the merchant's daughter“Oh… umm. Hmm…”
Millicent Halloran was five years old, and all alone in the big city.
She’d gotten lost, having wandered away from Sister Agatha back in Hightown. The lone child at St. Agnes’ Orphanage had spent the day with Sister Agatha and Sister Mary among the fancy houses of Hightown, begging for charity for the city’s poor, and it had gone… badly. Millie frowned. The Bible said people should be nice, and give their stuff away. But the lords and ladies of Hightown weren’t nice at all. Sister Agatha had had a door slammed in her face! Millie knew that you were supposed to be kind to everyone, especially nuns, and give them money to continue their work. The sisters of St. Agnes helped the dirty, sick people from the Sootworks, who always came in and asked for food or clean water.
Mother Royse was going to be so mad at her. Millie shuddered, thinking of how bruised her knuckles and backside were going to be after she found her way home. If she ever found her way home…! Gloomwood was so big, and she was so tiny. She sat down on the curb and tried not to cry. People passed her by, like she wasn’t even there.
A man knelt down in front of her after several minutes. He smelled like peppermint and rosemary, and wore a red coat and hat. His eyes were bright green, like the grass in the church garden. “Well, well, well, little lady. What are you doing out here all alone?”
Millie burst into a blubbering fit of tears. “I’m – I’m – buh – I’m l-l-lo-o-o-ost!” she wailed.
“Oh, that’s not good, not good at all. But I’m sure I can help.” He offered his hand. Millie had been told she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, but she was too upset to remember that fact. She took his big, rough hand, and he helped her stand. The stranger took a hanky from his pocket and wiped her eyes and snot, and he didn’t even complain about doing it like Sister Laura did.
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
“M-m-muh… M-Millie…”
“What a pretty name! I’m Grezzo.” He led her down Queen’s Road; people made way for this strange man wearing a fancy, pretty red coat. “Don’t worry, little bug. I know exactly where your home is.”
“Y-you do?”
“Yes. Mother Royse and I are… hmm, well, I wouldn’t say friends, but that’s close enough.”
Grown-ups were so weird. “Okay.”
They finally made it to St. Agnes’, where Mother Royse was standing impatiently outside the door. Her eyes and lips both became thin when she saw Millie and her new friend. “Nice of you to show up.”
Grezzo let Millie’s hand go. Millie wanted to fall to her knees and beg this nice, good-smelling man to take her away from the orphanage. Instead, she reluctantly toddled toward the matron as Grezzo said, “Don’t be cross, Royse. Millie was with me.”
“Is that so?” Mother Royse glared at her, and then at Grezzo. “Hmmph. Well, then. Come along, Millie.”
Grezzo smiled, and Millie smiled back. Grown-ups usually didn’t smile at her. Only Father Harold did, and that was rare. “My shop is on the Emerald Terrace. Why don’t you come visit me sometime?”
“Okay!”
“Good, good. Now, run along, Millie. And be good, eh?”
—
“Here. Take this and go get something to eat for us both, will you?” Grezzo asked as he counted ten silver coins into Millie’s little outstretched palm. “And remind Mr. Samson that he still owes me money.”
“Okay!” Little Millie chirped, stuffing the silver coins into her skirt pockets. She was seven years old, doe-eyed and chubby-cheeked, and Grezzo figured Mr. Samson, the Drunken Waterfowl’s proprietor, may be more accepting of a small child reminding him of his debts than a grown man. “I’ll be back, Mr. Grezzo!”
She skipped off, the door slamming behind her. Grezzo sighed. She was the spitting image of her mother. It was both a blessing and a curse; no one would recognize her as his daughter, but he was constantly reminded of the seafaring mistress who’d gotten away. He pinched the bridge of his nose and willed the memories away. There were more pressing matters at hand.
He turned to the boxes behind him and set to sorting through his new array of curiosities. He needed money to pay his eyes throughout the city, and the best way to pay them was to swindle rich men into thinking they were purchasing something unique. No doubt Edward would be swinging by soon to collect his dues.
Speak of the devil, he thought with a rueful chuckle, as the door opened and Edward entered. “Oy, Grezzo. Who’s the wee lassie who ran outta ‘ere?”
“Millie.”
“Aye. Pretty little thing, ain’t she? Who’re her old folks?”
“She’s an orphan,” Grezzo replied, picking up a bloody red gemstone and examining it in the shop’s dim light. “Lives at St. Agnes’s with Mother Royse.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed; he snorted. If he suspected anything, however, he declined to comment. “Is she one of your new rats?”
“Good God, man, no!” Grezzo regretted how quickly and sharply he answered. “She’s far too young for that.” He forced himself to add, “Maybe when she’s older.” Yeah, right. The mere thought of sending Millie into danger caused his heart to seize up.
“A pretty young lass could get a lotta places we can’t.” Edward shrugged. “Anyway – my coin?”
Grezzo pulled a small bag out from under his counter. “Come back when you’ve got something for me.”
“Friendly as a spine eel, as ever,” Edward said with a grin. “See ya round.”
—
“Bye, Gregory! I’ll see you later!”
“Uh-huh.”
Millie skipped up the steps to the Emerald Eye as her heart skipped beats thinking about Gregory Montgomery. At age twelve, Millie had started to think about boys more seriously; Gregory was thirteen, and the son of the hunter Harry Montgomery. Gregory was already strong and wiry, and bragged his father would soon induct him into the Huntsmen’s Guild. Millie had met him at school (Mother Royse allowed her to attend a real school!), and she’d been smitten the moment Mr. Thompson had seated her next to him. She walked beside him on the way home from school each day; the other girls in class didn’t talk to her much, if at all, but it didn’t matter. Gregory walked with her.
“You look like the cat that caught the canary,” Grezzo observed as Millie opened the shop door. She’d been spending more time with the old merchant. He ordered her books, and helped her practice writing and arithmetic outside of school.
“Oh?” Millie felt her cheeks pinken. “Um, it’s nothing, Grezzo. Really.” She sat down behind the counter; Grezzo had gotten a little stool for her so she could work on homework at the Emerald Eye before returning to St. Agnes’. Being at the church had become so grim. Only a few sisters and Father Harold were left, and the other kids in class – including Gregory, sometimes – made snide comments about her poor upbringing. About her being an outsider.
They said that word like it was a bad word. The Bible said you’d go to Hell if you swore. If a normal word was said with the same cruelty as a swear word, did it count as one?
“You can tell me.”
“Um…” Millie opened her arithmetic textbook and stared at her homework. “Well… You know Gregory Montgomery?”
Grezzo’s eyebrows raised. Maybe I should shut up, Millie thought. But she’d already opened that can of worms, and she trusted Grezzo. Really, he was her only friend. “Well, I, um. Mr. Thompson sat me by him, and… he’s cute. I think I like him.”
Grezzo sucked in air through his teeth. He set the ring he was appraising down on the mat. “Oh, Millie… a boy like Gregory Montgomery would never like a girl like you.”
“What?” A cavern opened up in Millie’s belly. Beneath her ribs, her heart was a hole.
“He’s a rich man’s son,” Grezzo said, his tone impossibly gentle for words that felt like a knife in the gut. “You’re a poor orphan girl. And you’re not from here.”
“But… in my books… and he was so nice”
“Things don’t work out like that,” the merchant replied, softly but firmly. “This is real life, Millie.”
Hot, unwelcome tears burned on her lashes. “I…” What could she even say? She stared down at her arithmetic homework. “I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.
Grezzo rubbed her back. “Don’t cry. Better you realize it now than get your heart broken.”
He ended up being right, of course. A week later, Gregory Montgomery asked Millie on a date. Still hoping her favorite romance novels were right and old Mr. Grezzo was wrong, she’d accepted. And then Gregory had laughed in her face, and his friends came out of the bushes laughing, too, and Millie ran all the way to St. Agnes’ with her puffy, tear-streaked face in her hands.
—
“Now, why’d you do the poor girl like that?” Edward growled, slamming his Ash Brew down on the table. Grezzo winced; the man’s brute strength could have easily shattered the bottle.
“The boy was an ass,” he said flatly, weakly. “I told you he asked her out just to make fun of her. It wouldn’t have ended any other way. She needs to protect herself.”
Edward’s soot black eyes became slits. “Just feels mean, ‘s all.”
It had been mean, as Edward had so eloquently put it. But how else was Grezzo supposed to protect Millie’s heart? She was too kind, too trusting. At least he’d warned her about Gregory. “I don’t know how to teach her.”
“Teach ‘er what?”
“How to be…” Grezzo frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sensible, I guess. Reasonable. To think instead of trusting her heart. It’s impossible with that girl.”
“Aye, most women are that way.”
Grezzo shook his head. How could he get Edward understand what he meant, without him tipping his hand? More importantly, how could he get Millie to understand? She hadn’t been back to the shop since the unfortunate incident with Gregory and his gang, and according to Mr. Thompson, she’d been silent in class. Whenever Grezzo thought of her, he felt utterly ashamed. But what was better – telling her the way the world worked, how Gloomwood worked, and hurting her now, or watch her hurt herself over and over again later? Damn that foolish, loving girl!
When Grezzo continued to say nothing, Edward stood and slapped a few coins onto the table. “Apologize to the lil’ lass if you want to see ‘er again, lest she get a bee in ‘er bonnet. Otherwise… g’night.”
—
Most of the children Millie had gone to school with had dropped out by the time she was 16, two years ago. With no other children her age to teach, Mr. Thompson sent Millie on her way, although she very much wanted to continue attending some kind of school. Regardless, Grezzo had stepped in, ordering her textbooks and tutoring her between customers.
She spent every evening behind his counter, dutifully studying or reading (Grezzo continued to order her fluffy romance and thrilling science fiction books, though she had to seek adult material from a travelling merchant woman named Sarah). She’d become quite skilled in arithmetic, reading, and writing; Grezzo sometimes allowed her to man the store, count change, and write letters on his behalf.
Grezzo remained her only real friend. Sister Agatha and the others had grown cold once it was clear Millie was not interested in becoming a nun; the other children her age from school had never accepted her. Part of Millie had considered becoming a nun just so she would enjoy someone else’s company. But the deep ache of uncertainty about God drove a wedge between her and the idea.
Grezzo was the same crabby old man as he had been for years, which was both a relief and a pain. He’d been so sweet in her youth, she’d thought. She had been so happy as a little girl, and was now so melancholy as a young adult. Then was it her fault? Was the mere notion of her aging distasteful to him? He always reacted badly when there was any hint Millie might be interested in a boy her age. And sometimes, when a customer or fellow merchant had agitated him, he’d slam things, mutter under his breath, snap at her… she never could reach him to comfort him. Her tears at this behavior only ever made things worse. So, for the most part, Millie had taken to shutting up. Stay quiet, keep your head down, always have a smile but be ready to swallow tears: these were Millie’s rules.
He was grumbling now about Countess Sylvia. Millie had only met Gloomwood’s matron once, nearly a decade ago, at Christmas. The Sisters of St. Agnes were selling little handmade goods that year, and Countess Sylvia had purchased a seashell bracelet Millie had made.
Grezzo had been dismissive of the bracelets – Millie had eagerly shown him what she’d been working on the week before the Christmas festival. “Those shells are junk. Who would want a bracelet made of garbage washed up on the beach?”
Like all things, it seemed, he was correct. The only bracelet she’d sold had been to Countess Sylvia. But the countess had been so sweet – and she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman Millie had ever seen: her wine dark hair falling out of her veil, her skin smooth like porcelain, and her impossibly purple eyes, glimmering like amethysts from under her shroud. “This reminds me of the ocean,” she’d said. “I’m always too busy to see it anymore. How lovely.”
Memories of the sea filled Millie’s mind. The scent of salt, the crunchiness of the sand beneath her feet, the deep gray of the sky, the inkiness of the water. It had been so long since she’d been to the ocean – her heart ached for it. Perhaps the sea was her only other friend.
Maybe one day, she’d find a handsome pirate who would take her sailing around the world.
Yeah, right, she thought with a rueful chuckle. An outsider girl like her was destined for one thing: loneliness.
“What’s so funny?” Grezzo muttered, a handful of white gems clinking on the table.
“Nothing, Grezzo. Sorry.” She excused herself to start dinner. By then, Grezzo would be in a better mood. Hopefully.
—
Spring was upon Gloomwood, and 25-year-old Millie was enjoying a strangely pleasant evening.
Doctor Alexander Thane’s cane clicked on the cobblestone as he led Millie down the Queen’s Road stairs to the Emerald Eye. Her fingers instinctively curled on his bicep; despite his lithe frame, he was quite strong.
She hadn’t known what to do or think when he offered her his arm for the first time. The dashing man had laughed – not a mean-spirited laugh, but a genuine, mirthful one. “When a man offers you his arm,” he said in a low tone meant only for her, “you take it.” So she had, blushing the entire time.
“I’ll let you deliver your goodies,” Doctor Thane said, stopping in front of the shop’s door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Millie.”
“Goodnight, Doctor Thane.”
He tipped his hat to her – just like a romantic hero! – and left. Millie swung open the door with a bashful grin.
“You’re late,” Grezzo said flatly. He spared a glance at Millie as she set the paper bag down on the counter. The merchant turned the ring he was examining in the light, then sighed.
“Oh, waiting ten extra minutes for your croissants won’t kill you,” Millie replied, rolling her eyes. “I was having dinner with Doctor Thane.”
Grezzo quirked a brow as he set the ring into a tiny velvet-lined case. “Doctor Thane?”
“Yeah, the doctor the city council wrote to. Didn’t you hear?” Millie opened up the bakery goods and took out her raspberry danish. She set it aside, grabbing a croissant for Grezzo and handing it to him before she ate her own pastry.
“Must not have.” Grezzo adjusted his monocle. “Why were you having dinner with him?” the man asked suspiciously, his bright green eyes narrowing.
Millie blinked. Why does he sound so jealous? Not this again, please. In the thirteen years since that fateful “fake date” from Gregory Montgomery, Millie had had exactly two romantic prospects. One was Edward’s son, a polite young fellow named Bennett. Grezzo must have frightened him something horrible, because he fled from Millie after the old merchant “talked” to him one day after he’d spent an evening at the shop trying not to stare at her chest. The other was a trader who had come in to exchange oddities with Grezzo. He’d chatted up Millie, until a harsh glare from Grezzo had silenced him. She’d never dated, only came frustratingly close to doing so. And it was Grezzo’s fault! Millie wouldn’t let him ruin another good thing. “Um, he came by the church a month and a half ago, when he first got here. He needed help finding his way around, and I’ve been walking him to all his appointments. He’s even taught me how to take vital signs and help him in assessments. We’re friends.”
Grezzo frowned. “You need to be careful, Millie. If you hang around the outsider too much, people will talk.”
Millie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Half of her wanted to say, I’m an outsider, too, but she knew it was no use. “Yeah, okay.” She took a bite of her danish and stared out the window.
“You need to listen to me.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.” Irritation sharpened his voice.
She sighed. “Okay. I’ll be careful.”
Grezzo huffed, but he dropped the subject. And thank goodness. Doctor Thane was actually interested in her! He refused to entertain other, much richer, much prettier girls – he wanted Millie’s company. If she let him slip away – if Grezzo got in the way – no. Millie stopped herself. That wouldn’t happen.
No more telling Grezzo about the doctor. This happiness was hers, and hers alone.
—
Grezzo watched with a cold gaze as Doctor Thane raised Millie’s hand to his lips, kissed it, and whispered something he couldn’t quite catch. He coughed, and Millie jumped, pulling her hand away from the admittedly quite handsome young man in front of them. Doctor Thane raised a brow in defiance. Grezzo’s blood began to boil. Who was this doctor, to shamelessly flirt with his daughter right in front of him?!
Millie, sensing the tension, said, “Oh, goodness, um, let me take your coat. Please, please. Sit down. Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll show you to your room,” Grezzo said curtly. He’d need to put his foot down before the doctor got any ideas.
Doctor Thane followed him. Grezzo unlocked the room he once rented to travelers. He turned, positioning his body between the open door and the doctor. Grezzo lowered his voice. “I suggest that while you are within these walls, you keep your hands to yourself.”
Doctor Thane simply smiled, infuriatingly polite and refined. “Understood, mister.”
—
Millie had never been wooed before.
It was such a wonderful, and terrifying, feeling. Xander was a relentless, romantic, gentlemanly pursuer; he made himself clear without making Millie uncomfortable. To love, and be loved in turn – to experience all she was convinced wasn’t for her – her heart had never been so full.
She had snuck into Xander’s room across the hall for some much-needed alone time with him. He spent so much time wandering the streets, searching for a cure and for the seals; Millie hardly saw him, except for at night. Even then, Grezzo was constantly hovering. Once the old shopkeep went to sleep and his snores echoed throughout the shop, Millie was able to carve out meager quality time with her beloved.
Xander kissed the top of her hand, his stubble tickling the soft, sensitive skin there. He kissed the inside of her wrist, up her arm… it was just like an amorous scene from one of her adult books. His lips met hers quite chastely, then he peppered little pecks across her cheeks.
Millie giggled, feeling like a schoolgirl in love. Xander tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Little mouse… let me kiss you a little harder?” He posed it as a question, and Millie nodded eagerly.
“I don’t know how, though,” she whispered.
“Mmm, I’ll show you,” he purred. “Follow my lead, mousey.”
Xander kissed her, gently, his hands coming up to cup her face. His tongue darted out along her lower lip; remembering how these things usually went in her favorite books, she opened her mouth.
His tongue was like warm velvet on hers. Xander was restrained, which she quite appreciated. The deeper kiss was a wonderful sensation, but it was alien.
Xander’s fingers slid down to caress her lower back, pulling her in closer. Millie wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking into him. She couldn’t believe she’d been missing out on this for all her life. His sturdy body, the sweet, intoxicating warmth of his mouth, his broad hands running over her back and the outside of her thighs, showering her in affection… Millie had grown up believing that this sort of thing was a sin. Well, if it was a sin, then send her to Hell. After a lifetime of Adoration in church, praying for her creator to see her and love her… the physical reality of love was everything she had been searching for.
“What the hell is going on in here?!”
Millie jumped off the bed at Grezzo’s roar. She stood, her legs shaky, nearly falling back into the bed. Xander was standing now, too, putting himself between Millie and Grezzo.
“Millie! To your room, now!”
“I’m an adult! I can do what I please!”
“Not in my house,” Grezzo snarled. “Go!” When Millie stayed rooted in place, he growled, “Listen to me!”
“I’ve spent my whole life listening to you!” Millie snapped, surprised by her own bite. Angry tears rushed down her cheeks; her voice cracked. Years and years of resentment broke through the dam of bitter, practiced patience like a river. “When am I supposed to make my own decisions, huh? Am I supposed to let you ruin everything for me? Let you bully everyone who’s ever tried to get close to me? Listen to you when you said no one would ever love a poor, worthless, outsider girl like me?”
“I never–”
“I should’ve become a nun if I knew you were going to do everything you can to ruin my life!” She shoved past Grezzo and slammed her door. The phonograph played loudly, just barely drowning out her sobs.
—
Xander and Grezzo stood staring at each other, the low hum of the phonograph and Millie’s shuddering sobs punctuating the silence. Part of him wanted to throttle Grezzo for his treatment of Millie; the other part of him knew this was extremely unadvisable. He scratched the back of his neck. He was certainly not welcome here for the foreseeable future. There was a house in the lower market to check out; he could escape there for the time being so everyone could cool off. As he went to leave the room, he said, “I need to –”
Grezzo cut Xander off sharply and shoved a wicked, crooked finger into his chest. “I’ll tell you what you need, doctor! What you need to do is to keep your filthy fucking paws off my dau–” He stopped dead in his tracks, as if his own words were a bullet ringing through the air. “My darling friend,” he said after a moment. Grezzo stared blankly. He then turned and fled down the stairs.
Xander had suspected it. Millie had told him she was an orphan; but the way Grezzo spoke to her and how poorly the old merchant reacted to catching them kissing had made Xander think there was more to the story, even if Millie herself didn’t know it.
He followed Grezzo into the kitchen, where the old man was opening a bottle of wine.
“She doesn’t know.”
“No.”
“You need to tell her.”
“I know,” the merchant snapped, whirling on the doctor again. “Do you honestly think I feel good about not being a father to my daughter?” Grezzo’s bright green eye blazed with fury. Xander simply stared back at him. Finally, the old man sighed and dropped his shoulders, defeated. “It was too dangerous. For her to be with me, I mean.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Sylvia and I were already at odds when Millie was brought to me. I’d heard whispers about her power. I couldn’t – wouldn’t – risk Millie’s life. I would have raised her if I could.” Grezzo fiddled with a coin on the table. “I tried to stay in her life.” He seemed lost in thought. “I don’t have many regrets, doctor. There’s no point; what’s done is done. But not keeping Millie… I regret that greatly.” Grezzo winced. “I’ve said far too much.” He took a long swig of wine directly from the bottle. Tears glittered in his eyes.
Xander felt a pang in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. All he could do was pity Grezzo. His anger toward the old man could be addressed some other time.
“Aren’t we all,” Grezzo muttered. He straightened his posture and wrinkled his nose. “Next time you leave, I’ll tell her. Please don’t say anything for now.”
“Wasn’t planning on it – it’s not my story to tell,” Xander responded as casually as he could. He thought then of Millie, telling him about her life with a distant pain – an orphaned outsider, doomed to loneliness in the insular community of Gloomwood.
“I hope she understands.”
“She will.”
“...And, Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“If I ever catch you touching my daughter like that again, you’ll be leaving this city in a body bag.”
Xander barely managed to hide a grin. So, just don’t get caught. Got it.
—
“I’ll cook you something when you’re back down, okay? Be safe”
“Will do,” Xander said, leaning down to kiss Millie’s lips before recalculating and instead choosing to plant a kiss on top of her head. If Grezzo hadn’t been standing there, staring daggers into the doctor’s back, he would have snatched her up and kissed her hard. Normally, Xander cared little for what Grezzo thought of his affection for Millie. It was a tad odd, she thought, that only now was he starting to shy away from kissing and hugging her. Was he falling out of love with her? Millie’s stomach churned.
She went to her room and read for an hour, until Grezzo called her downstairs. It had been a few days since their argument; they had hardly spoken since. He stood at the counter and gestured for her to stand next to him.
The merchant had an odd expression on his face. She’d never seen him look like that before. He looked… nervous? Millie tilted her head at him. “Are you okay?”
“I need to speak to you.”
Uh oh. Millie’s heart sank. “Um. Okay.”
Grezzo gestured for Millie to approach the counter. As she did, Grezzo reached into a drawer and pulled out a pendant. It was a small silver anchor on an identically colored chain. In the balancing band was a tiny emerald gemstone. The charm and gem were radiant, shiny, as if they were brand new. Was this a gift?
Grezzo took Millie’s hand and placed the necklace in her palm. She examined the charm closer. “It’s so beautiful.”
“It was your mother’s.”
The world came to a standstill. Millie had nothing of her parents’ – not even a memory of their faces; not even a hint of their names. And now, she was holding the last connection to the woman who had birthed her. “Did she sell it to you before she died?”
Grezzo stared at the necklace in her hand. He seemed lost in thought. “No,” he finally said after a moment. “She gave it to me.”
“You knew her?” Millie watched as Grezzo’s expression saddened. A sick sense of betrayal bloomed in her stomach. Grezzo had, at the very least, known of her mother and interacted with her. And he’d never told her.
“Millie, I need to tell you something.” Grezzo placed both hands on the counter, leaning over it, shaking his head.
“Then tell me…!” Millie grabbed the old merchant’s hand, clasping it with the pendant between their palms. Her heart hammered in her chest. Why was he being so damn cagey?
“I don’t know what happened to your mother. But the last time I saw her, she was alive. When she left you with me.” Grezzo refused to look at Millie. “Because… I’m… you’re my…”
The air in the Emerald Eye became uncomfortably thick. Millie let go of Grezzo’s hand. Hot tears welled in her eyes. Her stomach was threatening to empty itself. The necklace in her hand was burning. Millie’s fingers were closed tight around it, and her mind screamed at her to both drop it and to hold onto it and never let go.
Millie’s legs moved without her brain’s input. The door to the Emerald Eye swung open before her, the terrace a blur of brown and gray. She tripped on the stairs, skidding down them, scraping her palms and tearing holes in her skirt. Her tears blurred her vision, and blood filled her head, drowning out her hearing. Somehow, Millie managed to get back to her feet before stumbling again at the elevator. The world came fast under her palms, the metal floor cool on her feverish skin.
Why had she come out here? Her tears fell heavy on the metal elevator floor. Monsters could be lurking nearby, and she had left herself vulnerable to them, all weepy and beaten, crumpled on the ground. Idiot!
The bloodrush to her head slowed after several minutes, and she recognized the sound of footsteps from somewhere up the road. If it was Grezzo, Millie had half a mind to start screaming and bring down every beast within hearing distance upon them. Being mauled or chopped to bits seemed preferable to facing him at that moment.
But the click-click-click of fancy shoes and a cane on cobblestone signaled it wasn’t Grezzo, but Xander. He dropped to the ground beside her, throwing his coat over her back. “Hey,” he cooed, wrenching her bowed-over form up, his fingers anchoring into her biceps. “Hey, what are you doing out here?”
Xander’s eyes searched hers, and she recognized guilt in his face. “You knew,” she whispered. Her blood boiled. She tried to rip herself from his grasp, but Xander’s fingers dug into her arms; it was easy to forget how strong he was. She wanted to scream at him, too, but a strangled “Let go!” was all she could manage. Fresh sobs wracked her.
“It wasn’t for me to tell!” Xander hissed. “Millie! Listen to me! Would you really have wanted me to tell you? For Grezzo to cop out and not face you himself?” He shook her lightly, as if it would shake some sense into her. “Can you imagine how terrible that would’ve felt?”
“You don’t know anything.”
“He still kept you in his life, didn’t he? C’mon now…”
“I could’ve belonged,” Millie snapped. Her sorrow was quickly being replaced by blinding rage. She remembered every snicker from the other children, every glare from the adults, every crush that insulted her, every belittling comment, and the endless alienation.“I could’ve belonged here. I was never an outsider, not really. But he let me be one.” She stared off into the black pit surrounding the terrace. Despair crept back into her heart. “How could he do that to me?”
These were selfish feelings, she knew. But all her life, there was but one thing Millie had wanted: to belong. And her father had deprived her of that. To spend twenty-five years screaming for someone, anyone, to let her in, to let her be a citizen of Gloomwood… to know it could have been so easy…
“He was trying to keep you safe.”
“Safe!” Millie scoffed. She bowed her head, instantly regretting her tone. “I would’ve rather been loved,” she whispered after a moment.
Xander’s lips were a thin line. “Get up. Let’s go back inside.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’re not staying out here,” he replied sternly. “C’mon, get up now.” He stood, tugging Millie to her feet. “I know it hurts, but being outside isn’t safe.” When she didn’t budge, he sighed. “I will drag you back in if I have to.”
Reluctantly, Millie staggered to her feet, and Xander hugged her tight, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. When he led her into the Emerald Eye again, Grezzo was nowhere to be seen.
—
A few days had passed. Grezzo had made himself scarce; Millie only heard him shuffling about once. Millie herself mostly stayed in her room. Xander brought her food, even if she refused to eat it.
She stared out the window at the blood moon. Doom was knocking at their door; she had a chance to know her father. Well, she already knew him… or did she? Millie’s head hurt.
Millie loved Grezzo. For as long as she could remember, he was the only parental figure she knew. Father Harold was too busy to pay much mind to her; her memories of Mother Royse were tainted by the phantom pain of rapped knuckles and sharp-tongued insults; the Sisters’ adoration for Millie evaporated when she declined to become a nun herself. But Grezzo had always been there to care about her.
He’d helped her continue her education. He celebrated Christmas at St. Agnes’ with her. She’d spent nearly every day at his shop, under his watchful eye. He was the only one she could talk to and feel like on some level, he understood her, even if in other ways, he didn’t get her at all.
But he’d also wounded her in ways no one else could. Every doubt, every grumble under his breath that brought tears to her eyes, every non-apology, every whisper in her mind that she wasn’t good enough to be loved…
Millie rubbed her bleary eyes. Maybe that was what fathers were supposed to do. Maybe doubt was just another form of love.
Still, her heart ached. She remembered nights she laid awake as a child, imagining Grezzo adopting her: she pictured him brushing her hair after baths, cooking her dinner, tucking her into bed. Grezzo’s shop was her safe haven when Mother Royse’s cruelty and the Sisters’ dismissiveness became too much. She was desperate for his love and approval, willing to silence herself to remain in his good graces.
All she’d ever wanted was for him to be her father. Now, he was.
With the anchor necklace in hand, she tiptoed down the stairs to Grezzo’s room. Millie knocked on the door. “Grezzo? Can I come in?”
There was no reply. Carefully, Millie opened the door; Grezzo sat at his desk, pouring over a pile of notebooks. He didn’t turn when she entered and shut the door. “Can we talk?”
Grezzo’s shoulders drew up tightly, then back down. He turned. “Yes.”
Millie sat down on his bed; Grezzo sat beside her. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Grezzo, I…” Should she apologize? She didn’t really feel sorry for how she reacted, but maybe apologizing was the best way to start the conversation. Millie opened her mouth, then shut it again, when the words I’m sorry were strangled on her tongue by the memory of his stinging betrayal. “I’m glad you told me,” she finally said. Millie stared at her hands. The anchor pendant gleamed in the low light.
“I honestly don’t know that I would have ever told you, had I not slipped up in front of Doctor Thane,” Grezzo admitted. “I failed you.”
Millie smiled. That was the closest she was going to get to an apology. “I always wanted you to be my father, y’know. I was hoping you’d adopt me from the orphanage. I can’t tell you how many nights I fell asleep, dreaming that you came to get me, and we lived here, happily ever after.”
Grezzo turned his face away. “I never thought of that,” he mumbled, ashamed.
Another wound on Millie’s heart, then. She shook her head. “It’s… it’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
Yeah. It’s not. “It will be okay.”
They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Millie wondered what the rest of the future would hold for her and Grezzo. Her father.
“I guess I should call you ‘Papa’ from now on, huh?”
“...If you’d like.” His tone held no malice; only self-hatred. He was staring at the floor.
“Okay. Goodnight, Papa.” Millie hugged him, and to her surprise, Grezzo hugged her back. I love you, she wanted to say, I love you, despite it all, and I’m sorry, I’ll never stop being sorry, but her voice had disappeared.
“Goodnight, Millie.”
She returned to her room and fell into a dreamless sleep.