Page 55 of Claimed By the Mothman
Sig, for his part, was standing at the edge of the room like he wasn’t entirely sure what charades was, but was committed to learning. His wings flexed slightly as if testing whether they could be used to mime something. Probably not.
Nell sighed and sat on the floor, folding her legs beneath her with the resignation of someone awaiting jury duty. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
Ezra cracked his knuckles. “That’s the spirit.”
“All right!” Jem announced brightly as everyone settled into place. With a theatrical whirl, she stopped in front of Nell’s group and held out the bowl toward Ezra. “You first, Ez!”
“Happy to,” Ezra said, as if accepting a divine challenge. Jem pressed the timer button.
Ezra took a dramatic pause before drawing his slip. Then he gasped, clutching it to his chest with the full-body conviction of someone either falling in love or having a cardiac event. Without another word, he dropped to his knees and launched into a floor-bound, hyper-theatrical pantomime. He swooned. He clutched his chest and pointed heavenward.
“Hamlet?” Goldie offered cautiously.
“A… ghost?” Nell guessed.
Ezra collapsed onto the carpet in an exquisitely slow-motion death spiral, mouthingI’m dying!with the intensity of someone doing a farewell scene for an invisible audience.
Sig said quietly, “Consumption.”
Ezra sprang upright like he’d just been resurrected by applause. “Yes!” he cried, pointing at Sig. “That! That right there!”
Every head turned to stare at the mothman, who sat with unruffled calm, gently tapping one clawed finger against his knee like a metronome.
“How—how did yougetthat?” Nell asked, half laughing, half incredulous.
Sig turned his head slightly toward her. “His gestures resembled a woodcut I once studied. And his floor motions were highly specific.”
Ezra beamed at him like a proud mother at a piano recital. “You beautiful bastard.”
A laugh burst out of Nell’s chest, sudden and real, and she had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the second one from following.
The bowl passed to the other team. Dev stood with a shrug, drew a slip, and gave a nod like he’d just been handed a basic arithmetic problem.
He then proceeded to deliver the single most confusing charade anyone had ever witnessed. He flailed. He pointed to his foot. He mimed…fishing? Or possibly conducting an orchestra on a roller coaster.
Hollis guessedtap dancing. Carol guessedelectrocution. Jem guessedbees.
The timer buzzed just as Dev made one final, sweeping gesture that may have been a cartwheel or a desperate cry for help.
He dropped his hands. “It wasmailman.”
A collective groan swept through the room.
“Really?” Hollis said. “That wasmailman?”
“Okay,” Dev muttered. “Well. Our mailman does parkour.”
“Score check!” Jem called cheerfully. “Team One: one. Team Two: tragically zero.”
Goldie. She plucked a slip from the bowl like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment, read it, and immediately burst into cackling laughter.
“Oh no,” Nell whispered.
Goldie didn’t answer. She simply rose to her feet and began to stalk slowly around the coffee table, shoulders hunched, eyes darting dramatically, like she was either hunting or having an existential crisis.
“Oh god, is she doingCatsagain?” Nell groaned. “Goldie,no.”
Goldie stopped suddenly and threw one hand across her brow. Her other hand curled into a claw and hovered near her mouth. She dropped to one knee with operatic flair, reached toward the ottoman, and then jerked back.
