there – unless bloodlust could be considered an emotion – but for a fleeting second, the edges of her eyes and mouth pinched with something that could have been fear.

Good. He had caught her off guard. He pressed the point, waiting for an opening. Demonic sprite or not, he was twice her size. “Oh, you think I came here by myself?” he chuckled. “Do you really think I would be that careless?”

Wednesday was staring at him hard enough to bore a hole in his head. Chandler continued, “My associate is going to shoot that thing, and then he’s going to come in here and –”

The conservatory doors slammed open. It was just the distraction Chandler needed. Wednesday turned. He took a step forward and raised his arm.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t prepared for the sight of a disembodied hand scurrying across the floor towards him.

He yelped. Panic took over, and he wheeled backwards. His heel collided with a planter box, and he tumbled into fragrant soil, his head clipping the edge on the way down.

For a moment, he saw stars. He blinked and opened his eyes. He was greeted by the sight of dozens of oversized snapdragons, their stems bent towards him as though wondering what had disturbed their rest. The plant beside his cheek leaned closer and opened all several dozen of its blooms at once. It wasn’t until he saw the endless rows of fine hairs within each flower and felt the first few blooms pierce his skin that he realized they were mouths.

He only had enough time to scream.

--

Wednesday barely processed Chandler’s cries or the feasting snapdragons. Truthfully, she had forgotten about him once she realized that Thing would only return if Enid was in danger.

Thing signed frantically, trembling with urgency so that he was forced to start over twice. His report confirmed her worst fears – Enid was being hunted.

Wednesday’s sharp mind was suddenly blank. Her thoughts were replaced by the sound of her pulse in her ears as her heart began beating faster and louder than she had believed it capable of. It was racing even before she began to run.

Thing caught up to her at the front door, dragging a small, leather-bound case behind him. She pocketed it impatiently, scooped Thing onto her shoulder, and burst out of the manor at a dead sprint, heading for the woods.

She thought she had prevented the worst of her vision. It had all but faded, except for the damp, earthy smell of the forest, the sight of blood-drenched leaves, and the click of a gun. She had ignored the signs, so self-assured she had been in her measures to safeguard Enid. She had assumed that as long as she neutralized any threats at the manor, her best friend would be safe.

She had been wrong.

Chapter Text

Enid kept her nose to the air, searching for strange scents on the wind as she loped towards the manor. Her logical mind surfaced now and again, grasping for a plausible, normal reason for people to be around at this time of night. She came up with nothing.

Now that she was looking for it, occasionally she would catch a trace of stale cigarettes lingering on the bark of a tree or on a bush, usually near recently disturbed earth. Each time she paused to follow it, but the trail always grew cold, likely washed away by the rain. She pieced together that the scent belonged to a man who had been in the forest less than twenty-four hours ago. For what purpose, Enid could not guess, but her sense of unease grew.

She nosed the overturned dirt. Layered over the stranger’s smell were newer ones – a whiff of familiar hand cream, something oddly musty, and the scent she had fallen asleep to every night since she arrived. She whined and took off again.

Wednesday’s bizarre behavior over the last week was beginning to make sense – her secretive trips to the woods, her permissiveness when it came to Enid’s affections, and finally her abrupt sprint from the bog last night at the first sign of something amiss. Wednesday had known something was going to happen here, in the forest. It was somehow connected to her roommate, and the stranger Enid was tracking. Knowing Wednesday, she had probably been trying to investigate on her own, so as not to worry Enid.

She remembered how Wednesday had awakened from her vision, a wild, desperate look in her eyes, gripping Enid’s arm hard enough to bruise. Whatever she had witnessed, it had been enough to scare her.

A new thought struck her. What if Wednesday had wanted to be with Enid while she wolfed out, but she had foreseen that something terrible would happen? What if she hadn’t been avoiding Enid, and instead was trying to avoid the forest to prevent her vision from coming true?

What if Wednesday saw that she would die tonight?

The foreboding dread that had been simmering in Enid’s stomach since yesterday morning soured into fear. Pugsley had been right.

She couldn’t decide if it hurt more that Wednesday hadn’t told her, or that her last words to her might be from their fight earlier. Guilt overcame her. A frustrated snarl tore out of her throat, and she had to wrestle the wolf into submission to collect her thoughts once more. She needed a clear head. She needed to find Wednesday.

If Enid had known it might be the last time she saw her alive, she never would have walked away and left her best friend standing in the rain, after accusing her of not caring enough.

A soft, green glow was coming into view through the trees. She recognized it as the light of the bog where Wednesday had taken her the night before. As she drew close, her nose twitched. Her hackles lifted, and a snarl slipped through her lips. She padded over to a cluster of bushes beneath a large tree, less than a hundred yards from where she and Wednesday would have been standing less than twenty-four hours ago. The stranger’s smell was here, too.

Enid bared her teeth, and a low growl rumbled from deep in her chest. Fury filled her mind and blotted out everything else. He had been watching them. He had been hunting the girl she loved.

Well, now Enid was going to hunt him.

She sniffed the air once more, and another smell drew her to the massive tree. The trunk was as wide as she was tall, and the lower boughs were wider than her torso. Beneath the scent of old, rich bark was a familiar one. Something had been smeared onto the trunk. As she stepped closer, she recognized it as peanut butter.

Something gave beneath her paws with a click.

Metal coils whipped out of the dirt and snagged her limbs, cinching tight. Her legs were abruptly swept out from underneath her, and she landed on her side with a startled yelp.

She couldn’t move. She lifted her head to find steel cables wrapped tightly around her paws – a hunting snare.

Enid snarled darkly. She struggled like a fish in a net, but the binds only tightened as she fought. The wolf’s bewildered rage consumed in her mind. Being trapped was the closest it had ever felt to fear. She twisted to snap at the cable until she tasted blood. It was no use. She would have to wait until whoever set the trap returned.

Except if she was stuck here, Wednesday was on her own, at the mercy of some unknown man who had been stalking her the night before. Her heart rate accelerated to a painful pace. Wednesday might be in danger, and Enid couldn’t protect her.

The thought spurred her into desperate activity. She thrashed like she was possessed and tore at the cable with her teeth. The metal sliced through her skin, and blood trickled onto the leaves beneath her. All she managed to do was cut off most of her circulation. Her only choice was to wait until she changed back, and hope it would not be too late.

She raised her head in furious despair. This time her howl was low and mournful, tinged with dread and anticipated pain. She broke off on the last note as her lungs seized with the thought of how much she might lose.

Her human mind caught up too late.

Enid’s heart plunged. She closed her eyes, and a low whine escaped her throat. Everyone on the property would have heard her howl – not just Wednesday, but also the man who was after her.

She had made a fatal mistake. Wednesday would know something was wrong. She would come find her, and risk running into the man who was looking for her. Enid would be helpless to defend her. She would have sealed Wednesday’s fate.

Maybe her vision wouldn’t come true. Or maybe Wednesday would heed the vision’s warning. Enid tried to tell herself that it was possible, but she couldn’t make herself believe it. Wednesday was furtive, arrogant, and absolutely hopeless when it came to processing emotions, but she was also the most loyal, selfless, and caring person Enid had ever met. Even knowing she would die, Wednesday would come. She would do anything to save Enid.

Enid went back to fighting her binds with renewed desperation.

Suddenly her ears perked up. Someone – no, two people – were crashing through the brush not far off. They were headed towards her, coming from slightly different directions. She bared her teeth, willing whatever cowards had set the trap to show themselves. If they reached her first, she could tear them to shreds before they could lay a hand on Wednesday. Trapped or not, she still had fangs.

She sniffed the air, and the growl building in her chest died in her throat. The reek of cigarettes was growing stronger, but so was a fainter scent – like smoking embers, old ink-stained parchment, and the charge in the air before a thunderstorm – Wednesday.

--

Dark trunks flashed by in a rush, and pine needles crunched beneath her pounding boots, flooding her nose with their fragrance and the musk of damp earth. Wednesday sprinted through the shadowy trees, reliving her vision once again, except this time there was no snapping out of it.

A broken howl rang out, echoing through the night. It pierced Wednesday like an arrow to the heart, and her breathing faltered. Enid.

There was fear in her cry, and pain. Cold dread coursed through Wednesday’s veins. Despite all her planning, her caution, even with the forewarning of her vision, she was already too late.

She pushed her legs faster and tore at the underbrush with her bare hands. Her heart was slamming in her chest, and pain she couldn’t pinpoint was flooding in with every beat, until it became harder and harder to force air into her lungs.

Footsteps thudded behind her, accompanied by the sound of something large crashing through the brush. She was running too quickly to risk glancing back. Thing tensed and gripped her shoulder tighter.

A low whimper reached her ears. Wednesday turned and plunged into a thicket in pursuit of the sound. She stumbled into a small clearing, beneath the boughs of a massive tree.

Enid was lying on the ground, her limbs caught in a snare. The smell of iron hung in the air, and she saw where the cables had cut through fur and skin. The leaves around Enid were dark with blood. Wednesday’s breath lodged in her throat.

But this was not the same as her vision. Enid was alive. She turned as soon as Wednesday burst out of the bushes and whined.

Wednesday fell to her knees beside Enid’s giant, shaggy body, eyes burning. Her throat closed with relief and narrowly missed grief. Without understanding why, she reached out and pulled Enid’s head into her lap. Enid nosed into her arms.

“Stop that,” Wednesday muttered, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “I need to –”

Enid whipped around, teeth bared, and let loose a savage snarl. Behind Wednesday, a gun cocked.

Wednesday’s entire body went cold.

“Don’t move, little lady,” a voice instructed. “I’ll take care of that thing –”

Several things happened very quickly. Wednesday rose to place herself between the gun and Enid, just as a pale shape dropped onto the barrel from above, and a shot rang out.

Wednesday’s eardrums throbbed. Her heart was strangely still. An ache was building in her chest, a vacuum opening to engulf everything inside her, pulling the air out of her lungs and sensation from her limbs. The trees around her melted into shapeless shadows, and the ground beneath her blurred.

Her feet carried her forward slowly, like she was in a dream. She saw the man point his gun at Thing and toggle the useless trigger, confusion flooding his expression. Thing took too long to recover. She watched the man raise the butt of his gun and bring it down hard, slamming it into Thing.

Thing twitched once, then was still.

Then the man looked up at Wednesday, and she was overcome with cold, hard rage.

She flung herself at him. Her thoughts were frantically spinning along two different tracks. One part of her mind ran through agonizing ways to kill him – putting her thumbs through his eyes, palm-crushing his nasal bone, throat-chopping him with lethal force – and the other kept up the rhythm that her heart had abandoned, except it was just Enid’s name, over and over and over again.

“Ow!! What the hell –” Her fingernails raked over his face. His hands hooked onto her shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh as he tried to tear her free. She anchored herself to his jacket. She was kicking him, hard, in every soft place she could reach. He twisted, trying to throw her off, but she held on with terrifying strength. Desperate strength was all she had.

He let go of her, and she lunged for his eyes. But before she could sink a thumb into each socket, the butt of the rifle slammed into her jaw.

She saw nothing for a moment. The fabric of his hunting jacket slipped through her fingers, and she fell. When her vision cleared, he was standing over her. She saw his arms swinging towards her and caught a glimpse of the gun’s barrel gleaming in the dappled moonlight. In the precious seconds before it connected with her head, an enraged snarl erupted behind her.

He had missed. Enid was still alive.

Then pain exploded in her temple, and everything went dark.

--

Wednesday’s body crumpled to the ground.

Enid stared at her best friend, lying still with her back to her, and her mind collapsed. The line where she ended and the wolf began vanished; she was only rage, twisted into pure hatred with fear. The girl she could not live without was huddled a few yards away, too far for Enid to tell if she was bleeding, or breathing.

She might be dead, and Enid couldn’t even touch her.

Enid and the wolf howled as one.

She fought her binds like nothing else mattered on earth, because right now, nothing did. Her reason had evaporated, and she was relieved. She needed to be a creature of pure, savage fury. She could not think of whether Wednesday was alive. She would deal with that pain later, when she was fangless and helpless again, but right now, she needed to be a monster. She needed revenge.

The metal slicing into her flesh no longer concerned her. She had lost most of the sensation in her limbs, but what scared her was the cold seeping out of her chest. She had only one goal. She would get free, whatever the cost, and when she did, there wouldn’t be enough of that man left to bury under a stone.

He was speaking, but she couldn’t hear what he said over her own feral snarls. Her lips were peeled back over her fangs, and her ragged cries reverberated through the trees and sent every creature for miles fleeing for cover.

She didn’t even see what had caught his attention, at first. He approached Wednesday's prone form and bent down. A fresh wave of rage pulsed through Enid. She snarled and snapped in his direction, trying in vain to drive him away from the body of the girl she loved.

He picked up a small leather-bound case and clicked it open. Enid’s mind flickered with faint recognition.

She didn’t have to wrack her brain for long. Her heart sank as he pulled out a small, double-barreled tranquilizer gun and turned it over in his hands.

“You know what this is, don’t you?” the man said in response to Enid’s sudden silence. He checked the chamber and nodded approvingly when he found it loaded. Then he opened the little notebook and scanned the pages. He whistled low. “Venom,” he muttered. “Addams don’t fuck around.”

Enid’s ear flicked. She glanced at where the man had discarded Thing, but he was still.

The man raised the tranquilizer gun, aiming it at Enid. “This might work even better than a bullet,” he said.

She growled and eyed his finger as it closed on the trigger.

A small, dark figure materialized between Enid and the gun. She heard rather than saw it fire.

Wednesday’s braids swung as she took an involuntary step back. As she did, Enid spotted the dart protruding from her shoulder. She yelped.

Wednesday hit the forest floor quietly, as though she weighed nothing at all. To Enid, it felt like her entire world crashing down. She whined and barked, straining towards her.

Wednesday didn't respond. Her face was turned away. Her braids were spread over the leaves and dirt, and several loose strands of hair fell over her cheek. She laid there, one arm splayed out at her side, the other trapped beneath her, utterly still.

Enid could almost reach her shoulder with her snout. She stretched towards her, whimpering, searching with wavering hope for any sign of life. Her ears twitched, but the man was cursing too loudly to tell if she was breathing.

“Fuck! Oh my God, I shot a kid. With fucking snake venom! I’m going to prison. I’m going to fucking prison,” he was saying, the white of his eyes stark in the darkness. He jammed the gun in his waistband and rushed over, looking around him frantically as though he expected to be apprehended on the spot. His gaze settled on the bog's soft light, shining faintly through the trees.

Enid sensed his intent even before he bent down and reached for Wednesday’s arms.

Her teeth snapped centimeters from his face. She didn’t care that he was probably going to shoot her next. The girl she adored was lying lifeless beside her, and all Enid cared about was the hole opening up in her heart and threatening to devour her entire world. The wolf was still consumed by rage, but the rest of her was numb. All she felt was the aching absence of the one person she couldn’t live without.

Wednesday had been so careful. She had known she was in danger, maybe even that death awaited her here. But she had come anyway, to save Enid.

And now, because of her, she was never going to get to listen to her best friend’s balcony cello solos, or fall asleep beside her, or hear the way her voice softened when she said Enid’s name, again.

She wished she was human so that she could cry.

“Shit!” the man yelled, stumbling back from Enid’s snarling maw. He glared at her and reached for the gun.

His hands flew to his empty waistband. He whirled in shock and felt around for the missing weapon.

“Lose something?”

There was only one person who could sound so detached and self-satisfied at the same time. Enid let out a cry, and her heart surged with agonizing, stupid hope.

Wednesday sat up and fired.

The man barely had time to react. His hand reached up to the dart buried in his neck, then fell limp at his side. His breathing grew shallow, and his eyes bugged out in panic. He slumped over. Wednesday stood and skirted around him to the discarded leather case. She retrieved the little notebook and consulted it briefly, comparing the notes to the label on the dart she pulled from her shoulder, while the man proceeded to imitate a goldfish exposed to air.

“There’s no antivenom for this one. It seems you’re the winner of Addams roulette,” she said without sparing him a glance. “Congratulations.”

Wednesday stepped over the seizing hunter and knelt beside Enid. Enid whined as Wednesday wrapped her arms around her big wolfy head and pulled her into her lap once more.

“If you faint at the sight of my crime boards, you will certainly not enjoy this next part. Any moment now, he will begin to bleed out of his eyes,” Wednesday informed her. “Well, every orifice. But my favorite is the eyes.”

Enid could not have cared less. Wednesday’s face filled her vision, and she would have been embarrassed at the sound of her tail thudding on the ground if she could have focused on anything besides Wednesday’s hands cradling her. Wednesday was here. She was alive.

Wednesday bent and rested her forehead against Enid’s snout. “Now come back to me, my sun.”

And of course Enid’s ridiculous wolfy brain, which had been resistant to the whole idea up until now, obeyed instantly.

She closed her eyes and submitted to the casual horror of her bones resetting. Her joints reversed with sickening pops and cracks. The metal coils fell from her wrists and ankles as they shrank to their usual size, leaving torn, exposed flesh behind that was already knitting itself back together. Wednesday’s hands remained on her cheeks as her facial features shifted and shuddered into place, and her body compacted into a smaller, familiar form. Wednesday moved only when Enid’s bones stopped groaning, to strip off her own jacket and drape it around her bare shoulders.

Enid tugged it around her gratefully, still not able to take her eyes off of Wednesday.

“You’re alive,” she croaked, voice cracking as her vocal cords warmed to language again. “He shot you. I saw –”

“Addams are resistant to most poisons,” Wednesday reminded her. “It barely tickled.”

Enid started to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “You are the most unbelievable, stubborn, amazing –”

Wednesday rested her hands on Enid’s cheek, pulled her close, and kissed her.

Enid’s mind went blank. It was nothing like she expected, had she ever in her wildest dreams dared to imagine anything like this. Wednesday didn’t falter, or hesitate; she kissed her like it was the natural order of things. She didn’t seem to care that they were both kneeling on the forest floor, having just barely evaded death, and Enid couldn’t find it in herself to care either. She tangled her fingers in Wednesday’s hair and kissed her back.

The first time they hugged, it felt like a crack had emerged in Wednesday’s self-restraint, no more than a small tension fissure. This was like a cave-in. Wednesday’s lips moved over Enid’s with an edge of desperation, like she couldn’t quite believe they were out of danger yet, that Enid was alive and in her arms. The sense of longing Enid had held close for so long exploded into warmth in her chest. It built until her lips were pressed against Wednesday’s mouth in a crush of everything she hadn’t been able to tell her. Wednesday shuddered and broke the kiss, but she lingered close, the tip of her nose brushing Enid’s.

She met Wednesday’s gaze, and the swell of emotion in her dark eyes took Enid’s breath away again.

“In my vision, I saw you die tonight,” she confessed. “I have been haunted by that image every waking moment since. I was consumed by dread and despair – I was prepared to do anything in my power to stop my vision from coming to pass, and in doing so I neglected your feelings. I won’t apologize for not telling you what I saw, but I am sorry for being a coward. Had I been honest with myself and admitted how much I need you, you would have never had to question that I cared.”

She took a deep breath, and Enid could barely process anything except how her throat fluttered. Wednesday continued, “I abhor touch, but not yours. You have pushed me beyond every limit I have ever known or had. You have removed every comfort I once found in solitude and misery. I am horrified. It is the closest thing I’ve experienced to fear, or to living. I cannot, in any meaningful way, survive without you by my side.”

“Wednesday –” Enid interrupted. She would need to process the whole ‘I saw you die’ thing at some point, but Wednesday baring her soul took priority. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against Wednesday’s with a soft laugh. “Wednesday, same. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, literally this entire time.”

Enid wasn’t sure how bold she could be, but Wednesday had just kissed her, so clearly anything was possible. She leaned down and drew Wednesday into another fierce kiss. She did her best to hide her embarrassment when Wednesday responded instantly, and a groan escaped her lips.

She pulled away so she could see Wednesday’s expression. “I want this,” Enid admitted. “I chose you.”

“I know. I cannot understand why,” Wednesday muttered. “You would do well with someone – effervescent. Bubbly. Someone who could match your penchant for ear-splitting music and obnoxious colors. A kindred spirit.”

Enid shook her head. “I don’t want someone like that,” she insisted. “I want someone who gets me. Who really, truly sees me, and understands. What I want is someone who doesn’t think twice about doing the right thing, who protects the people she loves at all costs. Someone who’s weird and dark, who gets that I’m a monster because she is, too. I want someone who is nowhere even near normal and never even cared about that, because it makes me care less, too. Someone who likes me for who I am, which is not always bubbly and fun; it’s sometimes a really, really angry werewolf. Who else could that possibly be, except you?”

Wednesday’s brow creased. “But I’ve been a poor companion.”

“You jumped in front of a gun for me not once, but twice, tonight,” Enid pointed out. “That checks off at least four of those things.”

Wednesday frowned. “That’s irrelevant, and, considering my feelings, borders on self-serving.”

Enid opened her mouth to object, but Wednesday cut her off. “Please, Enid. I want to learn how to be the companion you deserve. My only request is that you give me that chance. In return, I’ll do anything you ask.”

Enid was poised to object, when an idea occurred to her.

She grinned. “Anything?”

Wednesday tucked her chin like she was bracing for a punch. “Yes,” she gritted slowly.

It was probably too much to ask for Wednesday to be a touch less secretive or, God forbid, give her a heads up next time she was meant to die, but luckily, there was one other option.

“I want a dance with you. A formal one, at your family’s Halloween gala,” Enid said. “As your date.”

Wednesday’s mouth twitched, the way it did whenever she was hiding a smirk that threatened to betray secret satisfaction. “I suppose, if you insist.”

Enid smiled so hard she thought her cheeks would split, and Wednesday glowered and looked away.

Thing appeared beside them, tapping politely to get their attention.

Enid gasped. “Thing! Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked.

“I assumed you were dead,” Wednesday greeted him solemnly. “I avenged you.”

Thing was limping, but that was not why he had come over. He pointed behind them.

Enid turned. A trail of glowing ooze led from the edge of the bog to the center of the clearing, where a massive, scaled creature dripping slime was hovering over the hunter’s dead body on two webbed, salamander-like arms, its lower jaw unhinged to reveal at least half a dozen rows of fine, needlelike teeth.

It froze. One of its bulging, filmy eyes rolled toward Enid, Wednesday, and Thing. None of them moved. After a moment’s pause, the creature proceeded to engulf the upper half of the man’s body in its gaping jaws – not unlike a pelican, Enid thought – and then lodged its stubby limbs into the dirt and shimmied backwards towards the bog. It slipped beneath the filmy green water, and the last Enid saw of the hunter was his cowboy boots vanishing beneath the surface with a ripple.

“Fascinating,” Wednesday muttered under her breath. “Thing, remind me to write that down. The bog creature is a scavenger after all.”

Chapter Text

Enid woke up to Wednesday curled up in her arms, and for the first blurry moments of consciousness as she blinked morning sunlight from her eyes, she wondered if she was still dreaming.

Wednesday’s voice immediately shattered that illusion and brought Enid back to her senses.

“You snore like an animal. Not a small one. I would hazard to guess a bear, or perhaps a disgruntled elk,” Wednesday deadpanned, without turning around. “You are also excessively affectionate. Had I not been aware of your fondness for me before, I certainly would be by now. Did you know you nuzzle people in your sleep?”

Enid’s face heated up. Before she could apologize, Wednesday flipped around and pinned her in place with her dark, piercing gaze. She considered Enid, then seemed to reach a decision. “It’s not a bad thing,” she sighed. “Come here.”

Normally, that would be a straightforward instruction. With Wednesday, it offered absolutely no clarity as to what she expected Enid to do. Enid failed to react. Wednesday exhaled through her nose and tucked her head beneath Enid’s chin.

Enid froze. She felt Wednesday’s breath flutter across her pulse as she spoke. “Luckily, I seem to be growing accustomed to your proximity. And your growls are nothing short of magnificent.”

“You like me better as a wolf,” Enid pouted, but she pulled Wednesday closer and permitted a soft growl to leave her lips. She felt Wednesday sigh against the rumble in her chest.

“Nonsense,” Wednesday muttered. “I adore your lupine form, but the constant shedding is untenable. If you hadn’t noticed, I wear black. Exclusively.”

Enid rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t want to ruin this fragile, precious moment. She kept extremely still, in case she might spook her best friend into her usual standoffish attitude. She eyed the light beginning to strain through the window with mounting dread. The sunbeams grew brighter as morning dawned, and began their slow march across the ceiling. Enid willed them to pass over her and the girl in her arms.

“It’s nearly time for breakfast,” Wednesday said after a while, and Enid’s heart sank. “We should reassure my family that we’re alive. There are also more preparations for the gala that must be completed before tomorrow.”

She pulled away, and Enid ached with the sudden absence. Her chest was thick with a pain that was quickly becoming familiar. It seemed that it was here to stay.

She watched as Wednesday stood and opened her dresser. She pulled a large, striped sweater over her head and began to tug on her boots. She was lacing them up when she finally noticed Enid was still sitting on the bed. Her gaze softened.

“What’s wrong, Enid?” she asked.

Enid considered lying, or shrugging it off as nothing. But the wistful feeling thickening like syrup in her lungs wouldn’t be dismissed so easily.

“I don’t think – I can’t go back to the way we were. Before.” She bit her lip and fiddled with a thread on Wednesday’s duvet, suddenly unable to look at anything else. “Even if I could, I don’t want to.”

“I agree. That’s no longer an option,” Wednesday said. Her eyes whisked over Enid to settle somewhere out the window.

Enid winced. Her fists balled into the blanket. She focused on the soft texture of the fabric to stop her claws from sliding out in response to her unsteady breaths, foreshadowing either an anxiety attack, or a sob. What if she had just ruined her friendship with the only person who understood her? If she lost Wednesday, then Enid would be completely alone.

Wednesday added, “Nor do I want to.”

Enid looked up quickly, heart frozen mid-beat.

“The mark you have left on me is indelible. Were I to meet the version of myself that existed before you, I would not know her. I have changed in ways I barely understand. Yet I have no right to be afraid, or regret it. If you can undergo complete transformation every full moon and still be all that you are, all that I adore, then I have no excuse,” Wednesday said, finally meeting Enid’s gaze again. “Even more so, because you have become a part of me.”

Enid felt tears well up in her eyes, and it took everything she had to not let them spill over. “Wednesday, that’s beautiful. I –” she began, and then realized she had no clue how to express the swell of warmth and relief blooming in her chest and clogging her throat. “I – you are –”

Wednesday stilled her with a look. “There’s no need,” she interrupted. “As you said once before, grand declarations of a romantic nature are my forte. Physicality is...not. I assume you will express your affections as such, and that is more than sufficient. I would not wish to be outmatched in my singular area of expertise, nor would I enjoy the expectation that I should express myself similarly to you.”

If there was a more Wednesday way to gallantly greenlight Enid’s cuddly tendencies, she had yet to invent it. Enid felt like she would overflow with happiness. Still, she couldn’t help teasing her, just a bit.

“You’re acting like you aren’t the one who kissed me,” Enid joked.

Wednesday shot her a withering glare. “The witnesses to which are a dead man, an amphibian, and a disembodied appendage. I will not hide my pride or affection for you, but I will deny, under threat of perjury and torture initiating any outward, physical demonstrations of sentimentality.”

Enid drooped. But before she could catastrophize about the odds of last night being the first and last time Wednesday would ever kiss her, Wednesday came to where she was sitting on the bed and lifted her chin, so that Enid was frozen in place by her dark eyes. “That knowledge is for you, and you alone.”

Her disbelief only lasted a moment this time. Then Enid felt only bliss, as Wednesday tilted her head and kissed her. She closed her eyes and let herself be enveloped by Wednesday’s scent, like ink drying in the sun, and the soft, cool feeling of her lips. She was suspended in a state she couldn’t be sure wasn’t heaven. For all that Wednesday tried to act like she was immune to anything as sentimental as desire, she was betrayed by the insistence of her lips against Enid’s and the press of her fingers on Enid’s jaw, urging her closer.

She moved away far too soon. She moved away to rifle through Enid’s clothes, laying several out on the bed in a not-so-subtle hint to get ready. Enid obliged, trying to ignore the flustered blush that had spread across her cheeks.

Though the full moon was past, there was a strange beast still pacing in her chest. It dug its claws into her ribs whenever Wednesday stepped away, or too close. It burned with a steady warmth that licked along her insides every time her eyes met Wednesday’s watchful gaze and flared impossibly hot when she so much as brushed her shoulder.

She felt simultaneously invulnerable, and as sensitive as an exposed nerve. The only thing she could compare the sensation to was when she was about to shift. She didn’t want to let Wednesday out of her sight. If any threat to Wednesday were to arise, she was sure that, full moon or not, she could wolf out right on the spot.

It was fortunate that Wednesday was growing accustomed to physical contact, because Enid didn’t think she would be able to resist. They were leaving Wednesday’s room when she looked back at Enid, and the tilt of her chin and the impossible magnetism of her gaze made heat rise in Enid’s throat. She wrapped her arms around her best friend and pulled her back against her chest, burying her face in her hair. She nuzzled the nape of her neck, and Wednesday shivered.

Lurch was passing by the far end of the hall. He spotted them, did a double-take, and halted mid-step, his eyebrows creeping towards his hairline. Wednesday didn’t move, but by this point Enid could feel her icy glares from around a corner. Lurch winced and covered his eyes with one hand. He spun on his heel and crashed into the wall hard enough to make the house shudder slightly before stumbling back the way he came with an apologetic groan.

“This is going to be difficult, isn’t it?” Wednesday sighed, though she didn’t pull away.

Enid winced and took a step back. “I’ll be normal around your family,” she promised. “I don’t really think I could survive another candid conversation with your mother about how in love we are with each other, honestly.”

“Actually, I was referring to myself,” Wednesday admitted, reaching up to brush her fingers across Enid’s cheek. It made her heart stumble out of sync.

“Regardless, they’re going to know,” Wednesday said darkly. “Mother and Grandmama are psychics, Pugsley is a busybody, and my father already considers us married. Not to mention Thing is an incorrigible gossip. I should have extracted a blood oath from him last night. I was remiss.”

Enid tried to swallow her sudden apprehension. “Maybe they won’t know,” she suggested weakly. “Who’s going to tell them? We literally just figured it out. Well – okay, you make a good point about the psychic thing, and I guess Thing could let something slip. But! Maybe they’ll be totally cool and normal – like, super nonchalant – about it.”

Wednesday pursed her lips. “Perhaps,” she said unconvincingly.

They proceeded downstairs, pausing before the entrance to the kitchen. Wednesday squared her shoulders and entered the sunlit room like a warrior into battle. Enid followed six full steps behind her.

Lurch was wearing his frilled apron, tending to a sizzling pan of bacon on the stove. He grunted a greeting, the corner of his mouth beginning to rise. He caught himself, turning hastily back to the stove to grasp at a dishtowel in an attempt to look busy. Instead, he accidentally ignited the towel on the gas burner. Wednesday ignored him as he flailed with the burning fabric, and Enid winced.

Gomez sat at the counter with a mug of coffee. Morticia stood beside him with her arm draped around his shoulders, watching all this with interest. Gomez didn’t seem to notice the small conflagration Lurch was trying to stamp out on the kitchen floor. He winked at Enid and slid Wednesday a mug of black coffee, eyes sparkling.

Morticia smiled like she had just seen a cat catch a bird. “Dismal morning to you both, my darlings,” she cooed. “Cousin It sends his regards; he’s dreading seeing you at the gala tomorrow. Enid, I hope you were all right last night.”

Enid remembered falling asleep with her face tucked in the groove of Wednesday’s neck, breathing in her scent. She vividly remembered her lips brushing the corner of Wednesday’s jaw and the way her breath had caught as Enid wrapped her arm around her waist and pulled her against her. Blood rushed to her cheeks. Her temperature hit critical in the milliseconds before Morticia added, “I do hope your transformation was not made more difficult by your new surroundings. How was it?”

“Oh, uh, you know,” Enid stammered. “Uneventful.”

The corner of Wednesday’s eye twitched. Enid gulped. She was a terrible liar.

Morticia’s eyes glimmered with a strange light, and Enid began to sweat. She was overcome with relief when Grandmama shambled into the kitchen with a rustle of shawls and a stream of muttered curses about the sun and how it rose every morning specifically to torment her.

“Morning, girlies,” she greeted them, and for one blissful moment, Enid believed they were out of danger. Even Wednesday’s shoulders lowered a notch.

Grandmama swiped a piece of bacon straight out of the pan Lurch was tending on the stove and shoved it between her teeth. She grinned at Wednesday as she chewed. “What did I tell you? ‘Packs a punch,’ that’s what I said!” she crowed. She turned and wiggled her eyebrows in Enid’s direction. “And see? Neither of you are dead! You worried your little blonde head into a tizzy for nothing.”

“That’s actually not what you said at all when I asked –” Enid argued, at the same time Wednesday began to say, “Roulette is meant to be a chance-based –”

Gomez shot to his feet, his mug clattering onto the counter. “So it’s true!” he exclaimed. Everyone turned to look at him. Enid’s entire body tensed, and Wednesday, if it was possible, went even more deathly still.

“Thing said you killed a werewolf hunter last night – what fun!” Gomez cried. “I hear the bog creature even made an appearance! He’s a shy fellow, so you must have made a good impression.”

Enid looked to Wednesday for permission to panic, but Wednesday almost seemed relieved. “Yes, we disposed of a hunter on the property,” she confirmed. Enid stared, wondering if she had correctly heard Wednesday confess to murder. “An uninteresting night, I’m afraid, with only that to report.”

“Nothing else?” Morticia lilted in her melodic way. “Are you sure?”

Enid’s heart sank. They were busted.

“Nothing else!” Gomez exploded before either Enid or Wednesday could respond. Morticia took a graceful and well-timed step back as he flung his arms wide, sending coffee showering over the counter from the mug forgotten in his hand. “But you are in love, are you not? Nothing else? My God! Tish, do you hear this? What could be more important?”

Enid was about to suggest, perhaps, a death on the grounds, but Wednesday was already tugging her back into the hallway. “On second thought,” she called, “We will be breakfasting in the conservatory.”

She dragged Enid into the murky darkness of the hall, where they passed Pugsley on his way to the kitchen.

“Hey guys!” he greeted them as Wednesday pushed past. “I heard lots of screaming already. What did I miss?”

--

“In my family they wouldn’t even notice if I didn’t come down to breakfast,” Enid griped.

Wednesday turned the page of the newspaper she was reading and set down her steaming coffee. She pushed the platter of food Lurch had brought to the conservatory towards Enid. “I think that went surprisingly well, all things considered – especially given the events of last night. Though I agree I could have done without the dramatics.”

Enid sighed and accepted another serving of eggs. “By ‘all things considered’ do you mean the murder we committed?”

“Our first,” Wednesday intoned, eyes gleaming at the memory. Then she abruptly grew solemn. “No, I was referring to how you could have died. But yes, the murder, too.” She shrugged. “Either of them, I suppose.”

Enid choked on a mouthful of eggs. “‘Either’?”

At that moment Morticia glided through the doors into the conservatory, a basket of raw meat swinging from her elbow. She smiled at Wednesday, who grimaced and ducked back into her paper, and ran a light hand over Enid’s shoulders. Enid looked up and had to gulp down a sudden surge of warmth at the look of pride in Morticia’s eyes.

“Don’t let me interrupt your breakfast,” Morticia said genteelly. “I’ll just be feeding my plants.”

Wednesday glowered at her newspaper. Enid didn’t mind Morticia’s presence. She was enjoying the slow warmth of the sun through the panes, the light faintly green where it shone through the leaves above their heads. She admired the way it gleamed against her best friend’s – girlfriend’s? No, that was going to inspire instant heart palpitations – dark hair.

“How unusual,” Morticia was muttering to herself. “My snapdragons have no interest in food today.”

“Hm,” Wednesday grunted without looking up.

Morticia bent and lifted a sleek black square from the soil by its silicon band. “What could this be?” she muttered, turning it in her hand. “It looks somewhat familiar.”

“A Smart watch?” Enid offered helpfully. “What’s it doing in your plants, though?”

Wednesday’s eyes darted away from her paper to the device in Morticia’s hand. “A modern torture device,” she clarified. “Give it to Pugsley. He will enjoy ingesting the battery.”

Morticia appraised it once more then tucked it into her sleeve. “Wednesday,” she said. “Mind that you see Lurch about the remainder of the gala preparations – of course he knows your measurements by heart, but a final fitting is still in order.”

Wednesday shot her a look, but rose obediently. She shook her head as Enid pushed back her chair.

“I would like this to be a surprise,” Wednesday explained in answer to Enid’s confusion.

Enid swallowed a brief flash of guilt. She had already seen Wednesday’s dress, thanks to Grandmama’s potion. “Okay!” she agreed. “Meet you back at your room when you’re done?”

Wednesday nodded, her eyes alight. She disappeared into the dreary hallway, and Enid winced at the thought she had already ruined the surprise. Morticia was watching her, mouth curled in an enigmatic little smile.

“No need to be nervous, darling,” Morticia intoned. “As I’ve said, you are already a valued member of this family.”

Something in the way she said it connected the dots in Enid’s brain. She turned all the way around in her chair to look at Wednesday’s mother. “You saw this,” Enid gasped. “This entire time, you knew about me – Wednesday – us.”

Morticia smiled. “I’m a Dove, my dear. These things just come to us.”

“How long?” Enid squeaked, mortified.

She was seeing her previous conversation with Morticia in a whole new light. How clueless had she seemed, that her crush’s mother felt the need to clue her in on how Wednesday felt about her? And what exactly had Morticia seen? Pure panic followed in the wake of that thought. Enid wracked her brain, frantically trying to recall any liberties she had taken with her daughter.

“Quite a while now,” Morticia admitted, sending Enid’s heart plummeting to her feet. Enid closed her eyes and wondered if Wednesday still had any venom darts handy. “Not to worry. I did not share the knowledge with anyone else. A psychic knows better than to reveal their visions. It risks altering the outcome.”

Enid’s mouth dropped open. She was disarmed by Morticia’s tacit approval of their foreseen relationship. “I guess – um, thanks for that,” Enid replied. “I don’t really know what to say. I mean – it means a lot. You know, that you...wanted me.”

“No need to say anything at all,” Morticia replied graciously. She tossed the last hunk of meat to Cleopatra, then glided towards the door. “I find that the best families are chosen.”

She paused on the threshold just long enough to give Enid another one of her rare smiles, then vanished into the hall, leaving Enid to sort out the sudden sticky feeling in her chest.

When she finally had her emotions under control, she ventured out of the conservatory into the maze of hallways. She had her own pre-gala preparations to finish, and Wednesday’s absence would provide the perfect opportunity to work on them.

She was already imagining how Wednesday would react to her own little surprise, when suddenly dark fabric fell over her eyes. A rough hand pressed it against her mouth and nose. It smelled mildly sweet, with chemical undertones. Her claws slid out, but the cloying scent wrapped her brain in a heady fog.

Her mind drifted away, and the last thing she felt was her knees buckling. She was out before she hit the floor.

--

Wednesday stalked between the gravestones, silently cursing the piercing sunlight beating down on the top of her head. The grass was fragrant, warmed by the sunshine and lit so vividly green it hurt to look at. The dark bushes scattered among the headstones looked scraggly and small in comparison.

Lurch had finished up her gala outfit in less than ten minutes. He had sewn everything she had ever worn, and she had been more or less the same size since she was ten. He barely ever needed to fit her; he could design a garment that would fit perfectly the first time she tried it on.

Which gave her time to stroll through the family cemetery, and to think. Usually a favorite activity of hers, but today the sun was shining with a vengeance and the usual dark haze surrounding the manor had vanished. She looked up and grimaced. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

The weather had a sense of humor. It seemed determined to mock her for letting a single sunbeam creep into her life, only to have it drive back every trace of darkness, leaving her hopelessly exposed.

A tap on her boot drew her attention. She looked down to find Thing offering her a small umbrella. She accepted it, letting him climb onto her shoulder. The cool shade comforted her instantly.

“Thank you,” she said. “I would have preferred the mist of the moors, but I’m concerned I will no longer be immune to the spirits’ temptations. Should any appear to me as Enid, I fear I would follow it to my demise.”

Thing tapped smugly, teetering on his ring and pinky fingers. Wednesday silenced him with a glare. “I have not gone soft,” she growled. “I prefer to think of myself as turned inside out – literally. A thrilling way to die, although as I’m discovering, a difficult way to live.”

Thing signed once more, sympathetically this time.

“I would suggest,” Wednesday said acidly. “That you change your tone. Pity doesn’t suit you. And no, I am not open to discussing it.”

It was not necessarily the case that anything in particular was the matter; it was that she was wrong. She had changed.

Wednesday had always grounded herself in being true to exactly what she was. She had exerted immense discipline to preserve the exact sum of her ways, had stubbornly and aggressively guarded the bounds of her personality against any and all outside influence that threatened to corrupt what she believed to be the immaculate and inalienable stringency of her absolute self.

She had told Enid she was evolving, and it was true. What she had failed to account for was that she would not be able to control the rate. The change in her had seemed gradual, until she had woken up in Enid’s arms that morning and realized her deepest fear had come to pass – she was no longer exactly who she had been her entire life up until that point, and she could not go back. She was different, without being entirely certain how she had changed, or what exactly she had become.

Thing tapped gently at her cheek. He pointed out that had she bothered to admit it, this was not news to anybody with eyes – although he signed ‘eyes’ as ‘cuticles,’ for some reason.

“Surprisingly, that does not help whatsoever,” she gritted through her teeth. She shrugged him off, and he plopped to the ground, still insisting she was being hard-headed and insufferable.

She ignored him and walked more determinedly through the thick, unkempt weeds bordering her favorite part of the cemetery – the witches’ portion. No matter how many times Lurch hacked back the brambles, they seemed to grow back thicker each time. He had finally given up, and now most of the gravestones were encased in sturdy branches riddled with spikes. Thing followed Wednesday as best he could through the brambles, careful not to catch his stitches on the thorns.

He clambered onto a headstone framed by beautifully carved serpents biting each other in the neck. He signed in a flurry. That got her attention.

“Of course not,” Wednesday snapped. “If I regretted it, it would be a sign I was still of sound mind. And perhaps it’s the madness talking, but I could no more regret loving Enid than I could regret a rainy day, or a public execution. A perversion of my nature is infinitely more acceptable than any rejection of the beauty of Enid’s. I simply thought I would never be a victim of love. If I am to be, let it be Enid.”

Thing quirked into a shape that resembled a shrug. Wednesday glowered and miserably slumped into the shade beneath the branches of a massive hawthorn.

“The problem is that I am no longer a knowable variable. A constant. My own rules aren’t absolute – I have exceptions.” She hissed the last word like a curse. She drew her knees up to her chin and rested her head on them. “All of which have to do with Enid.”

Thing poked her shin several times. “You would think that,” Wednesday muttered. “You’re a hopeless romantic. It’s your worst quality, besides your incurable love for gossip.”

Thing temporarily gave up. He plopped beside Wednesday.

“You tap your pinky when you’re stumped,” Wednesday finally said. Thing whirled on her in time to see the corner of her mouth twitch. “My apologies. That was not intended to be a joke about your body-lessness.”

He snapped his fingers and leapt up. He pointed at himself, then at the tree, then at Wednesday. She watched all this, and his explanation, expressionlessly. When he finished, her forehead wrinkled almost imperceptibly, and he knew he had won.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “I can concede that I have been guarded and stubborn. And that this may – may – have more to do with a crisis of control than of the result.”

Thing was heavy-handed with metaphors, but he had a point. Perhaps she had drawn the lines around herself so carefully that she had failed to account for what she could become. Enid was living proof that transformation was painful, inevitable, but survivable. And Wednesday was nothing if not persistent, and notoriously difficult to kill.

“But I would not use the word ‘growth,’” she added. “‘Mutation’ perhaps. Not in terms of being unwelcome or deleterious necessarily, but in the sense of being unrecognizably altered from the norm. An aberration. An atrocity.”

Thing gave up. At least she was visibly cheering up with each new noun. He offered a few parting signs, then marched back towards the manor in a huff.

“No, ‘dramatic’ would be spiraling every time you run out of your extremely expensive, impossible to procure, hand cream,” Wednesday countered, springing to her feet after him. “‘Dramatic’ is believing you are going to die every time you chip a nail. Need I go on?”

Wednesday let him outpace her. She took a detour rather than follow him to the manor, instead wandering through the headstones until she reached a familiar one - a sculpture that was missing its head. The ground beneath it was still torn up and muddy from where she and Enid had dueled the day before. She paused, remembering Enid brandishing her father’s blade, rain coursing down her face. Enid had stared at her in wild fury, her body tensed and ready to snap, or transform. She was the picture of beauty, teetering on the precipice of control, daring Wednesday to strike even as unrestrained, savage instinct rose from within to engulf her.

Wednesday had never been more in awe, or in love. She had revisited that moment already a dozen times since the morning. She was bewitched, plagued, haunted. She knew nothing anymore except that whatever happened – should Enid drive a blade through her, or tear her to shreds with her claws, or claim her heart and soul – she would welcome it, because it was Enid.

Besides, Enid had already done the worst thing imaginable to her. She had made Wednesday a victim to love. Worse, with nothing but her sunny, incessant smile, she had driven out any desire Wednesday had to free herself. She was not only Enid’s, she was voluntarily so. It was a diabolical, exquisite form of torture.

Wednesday was almost jealous she hadn’t thought of it first.