The sun’s departure hadn’t done much to lessen the heat but she stepped lighter, somehow freer from the stickiness of the season attempting to hold her to the ground. She had been fascinated with Moira since their first encounter, and admittedly she was a little bit unsure of how any of this worked. Without Tuor to run these new ideas by, she wasn’t even sure if it was safe to get as close to anyone as she already had by making friends with the doctor. She wasn’t even sure if anyone she knew, or rather, anyone who truly knew her, had ever even been in love. She stopped herself from continuing down that particular path and back to the equally baffling but more interesting situation at hand—Dr. Moira McGough and how to keep her blushing. And what comes after blushing? Everything about her was perplexing from the moment she’d realized she had not only seen her, but remembered her later. A human! Kika had been startled too when she mentioned it to her later. 

She turned up Baines Street remembering that first shock of eye contact and a smile—for her—and not the polite sort attached to greetings in the shop. Tuor’s clients were always a bit wary even when thanking them for a job completed, and frankly not much else had ever been so dazzling. She’d been so taken off guard she’d returned it, feeling it reach her eyes before she thought about the monstrousness of them and her fangs. What would she do now, there, in the middle of the market surrounded by a crowd of Melitown residents both Obvious and Obscure? 

“Hello! Could I trouble you for directions? It’s a much bigger farmer’s market than I’d expected. Someone said there’d be a seller who had goat’s milk but I haven’t seen any milk at all…” she’d said, still smiling up at her as if nothing unusual had happened.

“Oh, um,” she’d fumbled a bit before motioning in the direction she was headed, “Hilda’s cart is this way.” She led the way and was quickly followed by the lively steps of the shorter woman carrying a canvas tote with an all-over pattern of all sorts of animal silhouettes in every color, overstuffed with apples and greens, a bundle of scallions threatening to tip over the edge. 

“Thank you so much,” she beamed on, pushing red curls behind her ear, strappy dark leather sandaled feet tapping along double-time to keep up. “I just moved to town to open my veterinary practice. Dr. Moira McGough at your service. I mean, if you have a need like for a pet. Not that you’d personally need me.” They both stopped, one still babbling while the other turned to look down at her surprised once more. Had she seen her? Actually seen her?

“...Not everyone has pets or livestock, I know,” she floundered more before letting out a nervous laugh and a sigh. “Ah, I’m so bad at this. I never realized how awkward it would be to try to make friends as a grown-up, you know?” Her beautiful smile fell. 

The two took simultaneous deep breaths; one of determination to try again, the other with relief that ended in a slight gasp as another hit of surprise registered. Friends. Friends with her.   

“Nyrun,” the taller said holding out her hand and motioning for the tote, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. McGough. May I help you there?

That afternoon on the short walk carrying Moira’s bags from the farmer’s market to the animal clinic, Nyrun spoke more than she possibly ever had to anyone other than Tuor. As far as she could recall. It wasn’t until she came home it occurred to her that Moira would likely not remember her once she was out of sight; a problem of the Obscure that she’d never considered would be a problem before. The thought made her ache and the ache was disorienting.  

—

Standing on the street below the apartment almost two years after meeting Moira, she looks up at the window to see if it’s still closed. It is but this doesn’t mean Kika’s not back. Pulling out her keys for the door to the stairwell, a crash in the storefront level turns her around. The shop’s been shuttered since it became apparent the boss had disappeared and the crash gates are still in place covering the reverse-painted sign’s gilded “Mme. Tor, Antiquary” she had never bothered having corrected. The tower with its single eye-shaped window depicted underneath was enough, she’d said, for her main clientele didn’t often pay much attention to human script.

Over in the corner store’s window, Fasol relaxes, eyes closed on his cushion. His ears are alert and he yawns, ignoring her. Maybe it’s Kika finally losing it over the accumulation of dust down there. I should probably check it out even if Fasol doesn’t seem concerned, she thinks.  Not even those from the Mischief could creep into a home with protection. No one she’d ever need fear would dare enter Tuor’s. Truth be told, she could leave all of the windows and doors open inviting trouble right in and no one could harm the place. Except Kika, that is.

If she wants to rest at all tonight she needs to hurry and apologize to Kika, she reasons. Usually night sounds are her showing displeasure with Nyrun’s negligent housekeeping. She’d thought, beyond always having both a kitchen cup and a bedroom cup, she’d been doing pretty well, but she hadn’t ventured into the shop after two moons of diligently opening it after the boss disappeared before turning the sign to Closed and becoming a person of leisure. At least that was the plan back then. The clients keep turning up to find her regardless of where she wanders in Melitown, and it’s not their policy to turn anyone away. But the shop, dusty by nature of the business front—antiques and archives—is in need of attention. She planned to tackle it after the Pack’s job, but got distracted by the heat. She’ll understand, I think? Nyrun heads up to the apartment to sneak into the shop through the back stairs, on the off chance it isn’t her.

The phone is still charging on the desk and the morning’s cup is still in the sink. Nothing’s been disturbed or tidied, which means–before she could finish the thought a thin trail of smoke pours over the sill through the window and solidifies into the slightly human shape of her housemate.

“Kika! Good evening!” she whispers, “I heard something downstairs…”

She barely catches the quiver of Kika’s antennae as she shifts back into smoke and sinks between the floorboards.

By the time she’s opened the door to Tuor’s office, the storefront has been filled with, well, Kika. In the shafts of moonlight stabbing in from gaps in the shutters, she consolidates into her usual form, shaking her head.

“No one at all?”

She shrugs and runs a pink fuzzy finger over a mahogany console and frowns.

“I’ll come down and clean up after this next job. Something happened earlier while you were out, and I had to go over to Moira’s with some abandoned newborns. I just got back myself.”

Kika moves to the center of the room and waves her away. Nyrun closes the door and peeks through the lace-curtained glass. Silently the triangle of her pale-yellow wings splits open, upward, displaying her pink and magenta eye-spotted hindwings, peppering the air with her protection.

Image references: edited versions of:

• “Gelosia recta - S. Paulo 1860-70” A Arte Tradicional no Brasil. In: Sociedade de Cultura Artística. Severo, Ricardo, 1914-1915.

• “Heliothis”, Iconographia Zoologica, between 1700 and 1880