Bad News 

“I have some bad news to report, Council Member.”

May stood in front of Evelyn’s desk, an envelope in hand and an unusually severe expression on her face. Evelyn glanced up, surprised that the buzz she felt when addressed as Council Member still hadn’t faded after six months.

Paperwork and correspondences surrounded her in an ocean of parchment and scroll. Four separate quills kept active by complex magical incantations worked around her desk; one hovered in the air for lack of space. Ink dripped onto the floor, but she’d have the servants clean it up later. The beginnings of summer filled the room with stuffy warmth.

“What happened this time?” she asked, biting back another sigh. Where had all of these disasters come from? Evelyn couldn’t recall this many problems when she’d served as the High Priestess’s Assistant. Then again, Nell dealt with a broader spectrum of issues, not these ridiculous tiffs between Coven Leaders and tax collectors. At this rate, it would take her three years to be efficient, or at least sleep a full night.

The thought that perhaps she wasn’t as ready to be Council Member as she’d believed filtered through her mind, but she pushed it away. Improving the Network came at a definable cost; one she would pay.

“A report from the vineyards just came from Milton DeAngelo.” May handed an opened letter to her. “He owns the most profitable vineyard in Ashleigh and says there are rumors of riots breaking out amongst his workers.”

“Riots?” Evelyn asked with a scowl, eyes still on a letter from Norbert, the Head of Finances, asking why they’d underpaid last month. The last thing she needed was a riot and underpaid taxes, so she would send the requested thirty pentacles to prevent Norbert from telling Donovan. Once she was in power she’d get rid of corrupt witches like Norbert. In the meantime, she’d just have to tolerate him. “What are they rioting about now?”

“The vineyards are only producing at fifty percent for the third year in a row. Milton cut their wages so he didn’t have to close the vineyard, and they’re throwing a fit. A violent fit, of course.”

Evelyn plucked the letter from May’s hand and perused it. The handwriting was so sloppy she could barely make out the words.

“Building discontent,” she murmured, only able to read in bits and snatches. “Low wages . . . workers angry . . . waiting outside main gates. Requesting your presence.”

The last line was clear enough.

“I think you should go,” May said, folding her hands in front of her. She wore a dark gray dress with long, fitted sleeves and a slight puff in the shoulder. The color drew attention to her blue eyes. “You know how the poor are, Evie. One irrational fear will escalate into a bloodbath. A threatened riot is as good as a violent one.”

“Yes,” Evelyn said, pushing her hair out of her face at the grim thought. “To protect the innocents, we must get on top of the riots before they turn deadly.”

“Exactly. I’m glad to hear such sense spoken from one in power. You prove your worthiness to hold your position time and time again. In six months, you still haven’t lost your edge or forgotten your ideals.”

The warmth of the compliment tingled through Evelyn’s body. She stood, shucking off the papers in her way.

“Well, May, let’s go to the vineyards, shall we?”

Milton DeAngelo was a short, fat man with a gray goatee that nearly reached the top button of his overcoat. He always wore a hat, and as far as Evelyn could ascertain, had never once touched a grapevine.

“I bought the place ten years ago,” he said, standing in the parlor of his estate. “The foreman Elijah runs the day-to-day work. Good with plants, you know. Grew up around grapevines. He’s usually the go-between for me and the workers. Speaks their language, you know.”

Evelyn murmured her agreement. May shot her a quiet, knowing look that Evelyn understood at once. Milton could be a supporter. She filed his name in the back of her mind. Milton DeAngelo was just the kind of wealthy witch that Evelyn would need to back her righteous cause. Wasn’t he living the beginning of her nightmares? The rise of the poor against the educated upper class that ran the Network and supplied it with ability and talent? All the more reason to subdue this ridiculous discontent.

Not to mention the consequences of everyone finding out one of my Covens rioted within my first six months, she thought, suppressing the need to fidget. She’d look incompetent if she couldn’t keep things running smoothly her first year, and she was determined to prove her capability.

DeAngelo’s four-story mansion sat behind endless fields of gnarled plants stretching in lines until they met Letum Wood in the distance. Evelyn sipped her tea, impressed by the interior decor of the parlor. Porcelain figurines of young women graced the shelves on the wooden walls, the air smelled like musty potpourri, and an elaborate rug from the mills of the Middle Covens covered the floor.

“Tell me, Milton,” Evelyn said, carefully setting her teacup on the saucer and facing him with a warm smile. “Your vineyards have fallen on hard times, have they not?”

His wrinkled old face fell. “Indeed, Council Member,” he said with a quiet duck of his head, as if they had just spoken of someone who had recently died. “A disease moved through my fields, and the foreman had to burn over half of the plants. I thought we’d recover this spring, only . . .” He trailed off, head shaking. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

Milton reached for a pastry on the platter in the middle of the table with his chubby pincer fingers. Evelyn spotted the sparkle of a cufflink with a cluster of purple diamond grapes and wondered if Grant would like it.

“I understand your frustration,” she said. “And now all your workers are threatening to riot?”

“I can’t pay them the same I used to,” he said, sounding desperate. “How could I? We’ve only half the revenue coming in. I must save for the future or else the vineyard will go under completely, so I fired some and cut the pay of the rest. They don’t understand that I had to do it to keep running. It’s a game of numbers, plain and simple. I simply can’t afford to pay them more currency when I have none to give. If I were to keep operations running as they were before the blight, all of it would close, and everyone would lose their jobs.”

“And you’ve explained it to them?”

“Of course,” he huffed. “A lot of good it did. Well, I suppose I didn’t explain it, but Elijah said he’d talk to them. They just yelled at him about decreasing wages and feeding their children. I understand they’re scared. I daresay I would be as well, but the numbers don’t lie.”

“No,” Evelyn said, “the poor rarely do understand the economics of business. You can’t be held responsible for the individual life of every worker.”

“Exactly,” he said in relief. “Though they expect me to, you know.”

“Bearing the responsibility of leadership is difficult; to lead those that don’t want to be led, to make them understand things outside their control. It’s a terrible burden. What can I do to support you?”

Milton’s gaze had traveled outside and locked onto something across the way. He stood, finger pointing. “There!” he cried. “You see? They’re gathering in groups outside my house! I want them gone! I shan’t pay them at all if they keep forming posses and riots. I’ll fire them all and hire witches from the Southern Covens.”

A queue of ten witches had walked up to the wrought iron gate that separated Milton’s yard from the rest of the vineyards. Evelyn’s forehead ruffled. They were a ragtag group, with dirty pants, old caps, and skin that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in ages. Although they never touched the gate, and made no move to do so, their very presence outside Milton’s house was unsettling.

I must protect him and his life’s work, Evelyn thought, rallying her courage. I must guard the DeAngelos from harm.

“I see exactly what you mean,” Evelyn said.

“Elijah says they want their jobs back, but I say that’s madness. He proposed a tax break, but that’s even more ridiculous! They still live on the land and use the roads,” Milton said. “Just because they make a sacran or two less doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have to pay for the same privileges I pay for, does it?”

“No. I agree with you, Milton.”

His chest huffed with a sigh of relief. “Good,” he said, and his voice softened to the weary tone of a grandfather. “I don’t want to lose my vineyard because they demand I pay them currency I don’t have.”

“Don’t fear,” Evelyn said, standing. She moved closer to the window, but remained off to the side to stay out of sight. “The Network shall protect you, your family, and your interests. May, send a request for half a contingent of Guardians to stand guard for the next three weeks.”

The shuffle of May rooting through her bag and the sudden appearance of a quill in her hand sounded in the quiet room while Evelyn paused, mapping out a plan.

“Specify that any witch participating in a riot or protest will be sent to the dungeons for a one-year sentence.”

“Forgive my impertinence, Council Member,” May murmured, “but do you feel that is steep enough?”

“Get them off my land if they’re going to hurt me!” Milton called, shaking a fist at the window. “I don’t want them coming after my wife when I’m at the club, you know. What’s one year? Look at them! They’re trying to memorize the layout of my house so they can break in!”

It was quite odd that they should just stand outside. There could be no innocent intent behind such a gesture. Swift, sure justice would be best.

Evelyn sucked in a breath. “You’re right,” she said. “A life sentence.”

May nodded as Evelyn continued her instruction. “Tell the Guardians that they are to patrol the estate, break up any pockets of witches greater than two, and report back to me if there are any problems.”

Milton DeAngelo swallowed another pastry. “Thank you, Council Member,” he said in relief, lifting a teacup from a silver platter.

“Let us just hope that the presence of the Guardians will show them how serious we are. They’ll move on, I hope.”

Milton agreed with a nod. “You’ve saved my family, my home, and my vineyard today. I shall forever be in your debt.”

Evelyn smiled. It felt wonderful to finally make a difference.

Once Evelyn returned to Chatham Castle, an array of garden parties and late night social events captured her attention. She gratefully put Milton DeAngelo’s vineyards out of her mind—feeling good about her decision to imprison the rioters—and didn’t think of them again for three weeks.

“It’s quite hot today,” May said from her desk, where she lounged against her seat. A fan hovered in the air, waving back and forth, cooling her flushed cheeks.

Evelyn set aside a stack of paperwork and straightened herself. Her back ached from slouching over her desk. She drank a sip of cool water, though the ice shipped all the way from the Southern Covens had already melted, leaving the glass sweating and wet.

“Blasted summer,” she muttered, lifting the hair off the nape of her neck. A wave of brutal heat moved into her office when the door to the hall opened and closed, momentarily overriding the spell that Evelyn had used to cool the room.

“Council Member?”

A tall, strapping young man with brown hair and eyes set in a tanned face stepped into the room. Something vaguely familiar lingered in his solemn expression and brisk, militaristic manner, though she couldn’t place it exactly. The insignia on his chest indicated he was a Captain of the Guards. The initials J. G. sat beneath the insignia.

“Yes?” she asked. May peered over the rim of her glasses with disinterest before turning back to her paperwork.

“Three weeks ago my contingent was assigned to protect Milton DeAngelo’s vineyard in the Ashleigh Covens. I’ve come to report.”

She brightened. “Of course. How many people did you imprison?”

“Three.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why so few?”

“We observed no problems during our three week stay,” he said, instead of answering her question directly. He paused, and his lips moved as if he’d just run a tongue over the front of his teeth.

“There must have been or you wouldn’t have arrested three. What did they do?”

A definitive uneasiness lingered in his steely gaze. “Those we apprehended were drunk and didn’t even know where they were. They didn’t deserve imprisonment for being drunk, but we followed your orders.”

“At least they are put away for life so Milton can sleep easier. And how is the DeAngelo family and estate?”

“Safe. Two Guardians will remain for the next week to ensure his safety. Milton was smoking a cigar on his porch and eating eclairs when I left, Council Member.”

“How many riots?”

“None.”

“None?”

He nodded to affirm it, his hands folded behind his back. “There were no rumors of riots either.”

She looked back on her original meeting with Milton with regret. The presence of the Guardians had scared the poor away. They’d apprehended none of the rioters, which meant they were still free to make trouble. She should have had those hooligans outside the estate arrested while she was there. Next time she’d act much more decisively.

Goodness, she thought. The strange lessons I must learn.

“What of that Elijah?” she snapped. “He’s their leader, isn’t he? Milton seems to trust him, but I don’t.”

“I met and spoke with Elijah at length during my time there. He’s a good witch,” the Captain said, chin tilted high. “He cares for the workers that he takes responsibility for, and fears for their future. He also cares about his own job and would never defy his boss.”

She would have protested, but found his follow-up sufficient and was too hot to address his unsolicited opinion. “I see,” she said. “Well, that’s very disappointing.”

“Disappointing?”

“I was hoping you would make the Ashleigh Covens safer for those of us under attack,” she said in a cutting tone. A vision of Mama’s red hair flashed through her mind. She felt a distinct sense of failure; she hadn’t really protected Milton and his family, had she? She’d simply scared away a mob for now; no doubt they’d react violently once the Guardians were gone.

Next time I’ll let them riot, and we’ll round them up for good. Wipe out their chances of getting away.

“Forgive me for saying so, Council Member, but the DeAngelo vineyards have nothing to fear from the workers. Milton may have perceived a threat that wasn’t—”

“Do not presume to tell me where the threats are or are not. Your job is to do as I say. You’ve completed the mission, though not to my liking, and I shall report it to Dolph. Hopefully this will help you improve in the future.”

The Captain drew himself taller with an indifferent gaze. He paused, mouth open, then, deciding not to voice his thoughts, said, “Understood, Council Member.”

“You’re dismissed.”

He gave a slight bow and departed without another word. Whatever he left unsaid lingered, nudging at Evelyn. She should be satisfied that violence had been prevented—and she was—so why did she feel a sense of letdown that someone hadn’t been brought to justice?

“You scared the rioters,” May said as soon as the door closed behind him. “But they’ll be back once the Guardians are gone. Mark my words. Don’t let your defenses down.”

Evelyn clenched her jaw. This was one fight she wouldn’t lose.

“I agree. Will you please send a message to Grant? I’d like to have lunch with him today. He’s been avoiding me, and I want to find out why.”