Page 19 of Claimed By the Mothman

Wings—big ones.

A door with no handle.

A hand I know, even though I’ve never held it.

She tapped her pen absently against the paper, trying to think of how to describe the way her chest had vibrated last night when the breeze from the hallway caught her skin.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. Setting the pen down, Nell walked to the apartment door and opened it to find a floating, fog-bodied figure.

“Hello?” she asked tentatively.

“Morning,” came the whispery, melodious reply. “And welcome! We’re Thess!”

Thess the Whisp hovered slightly off the ground, their edges rimmed with a light that changed color every few seconds: plum, gold, midnight blue. They handed Nell a paper.The Greymarket GazetteFeaturing: The New Girl in 4C!

“Oh!” Nell exclaimed, taking the paper delicately. Hadshe blacked out at any point in the past week? Because she didn’t remember giving an interview…

“We took the liberty,” Thess said, preening faintly. “We don’t name names without permission, of course. But we thought it would be rude not to acknowledge your arrival. Besides, everyone’s talking about you.”

Nell opened the paper. There, in swirling print:Mysterious new tenant moves in. Wears an opal ring. Possibly fated?

“You can correct the record in next week’sClarifications and Corrections’section,” Thess offered. “Oh, FYI, you’ve already had your first near-incident. The Lustrum was spotted on this floor last night just past the trash chute.

Jem’s words from her first day echoed sharply in Nell’s mind. “You mean…a pair of red doors?”

Thess nodded, mist pulsing gently with the motion. “Mhm. Don’t worry, it happens sometimes. Some people never see the Lustrum at all, but others draw its attention almost immediately. The doors have appearedthree timesthis month already.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not exactly,” they said. “But it’s significant. Just don’t open it unless you’reverysure. And it’s probably smart to talk to Mr. Lyle before doing anything bold. He tends to know when it's leaning hungry.”

Nell swallowed. Her ring itched faintly on her hand.

“What happens if you open the doors?”

“Depends on the day,” Thess said cheerfully. “Sometimes you meet your soulmate. Sometimes you forget your mother’s name. But it’salwaysinteresting!” They turned in a swirl of violet mist. “Welcome again, by the way. We’d love a tenant spotlight from you next month. Deadline’s the 12th!”

Before Nell could respond, they drifted down the hall, humming something that sounded suspiciously like the theme fromFriends.

Nell shut the door and stared at theGreymarket Gazettein her hand. The paper was warm, as if it had absorbed Thess’s mood. Or body heat. Or psychic residue.

She set it down on the kitchen counter, gave herself a brisk little shake, and headed toward her bedroom. Another day of work awaited her, and for the first time in a long time, that felt like a good thing.

—

The lobby was quiet when Nell came home.The chandelier overhead buzzed faintly, casting soft, amber-tinted light across the floor like melted butter.

She was halfway to the elevators when a lowshuff-shuffof rubber soles made her glance toward the corridor near the community room.

A figure was emerging slowly from the shadows: hunched, broad-shelled, wrapped in an olive cardigan that had seen better decades. He moved like gravity owed him something. His wide-brimmed glasses were fogged at the edges, and his cane made a noise like a tired cricket every time it touched the ground.

“So it’s you,” he grunted. “Hope you have a decent taste in music.”

“Wait,” Nell gasped, “What does that mean—”

But he was already shuffling past her, muttering about howThe Last Breathhad gone to hell since they killed off Rosalind and replaced her with a clone who couldn’t cry on cue.

From behind a potted ficus, a soft chirrup caught her ear. A long-legged cryptid with eyes like a lemur peeked out and whispered, “Don’t mind Mr. Caracas. That’s just how he says hello.”