Page 5 of Lessons with the Mothman (Monster Smash Agency)

CHAPTER 5

Elias

A flicker of fire out of the corner of my eye, and I set the bottle I'd been pouring from down on the bar, turning toward the front door.

Victoria walked past the windows, her gaze already searching through the glass, studying the bar. She wore a loose blouse and long pants, and she had her tortoiseshell glasses on. I'd seen them before—she seemed to wear them at night, her eyes tired from contacts perhaps. Her hair was twisted up, barely contained by a claw clip, curls frizzing into a bright halo around her face.

She didn't look toward the bar, toward me , as she entered, instead taking in the rest of the long room. Her steps faltered briefly over the threshold, and I wondered if the wave of sound, loudest now in these final hours, overwhelmed her like it sometimes did me.

A stone hand reached for the drink I'd been preparing, and I pulled the glass out of Rafe's reach.

"I assumed you were finished," he said.

I looked down and frowned. "There's only vodka."

"It's a good vodka," Hannah said, seated next to Rafe.

I turned, trying to recall what I'd been preparing for my friend but unable to resist glancing back once more. Victoria's progress was slow, partly because we were packed and partly because she didn't appear to be in any rush, weaving through the crowd, looking into the faces of those who paid her no attention. I didn't understand how every head in the room managed to avoid looking in her direction.

Moth, flame , a soft voice mocked in my head.

"Move your bag now," I said to Hannah when Victoria had almost reached us.

Hannah's eyebrows raised slightly, but she reached to the bar stool next to her and lifted the bag I'd instructed her to place. I waved to Victoria, pointing to the seat, keeping an eye on the crowd to ensure no one else grabbed it. From the counter below the bar top, I lifted a cut crystal highball glass and slid it across to Victoria before she even sat down.

"Old-fashioned variation," I said, comparing the amber of the liquid to the shade of her hair in the low watt lighting. "Victoria, these are my friends, Rafe and Hannah."

I turned back to the mirrored wall, watching the three exchange hellos and handshakes as I finished Rafe and Hannah's drinks.

"He doesn't allow us to order our own drinks either," Hannah said.

"It's his way of showing he cares," Rafe said, and I considered shoving him off the bar stool.

"I always assumed it was his way of trying to prove he could read you at a glance," Hannah muttered. Which was ironic, considering I could hardly read Hannah at all.

I frowned as I returned with their drinks, regretting asking them to stay to speak with Victoria.

"I assumed it was your way of getting to know me."

I set the drinks heavily in front of Rafe and Hannah, staring back at Victoria, her eyes a little larger behind the lenses of her glasses.

"Perhaps all three," I said, and it was too transparent an answer for my liking, but Victoria smiled. It was a barely there smile, hardly a curve and a faint softening around her eyes, but from someone so remarkably unreadable, a little went a long way. "Hannah and Rafe met through MSA. He's a gargoyle, clearly, and she transitioned into a werewolf several years ago. I think you may find a great deal of information about their relationship useful."

I hadn't planned on asking my friends to participate in Victoria's study. I hadn't planned on introducing them at all, not so soon, not when Rafe was all too aware of my own ulterior motives. But in explaining myself to them, how I was helping, what Victoria needed, Hannah had suggested the meeting herself. Which was unexpected.

"Do you allow for anonymity?" Hannah asked.

"I won't be using any real names, but personal details may be relevant," Victoria said, that momentary softness subsiding under academic professionalism. "If at any time you're not comfortable sharing information, or you feel what I need might be too revealing, I can exclude you from my material. If nothing else, an interview could help guide me with another subject."

"You can use my office," I suggested.

Victoria blinked and glanced between us. "I'm not sure an interview after social drinking?—"

"She doesn't drink alcohol, and he metabolizes it too fast to get tipsy," I said.

A shield went up in those dusk blue eyes, and I bit down on my tongue.

"Either way is fine," Rafe said lightly. "We're in town for a few months at least."

Victoria was silent, and I resisted the urge to beat my wings. It'd been a very long time since the vice of impatience had possessed me.

"Three interviews in one night is incredibly efficient," she said, taking a sip of her drink. She paused, and my stare sharpened as she rubbed the rim of the glass against her bottom lip, tongue flicking out. She liked that drink. "As long as you don't mind the late hour."

"We're used to it," Hannah said, smiling.

"Do we tell you about our sex lives together, or separately?" Rafe asked, grinning. "Did you bring a recorder? I'd hate for you to wear out your hands trying to write it all down."

Hannah rolled her eyes, and Victoria shifted her bag on her shoulder. "Separately to start. The office?"

I started to move, but Hannah waved her hand at me, sliding off the bar stool. "I know the way. Entertain my mate."

Victoria's eyes lit up with interest at that declaration, and the crowd parted slightly for the pair to slip away. I had no need to follow them. Victoria likely wouldn't welcome my interference in the interview, and Hannah certainly wouldn't.

"She doesn't like me," I said, partly to myself and partly to Rafe.

His expression was too innocent as he sipped his drink. "Which one?"

I scowled, knowing and hating the answer to his question.

"Too much of a puzzle for you?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I found a glass to wipe down, whether it needed it or not, and Rafe hummed.

"Ah, no, exactly the kind of puzzle you wanted. This is you excited ."

I made sure that Hannah and Victoria were long gone before leaning onto the bar, my arms crossing.

"It only took Khell and Sunny five days."

Rafe snorted. "That was how long their appointment was. I don't think it took them much more than five minutes to start falling in love."

"Was it that fast for you and Hannah?"

Rafe laughed. "I don't know. I mean, no, but in retrospect, it does feel like the conclusion was inevitable. Elias, are you sure you're not..." He trailed off, gaze sliding away.

"What?" I snapped.

Rafe sighed. "Projecting. You decided you want to try falling in love. You find a reasonably attractive woman?—"

"Reasonably," I scoffed.

"—who is reserved enough to present a bit of a challenge, which you like, in getting to know her. I mean, would you want it to take five days?"

I frowned. I didn't know—that was the point of experiencing love in the first place. Victoria did fascinate me, and in spite of Rafe's concern, I did understand that didn't equate to romance.

"So you're saying it should take longer for me?" I asked.

Rafe's mouth hung open for a moment, and then he let out a heaving breath, falling forward and placing his face in his hands. "Oh dear."

"Consuming a lover's blood is very sensual, just as most demonstrations of physical trust with a lover are sensual. But the act itself can be as mundane as eating a sandwich in mundane spaces," Andre offered with a shrug. "Sex itself is a slightly heightened version of the human experience, from what I can recall. And that's if I'm well-fed. If I haven't had blood in a while, it can be muted, or even sluggish or impossible."

"You rely on blood for arousal," Victoria said, looking up from her notes.

"In the same manner a human requires basic nutritional maintenance."

Victoria blinked, head tilted, and then hummed in acknowledgement. It was almost dawn, the sky the color of a thick layer of dust, and the conversation with Andre had been circling toward its conclusion for at least an hour. Every time Victoria seemed prepared to call it a night—or a nearly morning—another small detail was introduced and she followed the thread with inexhaustible curiosity.

"Another necessity for vampires is, of course, avoiding daylight," Andre said smoothly with a glance at the windows.

Victoria stared blankly back at him for a moment, her head no doubt filling with new questions, and then she followed the line of his stare, startling. "Oh! Of course. I'm so sorry?—"

"Not at all. I live very close by, and I was enjoying your attention too much to interrupt you."

I was surprised to see a spreading blush on Victoria's cheeks at the compliment.

I stood, and Andre did the same with a smile, dipping his head to me. "Good day, Elias."

"Good day. I owe you a favor," I said.

The young vampire paused, as still as a statue for a moment. "I should accept, but...no, you really don't."

"A very small one then," I offered, shrugging, impressed that he would even consider refusing.

"If you insist," he said. Victoria had risen to join us, and she shook hands in parting with Andre, offering him a faint smile, perfectly formed and serene in spite of the tired red that had crept in around her eyes.

"I'll be in touch," she said as Andre moved to the back door of the bar.

I'd turned off all the lights in the bar after closing, and the three of us had tucked ourselves into a sheltered booth, well out of sight. Andre lived in an industrial styled garden unit just down the alley and would be home within minutes. Victoria, on the other hand...

Her eyes focused into the far distance, past the walls of the bar, and she swayed slightly in place, her body exhausted even if her mind refused to settle.

"Would you like to get breakfast?" I asked. It was too early for anywhere but a twenty-four-hour diner to be open, but Rafe swore by the hashbrowns of those sorts of places.

"Coffee," Victoria murmured, and then blinked, looking surprised to see me at her side. I tried not to be too offended that she'd apparently forgotten my existence while interviewing Andre. "You offered him a favor. And if I understood the context, that wasn't lightly done?"

"Not amongst fae, no," I admitted.

Victoria wet her lips and then started gathering up her things, checking the recorder she'd been using, skimming through her notes. "You can't indebt yourself to every interview subject you find me. It isn't practical. And I suppose it muddles their motives for speaking with me."

"Fair enough. But this was useful?"

"Three interviews in one night? Yes, Elias, this was very useful," she said. There was that unshuttering again, humor and familiarity and softness in her expression. I wanted to catch her face before it turned away, and I had to tuck my fingers into my pockets to resist.

"I hadn't considered what a difference it might make to those who were born human," she said.

"I believe the increased exposure to human values and society makes a difference to those?—"

Victoria raised a finger and pressed her lips flat, shaking her head, but she didn't look angry—that hint of a smile was still in her eyes. "No, don't tell me. I have to reach my own conclusions. Where are we going?"

Victoria studied the other patrons of the diner we'd walked to with the same intensity she had Andre, sipping on the single mug of coffee she'd ordered. I'd ordered enough food to feed us both and felt a surge of triumph when blatant hunger widened her eyes as the plates hit our table.

"Help yourself," I said, arranging sides of bacon and sausage, hashbrowns, biscuits, gravy, and pancakes evenly between us.

Our weary waitress in an outdated uniform and apron paused at the periphery. "Anything else for you two?"

"Fruit?" Victoria asked, sitting and glancing back at the spread I'd offered her. "And a western omelet...and the bagel and lox platter."

The woman's eyebrows raised as she turned away from us.

"I had to have something to contribute," Victoria said, grinning and creating what could only be considered a rare miracle.

I sat back, stunned by the force of that smile, the brightness, the laughter in the corner of her eyes. She ate a slice of bacon, licking the grease off her fingertips and lips.

"Why are you doing this?" I hadn't meant to ask the question. In a way, I'd asked it once already.

Victoria's guards went up once more, but it was easier to look at her when she was hiding herself halfway—the full reveal had been blinding. Dazzling. Disarming enough to have me blurting out questions I'd meant to decipher the answer to in secret.

Then she sighed and lifted up a pancake with her bare fingers, folding it like a taco and filling it with a sausage link and a pile of hashbrowns. Rafe would've approved. I wondered what the two of them had discussed, jealous of their time alone.

"I suppose, with all I'm asking others to share, it's a good lesson in empathy to do the same," she said. When her eyes blinked, they did so slowly, as if threatening to remain closed and let her fall asleep. She was tired, and perhaps vulnerable to sharing more than she might usually. I should've apologized and changed the subject. Instead, I leaned forward, waiting for her answer.

"I have trouble achieving orgasm," she said plainly.

"Many do," I answered.

Her lips turned down, and I made myself a small plate of food, glancing at her as she ate.

"That's true. I don't achieve orgasm with a partner. Or I haven't in many years. I find the expectation to be…oppressive during intimacy," she continued.

"Is sex uncomfortable for you? Physically?"

She shook her head. "No. And I don't think I have issues with arousal."

"You don't think?"

She stared somewhere in the distance, past my head. "I was in a long-term relationship. From high school until a few years ago. I thought I was losing interest in sex altogether, and then…"

It was a struggle not to drop my fork, to fix myself to every word, to leave room between us for her to answer. Such honesty was shocking, most especially from this woman, who sometimes appeared to be all facade and reflection.

"I had an affair," she said.

I wanted to offer her my opinion—that a relationship formed as a child, one where she was losing interest and feeling obligated, was not unlikely to make her seek satisfaction elsewhere. But she didn't need an opinion.

"And did you orgasm during the affair?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I enjoyed sex again though. Craved it. And the person I was involved with was less concerned about getting me off. Perhaps that's what I liked."

A selfish lover? I frowned at that. That would prove challenging. What I enjoyed sexually was learning about the other person, discovering what aroused them and then what satisfied them. Selfishly chasing my own release was too easy—boring, really.

"If you were satisfied with your inability to reach orgasm, an equally disinterested partner wouldn't be so difficult to find," I said, tipping my head.

Victoria snorted, resting her chin in her hand and her elbow on the table. "That's true. I want too much."

Tell me what you want , I thought. "I don't think that's true," I said instead, hazarding a guess. "You want a partner who cares about your pleasure, without making you reach some arbitrary marker of that as a means to prove their own skill in sex."

Victoria's back hit the squeaky booth leather with a slap, and she glanced around the nearly deserted diner and then back at me, blinking rapidly. I swallowed hard and tried to look nonchalant as I ate. The waitress returned with another tray, negotiating new plates onto our buffet, all as Victoria stared at me in startled silence, as if she'd just woken in the conversation and realized all she'd shared.

I waited for the server to return out of earshot, and then continued, "Any luck with masturbation?"

Victoria grabbed her coffee, taking a gulp, and then settled in her seat. "Sometimes. Rarely." She shrugged. "It still feels good either way."

I nodded. Then it was the dynamic of the other person. Was she too guarded to relax around a lover? I helped myself to an underripe piece of melon and let her relax back into the silence.

"The study interests me on its own merits," she murmured, quickly foraging the pineapple out of the bowl, staking her claim. "But I suppose I was hoping there might be something for me to learn."

I nodded. "Naturally. I imagine there will be a great deal."

She blushed and shifted in her seat. "I take it that other species are much more comfortable speaking about sex than humans."

"It varies. On average, I imagine so." What else had the long-term partner instilled in her? Was it really just a matter of his frustration about getting her off, or was there more? Cautious this time, as one would be when approaching an injured wild animal, I continued, "Less to consider taboo, certainly. What humans refer to as a kink is less scandalous and more a matter of personal preference."

She paused, cheeks spotting with red, and then nodded and took a bite. "Personal preference still allows for incompatibility."

"Of course, but not shame as an accompaniment. I may not find a particular act exciting, but that doesn't mean I couldn't be accommodating for my partner."

She tilted her head. "You don't think that trait has more to do with your professionalism?"

I huffed and waved a hand. "I didn't learn that working for MSA. I simply offered my talents to them."

"As a favor?" she asked, her lips twitching.

"To their clients," I said, answering her hint of a smile with a suggestive one of my own. Finally, we were flirting. "And to the company's reputation."

She laughed at that. "You're that good?"

"I'm the best," I said, leaning back to lounge into the patched and tacky pleather seating. The fine hairs of my wings caught against old adhesive, but I kept my wince buried, refusing to break this tenuous tether of attraction between us.

Her eyes glittered. "I take it you don't just mean at MSA."

I preened as if she'd made the claim herself. "Well, now, that would take an entirely different kind of study on your part."

She laughed softly, shaking her head and returning to her food, but the blush on her cheeks spread down her throat into her collar. It was all teasing, a casual and predictable line of flirtation, but it would plant the seed.

Imagine me in your bed, Victoria , I thought, watching as she arranged herself a bagel half with cream cheese and lox with a degree of precision that showed a force of focus, a determination not to think of us together.

It was a start.