Page 12 of Claimed By the Mothman
Just for a second, Nell thought she felt the room shift slightly around them, as if the building had heard and given a happy little shudder of agreement.
“Hollis!” Jem popped her head into the room, a tea towel draped over one shoulder like it was a banner of victory. “You weren’t supposed to sneak up on her. That’smyjob.”
He turned at the sound of her voice, and a small, fond smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Darling, I adore you, but you couldn’t sneak up on a deaf and blind octogenarian with noise-canceling headphones.”
“Rude,” Jem declared. “And fair.”
She crossed the room in quick strides and rose on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. The kind of kiss that said:We’ve done this a thousand times, and I’d still choose you every time.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ve got tomato plants on the roof to transplant before it rains, and I’m not letting you wiggle out of it again.”
“I maintain the moon cycle was wrong,” he murmured, letting her pull him into the hallway.
“I maintain you’re full of it,” Jem retorted. Over her shoulder, she yelled, “Bye, Nell! Bye, Goldie! Let us know if you need anything!”
They vanished from the apartment in a whirl of laughter and domestic chaos.
Nell stared at the now-empty doorway. “I’ve never met a human-cryptid couple before,” she said softly, like the admission needed gentle handling.
Goldie emerged from the kitchen, arms draped over the door frame with theatrical elegance. “Oh, honey. Welcome to Bellwether.”
She strolled into the living room and flopped onto the couch, “Seriously, those two are the gold standardof interspecies couple goals. Jem told me they met at a city-sponsored community mediation workshop, if you can believe it. She was trying to get her previous apartment exorcised, Hollis was running the spiritual zoning audit, and they’ve been disgustingly in love ever since.”
Nell laughed softly. “They justfit.It’s so…wholesome.”
Goldie sighed. "I hate them. I love them. I want what they have. But, like, maybe with someone whose face doesn't shift like a mood ring."
She picked at a loose thread on the throw pillow. "I've been on exactly three dates since moving to Bellwether. One guy turned out to be literally made of fog. Which, fine, but the communication issues were insurmountable. Another was sweet but kept trying to read my aura during dinner. And the third..." She grimaced. "Let's just say never date a shapeshifter who's stillfinding themselves."
Nell snorted. “You deserve hazard pay for that,” she said—then her stomach gave a sudden growl. She winced, patting it like a misbehaving dog. “Okay, real talk: I might not be ready to date, but Iamready to eat. Pizza?”
Goldie perked up. “NowthatI can do.” She pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans and wiggled it triumphantly. “There’s a cryptid-friendly joint nearby that I love. Half the menu’s enchanted, and the crust’s got this magical garlic seasoning that is more addictive than crack. My treat.”
“Wait—enchanted how?”
“You’ll see,” Goldie grinned. “But if the anchovies start singing, don’t make eye contact.”
—
The apartment glowed with the soft hush of early evening. Boxes had been shoved aside, piled into temporary homes. The banana bread had been devoured completely, and two mugs of tea sat forgotten on the window seat. Goldie was curled sideways on the couch, one hand scrolling absently through her phone while the other traced lazy sigils on the back of a throw pillow.
The air buzzed with comfort and the quiet exhale of a day done right. Then:ding.
“Pizza’s here!” Goldie exclaimed, swiping at a notification.
Nell stretched, her muscles pleasantly sore from a day that actually felt good. “I’ll go grab it. It’ll give me a break from the great box migration.”
Goldie gave a mock salute. “Tip the delivery guy extra if he’s got scales.”
Nell chuckled, slipped her feet into her shoes, and padded toward the hallway. The building felt calm, but also awake. The lights along the walls burned warmly. The sconces flickered like they were remembering fire.
She reached the elevator just as it arrived with a quiet, courteous chime.
The doors sighed open. There was someone already inside. Tall. Still. Unmistakablynothuman.
His head was humanoid. Mostly. A high brow, sharply defined cheekbones, and a jaw just a little too long. A fine layer of silvery fuzz dusted his skin. Above his brow, two antennae flicked twice, and Nell felt it like a change in barometric pressure. One long-fingered, darkly clawed hand rested loosely at his side.
“Ms. Townsend,” he said.
