Dinner had been three months ago.
There had been no second dinner.
Daniel had spent most of the evening explaining cryptocurrency to her familiar.
Her familiar had faked death.
Maeve looked toward the front desk.
“We should probably listen.”
Daniel ignored that.
“I’ve been meaning to call.”
Cassian spoke.
“She changed numbers.”
Maeve turned.
“I did not.”
Cassian looked down at her.
“I assumed.”
Daniel frowned.
“Who are you?”
Cassian looked at him.
“Neighbor.”
The word somehow sounded threatening.
Maeve tried not to smile.
Before Daniel could respond, the lights dimmed.
A woman appeared behind the front desk.
Except she wasn’t actually there.
Moonridge Apartments had projected a translucent human form from the marble floor.
The building’s chosen avatar looked like a woman in her seventies wearing a severe gray dress and glasses on a chain.
Everyone groaned.
Moonridge placed spectral hands on spectral hips.
“Good morning.”
No one answered.
Moonridge’s eyes narrowed.
“Good. Morning.”
The tenants muttered greetings.
Cassian said nothing.
Moonridge pointed at him.
“Mr. Vale.”
Cassian sighed.
“Good morning.”
“Better.”
Maeve covered a smile.
Moonridge looked at the group.
“I have news.”
Mr. Lin raised his hand.
“Is the west stairwell possessed again?”
“No.”
One of the Martin twins spoke.
“Did someone die?”
“No.”
The other twin looked disappointed.
Moonridge inhaled.
“We are being sold.”
Silence.
Maeve’s stomach dropped.
“What?”
Moonridge looked toward her.
“My ownership company has accepted an acquisition offer.”
Mrs. Davenport gasped.
“From whom?”
Moonridge’s expression became deeply offended.
“Brightstone Residential Holdings.”
Everyone reacted.
Even Cassian.
Maeve whispered, “That bad?”
Cassian looked at her.
“You haven’t heard of them?”
“I sell potions. I don’t follow magical property corporations.”
“They acquire enchanted buildings and remove sentience to reduce maintenance costs.”
Maeve stared at Moonridge.
“You mean…”
“Kill me,” Moonridge said.
The lobby went silent.
Even the fireplace dimmed.
Maeve felt something twist in her chest.
Moonridge had driven her insane for four years.
The building stole socks.
Changed thermostat temperatures based on emotional compatibility.
Once locked Maeve’s mother in an elevator because Moonridge believed she needed “quiet reflection.”
But Moonridge was home.
Maeve stepped forward.
“When?”
“Thirty days.”
“Can we stop it?”
Moonridge hesitated.
Cassian noticed.
“There is something.”
The building looked at him.
Maeve turned.
Cassian’s expression had changed into the focused one he used when pretending not to care.
“What?”
Moonridge folded her hands.
“The building is protected under the Domestic Heritage Enchantment Act.”
Mr. Lin frowned.
“That was repealed.”
“Partially.”
Cassian spoke.
“Not for bonded residential structures.”
Moonridge’s eyes sharpened.
Maeve looked between them.
“What does that mean?”
Cassian crossed his arms.
“It means an enchanted residential building cannot be magically decommissioned if it demonstrates active domestic bonding among its tenants.”
Mrs. Davenport brightened.
“Romance.”
“No,” Cassian said.
Moonridge said, “Possibly.”
Cassian looked annoyed.
Maeve looked suspicious.
“What exactly counts as domestic bonding?”
Moonridge smiled.
Maeve immediately disliked that smile.
“Shared meals. Community participation. Familial bonds.”
“So we throw potlucks.”
“And,” Moonridge continued, “at least one recognized romantic household.”
Maeve frowned.
“We have married couples.”
Moonridge’s smile disappeared.
“They’re all moving.”
Everyone looked around.
The Martins avoided eye contact.
Mr. Lin studied his shoes.
Mrs. Davenport became deeply interested in the ceiling.
Maeve stared.
“You’re leaving?”
Mrs. Davenport sighed.
“My daughter found me a condo.”
Mr. Lin coughed.
“My mushrooms need more sunlight.”
One Martin twin shrugged.
“We hate the plumbing.”
The other said, “And the ghosts.”
“You are necromancers.”
“Exactly. We know quality ghosts.”
Moonridge’s avatar flickered.
Maeve understood.
The tenants were abandoning the building before the sale.
Which meant Moonridge would lose the protections.
Cassian spoke quietly.
“How long to establish a recognized romantic household?”
Moonridge looked at him.
“Twenty-eight consecutive days.”
Maeve’s stomach sank.
“Thirty days until the sale.”
“Yes.”
“So someone would have to start today.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Everyone slowly looked at Maeve.
Maeve looked behind herself.
There was nobody there.
“No.”
Mrs. Davenport looked at Cassian.
Then Maeve.
Then Cassian again.
“Oh.”
“No,” Maeve repeated.
Daniel stepped forward.
“I could—”
Moonridge’s spectral face twisted.
“No.”
Daniel looked offended.
“I wasn’t finished.”
“I was.”
Maeve stared at the building.
“You don’t get to pick.”
“I absolutely do.”
Cassian spoke.
“Why them?”
Maeve turned.
“Them?”
Moonridge smiled.
“You and Maeve already demonstrate elevated household resonance.”
Maeve laughed.
“Because he steals my groceries?”
“Shared resources.”
“He feeds them to a gargoyle.”
“Dependent care.”
Cassian closed his eyes.
Maeve pointed at him.
“We aren’t together.”
“Not currently.”
“Not ever.”
The chandelier above them shook.
Cassian looked toward the ceiling.
“Stop that.”
Moonridge’s avatar smiled.
“The legal requirement does not require genuine romantic attachment at the beginning of the observation period.”
Maeve’s skin prickled.
“At the beginning?”
“It requires behavioral evidence of an emerging domestic partnership.”
Cassian looked at her.
Maeve looked at Cassian.
“No.”
Cassian nodded.
“Agreed.”
Moonridge’s expression became tragic.
“Then I suppose I die.”
Maeve stared.
“That is manipulative.”
“Yes.”
“You admit it?”
“I am a building, not a saint.”
Mrs. Davenport dabbed her eyes.
Maeve pointed at her.
“You’re not helping.”
Mrs. Davenport cried harder.
Cassian looked at Moonridge.
“What exactly would be required?”
Maeve whipped toward him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m asking.”
“You’re considering it.”
“I am evaluating.”
“That’s vampire language for considering.”
Cassian ignored her.
Moonridge produced a spectral document.
“Twenty-eight days of recognized shared residence.”
“We live across the hall.”
“Same household.”
Maeve groaned.
“One shared apartment?”
“Yes.”
Cassian looked at Moonridge.
“No.”
Maeve nodded quickly.
“Excellent. Meeting over.”
“Three public household activities per week.”
“No.”
“One documented shared meal per day.”
“No.”
“Joint participation in the Moonridge Founders Festival.”
“No.”
“One official relationship declaration.”
“Absolutely not.”
Moonridge finished.
“And an independent assessor must confirm credible emotional development by day twenty-eight.”
Maeve laughed.
“Credible emotional development?”
Mrs. Davenport whispered, “Kissing helps.”
Maeve pointed.
“Beatrice equivalent, stop.”
Mrs. Davenport blinked.
“My name is Edith.”
“I know what you are.”
Cassian rubbed his forehead.
Moonridge’s image softened.
“I would not ask if there were another way.”
For the first time, the manipulation disappeared.
Maeve looked around the lobby.
The worn marble.
The crooked chandelier.
The staircase railing she had decorated with winter charms every December.
The small alcove where her mother had once waited during Maeve’s disastrous first date with a warlock.
Moonridge had memories inside her walls.
Hundreds of them.
Maybe thousands.
Maeve looked toward Cassian.
He was already watching her.
“No,” she whispered.
His expression shifted.
“You’re going to say yes.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“I wasn’t trying to be comforting.”
Maeve looked at Moonridge.
“Twenty-eight days?”
“Yes.”