Page 19 of Lessons with the Mothman

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."

Itwashot 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. Itdidlook 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 seeeverythingin 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 wantedallthe 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 afraidit 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, whichdidquiet 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."

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