A/N: This is a young Gomez and Morticia in their early 20s with elements from both the films and TV show. Gomez is a long way from the sad, ill man he was in "Morticia's Romance" but has not yet quite become the near-invincible swordsman of the films, though he very much wants to be. The wordlbuilding comes from the Radiant Citadel DND sourcebook, where San Citlán is a Mexican-inspired culture created by a Mexican author, but is different from real Mexico in several major ways.

The carriage, driven by Lurch, headed through the Ruisenor Peaks. Mountains surrounded them, stark grey rocks stabbing upwards out of the pine trees, and heavy clouds covered the sky. Up here, there was still enough rain for trees to grow, but the carriage was quickly heading down towards the plains. Gomez remembered the area well enough to know they were only a couple of hours away from a village called Milpazul, where they could stop on their way to San Citlán. The landscape around Milpazul was wonderfully barren, nothing but jagged, dry rocks as far as the eye could see. The thought was comforting to Gomez—because it was familiar, and because the bleak wilderness seemed fitting to his reasons for travelling there.

It was only a couple of days now until the Night of the Remembered—when the dead returned to walk through the streets of San Citlán, and their loved ones could see them and speak to them again. The veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was thinner there on that night than anywhere else in the world. If Fester was indeed dead, as Gomez was starting to suspect (even though he'd never returned with the spirits of the rest of the family to the Addams house—how angry must he still have been, to refuse to come back even then?), this might be his chance to find him and make amends.

They hadn't had much time to plan this journey—the idea had struck him a week ago, and he'd insisted they travel to San Citlán as soon as possible. At first, Morticia had had her doubts, concerned for how he'd take it if they didn't find Fester. (In fairness to her, Gomez had been coughing up blood on and off for a few days, which probably wasn't reassuring, but he was feeling much better now.) But Gomez had promised her that he'd try to enjoy exploring the region, perhaps meeting up with some old friends, and celebrating with the spirits of the dead at the festival, whether they found Fester or not, and that had been enough for her to agree to it. And he would try—though he wasn't sure how well he'd succeed.

As they headed down into the valley, it started to get hotter, the kind of weather that he enjoyed and that Morticia was less fond of. The hot, dry wind howled over the empty plains. Unfortunately, the cloud was also starting to clear, and a stabbing ray of sunlight broke through. Gomez grimaced, and squinted first at one pocket-watch (five hours after noon) and then at the other (six hours after noon). That meant it was five and a half hours after noon, and the sun wouldn't begin to set for another half hour. Gomez sighed and pulled the blinds closed on the carriage windows, then leaned back in his seat to smoke a cigar.

Morticia shook her head. "I don't know how anyone can go outside in this weather. I'm certainly glad we planned our journey to arrive at Milpazul after sunset. Let's just hope it will be cooler by then as well."

The carriage rattled on uneventfully down the rocky track. It hadn't been a very exciting journey so far. Judging by the quietness of the roads—and the state of the few small villages they'd driven past earlier—the people hadn't yet risen up to overthrow the Trecena in glorious and blood-soaked revolution. Tío Murcielago (whose house in San Citlán they were going to stay at) would be very disappointed; he'd been funding the revolutionaries for years.

After a while, they started to head uphill again. This time, the road was less steep. It didn't take them long to reach the top. Lurch stopped the carriage, and grunted "Milpazul."

Gomez opened the blind just a crack and glanced out. The sun had nearly sunk below the horizon, and the clouds were setting in again, so he decided to open the blinds fully and brave the remaining faint rays of light. The carriage was at the top of a small hill, and Gomez gazed at the view for the moment. A narrow road wound downwards, surrounded by a few sparse pine trees at first, before it reached the dry valley of yellow grass and cacti. The wild wind whipped up swirling dust, and sent the clouds racing across the red sky. For a moment, the pain and grief that had brought Gomez here were forgotten, and he turned to Morticia with a smile. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is—now that it's not so bright."

Gomez stepped out of the carriage, then offered his arm to Morticia to help her out (of course she was quite capable of getting out of a carriage without his help, but it was the principle of the thing). Arm-in-arm, they headed up the road towards the wooden archway that marked the entrance to Milpazul—the only gap in the waist-high drystone wall that surrounded the village. A man on horseback was ahead of them, paused in front of the archway, but as they approached he spurred his horse through and disappeared into the village.

Morticia turned to him. "Do you see that trail of dust?"

Gomez glanced around briefly, but with this much wind there seemed to be dust practically everywhere. "No, where do you mean?"

"Over there." Indicating a distant point on the opposite side of the village. "It looks as if several people just rode into the village from the other side." Now that Gomez knew where to look, he could see what she meant—something was certainly kicking up a cloud of dust over there.

Through the archway, Gomez could see about a dozen houses (typical villagers' houses for the region, made from wood and adobe) surrounding a well. A worn-out sign hung at a crooked angle from the arch, with "Welcome To Milpazul" written on it in Citlanés (and in rather faded blue paint).

Behind one of the buildings, someone screamed as if being tortured. Gomez grinned. "Sounds like they're having fun."

But to his surprise, Morticia was frowning slightly and listening intently. "Those two people talking now sound quite angry. I'm not sure they'll be particularly welcoming."

Listening more closely, he could hear two voices that sounded as if they were arguing, shouting at each other in Citlanés. One of them was heading closer to them, though the wall hid the speaker from view. "Maybe they should be tortured too, it might calm them down." A thought occurred to him. "Who knows, perhaps they're arguing about who gets to go next."

The closer of the two voices sounded angrier now. "Stay where you are! I'll deal with them. If you try anything, you'll regret it!"

Gomez hesitated slightly, unsure of the best way to deal with this. He didn't like arguments (much better to resolve these things the civilised way, with a duel), and the last thing he wanted right now was either of these people deciding to start shouting at him . Still, they did sound pretty busy—with any luck, the three of them would be able to head around this side of the buildings and not be noticed.

Morticia lowered her voice. "The villagers in those houses over there seem to be looking out of their windows rather nervously. That one just ducked back down out of sight, as if he was trying to hide from something. I'm starting to get the impression we've arrived at a less than ideal time."

"How strange—I wonder what they could be hiding from. You do get some impressive monsters around these parts, but they mostly stick to the plains and don't come up here. Though sometimes they'll even come into San Citlán—one time when I was a boy—"

Morticia held up one elegant finger to her lips. Gomez stopped mid-sentence, and turned to her with a confused frown. "Querida? Is something wrong?"

"I think I heard something behind the wall." She reached for her yew wand. "It could be nothing, but there's always the chance it's something dangerous."

"Oh, Tish, you optimist." Gomez dropped his half-smoked cigar into his pocket, drew his rapier and bared his teeth in a grin. He could use this distraction from worrying about Fester. "Lurch, why don't you take the horses off somewhere safe, just in case? Maybe Milpazul will turn out to be a more exciting place than I remembered." He took a step forwards, blade already raised and anticipating a good fight, while Lurch turned the carriage around and drove it back down the road.

In an instant, several people had leapt up from behind the wall. Gomez counted seven of them—all in leather armour, and aiming longbows directly at him and Morticia. This was far more exciting than he'd ever hoped for in Milpazul.

"Clear out!" One of them shouted in Citlanés. Gomez recognised the voice as the one he'd heard shouting moments before. "La Paloma pays for her crimes this day!"

Gomez didn't know who La Paloma was—Tió Murcielago would probably have some idea, he knew all the great criminals around here—but he liked the sound of her already. And whoever these people were, they were clearly on the side of the law—no-one else around these parts was so well-armed—which meant Gomez and Morticia Addams were decidedly not on their side. From the cold way Morticia narrowed her dark eyes as she raised her wand, Gomez could tell she was thinking the same.

Morticia attacked before any of the archers could loose their arrows. A shard of ice flew straight towards the tall, long-haired archer who'd just called out. They flung themself to the ground. Above them, the ice shard exploded in mid-air, freezing the ground for several feet around. One of the nearby archers, a shorter man with a beard, gasped in pain as he was caught in the explosion, crystals of frost forming on his skin.

Gomez charged forwards. It had been too long since he'd been in a real battle, and he wasn't going to wait another second to throw himself into this one. Before the bearded man could react, he drove the point of his rapier through a gap in his armour. The man collapsed, but Gomez didn't get the chance to see if he was dead or not before the tall one leapt to their feet and drew a shortsword. He dodged backwards, but his attacker charged after him and lunged at him with the shortsword. The blade slashed towards his throat. Gomez ducked, and it cut across his cheek instead. The cut was shallow, but hot blood trickled down from it all the same.

Gomez licked the blood off as it ran down to the corner of his mouth. He laughed. "Is that the best you can do?"

Another slash of the blade, and another shallow cut, this time across Gomez's arm. The pain thrilled through him. For a brief moment, the thought crossed Gomez's mind that they were outnumbered. The odds were against them here. But that just made it all the more fun. And of course they'd win. Gomez and Morticia Addams were not going to die to a few thugs. He was not going to die before he found Fester.

He could have set fire to all these thugs with a few words if he'd wanted to, but it risked revealing him as a tiefling, which wasn't the kind of attention he wanted to attract right now—and anyway, it seemed unsporting against the group of poorly armed humans. So, swordsmanship it was. Gomez and his attacker circled each other for a moment, both blades raised in guard positions.

A scruffy-looking younger man charged for him—swung his sword wildly and missed him completely—lashed out again, but Gomez stepped aside. The blade tore through his jacket—a crime this man would certainly pay for.

Gomez shook his head. "Careful with that sword, crío—it's sharp, you could hurt yourself." The young man backed away nervously, leaving Gomez facing only one attacker once more.

A volley of arrows flew over his head. They were aimed at Morticia, and despite knowing she could defend herself he couldn't help but turn to glance at her with concern. Of course, he had no need to worry. She ducked, and the first flew over her head—she stepped aside in time for the next to fly harmlessly past her—the next glanced off the leather armour that she was wearing under her black, hooded robe (they both knew better than to travel through the borderlands without armour), and she knocked the final one aside with her wand. She gave a slow smile that made the archers glance nervously at each other, one of them fumbling as they tried to nock another arrow.

Then the archers raised their bows once more, each with an arrow nocked, and loosed them towards her. She stepped to one side just in time for the first to miss her—started to whisper something in Druidic—

Gomez kept moving, guard up, keeping his opponent at a distance, but his mind was entirely on Morticia. What spell could she be about to cast? When she wanted to be, she was deadlier with magic than he was with a sword—fewer scruples, too, in matters of honour, which he'd always found incredibly attractive. She began tracing a shape in the air with her wand, not one that Gomez immediately recognised—

The next three arrows hit her. She broke off mid-incantation with a gasp. For just a second, she stumbled, but quickly caught herself.

"Tish!" For a moment, all thoughts of the fight left Gomez's mind. He stared at her, wide-eyed and briefly frozen in place. Morticia's gaze was still coldly focussed and her expression betrayed little sign of pain, but blood was soaking through her black robe. He was about to run to her side, when she whispered a few more words and aimed her spell towards Gomez's opponent. The spell hit before Gomez had had the chance to take more than a couple of steps.

A sphere of darkness descended, spiralling around Gomez, the two sword-wielders, and the nearest archer. The three attackers caught by the spell gasped in pain as black tendrils lashed out and twined around them for a moment before dissolving into their skin, leaving dark vein-like patterns across their bodies. Gomez had only seen this spell in action a few times; it was said to chill the soul to the core.

The darkness drew in around him with a noise like the howling of a storm. For several seconds, all he could see was blackness that swirled in front of his eyes like ink poured into water. When it cleared, the cut on his arm had healed leaving only a faint scar, and the cut on his cheek felt nearly healed as well. Gomez had been in awe of his wife's magical power since the day they met, and every time he got to watch her cast a spell only increased it.

For a moment, all the attackers stared in silence. Then the nearest archer snarled in Citlanés that Morticia was a witch, along with several less flattering descriptions. Gomez immediately lunged for him with his rapier (narrowly escaping another slash from the tall attacker's sword) and impaled him on the blade, then pulled the sword out with a growl. The archer's corpse fell to the ground.

Gomez raced towards the remaining three archers, but not before they could loose three more arrows towards Morticia. One missed, but the other two thudded into her. Against all odds, she was still standing—ah, but of course she was, she was the most awe-inspiring woman to ever live!-but even his goddess of destruction was not immortal—he had to help her—

He flung himself in front of the next volley of arrows. One glanced off his own leather breastplate that he was wearing under his jacket. The next buried itself in his shoulder. The third flew towards his face, but Gomez threw his left arm up in time to block it—the arrow pierced deep into his forearm, an exhilarating feeling in the heat of the fight. The tall one ran towards him—Gomez dodged their first swordstroke—but their next attack hit its mark, stabbing deep into his stomach. The pain was now a little too much for even him to find enjoyable, but he forced a smile. And there was the young man—Gomez dodged backwards just in time to avoid another couple of wild slashes from his shortsword.

Putting a couple more feet of distance between him and his attackers, he glanced over to Morticia again. She was breathing heavily now. Then she whispered an incantation, and twisted black vines started to twine around her. A second later, they retreated. She looked less like she was about to collapse, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped, but she was still seriously injured. There was only so much magic could do.

Then fog swirled around her, and she vanished. She reappeared an instant later, silently materialising out of a cloud of fog, now behind the three archers, who were still staring blankly ahead.

The two sword-wielders were also gaping in confusion. "Where did she go?" the tall one muttered, then started to turn away to look for her. Gomez leapt towards them and stabbed them in the stomach. With a cry of pain, they fell to the ground. The young man stared at his fallen leader for a second, then turned and ran, soon followed by the three archers—they scrambled over the wall, ran across the village square, then mounted their horses and rode off as fast as possible.

Now that the rush of energy from the fight was wearing off, black dots started to creep in at the edges of Gomez's vision, and the world spun around him. Then Lurch was beside him, supporting him and preventing him from falling to the ground. Gomez coughed harshly several times as he struggled for breath.

Morticia, meanwhile, was carefully pulling out each of the arrows that was buried in her body, her expression as calm as ever. As she did so, the black vines twined over her skin again, knitting the wounds together. She leaned against the wall with one hand for a moment to steady herself, then glided over to Gomez. Her clothes were torn and stained with blood, but as far as he was concerned that just made her all the more beautiful. Her cool fingertips caressed his cheek, and then she leaned in to kiss him, and no king or emperor or god could ever have experienced such bliss as that moment.

Gently, she pulled out the arrow from his shoulder and then the one from his forearm, while reciting the incantation in a low voice. She ran her fingers over the wounds, and they faded to nothing but scars; then she placed a kiss on each one. "You were magnificent, melmenya ." [*]

"Tish...that's Elvish." He kissed her hand, once, twice, then again moving up towards the wrist, then pressed a fourth kiss to her arm. Unfortunately, a groan from the injured person on the ground interrupted this romantic moment before he could kiss her a fifth time.

Morticia frowned slightly. "I'd almost forgotten about them. Then again...maybe they can help us."

"With what? I doubt they'll know anything about Fester."

"Probably not...but I'm curious about something they said earlier."

She took a step towards them. Their eyes widened in terror and they muttered several more less-than-complimentary descriptions of her. They'd probably never encountered anyone like her before: magic in itself wasn't unfamiliar around these parts, but the Wars of Separation had driven the fey away long ago, and even someone with a small amount of such ancestry was rare.

"I don't believe you taught me those particular Citlanés phrases, Gomez...do I want to know?"

"Probably not. Let's just say they're lucky I'm a man of honour—" he gave a significant look towards them, not even trying to be subtle—"who would never dream of slitting the throat of someone lying injured on the ground."

Morticia bent down and slowly tilted the injured person's head to face her with a couple of fingers under their chin. They let slip a brief whimper of fear before covering it with a snarl. She spoke to them in a low voice, her Citlanés pronunciation near-flawless (causing Gomez to grin with pride). "I understand you were looking for a notorious criminal...La Paloma? I'm intrigued."

"She's criminal scum. Deserves to be hanged. You'd probably like her."

"Almost certainly. What crimes has she committed?"

"Why should I tell you anything?" They spat out some blood.

"Well, I don't expect you'll live much longer unless someone heals your wounds…"

They glared up at her for a moment before responding. "She's a robber. Leads a band of outlaws—they attack caravans, even raided some of the big estates in San Citlán." Hardly much of a crime, as far as Gomez was concerned—anyone with an estate in San Citlán had more money than they could possibly use.

The subject of the impromptu interrogation searched their pockets for a moment and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Morticia handed it to Gomez, who unfolded it—it was a Wanted poster, with a sketch showing a stern-faced old woman with the pointed ears of a gnome. The Citlanés writing on it read: "Wanted: 'Paloma'. Reward of 500 gold pieces."

"So, let me guess— you—" Gomez pointed to them as he spoke— "are a bounty hunter?"

"That's right. Heard rumours she was hiding around here."

He slowly shook his head. "Disappointing."

"What?"

"I was hoping for something more interesting. Money is such an unimaginative reason to go around shooting at people. Still-" Running one hand over his hair to neaten it up after the fight. "Thank you for taking the time to explain everything to us. I hope I'll get to meet this Paloma one day, I think we'd get along well."

Morticia picked up the bounty hunter's shortsword from the ground where they'd dropped it as they fell, and removed the arrows from their quiver to place them in the quiver she wore on her own back. She traced her fingertips over their wounds; more black vines wound over their body. By the time the tendrils dissolved, the bleeding had stopped. The bounty hunter staggered to their feet—and froze as Gomez raised his sword and pointed the blade at their face.

Next to him, Morticia drew her scimitar with her right hand, the shortsword still held in her left. "You should consider yourself very fortunate that I believe in second chances. I'd suggest you leave quickly and don't waste yours by doing anything unwise."

The bounty hunter ran as fast as they could.

Two people stepped out from behind a nearby building: a man around Gomez's age with quite an impressive moustache, and an older man—grey-haired, but otherwise looking enough like the other man that he was probably his father—leaning heavily against him and bleeding from a wound in his side.

When the younger man spoke (after staring at Lurch in shock for a moment—poor Lurch, he always seemed to attract attention, it was very awkward for him), Gomez recognised his voice as the other one he'd heard briefly earlier. "Señor, Señora—I don't know who you may be, but I cannot thank you enough. Those bounty hunters were going to kill us both." He hesitated. "It feels wrong to ask anything more of you, but do you know of anyone who can help my father? He is badly wounded, and Rufina is on the other side of the village, helping the people who were attacked earlier—by the time we get there it could be too late."

Morticia stepped forwards and lightly touched the older man's stab wound. This time, the black vines were thinner, barely even there—more like smoke than solid vines—and dissolved all too quickly. The edges of the wound knit together, but only slowly. Gomez turned to Morticia with concern—that was a lot of magic in a short space of time, even for her—but she just shook her head silently.

The old man blinked a couple of times in surprise, then straightened with a smile. "It's not often we get people like you around here. Welcome to Milpazul. My name is Miguel, and my son here is Alejandro."

Gomez shook hands with them both. " Mucho gusto ."

"When Rufina's finished helping the injured people, they should be able to get you something to eat and drink and a place to stay if you need it." Miguel paused. "Just...be careful. I'm sure most people will be as grateful as my son and I, but a few might be more...suspicious of outsiders, especially armed outsiders with powerful magic. And no offence, but you're clearly not local, Señora, although your Citlanés is very good."

"They wouldn't be the only people to be suspicious of me." Morticia's smile was slightly sad, and Gomez took her hand in his. "Unfortunately I'm quite used to it, although I don't think I'll ever understand it."

If anyone made any accusations against his beloved wife, Gomez would make sure they regretted it. For now, though, he simply smiled. "I'm sure I'll be able to reassure them that our intentions are honourable. My uncle lives in San Citlán, and I used to visit quite often when I was a boy—there must be plenty of old friends still around to vouch for us if it comes to that."

"Well, if you go around saving villages from bounty hunters all the time, you must make friends pretty easily." Alejandro smiled. "Come on, let's head over to speak to Rufina."

They walked across the village square until they reached a small group of people outside one of the houses. Several villagers were sitting or leaning against a wall, watching a tall, thin person who was bandaging someone's wounds. A skeleton, Gomez realised as he got closer. He grinned. It was always exciting to get to meet an olvidado.

The olvidado—Rufina?-was wearing a yellow and magenta dress (it was very...bright, but Gomez could respect their confidence even if the result wasn't to his taste), and had several colourful bead necklaces hanging from the exposed vertebrae of their neck. As he watched, they finished wrapping the bandage around the villager's arm. Their patient stood up and thanked them with a smile.

They then turned towards him. Gomez liked to think they were smiling at him, though of course it was hard to tell.

"Rufina!" Alejandro called out. "These are the people who fought off the bounty hunters!"

Rufina spread out their arms in a gesture of welcome. "You must be parched after that fight. How about some drinks, friends? On the house!"

"Thank you!" Gomez was about to shake their hand when he realised he was still holding his rapier. He sheathed it and extended his hand. Rufina shook it, their bones cool against his skin. "I'd certainly appreciate a drink." Or three or four, but he didn't want to make too many demands on them.

"Let's head back to the pulquería, then. I'll get you some drinks and something to eat."

"Are there rooms? We were hoping to find somewhere to stay the night."

"There are two rooms left—though I'm afraid they might be more modest than what you're used to."

Gomez smiled. "Not at all, that sounds perfect. Lurch, why don't you go and get the carriage? We'll be staying here overnight." Turning back to Rufina. "You do have room for two more horses in your stables?"

Rufina nodded.

"Marvellous! There's nothing like Citlanés hospitality! Ah, how I've missed it."

Lurch headed off to retrieve the carriage and horses, while the rest of the group continued on. As they walked through the village towards the pulquería, Gomez noticed several people huddled in corners and wrapped in sarapes. It was a fairly warm evening, although it was cloudy and dusk was setting in, but some of these people seemed to be shivering.

Morticia had apparently noticed too; she frowned slightly. "I would have thought if anything it was a little too warm out here." As far as Gomez was concerned it was just the right temperature, but either way it certainly wasn't cold.

Rufina lowered their voice. "They've caught sereno. It's an illness, one that no-one knows how to treat. As far as anyone can tell, it's spread by ice-cold winds that can come out of nowhere even in the middle of summer. Usually at night—we're not in too much danger as long as there's still some twilight, but later, when it's truly dark, I'd suggest you stay inside."

Not go out when it's dark? Gomez frowned. "That's unfortunate. I was hoping to explore the town a bit tonight. It's been too long since I've visited this magnificent country, and of course we couldn't go out earlier, not with all that sunshine." Still, this was a rare case of a danger he wasn't eager to charge into the face of. He'd experienced the kind of fever that left you feeling like you were freezing to death even on a hot summer's day all too often as a boy, and it wasn't something he'd wish on anyone—except maybe a few politicians.

Morticia watched the villagers for a moment, then turned back to Rufina. "This mysterious illness does sound intriguing."

"Intriguing? It's horrible. Some people have even died."

"Well, there are worse ways to die than becoming part of such a fascinating mystery… may I examine these people?"

Rufina hesitated, then nodded. "Well, you did save our village—perhaps if anyone can help, it's you."

Morticia approached one of them, a short person with dishevelled black hair who was slumped against the wall. She bent down and brushed her fingertips lightly over their skin, eyes closed. Gomez wasn't sure if she was using magic, or just relying on her extensive knowledge of all that was dangerous or deadly.

She opened her eyes and stood up. "Ah, it's just as I suspected—this isn't a disease, but a curse. In fact, I've never seen a curse quite like it." She smiled. "Gomez, darling, I'm glad we came here—this is very interesting indeed."

"Tish, you're wonderful. You could be an Inquisitive if you wanted."

Rufina stared for a moment. "A curse? Can you break it?"

"I don't know, but I'd certainly like to find out more about it."

"Well, come inside before it gets too dark, and I'll tell you everything I know about what's been happening around here. If there's anything you can think of that might help, I'm sure we'd all be grateful."

They soon reached the pulquería—a flat-roofed, single-storey building, its front wall covered in portraits of missing people and scrawled notices begging for help, to the point where the bright coat of paint that most of these places had wasn't even visible. The name "El Insurgente" was painted on its sign. A good name.

Lurch arrived in the carriage a couple of minutes later. He tied the horses up in the small stable attached to the pulquería, and the group then headed in, Lurch having to duck his head to get through the low doorway. Inside it was small, with three square tables and some stools, a line of colourful tiles halfway up each side wall, and—

Well, that was impressive. The entire back wall was covered in an elaborate mural showing the bloodshed of the Wars of Separation in all their chaotic, destructive glory. Volleys of arrows flying across a battlefield, blotting out the sun. Warriors lying in wait with blowguns, a guerrilla fighter scaling a wall with a dagger between her teeth, the colonisers even with pistols and muskets finding themselves no match for a sorcerer's surging magical fire. The final picture showed locals singing and dancing in the streets, wearing long cloaks, feathered headdresses and gold jewellery, celebrating their victory over the empire. It was beautiful. Gomez was really starting to like this place.

His eyes wide, smiling in awe at this work of art, he turned to Rufina. "Did you paint this?"

"I did. It tells the story of our homeland." The latter directed more at Morticia, since she didn't know the region quite as well.

"It's magnificent! The perfect combination of revolutionary spirit and artistic brilliance!" He gave them a friendly pat on their skeletal back. "You're my kind of olvidado, Rufina."

Apparently he'd been talking more loudly than he'd realised—that did tend to happen—because the only two patrons in the place, two dwarves who were sitting at one of the tables, shot him a glance. Still, they looked more curious than hostile. Both had heavy crossbows on their backs and swords sheathed by their sides, and they wore splint armour. In a place like this, they could only be revolutionary fighters, and Gomez was looking forward to making their acquaintance.

He approached them, and extended his hand. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gomez Addams, this is my wife Morticia Addams, and this is Lurch, our mayordomo."

Neither of the dwarves took him up on the handshake. One of them, who had an enviably scarred face, scowled. So...slightly more hostile now, apparently. "What's a rich man with servants doing here? You walk in here by mistake? Or are you the least subtle Trecena agent ever?"

Him—an Addams— a Trecena agent? It was the kind of insult that tempted Gomez to challenge the dwarf to a duel. But of course, it was just a misunderstanding, and he was sure it could quickly be cleared up. "Don't worry, old man, we're no friends of the Trecena. Thirteen is a good number, but thirteen politicians is thirteen too many. In fact, we're all fellow supporters of the revolutionary cause." Well, he hadn't talked politics with Lurch much—not that he wanted to leave him out, of course, but Lurch just wasn't very talkative—but it seemed a fair assumption.

"Course you are. That's why you dress and speak exactly like one of the rich cabrónes who voted them into power."

Technically, this was true. Gomez was rarely even in the area, but as both the descendant of a landowner and a graduate of the Argent Congregation (traditional spellcasting might not have been his forte, but he'd made an extensive study of monsters and magical beasts, and learned more than a bit of artificing) he was in theory more than qualified to vote for the Trecena. There had only been one election in his lifetime—new members were only voted in when one died—and he'd voted early and often, but it seemed others had done the same and his candidate hadn't gotten in.

He shrugged. "It's true, I have money—more than I know what to do with, honestly, I can't give it away fast enough—but I'm on your side. My ancestors were outlaws and pirate captains for generations, robbing the rich. Just because crime pays, doesn't mean we have anything in common with people who made their money working people to death in the ironworks."

"Hm. Well, forgive me for not being too quick to trust a rich stranger with no reason I can see for taking our side-" The dwarf narrowed his eyes. "Who doesn't cast a shadow."

Ah. Right. People did sometimes make some unfortunate assumptions about that. "My family's history is a long and storied one. I have some interesting ancestors, and I'm proud of that—but I'm not looking to buy your soul, if that's what you're worried about." He laughed. "I mean, what would I do with it?"

The dwarf looked unamused, but thankfully at that moment Rufina stepped in. "Tenoch, these people fought off the bounty hunters, and they're the best hope we have of breaking the curse. Let's not start judging people by their ancestry. And Cuauhtémoc, don't think I can't see that your hand's been on the hilt of your sword throughout this conversation. They are my guests, and I'm not about to let a fight break out in my pulquería. Leave them alone."

The two dwarves—Tenoch and Cuauhtémoc, apparently—looked at each other for a moment, then Tenoch gave a nod and a grunt of assent.

Rufina turned back to Gomez and Morticia. "My apologies. They're not bad people—they can just be a little distrusting. Anyway, would you like some pulque?" They hesitated slightly. "I'm afraid it's the only drink I remember how to make."

Gomez grinned. "Pulque would be wonderful! I haven't had pulque in years! Although if you do want me to teach you to make cocktails later, I'm sure we've got the ingredients for a few in our luggage. Lurch can unpack it all once we get to our rooms. For now—pulque! Tish, have you ever tried this stuff?"

"No, although it does look interesting." She considered it for a moment. "Perhaps I'll try a small glass."

Gomez took out a few gold pieces—no point in counting them out exactly, he had plenty of them—and tossed them down onto the bar. "Una maceta y una prueba, por favor."

Rufina drew back in surprise. "Señor, I already said, this is on the house. And besides, this is too much—over ten times the price. I can't take this."

"Nonsense!" With a wave of his hand. "Take it—it's what you deserve, for the hospitality you have shown us travellers." There was no such thing as too much money for someone who'd given them such a welcome. And an olvidado, no less—it was rare for the dead to remain among the living like that, and whatever the reason behind it was, they must have been a special person indeed, one who deserved to be honoured. "Besides—" his grin widened "—if you really feel bad about it, you can always just give us more to drink in exchange." It had been a long day of travel and combat, after all; a few drinks would be more than welcome.

"But...if I accept your money, then how will I repay you for fighting off the bounty hunters?"

"You don't have to. The danger—the thrill of the fight—is its own reward." He'd always wanted to say things like that. This was how he'd imagined his life when he was a child—living by the sword, travelling the world— adventure , excitement! Not like the past few years, which had mostly been spent in bed on bad days, or in a chair by the fire on slightly better days, exhausted by even the slightest exertion. He was an adventurer now, and he was going to make the most of it.

Rufina hesitated a moment longer, then took the coins between their skeletal fingers, and poured a maceta of frothy white pulque, generously filled practically to the brim, and then a small prueba of the same. Gomez thanked them, and they left to attend to another customer who'd just entered.

Gomez poured out a small amount of his pulque onto the sawdust-covered floor—"It's tradition. An offering to the earth," he explained at Morticia's curious glance—then took a drink, savouring the sour taste with a smile. He'd missed this; there was truly nothing else quite like it.

Morticia examined her drink for a moment. "What is pulque?"

Gomez shrugged. "A drink." Not the most helpful answer, true, but he liked to think it was a witty one.

She raised one eyebrow (more amused than annoyed, although anyone other than Gomez would likely have struggled to tell—they'd been married for nearly a year, long enough for her to get used to his sense of humour, and she'd long since stopped being the mystery to him that she was to other people). "I'd gathered. I was wondering what was in it."

"I have no idea." He spread out his hands and gave a brief laugh. "Other than alcohol—which is what matters."

Morticia tried a sip, and frowned slightly. "It's... interestingly sour. I'm not entirely sure what I think of it yet."

"Well, if you decide you don't like it, I can always finish yours."

Rufina returned about ten minutes later. "Is there anything else I can do for either of you? Any food? We have beans, cactus, several kinds of tortillas…" They pointed to a board hanging from one wall with a menu written on it in chalk.

Suddenly, this place reminded him all too strongly of places he'd been the last time he'd visited San Citlán—with Fester, eight years ago now. He gazed out of the window at the darkening sky for a moment. If he met Fester's spirit in San Citlán, he'd do anything to bring him back. Never mind Mamá's talk about how death came for us all, Fester was his brother , and if he was dead it was Gomez's fault—he'd use any dark magic, bargain with fiends, whatever it took. To share a meal with him here, perhaps. Failing that, if he came back as a ghost, or an olvidado, or anything— at least he could apologise, and, if the apology was accepted, welcome him home.

Morticia laid a cold hand on his arm, bringing him at least slightly back to the present. "Darling, are you all right?"

"Cactus was always Fester's favourite…" Gomez's voice caught in his throat.

"We'll find him, Gomez, I'm sure we will—but for now, you need to eat something. You haven't eaten all day."

Right. Of course. Gomez pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe away the few tears that had started to fall from his eyes, then took a couple of deep breaths. "Well, then—the cactus, please. In his memory. Oh, and please leave the spines on."

Rufina paused, tilting their head—their skull?-slightly. "The spines?"

"Yes, it makes it much more interesting that way."

After a few more moments' hesitation, they nodded. "As you say, señor."

The cactus was ready only 5 minutes later, fried to perfection and with plenty of chilli and garlic; Gomez found it was hard to dwell too much on the tragedy of his situation with such delicious food in front of him. Soon, he'd ordered a cactus tortilla with spiced grasshoppers to go with it, and Morticia ordered the same.

Lurch, meanwhile—who didn't need to eat, but sometimes liked to—was frowning at the menu. He turned to Gomez, looking worried. What could he be so worried about?-Oh. Of course, he didn't know Citlanés, how could Gomez have forgotten?

Gomez read the menu out to him in Common, explaining what anything unfamiliar was. After a moment, Lurch pointed to the tostada with grasshoppers, hesitated briefly, and then slowly said in Common, "Burnt, please."

Rufina of course understood Common perfectly well, practically everyone around here did even though it wasn't their first language, but they looked even more confused than they had when Gomez had asked for the spines on his cactus. They turned to Gomez and asked in Citlanés, "Burnt? Did I...understand that correctly?"

"Yes, he usually prefers food that way. I don't understand it myself, but who am I to judge?"

"...Very well then."

Cuauhtémoc—older than Tenoch, his hair mostly grey—stood up. "Wait a second. Your flesh construct talks , and orders food? Since when is that possible?"

Morticia responded before Gomez could. "Would you prefer the alternative? Lurch is his own man. We don't keep slaves." She gave a sly smile. "I might have enslaved the occasional man and at least one woman to my will, but that's another matter."

Rufina raised one skeletal warning finger at Cuauhtémoc. The effect was quite dramatic. "Cuauhtémoc, I've told you, be polite to my guests." Turning back to Gomez. "Although it does seem unusual—I've never heard of anything quite like it."

Gomez smiled. "Ah, well, all the best of us are unusual. And Lurch is certainly one of the best of us—I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Did you make him?"

"No, no—he came into the family when I was just a boy. I do mean into the family , by the way—he's not just a servant."

"I see. I've never heard of a flesh construct who wasn't just bound to obey their master before, but then, I've heard in some countries people would be scared to see a skeleton walking around, so I try to be open-minded."

"That's the spirit!" Patting them on the shoulder. "Everyone should try to be open-minded."

Rufina brought the food—which turned out to be excellent, Gomez really was glad to have come across this place—and then headed back behind the bar, where they poured out another measure of pulque, and set it down on a candlelit ofrenda. Gomez took out a cigar (he considered offering Rufina one, before deciding that when they didn't have lungs it might just be seen as rubbing it in), cut it with his dagger, and lit it. The lighter was a device of his own invention, much more convenient than a tinderbox, and drew a few curious looks.

He watched Rufina in silence for a moment. The candles illuminated a painted portrait of an elderly woman, surrounded by yellow marigolds (Gomez was thankful to have chosen a seat well away from the flowers). The ofrenda wasn't as big or elaborate as the one in the Addams mansion, decorated with calaveras and an offering of mezcal with the gusano rojo , which commemorated centuries of ancestors who'd return from the grave in the coming days (a smaller one was also kept up year-round just in case), but Rufina had clearly taken great care over it.

After taking a moment to savour the cigar smoke (he hadn't realised quite how much he'd needed that), he spoke. "Do you mind me asking who she was?" The ofrenda was clearly for someone close—perhaps a partner, or a sister?

Rufina's voice was quiet when they answered. " Mi hija , Carmen. She was 80 when she died—I would have missed half those years, if I hadn't come back as an olvidado. I still don't know why or how I came back, but I'm glad I was able to be there for her throughout her life. I don't remember everything about my life as a human, but I remember every little detail about her."

...Well. It wasn't often Gomez was lost for words, but… "Maybe she's why you came back?"

Rufina looked at him, their head tilted in curiosity.

"Well—my mother—I mean, my mother says she came back to get revenge on me for her death, but-" This wasn't working quite as he'd hoped. "Unless her revenge is taking the form of sarcasm and drinking my best rum—which she did before-" Rufina was staring at him. Gomez hesitated, gesturing vaguely with his cigar. He wasn't sure he was really helping. "I don't know—I like to think she missed me."

An uncomfortable pause—until thankfully Morticia stepped in. "A lot of people would give anything to have a parent like you, Rufina."

Rufina bowed their head. "Thank you."

The two dwarves' conversation had died down, the only other customer had left at some point, and the pulquería was silent. Gomez raised his glass- " Un brindis—por Carmen ."-and drained the last of his pulque. Tenoch and Cuauhtémoc joined him in the toast, though still eyeing him suspiciously.

Gomez set the empty glass down on the table. "I'm...wondering if I'll see a family member again in a few days' time, myself."

"Fester?" Rufina said the unfamiliar name uncertainly. "I heard you mention the name, earlier."

"Yes—my brother. I don't even know if he is dead—but if he isn't, then I don't know what could have happened to him. He's been missing for over seven years."

"I'm sorry to hear it." Rufina sighed, despite not needing to breathe. "I think all too many people around here are wondering what's become of missing family members at the moment. There have been more monster attacks than usual recently—and then there's the bandits, and the Trecena's gangs of thugs that they call officers of the law… La Paloma does all she can for us, but her and her band are outnumbered. And then recently…" They stopped themself abruptly.

And there was that name again. "I've been hearing a lot about La Paloma today. I have to say, I like what I've heard. Wanted criminal, isn't she?"

A sharp glance from empty eye sockets. "La Paloma is a hero. She's one of the only ones standing up for people like us around here. Of course, the Trecena can't stand her."

"Of course."

"She was falsely accused of some crime several years ago and had to go on the run, and she's been fighting back against the Trecena ever since. She's leader of a band of outlaws who rob the estates and caravans of corrupt landowners, and give to the poor."

Morticia smiled slightly. "She certainly sounds intriguing. But you were saying—recently?"

"Well…" Hesitating for a moment. "Recently, her and the rest of her band of outlaws were attacked by—someone, something, no-one knows what exactly—on the road. Most of them were killed."

Gomez paused to take a puff of his cigar. Everything was reminding him of Fester recently—they'd smoked cigars together before the ball, the last time they'd seen each other… yet it was hard to feel truly sad for long, not after a drink and a good meal in such excellent company. And an excellent cigar, for that matter. He was glad he'd decided to come here, rather than spending his time pacing around the house waiting for Fester to show up. If nothing else, this situation with Paloma was an interesting distraction.

Morticia was still watching Rufina with interest. "But Paloma escaped, I take it?"

"Yes, and the bounty hunters have been looking for her since."

"Very interesting. I look forward to you introducing us."

Gomez glanced at Morticia with some confusion. What was she talking about?

"Introducing-?" Rufina stopped, gaze darting around the room for a moment, then back to Morticia. "I don't know what you're talking about. How would I know where she is? I've never even met her."

Morticia shook her head with a smile. "I heard footsteps from your cellar just a moment ago."

Silence for a moment. Rufina glanced at the two dwarves, who were watching Gomez and Morticia warily. After a moment, they bowed their head. "Well, I suppose there's no point in trying to hide this now. Please, speak of this to no-one. Paloma's life depends on you keeping her location secret from the authorities."

Gomez placed his hand over Rufina's. "Turning Paloma in to the law would go against everything the name of Addams stands for. I swear to you, I would tear out my eyes, cut out my heart, and throw myself into the frozen sea of Stygia before I would betray the rebels."

The dwarves looked a little taken aback. Cuauhtémoc turned to Tenoch and spoke in a low voice. "I think he means it."

"I'm sure he does." Rufina headed towards the cellar door and opened it. Gomez immediately recognised the rock gnome who stepped out as the woman he'd seen on the wanted poster earlier. Paloma was dressed like a local, wearing a large sombrero and with a rebozo wrapped around her shoulders. A shortsword was sheathed at her belt. Something about her reminded him of Mamá—perhaps the fierce defiance that glittered in her eyes.

As Paloma came closer, he realised she was leaning heavily on a cane, and looked tired. Even so, when she caught sight of Gomez and Morticia, she reached for her sword with the quick reflexes of a skilled warrior.

Rufina raised a hand, and spoke to Paloma in Citlanés. "Paloma, these two travellers fought off the bounty hunters earlier today. They're on our side."

"And the flesh construct?" Eyeing Lurch warily.

"Oh, Lurch means you no harm." Morticia turned to Lurch for confirmation. He gave a brief nod. She continued, speaking Citlanés herself. "He's really quite gentle, but people always seem to make assumptions about him. I'm not sure why."

"Hm." Paloma pulled out a chair and sat down. "In that case...I might need your help." Switching into Common, presumably for Morticia's benefit—not that she really needed to, but many visitors to San Citlán only spoke Common and the local people expected it. "I need trustworthy people, skilled in combat and used to danger."

Gomez grinned. "You've found them."

"How much do you know about magic?"

"I studied druidcraft at Witherbloom College." Morticia gave Paloma an inquiring look. "Are you perhaps looking for assistance in breaking the curse?"

Paloma briefly looked surprised, but recovered quickly. "Sereno, yes. It started only a few months ago, but so many people have died already, and it's getting worse. We thought it was a disease at first. One night, I went out with three of my allies to try and find out what the source of the outbreak was before any more people died—and we were attacked."

Morticia raised an eyebrow slightly. "Attacked by who? Or what?"

"Something the likes of which I've never seen before. At first it looked like a strange black owl—not any type of owl I know of. And then it transformed into some kind of fiend—as big as a human man, with the beak of an owl, black feathers and savage talons on its hands and feet."

"How fascinating. "

It certainly was—and it reminded Gomez of something. He was sure he'd heard stories of owl-like demons as a child from his Tío Murcielago, but it must have been more than ten years ago now, and he couldn't remember the details. He did know the owls in this region were sometimes said to be able to journey to other planes, or even to bring omens of death.

Paloma frowned. "I've spent decades now as an outlaw on the run, fighting the Trecena, hunted by their agents, and that was the most terrifying night of my life. I managed to wound the fiend with my crossbow, but it still killed two of my companions before it escaped. The third—Lope, a...I think in Common they'd be called a druid? They'd been researching the curse. They told me they thought that fiend was behind its spread. If they were right, then killing it would end the curse."

"Is Lope around? I'd be very interested to discuss this curse with a fellow druid—and I'm curious to know more about the magical traditions around here. I imagine they're quite different to the ones I studied."

Paloma was silent for a moment. She shook her head. "Lope died of sereno not long after that night."

Gomez stepped in, being more familiar with the traditional way to respond to something like that around here. "May their spirit return to you on the Night of the Remembered."

"Thank you. But there won't be many people to celebrate that night unless we can break this curse. I've sent out scouts to try and find where this creature might be hiding in the daytime. A few of them reported back to me yesterday. Said they'd seen owls flying in and out of an abandoned mine, and strange figures lurking about. The mine's near a town called Hueco—" To Morticia: "That's Hollow, in Common—it's an old mining town. I thought it had been abandoned years ago." Paloma paused for a moment, sounding out of breath after talking for so long, then continued. "I can offer you two hundred gold pieces to investigate the mine—and slay the fiend, if you find it."

"Absolutely not! I refuse to accept money for this!"

"You refuse ? Do the lives of our people mean so little to you, that you won't lift a finger to help us?"

Morticia smiled. "Of course we'll help. All Gomez means is that we don't require payment to do this."

"An abandoned, demon-haunted mine sounds like such a wonderful adventure! If anything, we should be paying you." This visit to San Citlán was turning out to be far more exciting than Gomez had expected—and they hadn't even got to the city yet. Although—much as Gomez enjoyed a good fight—this demon sounded so interesting it almost seemed a pity to kill it… perhaps there was another way. He'd have to think about that—and discuss it with Morticia, she knew more about magic than he did, after all…

"At least take my ring of jumping—it might come in useful to you." Paloma took off the ring—it was silver, decorated with the shape of a frog—and handed it to Gomez. As soon as he touched it, the ring started to grow until it was exactly the right size to fit on his finger. He put it on, and immediately felt a faint tingling of magical power.

Paloma continued. "The abandoned town is about 14 miles away, 4 miles north of San Citlán—Rufina, do you have any amate? It will be easier to draw a map than to give directions."

Rufina searched for a while before finding a piece of the local kind of paper, made of bark; they set it down on the table in front of Paloma along with a quill pen and a pot of ink. Paloma sketched out a rough map showing Milpazul, San Citlán, and Hueco. "But remember, you can't go at night. The curse...already afflicts me—I don't know how long I have. The only way to avoid it is to never go outside after sunset. If I were you, I'd leave shortly after sunrise tomorrow morning so you have plenty of time."

Gomez grimaced. The only time he was ever awake shortly after sunrise was if he hadn't slept all night. He ran through the calculations in his head. If they failed to break the curse—unlikely, since they were Addamses, but not impossible—they'd have to return to Milpazul by seven hours after noon to be back here before the sun had fully set. It would take them at least three hours to travel between here and Hueco, possibly four, and who could say how long the investigation itself would take? It seemed there was no way around it: they really would have to leave shortly after sunrise after all, despite how horrifying the idea was to him.

To take his mind off that idea, Gomez turned his attention to the map. It showed Hueco in the southern part of the mountain range known as Las Venas de Plata—Silver Veins, named for exactly that, though it had been decades since much silver had been found there and most thought there was none left. "That's the town that used to be called Pontezuela, isn't it?"

Paloma glanced at him with some surprise. "That's an old name."

"My Tío Murcielago said he went there once as a boy, back when there was still silver there—his Papá bought him a dagger with a silver-plated handle. He still has it, he showed it to me."

"Must have been some time ago. The town got its current name when the silver ran out. It's been years since I've heard anyone call it Pontezuela."

"So it's just deserted now?"

"Worse than deserted. It's cursed. The miners dug deeper and deeper towards the end, trying to find silver. They didn't find that, but they did find the bones of some huge monster, like nothing anyone had ever seen before. After that, no-one wanted to go back—you'd have to be mad to keep looking for silver after finding something like that, for all we know some of those creatures are still living. Some say they must have been fiends, or something even worse."

Tenoch spoke up. "I found myself riding past that old mine after dark a year ago. Before sereno, but people avoided the place even then. I'd have steered clear, but I was on the run from the Trecena's officers. Taking that route was the only way to get back to Milpazul without being caught. As I rode past the old mine entrance, I saw something moving. Turned to look, and saw…" He trailed off. " Joder , I'm too sober for this. I don't like to think about it, let alone talk about it."

Gomez took out a few more gold pieces. "I could buy you another drink?"

Tenoch stared at the money for several seconds. "You could buy drinks for a whole crowd with that."

"I'm sure Rufina won't mind." Gomez handed them the money—this time they hesitated only briefly before taking it and pouring another maceta of pulque for Tenoch. "Cigar?"

Tenoch took one. He examined Gomez's lighter curiously for a moment before lighting the cigar and handing the lighter back. "All right… the mine. When I was riding past it, I saw these two...things. Figures. Grey-skinned, gaunt, all hunched over… dragging some poor soul into the mine. The body was all wrapped up tight in a cloth. As a mercy, it looked like whoever it was was already dead." He took a drink before continuing. "I swear those creatures were the living dead. I'll never forget their hissing, and their slithering tongues… I rode on, I tell you. I didn't look back."

Ghouls, by the sound of it. Gomez could tell Morticia was thinking the same. Neither of them were afraid of ghouls—they were just another scavenger, really, the same as worms and insects—but they could be dangerous if you weren't prepared for them, and if they'd been deprived of dead flesh recently and turned to hunting the living. Well, it was good to know they were there, though he didn't expect to have any serious trouble with them.

Later that evening, Gomez and Morticia headed upstairs to the room they'd be staying in for the night. It was small and quite plain, but of course they'd never complain about that—what mattered was that there were heavy curtains over the windows that would block out most of the morning sunlight, and at their request, Rufina hadn't made the bed too soft.

Lurch had unpacked everything carefully: clothes hung up, weapons all in their right places, henbane tea and coffee on the table along with a good selection of alcohols, a box of cigars by Gomez's side of the bed. There was a small stove in the room, and Morticia put some water on to boil for tea; Gomez, meanwhile, got out the medicine he was still supposed to take every evening—bold adventurers in stories never needed such things, but it was still better by a long way than the number of different medicines he'd had to take not so long ago, so he wasn't about to complain—swallowed it and washed it down with some brandy.

It had been a tiring day, and Gomez yawned as he changed into his pyjamas. He threw himself down on the bed, lit another cigar, and lay back with his eyes closed as he smoked.

He'd nearly fallen asleep when Morticia laid a cool hand on his shoulder. "Darling, your tea. And try not to fall asleep with a cigar in your hand—I don't think Rufina would like it if this place caught fire, exciting though it might be."

Gomez opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times before mumbling some kind of vague agreement and a thanks in reply , and sitting up just enough to take the hot cup of henbane tea. Morticia poured herself a cup and sat down next to him. Gomez took a final puff of his cigar, then put it out and took a sip of the tea. The haze of henbane washed over him as he drank, his vision and his thoughts starting to blur slightly. Ever since Morticia had introduced him to it, Gomez never went to sleep without a cup of henbane; at first it had simply been because it allowed him to sleep through the night without constantly being woken by coughing fits for the first time in years, but he'd soon found it had other benefits.

Gomez frowned—he was starting to feel like he'd forgotten something… Ah, of course. The ring of jumping on his finger still needed to be attuned to. He sighed. This would involve quiet, and focus, and he was good at neither. He tried to concentrate on the cool of the metal against his skin. As he did so, it started to warm up. He was no mage, but even so, he could sense its magical power.

It must have been nearly an hour by now. Gomez opened his eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. No, it was only ten minutes since he'd started. He was convinced time was conspiring against him—it slowed to a crawl whenever he had to wait for anything, and yet when something had to be done soon, it seemed hours could pass before he knew it.

Then he caught sight of Morticia undressing out of the corner of his eye, turned to gaze at her—and the ring suddenly went cold, the faint golden glow around it vanishing. " Cara—mia ." His parents—no matter how much Mamá swore around him— had raised him not to swear in front of women, but he only just managed to swap the word out at the last second. The idea of having [*]to spend an hour silently concentrating on the ring now was agony, and not the fun kind of agony.

Morticia smiled and shook her head. "Am I that distracting?"

"I can think of nothing else when I see you."

"That does make attuning to a magic item rather difficult."

"I'm not suited to quiet contemplation, Tish, you know that. Isn't there any way of doing something else at the same time?"

"Unfortunately not. I think you might find it easier to concentrate if you keep your eyes closed."

"And deprive myself of your beauty?"

She laughed. "Only temporarily."

Gomez drank some more henbane and closed his eyes again. He tried to keep his attention on the ring as it grew warm again and sent a light prickling feeling up his arm. When he briefly opened his eyes, the golden glow seemed to have spread to surround his whole hand, or perhaps the henbane was blurring his vision. After a while it faded, and he knew—in a hard-to-describe way that he'd leave to people with more magical knowledge to explain—that the ring was attuned.

He set the empty cup down, then turned to gaze at Morticia. The destruction she'd wreaked on the bounty hunters earlier had left him more in awe of her sinister beauty than ever. "Querida… you're as beautiful as a midwinter night." He kissed her, running a hand through her jet-black hair. Suddenly, he found he wasn't tired at all.

[*] "My love" in Elvish-as DND does not provide us with much of an Elvish language, I get my Elvish from Tolkien.