Chapter 90: The Local Gangs Have Terrible Manners
"Since we're already here, how could we just turn back now?" Gomez rejected the suggestion outright.
"All right, all right—typical Addams,"
Bor said helplessly, handing Gomez a set of car keys.
"I was planning to take you over by Portkey, but with everything that's happened, you'll have to drive yourselves."
He hesitated for a moment, then added,
"Still… you'd better be careful on the road. The Muggles in this country have been rather restless lately."
"That won't be a problem," Gomez replied confidently.
"I'm very good at dealing with Muggles."
Yes—very good at dealing with Muggles.
As in splashing blood all over the Muggles singing hymns at the gate, or terrifying trick-or-treating children into scattering in panic.
Russell later learned the truth about the Addams estate from Wednesday:
Muggles could see it—but unless they were special cases, they would forget everything about it by the next day.
"This is way too cramped," Gomez complained.
After getting used to heavily modified vehicles, driving a Muggle car always felt awkward.
Although Gomez hadn't taken Bor's warning too seriously, it was soon proven correct.
The moment their car left the snowy outskirts and entered a small village, people poured out of nearby houses, blocking the road ahead. They were forced to stop.
"This doesn't look friendly," Gomez muttered.
"Darling," Morticia said calmly, resting a hand on the hilt of her falchion and placing the other on Gomez's shoulder,
"We are the visitors."
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"
Gomez spoke in fluent Russian—after all, he was well-versed in many languages.
Once they realized Gomez and the others weren't locals, greed immediately flared in their eyes.
At first, they'd only intended to steal some money—now they had their sights set on the car itself.
"Get out of the car, now. This vehicle belongs to us. Leave all your money behind too, or else—"
The leader was a burly red-haired man, staring at them with ill intent.
A double-barreled shotgun rested casually in his hands.
"Isn't there room for negotiation?" Gomez asked mildly.
"Cut the crap," the man snapped.
"I know exactly why foreigners like you come to our country at times like this. Let me tell you—you'll never take anything from here. Not in your dreams."
He spat viciously to the side as he spoke.
Seeing that no one was getting out of the car, some of the men grew impatient. A few began pounding hard on the doors, and a couple even raised their hands as if to smash the windows—only to be stopped by the giant. If the glass shattered, the car would be harder to drive, and its resale value would plummet.
"If you don't come out right now," the brute growled, "I can't guarantee your safety anymore. Your beautiful wife—and your cute daughter—would fetch a fine price around here."
The threat made everyone inside the car stiffen. Even Morticia, usually unflappable, darkened at once.
"Fester," Morticia said softly, "you're up."
"Leave it to me." He let out a strange chuckle—but Russell quickly raised a hand to stop him.
"Wait."
"What is it, Russell?" Morticia asked, puzzled. "Don't tell me you pity them. Didn't you hear what they just said?"
"No, no," Russell replied. "I just mean… if you set off explosives here, we'd get caught in it too, wouldn't we?"
"I'll show you another side of Uncle Fester's talents," Fester said smugly. Wednesday and Pugsley were practically glowing with anticipation.
"Hey—look over here!"
Fester opened the car door and stepped out, raising both hands high.
"A wise choice," the men sneered. "Surrender now, and we might be generous."
They couldn't understand a word he was saying, but the gesture was unmistakable.
A French military salute—clear surrender.
Among the crowd, a sharp-eyed, short man suddenly noticed something strange: faint sparks flickering at the fingertips of the bald, pale man who had stepped out.
At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He rubbed them.
The sparks didn't vanish.
They spread.
"Oh no—he's a wizard—!"
But he was too late.
Lightning exploded from Fester's ten fingers, arcing through the air and striking the surrounding men. Bodies convulsed violently. Foam spilled from their mouths as they collapsed one by one.
Strangely, whenever the lightning neared the car, it curved away at the last instant, as if repelled.
Fester dusted off his hands, admired his handiwork, and calmly climbed back into the car.
Russell stared at him in awe.
"Can you teach me that?"
"Wish you could," Gomez said sourly. "That's Fester's natural talent. I've always been jealous."
"Oh…" Russell sighed, disappointed. Then he glanced at the bodies scattered across the road. "Are they… dead?"
"Who knows?"
No one in the car seemed particularly concerned. Russell included.
Once the road was cleared, they drove on.
"I thought I heard one of them say we were wizards," Russell said suddenly. "Doesn't the Soviet enforce the International Statute of Secrecy?"
"Their wizards believe that wizards and Muggles are both citizens of the republic," Gomez replied. "Equal in status, no hierarchy. A beautiful idea…"
He didn't finish the sentence. Russell already understood the rest.
The Addams enclave was located in a small town where everyone bore the same surname—Addams. No outsiders lived there.
Their arrival was met with overwhelming enthusiasm, and a grand banquet was thrown in their honor.
It seemed that a love of banquets was etched into Addams DNA, no matter the country.
The Soviet Addamses were noticeably taller and broader, powerfully built. Even their wands were enormous—seventeen or eighteen inches long, with metal-capped tips.
It was hard to imagine what they used those wands for.
At the feast, Russell learned their purpose. The Soviet Addamses had discovered ancient ruins, believed—based on current clues—to belong to a powerful wizard from antiquity.
The Addams family had worked in funeral-related professions for generations. Tomb exploration and grave robbing were simply part of the trade.
In fact, grave-digging had become a family tradition.
Wednesday had received a handcrafted pink shovel as a gift at the age of three.
She later painted it black herself.
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