Chapter Text
Wednesday's fingers curled into a fist as she pressed down onto the smooth walnut desk. Her knuckles turned white, which wasn't much paler than her general skin tone, but still a visible sign of distress. Her eyes burnt holes into the spread of maps and books before her; about a dozen volumes on Werewolves and every obscure detail about them. Thing perched timidly on the corner of the desk, flinching when he heard Wednesday's teeth clench so hard something cracked.
The three Musketeers of Mayhem, Fester, Wednesday, and Thing, had sleuthed their way into a rather luxurious hotel on the outskirts of Quebec City, Canada. They had been on Enid's trail for two weeks now, and with each day that passed by, an unsettling kind of cold and emptiness settled deep in Wednesday's black heart. Unlike the usual corpse-like peace she associated with frigid temperatures, this made her ache. She felt the pain drag across her chest, wicked sharp and deep, just like the claws of the very person she wanted—needed—to find.
"Nothing yet, eh?" Fester, sporting his Canadian-French disguise, which consisted of a trench coat, fake, twirled moustache, and thick rimmed circular glasses, asked in a pronounced Quebecois accent. He leaned against the doorway to the study. Wednesday growled as she straightened her back and looked out the window. Outside, night had cast its inky sheet over the city, and beyond it, lay a large mass of black-Laurentides Wildlife Reserve. Wednesday had tracked Enid to here, though where she would go from there remained a mystery, and she felt Enid getting further and further away. Soon, tracking her would become impossible. The Addams girl shoved the thought deep into the vault within her chest where she kept unpleasant emotions… so, all emotions. She turned to Fester, her black eyes blazing.
"Clearly not. If I had, we would have already left this ridiculous capitalist shrine to consumerism and greed," she seethed, her right hand gesturing at the gaudy Art-Deco design of their Presidential Suite in a hotel called: Le Prestige. It made Wednesday want to burn the place down, but she tried to tolerate her uncle's love for luxury.
Fester flinched, the venom in Wednesday's words hitting hard. "I see," he mumbled. His niece slumped her shoulders and leaned against the desk, both hands running down her face.
"I apologize, Uncle Fester. I just - cannot find anything in these stupid, useless books that explain how to catch an Alpha, let alone turn one back to their human form. Honestly, they sound like they were written by complete idiots," she said. Fester approached her in his odd gliding gait, his hands held behind his back.
"My dear, not everything can be found in books. Especially when it comes to Alpha werewolves," he said. Wednesday looked at him, her right eyebrow twitching into an arch sharp enough to kill a man. Thing inched away from Wednesday, feeling a crackle in the air that had nothing to do with Fester's zapping abilities.
"What do you mean?" she asked and Fester sighed, inviting his niece to sit with him on the leather chairs by the fire. He poured himself a hefty glass of Whiskey, offering some to Thing as well who declined and curled up by the fire. The raven-haired girl gracefully sat across from him, her back ram-rod straight, the light from the flames casting sharp shadows across her features. They didn't make her look angry though, they showed what lay underneath, something that the Wednesday Addams would never admit to anyone— heartbreak.
"Let me ask you something, Wednesday, and, though I love your trademark venomous remarks, just - humour me, okay?" he pleaded.
Wednesday narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. Just this once," she said. Fester smiled, though it was faint and tired, the kind of tired that came with delving into deep, hurtful memories.
"I need you to be honest with me, but most importantly to yourself. How much does Enid matter to you?" he asked, and Wednesday immediately shot up, dark eyes glinting with fury.
"What do you mean how much does she matter? She is my," she stumbled on the word, her warpath momentarily stopped, "-friend. I need to save her. It's my fault she ended up in this situation."
Fester leaned forward. "You stumbled on the word friend, my dear. How come?"
"I don't like expressing emotions."
"You just expressed a lot of emotion at the thought of me questioning the worth of your friend," he spoke calmly, knowing he was pressing some very lethal buttons. Wednesday tilted her head, feeling slightly attacked.
"Because she does matter. Very much," Wednesday replied curtly.
"Of course she does. I love Enid. Who wouldn't love a giant wolf with fangs the length of my arm? What I mean is how much does she matter to you? What does Enid mean to you?" his voice dropped to almost a whisper. Wednesday sat back down, her uncle's words getting under her skin and sending an icy bolt down her spine. It reminded her of the response of an animal feeling the presence of a predator nearby, except in this case the threat wasn't Fester—it was something much scarier for Wednesday.
"I -" Wednesday started.
"Remember that you promised to be honest with yourself," Fester quietly encouraged. Wednesday swallowed so loud, Thing heard her, and slowly walked over to her. He climbed up her leg and sat on her shoulder comfortingly. Wednesday clenched her teeth again and squeezed her eyes shut. Immediately, images of Enid flashed by like an old film roll: Enid and Wednesday in their room, Enid working on a scrapbook and Wednesday working on her book. Enid practicing her dance routine in the room, graceful and elegant, asking for Wednesday's opinion and the raven-haired girl struggling to form a thought, let alone a sentence. Enid risking her life to save Wednesday from Tyler. Enid risking her human form forever, again, to save Wednesday. Blond, blue, and pink hair, and sparkling blue eyes so full of hope and joy. Blue eyes under a full moon so full of fear.
"I… I am not sure, Uncle Fester," the whisper that left Wednesday lips fluttered in the air like a feather but the words settled in her gut like a stone. What did Enid Sinclair mean to Wednesday?
Fester blinked rapidly, surprised by the sheer veracity from his niece. Even Thing turned to look at Wednesday. He gently poked her cheek to see if that was really her. The psychic sat up tall again.
"Very well," Fester said after a moment. "The reason I ask is because - well, there is a story about an Alpha werewolf who was turned back into his human form…"
Wednesday scooted to the edge of her seat, her eyes wide, "How? And how come you have never spoken of this before?" she asked, her tone cool. Fester chuckled.
"I wasn't sure it would apply to your situation, but after the last couple weeks—I figured it was worth bringing it up," he fidgeted with the hem of his sweater, averting his gaze.
"Uncle, please. I will try anything," Wednesday breathed, fighting to keep her usual monotone voice, but the last few days, desperation had seeped into her bones and her words. Part of her hated it, but part of her wanted to give up on hiding it. Thing squeezed her shoulder and she held his pinky finger.
"The Alpha was turned back into his human form… by his true mate," Fester finished in a whisper. No one spoke for a few seconds, which stretched on like an eternity.
"What?" Wednesday asked, her words hanging in a confusing balance of anger, curiosity, and hesitant hope. She stamped the latter out as best she could, but if there was something Wednesday knew well, it was that some fires simply refused to go out.
Fester sighed, "The story goes that a werewolf, Victor Rose, a lad from Germany I believe, transformed during a blood moon. It was his first, and last, transformation. Much like Enid, he was a late bloomer—an Alpha. That night, he ran away from home, delving deep into the forest, trying to get away from everything and everyone he loved. He wanted to protect them, but we can't run away from all our connections. See, Victor had a lover, Alexander Wolfe, funnily enough. They had been together for years, and, unbeknownst to them, they were each other's true mate. Some would call it soulmates," Fester took a long sip of his whiskey.
"That's rid–ow," Wednesday started to interrupt, but Thing flicked her ear.
"Just let me finish. Victor would often hear Alexander's heartbroken prayers at night, just as if he was whispering right into his wolfy ear. Eventually, Alexander realized this was a two way connection. The two would talk, and the conversation helped keep Victor's beast at bay, keeping it from swallowing the identity of the man stuck within. After several days, Alexander was able to track Victor down using this connection," Fester continued.
"And let me guess. He kissed Victor and he turned back into a man?" Wednesday's snarky reply didn't faze him. He just chuckled.
"Not quite. There is a ritual that can be done between a Werewolf and a true mate. It's a bonding ritual, and it requires the other person to unleash their own beast—reveal their deepest, darkest fears and secrets. They must both lay their soul bare," the older Addams finished in a grave tone, understanding what he was asking of his niece. Wednesday blinked once.
"Sounds like a fantasy story," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in the supple leather of the chair.
Fester shook his head. "I can assure you it's not. Alexander was my cousin. I helped him do the ceremony with Victor."
Wednesday walked over to the fire and stood in front of it, her hands clasped behind her back. The fire did nothing to ease that uncomfortable cold feeling, instead, it seemed to spread within her bones, like a virus, eating her from the inside out.
"There's only one problem with the ceremony then," she spoke, her words barely audible.
"What's that?"
"I'm not anyone's true mate," Wednesday said with finality, turning and stomping off into her room, Thing still perched on her shoulder.