Page 11 of Moth to a Flame

She let out a long sigh, and that bone-deep sadness welled up. “It’s a long story.”

That sadness—it wasn’t even mine, but it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. What had happened to her? I’d had my fair share of heartbreak, and I’d never felt this way.

I’d ruined her ritual and broken her greenhouse. The least I could do was not make her feel like this. I took the receiver from her and held it to my ear as she dialed the number, the mechanism slowing clicking back after each digit.

Despite the late hour, the phone rang only once before the voice of an older woman came through.

“Lucia? I’m surprised to be getting a call from you, darling. Do you need me to come by?”

“Actually, ma’am, my name is Hawk, and I’m calling on Lucia’s behalf.” Years of customer-service voice snapped into place. It took a great deal of willpower not to automatically parrot my Acheron Delivery Services spiel.

I hadn’t expected the cackling laugh on the other end of the line.

“Well, don’t you sound handsome? And what, pray tell, are you doing at that nice young lady’s house at this hour?”

Was it possible to hear the waggling of eyebrows through a phone?

My neck heated, and Lucia raised her eyebrows.

“What is she saying?”

“Nothing.”

Her disbelief was immediate. “Then why are you feeling so embarrassed?”

Before I could even try to come up with a lie, the woman’s voice came through the receiver again.

“You still there, handsome? What does my girl need?”

“There has been an…incident, and Lucia said you might be able to help her?”

“I’ll be there in two beats of a bat’s wing.”

She hung up, and I set the receiver back on its cradle.

Lucia looked at me expectantly.

“She’s on her way.”

I knew this Gertrude lady was near because the creature I’d learned was named Mugen was circling the front door like a sentry, alternating between prowling with his back arched, flapping around the doorframe, and clinging to the walls while making an irritated yowling sound.

“Mugen, you’re all right,” Lucia murmured, trying to comfort the agitated creature. “I’m sure Gertrude won’t bring⁠—”

As Lucia said it, gravel crunched beneath car tires in the driveway. I peered through the cut-crystal glass of the door to see an older woman with short, curly white hair climb out, a fluffy white dog yapping at her heels.

Mugen immediately let out an ear-piercing screech.

“Go upstairs if Snowflake bothers you that much!” Lucia swatted at the cat-bat, but he flew just out of her reach and landed on the curtain rod nearest the door.

A knock sounded. Lucia opened the door and gave a small wave.

“I’m here, darling. We will get this sorted right away, and this handsome young man is going to explain to me everything about himself and why he looks like he lost a fight.”

“I did,” I said, ignoring the first part—and the fact that the fight had been with a window.

Gertrude patted my cheek on her way past, which nobody had done since I was nine, and steered her little white dog inside with her foot. Mugen made a noise from the curtain rod not dissimilar to a teakettle.

“Now.” She dropped a carpetbag on the hall table and turned to Lucia. “Yes or no, darling. Are you hurt?”