Chapter Text
Wednesday smells like blood and fire. Enid buries her head into the crease between her neck and shoulder and breathes. There’s comfort in the dull notes of ink at Wednesday’s nape.
She pulls back and looks at Wednesday, sees the blood in her hair and down the side of her face, her messy bangs, the shine to her eyes that betrays her stoic frown. Enid can’t help herself, the tears falling unbidden as Wednesday pulls her into another hug, can’t keep from holding Wednesday tighter, feeling her body stiffen and her heart rate quicken—it’s all enough to know she’s alive. Wednesday is alive.
Principal Weems’ funeral comes on a bitterly sunny Monday. Wednesday is there, her dress a rich black number that falls all the way down to her knees, her black stockings coming to rest in a pair of shiny black shoes. Her skin is so fine and clear, brown but washed in a way that could render her as if in a painting. Enid thinks there must be something morbid about seeing beauty at a funeral.
She thinks Wednesday would like that as a compliment.
Weems is serene in her casket, not a hair out of place. She was a tall and imposing force in life. It only seems reasonable that she’d strike the same forbidding cut in death.
Enid is almost afraid to approach her, but the thought of not saying goodbye overrules her squeamishness. She can’t stand the concept of death, her whole body shivering as she gazes at Larissa Weems and her placid, pallid face. She can feel the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.
Enid’s not sure what must go through Wednesday’s mind on any given day but especially today. There’s a moment when Enid realizes she is there, and then Wednesday is touching her. The touch is tentative, unsure. She grazes Enid’s hand with her own and Enid makes the decision for her, clutching tight in between her fingers like the hold is the only thing keeping her stable. And it might be. Who knows.
Wednesday's fingers are cold to the touch. Her skin is dry, and it's almost like touching paper except there's a dull, faint heartbeat in the palm of her hand. It's slower than it should be but reassuring in the odd way that Wednesday always is.
Enid’s never really been close enough to feel her friend’s heartbeat before. Well, aside from almost dying. If she focuses enough, she can hear the thud of it. It’s a dull thud, as if muffled, as if stashed in some secret place. It’s so wholly unlike any other heartbeat in the room, and it’s just so Wednesday.
There are other students from Nevermore at the funeral although Enid doesn’t make an effort to speak to them. It had only been a week since the school had been ransacked by an undead, racist pilgrim, but the distance she feels between herself and her peers feels larger than that. It was as if something had wedged itself between her personality and the way people interacted with her. Something like her face.
Enid hadn’t even realized she was doing it until the sting of touching a freshly healed scar brings her out of her reverie. Wednesday’s hand tightens in her own.
“Enid,” she says and tugs at their joined hands, “follow me.”
Wednesday brings her out and around the small funeral home where they find privacy near a flowering azalea bush. There’s a bench here and a small fountain shaped like a fish. Water shoots out of its mouth so smoothly there’s hardly a ripple in the pool below.
They sit for a long time, probably much longer than they should, but she can’t find it in herself to care. Not when Wednesday’s hand hasn’t left her own. Not when there are still tears on her face that she doesn’t remember crying.
“She died protecting us,” Wednesday says quietly. “She died a valiant death befitting an Addams.”
Enid doesn’t think she’s ever heard Wednesday give anyone such high praise.
“Yeah,” Enid says, clearing her throat. “Yeah, she’s a hero.”
They sit quietly a while longer until Wednesday breaks the silence. “How is home?”
Enid sniffs. Of course Wednesday would hone in on the one thing Enid would rather not talk about.
“Well, my mom isn’t bothering me about wolfing out anymore. So that’s something.”
Wednesday tightens her grip.
“Okay, I know what you meant.” Enid sighs and looks away from the dark, perceptive gaze. “My family is kind of freaking out to be honest. They don’t know what transforming on a blood moon means.” Enid wants to fidget but one of her hands is occupied. She picks at the lint on her slacks instead.
“Your family doesn’t have knowledge of the blood moon?” Wednesday almost sounds surprised, if that were possible for her.
“Not really.” She nervously scratches at the back of her neck, catches herself, and goes back to playing with the ball of lint she’s gathered in the seam of her pants. “Wolves aren’t supposed to shift on blood moons,” she says quietly. The knowledge that there is something deeply, intimately fucked up with her makes her start crying again.
Wednesday shushes her in an uncharacteristically gentle motion, pulling her close so that Enid’s face is pressed to her shoulder and neck. She sniffs to clear the snot and in turn gets a whiff of that familiar scent of ink. For some reason this makes her cry harder.
Wednesday just holds her, a hand tentatively rubbing her back in small circles. She’s stiff as if the motion is unfamiliar, and Enid assumes that it is, but the fact that it’s Wednesday—that it’s her hand unsurely rubbing circles on her back—that’s all that matters. And even though they’re outside in the middle of the day—the sun shining bright and hot—the shadow of the building drapes over them like a veil, shielding them protectively from passersby.
She cries for several minutes until she feels all cried out. She sniffs and pulls back and instantly feels shame creep up her neck. “Um, sorry, I uh, well I got some snot on you.” Enid looks away and feels her throat closing up again. God, again?
Wednesday grabs both her hands. “I don’t care,” she says, and she pulls Enid’s hands to get her attention. “It doesn’t matter.”
If the shadows around them grow darker, if Wednesday’s grip grows tighter, well, no one but Enid notices anyway.
Wednesday has a phone now. Enid takes full advantage of that fact.
“And when she said that they were going to—hey! Put him back.” Wednesday’s face comes into view as she picks up the phone. The image becomes jagged, like suddenly there’s a bad connection.
“I don’t think I will, actually.” Wednesday keeps the phone at eye level as she moves somewhere else. Even though the video lags, Enid can see her pouty lips curl into a smug smirk. She takes a screenshot without thinking.
“I was just telling Thing about how Yoko is a dunce and her and Divina are finally going on a date next Saturday. What could be more important than that?”
“This.” Wednesday turns the phone around and aims it at a book. Enid squints.
“Wends, the resolution is too icky. I can’t read the cover.” The resolution had been just fine before while she was talking to Thing, but she chooses not to comment on it.
Wednesday grumbles something about not calling her that and clears her throat. “It says, ‘Werewolves Unaffected by the Lunar Cycle.’” She taps on the cover and points at the bottom. “Written by one Jonathan Sinclair.”
“Who’s Jonathan Sinclair?”
Wednesday turns the phone back around just to quirk an eyebrow at her. “I thought you’d know. Either way, this book has information about the blood moon.”
Enid feels her heart rate spike. “What does it say?” It comes out more of a whisper than she intends it to, the excitement and fear constricting her throat.
Wednesday sets the phone down so the camera is aimed at the ceiling. The quality of the video improves almost immediately and she has a very good view of the cobwebs above. Enid can hear the sound of the book opening, the rustling of pages. Wednesday reads, “Since the Sinclair family has lived on this soil, the Addams have guided us on the cycles of our moon. They are an ancient line of powerful creatures, though to call them witches would downplay the variety and ubiquitous nature of their power.” Wednesday breathes out what suspiciously sounds like a laugh and Enid tries not to be shocked.
“What is it?” she asks instead.
Wednesday picks the phone up so she can point it at the book. “He underlined ubiquitous.” It’s impossible to tell with how awful the video quality is, but she trusts it.
Enid laughs. “He’s not wrong. I mean, I thought you were a witch or something."
“Or something,” Wednesday muses.
“Wednesday," Enid says.
“Enid,” she replies. “We’re learning about blood moons right now.” Wednesday makes a point of tapping the book and points her camera at the next paragraph.
“Fine,” she grumbles, “but you’re gonna tell me at some point.”
“There is simply nothing to tell.” Wednesday sighs, sets the phone down, and resumes reading, “This power is how I have come to find the nature of the blood moon and its effects on werewolves. It is well known within the pack that the blood moon prevents the transformation that is otherwise brought on by a full moon, and it is by their nature as worldly denizens that the Addams have determined the cause.
“The blood moon is what is known as an eclipse. This eclipse is that of one which intercedes the debate between the sun and the moon, for the earth becomes a negotiation. It is like this in their understanding of the stars, that the sun is as one such star, and that the earth rotates around it and becomes in position to block its light and cause this reddening effect of the moon. The magic this entails is unlike that of which I have ever seen or known, though the eldest Addams assures me that it is a natural magic as old as the beginning of time.
“Its effect on wolves is simple at first glance. Since the moon has been blocked off from its font of power, that effect is transferred to those which draw their power from it. In other times, it was simply known that the blood moon lacks. It was this simple explanation which has been passed between wolves as oral tradition dictates, the intricacies of the magic lost. In fact, one could make an argument that this is the only explanation. That is, until at such time a contrary notion can be established.”
Enid groans. “This guy talks too much. Can you get to the good part?”
This time Enid is positive that Wednesday laughs. It’s short and small, and maybe it’s just a huff of air, but it’s as much a laugh as Enid has ever heard Wednesday make and it lights her up inside. “I can just tell you what he says instead of reading it to you I guess.” She closes the book and picks the phone up, pointing it at her face.
“Why not do that in the first place!” Enid tries to pump as much flourish and whine into that statement as possible.
Wednesday presses her lips into a line. The image distorts in such an odd way Enid isn't even sure she saw it, and then it's back to its standard static. “Forgive me for thinking you might want to know the words of your ancestor.”
“He’s stuffy and boring. Just straight shoot it to me, Wends.”
Her eye twitches. “I’m proud you’ve taken up gallows humor.”
Enid groans again. “You’re dragging this out on purpose.”
There’s a smirk that peeks out of the corner of her lips. “Jonathan goes on to detail his experience as a blood moon werewolf and an outlier to the common assumption that werewolves cannot transform on a blood moon. He explains in excruciating detail—and believe me, it is excruciating—his entire scientific process of theorizing. He’s an astronomer, botanist, and biologist, so his vernacular is loathsomely burdensome. It’s probably for the best that I not regale you with the entire section he sidetracks into the test he did with wolfsbane. The jargon is untenable.”
“Yeah, untenable alright.” Enid nods and tries not to laugh. She maintains the effect for a few seconds before she loses it and snorts. Wednesday looks amused. “Just tell me what he said already!”
“Fine,” she says, and now she isn’t even trying to hide her smile. “It’s actually interesting. It’s good news.” Enid’s heart soars. “Jonathan was unerringly tenacious with recording his experiences." If she doesn't get on with it! "Werewolves who transform on a blood moon are able to transform without the need for the moon at all.”
“What?” she squeaks.
Wednesday is positively glowing. “You’re basically one of the most powerful magical creatures alive.”
Oh. Oh. The look on Wednesday’s face is doing something to her that might be powerful and magical too. Enid tries not to blush. Not well, but she tries.
“Well, that’s better than just being a late bloomer.”
Wednesday gives her this look. It’s somewhere between a burning smolder and a stab. “Enid, I won’t have you cutting yourself down anymore. You have every right to be proud of who and what you are.” The “act like it” is unsaid, but Enid can feel how Wednesday is trying to shoot pride into her like a laser.
She throws up her hands. Well, hand, the other one is holding her phone. “Okay, jeez, I’m super powerful or whatever. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t even know how I shifted, let alone how to do it again. Do you think I’ll still wolf out on the full moon like everyone else?” The hint of desperation that leaks into her voice is embarrassing.
Wednesday frowns. “I don’t know, though I’m not sure why that matters. You can shift whenever you want to. I guess you could shift on the full moon.”
Enid fidgets with her blanket. “I mean, you know, like a real werewolf. Do you think the moon will make me shift or,” she pauses and tries not to sob, “you know, I’ll have to fake it.”
“Enid.” Wednesday’s shift from encouraging to furious is instant. “You’re not a fake werewolf.” She frowns and the pensive tug of her eyebrows gives her this look like she could take down a beast. “I’ll kill your mother.” Well, she guesses her mother is a type of beast.
Enid just sighs. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t care what she thinks. It’s just, she was more upset about the blood moon than she was about the hyde. Well, except the scars.” She rubs the fabric of her quilt between her fingers, sliding the material against itself over and over while she thinks. Wednesday is patient, and it might seem weirdly considerate of her, but Enid has noticed how she grows quiet and somber when Enid opens up about her family. She sits and waits, that neutral expression belying some haunted anger.
“My dad’s reaction was almost worse though. He’s always been the better parent, but when I told them I shifted on the blood moon, he got this look like I’ve never seen before.” Enid glances back up at her phone to look at Wednesday’s reaction. “They acted like they were scared of me, Wends. I don’t understand.”
Wednesday glances down. “I haven’t had a chance to read this whole thing,” she finally says. “Maybe Jonathan has more information about blood moon werewolves that will help shed some light on their reactions. In the meantime, did you ask why they reacted that way?”
Enid laughs. “What, ask them why they’re scared of me? That would go over well.”
“I’m serious, Enid. Maybe there’s something they’re not sharing. They know more than they’re letting on.”
Enid fumbles with her phone to plug it in as she says, “Why do you think that?”
Wednesday has her investigation face on now, and seeing it finally brings some reassurance to Enid’s weak heart. She might not have all the answers, but Wednesday sure as hell is gonna find them.
“Just a hunch.” She flips the book open on the desk and leans over, propping her arm up on her elbow to hold the phone. “The magic Jonathan mentions in this book isn’t normal. A lot of it involves the moon, obviously, but more of it involves esoteric or dangerous reagents, the nature of which suggests to me that there is more to the blood moon than just the effect it bestows on your ability to transform.”
“Does he mention why he can transform under the blood moon?”
“No.” She frowns. “At least, not yet. Let me finish reading his journal and then we’ll decide what to do next.”
“Okay, Wends. Whatever you say.”
There’s a quirk to her lips that dimples her left cheek. Enid’s heart maybe skips a beat or something.
They sit in comfortable silence until Wednesday asks, "Are you going to be okay living there?" Her question comes out quiet, reserved, like she's almost nervous to ask it. She remembers a similar question behind a funeral home, pink azaleas in bloom. Now that she thinks about it, don’t azaleas flower in March?
Enid looks at the little picture of Wednesday on her phone and tries to figure out where the nervousness came from. Wednesday's face is as impassive as ever, but if there's a slight scrunch to her brow and a worried tick to her frown Enid doesn't say anything. She just notices these things and decides no, actually, she won't be okay living here. She'd actually prefer to live anywhere else. Maybe somewhere specific. Maybe somewhere like—
"Can I come live with you for the break?"
Wednesday's eyebrows shoot up.
"I mean," she starts, "I could ask Yoko, it's just, you're already my roommate at school and if I came over there we could try to figure this blood moon thing out and—"
"Enid," Wednesday says, cutting her off, "I don't mind. I was actually going to suggest it."
Enid can feel the tears before Wednesday is even done speaking. "Oh Wednesday, you don't know how much this means to me. I mean Yoko is great and all but you're like my best friend and I can't really imagine spending all winter break with a vampire. Did you know they really do sleep in coffins? I thought that was a joke but Yoko's dad really has a coffin in his office and—"
"They don't sleep in coffins, Enid." Wednesday had set the phone down in favor of the book on the table if the fluttering of paper is anything to go by. "They probably pranked you and you didn't notice.”
Enid huffs. "What, how would you know?"
She hums and then surprisingly divulges personal information. "My Great Aunt Lucinda was a vampire. She passed in an incident involving a demonic summoning and an observatory. The observatory had a very large telescope, as is to be expected." She pauses and Enid hears a page turn. "I assume it was repurposed to act like a magnifying glass. She suffered spectacularly, I'm told."
Enid shudders. Wait. "Wait." Enid's breath catches. "Wait, if your aunt's a vampire, does that mean your family—"
"No, Enid, I am not a vampire."
Enid huffs and plops back on her bed, cradling her charging phone in one hand with her other arm thrown over her face. She sighs and tries to exaggerate it as much as possible. Wednesday could be such a pain sometimes. Enid knows that Wednesday knows that that isn’t what she was going to ask, but the decisive way she had answered just shut down the conversation. Enid isn’t really surprised though. Anytime Wednesday's family came up, stories were short, weird, and not expanded upon.
Regardless, a comfortable silence stretches between them, and Enid drowses with her arm blocking the light on the ceiling.
"I've purchased you a ticket. You'll be leaving at four in the morning, so you should pack now."
"What!" Enid squeaks.
"You said you wished to come live here. I am facilitating the process."
"Yeah but, you didn't have to buy a ticket and make me get on a plane in," Enid checks her phone, "three hours? Oh my god, I'm gonna throw up."
Enid feels the spike of adrenaline and anxiety churning her stomach and dry heaves. What would she tell her parents? Should she tell her parents? Which stuffed animals should she bring?
"Enid?" she hears from her phone.
She picks herself up and starts shoving clothes into her backpack. "Hey, yeah, sorry, got way too psyched for a second there. I'm packing and, um, I don't even know how I'm getting to the airport."
"Already taken care of," Wednesday says.
Go figure. Her roommate could do basically anything.
"Okay, so you somehow managed to find a ride to come out all the way to the pack and drive me two hours into the city to take an airplane you managed to get tickets for just hours before it takes off. What're your powers again?"
“Money.” Wednesday looks impassively down at the table. "Your ride is a family friend who happens to be in the area at the moment."
"Who's that?" Enid asks as she shoves another jacket into her bag. New Jersey is cold this time of year.
"A woman I think you'll actually get along with quite nicely." Wednesday seems genuine, but Enid isn't convinced.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, she wears pink."