Good Show 

Council Member Eddy of the Western Covens listened to Evelyn for one reason: her intoxicating promise of land, power, and wealth.

If any other witch had requested such a bold favor from him, Eddy would have laughed. Evelyn, however, possessed social position, experience, and above all, a willingness to share a little power.

“Why are you doing this?” he’d asked when she’d approached him in a pastry shop far from the castle. She’d leaned closer to him, her red hair spilling over her shoulders like strands of fire. The scent of cinnamon wafted from her body.

“Because we have to make our own luck, don’t we?”

Which was precisely why Eddy wanted to help Evelyn achieve her goal in whatever way he could. In a roundabout way, making Evelyn High Priestess would funnel more currency and influence to himself, and nothing appealed to him more. So he’d signed her binding to help Grant convince the High Priest that Evelyn should be empowered as High Priestess in Nell’s wake.

Eddy strode down the hall toward Donovan’s office, sandwiched between Grant and Evelyn, ready to earn his place in what she called the New Central Network. It was a budding idea of course, kept under wraps in the strictest confidence. New laws. New taxes. New leadership. The Central Network could certainly use an overhaul—Eddy wouldn’t deny that.

The maids had opened the windows, allowing the warm air of summer to blow through Chatham’s dank corridors and bring new life in the bitter wake of Nell’s death the day before. Grant kept glancing at Evelyn, but she didn’t seem to notice his fervent attention—captured in a swirl of thoughts and plans no doubt—and it was altogether quite awkward for Eddy.

“Do either of you have questions?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I need both of you to convince Donovan without being obvious. The opinions of his friends always sway him more than his own instincts.”

“Understood,” Eddy said. Grant nodded and dug around in his pockets for his tin of tobacco, a slip of white paper ready in his free hand.

Evelyn stopped to straighten her dress, check her hair in a mirror, and let out a long breath. Grant adjusted his necktie, patted back his hair, winked at his reflection, and fidgeted again with his tie.

“Hurry!” Evelyn ordered, already on the move. “We haven’t time for you to preen all day in front of the mirror.”

“There’s always time to look presentable,” Grant said with mild insolence. “Calm down, Evie. We have this under control.”

Evelyn didn’t say another word as they approached Donovan’s door, but her eyes twinkled with a mischievous excitement when Grant rapped on the door.

“Don’t disappoint me,” she mouthed, tucking out of sight. Grant and Eddy stepped into Donovan’s office with a chorus of friendly greetings.

“She’s a bit mad, isn’t she?” Grant muttered when the door had closed. He turned all his attention to Donovan, who waved them over to his desk with a sweep of his arm. Eddy squirmed, having no idea what to say. Luckily, Donovan was in a bright enough mood already, which Eddy took full advantage of.

“You’re looking good today, High Priest,” he called jovially, sitting in a plush velvet chair just across from Donovan’s desk. “Have you found a new tailor?”

“Scoundrel!” Grant said. “He’d better not have! I’ve sent him to the best already. He’s just lost a few pounds is all. Are you on a diet, High Priest?”

A plate of bread and luxury cheese from the dairies of the Western Covens sat on the desk at Donovan’s fingertips.

“Er . . . yes,” he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbling cheese. “A diet.”

Eddy leaned back, hiding his grin by rubbing his upper lip as if it itched.

“We’ve come to discuss some business with you, old boy,” Grant said as Donovan’s Assistant Harold passed around a decanter of dark ipsum. Eddy and Grant both accepted a full glass, while Donovan took the bottle and set it next to the glass at his fingertips.

“Business?” He scowled at them. “It’s too early for business.”

Eddy’s eyes strayed to the clock. Just past two in the afternoon. He remembered Donovan as a shrewd witch, not this fat, crumb-strewn buffoon reading scrolls on hunting supplies. Donovan hadn’t become High Priest by accident. He used to play the political game well, using his vast knowledge of intricate magic to set himself apart from the rest of the Council. The best Eddy could figure was that years of dark ipsum and a debilitating knee injury had taken their toll.

“It’s business that will only take a second,” Grant said, reassuring him with a wry smile. He clapped Eddy on the back of his shoulder. “Eddy here wants to know where to find the best hunting ground, as he takes the sport very seriously.”

Donovan’s scowled dropped, replaced by a wide grin.

“That’s the kind of business I like!” he cried. Eddy grinned and lifted his glass of ipsum in salute. Donovan roared with laughter, downed his own glass, and gestured for Harold to refill it. “And here I thought you were serious about work! I get so tired of doing Network business, you know. Especially with the sad case of Nell dying. Seems like it’s all just piling up now.”

Grant sobered. “Of course. That must be putting a great strain on you. How are you holding up, Your Highness?”

“Terrible,” Donovan said, reaching for another slice of cheese. “I can’t decide who to put in as High Priestess. It’s not an easy decision, you know. And the Council Members are down there talking and gossiping and—”

“Don’t worry!” Grant said, gesturing to himself and Eddy, who had fallen silent in surprise. “We’re here to take some of the burden off your tired, capable shoulders and help you out. Who are you considering? Sometimes an outside opinion helps shed more light.”

Donovan perked up. “Good idea,” he said. “A good idea indeed.”

Eddy made a silent note to watch himself. Donovan had just played right into Grant’s capable hands without Grant once mentioning the position of High Priestess. Eddy felt suffocated by the abilities of these masters of subterfuge. No telling what they could, or would, do.

Grant leaned back, lighting the lazy cheroot that dangled between his soft, full lips. “Tell us your thoughts,” he said. “Then you can decide, and we can get back to important matters, such as sport and manliness.”

“It’s simple,” Donovan said. “There are three female Council Members that I could appoint. Gloria, Terry and—” He stopped when Grant ruffled his nose and puckered his lips as if he’d eaten something sour. “What? Why did you make such a face?”

Grant hesitated, glancing at Eddy, and finally said after long deliberation. “I do hate to be this kind of witch, but Gloria? Is she truly in the running?”

He looked to Eddy for backup. Eddy licked his lips and hoped he could measure up to such superb acting.

“Glora is . . . well . . .” Eddy let out a heavy sigh. “She’s not very attractive, is she? An ugly High Priestess wouldn’t be popular. She could turn public sentiment away from the Network leadership, which would be a shame, especially since you’re so handsome yourself.”

“Nell was a lovely woman,” Grant pointed out. “Have you seen how the Network is mourning her? Gloria’s looks impress no one. It seems like a risk.”

“Not to mention,” Eddy said, “that Gloria has a bit of a problem.” His eyes widened, and he mimicked her drinking a flask. Donovan recoiled.

“No! Does she really?”

Eddy nodded, his lips pressed together, relieved to find his act had passed.

Grant shrugged. “Seems risky to institute Gloria,” he said.

“You’re right,” Donovan said. “Can’t have a Council Member with a drinking problem. No honor in that. How about Terry then?”

He gazed at them in studious concern.

“Terry?” Eddy repeated, searching madly for an excuse against her. In truth, she’d make a wonderful High Priestess. Steady and dependable, she’d pulled the Eastern Covens out of a lumber crisis ten years earlier. But she wouldn’t guarantee Eddy power.

“She’s old,” Grant said. “At least in her sixties.”

“So?” Donovan retorted sharply, as if he were personally insulted. “What’s wrong with a little age in a leader?”

Grant smiled. “Absolutely nothing, except it means she’ll die sooner. It’s hard on a Network to lose leaders so fast.”

“You’ll want younger blood,” Eddy said.

“Someone who can stay in the role for a long time and keep the Network steady. The good gods know it hasn’t been easy for you.”

Donovan relaxed, sinking back in his chair in thought. “Suppose you’re right.”

“Pamela would have been a wonderful High Priestess,” Grant said. “But you replaced her a few years back with someone else. Who was that again?”

Donovan’s eyes flashed with something akin to panic.

“Evelyn Ringer,” Eddy said. “And a good choice it was. Why, look at how she’s turned the Ashleigh Covens around!”

The High Priest’s sudden anxiety faded.

“Evelyn Ringer,” Grant murmured, rolling the name around. “Evelyn Ringer. Now there’s a candidate for High Priestess if I’ve ever met one. Attractive, young, capable. Knows everyone there is to know.”

“Best socialite I’ve ever met.”

“She can throw a party too. Remember the Yule Ball Donovan put her in charge of a few years ago, when Nell started feeling really ill?” Grant asked.

“With the ice sculptures? Who doesn’t? Magnificent pieces. The swan was my personal favorite.”

Donovan said nothing but seemed to sink deeper in thought. Eddy and Grant didn’t interrupt, letting Donovan’s thoughts flow for a few minutes. “She’s very young,” Donovan said with hesitation, showing a spark of intelligence in his fatty face. “A lot of witches would oppose it.”

“More will object if you put in Gloria.”

“Definitely,” Eddy said, keeping Terry’s name out of it. No reason to bring her back up if Donovan was hesitating. “Gloria is a mess.”

Donovan hemmed and hawed, stuffing cracker after cracker into his mouth, his gaze focused elsewhere.

“Porter would have something to say about Evelyn getting the position,” Donovan said, spewing crumbs on the rest of the tray.

“But Porter isn’t the Highest Witch, is he?” Grant gave a droll smile. “Don’t be afraid of your power, old chum. Embrace it! Instituting Evelyn isn’t against the Esmelda Scrolls, is it?”

“No,” Donovan said, brightening. “Not at all.”

“Well there you go. You would do nothing wrong by putting Evelyn in as High Priestess. What does Porter know anyway?”

“I’m simply instituting the best replacement for Nell,” Donovan agreed with a murmur. “Evelyn’s a bit bossy, though.”

Eddy didn’t dare respond because he agreed. Apparently Grant felt the same way, for he paused before replying.

“You’ll need a woman with a firm hand to take over when your knee is acting up, won’t you? She may be bossy, but she gets work done.”

“True,” Donovan said. “Bad knee and all.”

“What does your gut tell you to do?” Eddy asked, fascinated by the stages of rationalization Donovan moved through so quickly and with such ease. “You tend to make the best decisions.”

“Donovan always does. Why else would he be the High Priest?”

“Right,” Donovan said, wrapping his hands around his girth and clearing his throat. “Feels good. Let’s do it. Make it happen, Harold. Call Evelyn in for a meeting this evening.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Harold said from the other side of the room.

“Good show of leadership,” Eddy said with quiet applause. “You’ve made the right decision.”

“A drink to celebrate, I think?” Grant asked, waving a decanter of dark ipsum from where he stood at the far wall.

“Always!” Donovan cried. “To the Network! Now, let’s talk about hunting locations.”