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A woman draped in the darkest shade of black sat at the corner of Hyde Park, her spiderweb laced parasol giving her solace from the burning sun. Her gloved hand was absentmindedly tapping on the silver chain of her pocket watch, while her eyes fixated on the path in front of her bench, waiting. The soft melody of the chirping songbirds was grating her ear, the happy children skipping around in their disturbing, pastel clothing and ribbons all around testing her patience further.
Her partner was running late. Or at least it felt like he was running late, with all the noise, the cacophony of flowery scents and the sunlight. Who’s damned idea was it to go on a covert mission during the summer? Enid Sinclair, that’s who. She should have been here in her rose tinted dresses and her sky blue hats.
But Enid wanted her here instead, and she knew exactly the reason for it: her partner on this mission. It wasn’t just that her relationship with the man was tumultuous, it was the fact that they shared a past of rivalry in the organization, and both of their promotion was hanging on the line. Enid wanted to pit them against each other, she could tell.
“Miss Addams.” a familiar voice called out to her from behind.
The woman didn’t turn around, but she angled her parasol toward the source of the sound, knowing that the spider carved on the tip always made her partner uneasy. Her action was rewarded by a sudden intake of breath followed by an exasperated sigh right before the man sat down next to her.
“I’ve got ourselves the tickets, we take off in half an hour. Mr. Petropolus has loaded on our bags already, but he cannot stay for the flight.” He handed her the piece of paper. “We should go, before we miss it.”
He stood up and held out his arm to her, waiting for her to stand with him, his smile shining just as bright as the sun. She followed him, walking down the narrow path, letting her palm rest in the crook of his elbow, her nails slightly digging into his frock coat in a silent defiance. His smile only grew as he reached for her parasol, and taking it from her hands to cast its shadow over both of them.
“Who are we?” she finally asked.
“Mr Tyler and Mrs Gwendolyn Uriah.”
She narrowed her eyes at the man, hoping it would pierce through is chest, leaving him bleeding out in the middle of this forsaken park. He just held he hand tighter to him, his hand playing with the scorpion tail shaped handle of her parasol.
“Please, Miss Addams, I know what you are thinking. ‘Why does he get to keep his name and I cannot’.” his voice was hurried and quiet, not wanting to draw attention from the other passengers heading toward the landing platform. “But I knew you will be dressed like a beautiful, grieving widow, and that fact paired with your name would certainly help some of these fine people make the connection to your true identity, Wednesday.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to choose me that name.” she hissed toward him. “Or pretend to be my husband.”
“But I can call you ‘my darling Gwen’ for the day, so I would consider this a win. Now, please try to act pleasant, because the lovely couple over there started to eye us suspiciously.”
And indeed they did. The woman on the right had her face covered by a thin veil draping from her purple hat, her eyes hidden behind violet tinted glasses. The woman on the left the other hand had her startlingly blue eyes staring directly at them. She diverted her gaze as soon as she met with Miss Addams’ angry void look.
“A vampire and a siren, how curious.” she remarked, her partner nodding along.
They hurried their steps toward the airship waiting for its passengers. The big machine took up a good portion of the park, casting a great shadow over the soft grass underneath. Miss Addams was rarely excited about the development of new technologies, but she had to admit, an airship was a thing of wonder.
Most of the body was made up of the air envelope, heated to oblivion so the ship could fly up soon. A small metal compartment was there to serve as cabins for the passengers as well as a common dining area right in the middle. It was the most luxurious way to travel from England to Germany, but the Nightshade agency was willing to pay the price to have two of their operatives up in the air.
Miss Addams was already too hot from the summer sun, and standing in line to get onto that oven wasn’t helping her. Her corset felt too tight around her ribcage, limiting her breathing, despite it being loosely laced. Her partner was looking at her, his arm slipping away and behind her back to support her better.
“There is cooled air inside the airship.” he whispered close to her ear, then a bit louder he added. “Just hold on for a minute my darling Gwen.”
He knew what he was doing, as the ice cold rage he ignited inside her helped to keep her head clean. Or at least clean enough to only think of one thing, revenge. How she was going to get him to his knees as soon as they land in Berlin, strangling him with his blue cravat. These thoughts kept her occupied until they were standing at the table of the ticket inspector man.
“Name?” The middle aged clerk looked between the two with immeasurable disinterest.
“Mr and Mrs Uriah.” her partner supplied, handing his ticket over and nodding toward her to hand her ticket over as well.
Miss Addams took on the most acceptable expression resembling something a content newlywed might wear on her face as she gave over her ticket for inspection. She already resented every minute of this fourteen hour journey, and they weren’t even in the air yet.
“Your butler has already loaded your luggage in your cabin, and is waiting for you at the door. The cabin number is thirteen. Have a safe journey.” the man’s monotone voice was comforting. He must have hated sitting in the sun just as much as Miss Addams did, the rare kindred spirit to her ether filled chest.
The inside of the airship was tiny, compared to the air ballon sitting on top of it. The gate opened to an oval shaped room filled with tables, chairs and well dressed people. The walls were covered with carved red wood, giving the room a naval feel. The chandelier hanging from the off-white ceiling provided enough light for the whole room despite being small. It was decorated with crystals, refracting the light coming from the light bulbs on the inside.
Number 13 was easy to find, but harder to reach. Each of the chambers opened from the main area, and they could see Mr. Petropolus standing in front of one of the chestnut wood door. Most of the passengers seemed to stop at the dining hall, not even bothering to reach their rooms, and keeping others from doing so in the process.
Wednesday peered around the main hall searching the faces for their target, Xavier Thorpe, the son of one of the most corrupt politicians in all of the Great British Empire. She knew he should be tall enough to be easy to notice, even in a crowd, but she couldn’t see him in the sea of people.
She did see the couple from earlier scurrying past the other passengers, their hands holding tightly onto each other. They didn’t seem to notice them, but their chamber was on the other side of the oval hall. There was nobody standing in their door, no butler, not even a host. She found it somewhat odd.
“What do you think?” Tyler whispered close to her ear.
“I can’t see him, but the pair of oddities seem suspicious.”
“More than us?” There was a bit of a smile in his voice, as he guided them closer to their door.
“They look like a couple, but there is something amiss. They passed through the crowd like they were little giggling children going to the play room.”
Tyler hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t comment on it. It was just as well, as they have reached their destination. Wednesday exchanged a couple of words with the operative posing as their butler, and she noticed some mischief in his words. Ajax Petropolus wasn’t the most serious man, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to lace his words with humor. The gist of his was that he did see the butler of Thorpe board the airship with two large bags, then he left without waiting for his employer.
He said his goodbyes after short conversation, not wanting to draw too much attention with how chummy they have acted with each other. He wished them good luck on their journey, shooting them a wink that Wednesday couldn’t place anywhere.
They’ve remained in the hall after Ajax has left, looking over the butlers and other helping hands leaving the vessel. The passengers trickled in their assigned chambers one after the other, settling in and awaiting the takeoff followed by the shared dinner.
Tyler’s fingers brushed against her elbow, getting her attention on him. Before he could have said anything, he was interrupted by a loud rumbling followed by a horn, as the airship stared to move. The ground felt less and less stable, Wednesday’s legs wobbling like a newborn fawn, her arms reaching instinctively to hold onto something, or in her case someone.
Tyler caught her without issue, his arms bringing her to his chest, his silk cravat brushing against her cheeks. He wasn’t more stable than herself, despite his unnatural reflexes and more stable footing. They’ve heard the steward over the sounding horn mounted above the entrance door, urging the few people left in the hall.
Her partner took it upon himself to get both of them inside room thirteen, swaying them both like they were dancing to the melody of the hot air lifting them into the ether. They practically fell to the floor of their shared room the moment they set their feet inside, Tyler landing right on top of her, pressing the rest of the air out of her lungs. The only thing softening her fall were her bustle and his hand holding the back of her head.
“Once we reached the desired height, you may return to the main hall. We will inform you when this happens.” They heard over the speaker system.
Tyler managed to find some support by propping his body up on his elbows, but he remained above Wednesday, his curious eyes roaming over her face. She was finally able to breathe properly, but she would have appreciated if his face would have kept a more reasonable distance from hers, and she wouldn’t have to stare into those eyes while the airship ascended and making her nauseated.
“Would you mind getting up?” She found her own voice breathier than usual as she asked him.
“Excuse me, Miss Addams.” he whispered, his breath moving the strands of hair fallen onto her face.
He stood on his feet, still unsteady, but less and less so. He reached down to help Wednesday up with himself, his strong grip holding her in place. His eyes left her face, wandering over the room for a moment. Wednesday could only see the entrance side of the room from her position, and judging by the shadow over the wall, the window on the other and was circular.
She felt his hold weaken, and as she looked upon his face she saw it focusing in on something behind her. Feeling more grounded already since their takeoff, so she turned her body in that direction, her biceps leaving his weak grasp.
The room was small, there was only place for a small nightstand next to the double bed, just large enough for two people with some room between them. The sheets were pristine white, the bed frame a similar wood color as the door. Two small luggage were placed at the foot of the bed thanks to Mr. Petropolus. She couldn’t see what might caused him the distress, if not the fact that there was no paravan to ensure modesty while changing.
“There is one bed.” he chocked out.
Oh, so that caused the issue. Wednesday found the corners of her mouth twitching up, but she forced herself to regain composure as she turned back to Tyler.
“Indeed, there is.”
His eyes grew comically large. “You don’t mind?”
“I was raised as a lady, I can keep my hands to myself.” There was a hint of humor in her tone, as she remembered the last mission they did together. That dance was one of her favorite memory of any of her field day, she realized, horrified by herself.
“I cannot claim such upbringing, but I wouldn’t dare step over the line. Without permission.” There was a roguish glint to his smile, which sent shivers down her spine, but she refuses to acknowledge it.
Tyler did have a different background from hers, that was the truth of it. He came from a working class family, his father raising in the ranks of police, her mother’s social standing unknown to her. What she did know about his mother was that she has passed years ago and she has passed her curse on to Tyler, as he will do to his children some day.
His connection to the law enforcement was a great point in his favor when deciding on his application to their organization, but Wednesday had to confess she considered his curse more important. She also had to admit that her opinion of him only improved over the time as they worked together.
“Are you reconsidering?” he asked, his head tilted to the side. “Do you not want to sleep next to me?”
“I do not want to, but I will because we have to.” she snapped earning his musical laugh. Her rare fondness of him was surrounded by the constant burning annoyance toward him.
Tyler sat down on their bed, his head falling into his palm, his fingers combing through his honey curls, and something changed in the air for a moment. His sigh was loud and shaky, betraying the facade he was putting up for the past hours. She has seen him like this only a handful of times before, but never this early in a mission.
Wearing a mask was tiring, and that’s precisely why she didn’t do so. She was herself, whether people liked it or not, but Tyler did put in the work into acting. That might have been the reason he worked so quickly up the ladder, so much so that now they were biding for the same position. Wednesday didn’t need the extra money from the position, but she wasn’t about the give up on a competition.
She joined Tyler on the bed, keeping a safe distance from her. She let her parasol fall to the ground with a loud thud, but even that didn’t get him out of his state. Wednesday hadn’t an idea how to console him, or if she even wanted to do so, but she needed him to bring his prowess to the dinner with him.
“We are married.” she started, waiting for a reaction that never came. “Marriage of convenience? So you don’t have to act like a lovesick fool?”
“Marriage of love on my side, you could be settling for me for a fortune or title I will inherit.” he mumbled. “It’s easier to sell to the public.”
Wednesday remained silent, observing the man on her right. He did everything required for the job, even more than it was necessary. Maybe he was better suited to be a proper spy master of the Nightshade agency. She was only in it to gather information and inspiration for her writing. But she couldn’t let him have it without a fight.
They sat in silence for what felt like eternity, but was probably around an hour, waiting for the announcement of the dinner. Tyler’s head snapped up, his features becoming soft, like he woke up under some kind of spell. Wednesday found it impressive, how easily he could don his mask whenever he needed.
They made their way into to hall hand in hand, like a proper married couple. There were already some people sitting at the tables and based on the available seats, Wednesday knew that sooner or later they will have to share their table with other two people. Still, they chose to sit at an empty table, facing the door assigned to Xavier Thorpe. There was still no movement.
The dining hall filled up quickly, the couple from earlier opting to share their table with Wednesday and Tyler, with their permission of course. Idle chatter filled the ait around them, and Wednesday could pick up a woman’s harsh laughter cut through the noise. It hurt her ears, but she didn’t bother looking for its source.
The women across from them remained quiet until the first course arrived. The plate’s bore the signature of the airship company, AL for Annabel Lee. The bottle of red wine served with their overcooked steak and under seasoned potato also had a seal with the emblem.
Just when Wednesday bit into the first boiled potato, their table partners introduced themselves as Divina and Yoko Tanaka. Tyler thankfully introduced them both using the names he had given for the airship, and soon they had to endure the bubbling couple gushing about the journey they were on, telling them details about their recent weddings without having to be asked first.
It was Tyler again who was able to keep up with them, asking them questions about their ceremony and listening intently to their answer. By the end of their self introductory speech, Wednesday was sure they were not a part of any agency. And Xavier Thorpe didn’t show up at all, the harsh laughter sounding over and over again, deafening them. Her annoyance started to boil into rage.
“How long have you been married?” Yoko asked.
“The last three years, but we were engaged for half a year before that!” Tyler offered, lying confidently and happily. “My darling Gwen had her thoughts about the perfect ceremony. She has a preferred color palette and we had to find the perfect accommodation for her tastes.”
“Have you been wed by a priest?” Divina looked between the two, her piercing blue eyes darting between them.
“Of course.” Wednesday answered courtly. She had to participate in the conversation to not draw too much attention.
After a beat of silence Divina hummed, her lips pursed. “Curious. I believed they refuse their services to people like us.” Her hand joined her wife’s on the table.
Wednesday felt slightly taken aback, but Tyler was able to gather himself quickly, offering them a blinding smile with his answer. “Some are willing to make exceptions for the right price.” His smile grew devilish. “What gave us away?”
There was that laugh again, and Wednesday finally snapped, he head turning in the direction of the offending sound, a middle aged woman with unnaturally red hair sitting with three gentlemen. She seemingly flirted with each of them, but her eyes met Wednesday’s for a moment. Wednesday turned back to her own table just in time to hear Divina’s answer.
“It’s hard to miss a witch and her familiar.” She laughed, her wife’s hand tightening around hers, Yoko’s eye looking at her intently. “I’m sorry for putting it this way, it’s not every day one sees a witch married to someone who isn’t.”
“She is ma petite mort.” There was something in the way he looked at Wednesday that was deeply unsettling for the woman. So much so that she was willing to let the comment go without repercussions.
“Cheeky.” Yoko said her dark brown eyes darting between the two operatives. She leaned closer over the table, a wide smile breaking out in her face and showing her sharp fangs. “But you aren’t ordinary yourself, Mr. Uriah.”
Wednesday’s suspicion returned with full force. They were good observers, maybe too good, even for a couple of vampire and siren. Tyler said something that got their attention, but Wednesday was no longer listening to them, too engrossed in her own mind. If they had unforeseen competition, then maybe this trip wasn’t so useless after all. Maybe the answer to the question lied within the room itself.
“I will go investigate the Thorpe’s chamber once the hall clears out.” she stated firmly the moment they’ve gotten back to their room and said their heart felt goodbyes to the couple they dined with.
“I will go with you.” Tyler offered, his hand once again slipping to grab her wrist. “We might notice more if we are together.”
There was a pleading quality of his deep voice, but Wednesday’s will did not falter. It was a stealth mission and she was suited to do it alone, and she told him as much. His insistence was futile, and he let his hand drop from her. He retreated to the bed, sitting down on the bed and fishing out a book from his luggage.
Wednesday pressed her ear to the door, taking note of the footsteps. The same pattern repeated twice within half an hour, but it missed the next time it should have come around. Wednesday checked her pocket watch, and at exactly one in the morning she left their shared room without looking back.
The main hall was empty, only two lights remained lit in the oval shaped room. She avoided those expertly, walking as soft as a cat over the other side of the area, reaching the door with the number one painted on it. She tried the doorknob, and to her surprise there was no resistance, so she let herself in.
The chamber was clouded in the darkness of the night and due to the position of the airship, not even the moon shone into it. Once Wednesday’s eyes got used to the lack of light, she could take a look around. It was furnished the same way as their room, following the same minimalist design, but the bed was untouched. For a miserable moment she thought about staying in there to leave their room just for Tyler, but she shouldn’t leave a mark.
There was one large leather bag sitting at the end of the bed. Wednesday ran he hand over it once before opening it. It felt hollow and once opened it became clear why. It was full of rolled up canvases. She took one out, trying to inspect it, but she could barely take out a rough outline of a house in the darkness. There was one other thing she could recognize on the painting: the signature of Xavier Thorpe. But why would he send his own paintings to a different country without him on board?
At least she had something to write in her report by the end of the day, and they could follow the bag once they land in Berlin. She put the painting back into the bag, closing the clasps over it to seal the art pieces back to their place.
She made sure to close the door softly behind her to not draw any attention from the other passengers aboard the airship. Especially not the Tanaka couple, as she was still not convinced they were not operatives themselves. She snuck across the empty dining area, keeping close to the wall despite the open space and the lack of witnesses. Her hand hovered over the doorknob before making contact, opening the door to her shared room.
“Oh, my dear Gwendolyn!” he greeted her loudly with a great smile, sitting on the side of their bed.
It wasn’t his tone that concerned her, nor the volume of his voice. No, those were expected to signal her that someone knew about her not being in the room. But he had a champagne glass in his hand, already half empty, the bottle sitting on the nightstand next to him, not bearing the seal the airship company prints on all of their merchandise.
Wednesday’s anger ignited in her body like dynamite. She rushed over to him, tore the drink away from his grip, the glass shattering on the ground. She didn’t care about the shards or the noise she made, but she couldn’t have him drink unidentified liquid on this mission.
“Do you have a death wish?” she hissed at him. “You are a trained operative, why would you drink champagne of unknown origin? It can be laced with toxins, you could get poisoned and die!”
She was careful not to shout at him, but she could barely contain the rage boiling under her skin. He just looked at her with a blank expression, no emotion reaching his face as he grabbed the champagne bottle to inhale the fumes, like he could determine anything by the sense of smell alone. Before Wednesday could have stopped him, he lifted the bottle to his lips and took two large gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each.
Wednesday tried to snatch it out of his hand as well, but his grip was firm, she only managed to get him to lower the bottle from his mouth. His eye was cold as he looked her up and down, his gaze settling on her hand holding the neck of the bottle over his own hand as he stood up to loom over her.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Wednesday, I can handle large amounts of poison. You won’t get to do autopsy on me during the night. You will have to vivisect me, love.”
There was pure emptiness in his voice, like it came from the ether surrounding them.
“You imbecile!” she couldn’t help but shout. “You really want to risk –”
His large hand covered her mouth, while the other disconnected from hers, putting the bottle back to the nightstand. He took a step closer to her, his pants brushing against her skirts, his palm remaining on her mouth, his thunderous eyes boring into hers.
“Don’t draw attention by shouting.” he whispered. “The bottle was sent here with the room service. The man claimed you’ve sent it, and I made sure he saw me drinking it. We will see tomorrow who will be surprised that I’m not dead, and we go from there.”
He slowly removed his hand from her mouth. Wednesday desperately tried to keep her voice in check, but she was growing even more enraged with him upon his explanation. She wished she could rip his stupid head off with her bare hands.
“Have you even considered any other approach? What if you get actually sick? What if you consumed so much, that even your monstrous metabolism can’t save you.” she compressed her burning rage into her hushed voice.
His disinterested mask fell, giving way to surprise of all emotions. “You are worried.”
“Of course I’m worried, you dimwit.” she hissed. “We are locked in a ship sailing through the ether for another eight hours, and you might drop dead on me.”
He remained silent, his mouth stretching to a thin, uncomfortable smile. “I’ll try not to die on you, Miss Addams.”
There was no sincerity to his voice, not a drop of his usual warmth. When did she start to find comfort in it, that now she mourned its loss? Why did she care about it at all, when the consequences of his reckless behavior were way more important and dire?
As soon as the thought of him actually dyeing crossed her mind, he staggered back, barely making to the edge of the bed, before losing balance and collapsing onto it. For a fraction of a second Wednesday thought this was it. She would lose him forever, because he was stupid. He was so damn stupid.
She rushed over to the edge of the bed, her cold hand pressing to his neck over his pulse point. His heart was beating slower than it should have, his skin glistening with sweat and burning under her touch. His eyes weren’t shut, but they were unfocused, his pupils blown, darting all over the place like he was watching bugs fly by.
Wednesday left his side, barely looking where she stepped, the shards of glass embedding themselves to the sole of her shoe. It didn’t matter as she grabbed the bottle off the nightstand, taking a good whiff of it. It did smell of champagne but the color and the smell was off.
She took a good swig from the bottle, making sure not to swallow any of it. It was risky, the poison could be something that absorbed in the mouth, but she was strong and resistant to most common means of poisoning. She kept the champagne mixture in her mouth for a moment, analyzing the taste slowly. The liquid was sweet and savory at the same time, like blackberries and pepper. Like nightshade. How ironic, or maybe how well calculated; the attacker knew who sent them.
She spat it out in that instant, putting the bottle back on the nightstand. She couldn’t make him regurgitate it, it would just make his condition worse. It would absorb into his system even quicker, it already started to absorb in her body as well, but it was just a negligible amount. He drank about a whole glass of it. Because he was stupid. So, so stupid.
Her body was shaking as she hovered over him once again, her palm patting his damp face to try to get him to focus. Wednesday would have gladly taken his cold tone right about now instead of facing the sweating mess that he had become in less than a minute.
She wasn’t worried for their mission, she didn’t care what happened if they were caught if that would mean he wouldn’t die. Somehow she felt herself unable to cope with that thought; she was not going to lose him, she adamantly refused. Her fingers pressed his cheeks in, her nail digging into his soft, moist flesh.
“Tyler, look at me. Focus on me! Please!”
His delirious gaze fell upon her, and for a moment his frown turned to a smile. “Wednesday.” his voice was soft despite the pain. “You are here to kill me?”
“No, why would I?” she asked, naively expecting a real answer. He would have come up with a list if he were in a conscious state.
“Everyone wants the monster dead.” he whispered, his eyes no longer looking at her. “You hate me. Why do you hate me so much?”
Wednesday knew he won’t understand, nor remember her answer if he managed to survive, but she couldn’t help herself whispering. “I don’t hate you.”
His body stirred thrashing around on the bed. Without access to activated charcoal, all she could do is try to help his symptoms, starting with his already drenched clothes. She crawled over his tossing body, straddling him like a wild horse and applying her weight to try and ground him.
She hasn’t removed the clothing of any man before, not even a family member’s, but she didn’t think it would be that complicated. He was already stripped of his coat. Her fingers made a quick work of his waistcoat, already freeing him from one restrictive layer, although getting his arms out of the contraption was a great fight. His cravat soon followed the garment to the ground. But then she was stuck.
He was only wearing his off-white shirt and his dark brown suspenders on his upper body. Should she remove his trousers as well? He would still have his breeches on him. A pained cry ripping out of his throat answered her question, her hands returning to his suspenders and freeing him from them, her fingers moving to his lap to unbutton his pants.
“You have to survive, Tyler, you hear me. You owe me after this.” she whispered mostly to herself as she shimmied the garment down to his knees, touching him in places she never thought she would want to touch any man.
Once he was only in his shirt and breeches, she took one deep breath and grabbed the ham of his drenched shirt, pulling it off his burning skin. He looked like a terrified child, as tremors shook his unconscious body. Wednesday managed to get him lying on his side of the bed, tucked in tightly with the duvet, all the while calling him every name under the sun for being an idiot and having her deal with the fallout of his reckless behavior.
Her murderous intentions were only tampered by his soft whines, calling for her in his fever dreams. Wednesday couldn’t explain the life of her, why her heart squeezed so uncomfortably tight whenever he said her name like a prayer, but she remained vigilantly by his side for an hour, observing as his superior immune system fought with the poison pumping through his veins.
She checked his pulse every five minutes waiting for it to normalize and counting the minutes that went by since his heart rate dropped. His temperature remained the same, just like the sweating, and the small swelling of his ligaments. She wiped his face with her own tissues, and placing her usually cold hands on the side of his neck to cool him down.
After more than an hour passed, and they neared three in the morning, she felt a soft prayer fall upon her lips. She didn’t believe in heaven or hell, nor any greater power governing the afterlife, she met too many ghosts stuck in their daily routine to do so. Precisely this knowledge was what urged her to take his moist hand in hers and plea whichever spirit was listening in the ether.
“He cannot die! Someone like him deserves a death truly extraordinary. If he dies, I will find his spirit and tie him to me so he can never escape into the ether! And every spirit listening to me will better help him, or I will do the same to all of you! You shan’t be free if he passes!”
She didn’t know if her plea had any effect, but she knew the spirits have heard her. They always did at this hour of the day, and they couldn’t have been closer to their home realm. They had to hear her, and listen. All she had left to do was hope; hope that someone on the other side was willing to feel the terror she felt upon the prospect of losing him.
Wednesday couldn’t accept that. She meant what she said about tying whatever was left of his spirit to her own existence, even if that was frowned upon among their kind. He might have been infuriating, she might have despised him from time to time, still she wasn’t willing to let him go. Her grip on him tightened as she heard his breathing change, hoping for the best, but readying herself for the worst.
“Please don’t hate me Wednesday!” His voice was hoarse and weak, barely above a whisper. “Please. Please. Wednesday.”
Her free hand pressed on the side of his face, her index finger pressing onto his lips. His pained expression was illuminated by the pale light of the moon, making him even more sickly white. Wednesday’s fingers moved on their own accord, caressing his cheek while she tried to shush his concerns. She wasn’t sure she could hear any of her words, but she had to try.
“I’m sorry, father. Please. Please. Mother, no! Don’t!” His gaze suddenly snapped to hers, and there was a hint of recognition in those crazed eyes. “Wednesday. Don’t leave me. Please!”
“I won’t. I promise you.” she whispered, not knowing if he heard her at all.
His eyes went wide, his back snapping forward, his chest puffing up before falling back on the bed. Wednesday didn’t leave his side; even if he didn’t hear her promise she couldn’t let herself break it. She saw his panicked eyes bulging out of his head, his bones in his face shifting and breaking, like the waves on the ocean.
“I’m here for you.” she said softly. “I won’t leave.”
She waited for his transformation to fully take him, but it didn’t come upon him fully, his eyes slowly shrinking back to their normal size, his bone structure rearranging to his handsome features she has come to know. She has never seen his transformation in full, only ever allowed to glimpse on his claws once or twice, she was almost disappointed to be denied of the sight once more.
There was solace in the change as well; once his face was his own, his breathing became normal again. Soon, his body was no longer burning up, merely simmering, the sweat no longer flowing down on his face freely in thin rivulets. Wednesday’s heart dared to beat again, and with that came crashing exhaustion.
Whatever kept her up on her feet for so long did no longer work, her body aching to finally collapse onto herself. She could barely finish getting her outer layers and petticoats settled at the foot of the bed, her corset and bustle laying nicely on the bed frame when she crawled on the bed wearing only her chemise and drawers. High society would be deeply offended, but she didn’t care.
Dreamless sleep took her the moment her eyes met his slowly calming expression, her hand reaching out to hold his under the covers just so she could monitor his temperature. He was still warm, but comfortably so. Her last thought that night was to thank the spirits for keeping him for her.
Wednesday awoke to the sunlight shining into their room. She felt the similar feeling in her stomach that she felt when the airship took of, and she was sure they begun their descent. She turned around the bed, finding Tyler eyes staring back at her, darting over her face. He was alive. Oh, how she wanted to kill him for yesterday, but before she could have greeted him with a piece of her mind he spoke.
“I’m sorry.” his voice was broken, but he continued. “I don’t remember everything, but I know you saved me last night, despite your disdain for me. So, thank you.”
She knew she will strangle him one day, and that day might even be today, but his tone did something to her that she did not expect from herself. She smiled at him, genuinely. Her hand reached for a stray lock of his curly hair on its own accord.
“I don’t hate you, Tyler, and I don’t want you dead.” His face betrayed his skepticism, but she continued, softer than intended. “But if you put your life on the line again, I will disembowel you with a butter knife and hang you up by your own intestines.”
That finally earned a smile from him accompanied with a soft chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I am completely serious. You are forbidden from dying.”
His face hardened at that, scooting a bit closer to Wednesday on his pillow. “I will try.”
“Yes, you will.” she agreed, her hand coming to a rest on his left cheek. It was so soft, even with the dried sweat covering it. “And we will get revenge on whomever dared to hurt you.”
“That’s my Wednesday.” he muttered against the palm of her hand, pressing his lips lightly to her skin.
She didn’t bother to correct him.