You’re Fired! 

Despite the sticky humidity in the Council Room, Stephan fell asleep shortly after he sat down. Mildred fanned herself with an old piece of parchment, her cheeks bright red. Even with a dozen active incantations quelling the heat, it still felt miserable. Since there seemed to be no way to rid the room of the hot summer air, they all suffered in painful silence.

“I hope this goes quickly,” Mildred said under her breath. Stella, who sat at her left as always, agreed with a low murmur. The previous Esbat had lasted an interminable three hours, and now they’d advanced into the second month of summer.

“Middle Covens,” Donovan called from the wide chair tailored for his expansive bottom. Sweat streaked the sides of his face. “The Head of Finances reports that you underpaid Network taxes by 23,000 pentacles last month. Explain yourself.”

An unsuccessfully stifled yawn distorted his voice.

“We apologize, Your Highness,” Mildred said, having braced for his accusation. The Head of Finances sent her a message earlier that week warning her that he’d tell Donovan about their tax deficiency unless she paid him thirty pentacles. She’d burned the letter and prepared herself for the worst, refusing to give in to corruption. “We only collected enough to pay 7,000 pentacles.”

“That’s not even half!”

“Yes,” she said, nostrils flaring as she suppressed a snide comment on his ability to do math. “Their crops are still growing and not yet ready to sell.”

She’d been Stephan’s Assistant for eight months now—and a more tempestuous eight months had never been experienced—which meant she’d faced Donovan in the Esbat eight times, and she still couldn’t stand him. Every month brought a new struggle between them. She’d finally accepted that they would never like each other.

“Taxes in the farming Covens are one pentacle per family member per month,” he cried. “It’s not that much to ask!”

“Most witches only make one sacran for a full day’s work,” Mildred replied in frustration. “With five sacrans to a pentacle, an entire week of work goes to taxes for each person in a family. The cotton farmers with more than two or three children barely make enough to eat, even with both parents working.”

“That’s not Donovan’s fault,” Council Member Eddy piped up. “If they can’t afford to feed their children, they shouldn’t have them.”

“Miserable wretches make excuses for everything,” Rand muttered. “The poor breed like lice, don’t they? Then they expect the rest of us to take care of them.”

Mildred’s sensitive temper flared when Evelyn smiled slyly at Eddy and Rand, as if they shared a secret. Their growing Elitist attitudes frightened Mildred far more than facing Donovan without enough currency, and she wondered if Eddy was the originator of the movement.

“Yes,” Donovan said, brightening at the small group of supporters rallying around him. “Witches do make excuses, don’t they? The Middle Covens has 30,000 residents. 30,000 pentacles is a fair tax. How am I supposed to run the Network with so little currency coming in?”

You could start by closing Ashleigh House, your personal retreat built by the exploitation of the poor, Mildred thought, but she schooled her emotions into apathy.

“7,000 is twice what we were able to get last month, which means we are slowly improving. We’ve had to replace and train Coven Leaders and tax collectors.”

Donovan’s eyes bulged. “You only posted 3,500 pentacles last month?”

Mildred’s heart nearly stopped. What a foolish mistake! Of course Donovan hadn’t looked back to previous months. She’d erroneously assumed the Head of Finances would have told him all their indiscretions.

Too late, she thought, forcing a fearless facade by squaring her shoulders and meeting his irate gaze.

“Yes.”

Stephan hadn’t moved an inch at her side, but regarded her with the same open astonishment as everyone else. She could almost feel him yelling at her in his head. Why didn’t you just pay off the Head of Finances like everyone else? As of eight months ago, the Middle Covens had fallen under her leadership. Though she wasn’t Council Member on paper, she’d answer for every failure of the Covens.

“Yes?” Donovan bellowed. “That’s it? You aren’t going to give me an explanation?”

“I tried. But you ignored it.”

Donovan flipped a hand at her. “Get out of here! You’re fired! You can’t even get taxes paid.”

Mildred’s breath stopped in her throat. Stella made a noise of shocked protest but remained in her seat.

“You’re firing me for telling the truth?” Mildred asked, unable to stop herself. Donovan’s eyes narrowed again. Evelyn shook her head frantically back and forth, while Stella pinched her leg under the table.

“Mildred!” she hissed from behind her hand. “Are you crazy? You can’t speak to the High Priest like that!”

“I’m firing you because you’re a failure!” Donovan yelled, mopping his sweaty forehead with a sleeve. “And impertinent at that. Leave immediately.”

Mildred opened her mouth to speak, but Stella grabbed her elbow and jerked her down into her chair. To her great surprise, Stephan slammed his hands on the table.

“No!” he yelled. “No!”

He used the table to brace himself, slowly standing on knobby, trembling knees. “You can’t fire my Assistant,” he cried, bushy eyebrows knitted together. “She works for me, not you.”

“I’m the High Priest! I can do whatever I please.”

“No you can’t!” Stephan said. “I’m tired of teaching Assistants how to do their job, and I refuse to get another one. Of course she didn’t get all the taxes. Do you want to know why? Because I keep losing Assistants!”

He rapped the table with his large knuckles.

“You take responsibility for her?” Donovan asked, mirroring Mildred’s shock. Stella’s grip had loosened, and even Evelyn and Grant were listening with rapt interest. Stephan hadn’t taken responsibility for anything in years.

“No!” Stephan yelled. “I don’t like her either, but she’s the only one that’s collected even a quarter of the required taxes. Maybe you weren’t paying attention, but we haven’t paid 7,000 pentacles in taxes for almost two years. Why? Because all the Assistants left it a mess! Jikes, Donovan! When you took over the Southern Covens, you underpaid taxes for the first year. You even borrowed from the Network to pay your workers. The Middle Covens didn’t even ask for currency!”

Donovan sank into a distant memory for nearly a minute while an uneasy silence reigned. Stella’s head whipped back and forth between them so fast she nearly hit Mildred with flying locks of hair.

“Er, yes. Perhaps.” Donovan wriggled in his chair and swiped sweat from his eyes. Beneath the tense exchange, the room felt even more like a baking oven.

“If you fire her, she’s under no obligation to remain behind and explain what she’s done for the Middle Covens, and my memory is terrible.” Stephan wagged a long finger. “I can guarantee you won’t get taxes for the next six months if either of us go.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Do it! Fire us!” Stephan said. “I dare you! The Middle Covens will really fall apart, you’ll not get taxes, the textiles won’t get made, and then you won’t be able to get any clothes or cotton.”

Mildred held her breath while Donovan glared down at them. “Fine,” he shouted. “Assistant Margaret—”

“Mildred,” she retorted.

“Whatever! You may stay, but only because it would be less convenient to fire you. I better have the full tax by the end of the year. You hear? The end of the year! Letum Wood Covens, report!”

Stephan collapsed into the chair with a growl. Mildred sat back, dazed and a bit shaky. Had Stephan, of all witches, just saved her job? She thought of thanking him, but stopped. He’d insulted her, too. He only wanted to keep her so he wouldn’t have to work.

Mildred pulled out a fresh scroll and a quill and redirected her attention to taking notes as if nothing unusual had happened. Stephan leaned back, folded his hands across his middle, and promptly fell back to sleep in the miserable heat.

After the Esbat, Mildred set her bag on the far edge of Stephan’s desk and leaned against it with a deep sigh. Her dress clung to her sweaty body when she waved the window open with a spell, but it did little to relieve the heat. Mildred spoke a wind incantation, and the slight breeze cooled her skin a bit. Stephan hobbled to his chair, muttering under his breath as he moved.

“Thank you,” Mildred said, breaking a stretch of stillness. He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes, made a hurmph sound, and propped his cheek on his hand to stare at the empty fireplace.

“How did you know what to say to Donovan?” Mildred asked.

“I know Donovan,” Stephan retorted with annoyance that filtered away as he spoke. “I’ve worked with him for years. He’s lazy now. He wasn’t always, but he injured that damn knee. Sometimes, in politics, you have to turn what you know against people. You learn where they’re weak, and you use it.”

Mildred sat on the chair across from him. “Sounds barbaric,” she said with a frown. “Deliberately seeking out a weakness to exploit later.”

“It’s politics. You think I became Council Member by sitting around and letting Assistants do all the work? I used to be busy. I used to take care of things.”

His words echoed through the empty air. Used to. Used to.

“I suppose you’ve taught me something tonight,” she admitted grudgingly. As far-fetched as it sounded, Stephan had helped her career for once, instead of hindering it.

“Politics aren’t logical,” he said. “That’s your problem. You’re trying to put it in a box that you can mold, but you can’t! When you work in politics, you work with witches, and witches aren’t predictable. Half of them are crazy anyway. You can’t control them, so stop trying.”

Present company included, she wanted to add.

“I’ll remember that,” she said after thinking over his conclusion. The logic made sense. While she didn’t like to think of a chaotic world that didn’t involve the safety of rationality, and she was uncomfortable with the idea of exploiting another witch for gain, she couldn’t deny the truth of his words. Perhaps there was a grain of truth beneath the way Evelyn worked, too. Once again Mildred found herself questioning what she believed. How was one supposed to navigate such an uncertain and tempestuous sea?

Stephan glowered from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “Just get the taxes straightened out before the end of the year.”

She’d have four months to pull 30,000 pentacles out of the starving, work-weary Middle Covens. It had taken her eight months just to get 7,000 steady pentacles. She was tempted to ask Stephan how they’d managed before she came, but she held back. Likely it had something to do with bribes, corruption, and chosen blindness. It didn’t matter now. They would move forward.

The taste of her swallowed pride thickened her throat. “I can’t do it alone,” she said, folding her hands on her lap. “I need your help. Perhaps we can break our impasse tonight and agree to work together more amicably.”

“Obviously you can’t do it yourself.” He rolled his eyes. “Or else I wouldn’t have had to bail you out.”

“Are you going to help me or not? You know the Middle Covens better than anyone.”

“Knew,” he said with a hint of regret. Stephan closed his eyes. “I don’t know anything anymore, and I haven’t cared since she die—”

He stopped, and his entire body went rigid, though his eyes still flickered with pain. The portrait of his dead wife that hung above the fire drew both their gazes. Stephan hadn’t once mentioned his family in the time she had worked with him. She realized with a start that his gritty personality hid nothing but a lonely, frightened old man.

“I’ll get started on the taxes in the morning, I suppose,” Mildred said, arms folded tightly across her chest. But how? The new, trustworthy Coven Leaders would help, but she still had to train half of them. Then came the not-so-simple matter of collecting crime reports, answering pleas from Head Witches, dealing with failed crops, and increasing the output of the mills. Three piles of tottering envelopes awaited her attention.

And that didn’t even include planning her lessons for the staff three times a week.

I’ve failed to do this job well so far, she thought. That’s the simple matter of it. While Evelyn and Stella press forward with confidence in their careers, I’m still floundering to figure out how to be an Assistant after eight months. I can’t even get my Council Member to help.

“One hour,” Stephan said, startling her from her thoughts. “I’ll give you an hour of my time after breakfast, before my nap.”

“And one hour after lunch,” she said.

“Ungrateful witch,” he muttered. “Fine, I’ll give you an hour after lunch as well. But you have to make sure my meals arrive on time. Buy me a new pair of slippers to wear around the office. I get chilly in here. Make sure I have a fresh pile of books, too, and cookies on the plate at all times.”

Relief rippled through Mildred’s chest, although it felt more like desperation. She’d forget her pride and pamper him the way he wanted—perhaps he missed the way his wife had taken care of him—if he helped her. She’d stuff his face full of chocolates if they could meet Donovan’s 30,000 pentacle requirement.

“Agreed.”

He made another sound in the back of his throat, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep while Mildred transported to the library, seeking a fresh stack of gardening books and a recommendation on where to buy slippers.