Page 37 of Claimed By the Mothman
There was a long pause. The window seat shifted as Goldie sat down beside her, lifting Nell’s feet and settling them into her lap.
“I had sex with a weird moth cryptid,” Nell muttered into the cushion.
“Mmhm,” Goldie said. “Sure did.”
Nell scooted upright and clutched a pillow to her chest like a shield. “Do you realize how awful this is? What the hell am I supposed to do now? What if someone noticed? What ifhesays something? What if I see him in the hallway? What if I—”
“Babe,” Goldie interrupted, raising one hand mid-rant. “You almost died yesterday. You walked into a weird-ass haunted door thing that tried to eatyou. Your extremely-sexy-sounding neighbor turned into a rage-winged death god, claimed you, and took you back to his apartment for brain-breaking sex.”
She sipped her tea with exaggerated calm. “I’m sorry, but yes. Someone probably noticed.”
Nell groaned and pulled the pillow over her face.
Goldie let her sulk for a beat, then softened. “Okay. But real question. How are you?”
“I’m overwhelmed,” Nell mumbled. “I’m confused. My thighs hurt. There are wounds in my shoulder. I almostdied.”
Goldie grabbed one of her hands and laced their fingers together. They sat in that stillness for a moment together—warm window seat, warm mug, too much to say and not enough breath to say it.
Nell pulled the pillow from her face, still clasping Goldie’s hand. “Also, I had like seventeen orgasms.”
Goldie smiled like a cat with a crime she’d do again. “That’s my girl.”
Nell smacked her arm. Goldie let out a dramatic yelp, half-offended, half-delighted.
For a moment, it felt like they were in a bad sitcom with too much canned laughter and a ridiculous multicam angle, where the moment would resolve itself in twenty-two minutes with a witty one-liner and a hug.
Nell’s shoulders sagged. “Something’s off,” she said, quietly. “I don’t know how to explain it. My skin doesn’t fit right. And this stupid thing won’t stop pulsing. I swear, it’s acting like it has feelings.” She held up her left hand with the offending item.
The opal ring shimmered. The colors inside the stone swirled slowly, like a storm seen through glass. Where the light used to catch in blues and greens, now there were flickers of rose-gold and something deeper—violet? Rust?
Goldie leaned in, her expression shifting from mischief to concern. “Okay. That’s definitely weird. Opals are emotional stones, sure, but not usually with Fitbit levels of feedback.”
“It’s not just the ring.” Nell looked down, voice barely audible. “It’s me. I feel like I’m vibrating out of sync with the world.”
Goldie tilted her head. “Maybe you are.”
Nell glanced at her sharply.
“You’ve changed, you know.”
“Changedhow?”
“You’re thrumming. And something else.” Goldie threw back the last of her tea. “Like…you’remore thanbut alsoless thanat the same time. That doesn’t even make sense.”
Nell exhaled shakily. Goldie reached over and gently squeezed her knee.
“I’m not scared,” Nell said quietly, almost surprised to hear the words aloud, and even more surprised to realize that they were true. “But I need to know what happened. I need tounderstand.”
Goldie tilted her head again, softer now. “Then we figure it out.”
Nell snorted. “How?”
“I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count.” Goldie exclaimed, setting her mug down with theatrical finality. “But here’s a hint: we’re going to find out the old-fashioned way.”
A pause. A breath. Nell’s eyes narrowed. “…We work at a paranormal library.”
Goldie grinned like a victorious gremlin.“Ding ding ding.”
