Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In general, Wednesday always found a way to keep herself busy.

It was easy enough.

She had a fascinating line of work—one that never allowed boredom, especially not in Jericho. And she always managed to be in the right place at the right time. The fact that she enjoyed putting herself in danger on purpose and frequenting places most people labeled as “frightening” or “grim” placed her at the very heart of the action.

She found it normal. Beginning to tackle a problem at its source meant being smart enough to step into the mind of someone “defective,” someone driven by murderous impulses. Nearly all crimes were committed in places people dreaded entering, which also happened to be the places where she loved spending her free time.

An Addams thing.

But at the moment, she had stumbled onto something far more consuming. Her new obsession—the reason for the rising fear and panic among Jericho’s residents: a monstrous serial killer whose existence remained somewhere between urban legend and terrifying reality, though the bodies left behind were unquestionably real and rising in number.

The town sheriff, Donovan Galpin, was working the case, which, in Wednesday’s humble opinion, meant no useful progress would ever be made. And in any case, she intended to handle it with or without his approval; Wednesday was her own independent detective, officially recognized by Mayor Walker—somewhat reluctantly, but recognized nonetheless.

Whether Galpin cooperated or not, the investigation would be hers.

Something that would also inspire her crime novel.

She flipped through the pages of her manuscript, the photos of the last three victims lying casually beside her notes. Wednesday was trying to find names that matched and illuminated the victims’ characters: Olivia Davis, Benjamin Clarke, and Ethan Hanson.

She received strange looks from those who walked past her in the Weathervane—mixes of disdain and fear. Typical of non-outcasts and the sheep of modern society, swept up in their hatred of difference. Wednesday was the kind of outcast both in her abilities and in her personality. Simply being an Addams earned her their contempt.

Which was why she was a bit surprised when a young woman with blond hair dipped in nauseating colors at the tips approached her booth.

“Uh… hi. Are you Wednesday Addams?” Nervousness coated her voice, the eccentric-looking blonde shooting her evaluating glances.

She wore a smile that most people would have found charming, and which Wednesday didn’t find entirely vomit-inducing, as well as an outfit as colorful as her hair. It burned Wednesday’s eyes.

If she had to say it, this girl was her exact opposite.

“What gave me away?” Wednesday asked, her tone sarcastic and sharp.

The girl fidgeted, visibly unaccustomed to such coldness. She had the look of someone bright and bubbly, the type who effortlessly melted the majority of people—though Wednesday was not “the majority of people.”

“I’m sorry, I see I’m bothering you.” She bit her lower lip, her smile turning as nervous as her posture, and the detective almost felt pity for her. Almost. “I’m an investigative journalist, actually. And I heard that you’re, uh, following the trail of the monster terrorizing Jericho. I was wondering if I could, uh, interview you—without interfering in the investigation, of course.”

Wednesday simply stared at her.

The blonde licked her lips in the absence of a response, casting a nervous glance at the rather brutal crime scene photos resting on the table like a friendly cup of coffee. She extended her hand, persistent. “I realize I should’ve introduced myself first; I’m Enid Sinclair.”

There was a long moment of awkwardness—at least for the journalist—while Wednesday stared at her hand with pure disdain. As though the outstretched limb were the most offensive thing she had ever seen.

Enid eventually pulled it back, her face falling slightly.

“I do not feed media parasites with real victims of a creature posing a legitimate threat to the safety and functioning of this town.” She said it as politely as Wednesday could—meaning, not very—but Enid sank even more.

“I understand. People’s opinions on journalists are sometimes justified. But I promise I’m not trying to turn something as serious as a murder spree into entertainment to sell to a disturbed audience.” The eccentric journalist stuttered slightly but seemed sincere. She continued, “I’m here to give this town what it wants: answers. That’s what people deserve. The truth and the means to be prepared.”

“Nothing can prepare you for an unregistered creature tearing out your entrails and devouring you in a lonely forest with no one around to hear your screams,” Wednesday stated in a neutral tone.

Enid paled. Her smile froze—fragile, like varnish cracking under pressure.

“Lovely,” She managed, more reflex than conviction.

Wednesday didn’t answer. Her attention drifted to the photos as she brushed her fingers over the image of a blood-covered torso, as though examining an interesting but incomplete work of art.

“You have chosen a profession rather ill-suited to your… sensibility,” She finally said without looking up. “People like you avert their eyes at the slightest hint of gore.”

Enid frowned slightly. There was a flicker in her eyes—something between pride and challenge. “People like me? You mean… optimists? Those who still believe we can do something good and bring justice?”

Wednesday finally lifted her gaze, her face as expressionless as a blank canvas. “I mean the naïve.”

Silence followed—the kind that stretches thin like a rope ready to snap. Enid held her stare and, for a reason she couldn’t name, it intrigued Wednesday more than she cared to admit.

The blonde spoke again, softer this time: “I know you’re onto something. And I know the police won’t listen to you. Maybe I can help. Not for an article—if you refuse. To understand.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you believe I require assistance?”

“No one should investigate something like… that alone.” She gestured to the photos. “Even someone as… impressive as you.”

Either this girl was trying to get by on flattery, or someone had been sharing Wednesday’s accolades. Wednesday preferred the second option, especially given the respect—bordering on fear—in the journalist’s blue eyes.

She held her gaze for a moment, then methodically slid the photos back into their folder. “You believe a creature capable of devouring a grown man whole will be moved by female solidarity?” She asked dryly, her tone almost aristocratic in its disdain.

Enid gave a timid smile. “No. But maybe two brains are better than one.”

“And what, exactly, have you to offer that suggests such a thing?” Wednesday replied coolly. “If men were what I needed to investigate, I would already have battalions at my disposal. I have no need of your brain. You would merely slow me down by adding unnecessary distraction to mine. Furthermore, your appearance, reminiscent of a rainbow’s regurgitation, would likely scare the monster away before I even had the opportunity to approach it. No, thank you.”

She dismissed Enid entirely and slipped on her black coat.

She noticed Tyler approaching when he saw her getting ready to leave. The sheriff’s son, unlike his father, was one of the few people in town she tolerated. Not only because he was open-minded toward outcasts, but because he had a natural, unintrusive camaraderie and a simple way of thinking. That suited Wednesday, since she saw him only as the friendly barista at the Weathervane.

“You leaving already?” Tyler asked as he came to collect the bill. His voice had that natural warmth that irritated Wednesday almost as much as it amused her.

“I do not remain in establishments that serve lukewarm coffee and even bland­er conversations,” She answered without looking at him, leaving a generous tip.

Tyler gave an uncertain smile, used to her barbs. “Still as charming as ever, Wednesday. You should patent your diplomatic skills.”

“That would be a waste. Few would know how to use them properly.”

Behind her, Enid was clearly struggling to keep up. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, torn between fleeing and a suicidal attempt at perseverance. As Wednesday grabbed her notebook and prepared to exit, the blonde spoke, firmer this time:

“Wait.”

Wednesday stopped. One word, spoken with enough courage to hold her attention. She slowly turned her head, her expression frozen in expectancy.

“I know you think I’m some colorful idiot,” Enid began, her chin lifted in fragile dignity. “And maybe I am. But I’ve done my homework. I’ve read your reports, your articles, your analyses. And I know you don’t work with just anyone. In fact, you don’t work with anyone at all. But I’m sure I could be useful.”

Tyler looked up, intrigued. Wednesday stayed silent for a moment, thinking.

“And why,” She finally asked, bored and unconvinced, “do you believe you could be of use to me?”

The journalist pressed her lips together before offering a hesitant yet proud smile, along with a small shrug. “You might need a werewolf to fight this creature if it ever shows up. And I’m a very good hunter too.”

So that was it—that faint oddity Wednesday had sensed. This girl was an outcast as well. Not unusual in Jericho, but given the tension between outcasts and normies, one didn’t often encounter them openly in daylight.

Unimpressed—because she truly wasn’t—Wednesday replied, “And what makes you believe I would not know how to defend myself? I have been hunting since childhood. None of the skills you boast of are foreign to me.”

Well, perhaps she was exaggerating. She could proudly take down several grown men three times her size, but she wasn’t entirely certain she could handle a creature this vile and feral.

Regardless—she did not do teamwork.

Enid seemed to lose her burst of confidence at the clear rejection, yet she wasn’t ready to give up. She made one last attempt. “I’m not trying to underestimate you, detective,” She said more softly. “But I think you’re underestimating me. I know you prefer to work alone, but you know a werewolf could be an asset.”

“Hn.” Wednesday thought. She knew it was true. But trust was a rare commodity these days, and she did not trust journalists.

Enid seemed to catch onto that and added, “From outcast to outcast? Just give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. You won’t regret it, Detective Addams.”

Wednesday glanced at Tyler, raising a brow at his lingering presence. Realizing he was intruding, he blushed and stepped back with an awkward yet sincere wave. “See you next time, Wednesday.”

Once he was gone, Wednesday delivered her verdict. It couldn’t hurt as long as she gave no trust.

“Fine. Then I shall grant you one chance. I want you at the site of the last murder tonight at twenty-two hundred hours. Alone. And I want no cameras or anything resembling that technological invention designed to leave vast deserts in the mind.” She conceded after calculating pros and cons.

If the creature noticed Wednesday’s constant presence, it might indeed target her. Having a werewolf for protection could prove useful if she wished to continue her investigation without being eviscerated. Even if Wednesday would have greatly enjoyed such an experience—what a delightful memory it would make.

Investigation before torture. She had to list her priorities.

The werewolf practically jumped for joy, earning another disapproving look from Wednesday—and perhaps instant regret. “Thank you! You won’t regret it, I swear.” She stepped forward, arms outstretched.

Wednesday stepped back, her expression delivering her disgust at the mere idea of being touched.

“Oh—right. Not a hugger, got it.” Enid lowered her arms, thought for a second, then offered her hand again, like a business transaction.

The detective stared at the offered limb with the same disgust.

“Ah. No contact either. Okay.” Enid sighed, but her smile stayed. “Do you have contact info? You know, might be useful for a proper partnership.”

“What for? I have already provided the place and time of rendezvous.” Wednesday felt her bag twitch and clenched her jaw. She had nearly forgotten Thing’s presence until he made his displeasure known—cramped and hidden.

“Uh… yes, but staying in touch for emergencies or unexpected issues is always helpful, detective.” The journalist folded her hands to suppress her nervous fidgeting. Wednesday found her unstable, restless, irritating, and so loud she seemed incapable of standing still.

Not the ideal partner—but if her mother learned she was hunting an unidentified creature without backup, she’d be called reckless. A werewolf was useful, and Wednesday had to admit the idea of a monster-versus-monster fight was far too enticing. 

For purely scientific purposes.

“No. I have no contact information,” The medium finally replied.

She had been here far too long, wasting time and blocking the path of people who would gladly shove her aside.

“Goodbye.”

She suddenly turned, causing Enid to stumble at the abrupt farewell. “Hey, wait! But how am I supposed to reach you afterward—?!”

This girl was going to ruin her investigation.

And yet.

A werewolf versus a fierce, powerful creature.

That would look excellent in her novel.

Enid sprawled across her couch, trying to calm her restless mind before the meeting. It scared her—she had to admit that, and she was a little ashamed of it. She was a werewolf, an alpha no less. She had nothing to fear, especially since tonight wasn’t a full moon.

Detective Addams didn’t know about her alpha status, which only made it easier for her to underestimate her. Enid could shift into a werewolf at will, so she was certain she could handle their backs.

“Hey, you’re already home?” Her boyfriend called out, startling her—Enid had been so deep in her thoughts she hadn’t even heard him come in.

He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and Enid smiled. “Yeah. The day wasn’t busy, it’s still the beginning.”

Enid was a freelance journalist, which didn’t make her life any easier. She was fighting tooth and nail to prove her worth to the town, to be recognized for her work, but launching herself alone was hard. Sure, her friends helped by promoting her blog, but still.

That was why she admired Wednesday Addams. That girl worked on her own, entirely independent from the Jericho police, and she had had no one to help her. In fact, she still had no one.

Even if her family’s fortune probably helped her launch her private practice.

“It’ll pick up, don’t worry.” Bruno settled on the couch, Enid’s feet landing across his lap. He absently stroked her ankles, clearly eager to talk about his day. “Mine was rough. My idiot brother keeps messing everything up and never owns it. We had a drop in business because of his incompetence, and my father dumped everything on me. As always, he’s blind to that moron Nathan and babies him. As if that wasn’t enough…”

Enid wasn’t listening anymore, drifting away in the flow of complaints and rambling from the other werewolf. It wasn’t that she didn’t care—she supported Bruno, of course—but her boyfriend had a habit of blowing every tiny inconvenience at work out of proportion.

Her mind kept circling back to Wednesday Addams and their meeting tonight.

The detective hadn’t recognized her, but Enid had.

She remembered her from Nevermore Academy, though they had never spoken, despite Enid’s desire to approach her. She had developed a crush back then, a very strong one, for three consecutive years, hoping to receive even a single word or glance, but with no success.

Yoko and Divina loved teasing her about it, and Bianca judged her for it. She had even wished she could be Bianca—the mermaid constantly competing with Wednesday for first place in everything. At least, even if they were just glares (which Wednesday gave out plenty anyway) and the scorn reserved for a rival, it was better than being invisible.

Ironically, Enid only found the courage to approach her years later, for an investigation involving murders that gave her chills.

Unsurprisingly, Wednesday’s dark glares and curt attitude were still there. But she had agreed. Wednesday Addams had agreed to work with Enid.

“… And you, how was your day?” Bruno’s voice pulled her back to the present.

Enid realized she had a stupid smile and a dazed look on her face, which drew her boyfriend’s attention.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” He teased, tapping her ankles. “What made you smile like that? Did you find something to bait the masses?”

She hesitated. Bruno knew who Wednesday Addams was—everyone did, the Addams family was well-known in Jericho. But he didn’t know what Wednesday had meant to her back then, and given his jealous tendencies, Enid would normally have refused to tell him.

But he had no idea. Even though they’d met at Nevermore shortly after her breakup with Ajax, Bruno had never noticed the long, envious looks Enid used to steal at the solitary goth.

“Do you know who Wednesday Addams is?” She asked, nervously curling her toes against his thigh.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, we were at the academy together. Never talked to her though. I think she’s a detective now…? My dad says the Addams are a nuisance and should be avoided. Rumor is she gets in the sheriff’s way and runs her own investigation on serial killers. Sounds reckless to me, but whatever. Anyway, why ask?”

Enid frowned. She heard this sort of thing often. The Addams were a discreet, solitary family with a taste for macabre things. Hearing that, she understood why people avoided them.

But Wednesday wasn’t a bad person. Yes, she was intimidating and could probably torture you medieval-style if you annoyed her, but she wasn’t mean or a nuisance. And the few times Enid had seen her parents, they were nothing like the rumors—instead, they had a warm, inviting aura, gentle smiles, and a natural grace despite their dark appearance.

“I want to start a blog on the recent creature-related crimes. Sheriff Galpin keeps hiding the truth from the townsfolk and refuses to give any updates, and I know Wednesday’s conducting her own investigation. So I approached her and… let’s say she agreed to team up. Well, she hasn’t agreed yet to let me turn the investigation into an article, but it's sort of a test run? If I prove my worth, she’ll say yes.” Enid straightened up, hands fluttering in excitement.

Well, that wasn’t entirely certain. Enid suspected Wednesday had accepted out of practicality and self-preservation. The detective probably wanted a human shield—but whatever… If she had to face that beast barefoot for the sake of the investigation, her project, and Jericho’s safety, Enid would do it despite her fear.

Besides, Wednesday would be with her. That frightening, strong, relentless girl who feared nothing.

Wednesday fought crime, so she wouldn’t let Enid become the next victim.

“Wow. Did you seriously just tell me you’re throwing yourself into a dangerous investigation against a serial-killing monster with Wednesday Addams? Enid, that’s not like you—charging headfirst into danger. And that girl is scarier than the monster. Honestly, I don’t even know what to say. If she said yes, it’s probably because she plans to offer you as a human sacrifice to the beast.” He forced a tense smile, though he looked a little pale.

The alpha felt her mood sour at Bruno’s reaction.

“She’s not mean, Bruno. And I’m not in danger—I’m an alpha, remember? And this is too big an opportunity to waste. We’re talking about my project.”

“We’re talking about a possible serial killer, Enid.” Her boyfriend emphasized, dropping her ankles. “You’re not a cop, or an investigator, or a detective. Your job is to gather information and write it down on a website to keep locals informed. Not jump into a lion’s den! Being an alpha has nothing to do with this. It’s madness, okay? We know nothing about this creature besides the fact it’s strong enough people doubt it even exists. And Addams has zero awareness of danger and has been digging into trouble all her life. You’re not safe with her.”

“I don’t need to be kept safe,” Enid snapped back, faster and sharper than she intended. The tone cracked through the room like a slash of claws.

Bruno stared, startled, then frowned as if trying to understand. “Enid…”

But she didn’t let him finish. “I’m not some clueless kid looking for attention. I have my reasons. And believe it or not, I know what I’m doing.”

Silence fell. Only the ticking of the wall clock and Enid’s too-fast heartbeat filled the space. She felt her tension rising—an agitation she hated, one that reminded her of what she was. Her wolf stirred under her skin, displeased, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.

Bruno sighed and raked a hand through his messy brown hair. “You always get carried away when something excites you. And that girl—”

“That girl,” Enid cut in with a sharp look, “has saved Jericho more than once. She risked her life while everyone looked away. She deserves to be listened to instead of feared. And if you ask me, she’s the only one with enough guts to go after whatever’s hiding in the woods.”

She then realized she had stood up without noticing. Her tone had hardened, her voice vibrating with a conviction she hadn’t expected. Bruno stared at her, silent for a moment, before letting out a humorless laugh.

“I can’t believe this… You like her, don’t you?” He shook his head, his eyes narrowing.

She felt her heart stop for one second—the sensation of being caught, exposed, making her blood run cold. She paled. “What—What are you talking about? I’m just doing my job! Maybe you should worry a little less about yourself and your family, and more about the danger surrounding this town and its people!”

He went quiet, shocked by her words. Enid wasn’t usually aggressive. Not with him. And throwing this kind of sharp, brutal insult wasn’t like her.

“I was just worried about you,” He finally muttered, standing up and shaking his head. “You’re chasing a serial killer for a chance to fill your blog and become some successful journalist. I don’t know what’s gotten into you—if you’re trying to impress her because your fragile ego hates not being noticed or appreciated.” He murmured, and Enid’s blood boiled at the jab.

He continued, “It’s pointless and we both know it. Your mother and brothers already offered you a place in your family’s pack business, but you keep insisting on being independent. You’re self-centered, ungrateful, and desperate for attention, Enid. That’s why you’re playing hero with someone who’s your complete opposite and doesn’t even like you.” The more he spoke, the more violent and intentionally hurtful his words became—and Enid realized these were things he had always thought, just never said aloud until now, in the heat of emotion.

Enid could only stare, her heart tightening from betrayal and anger. “Is that really what you think of me, Bruno? That I’m just a spoiled girl?” Her claws slid out without her noticing, driven by the surge of turbulent emotions.

Regret flickered in Bruno’s eyes. He licked his lips nervously. “No, listen… Maybe I went too far. But Enid, you’re too impulsive and… you get carried away so easily when something excites you that you don’t even see what’s right in front of you. Stop looking at Wednesday Addams like some unreachable quest, and stop letting your passion for journalism override common sense. You know what happens to wolves who get swept up by their passion and lose their way.”

His words only made her angrier. What he thought of her was… diminishing, to say the least. He tried to dress it up as concern, but it sounded more like misunderstanding, lack of trust, contempt, and a desire to control her.

“Fuck you, Bruno.” She spat, viciously, her claws digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

His eyes widened, shocked to hear gentle, romantic Enid insult him.

“Enid…” Bruno caught the scent of blood, his nostrils twitching. “Enid, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re hurting yourself, baby. Look, I’m sorry for what I said—let’s just forget all of this, okay? I misspoke, I admit it. I got carried away by worry and said things I didn’t mean. Let me take care of you now…” He stepped forward, likely to do exactly that, but Enid stepped back and shot him a look of pure disgust.

“Get out. Now.” She pointed at the door, throat tight and eyes icy blue. Enid almost wanted to shift and tear into him.

“Enid…” He pleaded, looking genuinely sorry.

“Get the hell out of my place, Bruno.”

He shut his mouth, staring at her with apology in his eyes, his jaw tightening as if he hoped he could say something to fix this. But Enid was furious. She didn’t want to hear anything.

She had spent her whole life hearing similar crap from her own mother. She wasn’t going to tolerate it from her supposed life partner.

Good thing they hadn’t marked each other.

When he understood Enid wouldn’t budge and that her anger could easily take a dangerous turn—for him and for their relationship—he finally moved toward the door, slipping on his shoes.

She didn’t look at him, jaw clenched, blood still boiling.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, Enid,” He murmured as he opened the door, his scent lingering a moment before he stepped out and closed it behind him.

Anyway, they probably needed a break.

But Enid couldn’t afford to let their argument get to her—not when Wednesday would be waiting for her tonight, and their “partnership” on the investigation was about to begin.

No. Wednesday would notice immediately, and she wasn’t the type to tolerate emotions interfering in serious situations. She’d push Enid away.

Enid had to appear strong, unshaken, driven, and professional.

Because ultimately, this was also about her job. Wednesday was her only chance at gathering accurate, valuable information on this case.

She took a deep breath, checked the time, and saw she still had three hours before their meeting.

Time wasn’t moving fast enough.

Chapter Text

“You’re late.” Wednesday remarked as soon as Enid arrived in the middle of the abandoned forest that had been the site of Ethan Hanson’s murder.

The werewolf checked her watch, confused. “Uh, no... It’s ten p.m.”

“When one is given a precise meeting time, one is generally expected to arrive beforehand,” The detective informed her in a dry tone.

Enid swallowed hard under Wednesday’s obsidian stare. If she had to say, those eyes were her deadliest weapon.

She was beautiful, as always. She hadn’t changed much since Nevermore—if anything at all. Only her face had gained a touch of maturity, the last traces of childhood fading into the breathtaking features of a young woman. But she still wore her iconic braids, a black trench coat, Prada boots, and a sleeveless vest over a white shirt. She looked elegant, as always.

And she seemed to blend perfectly into the dark scenery. In fact, she looked far more at ease here than at Nevermore or Weathervane—unsurprising, coming from an Addams.

“I’m sorry,” Enid apologized with a sincere grimace. Had Wednesday’s lips always been so full and tempting?

The medium finally tore her gaze away, directing it toward a fallen tree wrapped in black-and-yellow tape marking the crime scene. Without hesitation, she lifted the tape and stepped across the line.

“Do you always trespass on crime scenes?” Enid asked nervously. Even with her status as an independent detective, Wednesday would definitely be arrested if Sheriff Galpin saw this.

“Do you always ask stupid questions?” Wednesday retorted coldly.

Before Enid could react, something suddenly leapt onto Wednesday’s shoulder, making Enid jolt and nearly scream.

Oh God—was that a hand?

The obviously animated hand gave Enid a thumbs-up before directing Wednesday’s attention through a series of signals Enid couldn’t decipher, still in shock.

“No, Thing. There are claw marks on the bark, right beneath the dried blood. Larger than a werebear’s,” The detective said, shaking her head.

It took Enid a moment to understand she was actually speaking to the hand. Which was apparently named Thing.

Wednesday shot her a look. “Do you intend to be useful? You seem more distracted than anything else. I don’t require an awkward bystander while I investigate.”

Enid shook her head vigorously, cheeks burning. “No, no, I can be useful. I’m just a little… surprised. You could’ve warned me about… the hand.”

Offended, Thing hopped down from Wednesday’s shoulder and tapped the ground indignantly with its fingers. Wednesday raised an eyebrow. “His name is Thing. And he is far more competent than most journalists I’ve encountered. Which does little to reassure me about your presence here.”

Enid swallowed back a reply that would definitely have sounded stupid. Instead, she pulled out her notebook, trying to look professional despite her trembling hand. “Okay… so the body was found here, right?”

Wednesday knelt without answering, her cold fingers brushing the damp earth. Her focus was icy, methodical. Enid watched, fascinated despite herself.

“The blood dried two days ago. The marks are clean, precise. Four main claws. And here…” She pointed to a partially erased print in the mud. “The killer is obviously not human. But it thinks like one. It didn’t merely flee—these are hurried tracks. It knew it would be followed.”

A shiver ran down Enid’s spine at the implications, and she stepped closer, still not crossing the tape. “Do you think the creature is a shapeshifter? An outcast?”

“Possibly even a werewolf.” Wednesday cast her a prolonged, lethally curious glance. As if she were dissecting a small animal.

Enid’s throat tightened, her heart leaping. Wednesday’s gaze pierced right through her—cold, analytical, almost inquisitorial. As if searching for a secret buried beneath her skin.

“I—I doubt it’s a werewolf,” She stammered, crossing her arms to hide her discomfort. “I mean… the tracks are too big, right?”

“Werewolves are not known for morphological consistency,” Wednesday replied evenly, never breaking eye contact. “Some develop mutations based on their genetics. Others, on their mood. Or their guilt.”

Enid blinked, thrown off. “Sorry?”

Wednesday stood slowly, wiping her fingers on her trench coat. “Remorse can warp the mind, Enid. And sometimes, the mind warps the body.”

She resumed circling the tree, inspecting the surroundings. Thing scurried behind her, pointing at a dark stain on a root. Wednesday stopped instantly and crouched again.

“More blood,” She murmured to herself.

Enid approached as well, ignoring the implicit order to stay away. The metallic scent hit her before she even leaned forward. Her wolf reacted immediately, growling deep within—a primal warning.

“This… this isn’t human blood,” She whispered, stomach twisting. Wednesday turned toward her, intrigued, and Enid continued under the detective’s tacit command: “I can still smell it. Faintly, but… I’m sure. It’s not human.”

“Interesting. The creature’s blood, perhaps? That would imply it was wounded somehow. Yet Ethan Hanson was a normie without a weapon. I doubt he could injure such a creature, and the broken nails in the report were clearly from him struggling against his surroundings. There was no trace of the creature under his nails.” Wednesday’s brow furrowed as she thought.

Enid had no answer, too bewitched by the silent approval Wednesday had just given her. God, maybe Bruno was right. Her reaction was pathetic.

She watched Wednesday extend her hand toward the dried blood—and the next moment, the detective’s head whipped backward, her onyx eyes wide and glassy.

“Wednesday?!” The alpha ducked under the tape with the speed of her species, unaware she’d let the girl’s name slip out in panic. She gripped Wednesday’s shoulder, trying to rouse her, but the trance lasted several seconds.

A vision…? She’d heard rumors of Wednesday’s psychic abilities, mostly from Xavier. But she’d never witnessed them.

Wednesday’s head tipped forward again, her breath unsteady, eyes adjusting back to reality. “What…?”

“You saw something?” Enid’s hand remained on her shoulder, worried.

The goth noticed, her gaze finally shifting from the blood to Enid’s proximity. She glanced down at the hand, her lips curling slightly in what could easily pass for disgust.

Enid withdrew immediately, stung but unsurprised. She respected Wednesday’s boundaries.

Wednesday exhaled, easing slightly. “I… caught a glimpse of the creature. Far too brief to depict it accurately. But my hypothesis that it might be a werewolf was... incorrect.” She avoided Enid’s eyes—almost like a tacit apology.

Enid smiled, more relieved than smug. She understood why Wednesday might have suspected a werewolf; she didn’t blame her.

“What else did you see?” She asked, notebook ready.

Wednesday glanced at it but, thankfully, said nothing. Enid took that as permission.

“I briefly saw the murder itself.” Unexpectedly, the detective’s lips curved, dimples appearing. Enid stopped breathing, wanting to memorize that devastating smile more than the horrific words that followed:

“It was exquisitely bloody. His head was torn clean from his body, along with the rest of his limbs. The monster devoured him with ease.” She paused, failing to notice Enid about to vomit, and turned to Thing. “When I am close to death, I want you to dismember me in the same fashion—slowly, torturously.”

Enid prayed she was joking.

She was not.

“So the grizzly theory is completely off-track?” Enid asked, knowing that was the media’s leading idea after the death of Benjamin Clarke, the 78-year-old hunter.

“Without the slightest doubt. I saw the creature carry part of Ethan Hanson’s head with it. And the reports on Olivia Davis and Benjamin Clarke mention missing body parts that should’ve been recovered. I had presumed the monster devoured them, though that seemed doubtful—it kills out of malice, not hunger. Now, I am certain it keeps them as a collection. This confirms my hypothesis: this is not an animal attack, but a shapeshifting serial killer.” Wednesday stood, satisfied.

Enid noted the important information—this was far more than the media or Jericho’s police would ever reveal. In a single visit, Wednesday had confirmed the creature was a shapeshifting outcast—a sadistic one, with powers it shouldn’t possess. And a collector.

Like a True Crime podcast.

Except this time, it was real. And Enid was on site. Terrifying—especially with an Addams at her side. She wasn’t afraid Wednesday would hurt her, but the girl wasn’t exactly the comforting type. Especially not in a domain she enjoyed.

Wednesday was already moving again, her steps slow and silent on the damp ground. Thing latched onto a root, then hopped to follow her like a nimble shadow.

“A shapeshifting killer…” Enid whispered to herself, pen hovering. “But why collect body parts? It makes no sense.”

“Sense has never been a constant among deranged minds,” Wednesday replied without turning. “But motive always exists. One simply has to unearth it.”

The wind rose sharply, lifting the hair at Enid’s nape. Something in the air shifted—heavy, tense, almost feral. The forest’s silence grew suffocating.

Wednesday slowly lifted her head, scanning the trees. “Do not move.”

Enid froze, swallowing hard. “Wednesday…?”

Thing gestured frantically. Wednesday drew a thin dagger from beneath her coat, its blade catching the pale light.

“We are no longer alone,” She said calmly.

A crack echoed somewhere to their right. Then another—closer.

Adrenaline surged through Enid, her wolf growling within. She scanned the darkness, but saw nothing but shifting shadows.

“Do you think it’s—”

“Silence.”

Wednesday advanced a few steps, weapon ready. She examined every corner of darkness with predatory precision. Thing clung to her boot, tense.

A raspy breath sounded. A heavy step. Then—nothing.

“Show yourself. I know you’re there.” Wednesday called out, voice steady and provocative. Enid stared at her like she was insane. Did she really want to challenge the creature that had torn people apart with a few swipes?

“I’m... I’m going to shift.” Enid’s claws slid out as pressure cracked through her bones. Wednesday turned, startled.

“How…? Wait—no.” The detective stopped her, placing a hand on Enid’s forearm. “Not yet.”

Enid looked down at Wednesday’s hand, the cold of her skin seeping through even their sleeves. She’d never felt so warm. She would’ve blushed if a murderous creature weren’t lurking nearby.

“It’s watching us. It doesn’t intend to attack—it feels threatened,” Wednesday said, still gripping her. Her gaze flicked left and right, her composure impeccable, weapon poised.

Enid was petrified—and it was pathetic. She was the werewolf. The alpha. Yet without Wednesday’s grip, she would’ve likely lost her head entirely.

The creature’s scent lingered, identical to the dried blood Wednesday had touched. And this fearless Addams stood as if she were its equal—as if she were the predator.

Part of Enid believed she might be right.

After a moment, the noise returned. Both women tensed. The heavy footsteps didn’t approach—they fled, fast.

The stench dissipated, and Enid finally breathed. “Holy—holy shit—We almost died! You’re insane! If you’d been alone, you’d be dead by now!”

Wednesday glanced at her, posture easing though she kept her weapon out. “Incorrect. This is not the first time it has observed me. It fears me, but something restrains it from attacking. It may be playing a game—leaving clues on purpose. Our being two had nothing to do with its inaction.”

“Then I could’ve died! If it doesn’t want to kill you, what makes you think it won’t come after me?!” Enid’s voice echoed through the foggy forest.

She shrank under Wednesday’s dangerous stare.

“What became of your valiant proposition to fight the creature if needed so? I expected you to be useful. Moreover, I never forced you to come here—you imposed yourself. You may abandon the investigation and your likely poorly written article if you are afraid. I have no need for you; your fear proves it. You were meant to serve as my shield in case of an attack, not as the victim.” Wednesday’s harsh tone dismantled Enid piece by piece.

Enid swallowed; Wednesday was right. She couldn’t blame her for her own reckless choice.

Trying to salvage what remained of her pride, Enid pulled her arm from Wednesday’s grip, attempting to offend her. It didn’t work—the young woman remained unbothered.

“Besides, you are an alpha. I must admit, without your irritating behavior, you might have been a match for the creature.” Almost a compliment. Almost. More like a provocation.

Enid felt heat rise to her cheeks—part shame, part anger. “I… I’m sorry. You’re right.” Wednesday raised a smug eyebrow. Enid continued anyway: “I reacted badly, okay? It’s my first time in a situation this dangerous. It won’t happen again.”

“Indeed. It will not happen again, because I am terminating our partnership.” Wednesday said in a neutral tone. At Enid’s panicked, shocked look, she added: “Even if you came of your own accord, you remain under my responsibility. I cannot risk the life of someone who does not possess the fortitude they claim to have.” She said it as if announcing tomorrow’s weather.

Before Enid could protest or beg, Wednesday hammered the final nail:

“I will escort you home, to ensure your safety. If you were to die, it would harm my reputation.” She turned to Thing.

“Follow the creature’s trail. We may uncover something useful.”

Thing obeyed, disappearing into the trees, leaving the two women alone as Wednesday started walking toward the forest’s edge.

Enid felt utterly powerless. “Wait…” She pleaded, feeling she’d ruined everything. She had done the opposite of what she wanted—she had disappointed Wednesday instead of impressing her. Her only chance had slipped through her fingers.

And the worst part?

Unlike their encounter at Weathervane that morning…

Wednesday did not wait.

There would be no second chance.

The next day, unfortunately, Wednesday had no time to investigate despite the recent progress.

Wednesdays were the weekly family visitation day. How ironic, wasn’t it?

Even emancipated, Wednesday found no rest. Her parents—utterly devoid of restraint—were going to make her nauseous, far more than the rainbow wardrobe of yesterday’s alpha, and Pugsley would inevitably find a new way to irritate her enough to be offered as a sacrifice to the monster if it meant catching it. Wednesday found this fair.

“Wednesday! My darling, what a vision of shadowed beauty you are! I am delighted to see you again.” As expected, Morticia assaulted her with nauseating affection, her cold hands gripping Wednesday’s shoulders.

“Bad morning, Mother,” The eldest Addams child greeted simply.

Her father, Gomez, followed, never hesitating to embrace her tightly despite her lack of reciprocity and rigid posture. “I have missed you terribly, my little storm cloud! Every week after your departure becomes an exquisite agony to my blackened heart.”

“It has been a single week, Father,” Wednesday replied, breaking free, her eyes dark and her tone weary.

Pugsley burst in, shirt half-tucked, cheeks smeared with soot. “Wednesday! Wanna see my new invention? It explodes twice as hard as the last one!”

“If it aims for your face this time, I may be tempted to applaud,” His sister responded calmly.

He beamed, hugging her briefly as well, receiving no reaction in return.

“You remain pitifully weak,” Wednesday muttered, and he released her with a proud smile. 

They settled in the family manor’s living room—a vast chamber where every corner breathed dramatic gothic style: silver candelabras, black velvet drapes, portraits of smiling corpses. The scent of melted wax and wilted roses mingled pleasantly—almost comforting to Wednesday, like the familiar smell of a well-kept tomb.

She averted her attention, choosing to focus on the cup of tea placed before her. The black liquid still steamed, though she doubted it would drown the boredom pressing on her.

Morticia sat opposite her, spectral elegance undisturbed. “Your father tells me you are investigating a case in Jericho. A murder, is it not? How you make me proud, my dear. Few things are nobler than following the scent of blood toward the truth.”

“I do not require your approval, Mother. And it is three murders,” Wednesday corrected coolly, eyes fixed on the rising steam.

Gomez leaned closer, intrigued. “It isn’t dangerous, is it? We know you are strong, our little scorpion, but rumors speak of a fierce creature, do they not?”

Wednesday slowly raised her gaze to him, her stare piercing. “A creature, yes. But most monsters I have encountered thus far wore human faces.”

A brief silence followed, long enough for the ticking of a wooden clock to echo lugubriously across the room.

Morticia smiled softly, just enough to reveal a hint of teeth—a gesture both tender and disturbingly pleased. “How you delight me, my love. There is no poetry sweeter than such a truth.”

Gomez nodded, eyes glistening with admiration. “What dark wisdom! She gets that from you, cara mia.”

“Or from you, mon chéri. Your remarkable taste for hopeless causes,” She purred.

Wednesday sighed inwardly. She had learned to ignore her parents’ effusions the way one endures the sound of rain: constant, unpleasant, yet unavoidable.

“Human monsters, you say…” Morticia resumed, leaning toward her. “And among them, have you found one who fascinates you more than the others?”

Wednesday lifted a finely drawn eyebrow. “‘Fascinate’ is a strong term, Mother. Let us say… intrigue.”

“Intrigue…” Morticia repeated, savoring the word like an overly dark wine. “And would this, by chance, concern someone currently alive?”

Gomez’s eyes widened, delighted. “Oh! You mean she has found someone to dissect with her heart rather than a scalpel?”

“It is a journalist,” Wednesday cut in sharply, ending any romantic interpretation before either could launch into a dramatic sermon on “the beauty of attraction between damned souls.”

But it was already too late.

“A journalist?!” Her father exclaimed, ecstatic. “How marvelous! The union of mystery and curiosity! Rational mind entwined with the madness of intuition!”

“Or with incessant babble and a flagrant lack of common sense,” Wednesday corrected, emotionless.

Morticia placed a delicate finger beneath her chin, eyes dreamy. “Young love… Passion always draws you together. This person seems to share your pursuits—investigation, writing, the thrill of the unknown, just like you, my dear.”

“One more word about the journalist, and I will become the subject of Jericho’s next criminal investigation. And I assure you, it will involve a case of parricide,” Wednesday snapped at last.

Since her graduation from Nevermore, her parents had made it their mission to find a partner for Wednesday, convinced she would eventually succumb to the passionate Addams love despite her cold, cutting nature.

Such was not the case. Wednesday was no fool—her ancestor’s words about her solitary destiny were true, and she accepted them with great pleasure. Besides, she had found no one worthy of interest, nor had she ever bothered to search.

Her parents likely hoped to see her live a love as nauseating as theirs and despaired each time they realized it would never happen. Perhaps with Pugsley—but with Wednesday? No.

Furthermore, even if Enid Sinclair were the last person on Earth, Wednesday would sooner volunteer as the monster’s next victim than consider her a potential partner.

Intrigue did not lead to romance.

Her parents exchanged a glance, the threat finally cooling their enthusiasm. Unfortunately, Thing—until now quietly perched on his own chair while Lurch tended his nails—chose this moment to betray her and sell her to her parental vultures.

His fingers tapped frenetically against the table in a sequence Wednesday recognized immediately.

Her deadly gaze turned toward him—slow, threatening. “I strongly advise you to not end this gestural sentence now, or I will feed you to a garbage compactor.”

But it was far too late.

Morticia gasped, delighted. “An Alpha werewolf?!”

The silence that followed was almost theatrical. Even the flames in the hearth seemed to hesitate, as if fearing Wednesday’s reaction.

Her fingers tightened around her teacup. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaled, then reopened them with glacial calm. “Thing… I had promised you a respectable burial. I shall revoke that privilege and personally ensure your descent through all seven circles of Hell.”

“Hey, is it a girl or a guy? I wanna know if I’m getting a brother-in-law or a sister-in-law, because one sister is already too many,” Pugsley said, poking his head into the doorway—somehow always vanishing and reappearing unnoticed. Or Wednesday subconsciously avoided acknowledging his nuisance.

Wednesday turned toward him slowly, her obsidian gaze carving through him like a blade. “Continue down this path, and I will test the thermal resistance of your skull in the family oven.”

Morticia rose, gliding toward her daughter like a specter. “I find it charming, Wednesday. Truly. An Alpha, you say… Such creatures often possess a powerful instinct to protect. Perhaps this one will follow you on your adventures, like a wolf enthralled by the abyss.”

“Or end up devoured by it,” Wednesday replied flatly. “The most plausible scenario at this point.”

Morticia sighed dreamily. “How romantic.”

Wednesday was forced to admit it was.

“I have no desire to nurture your delusions with a weak, pathetic, eccentric, and aggravating journalist. I ended our partnership the moment it began. There is nothing to consider. Now change the subject before parricide escalates into familicide and the Addams lineage dies with me and Uncle Fester,” The detective demanded, her expression menacing enough to unsettle even the Addams family.

“Very well, my little death trap, we shall cease exploiting your prospects for romance,” Gomez sighed, and Wednesday felt a rare wave of relief when Morticia reluctantly followed.

But she would not forget Thing’s betrayal.

And he felt it, his hand bristling almost comically in a violent shiver under Wednesday’s malevolent stare.

The torment Wednesday had endured would soon return to him.

Chapter Text

“Shit, so you broke up with Bruno?” Her best friend Yoko and she had met at Weathervane to talk about their lives, like they did whenever they had the chance.

Enid had told her everything that had happened the day before, having gone through more in twenty-four hours than she had in two years.

“I don’t know. He was a real jerk, but breaking up over it… I don’t know what to think. And part of me… part of me thinks he might’ve been right.” She admitted, stirring her coffee with a defeated expression.

It didn’t help that Wednesday had clearly rejected her the night before, after Enid had chickened out as usual instead of proving herself.

Yoko placed her hand on hers in a comforting gesture, eyebrows furrowed above her sunglasses. “Hey! Don’t start putting yourself down because of some dude! If you wanna play Inspector Gadget for your paper, that’s your business. That guy has nothing to tell you. He lives off his family pack and judges you because you’re trying to be independent. He’s probably bitter that you’re the alpha and just a misogynistic jerk trying to control women, that’s all.” The vampire spat, her disdain for men—especially Enid’s terrible taste in men—always shining through.

A small smile tugged at the werewolf’s lips at her best friend’s words. She could always count on Yoko for support, that much was certain.

But then the vampire straightened, realizing there was one part of the story they still hadn’t discussed properly. “Forget Bruno. Let’s move on to the real thing, Enid! You said you had an improvised late-night rendezvous in the forest, face-to-face with Wednesday Addams, on an actual crime scene! You do realize that’s literally a whole date for a Addams, right ?”

Enid’s cheeks flushed at the thought. If only. “Not really, Yoko. I invited myself, then humiliated myself after trying to act like some knightly wolf. And she walked me back out of pity, made it very clear I’d been pathetic and that she never wanted to see me on the investigation—or near her—ever again. And anyway, it was all for work, and we were being watched by a serial killer who can turn into a giant monster and mutilate his victims. I don’t see where you’re finding romance in that. Especially not on a creepy crime scene.”

As if Wednesday Addams would ever be interested in a date with Enid, when she hadn’t even noticed her during their three years together at Nevermore—so much so that when they met yesterday, Wednesday didn’t even know they went to the same school.

And a part of Enid was convinced Wednesday was some kind of aromantic. She’d never shown the slightest interest in anyone—not even friendship—only ever devoted to all things macabre, hence her current career choice.

Well… that’s what Enid told herself to feel better.

Because there had been that one very brief, extremely questionable moment when Wednesday had flirted with Xavier Thorpe, and even gone with him to the Rave’N where they danced together. Well, not together—there was no contact—but they danced face-to-face, looking at each other.

Okay, maybe not aromantic. Just unreachable. And very straight.

Enid still remembered the jealousy and rage she’d felt, and the desperate longing when she admired Wednesday’s beauty and the cruel fact that she unfortunately wasn’t her partner.

What comforted her was that whatever had been going on between the artist and Wednesday had abruptly stopped after the Rave’N.

Enid sometimes wished she could ask him for tips on how he managed to make Wednesday Addams flirt with him, accept his invitation to the Rave’N, and dance with him. Not what came after—just the beginning was already an accomplishment probably never repeated, unless Wednesday had secret flings. But Enid was pretty sure that anyone who managed to catch Wednesday Addams’ attention would scream it from the rooftops—Wednesday was quite popular and very sought after all.

Her mysterious charm and natural charisma weren’t the only reasons; her dark latina beauty played a major role—boys and girls alike couldn’t help drooling at the mere idea of getting even a single glance from her.

“Pfft, maybe she didn’t intend to do anything with you, but what you’re describing is still a romantic Addams-style date. It was a very good start. The lone detective let you accompany her, and if you’d shown your alpha strength from the start, it probably would’ve ended well for you. The only way to get Addams interested is to share her fascination for the morbid and for crime, and I think you actually started out pretty strong.” Yoko pulled her out of her thoughts, rolling her eyes behind her glasses.

Enid had to admit she had a point.

“If you knew how gorgeous she was, Yoko… I swear I could overcome my fear of being decapitated and ending up on a true crime podcast just to impress her. Do you think she’d find it romantic if she got to examine my corpse after a brutal murder and try to get me justice?” Enid leaned on her hand, dreamy, her lower lip trapped between her teeth at the thought.

She didn’t even get to indulge further in her morbidly romantic fantasy before Yoko let out a shocked “wow” and smacked her arm.

“Cut the crap!” The vampire scolded, though a tiny laugh slipped through. “You’re not gonna start fantasizing about your own autopsy, seriously. Addams has already scrambled your brain in twenty-four hours, this is catastrophic.”

Enid winced, more ashamed than she wanted to admit. “I know… I know. I’m pathetic.”

“No,” Yoko cut firmly, like a slap. “You’re just head-over-heels. That makes people stupid. And you—when you’re in love—you multiply the drama quota by ten. It’s always been that way at Nevermore. I just thought it wouldn’t happen again after graduation, but seeing Addams again threw you right back into your lost-puppy obsession.”

The werewolf stared down at her lukewarm coffee, fingers tightening around the mug like she could draw courage from it. “I’ve never felt this kind of interest for anyone else.” She admitted shyly. Maybe because Wednesday was, in a way, her first love.

She had dated Ajax first, but her heart had always raced at the sound of Wednesday’s name or the sight of her raven braids back then. Deep down, she’d known it was because she was in love. Unlike the boys she’d dated—they had been puppy loves at best.

But… with Bruno, it had been serious too. The fact that she was this shaken after a year and a half of a committed relationship, just from seeing Wednesday, bothered her. It was seriously pathetic not to be able to forget the girl you fell in love with in high school—who hadn’t said a single kind word to you in five years.

“I know,” Yoko said, softening at her best friend’s lost, pathetically lovestruck expression. “It’s like with Divina. Once you find the person who makes you forget everyone else… there’s nothing you can do to resist it. I’ve never seen you look at Bruno the way you looked at Addams. Not Ajax, not Lucas, no one.”

“Stop! That’s the last thing I wanna hear right now,” Enid groaned, hands covering her face. “What do I do about Bruno?”

“Yeah, what are you doing with Bruno?” The vampire retorted, both serious and mocking.

“Not like that! I mean—what do I do? He’s been blowing up my phone since yesterday, and I found a huge bouquet in my mailbox this morning. Should I forgive him? Maybe he didn’t mean it. He seems interested in me, at least, and willing to make up for it.” Enid bit her lip, grabbing her phone with a touch of satisfaction.

Yoko stared at her incredulously. “You’re unbelievable!” She exclaimed sarcastically.

The barista from yesterday—the one who seemed to recognize Wednesday—Tyler, approached to address Yoko.

“Hey… I noticed you two didn’t order anything. Do you need anything? Or maybe I could recommend—”

The vampire waved him off with disdain, cutting him short. “I’m a vampire, dude. Your animal food doesn’t interest me unless you’ve got blood to offer. Type O, preferably.”

The poor guy looked completely thrown off. “Right…” Then he looked at Enid, a spark of recognition in his eyes. “Hey, you’re the girl who was with Wednesday yesterday. The journalist, right? I didn’t catch your name.”

A spark of jealousy flared in Enid’s chest at the familiarity in his tone—and the softness in the way he said Wednesday’s name. Even Yoko raised her eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah… that’s me. I’m Enid. And you’re… friends with Wednesday, right?” She emphasized friends, leaning in, clearly trying to gather intel.

Tyler laughed awkwardly. “Not really… ‘Friends’ is too big a word. I’d like to think we are, but Wednesday’s hard to get close to. I’m hoping to become one someday.” The way he said it suggested he didn’t mean just friends, and her wolf snarled inside her, possessive.

But something was off. He had a familiar, strange scent she didn’t like but couldn’t place.

“And you? Managed to break through the mysterious Wednesday Addams’ defenses?” He asked, a little too curiously.

Enid smiled proudly. “Oh, yeah. We’ve known each other for a long time, actually. We went to school together, so… it was kind of a reunion for us.” She said it in a smug tone, delighted at the spark of jealousy that lit Tyler’s green eyes.

“Oh yeah? Didn’t look like you two knew each other yesterday. But if you managed it, I bow to you.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

Yoko’s jaw dropped at the interaction, but she said nothing, watching like a kid glued to their favorite cartoon. This was unexpected—for her, and honestly, even for Enid.

It was crazy—Enid had competitors for Wednesday’s heart even outside Nevermore. A normie barista, no less…

Her wolf urged her to show him who the alpha was.

Enid felt her canines tingle at the surge of possessiveness, her wolf pounding against her ribs as if telling her to plant a flag on this conversation—on Wednesday, especially.

She straightened slightly, confidence rising in her like heat.

“You know,” She said casually, as if talking about the weather, “Wednesday isn’t very… expressive. But when she wants to let you know you matter, she can be pretty direct. Like… really direct.”

Tyler blinked, surprised by the implication. 

Yoko almost choked on nothing, her expression a cocktail of silent hysteria and what are you saying, you absolute lunatic?

“Oh?” Tyler asked, intrigued. “Direct how?”

Enid shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and not a total lie born from her desperate need to stake her claim. “Well… she wouldn’t take you into the woods in the middle of the night unless she trusted you at least a little.”

Technically true. Except in this case, the trust had lasted… what… thirty minutes? Forty-five?

“I see,” He said, but there was a noticeable shift in his tone—like the idea didn’t please him at all. “She’s never taken me anywhere.”

“Well,” Enid replied with faux sympathy, “she doesn’t take just anyone to a crime scene. It’s… intimate, for her.”

Even Yoko let out a small admiring gasp, turning to Enid in slow motion with a silent, dramatic wow.

Tyler’s jaw tightened, his smile cracking just enough for Enid to catch the hint of poorly hidden hostility. Her wolf rumbled with satisfaction.

It was childish. Possessive. Reckless.

And ridiculously satisfying.

“Hm. You two seem… close,” He concluded, eyes narrowing a little.

“We are. We’re crime partners, after all,” She replied too quickly.

Too confident. Too proud. Too… alpha.

Yoko bit the inside of her cheek to keep a nervous laugh from escaping. The atmosphere had shifted into a silent duel, and she was clearly enjoying the show.

“Well, I’ll… let you two talk,” Tyler finally said, stepping back but keeping his eyes on Enid a second too long. “Let me know if you need anything.” His smile was forced, his jaw clenched, bitterness flickering in his gaze.

“We don’t,” Yoko said, waving him off like she was shooing a mosquito. “Goodbye.”

He walked away with a final dark look, and Enid felt her heartbeat slowly return to normal. Her pride, however, was still inflated like a helium balloon.

She exhaled deeply and slumped back down.

“I think I… overdid it a little,” She admitted, more ashamed than she wanted to be.

“A LITTLE?” Yoko leaned over the table, eyes wide, voice full of amused disbelief. “You just marked your territory on Wednesday Addams in front of a guy who drools over her. Congratulations, alpha—you just humiliated a normie in his own café. I’m proud of you, but I’m also a little scared.”

Enid ran a nervous hand through her hair. “You think it was too much?”

“Absolutely,” Yoko replied instantly. Then, softer: “And honestly? Very satisfying.”

The werewolf sighed, torn between guilt and the heady rush of power still tingling in her chest.

“This is gonna cause me trouble, isn’t it?”

“Oh, that,” The vampire said while sipping her empty glass as if she were drinking Tyler’s tears, “there’s no doubt. That guy looks like the type to get obsessed. And you just became his rival in under two minutes.”

Enid paled slightly.

“You think Wednesday… I mean… if she found out I said all that… she would—”

“She,” Yoko cut in with dramatic slowness, “would probably react in a very… Addams way. Like stabbing you a hundred times because she’d find it weird. Fifty-fifty chance.”

Enid dropped her head into her hands.

“I’m so, so screwed…”

“Yes,” Yoko confirmed, patting her shoulder. “But honestly? That was the most entertaining thing you’ve done since becoming alpha. Keep going.”

When Wednesday returned from dinner at her parents’ that evening, her body tensed automatically.

Her instinct told her something was different before she even crossed the threshold.

“Thing,” She murmured as she pushed the door open and turned on the lights. The hand sensed her tension and grew worried from his place on her shoulder.

What’s happening? Someone here? Thing signed, the limb ready to fight in his own peculiar way if necessary.

Wednesday pressed her lips together, her eyes sweeping through the apartment. Nothing appeared different at first glance. The walls were still black, the few framed photos of her family still perfectly aligned, the furniture unmoved, her crime board untouched.

But her desk…

There was a flower on it, placed right beside her typewriter.

Wednesday approached, utterly indifferent to the possibility that it might be poisonous. First, she was immune to all venomous plants. Second, she doubted whoever had placed it there intended such a pathetically mundane assassination attempt.

Thing leapt off her shoulder, landing next to the flower. He seemed to sniff it—pointless, since he had no nose, but then again, he could see without eyes and hear without ears.

“It’s a black dahlia.” Wednesday’s eyes narrowed as she picked up the flower and examined it. It took her a moment to identify the creeping sense of déjà vu.

Then she remembered. Upon her arrival at Nevermore Academy, Marilyn Thornhill—the dorm mother and botanical sciences teacher—had given her a black dahlia. She claimed she chose a flower that “fit” each of her students when they first met.

At the time, Wednesday had felt a flicker of recognition and satisfaction, because Thornhill had indeed aimed well regarding her tastes.

Now she felt only intrigue.

You shouldn’t touch it. It’s a piece of evidence, Thing reminded her.

“Do you believe Thornhill could be connected?” Wednesday asked, ignoring him. The notion was absurd, but she couldn’t quite shake it. Flowers were rarely offered to her, much less black dahlias—modernly known as the “flower of crime.” And Thornhill was a normie, so she couldn’t be the monster.

Yet despite her soft, kind, motherly demeanor, Wednesday had never liked her. She felt fake, manipulative. Wednesday had never found proof to support that suspicion and had waited three years for Thornhill to reveal herself like a cliché movie villain—a normie infiltrator who always hated outcasts—but nothing ever happened, and Wednesday eventually concluded she was imagining things.

Thing was of no help, simply lifting his fingers in a shrug.

Wednesday wished for a vision, or something similar, but nothing came, and it frustrated her.

Someone had infiltrated her home without leaving a trace, and if her mother ever learned of it, she would demand Wednesday’s immediate return to the Addams Manor. Not purely out of concern, but as an excuse to bring her back home.

Morticia had taken her emancipation rather poorly.

“You will not speak of this to Mother.” It wasn’t a request—Wednesday’s dark stare froze Thing in place without her needing to be a gorgon.

The hand stiffened, radiating guilt. It was clearly already in his plans.

The detective narrowed her eyes. “Your loyalties lie with me, Thing. Do not forget it. Should I detect even the faintest trace of betrayal again, I shall have no qualms tearing out your nails one by one, severing your fingers, and selling them on the black market—if anyone deigns to look at them.”

He shuddered, then bowed as much as a hand could. Wednesday leaned back, satisfied. He hadn’t forgotten today's lesson involving the Chinese finger trap.

She grabbed her notebook, hesitating for a moment as she looked at the black dahlia lying there with surgical precision, blending perfectly into the dark decor of her apartment. Then she wrote down Thornhill’s name, followed by a question mark.

A lead was a lead.

“Thing, fetch me a plastic bag and pin this to the crime board. It seems the killer wishes to deliver me a message.” Wednesday ordered, her tone demanding.

Her right hand obeyed while she thought.

The black dahlia was a sign of mystery, death, crime. This person knew her tastes—or, less likely, had coincidentally chosen the flower most fitting to the situation. If that were the case, the message would be all the more threatening.

There was something else, however.

She picked up a pen, straightened her notebook, and wrote:

INTRUSION — personal message?

Floral signature → Thornhill link / memory?

Knowledge of my schedule.

Thing tapped insistently: Maybe it’s… romantic? In an Addams way? Not linked to the case, even if the timing is strange.

Wednesday slowly turned her jet-black eyes toward him, her expression perfectly blank. “If I discover someone entertains sentimental aspirations toward me by leaving flowers in my apartment, I shall return their heart to them in a gift box. That will bring clarity to their intentions.”

Thing jumped nervously, knowing she never made empty threats.

Her gaze drifted back toward the window. Closed. Bolted. But something made her pause.

A faint dusting along the sill. A grain of soil, or pollen. Tiny—but out of place.

Wednesday left nothing out of order. Her apartment was immaculate, bordering on obsessive.

She knelt down, studying it more closely. The grain was dark, almost midnight-blue. Unusual.

She extended her hand toward Thing without a word. He approached, ready to climb onto her shoulder.

“Portable microscope. Now,” She instructed calmly.

Thing shot off like a dart, nearly overturning an ink jar on his way.

Wednesday stared at the window without touching it. She imagined the intruder’s movements: patient, calm, standing mere inches from where she now was, waiting for her return—or simply observing her space.

Thing came back with the requested tool. Wednesday retrieved the microscope, leaned forward, and examined the grain. Her breathing slowed, nearly imperceptible.

“Interesting,” She breathed at last.

She stood, a faint smile—so slight most humans would miss it—forming at the corner of her lips, her left dimple appearing for a fleeting second.

Thing signed frantically: You found something?

“Yes.” She pinned a new post-it to the board, right beside the dahlia:

Serpentine soil — local. Common in Jericho’s northern woods.

Killer lives/frequent north side.

She stared at the flower for a moment, her expression hardening. It was another confirmation: he—or she—was toying with her. The case was becoming personal, a direct challenge.

And everyone knew Wednesday never backed down from a challenge.

“Hello, Tyler.” Wednesday greeted him in a monotone voice, ordering her usual coffee—black as pitch and bitter enough to cauterize a wound.

Weathervane didn’t serve blood or arsenic anyway. She had to make do with this.

The brunette smiled immediately when she acknowledged him; he had already noticed her the moment she walked in.

“Hey, didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. You don’t usually come by this often,” He greeted back, preparing her order before anything else.

“Hn. Let us say that I have nothing else to attend to.” It was a lie, of course. Wednesday had a mountain of tasks waiting for her—especially after what she had just discovered earlier.

“Oh, so your first thought is to come see me once your schedule clears? I’m flattered,” Tyler teased, handing her the coffee.

Their fingers brushed, much to Wednesday’s dismay, though she said nothing so as not to offend him.

“No. You merely work in the only café in this town that doesn’t chase out outcasts on sight,” The detective replied dryly.

That part was true. Despite whatever Tyler imagined, Wednesday “appreciated” Weathervane solely for that reason. She still tended to avoid it; she disliked places devoid of meaning for people who had no semblance of a social life.

But Wednesday needed a distraction, and a place where she didn’t feel watched in order to work efficiently.

Tyler pursed his lips at her brutal honesty. “Okayyy, you really know how to charm people.”

“Thank you,” Wednesday said sincerely, before heading to the table farthest from the counter—and therefore from him.

“Hey! We’re closing in twenty minutes, just so you know,” He informed her.

She frowned and glanced at the clock. Eleven p.m., almost midnight.

“I will be gone before then.” She had more investigating to do; monsters didn’t wait for people to wake up.

She removed her trench coat, leaving her in her black sleeveless vest and white shirt, then drank her coffee as bitter as she liked it.

“By the way, I saw your friend earlier. She was with a… vampire? Yeah, that’s it. Not the friendliest duo,” Tyler started talking again, much to her annoyance.

“What friend?” She asked, making no effort to hide her irritation at this pointless, meaningless conversation.

He frowned, looking confused. “You know, the one you were with yesterday—the journalist. She told me you two even went on an excursion into the woods. To investigate. It surprised me, since you’re such a fan of solitude and quiet, but she said you were close and together at Nevermore, so it made sense then.” There was something subtle in his tone, as if he were testing the waters.

That tone irritated Wednesday almost as much as what he was reporting. He was obviously talking about Enid. She had no idea why the werewolf had told him that—none of it was true.

Not that she would say that aloud. Whether to avoid embarrassing Enid or to avoid giving Tyler the satisfaction he was fishing for didn’t matter.

“I see.” She merely replied, returning to her manuscript without denying anything.

She could practically see the surprise on Tyler’s face, along with that familiar flicker of jealousy boys often got when they imagined things about her. Putting them back in their place was always satisfying.

She did appreciate Tyler—she might even go as far as to say she was considering him as a friend—but his tendency to flirt was a genuine nuisance.

Wednesday finished her coffee, satisfied with the silence, then stood to leave.

The barista frowned. “Wait… you’re leaving already?”

“Yes. I have matters to attend to.” She felt slightly more motivated after her break.

“I thought you came because you had nothing better to do?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, and she could practically see him weaving a romantic fantasy in his head.

She chose not to respond, knowing it was pointless with this boy, and put her coat back on, ready to leave.

“Hey, don’t tell me you’re going to investigate at this hour? That could be dangerous, even if you bring your… friend with you,” Tyler said, finishing wiping his machine and walking quickly toward her.

“That does not concern you,” Wednesday retorted, her tone bored and sharp.

He grimaced. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I was just worried, you know? That’s what friends do.” He gave her a small wink.

Wednesday looked at him, her angry expression softening just a little. He seemed sincere, and although his worry was unsolicited and frankly repulsive, she couldn’t be cruel for no reason to someone who wished her well.

“Do not attempt that again, or you will lose your eye,” She said instead, reverting to her somewhat affectionate threats.

He paled slightly. “O-Oh… yeah. Okay. Sorry.”

Wednesday looked at him for a second before turning away, hoping he would let her leave without insisting.

Of course, Tyler was far too clingy for that.

“Just… be careful, okay? It’d be a shame if something happened to you. Even my dad doesn’t dare snoop around alone. It’s always dangerous—killers tend to go after people who know too much. They’re easy targets because they keep putting themselves in danger,” He said in a strange tone, and Wednesday froze mid-step.

She narrowed her eyes, the shadow of suspicion sliding into her mind like a silent serpent.

“I am not an easy target, Tyler.” Her voice had lost all nuance—cold as a scalpel’s edge.

He swallowed, but kept wearing that awkward little smile, far too tense to be genuine. “Sorry. I’m just… really bad at this. That’s not what I meant.”

Tyler stepped closer until only a short distance remained between them, and for some reason, Wednesday let him.

“I know you can handle yourself, but I can’t help worrying, because I also know that—unlike my dad—you’ll do anything to uncover the truth, even if it means endangering yourself down to the bone. That’s what I… that’s what I admire about you, but also what scares me.” He swallowed again, lowering his head to meet Wednesday’s unreadable eyes.

“I mean… I know you’ve probably figured it out, but I like you. I really like you. I can’t get you out of my head and… I don’t even know what to think anymore. I feel like—tell me if I’m wrong—but I feel like you like me too. I mean, you send signals, right? Unless I completely misread everything…” He leaned even closer, whispering his words like sugar, his hand rising to tuck a stray strand of her bangs behind her ear, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

She said nothing, simply looking into his eyes after his confession, speechless.

She could admit it was one of the sweetest, most sincere things anyone had ever told her.

And Tyler was touching her so gently, with such care—hesitant enough that he would pull away instantly if she gave the slightest sign of discomfort.

It was… refreshing.

“What are you thinking about, Wednesday…?” He whispered, their breaths nearly mixing. He had that little corner-smile, the one he wore when he was focused and satisfied. Confident, too.

Wednesday bit the inside of her cheek. Because she couldn’t let a boy as kind and good as Tyler fall into false hopes just because she was confused.

It was refreshing, but… it still wasn’t love. Or interest. Or attraction. None of it.

“I believe you are mistaken, Tyler.” Her voice was gentler, softening the fall she knew was coming.

She watched his smile freeze, pain and surprise seeping into those green eyes that had moments ago been full of confidence and fascination, and Wednesday felt sorry. Truly.

He slowly withdrew his hand and stepped back, unable to meet her gaze, and she felt compelled to say something to comfort him.

Though she was hardly skilled at it.

“I… You may be right. Perhaps I did send signals unintentionally. I consider you nothing more than a friend, Tyler. I do appreciate you, that much is true, but… it ends there. I feel no genuine attraction toward you—beyond acknowledging that you are… aesthetically pleasing.” The words were awkward in her mouth, unnatural, but she told herself she could at least make an effort for a boy she appreciated—one who had had the courage to confess to her.

It did not seem to soothe Tyler much. His jaw clenched, more in disappointment than in anger.

“I’m sorry, Wednesday, but… I mean, you sent all these signals and now you’re telling me I was just crazy this whole time? Really? I’m having a hard time believing that. It’s just… Wednesday, that’s not cool,” He finally breathed, looking genuinely hurt.

She grimaced, wondering if she had really sent that many signals.

Perhaps.

Over the past few months, she had come to Weathervane at least every few weeks, sometimes exchanging jokes with him, and on rarer occasions, smiles. There might have been something there—for him—that Wednesday had simply viewed as friendship.

She wasn’t exactly an expert in social cues. It was possible she had accidentally flirted with Tyler by modern standards.

Which was frustrating—false hope made people feel manipulated into believing they could have something they never would, something they’d been made to anticipate.

“I am…” She looked away, the idea of the word splitting her pride in two and making her nauseous. A feeling she particularly disliked. “I am… I… I am sorry.” She finally forced it out, not meeting his eyes, the stutter embarrassing her more than anything else possibly could for Wednesday Addams.

He laughed, but it was dry, bitter. “Wow, never thought I’d see the day you apologize for anything. At least I can’t say you’re not trying…” He sighed, looking at her through his messy curls.

“Can I ask you something? Just one thing?”

Wednesday lifted her head, ready to oblige and repair what she could between them.

She wasn’t prepared for his request.

“Could you at least let me kiss you one time?”