Chapter Eight – Millie
Chapter Eight
Millie
“Grim, wait,” I said, my fingers tightening on his cloak. The rough fabric felt cool in my fist. “I think your cloak helped. I haven’t slept that well in ages. Not one nightmare.”
He stiffened, his skeletal frame seeming to shrink in on itself, as if my touch pained him. “Millie, we talked about this. Don’t touch the–”
“But I think it kept the Poppets out,” I insisted. “It was like they couldn’t reach me, not with your cloak around me.”
He sat back down beside me. “When I became a reaper, Death gave me three things. The cloak, the scythe, and… something else.”
“Something else?” I prodded, curious.
He shook his head. “I can’t talk about it. Let’s just say it’s a secret.”
“Mysterious,” I teased, unable to stop a small smile from playing on my lips. “A man of mystery. A Grim Reaper with secrets. I never...”
“Don’t,” he growled, even as a flicker of amusement danced in the depths of his empty sockets.
“Don’t what?” I pressed, enjoying his discomfort a little too much.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he muttered.
“And what, pray tell, is so hard about it?” I challenged, my fingers toying with the edge of his cloak. The fabric felt alive, thrumming with energy.
“This,” he said, his empty eye sockets boring into me. “Us. Being this close. You, wrapped in my…” He trailed off, as if suddenly at a loss for words.
Oh, right. That. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me.
“What? Don’t tell me you never had a woman sleep under your cloak before,” I teased, unable to resist pushing his buttons a little. “It’s okay, you can tell me. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“We’re not having this conversation, Millie,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked, unable to keep the laughter from my voice. “Afraid I’ll tell the lady reapers that you have a thing for human women? That you prefer a good cup of tea and a chat to reaping souls and whatever else you do in your spare time?”
He didn’t answer. I could tell by the set of his jaw, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his skeletal hands, that he was struggling to maintain his composure. Which, of course, only made me want to tease him more.
“It’s okay,” I said, softening my tone, my hand reaching out to touch his arm. I stopped just short of making contact. “We’re friends here.”
“Friends?” The single word, spoken in his raspy voice, seemed to crackle with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.
“Yeah,” I said, surprised by the sudden intensity in his gaze. “Friends. What else would we be?”
A flicker of something dark and unreadable crossed his skeletal features. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“Never mind,” he muttered, turning away. “What do I know about friends?”
Seeing him like this, so vulnerable, was like a punch to my gut. The playful banter died on my lips, replaced by a wave of sympathy so strong it nearly took my breath away.
“Grim,” I said softly, my hand finding his arm, letting my fingers rest on the rough fabric of his sleeve. “Talk to me. What’s it like? I mean, being a reaper?”
He tensed under my touch, his whole body going rigid. But he didn’t pull away.
“It’s…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words, his empty sockets fixed on someplace beyond the walls of the house. “It wasn’t always like this.”
“What do you mean?” I knew so little about him, about what he was, what he did. “You weren’t always a reaper?”
“No,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I used to be human. A long time ago.”
I tried to imagine him as a human, with flesh and blood, and a heartbeat. It was impossible. He was Grim. My Grim Reaper. The creature of darkness who haunted my house, protected my dreams.
“What was your life like? Was there any woman–”
“No.”
“No?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “Never? Not even one?”
He let out a harsh laugh, the sound devoid of humor. “What would a woman want with someone like me? Even then?”
“What do you mean, even then?”
He hesitated again. I had a feeling I was treading on dangerous ground.
“My life was hard, and I wasn’t exactly husband material.”
I frowned, studying him more closely. Underneath the cloak, underneath the magic and shadow that held him together, there was a sadness, a loneliness that resonated with something deep inside me.
“Everyone’s husband material for someone,” I said.
He turned to face me, his head tilting slightly, as if considering me for the first time. “Is that so?”
“It’s what I believe...”
For a moment, we just stared at each other, the air thick with tension. The silence was broken by my sister’s voice. I was suddenly reminded we weren’t alone in the house.
“Millie!”
I rose to my feet just as Elysia came bounding into the living room, her pink princess nightgown trailing behind her like a cloud of cotton candy. She raced towards me, her big blue eyes – so much like my own – shining with excitement.
“Millie, Millie! When are we going to see Lady Mews?” She launched herself at me, her small arms wrapping around my waist.
“We?” Grim’s voice, a low rumble, startled both of us.
Elysia jumped back, her eyes darting towards the window where Grim now stood. How had he moved so fast? Then Elysia exhaled, as if remembering that he was here and he was safe. Just a guest. A friend, like I’d told Grim earlier, even though I didn’t quite believe it myself.
“We’re going to see Lady Mews today, right?” Elysia looked back and forth between me and Grim, her brow furrowed in confusion.
I forced a smile. “We are, sweetie. This afternoon. Just me and Grim, though.”
“But why can’t I come?” Elysia’s lower lip trembled. “I want to see Lady Mews, too.”
My heart ached for her. It wasn’t fair. “I know, honey, but remember what I told you. There’s a nasty virus going around. It’s best if you stay home and rest.”
“But I haven’t been outside in three days,” Elysia wailed, her voice cracking with the effort of holding back tears. “It’s not fair!”
“I know it’s tough,” I said. “But trust me, it’s for the best. We don’t want you getting sick, do we?”
“But–”
“Besides,” I interrupted her, pulling my best distraction tactic, “Who wants to help me make pancakes for breakfast?”
Elysia’s eyes widened a fraction. “Pancakes? Can we have strawberries?”
I smiled. It was amazing how easily distracted an eight-year-old could be, especially when pancakes were involved. “Of course. Strawberries and whipped cream.”
She grinned. “Yay!” Then grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the kitchen.
An hour later, the remnants of breakfast were cleared away, Elysia was happily ensconced upstairs with her coloring books, and Grim and I were alone in the silent kitchen.
“You’re lying to her.” Grim stated, his voice flat. He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with those disconcertingly empty sockets.
I turned away from him to busy myself with refilling the coffee maker. “I’m trying to keep her away from the things that are stalking the house.”
“You dismissed the staff because of the Poppets?” he asked.
“Of course.” I met his gaze, surprised by the question. “What do you think? That being waited on hand and foot was more important to me than their safety?”
He shrugged. “Not many people would put their staff’s safety above their own.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But it’s not their problem to deal with. Besides,” I added, my voice softening, “I kind of like having the place to myself. Just me and Elysia.”
“Right,” he said, that unnerving gaze fixed on me.
I shifted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny. “Anyway, we need to get going. The appointment at the pet hospital is at noon.”
“We could teleport,” he offered, his voice casual, as if suggesting a stroll in the garden rather than doing something that defied the laws of physics.
I shuddered. “No. No teleporting, please. I’d rather drive. I need to feel something normal for a change. Okay?”
He tilted his head. “If you’re sure…”
“I am. Give me ten minutes. I need to take a quick shower and change.”
He nodded. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
I hurried upstairs, my mind a tangled mess of Poppets, Elysia, Lady Mews, and the impossible feeling that the Grim Reaper and I were developing something akin to friendship. Or more.
God help me. This was madness.