Page 6 of Claimed By the Mothman (Greymarket Towers #1)

Sweat clung to the back of her neck, and her hair had long since abandoned any attempt at tidiness. Her shirt was sticking to her back, her hands ached, and she couldn’t have felt better if she’d tried.

The last forty-eight hours had passed in a dreamlike blur.

She’d signed the lease, made the deposit, and Mr. Lyle had handed over the keys with a soft smile and a nod that felt more ceremonial than transactional.

She’d started packing that same afternoon, barely sleeping that night from the mix of nerves and anticipation.

Now, here she was. For real .

Half-labeled boxes were stacked in ungraceful pillars throughout the space. The windows were flung open to let in the late afternoon breeze, which carried the scent of distant city heat and something green. A beam of sunlight cut across the floor in a perfect line, catching the dust motes midair.

Her bed tilted sideways against the wall of the bedroom, while her battered old couch slumped in the middle of the living room like it needed a nap. Her chipped, college-era dining table looked hilariously out of place against the graceful curve of the kitchen’s window trim.

Nothing matched. But it didn’t matter. Everything felt right.

“This is it,” Nell whispered to herself, wiping her palms on her leggings. “Home.” She twisted the opal ring once on her finger. It felt warm against her skin.

From the kitchen came an enthusiastic yelp. “ Nell. This window seat. This EVERYTHING!”

Nell walked into the kitchen to see Goldie standing at said window seat with arms flung wide like she was casting a spell. Even in her torn jeans and paint-smeared hoodie, she looked wild and glorious and completely like she belonged here in Gerymarket Towers.

“I cannot believe you live here,” she breathed. “Like, actually live here. This place is— gods , it’s like Practical Magic and The Haunting of Hill House had a baby and then gave it a really good therapist.”

For a moment, Nell’s heart pinged glumly, wishing she looked even a smidgen as glamorous. Then she shook herself and grinned, eyeing a box labeled KITCHEN STUFF and said, “All right, let’s see which of my tea mugs are still cursed from the divorce fall-out.”

The two worked without a real plan, just loose, companionable rhythm.

Boxes were opened with abandon. Contents judged in the friendliest of ways.

Balled up tape was thrown at each others’ heads.

At one point, Nell’s alarming number of tea tins surfaced, and Goldie asked if she was “planning to host a coven or a large group of British pensioners.”

Several hours passed like that, more or less.

Sweat dampened their temples, and both women had shed their outer layers.

Nell’s cardigan draped over the arm of the couch, while Goldie’s hoodie now served as a makeshift curtain tie.

Vintage jazz played on the stereo, a record Nell had picked up at a flea market years ago and never quite found a time to play it that felt right until now.

Goldie was in the bedroom, dramatically sighing over Nell’s measly three hangers of professional clothes and making promises to take her shopping in celebration, while Nell carefully arranged mugs in the kitchen cabinet, trying to decide which ones deserved prime shelf placement.

She was cradling a chipped floral cup when a knock rang out against the open apartment door.

“Hi!” came a bright, clear voice, warm and sunny.

A small woman stood in the open doorway, her warm brown skin and close-cropped curls lit by the late afternoon sun. She radiated the energy of someone who had just baked something and was fully determined to share it.

“I’m Jem!” she announced, stepping over the threshold like an old friend. “I live in 4A, just down the hall, and I brought banana bread and some snacks!”

Before Nell could process what was happening, let alone form words, Jem bounded over and enveloped her in an enthusiastically firm embrace. “Also, I’m a hugger!”

Nell stiffened for half a second, and then melted. Jem smelled like floral and something buttery-sweet. Her earrings jingled faintly. Her arms were strong.

“Oh,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Hi. I’m Nell. And this is—”

“Goldie!” said Goldie, poking her head out from the bedroom. “Not the new resident, unfortunately, but I’m thinking of asking Nell if she’ll rent me sleeping space on her floor.”

“Hello to you, too!” Jem said brightly. “So good to meet you both! Welcome to the fourth floor. You’re going to love it here. We have a great community, and honestly, 4C is one of my favorite units. That pantry? Ugh. I want one in ours, but the building hasn’t agreed with me yet.”

She practically shoved the basket she was carrying into Nell’s hands. It was absurdly charming. A neatly wrapped loaf of banana bread sat alongside a jar of local honey, a few mini jars of nut butter, and an index card titled Best Tea Pairings , complete with doodles and enthusiastic underlines.

“You…made this?” Nell blurted, immediately regretting how dumb it sounded.

Jem tilted her head, faux-serious. “Yes. I bake, while Hollis cooks, or as he calls it, chefs. His cooking is divine, and he also brews a mead that’ll make your dead ancestors sit up and flirt with each other. I promise to bring you a bottle of the newest vintage once it’s finished!”

Goldie clapped her hands. “Tell us everything. I have been dying to know what this building is like. I swear I don’t know why I never really noticed it before—I mean, I noticed it but never noticed noticed it— but when Nell told me she needed a place to stay I suddenly remembered that I’d heard something about a vacancy. ”

“That’s kind of how it works.” Jem grinned. “If you’re meant to be here, it kind of is just there, you know?”

“I wish I was meant to be here,” Goldie sighed dramatically.

Nell chuckled and moved to place the basket on the kitchen countertop. She started carefully removing the goodies as if they were precious objects while Jem grabbed a stool and plopped down, her hands starting to move as if she were conducting a symphony.

“Okay, so, let’s give you a little rundown of some of the Greymarket Towers info and rules that I wish I’d known when I moved in.

” She held up a finger. “One: never take Elevator Two on a Tuesday, because it groans like it’s dying and takes twice as long to get anywhere.

Last time it tried to give me relationship advice.

Which I didn’t ask for, by the way, Hollis and I have been married eleven years, thank you very much. ”

Another finger. “Two: monthly potluck is the last Sunday of the month, and it is mandatory. Not really, but you do not want to miss it, it’s so fun and a great way to meet everyone.

Hollis and I always bring muffins. Carol and Dev have amazing hot and cold dips and they change it up every time.

Catalina usually bakes a pie, and Misty and Harold bring hot dogs. ”

Third finger. “Thess in 7D runs the Greymarket Gazette, which is our weekly newsletter, and they have opinions about everything. Like, capital-E Everything. Before I moved here, I wouldn’t have thought a Whisp would have opinions, but boy, living here has certainly broadened my understanding of all sorts of cryptids I’d not known before. ”

Fourth finger. “Avoid the lobby mirrors after 11 at night. And if you ever see a pair of red doors appear? Don’t go through them.

Not immediately, anyway. Find one of us or Mr. Lyle.

That’s just the Lustrum. It’s usually benevolent, but you don’t want to just stroll in.

Most people never see it, but every now and then, it notices them. ”

When Jem said the word Lustrum, the ring on Nell’s finger pulsed once—so faintly she almost missed it. She rubbed it absently, a flicker of vertigo washing over her.

“The building’s been restless lately.” Jem’s expression turned thoughtful. “Mr. Lyle thinks it’s because we’ve been incomplete for so long with this apartment sitting empty. Sometimes when a place is hungry for the right person, other things get stirred up.

But anyway! Here I am babbling away and I haven’t even asked you anything. What’s your story? What brought you here?”

Nell cast a slightly panicked look over at Goldie. Goldie, bless her heart, nodded slightly and took Jem’s elbow with a practiced movement.

“Jem, darling, I’d love for you to help me with the overview,” she explained, pulling Jem off the stool and steering her into the pantry. “Nell has so much room for improvement in here—I mean, look at all those tea tins, and she doesn’t even have a flour container—”

“Oh!” Jem squealed. “You have room in there. Real shelves. Like a person with a functional spice system. I swear, if I had this setup…”

Goldie and Jem’s bubbly back and forth merged with the clinking and clunking of items being rearranged, turning into a happy buzz of fast friendship and baking know-how.

Left to herself for a moment, Nell walked into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, heart thudding in a happy, overwhelmed rhythm. She looked around at the chaos—boxes everywhere, open windows, the soft creak of old floors—and let out a breath.

The weekly rental hotel had smelled like mildew and old disappointment. The walls were too thin, the light too cold. She’d barely unpacked, sincemost of her stuff had been in storage— college-era, singleton Nell furnishings and trappings that had stayed packed away during her marriage.

Before that, before the divorce, before the intern in Edward’s bed, there was The House he had bought in the right neighborhood in the right suburb with the right neighbors.

It was right after they had started dating and she had dared to believe she would be the “right wife” once she put all her colorful, mismatched belongings away like a dirty secret.