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Enid Sinclair had seen Wednesday Addams injured, feverish, sleep-deprived, poisoned, concussed and once so furious that the lights in their university flat had flickered every time she blinked.
She had never seen her drunk.
Wednesday drank occasionally, of course.
One glass of red wine with dinner.
A small measure of something ancient and suspicious whenever her parents visited.
Half a flute of champagne at Bianca’s twenty-first birthday before declaring the bubbles “an irritating attempt to disguise mediocrity.”
She never lost control.
Wednesday treated control as both a personal philosophy and a bladed weapon.
Which was why Enid stared when the front door opened at eleven forty-three on Friday night and Wednesday Addams walked directly into the coat stand.
The coat stand wobbled.
Wednesday caught it with both hands.
They remained locked together for several seconds, apparently engaged in a private battle of wills.
Then Wednesday whispered, with grave menace, “You have betrayed me.”
Enid slowly lowered the highlighter she had been using.
“Wednesday?”
Wednesday turned.
Her black coat was buttoned incorrectly. Her braids were slightly uneven. Her expression possessed its usual bleak severity, but her eyes were unfocused and one corner of her mouth seemed dangerously close to smiling.
Behind her, Bianca leaned around the doorframe.
“Before you panic,” Bianca said, “she’s fine.”
“I am always fine,” Wednesday informed the coat stand.
“Right.” Bianca nodded. “Completely fine.”
Enid shot off the sofa.
“What happened?”
“University society dinner. Some alumni were buying rounds.”
“I refused several,” Wednesday said.
Bianca’s mouth twitched.
“You accepted four.”
“They were conducting a social ritual. Refusal would have attracted unnecessary attention.”
“You threatened a man with a bread knife because he said serial killers lacked ambition.”
“He was incorrect.”
Enid reached Wednesday and immediately smelled red wine, tequila and something sweet enough to strip paint.
Her eyes widened.
“How much did she drink?”
Wednesday leaned toward her.
Not subtly.
Her entire body tilted until her forehead landed against Enid’s shoulder.
Enid froze.
Bianca looked delighted.
“I stopped counting after she informed a portrait of the vice-chancellor that his eyes revealed financial corruption.”
“They did,” Wednesday mumbled into Enid’s cardigan.
Bianca stepped backwards into the corridor.
“I should go.”
“Wait.” Enid caught Wednesday around the waist as Wednesday attempted to follow Bianca and nearly tripped over her own boots. “You can’t just dump her here!”
“You live together.”
“She’s drunk!”
“Yes.”
“Wednesday doesn’t get drunk!”
“She does now.”
Wednesday lifted her head from Enid’s shoulder.
“Bianca.”
Bianca paused.
Wednesday narrowed her eyes with enormous concentration.
“You are tolerable.”
Bianca placed a hand over her heart.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It was not intended as praise.”
“Still taking it.” Bianca smiled brightly at Enid. “Water, painkillers tomorrow, something bland to eat. She didn’t hit her head, nobody drugged her and I watched every drink being poured.”
Enid relaxed by perhaps half an inch.
Then Wednesday slid both arms around her waist.
Enid stopped breathing.
Bianca’s smile became positively wicked.
“Good luck.”
“Bianca.”
“Night!”
“Bianca!”
The door closed.
Enid looked down.
Wednesday had buried her face against Enid’s neck.
Her cold nose brushed Enid’s skin.
Enid’s brain quietly exited the premises.
“Okay,” she whispered. “This is new.”
Wednesday tightened her arms.
“Warm.”
“Yes. I’m generally considered mammalian.”
“You are excessively warm.”
“You complain about that all the time.”
“I was concealing my appreciation.”
Enid stared at the closed door as though Bianca might return and explain why reality had suddenly fallen down a staircase.
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Wednesday rubbed her cheek slowly against Enid’s shoulder.
Enid’s pulse began striking the walls of her throat with a tiny hammer.
“Wednesday.”
“Enid.”
“You’re cuddling me.”
“I am aware.”
“You hate cuddling.”
“I hate most people.”
“That’s not a denial.”
Wednesday considered this.
Then she lifted one hand and touched Enid’s hair.
Her fingers moved through the pink strands near Enid’s temple, surprisingly careful despite her impaired coordination.
“Soft,” she murmured.
Enid nearly folded in half.
“Okay. We’re getting you to bed.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You can’t sleep standing up.”
“I have done so before.”
“Passing out during Professor Hargreaves’s lecture doesn’t count.”
“He presented an argument so dull my body attempted to enter a coma.”
Enid gently disentangled herself and took Wednesday’s hands.
“Come on.”
Wednesday looked down at their joined fingers.
Something in her expression softened.
She followed without resistance.
That should have been Enid’s first warning.
Wednesday Addams did not follow anyone without resistance. She turned cooperation into a hostage negotiation on principle.
Enid guided her through the small flat, moving textbooks and one abandoned boot from their path. Wednesday remained pressed close behind her, holding Enid’s hand with both of hers.
At the bedroom door, Enid stopped.
Wednesday bumped into her back.
“You need water.”
“I require you.”
Enid’s soul performed a small, violent somersault.
“You require water.”
Wednesday rested her chin on Enid’s shoulder.
“I dislike water.”
“You literally drink black coffee that could dissolve a spoon.”
“Coffee has purpose.”
“So does not dying of dehydration.”
Wednesday sighed with the long-suffering patience of a saint being tested by an imbecile.
“Very well.”
Enid sat her on the edge of the bed and fetched a glass.
When she returned, Wednesday was staring at the doorway with an expression of profound betrayal.
“You left.”
“For twelve seconds.”
“Twelve unnecessary seconds.”
“You’re being clingy.”
“No.”
“You’re holding the sleeve of my cardigan.”
Wednesday looked down.
Her fingers were indeed curled around the pink fabric.
She did not release it.
“This proves nothing.”
Enid handed her the water.
Wednesday drank half of it while continuing to stare at Enid over the rim.
Those dark eyes were usually guarded behind layers of calculation, suspicion and beautifully sharpened disdain.
Tonight, they were open.
Soft.
Almost wounded by the possibility that Enid might move away again.
Enid sat beside her.
“There. I’m not leaving.”
Wednesday lowered the glass.
“Promise?”
The single word struck Enid somewhere behind her ribs.
Wednesday would deny having said it tomorrow. She might attempt to destroy all physical evidence. Enid would let her.
But tonight, she answered honestly.
“Promise.”
Wednesday placed the glass down and immediately leaned into her side.
Enid carefully slid an arm around her shoulders.
Wednesday melted.
Actually melted.
Her body relaxed against Enid’s as though this was the place it had been trying to reach all evening. She tucked her face beneath Enid’s jaw and curled one hand against Enid’s waist.
Enid stared at the opposite wall.
“I’m going to die.”
Wednesday’s fingers flexed.
“I would object.”
“You would?”
“Strongly.”
“That’s sweet.”
“It was a threat.”
“Sure.”
Enid began removing the pins from Wednesday’s braids, mostly because leaving her to sleep with them in would guarantee a headache and partly because she needed something to do with her hands before they started trembling.
Wednesday sat perfectly still.
Her eyes drifted closed as Enid worked her fingers gently through the loosened black hair.
A faint sound vibrated against Enid’s collarbone.
Enid paused.
“Did you just hum?”
“No.”
“You did.”
Wednesday made the sound again.
It was low, quiet and oddly rhythmic.
Enid stared down at her.
“Are you purring?”
Wednesday opened one eye.
“I do not purr.”
“You’re practically vibrating.”
“That is the alcohol poisoning my nervous system.”
“You are such a cuddly little kitten when you’re drunk.”
Wednesday’s eye narrowed.
“I am neither little nor cuddly.”
“You have been attached to me for fifteen minutes.”
“I am conserving body heat.”
“You called my hair soft.”
“An objective observation.”
“You asked me to promise I wouldn’t leave.”
Wednesday went very still.
Enid immediately regretted teasing her.
Then Wednesday tilted her head back and looked up.
Dark eyes.
Pale face.
Black hair loose around her shoulders.
Her expression was solemn enough for a funeral.
And then, very softly, Wednesday said, “Meow.”
Enid’s entire mind became white noise.
Wednesday watched her.
Enid opened her mouth.
Nothing emerged.
Wednesday leaned closer.
“Your pupils have dilated.”
“Don’t.”
“Your heart rate has increased.”
“Wednesday.”
“Your face is red.”
“You meowed at me!”
“A successful experiment.”
“You cannot conduct experiments on me while drunk and adorable.”
“I am not adorable.”
“You just meowed!”
Wednesday lifted one hand and placed it against Enid’s cheek.
Enid stopped.
The humour thinned.
Wednesday’s thumb moved once beneath her eye.
“You are beautiful when you laugh.”
Enid forgot every word she had ever learned.
Wednesday studied her with the same unwavering concentration she applied to crime scenes, ancient manuscripts and anything else she considered worth understanding.
Only now there was no distance in it.
No protective frost.
“I frequently cause you to laugh,” Wednesday said.
“You do.”
“Sometimes unintentionally.”
“Most of the time unintentionally.”
“I dislike being laughed at.”
Enid’s smile faded. “I would never laugh at you to be cruel.”
“I know.”
The quiet certainty of it made Enid’s chest ache.
Wednesday’s thumb traced the curve of her cheek.
“I like making you happy.”
Enid swallowed.
“You do?”
“It is inconvenient.”
“Tragic.”
“Debilitating.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It has resisted every attempt at treatment.”
Enid’s voice softened. “Maybe you shouldn’t treat it.”
Wednesday looked at her mouth.
That was the second warning.
The third was the way her fingers slid into Enid’s hair.
The fourth never arrived, because Wednesday kissed her.
It was not tentative.
Wednesday did very few things tentatively, even while drunk enough to lose an argument with furniture.
Her mouth pressed against Enid’s, warm and firm and slightly clumsy. Enid’s heart exploded into confetti, reconstructed itself and exploded again.
For one impossible second, she did nothing.
Then Wednesday made a small, frustrated sound and kissed her again.
Enid kissed back.
Obviously.
There were limits to even her self-control.
She cupped Wednesday’s face, turning gently into the kiss. Wednesday’s hand tightened in her hair while the other curled into Enid’s cardigan, pulling her closer.
The kiss softened.
Deepened.
Became something far too honest to blame entirely on tequila.
Then common sense returned carrying a fire extinguisher.
Enid pulled away.
Wednesday followed her mouth.
Enid nearly surrendered.
“No.” She placed two fingers gently over Wednesday’s lips. “No more kissing.”
Wednesday looked offended.
“Your reasoning is defective.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I remain capable of identifying what I want.”
“I know, but you might not want it tomorrow.”
Wednesday stared at her.
The openness in her eyes vanished behind something wounded.
“I will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I have wanted to kiss you for eleven months, two weeks and four days.”
Enid’s fingers slipped away from her mouth.
“What?”
“Eleven months,” Wednesday repeated impatiently. “Two weeks. Four days.”
“Since when?”
“The night you fell asleep on my shoulder during the horror marathon.”
“You said you wanted to amputate your arm.”
“I considered it.”
“That’s not romantic.”
“The impulse passed.”
“Wednesday.”
“You drooled on me.”
“Oh my God.”
“I retained the shirt.”
Enid blinked.
“What?”
Wednesday appeared to realise she had exposed classified information.
Her expression tightened.
“You’re going to forget that.”
“I absolutely am not.”
“I could make you.”
“How?”
Wednesday contemplated this and then tapped Enid’s nose.
Enid stared at her.
Wednesday stared back.
“That was your plan?”
“My strategic abilities are temporarily impaired.”
Enid burst out laughing.
Wednesday watched her, and there it was again.
That tiny, secret softness.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
Enid’s laughter dissolved into something breathless.
“You already said that.”
“It remains true.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“No.”
Wednesday leaned forward until their foreheads touched.
“I have become distressingly invested in your continued survival.”
Enid closed her eyes.
This was everything she wanted.
It was also happening while Wednesday could not walk past a coat stand without declaring war.
She pressed a kiss to Wednesday’s forehead instead.
“Sleep.”
Wednesday frowned.
“Kiss me properly.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
“Tomorrow, when you’re sober, you can decide whether you still want to.”
“I have already decided.”
“Then waiting won’t change anything.”
Wednesday considered that with visible irritation.
Finally, she lay down.
Still holding Enid’s hand.
“You’re staying.”
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
“No.”
“Wednesday.”
“You promised not to leave.”
Enid’s resistance crumpled like wet cardboard.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”
She helped Wednesday remove her boots and coat, then climbed onto the bed over the covers. Wednesday immediately curled against her, one arm around Enid’s waist and her head resting over Enid’s heart.
Within minutes, her breathing slowed.
Enid remained awake for considerably longer.
Partly because Wednesday Addams was sleeping wrapped around her like a possessive octopus.
Mostly because Wednesday had kissed her.
Wanted her.
Had apparently wanted her for almost a year.
Just before Enid finally drifted off, Wednesday shifted closer and murmured something against her chest.
Enid stroked her hair.
“What?”
Wednesday’s voice was barely audible.
“Mine.”
Enid smiled into the darkness.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Probably.”
Wednesday woke at eight seventeen with a headache that suggested someone had driven a railway spike through her left temple.
Her mouth tasted faintly of regret and citrus.
There was warmth beneath her cheek.
Her arm was wrapped around something soft.
Wednesday opened her eyes.
Pink cardigan.
Blonde hair.
Enid.
Memory returned not gradually, but as a firing squad.
The coat stand.
Warm.
Promise.
Soft hair.
Meow.
The kiss.
Wednesday closed her eyes again.
Death would be preferable.
Unfortunately, Enid’s heartbeat beneath her ear was steady and soothing, complicating immediate self-destruction.
Enid stirred.
Her fingers, still tangled loosely in Wednesday’s hair, moved once.
“Morning.”
Wednesday remained motionless.
“How much do you remember?” Enid asked.
“All of it.”
A pause.
“Even the meow?”
Wednesday considered smothering herself with the pillow.
“Yes.”
Enid’s body shook beneath her.
“Do not laugh.”
“I’m trying so hard.”
“Try harder.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You are not.”
“No,” Enid admitted. “I’m really not.”
Wednesday lifted her head.
Enid’s smile softened when their eyes met.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Wednesday was still holding her.
Enid was still touching her hair.
The silence felt fragile, but not uncomfortable.
Then Wednesday said, “I meant it.”
Enid’s breath caught.
“All of it?”
“Not my accusations against the coat stand. Further examination suggests its actions were merely negligent rather than malicious.”
Enid’s mouth twitched.
Wednesday continued before courage became sentimentality.
“I have wanted to kiss you for almost a year. I retained the shirt you drooled upon. Your happiness has become irritatingly important to me, and I find your physical presence…” She paused. “Necessary.”
Enid’s eyes became suspiciously bright.
“You find me necessary?”
“Do not force me to improve the phrasing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Wednesday looked at her mouth.
“I am now sober.”
“You are.”
“My judgement has returned.”
“Debatable.”
“I still want to kiss you.”
Enid smiled.
“Then kiss me.”
Wednesday did.
This kiss was slower.
Deliberate.
Entirely sober and therefore considerably more dangerous.
Enid’s hand slipped to the back of Wednesday’s neck as Wednesday moved closer, reclaiming everything she had begun the night before.
When they separated, Enid was flushed and smiling.
Wednesday approved of both conditions.
“So,” Enid whispered. “Are we dating now?”
“Yes.”
“That easy?”
“I fail to see why we should engage in unnecessary ambiguity.”
“You spent eleven months being unnecessarily ambiguous.”
“I was gathering data.”
“You kept my drool shirt.”
“Evidence.”
Enid laughed and kissed her again.
Wednesday permitted it.
Enthusiastically.
They arrived at brunch forty minutes late.
Wednesday wore sunglasses despite the grey weather and regarded every sound in the café as a personal assault.
Enid held her hand beneath the table.
Neither of them had discussed whether they would announce anything.
They did not need to.
Ajax noticed first.
His gaze dropped to their linked hands.
Then he nodded as though someone had confirmed the weather forecast.
“Cool.”
Enid frowned. “Cool?”
Yoko glanced over her coffee.
“Congratulations.”
Eugene smiled. “It’s about time.”
Divina held out her hand to Kent, who sighed and placed a ten-pound note into it.
Enid stared around the table.
“Why is nobody surprised?”
Bianca looked up from the menu.
Her gaze settled on Wednesday’s sunglasses, then their joined hands.
A slow smile spread across her face.
“Fucking finally.”
Wednesday’s grip tightened around Enid’s fingers.
Enid pointed accusingly at Bianca.
“You knew!”
“Everyone knew.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Yes,” Yoko said. “That was the central obstacle.”
Wednesday lowered her sunglasses just enough to glare over them.
Bianca remained unimpressed.
“You got her drunk on purpose,” Enid said.
“I did not get her drunk. I merely allowed nature, tequila and Wednesday’s catastrophic inability to recognise her own limits to collaborate.”
“You kept ordering rounds,” Wednesday said.
“You kept drinking them.”
“I believed you were challenging me.”
“I was.”
Ajax looked between them. “Did it work?”
Enid’s face heated.
Wednesday raised her sunglasses again.
Bianca’s grin widened.
“If getting her pissed didn’t work, I was going to lock you both in a cupboard.”
“A cupboard?” Enid repeated.
“The supply cupboard in the music building,” Bianca said. “Good lock. Minimal windows. Enough room for two emotionally constipated idiots.”
“We are not emotionally constipated,” Enid protested.
Wednesday considered the accusation.
“It is not entirely without merit.”
Enid turned to her.
“You meowed at me.”
The table fell silent.
Wednesday went still.
Bianca’s eyes widened with delighted horror.
Yoko slowly lowered her coffee.
Ajax whispered, “No way.”
Wednesday faced Enid with an expression promising elaborate retaliation.
Enid squeezed her hand.
Then Wednesday leaned over and kissed her cheek.
The entire table erupted.
Wednesday sat back, composed despite the faint colour rising along her cheekbones.
“You have thirty seconds to finish laughing,” she said. “After that, I begin selecting victims.”
Enid beamed at her.
Wednesday’s thumb brushed over Enid’s knuckles beneath the table.
Bianca raised her coffee in triumph.
“Best society dinner ever.”
Wednesday tilted her head toward Enid.
“Meow,” she murmured so quietly that no one else heard.
Enid nearly fell out of her chair.