Page 7 of Lessons with the Mothman (Monster Smash Agency)

CHAPTER 7

Victoria

I passed the address twice before stopping on North Hoyne and counting every house number, turning slowly to the Victorian brick monstrosity at my back and squinting. Had Elias given me the correct street address? I'd assumed we'd be meeting at a hotel, and while this place was large enough, it looked more like a private residence.

I dug into my bag at my hip, searching for my phone to text Elias, when the front door—the front doors at the top of a high set of stone steps with two little Welsh dragons roaring in greeting at the base—cracked open, surprisingly quiet for how heavy they looked. I shrank, afraid I was about to be accused of…something, when a fluffy golden head peeked out.

"Lock the gate behind you," Elias called down.

Only years of social training kept me from gaping back at him. Questions could wait until I didn't have to shout them across a well-manicured lawn from the other side of a beautifully maintained wrought iron gate. It also refrained from any groans or creaks as I pushed it gently open, turning and latching the heavy tumbler lock behind me.

Elias shouldered the door open as I ascended the steps, glancing side to side every moment. Were we breaking into an abandoned mansion? No, of course not; it was too well kept. A history museum, perhaps?

"Elias… where are we?" I whispered.

He left me enough room to slide inside, my body brushing against his and then stumbling into a dim entry, my steps scuffing against dense carpet as I waited for my eyes to adjust.

"I didn't say? My home."

The thunk of the door closing covered the hitch of my breath at his response.

His home ?

"That's not inappropriate for your study, is it?" Elias asked, but I was too busy marveling over his answer to consider the ramifications for the study.

This was his home? His, and no one else's? Or was it like a collectively shared Gilded Age mansion? Surely the latter.

"Cyril and Atlas have been here before, and I arranged a room that I think will serve our purposes nicely. Victoria?"

I was groping somewhat blindly around me, the floor tilting under my feet. A soft hand caught my elbow and guided me to the right, easing me down onto a cushioned bench.

"It's very hot today," Elias murmured in the wake of my continued stunned silence. "I'll get you some water. Wait here."

It was hot today, oppressively so, a last blaze of summer in September, climbing over into the triple digits in the city where the pavement baked and caused the air to shimmer with reflected heat. Elias was probably right that it contributed to my wobble. The other explanations—that I hadn't expected the mothman to own an exquisite mansion, that I'd stayed up too late thinking about what was happening today, that I'd been too nervous and excited to eat this morning—were better left undisclosed.

I caught my breath at last, adjusting to the low lighting of the art deco chandelier overhead, and satisfied my curiosity. The entryway was warm, my fingers brushing over the crushed velvet of the cushion I sat on, eyes drinking in the large, bucolic landscape of some English countryside across from me. There was a coat stand with a few tweed style jackets hanging from the arms and an old felt hat resting on top. I stood slowly, crossing closer, and spread one of the jackets open. It didn't have an open back for Elias's wings, and I highly doubted anyone else had arrived in a wool jacket on a day like today. The linings were silk, with old-fashioned labels carefully stitched below the collar and not a stain or tear to be seen, like vintage clothing that had never actually been worn.

Strange.

I turned and faced the hall, eyes widening at the enormous figure waiting past a few opened doors. A stuffed black bear, slightly more worn, obviously an acquired antique, and also topped with a hat, this one straw. Carefully propped in his hand was an ancient fishing pole, line running through the loops and a glittering, sharp, ornately painted tackle dangling, as if the bear might walk off to the lake at any moment.

Through one cracked door, I glimpsed a grand piano; through another, a sitting room that reminded me of the carefully curated mid-century modern style my mother had chosen as well.

Past the fishing bear were short halls splitting off in either direction, but directly ahead of me was a broad staircase leading up to a landing that separated the wings of the house. The long carpet I walked on was thick and spotless, the gleaming sconces running along the hall made of polished brass. The house was beautiful, and so…precise. It did look like a history museum actually, although one with a slightly tilted sense of humor, based on my bear friend.

Curiosity nipped at my heels, tempting me up the stairs or around one of the corner hallways. I hadn't seen which way Elias had gone, but I wasn't sure I wanted to be found quite yet. The house was cool, and it begged to be explored.

Then light steps whispered closer from my left, and Elias appeared once more with ice water and lemon in a tall, cut crystal glass. He was dressed in loose pants—linen, I guessed, although there wasn't a wrinkle to be seen yet—and a white shirt that was only buttoned halfway up, a slightly darker gold fur exposed on his chest. I wanted to muss him, to tease him for the tweed jackets that were clearly hanging on a coatrack for effect rather than use, but I bit my tongue and accepted the cold glass with steady fingers.

"You didn't mention that we'd be meeting at your house, no," I said, raising a hand to continue without interruption. "But I don't think it's an issue in this case. Other than hotels or their homes, I can't think of a lot of options. The university certainly wouldn't give us access to space on campus."

Elias tipped his head, eyes scanning his home aimlessly. "There are some private clubs we can consider for the future, but I did my best to create an appropriate atmosphere. Would you like to see?"

I wanted to see everything in this home. Walking inside, discovering that Elias lived here, had created a vast unknown in his character I hadn't considered before, and now I wanted all the missing information. And also perhaps to stall a little longer.

"Are Cyril and Atlas here already?" I asked.

Elias sighed and nodded. "Mm, they're an eager pair. I've told them this is for academic purposes, but I'll warn you…they love an audience. Would you like to be alone with them, or should I stay?"

"Stay," I said, immediate and firm, my hands fisting tighter around the straps of my bag. If I were alone, I was afraid it would be too easy to…enjoy the experience. Hopefully, the awkwardness of someone else watching me watch the couple would keep me focused.

Elias nodded, and gestured back in the direction he'd come. "Shall we?"

I nodded, wetting my lips, but when he turned to lead the way, I found myself unable to follow. "I'm nervous," I blurted out in a whisper.

Elias stopped and turned back to me, frowning. "What aspects are making you nervous?"

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders easing. It was the right question. A problem to solve, a list to make. And although I'd had some regrets of how much I'd shared with him a week ago, it also made it easier to spill uncomfortable honesties once more.

"I'm concerned I'll be aroused."

Elias blinked, lips curving slightly. "Ah. I hadn't realized we shouldn't be," he said. "They would certainly be offended if we weren't."

I jerked slightly at that, a little thrill racing through me at the same time that a dozen more thoughts—about professionalism, about whether or not what I was doing could be strictly considered academic—started churning in demand.

"I don't think arousal is an issue, unless it interferes in your ability to observe and record and ask questions," Elias mused. "Do you find that your arousal tends to overwhelm your intellect?"

"Unfortunately not," I said without thinking, then sipped water to keep myself from saying more. I should've eaten earlier. Maybe I hadn't quite recovered from the heat, or the shock, or?—

"I find it difficult to quiet the analytical mind during sex as well," Elias said, which did quiet mine. "It's part of what I enjoy about sex work—it serves me better there than during personal intimacy."

"I'll still have questions," I said, relaxing slowly.

"They'll be delighted to answer them," Elias said, flexing his wings. "We'll just have to be mindful of when they get a bit…performative, rather than authentic. I'll be able to tell."

Because you have experience watching them have sex? I wondered. Or having sex with them? Neither question was relevant.

I inhaled deeply and released it with a soft nod. "All right. I'm ready."

"Good. Hopefully, they haven't started without us."

I thought Elias was joking, but when we arrived in the large room with an enormous king bed at the center, as if it were a stage, it was clear something was taking place. Except there was too much to see all at once—the velvet curtains draping down the walls, a hint of sunlight bleeding through from the far wall, the lighting that had been arranged on tracks, bulbs turned to the bed like spotlights, the low seating bordering the bed at every side. My face heated in understanding. Elias had made sure that I would have a thorough view, that we might move about the room, watching this pair.

And there they were, perched at the edge of the bed, a huge white minotaur with a dark snout and brown ears, nuzzling into the inky black hair of the elegant naga at his side. I'd never seen a naga in person, and I now had an obstructed eyeful. I wasn't sure what clothing someone who was half snake and half human in appearance might wear, and I still wouldn't know because Cyril was already naked, bronze brown chest gleaming, long indigo blue tail twisting like liquid over the edge of the bed, around his lover and?—

Oh. Down into Cyril's trousers.

"I believe I told you that the interview would take place before the display," Elias greeted them dryly.

Atlas chuffed, ruffling Cyril's long hair, and turned to face us, ears tipping down in what somehow read as a minotaur's equivalent of a blush.

"We got bored," Cyril said simply, offering me a fanged smile. He had vivid green eyes with slitted pupils, high cheekbones, and slightly longer than human nostrils, but he was undeniably beautiful with an otherworldly grace.

Atlas reached down to his lap, and Cyril's more slender end of his tail slipped free of the partially undone waistband as the minotaur rose to his full and enormous height. It was a good thing Elias had outrageously high ceilings, because I was sure Atlas was at least eight feet tall. His arousal, swollen firmly against the tight fit of his pants, down into the left pant leg, was generously proportional.

I wondered if I could back out into the hall and steal another few minutes of being overwhelmed alone.

Atlas offered me a slight bow. "Cyril is incorrigible. And he wants you to know how excited he" —Cyril cleared his throat and arched a sharp brow— " we are to help you with your study."

Cyril leaned back on the heels of his hands, the many muscles of his abdomen tensing, and I realized with growing amusement that he was showing off. For me, or for Elias? Perhaps the whole room. To be fair, he was so beautiful he rightly deserved a larger audience. He leaned forward, rising up on his tail, and then I thought maybe he just needed to work his core that much for the sake of his own movement.

"I've always found intelligence stimulating," Cyril purred, offering me a heavy lidded glance.

"Quit flirting," Elias said, just a hint of a snap. "Her study is important to her."

Cyril just grinned and batted heavy lashes at Elias. "I prefer to call it 'admiration.' 'Study' makes me feel like an insect."

My eyes widened at the obvious insult to Elias, whose wings shivered at his back.

"Would you say you're posturing for dominance at the moment?" I asked, stepping forward, gesturing between Cyril and Elias.

Cyril blinked at me and then released an airy laugh, curling his tail beneath him and settling into the cushion it provided. "My kind tends to flirt…aggressively. So, yes, a bit of that, and a bit just to see if I can rile the fae. He's too composed."

I nodded as Elias huffed and slipped behind me, sitting down on one of the benches he'd arranged.

"Would you say you flirt more with verbal sparring, or physical touch?" I asked, pulling my recorder from my bag.

Cyril swayed in my direction, head tilting invitingly. "Would you like to find out?"

"With a verbal answer, yes," I said.

Atlas stuffed his hands in his pockets, laughing silently, his broad shoulders shaking, and Cyril's eyes glinted at me, some internal debate waging for a moment before he sighed.

"Verbal sparring is the invitation. If it's accepted, I move quickly to physical. That's common amongst Nagavanshi."

"Is the physical competition aggressive as well?"

Atlas grunted but ducked his head and let Cyril answer. "Very. We like to trap, to test the strength of our partner. Coiling is common."

"Coiling?"

Cyril glanced at Atlas, who lifted his head, full mouth curving as he nodded. Cyril straightened, chest broadening, and snapped quickly upward, tail lashing out and wrapping itself around Atlas's waist, dragging him closer as Cyril swirled around, delicate tail end settling around the minotaur's ankle, Cyril's arms draped over Atlas's shoulders, his head tucked under a sharp horn, their cheeks pressed together. Atlas's arms tensed and swelled against Cyril's thick, scaled body, and his hips rocked forward, making the pair of them wobble in place.

"Is the goal to see if they can free themselves? Like a challenge?"

Cyril chuckled, and Atlas shook his head. "It's to see how long it takes for us to surrender," Atlas answered.