Chapter 21 #2
“Perfect. You’re the best; I love you.”
“You are my heart, beloved,” Sig responded solemnly, and Goldie heard his footsteps walking towards the front door, which opened and then quietly shut.
Nell stroked Goldie’s hair, slow and steady. For a few precious moments Goldie allowed herself to just… be. Breathing with her her best friend as the world trembled all around her.
Finally, Goldie sniffed, sat up, and scrubbed at her face with both hands.
Nell studied her solemnly. Her brown curls had half-escaped their ponytail and were frizzing into an absurdly flattering soft halo.
“It’s the engagement between that selkie influencer and the barghest from Channel Eight,” Nell said gravely. “Isn’t it.”
Goldie barked out a wet laugh. “Exactly. I can handle murder and mayhem, but I cannot handle their seaside proposal photoshoot and his soulful, glowing eyes.”
Nell patted her cheek. Then she stood, brushing her cardigan sleeves down, and headed to the kitchen, grabbing her phone from her fallen purse along the way.
“I’m ordering pizza now and bringing you more wine!” she called. “Do you want to talk about it or not? Do you want to watch TV or not? Do you want to drink until we’re blind or not?”
“The very last part!” Goldie yelled, voice cracking.
“Good!” Nell hollered back.
A pause. A clatter. Then Nell returned like a conquering hero, two boxes of wine hugged to her chest and a party bucket of ice swinging from the crook of her arm. Her eyes flashed white for a heartbeat, and then she blinked and sat cross-legged on the floor.
“Drink up,” she declared, plunking the wine boxes and ice in front of Goldie. “We’ll fix cosmic weirdness tomorrow. Tonight, you’re getting blitzed.”
Goldie stared into the sauvignon blanc like she might find the secrets of the universe swirling in the ice cubes. Her shoulders had finally started to loosen a fraction, and she raised the glass to her lips and threw it all back. It helped. The presence of Nell helped more.
“What did you tell Sig just now?” she asked, snatching the wine box and sloppily refilling her glass.
“I told him to watch for the pizza and let me know when it’s here.” Nell filled her glass to the brim with cabernet franc and clinked it against Goldie’s. “No notes, no interruptions. He’s going to visit Orell to see her new loom, so they’ll be up until the wee hours of the morning.”
Goldie snorted. “He’s a saint. What did he ask in return?”
Nell grinned over the rim of her wine glass, her eyes crinkling smugly. “Nothing. I promised him a blow job.”
Goldie choked, wine going up her nose. “Seriously?”
Nell’s eyes glittered with wicked amusement. “He can’t get enough, and I love doing it, so it’s the perfect bribe.”
Goldie slapped a hand over her mouth, then burst into a helpless cackle. “You whore. I’m so proud of you.”
“You know it.” Nell’s grin softened into something cozy as she held up her fingers to motion a smidgen. “He likes it only this much less than doing the same to me, which means I’ll be reaping my own rewards later.”
Goldie collapsed sideways into the couch cushion with a groan. “Ugh. And you haven’t introduced me to any of his brothers or cousins because why?”
Nell laughed, bright at first, but then the sound tapered off into something quieter. She swirled the wine in her glass. “Because, darling, Sig doesn’t have any brothers or cousins. And because…”
She paused, her tone dipping into the careful register she usually saved for fragile books and fragile feelings. “Because something’s wrong. What is it?”
The air shifted. Goldie felt it like static against her skin. Nell’s gaze stayed steady, unflinching. “You were weird at the library today. You’ve been buzzing since you found the body. And not just because you found a dead body. So. What’s up?”
Goldie sighed. Took a few gulps of wine. Let herself try to line the chaos up into something coherent. She set the glass down, drew a deep breath, and looked straight at Nell—
—only to see her best friend’s eyes flashing faintly white, her mouth moving silently, obviously talking to her mothman.
Goldie shrieked and kicked Nell’s ankle. “You bitch!”
Nell blinked, her eyes clearing back to green. “What? I was just asking him if you’d said anything about the whole sleepwalking police horny blood word vomit you laid on me when I walked through the door!”
Goldie moaned and slapped her forehead with her wine glass. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… a lot.”
Nell took a slow sip, eyes narrowing. “Uh-huh. You going to tell me, or am I supposed to read about it in the threads?”
So Goldie told her, her words halting at first and then spilling out in a rush.
The Grove Core clawing at her skin. Finding Marlow’s body.
The Thornfather’s Assistant finding her and carrying her to her apartment.
The vines that left her rattled and blissed out in equal measure.
The rejection. The out-of-body strangeness she couldn’t shake. Everything.
By the time Goldie ran out of words, her glass was empty again. She poured herself more, her voice wobbling. “And now I’m ready to jump on anyone with a Y chromosome. It’s ridiculous. It’s annoying. And it’s not me.”
Silence stretched for a beat. Nell reached across the table, her hand warm and steady on Goldie’s wrist.
“You’re still you,” she said softly. “Just… hornier than usual. Which is saying something.”
Goldie huffed a laugh that broke on a hiccup. “Gods, that’s sentimental.”
“Of course it is. I’m getting drunk.” Nell’s smile tilted sharply, and for the briefest instant, her eyes flashed white. “Oh good. Sig says that the pizza’s here. I’ll go grab it.”
Goldie sat up, pointing an accusatory finger. “Do not give him a blow job while I’m waiting for my food.”
Nell cackled, vanishing into the hall.
Left alone, Goldie chugged another glass, then poured herself one more. The edges of the room were very fuzzy now. Her body buzzed with warmth, but underneath, something else stirred. Something that wasn’t just alcohol.
She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Her skin prickled, like the static charge before a storm. The wine glass in her hand vibrated faintly, as though the air itself were humming. Goldie swallowed hard. “Nope, building. Don’t get fucky on me tonight.”
The door swung open and Nell reappeared, a pizza box balanced on one hip, wine glass in her other hand. She set the box down with a thunk and collapsed beside Goldie, draining the last swallow of her glass before immediately refilling it.
“Okay,” Nell said, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, hair halo-frizzed around her face. “Eat. Carbs. Now.”
Goldie flipped open the pizza box, grabbing a slice and cramming it into her mouth. Nell did the same. They clinked their wine glasses like champagne flutes and chewed noisily.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Nell asked after swallowing a huge mouthful of pizza.
“It?”
“The sleepwalking. The police. The hot council guy, and the Assistant with the amazing vines. All of it.”
Goldie slumped back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
"Well," Nell said thoughtfully, "if it were me? I'd at least figure out a way to keep yourself in your apartment at night. I'm sure if you asked the building nicely, it would lock you down."
The lights gave a little flicker—not annoyed, exactly, but distinctly huffy. A low groan rippled through the radiator pipes, like an old man clearing his throat before delivering bad news.
Both women looked up.
"Okay," Nell said slowly. "That sounded like a no."
Goldie jabbed a finger at the ceiling, fortified by too much wine. “What do you mean, no? Do you want me arrested for trespassing? Because I am far too pretty to go to jail. Prison orange clashes horribly with my complexion.”
The floorboards shuddered once, sharp and decisive.
Goldie narrowed her eyes. "That felt like a no, we do not want you in jail because you're right about the orange kind of thump."
"Great," Nell said, settling back with her wine like she was preparing for a show. "So, what do you want?"
The curtains stirred though no window was open, a gentle, almost shy movement. A faint pulse ran through the walls, like a heartbeat muffled in plaster and old secrets.
Goldie rubbed her temples. “I don’t know what that means. You’re worse than tarot cards.”
The building's response was distinctly offended—a sharp creak from the crown molding that sounded remarkably like a sniff.
Nell leaned forward, pointing to the French doors that led onto the smallest balcony in her apartment. "Okay, let's make this simple. Those doors are yes." She swung around to gesture at the larger balcony doors. "Those are no. Crystal clear?"
The far-left doors creaked open an inch, then shut again with a polite little click that somehow managed to sound pleased with itself. Yes.
Goldie’s mouth fell open. “Oh, gods. We’re playing Twenty Questions with our sentient apartment building.”
“Believe it or not, this isn’t the weirdest game I’ve ever played,” Nell said dryly.
“I do not need to know this about your sex life.”
The building gave a soft pulse, like laughter deep in the bones of the floorboards.
“All right,” Nell said briskly, squaring herself to the nearest wall like it was a podium. “Let’s clear some things up. Building! Do you want Goldie to go to jail?”
The far-right French doors opened and shut with a crisp little snap. No.
“Good,” Goldie said. “Excellent baseline agreement.”
“Building! Will you keep Goldie from sleepwalking?” Nell asked.
No.
Goldie sat up straighter. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have a reason for not stopping her?” Nell pressed.
The left doors responded. Yes.
“Why?” Goldie demanded, spreading her hands.
“That’s not a yes-or-no question,” Nell muttered, taking a long swallow of wine. Then she shrugged. “And honestly, I’ve got nothing else right now.”
“You’re giving up already? You are the worst librarian ever.”
“Don’t blame me. I studied public relations, not interrogation theory.”