3. Grievance
CHAPTER THREE
grievance
Grievance still didn’t understand coffee.
It smelled wonderful. Warm. Bitter. Earthy. Like roasted acorns and autumn rain.
It also made Milo wrinkle his nose every single morning before taking a sip, muttering something about “not being awake enough to person yet.”
If something required suffering before it became enjoyable, Grievance failed to see the appeal. Still, watching Milo make it had become one of his favorite parts of every morning.
Outside, October leaves skittered across the apothecary path while Marigold happily munched breakfast from her hay pile. Milo stood at the Bunsen burner, now heating Mr. Wetherby’s daily potion, while wearing his favorite oversized pink knitted sweater.
Grievance loved that sweater. It swallowed his mate whole. The sleeves hung over his hands until only his fingertips peeked free, and every time Milo reached for something, he had to push the fabric back with an impatient little huff.
It made him look so small.
And the best part was, since the sweater hung on him like a dress, he usually abandoned the idea of pants altogether. Something Grievance had greedily taken advantage of on more than one occasion.
Milo poured steaming water through the little copper brewer while Pip hung upside down from the spice rack, watching with all four eyes and munching on a mealworm.
He watched Milo stir his cauldron with one hand while pouring a generous helping of pumpkin spice creamer into his coffee with the other.
“Wasn’t it your grandmother who said, ‘Never conjure where you cook ’?”
“Technically, you ‘brew’ coffee. So it’s not cooking,” he said, taking a sip, smiling contentedly. “She also said, ‘Life is too short to drink bad coffee.’”
“I think you just made that up.”
Milo shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know.” Grievance shook his head as Milo added another heavy spoonful of brown sugar.
“You completely defeat the purpose of your coffee when you do that.”
“If the purpose is to make me happy in the morning, I disagree.”
“I thought waking up next to me is what made you happy in the morning,” Grievance teased.
“It does. And I remember that, after my coffee.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you love it,” Milo replied, standing on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and returning to his morning potions.
Their mornings had settled into something Grievance had once believed impossible.
Routine.
The certainty that tomorrow would look much like today. He had spent most of his life waking prepared to run. Prepared to fight. Prepared to survive. The lives of MythBeasts were often brutal, with no mercy shown for those wanting to sleep in.
Now… He woke wondering whether Milo would wear the pink sweater or the cream one.
It was a much better life.
Coffee finished, Milo carried his mug into the apothecary storefront, where trays of ingredients already waited. As always, Grievance followed, just to watch his little witch work his craft.
Today’s work wasn’t complicated. In addition to the usual delivery of ‘horny chicken potion’ (a feed supplement Milo invented to increase the egg production of hens), Old Mister Wetherby also requested a remedy for his prize roosters, who had picked up feather rot after getting into cursed nettles.
The remedy only required moonmint oil, vanilla moss, and a stabilizing tonic.
Mr. Wetherby had been one of Milo’s regular customers for years, buying his nutrient powder and paying him in more eggs than Milo and Grievance could ever hope to eat.
Milo hummed quietly as he measured powders into glass bottles. Grievance lasted almost twenty seconds before crossing the room. He slipped both arms around Milo’s waist from behind. His mate fit so perfectly against him.
Milo sighed, pausing the grind on his mortar and pestle. “You’re distracting me.”
“Mmm.” Grievance buried his face against the side of Milo’s neck. “Just let me hold you.”
“You held me all last night.”
“No.” Grievance tightened his arms. “You rolled away.”
“You snore.”
“I only snore when I fall asleep after I’ve been very satisfied.” He punctuated the sentence by gently nipping Milo’s ear. “And you, my mate, managed to satiate me thoroughly last night.”
Exactly as intended, Milo’s entire face turned the most wonderful shade of pink to match his sweater.
“I—I am trying to make medicine.”
“You’re making horny chicken powder.”
“It’s important, horny chicken powder! Those eggs save us a ton on groceries.”
Pip clicked his mandibles happily from atop the shelf, the way he always did after a meal.
“Monster fusses over Nestmaker. Nestmaker pretend not to like fussing. Same conversation every morning. Pip bored.”
Before his mate could come up with a response, the apothecary bell rang as the door swung open.
“Healer Pembrooke?”
“Shit!” Milo cursed, ducking free of Grievance’s arms and darting through the connecting door leading deeper into the cottage.
Grievance smiled at their customer. “He’ll be right back.” The man, a father with two young boys, looked momentarily stunned but nodded. “In the meantime, feel free to peruse.”
“Yes, yes, yes! Nestmaker make best medicines! Buy much. Spend money.”
Grievance sighed. Pip still hadn’t mastered the art of subtlety. Luckily, before the spider could speak anymore, Milo re-entered the storefront, now in his full professional Healer’s uniform.
The pink sweater had disappeared, replaced with his formal navy Healer’s coat fastened with polished brass clasps. His pointed hat sat neatly atop his copper curls, though several rebellious strands had already escaped around his ears.
He carried himself differently, and Grievance took a step back, ready to watch his mate go to work.
“Good morning,” Milo said, confidence bolstering his voice. “What seems to be the trouble?”
The father stepped forward, one frightened-looking boy clinging to each side of him.
“We’ve got a bit of a situation,” he said, then ushered his boys forward. Neither child could be older than ten. Both were crying. “Show the Healer, boys.”
They held out their hands. The fingertips were an alarming shade of violet.
“We went to collect their racing brooms this morning, but the moment they grabbed the handles…”
“It hurt.” One of the boys sniffled.
“It was so cold.” The other one added.
Milo walked around the counter and knelt until he was eye level with the children, taking each tiny hand with practiced care. Healing magic shimmered beneath Milo’s fingertips as pale blue light spread across the children’s hands.
“Can you wiggle them for me?”
They did, but winced from the pain.
“Okay.” His voice remained calm. “You’ve got mild frostbite. Nothing permanent. I can get you patched up pretty quick.”
The father visibly sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Just give me a few minutes to whip something up.”
But as his mate went to work plucking ingredients off shelves and starting up a flame, their eyes met.
Frostbite.
In October.
Their little town mystery was growing.
By midmorning, they already had two more reports. A milk churn frozen solid behind the dairy, and an apple orchard where dozens of ripe apples hung imprisoned inside perfectly clear shells of ice.
Word that Healer Pembrooke was in charge of solving this mystery had spread, and the townsfolk were eager to approach them in the street that morning. Every conversation ended the same way.
“We’ll take care of it,” Milo promised. And every single time, the worried expressions softened.
Grievance found himself smiling. Not because the situation wasn’t serious—double cases of frostbite on two young boys was nothing to sneeze at—but because of the way his mate was handling it. Because of how everyone in Pumpkin Hollow looked at Milo.
Months ago, the witch beside him would have apologized for existing and tried to melt away from every interaction. He questioned every word that came out of his mouth and looked over his shoulder as if waiting for someone to tell him he wasn’t good enough.
That version of Milo appeared only rarely now.
Instead, Grievance watched his mate reassure frightened neighbors, answer questions without hesitation, and organize a plan before breakfast had fully settled.
Milo had become the sort of Healer Grievance had always known he could be.
And Lanterns…
He was beautiful doing it.
Together they finished setting another enchanted trap near the edge of town before following an elderly couple toward a strange patch of snow tucked between two cottages.
“There,” the woman whispered. “It wasn’t there yesterday.”
The snow glittered beneath the morning sun. Fresh tracks crisscrossed the powder. Milo crouched beside them.
“I’ve never seen footprints like these.”
Grievance knelt beside him. Immediately, something caught his attention. Two different types of tracks. One set was feline, the distinct outline of little toe beans delicately placed in the snow.
Adorable.
The second set of prints was the same as the ones they’d seen with Officer Hobbs. Four narrow reptilian toes ending in sharp claw marks.
“Are we dealing with two animals?” Milo asked.
Grievance shook his head. “No. The same creature, look.” He traced the spacing with one finger. “It walks on four legs.” He tapped the toe bean prints. “These are the front feet, and these are the rear,” he said, tracing the reptilian ones.
Milo’s green eyes widened. “So strange. I hope we catch it soon.”
“So do I.”
They set two more traps along the edges of town before turning onto Main Street, wandering without rhythm or destination. There was nowhere they needed to be. They were simply enjoying the peace of an autumn afternoon together, hand in hand.
Walking through Pumpkin Hollow this time of year with Milo’s hand tucked safely in his own was one of Grievance’s favorite things in the world. He loved watching the hundred different ways their magical town came alive.