Page 117 of Claimed By the Mothman
Before he could respond, the main elevator doors opened with a courteous chime and a faint mechanical sigh, like it had seen things it would prefer not to discuss in polite company.
Mr. Lyle stepped into the lobby, looking uncharacteristically rumpled. His ash colored cardigan was buttoned incorrectly, and he carried two clipboards in one hand and an overfull manila folder in the other.
His eyes locked on the scene before him: moth and woman, captured in each other’s embrace, Sig wearing yesterday’s wrinkled clothes and Nell in a robe that had slipped off one bare shoulder.
He sighed the sigh of a man who had recently filed an incident report for a tenant who tried to seduce the trash chute and lost custody in arbitration.
“I hope you realize,” he said, glancing down at one of his clipboards, “this will involve considerable paperwork.”
Nell giggled. Her knees were still jelly and her soul was vibrating, and here was Mr. Lyle being... Mr. Lyle. Sig looked like he might spontaneously combust from sheer dignity failure.
“You’ve destabilized every floor between six and ten,” the apartment manager muttered, clumsily flipping a page and peering down. “The atrium has begun humming in three-part harmony. The Thornfather dropped half his leaves and will not allow anyone near to clean them up. Thess is beginning to write an interpretive dance about the experience, and Theo has asked me several times in the past hour if this means we shall be installing a hot tub on the roof.”
He paused and looked at them both. Though his face didn’t change, the temperature around them cooled slightly.
“Are you happy now?” he asked.
Nell looked up at Sig and met his eyes. In them, she saw her joy, his joy, reflected and clear and impossible and real. They smiled together.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think we are.”
Mr. Lyle made a noise that could’ve been approval or it could have been gas. He flipped another page, somehow fished a pen from behind his ear, and began scribbling something sideways and possibly in Latin.
“I shall have to re-register you both, of course,” he muttered. “The building insists. Evolutionary shift, metaphysical reclassification, altered tenancy designation—there’s a whole sub-folder for that. You will be called into the office next week.”
Moving the folder atop the clipboards, Mr. Lyle reached into the pocket of his cardigan and withdrew a small silver key that gleamed faintly with an inner light.
“The building has decided to grow you a new apartment. Seventeenth floor. It seemed appropriate, in light of your… development.”
He held the key out. “It hopes you shall find it more suitable to your shared liking.”
Sig took the key with quiet reverence. It was warm in his hand, alive with intention.
“And now,” Mr. Lyle added with faint exasperation, “we have not one, buttwovacancies. This will be a nightmare.”
He turned to go, but glanced back over his shoulder. Something akin to a smile ghosted across his lips.
“The building is pleased,” he said. “It has something now it didn’t know it was missing.”
He disappeared down the hallway.
Nell and Sig remained kneeling, entwined with each other the bond between them humming like a lullaby written in another language. Sig looked down and touched her cheek. His eyes shimmered faintly with a red glow that was no longer bright like a warning, but warm with possibility.
“You were incandescent,” he murmured.
Nell smiled, her eyes glimmering. “You look like you went through a clothes wringer.”
Sig inclined his head, solemn. “I believe it is a look that wears well on me.”
She laughed, delight swelling in her chest, and pulled his face down for another deep kiss. Then, carefully, they stood, the bond singing to them as they threaded their hands together and turned toward whatever came next.
Chapter 26
Four months later
The apartment on the seventeenth floor suited them perfectly. The ceilings arched high and soft, curved to accommodate the sweep of Sig’s wings when he stretched after sleep. The floor was warm underfoot, textured like weathered wood but becoming faintly luminous when touched. A window seat tucked into the main window that always glowed golden light, even when cloudy or rainy. Nell particularly loved the bookshelves that purred contentedly in her presence and rearranged their spines based on her current mood.
The apartment had even grown a small room for Sig’s workbench after Nell’s polite insistence that brushing wood shavings off the table before every meal was not exactly the vibe she was going for. Of course, the windows were plentiful and equipped with French doors that swung out onto multiple balconies, perfect for launching into evening flights.
