Page 2 of Lessons with the Mothman (Monster Smash Agency)

CHAPTER 2

Victoria

I sucked in a breath as the back door of my parents' home clicked shut behind me. A beautifully air-conditioned breeze enveloped me, cooling the sweat under my breasts and down my back in an instant. I pinched the loose fabric of my blouse and flapped it for a moment, letting my body adjust after the sweltering heat of high summer. My car's AC had barely made a dent in the temperature, but even the movement of hot air was better than roasting alive.

A head ducked around the corner of the kitchen, with thick gray curls and soft wrinkles around blue eyes. "Victoria."

I sighed, managing a smile for the stalwart housekeeper I'd grown up with. "Rebecca. I would hug you, but I'm disgusting. Is there?—"

"A change of clothes for you in the laundry room. They're a bit old, but they'll do," she said, waving a hand toward the door on the left side of the mudroom. "I'll get you some water. Or would you prefer?—"

"Water is perfect. And all the ice the party can spare," I said.

Rebecca laughed and slipped away. My father was notoriously paranoid about the ice supply of a party. Or he liked to have an excuse to duck out a few times, to leave the oppressively chummy energy of the gatherings my mother organized and grab a moment to himself at the convenience store just a mile away.

Mom always said I took after him too much.

I grimaced at the dress I found, folksy and sweet and covered in flowers, but the round collar came up to my neck and I supposed it was the best Rebecca could do. I hadn't left behind clothes I actually liked when I'd moved out. At least I was mostly the same size. The zipper fought with me but finished the journey up without threatening to split any seams. I shimmied out of my jeans and left them folded on the top of the washer for when I left.

My body felt too exposed as I walked out of the laundry room and through the hall to the kitchen, my arms bare and the skirt ending higher on my thighs than anything I'd worn in a year or more. When was the last time I had shaved my thighs? At least my hair there was light, a blonder version of my red.

"Vicky, there you are."

My throat tightened and I stopped in the doorway, the high, sunny windows streaking light through my favorite room in the whole house. Were kitchens always the heartbeat of a home, or was it simply because this was Rebecca's domain and she had more warmth than the rest of us combined? But even the glimmering streaks of sunshine and my proxy maternal figure couldn't stand up against the icy slash of energy that ran from me to the older woman standing in the doorway to my left. Had Rebecca summoned my mother, or had she come into the kitchen to add another splash of vodka to her lemonade without the rest of the party watching?

"I can't stay long," I said reflexively, adding for effect, "I have a meeting, actually. That's why I drove out."

My mother arched a brow, lips cutting up at the corners in a sardonic smile. "How lucky for us. Come and say hello to the Grahams, at least."

She turned, her own dress loose and simple, a short silk sheath—it had to be short; she was as petite as I was, and longer styles swallowed us and dragged on the ground—in a shade of blue so refreshing it cooled the heat on my cheeks. Her blonde hair—it should've been gray by now, but my mother was religiously devoted to her colorist appointments—was twisted into a low bun, a few strands brushing against her smooth cheeks.

She let out a soft laugh halfway down the hall, a heady sound that heralded her arrival back to the party. "Look who I found creeping in through the back door."

I straightened my shoulders, and my lips formed a smile that I'd learned from the hostess herself—warm and welcoming, delighted to be here, to see you, to enjoy such a beautiful summer day with such wonderful friends. "As long as there is air-conditioning of course," delivered with a chuckle and a wink.

In the corner of the parlor, curled together on a chair not meant for two, a young couple turned their gazes away from mine.

"I suppose someone has to be the academic," Wendy, one of my mother's clique from the country club, said with a laugh. "Save the rest of us from our ignorance."

"I'm not personally so confused about my gender that I need a study on it," Wendy's husband, whose name I could never remember, chimed in, before reaching around my back and squeezing me twice to his side, his fingers groping the side of my breast.

"Oh, Bobby," Wendy huffed.

Bob. Of course. There were at least three Bob's here this afternoon in some variation of Robert.

"It's a wide umbrella of study," I said, my smile growing tired as I ignored the warning glance from my mother. She wouldn't want me getting specific.

"Only really leads back down one road, though, doesn't it? Academia is just feeding itself a work force of the over-educated…"

My mother took my elbow, peeling me away from the group with a gentle excuse that didn't interrupt Bob's great thesis on academia and gender. Neither of which really had much to do with my actual field of study.

"There's some mail for you on our bed. You're leaving soon?" Mom murmured under her breath, her arm looping through mine, head bowed close. We looked cozy like this—a charming mother-daughter relationship. At least she was giving me the opportunity to leave the room. My mask must've started to slip, and she wouldn't want them to see me without it. I glanced at a clock. I had time to spare, but I could always find somewhere to get a coffee on my way.

"Sure, I'll go grab that now," I said, glancing back at the room.

I'd lost track of my sister, Emma, during the conversation with Wendy and her husband, but I searched the room now, hoping to grab a moment before I left. Hopefully, without an audience. Just enough to say hi, to offer the same chance to get coffee or dinner together in the city. She would say yes and then make her excuses with every gently probing text message I sent, but it was worth a shot.

My mother and I parted ways as she caught hold of one of my father's law office friends, and I slipped down the hall and over to the curling set of stairs near the front door. Sunlight was at an angle now, painting the floorboards and well-worn carpet with the stained glass panels of the door. Most of my parents' friends had moved out of the historic district and farther out from the city, giving up the upkeep of a classic home in favor of more space and modern amenities with larger yards. I could see the itch to do the same in my mother's eyes sometimes, but Dad loved Oak Park. He'd grown up here and spoke of the history of his family and the city with pride.

If my parents ever did decide to move, Emma would probably get the house. It was a house for a family, after all, and she was on the right path for that sort of thing. The path I'd almost taken. I paused at the top of the stairs, arrested by a low, familiar rumble.

The same path. The same man.

I was jolted back into movement by the tight giggle that answered, darting into my bedroom directly on the right. I paused inside, closing the door as quietly as I could behind me, my gaze drifting absently around the space. Sky blue wallpaper with delicate daisies, whose yellow centers matched the bright lace curtains hanging over the two windows that looked down on quiet Elm Street, on the old oak at the corner of the lawn, and the tire swing Emma and I had painted pink, now chipped and scarred with time. My twin bed faced me, wood frame painted white with modest posts topped with round bulbs. I'd begged for a canopy— too tacky , my mother refused—and settled instead for draping chiffon from the ceiling, but that had long since been removed in my absence.

There were all the signs of the teenage girl who'd once lived in this room—torn out magazine pages pasted to poster boards, and the brief resurgence of polaroids pinned around the window, the faces of friends I'd lost touch with staring back at me with huge grins and bold makeup, smeared after long nights in the city.

A moan and a hitch of breath slipped through the old vent at the corner of the room where my wall connected to my sister's room. The hair rose on the back of my neck.

A small stack of envelopes rested against the pillow, all advertisements and credit card offers. It'd been years since I'd lived at home, and nothing important came here anymore. All I had to do was cross the small space, grab the mail, and leave again.

"Uhn, baby, yes, that's it."

This room belonged to a long-lost acquaintance now, but I still knew every creaking floorboard on my way to the bed, and I moved slowly and carefully, face flushed as I listened.

"God, yes, you're so close now, aren't you, baby?"

"Y-yes, Brett. Please!"

I cringed at my sister's voice. This was sick. I was sick. And fascinated. Was she lying, the way I had? Had she learned to fake pleasure for him? I doubted it. He'd been able to tell with me, and it had been a strange start to a crumbling finish between us, every false moan chipping away another piece of any connection we might have had.

"Yes, yes, you're gonna come so hard for me. I can feel it starting. Such a good girl. You're so greedy for my cock, aren't you?"

I blushed as I made it to the bed, my fingers closing numbly around my mail.

"Fuck. Fuck, you get so tight. Holy shit, baby." My former fiancé's voice took on a broken whine as he spoke to his current fiancé, my younger sister.

Messy , I thought, a dry voice in the back of my head. It was the same voice that had privately mocked Brett's attempts at dirty talk, words stolen right out of the cheapest porn. You're so tight. You like that, don't you? Come for me , as if it was as easy as ordering me to do so.

I ducked my head as their voices grew ragged and breathy, words of praise and gratitude tumbling together. I needed to leave. If Emma caught me sneaking away after having heard them, it was only going to make her more uncomfortable around me.

Everyone thought I was the injured party, even though I was the one who'd broken off the engagement with Brett. I think they had a hard time believing the truth. Why would I give up my devoted, handsome high school sweetheart with a lakeside condo and a seven-figure income? Why would I choose to live in a cramped apartment in an unstylish city neighborhood, toiling at a useless degree? Why wouldn't it sting to see Brett move on to my younger sister in a matter of months, to see a bigger, shinier diamond on her hand than the one he'd given me?

I wasn't exactly happier without Brett, I supposed. My parents and all of our family and acquaintances were right about that. But at least I wasn't promising to spend a lifetime with someone who made me unhappy.

Brett was happier without me. Emma, who'd had a crush on my boyfriend from the moment he'd picked me up for junior year homecoming, was happier with him. And in spite of what everyone wanted to believe, I was glad for that.

I snuck out of my old bedroom, out of the house, without another word to anyone.

The Monster Smash Agency headquarters were only a twenty-minute drive from my parents' place, and I arrived too early for my meeting, once again sweating in the blouse and jeans I'd changed back into. The building had a discreet sign on the front lawn, declaring it simply as MSA, and looked like one of the beautiful old Victorians of the neighborhood that had been converted into an office building when the upkeep for such a home became too much.

I pulled the key from the ignition and watched as a massive green orc lumbered out of the building and down the stairs. She was wearing a pretty wrap dress and shrugged a gym bag over her shoulder, long dark braid swinging with her steps, tusks gleaming white as she raised her face to the sunlight.

Uptown was one of the more mixed-species neighborhoods in the city, but between school and my commute, I didn't spend much time there outside of my apartment. The only other species I'd really interacted with much was my incubus friend, Lyle. He was the one who'd given me a number of places to reach out to for help.

Monster Smash Agency was the only one who'd agreed to arrange a meeting.

The chance of air conditioning in the waiting room of the building—and the potential for people watching—was more tempting than sitting in my car, so I grabbed my tablet and purse and headed for the front door. It was quiet inside. An older human man was leaving as I entered, eyes bright and hair mussed—a satisfied customer. He winked as he passed me, and I turned my face away, heading toward the counter.

"Can I help you?" The receptionist stared up at me as I gave my name, slitted black pupils in vibrant blue eyes flicking across my face. Golden ram's horns curled back from her temples. "I'll let them know you're here. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?"

"We're ready, actually, Gwen," a silky voice called, before a petite woman stepped through the doorway. She was exquisitely beautiful, with high cheekbones and a full pout, pink hair rolling over her shoulders in smooth waves, and two opalescent horns high on her forehead. A succubus. "Elias got here early for once. It's nice to meet you, Victoria. I'm Astraeya."

I caught my breath, a rare bubble of excitement building up in my chest. Standing in front of this perfect confection of a woman made me too aware of the sweat sticking my blouse to my skin; of the thinned patches where my thighs rubbed together and wore away my jeans, threatening to split the fabric at any moment; of the ragged edge of my nails, no longer maintained with regular manicure appointments. I shook her hand and tried not to shiver at her cool touch.

She smiled warmly, and I swallowed hard. "Thank you for answering my email," I said, wrapping my arms around myself, my tablet cradled to my chest.

She waved a hand. "You have Elias to thank, actually. I'd lost track of it, but he found it in the mess of my files."

Elias . She'd mentioned the name in my email. A fae who was interested in assisting me. I followed her down a cool hall, a gust of cold air rising up from a grate.

"This meeting is to introduce the two of you, and also to discuss terms for where the Agency might be able to help, if you decide you need us." She paused outside of a closed door for a moment and then turned to me, lowering her voice. "The Agency will make those terms sound like a requirement, but they aren't."

I opened my mouth to question her, but she swung the door open before I had a chance to speak. Huge dark eyes were the first thing I saw, staring out of a sea of gold and amber, a monstrous face taking up an entire wall. And then the figure turned, and the eyes stretched and shifted, and I shook my head. Not eyes, but the pattern of beautiful, glimmering, and enormous moth-like wings.

My mouth dried at the sight of him, ethereal and eerie, tall and entirely inhuman, with large onyx eyes and shimmering antennae. A thin layer of skin closed from side to side as he blinked, and his head tipped, cheek brushing into the thick and so wonderfully soft looking mane of deep, brassy fur that circled his neck and shoulders.

"Victoria, this is Elias, who I mentioned in my reply to you," Astraeya offered. "And Juno will be discussing various options to you about how the Agency might be able to assist your research."

I spared a glance at Juno, who appeared to be middle management, dressed in a full pantsuit with a curiously writhing and hissing turban atop their head and intensely black glasses that blocked their stare. They sat at the head of the table, with an intimidating stack of paperwork and an open laptop. But I couldn't keep my gaze off the mothman figure across from me, the late afternoon sunlight illuminating his partially open wings and making him almost holy in appearance.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, bending at the hips, bowing slightly to me, a smooth and refined edge in his voice that my body responded to with uncharacteristic eagerness.

Intrigue and caution flared in equal measure, and I stepped into the meeting room as he straightened. Black eyes crinkled at the corners, and a hint of canine fang flashed in his smile.