Eighteen 

The tea shop smelled like glue.

It had always been like that, so the odor didn’t really bother Mildred when she walked in on her eighteenth birthday, grateful to get away from the stench and sound of Chatham City. Porcelain tea sets decorated three cupboards on the side wall, interrupted only by shelves filled with glass jars of assorted tea from the Bickers Mill Covens.

“Merry meet, Charles,” Mildred said, nodding to the slender witch behind the counter. The wrinkles around the corners of his eyes peaked up like bat wings when he smiled.

“Good to see you again, Mildred. Evelyn’s upstairs waiting. She already chose the tea set and tea, of course. Just like every year.”

Mildred laughed. Even if she hadn’t been the first to arrive, Evelyn still would have chosen the tea. She always did. My tastes are the most refined, she said every year. I’m just doing you a favor.

“Thank you. I’ll head upstairs. Stella should be here any minute now.”

Mildred climbed the stairs at the back of the room to find Evelyn sitting at a table looking very morose. Fading sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating her red hair with strands of orange and yellow.

“Merry meet,” Mildred said, approaching the table. Evelyn started, then smiled and straightened.

“Merry meet, Mildred. You’re just on time, as always.”

Mildred glanced at the tea set spread across the table. It was a deep green, with gold and white leaves painted into the delicate china, the same tea set they’d chosen since their thirteenth birthday when the tradition began and all of them could—and did—transport in for the first time. Three of the cups were chipped, and the lid didn’t quite fit on the pot, but Mildred loved the consistency more than anything.

“You look very tired, Evie,” Mildred said, settling into her chair and looking at her with concern. Evelyn shook herself awake.

“I am tired.”

“How are things with Nell? Is being an Assistant everything you ever wanted?”

“Quite boring, Milly.” Evelyn set her chin on her palm with a renewed slump of her thin shoulders. Her forehead ruffled into lines. “I thought being an Assistant would be much more exciting, but it turns out it’s little more than meetings and paperwork.”

“Don’t you go to soirees and social events all week? Surely you love that.”

Evelyn waved that off impatiently. “Yes, yes. The social events are wonderful, of course. You know how I’ve always loved parties. But the rest of it?” She shrugged. “I could do without.”

Mildred nearly choked. What she wouldn’t give to trade positions! Evelyn could keep the social events, and Mildred would take all the work, no matter how boring. It was much better than her current job, anyway.

“You seem very frustrated.”

“I am!” Evelyn cried with ruthless honesty. “Assistants can’t really do anything, you know? So many problems, and thanks to May I have good ideas on how to fix them! But it doesn’t mean much because I don’t have the power yet. Believe me, I’ve tried. But Nell only gets after me and says that my ideas are tyrannical. She’s very . . . it’s just different now, that’s all.”

Mildred leaned back in her chair. “What solutions do you have?” she asked eagerly, seeking the thrill of a stimulating conversation. There was nothing Mildred wanted to speak of more than the many issues the Network faced and how to combat them. It’s what she thought of at night before she went to sleep. Determining how to best serve the Network would establish the course of her life once she became a Council Member.

“There’s already a division of classes forming lately,” Evelyn said, leaning forward and catching Mildred’s fervor. “I think we should encourage it more. Allow the poor to be poor and the rich to be rich.”

“What?” Mildred asked, recoiling. “Evie, separation of classes is the last thing the Network needs right now.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “You sound just like Nell. The poor are threatening to riot in Newberry, aren’t they? It’s because they want a life they don’t deserve. They haven’t worked as hard as the wealthy have to achieve success, so why should the wealthy, who have worked, give up their currency to lazy sluggards who turn to violence and throw fits like a petulant child? No, it’s all backward, Milly, and has been since the Tobacco Riots that killed Mama and Papa. I’m determined to make more witches see it, and even more determined to stop it from happening again. The constant riots are evidence enough. When they don’t get what they want, they turn to fire and violence.”

Mildred didn’t know how to respond. Evelyn’s sudden spouting of doctrine reeked of Elitism, the belief that separation of the classes led to a more stable economy. The rich remained in their sphere and the poor in theirs. It stood opposed to the doctrine of their current law, as outlined by the Esmelda Scrolls, and was a terrible basis for a government. Surely Evelyn could see that!

Mildred was about to say so when Stella walked up with a beaming smile, breaking off the depressing conversation. Charles followed close behind, chortling over something Stella had said, bearing a cake in his large hands.

“Merry meet!” Stella called, and the room felt brighter for her presence.

“A birthday cake for my three favorite ladies,” Charles said, setting it on the table in front of them. It was a lovely two-layered cake with light purple frosting decorated with swirls of white. Mildred’s mouth began to water. Charles and his wife made the most delicious confections.

“Thank you, Charles,” Mildred said as he backed away. “This looks wonderful.”

Evelyn stared out the window and said nothing.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Stella said, lowering herself gracefully into her chair. “Here we are! Celebrating our eighteenth birthday. Can you believe that we’re out of Network school like a bunch of adults?”

Evelyn wasted no time before using an incantation to cut into the cake. A generous piece landed on her plate, and her fork lifted into the air for her hand to snatch.

“Upset today?” Stella asked with a teasing note in her voice.

“Yes, I am. Milly and I were just discussing how boring being an Assistant has turned out to be. Not to mention how busy I am in the evenings with May—”

She stuffed a piece of cake in her mouth, preventing her explanation of whatever else she was busy with. Evelyn groaned with delight and seemed to melt into the chair. Mildred cut a more realistic slice, set it on her plate, then served Stella, who had finally settled and poured a steaming cup of blackberry tea. All concerns over her conversation with Evelyn left Mildred‘s mind for the time being. No doubt it had all been the frustrated musings of a young Assistant.

“The job of Assistant can be boring sometimes,” Stella agreed, hedging her words as if she were afraid to put them out there, lest someone catch her in a less-than-grateful state. “But I do love being the Assistant to Coven Leader Irene. She’s a wonderful witch. I hope to be just like her one day. She handles her portion of Chatham City beautifully. It’s been a true honor to work for her.”

“What about you, Milly?” Evelyn asked, forking another fluffy bite of cake into her mouth, effectively destroying the frosting that had once said 18. “Do you like your job?”

Mildred hesitated. Technically, she’d only just started last week. It wouldn’t be right to form a decisive opinion yet. “It’s fine.”

Stella glanced up in surprise. “You found a job, Milly? Tell us all about it!”

“It’s not that exciting.”

“You searched for a job all summer,” Stella countered, cutting a small mouthful of cake onto her fork. “Anything is exciting after as much work as you put into it!”

Evelyn took a sip of wine—though it was an odd pairing with cake—and studied Mildred with curious eyes. “Out with it, Milly. What’s your job? You’re not a librarian after all, are you?”

She giggled, and so did Stella, but they both quieted when they saw the troubled expression on Mildred’s face.

“No, not a librarian,” Mildred said, pushing her frosting around the plate. She cleared her throat. She wasn’t a librarian, thank goodness, but she wasn’t much higher either. “I’m the Assistant to the High Witch of York.”

“But that’s a wonderful position,” Stella countered, though her voice had lost its gusto. Mildred shot her a perturbed glance.

“It most certainly is not a wonderful position,” she said, feeling rigid with shame and disappointment again. While grateful for a job, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of desperation. High Witch was very last on the list of political positions, and the High Witch of York oversaw a measly one hundred residents. Most days Mildred couldn’t find enough work to fill her time. How would she ever advance her career in such a state?

“You must start somewhere,” Stella replied. “And at least you’re making currency again. I know your Mother must be happy about that.”

“Yes,” she agreed, forcing false bravado into her tone. I’m still living at home, unlike both of you who found prestigious positions and have moved forward with life. “I’m grateful to help pay the rent.”

What Mildred didn’t tell them was the full truth: She’d been passed up as High Witch for a scaly-skinned man named Tom Flannery. He’d taken her as his Assistant out of sheer laziness; he didn’t want to interview other witches for the job. To say she was disheartened would understate her feelings dramatically. How had it been so easy for her friends? Why did she have to fight so hard for everything? It felt ridiculous.

To her relief, Stella turned the conversation by digging into her purse and extracting a well-worn envelope.

“I received a letter from Dale today!” she said with a smile. “He’s just finished the first half of Guardian training and is doing well. I should be able to see him again in just four months.”

“That’s nice,” Evelyn said, perking up. “Did you hear the rumor about the new Assistant, Jayne?”

Stella and Evelyn fell into a light prattle about gossip they couldn’t discuss at the castle while Mildred turned to her own thoughts, content to be quiet, as usual. The shops below had already lighted their candles, illuminating the approaching darkness with warm yellow light. She hardly saw any of the slow bustle of Chatham City, nor felt the hot summer air fade into a sweet breeze through the open window. Instead, Mildred let the memory of Mother’s words comfort her, for they ran in a circuit through her mind most days now.

You’re going to face many disappointments, my girl, and you’ll probably fail at something many more times. But if you keep going and don’t let it defeat you, no one is going to remember what you didn’t get done.

Assistant to a High Witch was as forward-moving politically as a librarian, but at least she had a start.

Feeling resolved to work twice as hard, and eventually catch up to her friends, Mildred took a bite of cake, turned away from the window, and started to track the merry conversation between Stella and a contented Evelyn who had eaten her fill of sugar and sweets.

Even if she didn’t have an ideal job, she always had her best friends, and that counted for a lot more.

Evelyn watched the bustle of Market Street in downtown Chatham City from the safety of Piccadilly Pub. The tall windows edged with stained glass gave her plenty of opportunity. She sat in the shadows of the last booth, still visible from the front door so May would see her right away.

The smell of Piccadilly Pub’s famous pumpkin soup wafted from the ovens in the back. She ignored the heady scent and kept her eyes on the close, wintry streets of Chatham City. A queue of witches bundled up against the cold loitered near the little trinket shop across the street, where the slow accumulation of dirt stained the brick, and the cobblestone street had worn smooth. She tilted her head to see the sky, but the close buildings admitted only a grimy light. Still, downtown Chatham City was a charming place.

As soon as she saw May’s loose black curls, Evelyn smiled. How good it would be to see her old teacher again! It had only been eight months since graduation, but she already missed school and all her adoring friends.

“Merry meet, Evie,” May said, walking up to the booth with a blithe smile. “You wore your favorite dress. It looks lovely on you.”

Evelyn glanced down at the light blue day dress with its full skirt, lacy sleeves, and gauzy overlay. It was certainly overdone for a pub of this sort, but it gave her a dignified presence. She was, after all, a gentlewitch.

“Politics is presentation,” Evelyn said with a warm smile, ecstatic to be alone with May again. “Just as you taught me, I always look my best.”

“A pot of lemon ginger tea,” May commanded the moment a buxom waitress with flyaway hair walked up. “Two cups with spoons and saucers. Don’t pour the tea yourself; I don’t trust you to steep it correctly.”

The waitress faded away without a word.

“Tell me, Evie darling, how have you been?” May asked in a warm, maternal tone, folding her hands on her lap. “We’ve missed you terribly.”

“A little bored,” Evelyn admitted, propping her chin on her hand. “Being Nell’s Assistant keeps me busy, but the work isn’t very exciting.”

“Did you expect it to be?”

“Perhaps,” Evelyn admitted, feeling sheepish. “But I’m learning a great deal about Network business, which shall help our mutual purposes in the end. Donovan holds so many parties and balls that I’m rarely bored in the evenings.”

“In matters such as these, you can’t rush your career,” May said. “If you do, it will seem like you’re too impatient, and witches will get suspicious. Build up trust. You cannot change the world overnight.”

Evelyn sighed. “I wish I could.” She studied Chatham City again. Carriages and horses walked past in a continual stream, cutting tracks through the cold slush. Two scrollboys dropped their scrolls into a puddle for a fistfight, and a baker chased down a haggard man with a loaf of bread tucked under his arm. Thanks to a weak Network structure, theft and violence weren’t even a surprise. So much unchecked poverty only led to lawlessness and despair. Evelyn’s lips curled down at the thought, recalling a flash of her Mama’s bright red hair.

All those rabid, poor people just trampled your Mother to death during the Tobacco Riots, May had told her once. Evelyn drew in a deep breath. That would never happen again. Not if she had anything to say about it.

“It’s chaotic out there, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Even chaos has a purpose,” May said, leaning back in her chair, but still maintaining perfect posture. “It will be up to witches like you and I to control it once it gets out of hand.”

It was nothing short of incredible that May hadn’t progressed further in the Network political structure. Such poise and diplomacy were difficult to find in one witch, not to mention her quick mind in such matters. May always had an answer. Evelyn feared she’d never become even half the witch May was. How could she lead the world when she knew so little? May had grand plans, and sometimes they frightened Evie. She didn’t know if she could live up to them or fulfill all that May intended for her. But she had to try, for she wanted May’s approval above all else.

The waitress returned, setting a steaming pot of tea and two cheap porcelain glasses in front of them.

“I want a slice of Newberry pie,” May said. “If the crust is burned or browned on the bottom, I shall send it back without paying.”

The woman nodded, then glanced at Evelyn. She refused with a wave, and the woman scurried away.

“You aren’t going to order any lunch?” May asked. “I thought we came here to eat.”

“Miss Celia aside,” Evelyn said, pouring the pale yellow tea into their cups, “I’ve never found any food outside of the castle that was worth eating.”

“You’re a snob.”

“There’s a difference between snobbery and refinement,” Evelyn said. “As a witch that works in the castle, I always err on the side of refinement.”

“I find that refined people are more suited for leadership. To lead requires a certain respectability that is difficult to find. You have it, Evelyn.”

Evelyn absorbed the rare compliment, tucking it into her heart to remember later.

“You mentioned that everyone at the school misses me,” she said, eager to hear more about herself. “Certainly that doesn’t include your granddaughter, does it?”

“Mabel doesn’t like or miss anyone.” May lifted the petite silver spoon next to her cup and stirred the tea, releasing vapors of ginger and citrus. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll come to a bad end on her own.”

“She never worried me,” Evelyn replied coolly. Mabel had infuriated Evelyn at every opportunity during their classes. None of the girls in the school liked her haughty superiority, and most were afraid of her perfect looks. Evelyn had stood up to Mabel in a heroic way, which made Mabel the villain. May had simply laughed when she heard of their eternal war.

“I asked you to meet me here today because I wanted to see how your transition from school to Assistant to the High Priestess was going,” May said after taking a sip and setting her cup down. “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, either. Tell me how it’s really going. Starting in the workforce, even when the High Priestess is your special confidante, is never easy.”

Evelyn hesitated, her stoic resolve faltering. May was right—it hadn’t been easy. Of course, it hadn’t been that hard, either. The increased arguing with Nell had been downright painful. It was like they were two old friends reuniting to find they were totally different witches. She felt like they were drifting apart and she had no way to stop it.

“Let me guess,” May said, leaning back and studying her with an unnervingly keen eye. “Nell doesn’t understand your new views on politics and the world around you?”

“Yes!” Evelyn said with a sharp intake of breath, relieved that she understood. “It’s not the same. Nell insists I befriend the staff and admonishes me when I speak up regarding the importance of encouraging class separation.”

“They won’t understand,” May said in a calming voice. “We are far more educated than the poor, and so we must kindly lead them to a better life because they won’t choose it themselves. Nell would just say we’re oppressing them, when really we’re helping them succeed in their own separate sphere.”

Evelyn let out a sigh, feeling a great burden had been unleashed from her chest. “I’ve tried explaining this to Nell—”

“Don’t!” May leaned forward so quickly that she jarred her tea, and it sloshed onto the saucer. Evelyn recoiled, startled.

“Why not?”

May’s lips twitched at the corners. Her voice calmed. “She won’t understand. Poor Nell, stuck in the old ways, and not able to wield as much power as Donovan. She’s too old to change, Evelyn. That’s a responsibility that will weigh on your shoulders instead of hers. Let her continue as she is.”

“But she’s wrong, and she doesn’t even know it!”

“Giving away our plans to improve the Network will only make her more suspicious. Perhaps she would even take your ideas and profess them as her own. Let her go. She’s not one of us.”

Evelyn rolled the taste of that idea round in her mind, and it was bitter. She didn’t like the idea of excluding Nell, but May was right. May was always right. Evelyn trusted in that above all things. Hadn’t May been the one to tell her about her parents’ real death? Hadn’t she correctly predicted Nell’s response to Evelyn’s return?

May is right.

She resolved to do just as May had taught her: slowly gain political power and trust. Together, they would lead the Network to a better end, just as Evelyn had always dreamed. No more unfair deaths. No more violent protests.

“I’ll let it go,” Evelyn promised. “I trust you, May.”

May lifted her tea with a smile.

“I’m very glad to hear that, Evie. Now, let’s talk about how you are going to lead the Network, for I have an idea I think you’ll like very much.”