Page 66 of Claimed By the Mothman

He was so sweet at the dinner party.He made a salad.He played charades with aggressive dignity.

“Oh gods, I’m doing this, aren’t I.” She drew a sharp, stunned breath. “Goldie!”

Her friend looked up and Nell waved the magnet in the air like a beacon. “I’m getting this. Thoughts?”

Goldie appeared at her elbow a moment later, holding a pack of envelopes and squinting at the magnet in Nell’s hand like it might be contagious.

“Oh no,” she said flatly. “No. Nell,no.Are you—wait—are you actually thinking of givingthatto sexy Sig?Nell.Is this a passive-aggressive bond rejection? Because I swear to the minor gods, if you sabotage yourselfwith glitter foil—”

“Shut up and stick to your envelopes,” Nell muttered, elbowing her.

Goldie made a long, dramatic groaning sound, like a dying Victorian heroine with opinions. “It has sparkles,Nell.Sparkles!”

Yeah. It was perfect.

—

Back in her apartment, Nell set the magnet on her counter like she was afraid it might disappear in a poof of sparkle and shame.

It was horrible quality. The foil was flaking in one corner, and the detailing had been applied with the chaotic hand of a sugar-hyped toddler. But it made her smile. Every time she looked at it, she saw wings and stars and a kind of ridiculous sincerity that reminded her of… well.Him.

She hovered over it for a full minute before grabbing a pad of sticky notes.

She wrote something. Crumpled it up. Then started a second. Crumpled that too. Groaned and dropped her head in her hands. By the time she got to the third sticky note, she gave up trying to be clever and just wrote what her hands wanted to say.

Once she was finished, she slapped the note carefully on the back of the magnet and took a deep breath. Looked at the note again, reached for it, and then pulled her hand back quickly.

“Nope,” she muttered, “we are not overthinking this.”

She was going to overthink thisforever.

The elevator was already waiting at the end of the hallway. As soon as she stepped inside, the doors closedalmostall the way, paused, and then shut with the smug finality of someone sayingmm-hmm.

She glared at the doors. “Keep your comments to yourself.”

It finally let her off on the fourteenth floor with a wheeze that sounded suspiciously like it was whisperinggood luck.

She strode down the hall with forced confidence, crouched low in front of Sig’s door, and placed the magnet gently on the doormat like it was a secret spell. Then she speed-walked back toward the elevator as fast as dignity would allow.

She made it back to her own floor in record time by threatening to pry the buttons off the elevator’s panel, then raced down the hall.

There, resting neatly in the center of her doormat like it had been placed by reverent hands, was something small and pale and smooth. She knelt carefully and picked it up.

It was a hand-carved wooden comb, gently curved, with fine teeth sanded to a satin finish. There was a slight asymmetry to it that yelledthis has been made just for you.

Nell stared at it, breath caught somewhere behind her ribs.

“Of course you did,” she whispered.

She pressed the comb to her chest and traced the grain of the wood with her fingers. Her heart flared and she gave a gasping laugh.

Very gently, she turned the handle of her door and stepped inside.

—

Sig returned to his floor as the tower lights shifted toward dusk. The air smelled faintly of peppermint and old stone. The garden’s grounding hum still lingered in his limbs, softening the sharp places.

He reached his door and stopped. Something had been left there. A small object. Paper tucked beneath it. He crouched slowly, talons curling against the worn carpet.