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She stares out of the car window; the buildings that line the street tower over her. She blinks slowly, watching a man sprint down the sidewalk, talking on the phone. She wonders who he’s talking to.
She closes her eyes and imagines that he's rushing to meet his girlfriend, who's leaving town, desperate to confess his love for her before she leaves for the year. She imagines he won't make it and will be devastated, but when he turns around, there she’ll be, smiling and waiting for him.
The idea makes her smile softly to herself.
The man in the car next to her clears his throat, and her smile vanishes. “We’ll be at the office soon. Are you excited to meet your new coworkers?”
She doesn’t reply, hoping the disinterest on her face will drive him away.
Sadly, it doesn't.
The man smiles brightly and leans closer to her. “We don’t have any other boys your age, but there are some interns and assistants who I'm sure would love to play with you! That is, if you’re not too busy at the job!”
She stays silent and closes her eyes.
The man does not take the hint. “Only a couple other employees actually live at the same house you will, but they’ll take fine care of you! And if they don't, well then old sport, I’ll doc their pay!”
The car slows down. “Ah, here we are! Now tell me, have you ever stayed in a house as fancy as this!”
She opens her eyes and stares as the car enters through a large gate that opens up to a large lawn, filled with decorative statues and flowers lined up in neat rows.
She can see the sprawling mansion after the lawn, but is more interested in a butterfly that flits from flower to flower. Maybe she could convince a gardener to let her play in the garden.
“This is the guild headquarters! Ah, don't you worry, old sport, you're going to love it here!”
She does not respond.
The driver parks, then steps out of the car to open the door for her. He holds out a hand, and she takes it, feeling like a lady stepping out of a carriage.
That is, until her feet touch the gravel and the driver steps away quickly to open the door for the blond man with the too big smile.
“Take his bags to his new room,” he says, pointing behind him at the car. “I'm going to introduce him to the guild!”
“Yes, Sir Fitzgerald.”
She nods to herself, that was his name. Francis Fitzgerald, it had slipped her mind somewhere in the journey from the orphanage to here.
She takes a deep breath and follows the man into the mansion.
Servants open the large entrance and nod at her without actually looking at her. She fidgets with the hem of her shirt as she follows Fitzgerald down a hallway. He’s walking much too quickly for her much smaller legs, and she nearly loses him as he turns a sharp corner.
He finally stops in front of a door and turns to smile down at her. It's much too large, and he doesn't look her in the eye.
“Your coworkers here are all adults and very different from each other, but I'm sure you’ll come to like them.” He sighs and shakes his head. “They’re an odd bunch, but I couldn't ask for better empl-”
He's sharply cut off by the sound of something shattering inside the closed room.
“You wretched man!” a shrill voice screams.
“You’re the one who bumped into me!”
Her eyes go wide, and she wraps her arms tightly around her chest, forcing herself not to call on her best friend. That would only end with Fitzgerald getting rid of her, just like everyone else. She can not go back again; they won’t take her, they would-
A hand is set on her shoulder. “I’m very sorry, old sport; I'll make sure they behave from now on.”
She blinks away tears and nods once. Fitzgerald nods as well and stands up straight, throwing the door open without another word.
She peers out from behind him as he begins reprimanding the people inside.
There's a young woman holding an umbrella to her chest as she bows her head to Fitzgerald. She has on a beautiful blue gown with white accents. The young girl's eyes widen as the woman in blue purses her lips, painted in a flattering shade of red.
Standing next to her is a young man with unruly dark hair that covers his face. He’s wearing an ill-fitting sweater and clutching a book. Unlike the women, he does not bow, but his head is still lowered as he stares at the ground.
Another young man sits on the couch in the room; the girl narrows her eyes at the priest's garb he wears. He is pointedly looking away from Fitzgerald and the two who were fighting in the middle of the room.
The strangest of all was the man standing in the corner with his eyes closed. He has long hair that's matted and falls nearly to his hips; the color reminds her of the seaweed that would wash up on the rocky beaches near the orphanage.
She only saw it on the occasion she was able to sneak out; she hopes some of her work will let her be outside.
“Alright,” Francis claps his hands, and she jolts back to attention, "I would like you all to meet the newest member of the guild!”
She shuts her eyes tightly at the name he calls her. She doesn't know what she wants to be called, but that is not it. That name has only been used cruelly; she does not care for it.
She opens her eyes, squares her shoulders and nods once at the people in the room.
Francis claps her on the shoulder; she tries not to flinch.
“This is our resident lady, Miss Margaret Mitchell,” he says and points to the young woman in blue.
“Francis, that's a child!” Margaret points out, eyeing the young girl with suspicion.
Francis grins. “With a powerful ability and willingness to work! Besides, Miss Mitchell, you are only 15.”
Margaret scoffs. “Compared to the infant you just brought, I'm an old woman!”
The man with hair covering his face mutters something to himself.
Fitzgerald laughed much too loudly. “And the one who can't seem to speak up is called Edgar Allan Poe! I know he looks scary, but he’s really a big softy.”
Edgar continues to mutter to himself.
“The man who can’t make eye contact is Nathaniel Hawthorne; he’s a priest, man of the cloth, so you should call him father!”
“Do not call me that,” Nathaniel says, not bothering to look over.
“Lastly, in the corner is Lovecraft,” he winces, “tell you what, just stay away from him; he’s weird.”
Lovecraft doesn't open his eyes or move.
“Alright,” Fitzgerald claps his hands together, “now that introductions are done, Margaret and Edgar, if you could show our new member to his room.”
“What!” Margaret cries.
“I have some business to attend to. Thank you so much for doing this.”
Before Margaret or Edgar can say anything, he quickly jogs down the hallway, leaving the young girl standing alone.
“Ugh, of course he would dump this kid on us,” Margaret huffs.
Edgar doesn't reply, just walks past the girl and stops just outside the doorway. “Are you coming?”
She doesn't know if he’s talking to Margaret or her, but she follows him anyway.
The three travel down a maze of hallways until they reach a flight of stairs. “Do you even know where you're going?” Margaret huffs and crosses her arms.
“Yes, it's quite obvious he would be living near us. I saw one of the maids cleaning the room across from mine this morning. Obviously, that's where he’ll be staying.”
“None of that is obvious!” Margaret protests.
“You should be more observant,” Edgar hisses back.
The young girl begins to pick at her shirt buttons.
Edgar leads them down another hallway and stops in front of a door. “This should be your room.” Edgar points at the room directly across from it. “I’m right across from you, so feel free to come get me if you need.”
Margaret scoffs. “Like you would be any help.” She points at the room to the right of Edgars. “I’m right there if you really need anything.”
Edgar huffs and shakes his head. “You can ask both of us for help. Do you need anything else?”
He calls her that name, and her heart aches.
“Do you have something else we should call you?” Margaret asks.
“What?” the girl whispers. It's the first thing she’s said in a week.
“You don't look like you enjoy it when people say your name.”
“Does he?” Edgar asks with a tilt of his head.
“Get your hair out of your damn face for once!” Margaret hisses and smacks him on the shoulder.
Edgar sighs and proceeds to tie his hair up with a hair band.
The girl blinks up at the rather pale face and large eye bags the man sports. It looks like he hasn't seen the sun in years, and by the way he blinks at the light, it adds to that theory.
“So what should we call you?” Margaret asks.
The girl freezes; no one has ever asked that. She knows what she is, but she also knows no one else can. She doesn't want any more burns.
“Give me a second,” Edgar says and disappears into his room.
Margaret frowns and shakes her head. “That man,” she mutters.
She kneels down and softly smiles at the girl. “Hey, I know it's scary being brought into a house full of strangers. And I know we don’t all get along, but we will not hurt you.”
“Margaret and I will not,” Edgar says, exiting his room holding a new book. “Please be wary around the others; if they do cause you harm, I will take care of it.”
The girl nods and accepts the book when it is handed to her.
It's a book of baby names.
She looks up at Edgar, who nods.
“Pick one.”
The girl opens the book and frantically begins to read.
“Oh dear,” Edgar says and lays a hand over the book to stop her. “You don’t have to pick right now, just for ideas.”
Margaret nods and stands back up. “Once you get set up, I can take you shopping! We’ll get you looking like a little gentleman in no time!”
The girl nods, not looking up from the book of baby names.
“Would you rather be a little lady?”
The girl drops the book as her hands shake and she steps back from Edgar.
“No, no, it’s ok!” Edgar cries as tears form in the girl's eyes.
“Oh wait,” Margaret says, “is he like you? Oh, I mean she?”
The girl's heart sings amidst her panic.
Edgar shakes his head and kneels on the ground. “It’s ok, you know. No one would mind. No one cares about me. My name used to be Camila, you know.”
The girl blinks, large green eyes staring at the man in front of her.
“I chose Edgar when I was fifteen,” he says, reaching out to wipe away her tears.
“But it’s wrong,” the girl chokes.
“No,” Edgar states. “It is not.”
“But they-”
“You are the only one who can define yourself.”
The girl wails and throws herself into the arms of Edgar, who freezes at the bundle of sobbing child clinging to him.
He stares at Margaret, who mimes for him to hug her back. Slowly, he does so and holds the sobbing child.
Eventually, the girl does stop crying and pulls away, quickly wiping her face. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Of course," Edgar whispers, glancing up at Margaret for help.
She rolls her eyes at him but leans down to be the same height as them. “Alright, kid, you set up your room, and then we’ll go get you some cute dresses. Honestly, I'm glad you're a girl; I like them much better than boys.”
The girl laughs softly. “Is it really ok?”
“If it isn’t, they’ll have to answer to us!” Margaret says, pointing at herself and Edgar.
Edgar nods solemnly.
The girl sniffles again. “I am a girl.”
Margaret and Edgar both nod. “Of course,” Edgar says. “Now go set up so you can go shopping; we’ll be in our rooms.”
The girl nods and enters her new room.
Her heart is soaring, and she presses the baby book to her chest. She takes a deep breath and sets it down for now; she’ll pick out a name as soon as she empties her suitcase.
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“Lucy.”
Edgar turns and blinks at the girl. “What?”
“That's my name,” Lucy says. “Lucy Maud Montgomery.”
Edgar nods. “That's a good name. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Lucy.”
“I know,” Lucy says and grins, smoothing out the wrinkles on her new dress. “It’s nice to meet me too.”