Wednesday: The Strongest Psychic

Chapter 269: The Council

The main headquarters of the Council was located in North Maine Woods, a vast and remote forest in the northern part of Maine, over 800 kilometers (500 miles) away from the Addams Manor in New York. It was impossible to get there in time through normal means.

But they didn’t need normal means.

In one of the underground chambers of the manor, hidden beneath the east wing, there was a restricted teleportation structure, linked to specific enclaves of the outcast world.

“Is everyone ready?” asked Morticia as the circle of runes began to glow.

“Is it safe?” Enid asked, looking at the carved lines with a hint of unease. Her family wasn’t as old or wealthy as the Addamses; they didn’t have such advanced technology.

“It’s safe in most cases. I use it all the time to go to work,” said Gomez with a wide grin, stroking his mustache.

“It will drop us about three kilometers from the official entrance. Just enough to avoid the scanners protecting the perimeter,” Morticia explained calmly. “And so the guardians recognize us without it seeming like an invasion.”

Fester rubbed his hands together, excited. “Let’s go, let’s go! I don’t want to miss the High Judge’s opening speech. He’s got the most ridiculously deep voice I’ve ever heard. A gem.”

One by one, they began to step through the portal. The air crackled with compressed energy. In the blink of an eye, they vanished. The only two people left at Addams Manor were Eudora and Nyra, who was still asleep and unaware of anything.

The arrival was instantaneous.

The group appeared in a clearing surrounded by towering oaks and pines, their treetops lost in the morning mist. The air was cold. There were no paved roads, just a compact dirt path, barely visible.

They moved at a moderate pace. The walk was three kilometers (1.8 miles), about thirty minutes at their current speed. Of course, if they all decided to sprint, they could make it in under five minutes, but there was no need, they had time.

Eventually, the Council’s headquarters rose before them. Hidden among hills covered with ancient trees, the structure emerged. The building was made almost entirely of black marble, with imposing columns reaching over twenty meters high. The façade was sober yet intimidating.

The main entrance was guarded by two Council sentinels. Their uniforms were simple: long dark gray robes with high collars, and the Council’s emblem embroidered in silver on their chests. Despite their stoic appearance, upon recognizing the approaching group, both guardians nodded with visible respect.

“Good morning, Mr. Addams,” greeted one of them with a slight bow of the head. “As per protocol, we must register the full name of each person present. The Council requires a complete list of all attendees for today’s event. For security reasons.”

Gomez smiled, with that elegant and relaxed charisma that defined him. “Of course. Let’s proceed.”

Even though no one said it out loud, they all understood that this simple gesture,a name list, implied the Council hadn’t ruled out the possibility of attacks, riots, or incidents during the gathering.

One by one, names were spoken and entered into a tablet by one of the guards. When it was Luke’s turn, the atmosphere shifted.

The guard in front of him, who had remained almost statue-like even for names like Gomez or Fester, barely raised his eyes. Just a second. A subtle pause. But enough. His eyes widened slightly. It was a mix of recognition, respect… and fear.

Luke Poe. The young man known for having killed three elder demons in direct combat. Especially two: Mortimer and Aldric, since he only helped at the start against Vespera, injuring her before going after Aldric.

And everyone already knew he was the one who killed Elliot Spellman in the Sunnyvale incident. Most unsettling of all: the bearer of four psychic auras.

Three was already considered borderline legendary. Four… no verified records existed.

“Name, please,” the guard said, voice firm, but more tense than before.

“Luke Poe,” he replied lazily, eyes half-closed like someone who’d been dragged out of bed too early.

The guard nodded, quickly wrote the name down… and looked away, as if holding eye contact would be too much. His partner also glanced at him sideways, openly this time. They said nothing, but their reactions spoke volumes.

Once the list was complete, the grand marble doors opened without a single touch, revealing an interior colder, quieter, and more solemn than the outside. The group entered.

And when the doors closed behind them with a sharp, echoing thud… the two guards on the other side exhaled deeply. As if they’d been holding their breath since the moment the visitors appeared in the forest.

The pressure emanating from the group was suffocating.

Gomez Addams, one of the highest-ranking members of the Council. His presence alone demanded respect.

Fester, his older brother. No official title, but a reputation feared for how unpredictable and chaotic he was. Mad and eccentric. And everyone knew he was a brutally powerful psychic.

Morticia Addams, direct descendant of one of the Six Great Psychic Families: the Frumps. In the past, her blood alone would have guaranteed a high seat in the Council. Her gaze was as lethal as her lineage.

Wednesday Addams. Daughter of two legends. With an icy presence, a stare that seemed to pierce flesh and analyze the soul. Many said she was more intimidating than her own parents.

And yet… it was Luke who chilled their blood.

Despite his slouched posture, despite the casual clothes and the expression that showed more annoyance than hostility, there was something about him that tightened the air. As if beneath that calm, there was something that, if unleashed, could destroy everything.

The rumors didn’t help.

Since Sunnyvale, Luke had made only two public appearances. The first, months ago, when he killed Mortimer Spellman, and intermediate demon, and dozens of Morraks. All by himself.

The second mission, much more recent, was when he saved Wednesday’s group, taking on multiple enemies. There, he defeated Aldric, wounded Vespera, and helped capture Jane and Anna Spellman.

Luke had turned a well-executed Spellman trap into a trap for them. He flipped the situation with just his arrival and defeated them all. And according to those who saw him fight… no one even touched him.

Within the Council, few knew him personally. But everyone knew his name.

Luke and the others walked down the central marble corridor, accompanied by the solemn echo of their steps. As they neared the grand exterior courtyard, more figures began to appear.

Members of other powerful oucasts families: psychics, werewolves, vampires. Also minor houses and more “normal” ones. Council officials, guards, and staff.

Some wore dark robes, others more ceremonial attire. Everyone stepped aside upon seeing them. They stared in silence. Some with respect. Others with suspicion or fear. But none overlooked the group.

Gomez and Morticia walked at the front. Fester strolled beside Natasha, speaking quietly about the execution.

Enid, slightly tense, looked around. She wasn’t used to these types of crowds. She searched for her older brother, who worked in the Council.

Luke walked behind Wednesday, hands in his pockets, gaze weary. Around him, the air felt denser.

That’s when a group approached directly.

The Frump family.

A gothic, elegant, and rigid delegation. Unlike the eccentric, dangerous, and almost carnivalesque aura of the Addams family, the Frumps embodied pure psychic aristocracy: solemn, proud, cold. Always immaculate. Always judging.

Leading the group was the matriarch: Cassandra Frump, mother of Morticia, grandmother to Wednesday and Pugsley, and mother-in-law to Gomez. Her white hair was perfectly styled, her expression stern, and her long dark blue velvet dress gave her the bearing of a queen without a throne.

At her side was her other daughter: Ophelia Frump, Morticia’s older sister, wearing an expression that shifted between condescension and disdain. She was the perfect Frump. The one who never abandoned the name. The one who fulfilled her family duty.

Standing next to Ophelia were her two children.

Achilles Frump, the eldest, was imposing. He stood even taller than Luke, with a strong, athletic build and broad shoulders. His hair was short and dark, and his face bore a marked severity. His steel-gray eyes didn’t waver. Unlike most, he didn’t show the slightest discomfort when meeting Wednesday’s gaze. There was no fear.

Then came her daughter: Seraphina Frump, a more traditional gothic beauty who, unlike Wednesday, didn’t inspire fear. Long, straight black hair, pale skin, and green eyes that stood out against her black eyeliner. She was the same age as Wednesday, Luke, and Enid. Her gaze was curious but also proud. She didn’t look away, nor did she appear uncomfortable.

The last to arrive was Ophelia’s husband: Alaric, a man of minor noble lineage, tall, quiet, who had taken the Frump name as a symbol of unity with the family.

The tension became palpable.

Morticia straightened, her chin raised in a gesture of distant pride. Her mother stared at her sternly, as if her very presence here were an insult.

“Mother. Sister,” Morticia greeted with a slight nod.

“Morticia…” Cassandra replied curtly, making no effort to hide her bitterness.

Gomez, with his trademark charming gentleman’s smile, inclined his head, “Always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Frump.”

“It’s not mutual,” she murmured, without concealing her disapproval.

The real issue had never been personal. It was political, symbolic. In the outcast world, marriages between members of the Six Great Psychic Families were rare, and often frowned upon.

Because when it happened, only one family kept the surname. In this case, Morticia had renounced her Frump lineage to take on the Addams name. With that, the Frumps hadn’t just lost a noble-blooded daughter… they’d also lost two exceptional descendants. Wednesday and Pugsley were dual-aura psychics. And now they were Addamses.

To the Frumps, that was a betrayal disguised as love.

Gomez, despite his charm and his record as a demon slayer, had never earned his mother-in-law’s approval. He was too informal, too passionate, too… Addams.

Wednesday stepped slightly forward, staring at her grandmother without blinking, then at the rest of her relatives.

“Grandmother. Aunts. Cousins,” she greeted in a monotone voice, slightly unsettling, as she scanned them like she was evaluating whether they were traitors or allies in the war.

“Wednesday,” Cassandra and the other Frumps replied, all in the same flat tone.

A brief, tense silence settled over the group.

It was then that Cassandra slowly shifted her gaze and fixed her eyes on Luke.

For several seconds, she simply observed him. She didn’t greet him. She didn’t ask who he was. She didn’t need to. She already knew.

Luke, who had until that moment been idly studying the vaulted ceiling, felt the intensity of her stare. He lowered his gaze calmly and met her eyes, raising a single eyebrow.

’Wednesday’s maternal grandmother?’ Luke thought, a bit curious, knowing about the tension between the two families.

He then cast a quick glance over the rest of the Frumps. It was the first time he had seen them in person. Their refinement was evident. Unlike him, dressed in casual normie clothes, they wore elegant dark robes with understated detailing.

Achilles held his gaze, analytical. Not defiant, but not submissive either.

Seraphina, on the other hand, looked away the moment their eyes met, as if Luke’s presence unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your other family, Wednesday?” Luke asked aloud, not sarcastically, but with that lazy tone of his that carried a hidden amusement, barely perceptible.

The kind of amusement only Wednesday and Enid could recognize… and which almost always ended up unsettling or provoking someone else.

Wednesday glanced sideways at him. She didn’t speak at first, but one eyebrow arched slightly, and her lips pressed together in resignation.

She knew that if Luke was given even the slightest reason, he could turn any diplomatic meeting into a verbal skirmish.

And unlike her father, who still showed a minimal degree of respect to Cassandra and company for being Morticia’s family, Luke didn’t bother pretending deference.

Enid, a few steps behind, smiled faintly. She knew that tone. That was the Luke who got bored of solemnity and started playing with fire.

“No need. You’re not missing much,” Wednesday replied.

“Oh, come on, I insist. I want your grandmother’s blessing for our relationship. I don’t want to end up like your father,” Luke said, stepping forward, his gaze mocking and aimed straight at Cassandra, as if her age alone made it obvious she was the matriarch.

The tension in the air thickened further.

Cassandra didn’t respond right away. She looked at him with the same coldness she reserved for Gomez.

“Just because you’re different from Gomez doesn’t mean I approve of the relationship you have with my granddaughter.”

“What a shame,” Luke said in a clearly fake disappointed tone, and everyone noticed it.

“Well, she can’t complain… I did try to get your blessing,” he added. Then, without warning, he raised a hand and called out, “Oh, Pugsley, come here for a moment.”

Morticia, Gomez, Fester, and the others watched, not quite sure what was about to happen.

Pugsley, a bit confused, walked over. “What is it?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Did you tell your grandmother?” Luke asked in a conspiratorial tone, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

“Tell her what…?” Pugsley replied cautiously.

“Your second aura. The one that awakened less than two months ago. You know, that insignificant little detail.”

Pugsley opened his mouth but didn’t manage to say anything.

Cassandra didn’t need to hear more. Of course she knew. The rest of the Frumps did too.

Luke looked at Cassandra with a smile, as if commenting proudly on his little brother’s achievement, “Isn’t it great having two grandchildren with dual auras? That has to be a record, doesn’t it? And even if he carries the Addams name, he does have Frump blood.”

Ophelia lowered her gaze slightly, and her husband Alaric looked away, visibly uncomfortable.

Seraphina pretended to be studying the floor.

Achilles, on the other hand, clenched his jaw.

Cassandra, with icy composure, stepped forward. She looked at Luke with the kind of authority one only earns after living over a century.

“You have a talent for provocation. But if you expect me to fall for it, you’re mistaken,” the old woman said, her voice low and sharp as a blade, “The Council is not a playground, young Poe. And here, diplomacy outweighs power.”

The smile Luke had worn before vanished completely.

For a second, the air seemed to grow colder, as if his gaze alone could alter the atmosphere. He looked Cassandra directly in the eye, unblinking.

“Outweighs power?” he repeated, with barely concealed disdain.

“Ask the Spellmans if diplomacy did them any good against me.”

He took a step forward.

“If they didn’t have ancient psychics still alive thanks to demon pacts, I would’ve wiped them all out by now.”

He walked past the old woman without haste. When he had almost left them behind, he paused briefly, glancing over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Frump family. It was a pleasure meeting you,” he added lazily, raising a hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Enjoy the event…” said Morticia, who had remained silent until then, her posture perfectly straight.

Cassandra didn’t reply. She just kept her eyes fixed on Luke’s back.

Gomez gave a brief, diplomatic nod. He said nothing.

Wednesday looked at her grandmother, then at her cousins, and without a word, turned on her heel to follow Luke.

Enid, who had watched everything attentively, followed Wednesday. She almost seemed to enjoy the restrained chaos.

One by one, the group resumed their walk. Luke was already ahead, hands in his pockets, his relaxed figure a stark contrast to the storm he left behind.

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