Chapter Text
Following two gap years, during which she had mostly focused on writing her novel, Wednesday Addams had decided to attend University of Salem, Massachusetts. That would normally not be a terribly notable decision, and one might even have expected it, considering that the Salem Witch Trials had been a favorite for bedtime readings ever since she was a child.
There were, however, certain complications. These mainly stemmed from the fact that her parents, Gomez and Morticia Addams, ran one of the larger crime organizations on the entire east coast from their haunted mansion in New Jersey. This was not something Wednesday often bothered herself with - she had grown up on it, had grown up in it, and was no stranger to what was happening both inside and outside of the mansion's four walls. What it did mean however, was that her parents were unusually concerned about her leaving the state of New Jersey for a normie university.
She had attended several normie schools previously, but after her stint at Nevermore Academy, where she had become infamous in her own right, it seemed that others had taken notice, and remembered that there was indeed a daughter in the Addams clan - a potential weakness to exploit. She herself thought this foolish, and if anyone dared come for her this misconception would be rectified immediately - but she knew her parents would be susceptible to such a weakness. Pugsley, the idiot, had allowed himself to be captured only a few years previously by people masquerading as high school bullies - Wednesday herself had set pirañas after them, which had incidentally been how she’d ended up at Nevermore in the first place.
And so, there were considerations that needed to be taken into account if she wanted to attend Salem, which was the furthest from her parents she suspected they would allow her to go. These considerations consisted of, primarily, a bodyguard.
Which was how, to her great annoyance, she found herself standing on the dark mezzanine overlooking a masquerade ball hosted by her parents, wearing a ridiculous dress that constricted her breathing and a mask that covered the top half of her face. The bodyguard had been her father’s idea, and her mother had insisted they host a party under the guise of screening potential candidates. Ridiculous.
Wednesday thought it was a horrible waste of time. Besides, she didn’t need a bodyguard. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, which she quite thought she had proved by stopping a homicidal bigot from reviving a dead pilgrim ancestor in her first term at Nevermore, thank you very much. Enid, her old roommate was already waiting for her at Salem, where she’d gone with her on-again, off-again boyfriend Ajax straight after Nevermore to study biology. Uncle Fester had promised he’d occasionally stop by the apartment she had secured, and she was already enrolled in multiple classes that started in less than two weeks.
She was perfectly ready to go - had even allowed her parents to buy her a phone for the occasion, which she had stubbornly resisted thus far, and allowed their right hand, Thing, to set it up to be quite secure.
Scowling across the dark crowd, she almost wished Enid was here. At least she’d have someone to commiserate with. And although she would never, ever admit it, the werewolf’s continual optimism did occasionally ease her own dark musings. She imagined Enid would make a game out of guessing the relations of the people attending the event, and just what exactly they’d hoped to gain from the evening. Maybe it would’ve been a better distraction from the low hum in her thoughts that had been her companion for these past years, rather than champagne. That was hardly noteworthy anymore - she had grown adept at ignoring the beckoning madness that her mother thought related to her psychic ability years ago - but she took another sip of champagne anyway.
Perhaps Viper should attend a function like this, she mused, and let her thoughts wander into several options for murder, mystery and mayhem as she continued her imperious surveillance of the crowd gathered below.
The guests consisted mostly of associates of her father’s actual legitimate business - he was a lawyer, partnered with her cousin Itt, specializing in outcast law. The men and women in fine clothes, drinking champagne from flutes as they moved across the room talking to people they knew or making new connections they’d hope to exploit in future, were blissfully unaware of the evening's primary agenda. To them it was simply another work event they attended with their own designs in mind. Scattered about were people Wednesday knew had nothing to do with her father’s practice, however. Her uncle Fester stood out like a sore thumb, wearing his pale wool coat even here, a clown mask standing out from the more sophisticated masks of the crowd. Another crime lord, Vincent Thorpe stood not too far away from him with his son, Xavier - the Thorpes were a powerful family themselves, and occasionally allies, but never fully trusted. They, or specifically Xavier, were the reason she had hoisted herself off to a dark corner shortly after greeting them. The boy had been after her since they’d met at Nevermore, insisting it was fate they meet again after she’d unintentionally saved his life as children.
Two men in red suits she had greeted earlier weaved through the crowd, aiming for her father. She knew they were there for the position of bodyguard, and she noticed that some of her father’s more legitimate associates gave them a wide berth, perhaps subconsciously. A lone wolf in a silver dress looked to be on a similar mission, and a DaVinci in a checkered suit, whose name she’d forgotten instantly. He used his power to distract people who tried to approach him, delaying his goal of reaching her parents. It was quite a pathetic display. There were a few others, whose outcast abilities weren’t immediately clear to Wednesday - perhaps they weren’t outcasts at all for that matter, that was hardly a requirement for the job - who had the same goal. In addition to the near twenty who, during the course of the first hours of the evening, had already reached their destination to be considered for the assignment.
At the edge of the floor, Gomez and Morticia held their court. To the unsuspecting, they looked nothing more than a pair of gracious hosts, her father in a deep silk suit that matched the inky ballgown her mother wore. Where Wednesday’s dress was composed of layers and see-through panels of tulle, her mother had gone all out and looked for inspiration from the Victorian era, a monstrosity that looked like a wedding cake topper. If wedding cake toppers came in black, that is. A large white mask that looked like the wings of a bird spread wide covered her eyes, leaving a striking contrast to her dark gaze. If one didn’t know her mother, one might be forgiven to mistake her for a vapid housewife catering to her husband. But while Gomez fronted the legitimate business, the family business was very much a partnership between them, and Morticia's discerning eyes missed little in the crowd. Wednesday knew her retreat to the mezzanine had not escaped her mother’s notice, even if her attention was currently diverted. She would probably be told off for it later, but right now she could not find it in herself to care.
The hall was too full of people, many of them vying for her attention, even when completely oblivious to who she was beneath the mask. To most, a potential dance partner for a turn or two. There were few amongst the gathered who would know her, and most of those who did would only know her as a lawyer's daughter - a bit peculiar, but striking in a way that often could be used to her advantage. Those who knew her like this were annoying enough - they wanted a dance, to get to know her, for her to curry their favor with her father. There were fewer still who knew she was the heiress to a crime empire, but their attentions were different. Intense. They did not simply hope for her to curry favor to her father, but they wanted to ingratiate themselves with her. Some sought an ally - others a partner. She shuddered at the thought - Xavier was in the latter category, and his insistence on a dance was why she had fled the main floor.
As she evaluated and judged from her high position, she felt the hum in her mind slowly quiet into a duller, calmer sound - a distant thunderstorm becoming a soft breeze. It happened occasionally, when her mind had drifted too far into nothing in particular, and it was bliss. Or perhaps was the champagne.
Draining the last of her glass, she briefly considered dropping it onto the main floor beneath her, just to hit one of the two red-suited bodyguard applicants on the head, but ultimately decided better of it. She almost scowled at her newfound restraint, and sat it down on a small side table instead.
She had just been about to debate the merits of leaving her perch for another glass, when seemingly out of nowhere, a fresh glass appeared just in front of her.
She turned her head slightly to stare at the newcomer, almost expecting Lurch to have found her - despite their butler’s seven feet of undead, he was surprisingly light on his feet. What greeted her however was not Lurch - it was one of the guests, if his mask and suit was anything to go by. He held two glasses of champagne, one of them held out in offering to her.
She raised an eyebrow at him in silent question.
"You looked like you could use another."
Careful not to touch his bare skin as she accepted the flute, she held the glass of champagne up to her nose and gave it a discreet sniff. It was highly unlikely that anyone would try to poison her at her parent’s ball, but it never hurt to be cautious. When he noticed what she was doing, the man in front of her simply chuckled and raised his own glass to toast hers in a brief clink of crystal.
There was something distinctly strange about this man. She had not heard him approach, which was an impressive feat in and of itself. Not only did she pride herself on her awareness of her surroundings, but her hearing was quite acute for one not enhanced by shifter genes. And yet he had managed to sneak up on her. Maybe she had been deeper in her own thoughts than she realized.
She turned more fully to face him, and looked at him properly. A mop of curly hair crowned his head, the color indeterminate in the dark lighting but presumably a lighter shade of some sort. His eyes gleamed strangely through the mask, and a small smile played on his lips. A strong jaw, and a solid column of neck disappeared into a dark grey suit that appeared to be not quite tailored to him. He was at least a foot taller than her, and stood with the easy grace of someone who was a lot more comfortable in social settings than she was.
She thought for a moment he looked eerily familiar, as though someone had smashed a once-familiar stained glass window and put it back together incorrectly. But that was almost ridiculous - she was quite certain she would have remembered meeting him, if only from the intensity of his gaze alone.
His eyes, she noticed, had shifted from her face to take in her dress, from where tulle draped down her chest and cinched at the waist, before sloping gently out as it flowed to the floor once more. For a brief moment, something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t decipher it.
"What are you doing up here?" The question came almost unbidden. She had intended to ask him who he was, because she did not know him - and he did not look the sort to be an associate of her father’s legitimate business interests.
He shrugged and leaned over the railing to look down at the crowd. "It was getting a bit crowded down there. Saw a young lady by herself and thought I’d come say hello." There was an easy charm to him that made her suspicious. It was true that she had never been good with people, but to leave a ball to come chat with a stranger on a mezzanine?
"I’m Tyler, by the way," he offered, and smiled at her once again, in a way meant to disarm. "Tyler Night."
She nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t respond. Words and silences were weapons most people wielded carelessly, and she intended to leave her mark.
When the silence stretched, and it seemed from the way he looked at her as though he was waiting for something… "You’re not going to pretend that you don’t know who I am, are you? That would be tedious."
He flashed her a grin that showed his teeth. "Or polite. In case you’d like to pretend to be someone else for the night."
"To pretend is to deny what is. Honesty may be cruel but anything else is a lie." Instead of dignifying his answering grin with her name, she instead asked, "So what do you think of the place?"
"It is quite the sight, I must say. From the rumors going around, I thought it would be filled with cobwebs and ghouls."
She took a small sip of her champagne. "Only on Samhain. Otherwise the ghouls are confined to the attic. Kitty is roaming free though, so if you hear a roar, you might consider your escape plan."
As if on cue, the lion appeared soundlessly at her side, the soft paws muffled against the hardwood floor. She reached out to pet the beast, allowing herself a small coo in greeting. It was a ridiculous habit she only indulged in with Kitty.
Tyler, to his credit, did not start or run at the sight of the lion. Cocking her head to the side to study him as he took Kitty in, he cautiously reached out a hand to pet the mane as she had done, allowing the lion to see his hand coming. Giving him time to warn him off or back away if the contact was unwanted. When Tyler saw no signs of retreat from the lion however, the hand made contact and Kitty closed his eyes at the touch.
"Kitty doesn’t usually like strangers," Wednesday remarked, and looked from Tyler to the lion and back again. "Only as food."
"Us temperamental beasts must stick together. Isn’t that right, Kitty?" The lion gave a small growl of contentment, before slinking back away into the darkness.
Interesting.
As she glanced down at the crowd again, she noticed Xavier waving his hand up at her, a bright smile on his face. She tried to subdue a groan, but was clearly unsuccessful when Tyler chuckled.
"Overzealous boyfriend?"
"If you’re here for the job, I’d have hoped you would’ve done a tad more research than that."
"Who says I’m here for anything except free champagne and interesting conversation?" As if to make his point, he took a long sip of his glass, nearly draining it in one before continuing. "Rumor says he wants to be, but that doesn’t mean he gets to be, does it? And considering your near non-existent presence online, with the exception of a few appearances on your former roommate's blog, who seems to be awaiting someone’s arrival at Salem this semester…" He shrugged, and she kept her face intentionally blank as he watched her process what he’d managed to find out.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Impressive. Although I’m disappointed to hear Enid has not been as discreet as I had asked."
"It was only a hunch." A satisfied smirk curled his lip, and she realized she’d unintentionally confirmed what he’d so far only guessed. She frowned, annoyed at herself. Something about his easy manner had slipped past her defenses far too easily. Glancing down at the glass in her hand, she wondered, briefly, if she should be impressed or annoyed.
"I take it that’s why there’s also rumors going around that you’re in need of a bodyguard."
Deciding not to dignify that with a response, she instead said, "So tell me, Tyler. You’re a professional. What’s your assessment?" She nodded to the room below them, indicating that her question pertained to the ball.
To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat. "Five exits, four unmarked guards on each. Two marked. Ten associates in attendance, wearing masks and tailored suits. Considering this is home, rather than a public event, it seems prudent." He didn’t take his eyes off of her as he spoke, as though to prove that he had already taken note of and memorized the security measures put in place. "Not foolproof, though." His gaze dropped for a moment as he said it, looking her over once more, and she found that she didn’t mind. The heat in his gaze was unsettling, but it sent a small thrill of danger down her spine. There were not many things that could do so anymore. Wednesday was not afraid, not by a long shot, but she was intrigued.
"And are you a fool, Tyler?" The question seemed to catch him off guard, and he barked a laugh in response.
"So how would you do it?"
"Do what?"
She kept her stare leveled at him, the implication obvious. "Kidnap me."
He licked his lips, and for a moment she thought she saw him falter, as though the action had been involuntary. "I’m not sure I should tell you. Who knows, I might be on the lookout for a job."
She quirked an eyebrow at him in response. That had almost sounded like flirting. Following an impulse, she deliberately moved her hand down to her thigh, where she shifted her dress over to reveal a thigh-high split and the holster filled with knives strapped to her thigh. She kept her eyes on him, and watched as his eyes followed the movement of her hand to where it rested on her naked thigh. His eyes widened slightly behind the mask and he let out a small breath before returning her eyes to hers once more, something darker, more intense in his gaze.
"I do enjoy a good kidnapping," she said conversationally, as though she hadn’t just flashed both naked flesh and hidden weapons at him. She studiously ignored the heat in his gaze, refusing to let it affect her. "Although my standards are quite exacting."
"Hopefully I won’t need to live up to them." Had his voice dropped an octave, or was that her imagination?
"That’s a shame. I don’t think I’d mind." The sentence slipped out before she had noticed, and she internally cringed. By the way he looked at her from underneath his lashes, his stare dark and intense, she wondered if he had noticed the burning in her own eyes as she’d said it. It had been a long time since anyone had attempted to kidnap her - almost four years ago, now. She elected not to tell him that kidnapping was a favored Addams courtship ritual. Outsourcing immediately cancelled out the effort, however - it had to be personal. Instead of speaking, she let the silence settle between them, thick and heavy. Before either could speak again, a low groan cut through the music coming from below.
"Yes, Lurch?" She said, without looking away from Tyler. She kept her eyes on him as he looked to their side where Lurch was now standing, and saw his eyes widening in surprise. Apparently near-zombies were not part of his day-to-day interactions.
Lurch gave a few more grunts, and she nodded her understanding. Finishing her glass of champagne, she held her arm out to Tyler expectantly.
She didn’t know why she did it. From the way he stared at her hand, not understanding, he seemed to be almost as taken aback as she was herself. Wednesday Addams did not like touch. She preferred to be a solitary creature, avoiding others as though they might randomly hug her. A few had managed to sneak through her defenses - Enid, and Ajax by association. Xavier in his persistence, reluctantly. Eugene and Agnes, annoying but in the same way Pugsley was. She did not offer her hands for strangers to touch, even gloved. But there her hand hovered, expectantly, until he caught on and offered her his arm in response.
Her mind went blank at the sight, and for a moment they both stared at her hand placed atop his forearm as though it was the greatest mystery in the universe.
He recovered first. "And where, pray tell, are we going?"
"My parents have requested my presence."