Wednesday: The Strongest Psychic-Chapter 237: Video call

A few hours before leaving for his mission, Luke opened his laptop. Ready for a video call with Wednesday.

The screen loaded. Instantly, a room appeared: gothic, gloomy, and elegant. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Wednesday Addams stared at him through the camera with her usual expression, unmoving, ink-dark eyes, and a steaming cup of tea between her fingers.

"That was a record time today. You opened Skype pretty fast," Luke said with that half-smile that always seemed to challenge her.

Wednesday looked at him without emotion, "Will you keep smiling like it's some kind of victory every time we have a video call?"

"It is a victory. I turned the anti-tech queen into a regular video caller. You should thank me. You're evolving," Luke replied.

"What I do for tactical efficiency doesn't count as evolution. It's simply a useful tool for maintaining regular reports, and for seeing your face," Wednesday replied.

She said it like it was just another observation, without hesitation, without apparent emotion. As if she were talking about the weather or the tea's temperature.

"Does that mean you miss me?" Luke asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Wednesday answered plainly. "It's been over two months since I last saw you. The last time was during winter break, when you were wrapped in bandages and still insisted on training with a broken rib. After that, I returned to Nevermore. You stayed in isolation. It's been exactly sixty-eight days."

Luke remembered that time. Because he got distracted for a second, less, even, that damn Fester managed to land a brutal hit that broke more than one rib. With all his accumulated fatigue and injuries, even his self-healing couldn't keep up.

"I miss you too," Luke said at last, honestly. His voice was a little quieter, less teasing.

Wednesday watched him closely.

"How much?" she asked.

"What do you mean how much?" Luke asked, confused.

"Numerically. In what measurable way do you miss me?" Wednesday specified, setting her tea cup down on the nightstand with elegance.

Luke opened his mouth... then closed it. He blinked.

"I don't know. I don't think that's something you measure. How do you measure how much you miss someone?" he asked, puzzled.

Wednesday didn't hesitate.

"I measure it by the number of times I'm about to contact you telepathically through our link... and don't."

Luke blinked. She continued calmly, like explaining a formula.

"On average, I think about reaching out to you thirteen to fifteen times a day. More if the idiotic teenagers around here irritate me too much. I don't do it because I know you're focused on your training and I respect your boundaries... But I think about it. And I keep count."

Luke didn't respond right away. He just looked at her, absorbing the confession. "So... you miss me around... thirteen times a day?"

"Nine hundred and seventy-eight times since I returned to Nevermore. As of today. Fourteen point three on average, to be exact," Wednesday corrected.

There was a pause. Wednesday narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Now I want your number. Quantitative. No evasions. Tell me," she demanded.

"You're demanding numbers now?" Luke asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. Tell me."

"Give me a second. I'm processing," Luke said, briefly closing his eyes.

His mind, enhanced by his Blue Aura, worked with surgical speed: mental traces, involuntary associations, repeated images of Wednesday's face, impulses to reach out, conscious and unconscious memories...

Everything flowed with mathematical precision. And then the answer came.

"One thousand one hundred forty-six times since I last saw you," Luke said, opening his eyes.

Wednesday remained completely still. Even the faint steam rising from her teacup seemed to freeze in the air.

"Daily average of... how much?" she finally asked, emotionless, but with the slightest change in tone. Almost imperceptible.

"Sixteen point eight," Luke answered.

Wednesday watched him in silence. Not because she doubted the number, she knew Luke didn't lie about these things, but because she hadn't expected someone to think about her more times than she thought about them. And she considered herself obsessed when it came to Luke.

"I suppose... you win," Wednesday admitted, though the word sounded strange coming from her lips.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was intimate.

Wednesday spoke again first.

"About your mission. The plan is functional, but it has dangerous gaps," she said bluntly.

"Dangerous gaps? I don't think so. If I break the stones, your father and uncle will be ready to fight right away," Luke replied, crossing his arms calmly.

"Exactly. If you break the stones. But I know you, Luke," Wednesday said.

"Oh? And what do you think I'll do?" Luke asked with a slight smile.

"You'll try to do it all alone. If more than one shows up, even three, you'll hold your ground in the fight just to push yourself to the limit. Because you trust your abilities. I know. Ever since you killed Elliot and awakened your fourth aura, you think you're invincible. I remember perfectly what you said when you regained consciousness," Wednesday replied.

Luke didn't deny it. He stayed silent, and Wednesday continued without softening her tone.

"And now that you've been through training with my father, my uncle, and your grandfather... I'm sure your strength has grown. A lot. But so has your confidence. Too much."

Luke was about to speak, but Wednesday continued,

"You've always liked battles, Luke. But now I see something different in you. A certainty that borders on arrogance. As if you truly believe you're the chosen one now. Untouchable. A being above danger."

She said it without harshness or reproach.

"And even if you are... this plan isn't designed for you to show off how much you've progressed. It's not a test. It's not an arena for your ego," Wednesday added.

Luke frowned, this time with no trace of a smile.

"So what is the plan, then?" he asked, his tone more serious, even slightly dissatisfied.

"The plan is simple. If the old mans take the bait, whether it's one, two, or three, it doesn't matter how many. The moment they appear, you activate the stones. My father and uncle arrive, team up, and eliminate them," Wednesday replied.

"Your father told me there was no need to use the stones if only one or two showed up. Said it would be good for my training," Luke said, clicking his tongue.

Even he considered himself more than enough to kill a demonic old man.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her expression icy with exasperation.

"Don't listen to my idiot father."

'Hey... show a little more respect for your dad,' Luke thought.

"He still thinks this is part of your training, but it's not. We're at war. There's no reason to expose yourself unnecessarily when harder battles are still ahead. I don't want you getting hurt because of my idiot father, or because you think you're invincible," Wednesday said.

"I know what I'm doing, Wednesday. I fought life-or-death battles before I even met you. I'm not some idiot looking to die for validation. I never was," Luke said sharply.

"I know," Wednesday replied, her tone softer than usual, not as sharp or monotone.

But before she could justify her concern or ease the tension, Luke continued:

"Do you remember a few months ago, when those lesser demons attacked Ajax's mansion during his birthday party?"

Wednesday didn't respond, but of course she remembered, and she knew exactly why Luke was bringing it up.

"When I took out the lesser demons, I went to help you, and you got furious. You yelled at me for killing your targets," Luke went on, straight to the point. "You said you didn't need anyone stepping in, that you knew what you were doing. And now you're doing the exact thing you didn't want me to do."

"That was different. The lesser demons back then didn't pose a real threat to my life. A demonic old man should never be underestimated," Wednesday justified.

"To me, he's just another old psychic who hasn't fought in ages and spent years hiding in the shadows. Same as a lesser demon," Luke said, his tone filled with absolute confidence.

There was a second of silence. Wednesday pressed her lips together slightly, still watching him.

"There it is. That absolute confidence," she murmured.

Luke heard her, but said nothing.

"I don't doubt your strength, Luke. I never have. But I care about what happens to you, and if there's a way to reduce the risk of you getting hurt, I want you to take it. Not because I don't trust you, but because I love you. And if I can prevent you from being hurt, I will," Wednesday said, so clear and direct that it caught Luke off guard.

It wasn't like it was strange to hear that from Wednesday. She had said it before. She had shown it. But every time she said it like that, with that blend of cold logic and brutal tenderness, it still took him by surprise.

Luke took a deep breath.

"Alright. You win. I'll break the stones the moment the first old man shows up..." he finally said.

He couldn't say no after the concern his beautiful gothic girlfriend just showed him.

"Promise it," said Wednesday.

Luke raised an eyebrow, half confused, half amused.

"Alright, I promise."

"You better keep your word. I'll know from my father and uncle if they were teleported to your location. You won't be able to lie to me," Wednesday said, her tone more relaxed now, almost playful. But the warning was still there, as sharp as a dagger's edge.

"I swear. I'll follow through. You're the only person who can make me question my battle instincts just by looking at me through a screen," Luke said with a faint smile.

"What about you? How's everything going at Nevermore?" Luke asked, changing the subject.

"Classes continue. Missions too. The atmosphere is more tense. But the teenagers here remain irritating in every possible way. Nothing I didn't expect," Wednesday replied.

"Oh, so you can go on missions and put yourself in danger, but I can't?" Luke said, recalling that Wednesday had special permission to leave campus and carry out missions.

"What I do isn't comparable to what you're about to do, Luke. My tasks are reconnaissance, infiltration, information gathering. I work with other outcasts, with allies. No one expects me to face a demonic Elder alone. And if I ever did, it wouldn't be without backup," Wednesday replied calmly.

Luke let out a breath.

"I can't win an argument with you today..."

The conversation then became more relaxed.

They talked for a few minutes about Wednesday's day-to-day life, which was far more interesting than Luke's isolated training.

And just as Wednesday was finishing a sentence, a sound cut through the video call.

It was pop music. Bright. Catchy. Irritatingly cheerful.

Luke tilted his head, frowning with a mix of mockery and disbelief.

"Wednesday... seriously? Pop music? Are you being held hostage? Blink twice if enemy spies kidnapped you."

Wednesday's eyes briefly shifted to a point off-camera. Then she looked back at him.

"I'm sharing a room. That's all."

"And you haven't threatened her life yet?"

"No... not yet."

"And since when do you have a roommate? I thought you had special permission to be alone, you know, like your clearance to leave campus and all that," Luke asked, sounding a bit curious.

Wednesday tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Some things came up... nothing important. I have to go. Goodbye. Remember to break the stones," Wednesday said, ending the call.

'What just happened?' Luke wondered from his room, wearing a puzzled expression.

Seeing the time, he stretched and got up. It was time to prepare.

...

Wednesday's Room

From her bed, Wednesday didn't move for a second. Then she slowly turned her gaze toward the other side of the room.

The contrast was impossible to ignore.

Hanging lights, pastel-colored pillows, a blanket with a floral print.

And in the middle of it all, lying on her side, Enid Sinclair stared at her from her bed with a blank expression, though she didn't look nearly as cheerful as her pop music.

"I never thought you'd show that much concern for someone... If color makes you sick, this could be fatal," Enid said in a teasing tone.

Wednesday didn't respond right away. She just stared at her with her usual unshakable expression.

"You heard the whole conversation?" she finally asked, without raising her voice.

Enid nodded.

"I suppose someone who runs a gossip blog just can't resist eavesdropping. Nosy," Wednesday said dryly, with clear intent to offend.

"I haven't used my blog in months... You'd know that if you read anything besides ancient books or war reports or whatever," Enid replied, tilting her head.

Wednesday didn't respond for a few seconds. She just stared at Enid.

Since returning to Nevermore after winter break, Wednesday had kept a double schedule: classes and missions. She knew the war was silent but active, full of infiltrated enemies, questionable alliances, and covered-up deaths.

And Enid Sinclair, to her surprise, had kept her word.

She hadn't approached Luke. Hadn't sought contact. But she'd been useful, extremely useful. She offered herself as an ally in the war and delivered without hesitation.

Wednesday had seen her take down hooded attackers on two separate missions—ruthlessly, fearlessly, with a precision she didn't typically associate with a girl who used to sing pop songs when she woke up.

The werewolf girl's efficiency had convinced her. There were many people at Nevermore whose loyalty was questionable. Some pretended to be neutral. Others secretly sympathized with the Spellmans. Trust was hard to come by.

The number of neutral parties and potential enemies was higher than she and Luke had initially thought, even at a school like Nevermore, which was far more lenient toward normies.

But Enid was loyal, for obvious reasons. The obsession Wednesday knew all too well in Enid for Luke guaranteed she'd never betray him. Her loyalty was assured, even if it came from an uncomfortable place.

That's why Wednesday had decided they would share a room again. For efficiency. For strategy. And because, deep down, she trusted Enid more than most.

Sharing a room again had been... strange. At first, they barely spoke. They rotated schedules. Exchanged reports. Planned missions. Everything was tactical.

But over the weeks, something else had crept back in. Not friendship. But familiarity.

They weren't friends like before. But they weren't strangers either.

"Does it bother you that I heard everything? 'I love you, Luke, please come back safe, don't fight, don't get hurt, I need your eternal love...' How sweet, Wednesday," Enid said in a teasing tone.

"Should I reactivate my blog and write about it? Everyone would be shocked to learn the Ice Queen is such a softie," she added.

Wednesday looked at her with an unshaken expression.

Over the past few months, the werewolf girl had become much sharper than before. Not just with her, Wednesday had noticed it in class too. Enid was still outgoing, cheerful, enthusiastic. But there was something new in her now: a sharp edge.

In the past, Enid avoided confrontation, neither verbal nor physical. But now... she was different. If someone challenged her, she responded. Even with Bianca, someone Enid once admired or feared, Nevermore's self-proclaimed queen bee.

In fact, Bianca now avoided her during certain training sessions. And she wasn't the only one.

Some students, especially in physical combat classes, were starting to fear her. Enid didn't hold back. She had developed an intensity that bordered on feral. She moved with precision, with ferocity. And when she was angry or in a bad mood... it showed.

She had earned both respect and fear.

"Jealous?" Wednesday asked with a clearly provocative look.

The word dropped like a weight. Direct. Hitting exactly where it hurt.

Enid's smug smile vanished in an instant, her eyes surprised, caught off guard, almost hurt. She hadn't expected Wednesday to strike there, especially after admitting she was being sappy, only to counterattack with surgical precision.

Enid clicked her tongue, frustrated.

"You're not as good at arguments as you think..." she muttered, though not even she believed it. She turned over in bed, giving Wednesday her back.

Wednesday watched her for a few more seconds, dark eyes, expression unchanging. But beneath that mask... a tiny smile appeared. Barely perceptible.

She had won the argument. As usual. With everyone, except one person. Luke.

He was the only one who could truly challenge her, who didn't flinch at her sharpness or crumble under her precision. The only one with whom her arguments didn't always end in victory.

But even he had yielded today.

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