Chapter 2 Nylah Lovecraft

"What do you mean I OWE ten more gold pieces! I just paid the thirty-

"Permits are now forty, Madame Luna, like I tried to tell you before…" Nylah interjected with her smoky voice.

Nylah told the witch again that the Designated Office of Witchcraft (or D.O.W.) had raised the registration fee for practicing witchcraft license (or P.W.L.) to forty pieces of gold. She had also explained why the price had been introduced to help meet the demand on D.O.W. to hire more workers as the number of registered witches had increased in recent years.

Twice.

And twice, the witch ignored her.

So Nylah was visibly perturbed to hear what the witch said next.

"Why? Forty coins are way too high. What'dya need that much for? You guys don't do anything to start with. All you D.O.W.'s do is find more ways to get money from us. They are charging us for practicing what we already do by making us get licenses and registrations—taking money out of our earnings for "maintenance fees." We can't even handle our own money. You take it, and we have to beg for it back practically. Hells! You fine us for not even wearing that uniform-

The witch stopped to point at the plain navy blue uniform Nylah wore and made a face of disgust.

"-It's stupid looking." She finished and lowered her finger.

Nylah could now feel everyone in the bank lobby, patrons and workers alike, stare at them. This made her feel uncomfortable and hot.

Why must she argue, the young witch thought. She was only enforcing the rules, and there was no need to make a scene. Nylah looked down into her lap as a blush came across her face.

She still looked down as she strained herself to speak. Nylah felt like her voice had suddenly increased in volume. She also felt like she was the only one speaking at the moment.

Everyone else has stopped talking to listen. Nylah depressively thought.

"I... haven't even charged you for that yet... It's another fifteen coins for it. So you owe twenty-five pieces now." Nylah said and jumped back in her chair as the witch slammed her hands down on the counter with frustration.

"Are you KIDDING me- No! I'm not paying anything. I want to talk to someone else. Not you, you SAND EATER! Get me someone else." Madame Luna demanded, and Nylah felt her stomach sink. She looked around to see that everyone was still watching.

They were just watching this unfold, Nylah thought and felt like drowning. Then, finally, the young witch forced herself to look at Madame Luna and speak out.

"Madame Luna, that won't change anything. You still owe twenty-five more coins." Nylah forced out.

A hand from behind suddenly grabbed Nylah's shoulder and caused her to give a shocked scream. She turned her head back to see a fellow worker in standard uniform stand behind her. He, too, was dressed in the regulated uniform with a spout of white hair growing out of his head.

The same aged man had his hand on her shoulder and a tired expression. Deep rings had formed under his eyes from what Lovecraft had to chalk up to another late night of working. He had done so for the past couple of weeks alongside most others. The Terran branch was severely understaffed for its workload.

"Y-yes, Mister Victor? What is it you need?" Nylah began through her Freetan accent. She tried to control her voice to hide her unease. A new blush was forming on her face from his touch. She tried not to make it obvious, but it wasn't as successful as she liked. Her dark face was turning a deep purple. She could feel it.

Calm yourself, Lovecraft ordered. She didn't want to look foolish. Not in front of Victor.

He is just a coworker, Lovecraft reminded herself. Stop with the foolishness. She had a job to do.

Victor gave a loud yawn before speaking.

"Not me. It's the boss lady. Madame Ferguson wants to talk with you in her office. Says to go right now." Victor finished with another yawn.

Nylah could see up close how deep the rings were around his eyes. He was likely running on just a few hours of sleep.

Nylah was about to open her mouth and ask how he felt when Madame Luna butted in.

"Uh, excuse me? Still here-" She voiced, and Nylah turned to look back at the aggravated witch.

"I-" Nylah began.

"Just go, Madame Lovecraft. I got it." Victor interrupted with a pat on her shoulder.

If Nylah wasn't mistaken, she thought she felt the boy give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He then proceeded to grab an empty chair and pull it up to sit at the window slot.

"What can I do for you, Madame Luna?" Victor voiced as he took over.

Nylah quickly jumped from her chair and mouthed a 'thank you' before evacuating. She took off and made it out of the room and into the large hallway before the witch could make another complaint.

Once the wooden door was closed behind her, Nylah slumped down against the wall. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she took a deep breath before exhaling. Then, finally, she opened her eyes and looked up. Above her was a richly decorated ceiling. It was painted with ultramarines, golds, and coral pinks and had carved marble reliefs of dragons and fairies playing. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship and imagination.

So Nylah thought and felt a sense of ease from it despite herself. She was becoming more comfortable with the country's common preference for gaudy decor. But, she still couldn't help but find it a waste as she looked from the roaring dragons to the laughing fairies.

I wishTerra would be a little more reserved with its riches. It's not necessary to use up so much gold on a ceiling, Nylah thought and shook her head. She then closed her eyes and felt homesick. She imagined the smell of hot sand and dry air in Freet.

Freet would never be as showy if it had the chance to be rich. Nylah thought and imagined how it would be.

No, she thought, Freet would use their money to feed the poor and orphaned and rebuild all the wars had destroyed. It would rebuild itself and never again fall victim to Terra or Sundry.

Nylah thought and opened her eyes. She looked away from the ceiling and stood up.

On her feet, Nylah tried to remember how long it had been since she transferred to this country. She mentally calculated it to have been less than a year. That made her depressed. It had felt longer than a year. She frowned and began to walk down the hall.

So much has gone wrong. Nylah thought as she moved. And it all started after she transferred from her home to here.

Nylah had come to help fill the severely understaffed Terran branch for D.O.W.. She requested to be transferred as a researcher in the magical library department. This was her position in Freet, after all, so it made sense. And they agreed.

But what happened when I arrived, Nylah recalled as she turned a corner of the hall, was anything but what was agreed. Upon arrival, Nylah was reassigned to the financial branch, the lowest level of D.O.W., as part of customer service, working as a bank teller. It was shocking.

Nylah had to stop walking. She could still remember all her feelings at that moment and after. How desperate she was to switch to her original job. How distraught she became when she was told they needed to fill openings in the financial department first and thus would not move her. And how lost she felt when she tried to present her letter indicating that she was promised the position and then told that it was a lie to have her come to Terra.

Remembering it all made Nylah want to cry out about the injustice. How could they be so unfair? So Nylah thought but could find no answer. If she had known this was how it would be, Nylah would have never transferred.

But as it was, she knew there was nothing to be done. She was under contract for the next five years. So, for the next five years, Nylah would do her job. Nylah knew she was a good worker, and nothing would stop her from being one.

But I just can't help feeling disappointed. Nylah couldn't deny it. She missed her books.

Nylah had a talent for research and technical areas. In Freet, she had been the leader of a librarian department for research and development. She had also been recognized and awarded for her findings on Elven history on multiple occasions.

It was people I have problems with, Nylah thought and remembered Madame Luna from earlier.

Nylah let out an exhausted sigh. She was only trying to enforce protocol yet seemed to get the same reactions. She couldn't understand why. Nylah just seemed to bring that out in people.

It was not like she was trying to, Nylah relayed to herself. It just happened.

As Nylah walked down the hall, she saw an ornate grandfather clock decked in gold ahead. She halted in front of it to check the time. It was still early. She let out a groan.

It would be hours and hours before she could go home for the day. She desperately wanted to go home. Nylah then felt a tinge of guilt at that.

I shouldn't instantly want to go home, she thought. This is so unlike me. I used to love working.

In Freet, Nylah would come in hours before her shift to help anyone on her team and then be the last to leave way after time to clock out. The library was a second home for her, and she was happy.

But now I'm miserable, Nylah concluded and took up walking again. She could see the office just in front of her. She let out another sigh as she moved. Nylah seemed to sigh a lot more now.

Nylah had to assume it was because she was bored. Bank telling was not mentally challenging for her at all.

I'm just not a good pick for this type of thing. Nylah rationalized and stopped before the closed door.

The door had a large gold plate with a name carved in artistic calligraphy. It was spelled in old elfish but read 'P. Ferguson'. Nylah shook her head at it. She thought it was another unnecessary use of money.

She could have used a simple wooden plaque, Nylah thought with disapproval. It was surprising how Terra could still have money after wasting it so quickly.

Things are just different, a little too much for me. Nylah thought distantly and moved to turn the knob.

Nylah paused before turning and briefly wondered what all this could be about. Maybe she was being changed to a different branch for something more suitable. After all, it was a waste of her skills to be in customer service.

But, on the other hand, perhaps it could be about me going to the library? Nylah thought with hope. With that thought in mind, Nylah turned the knob and walked in.

"Is it normal to just barge into a closed-door in Freet, or are you just being rude, Madame Lovecraft?" Madame Ferguson said while looking at a pile of papers on her desk.

"I...We don't use doors. Or lock them when we do. It's considered bad luck to use one. It prevents good spirits from coming in to bless your home. So instead, we use curtains-" Nylah stopped as she saw Madame Ferguson give off an uninterested look at her.

"It was a rhetorical question, Lovecraft. I didn't want a culture lesson."

"Oh.." Nylah could only reply. She felt awkward now and looked to her feet. She then moved to close the door behind her.

It suddenly became quiet in the room with just the sound of a quill-tipped pen scraping across the paper in a frantic scribble as Madame Ferguson wrote.

"What are you doing? Sit down." Madame Ferguson said and looked up at Nylah. Nylah could see how the light from the gas lamps was casting shadows on the older witch's face. The shadows enhanced her wrinkles and made her look even older than Hecate.

Nylah compiled and quickly took a seat in front of her desk. The desk was another fine example of the Terran style. It was carved in rich mahogany wood with little unicorn sculptures and mother of pearl weaved about to enhance their horns.

Nylah could not help but stare as she tried to take in its' splendor. She, then, felt a pity for it. The desk was too beautiful to be wasted in an office. It should have been a royal treasure, not another meaningless trinket. It was little things like this that infuriated her.

Terra does not understand how blessed it is. Nylah thought, dishearted.

"Did you forget to wear gloves, as well?" Madame Ferguson spoke, which broke Nylah from her spell. The young witch looked up at her with a start.

"What did you say?"

Madame Ferguson rolled her eyes.

"GLOVES. I said did you forget to wear gloves."

"No...Why would I? Gloves are not a part of the uniform." Nylah answered slowly.

What was she going on about 'gloves' for? Nylah wondered.

Nylah watched the older witch give a long sigh and sit back in her chair. Madame Ferguson looked at her for a moment and simply shook her head. She then leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk.

"Lovecraft, look at my hands and tell me what you see." Madame Ferguson began. Nylah was confused but managed to peer down at her hands.

"You...are wearing gloves?"

"What kind of gloves am I wearing, Lovecraft?"

"Um...white ones?"

"Look closer, Lovecraft. What is the material? Do they have a design? Look."

"You, er, they're made of some kind of leather." Nylah weakly replied, and Madame Ferguson responded with a loud groan. She shook her head again and gave Nylah a very dissatisfied look before speaking.

"These gloves, you carelessly defined as 'white-leather-something,' are a limited edition set. They were created by an exclusive designer and imported from Sundry. These gloves are made from the softest selkie skin in the world. And they were bleached white through an organic but time-consuming process of incorporating the sun. They cost me a fortune to buy, not including a custom tailoring to fit."

Madame Ferguson stopped to raise her hand for Nylah to give a better inspection. Nylah looked at the glove and muttered in uncertainty.

"Oh." Was all Nylah could say disinterested.

It still looks like another pair of gloves. Lovecraft secretly thought.

Madame Ferguson lowered her hand to the desk and moved to intertwine both together in front of her. She continued.

"Could you think of a reason why I would go through all this effort and expense for a pair of gloves, Lovecraft?"

"Not really,"

Madame Ferguson gave a scuff. She then looked directly into Nylah's face with a severe expression. It made Lovecraft shrivel up in her chair.

"I...know that you are Freetan. So, I can also understand that you wouldn't know certain things that native Terrans would. But, it's been more than ample time for you to have immersed yourself in our culture. I didn't want to be so blunt as to tell you directly. But, it seems you have been obstinate to any form of assimilation."

"Assimilation?"

"Lovecraft, gloves are an essential asset to the Terran lady. They shield her skin from darkening with the sun. But, they can also rely on the well-being of the owner.

Fine gloves are equivalent to a fine lady of well means. A lady with no gloves, however, is not a lady. She is needy and cares not for herself or her-self image to others.

So Lovecraft, do you think it proper for anyone to wear our uniform, a recognized symbol of D.O.W., and present themselves to our patrons in such a manner? Wouldn't you think it indicates that not only said worker but the entire Designated Office of Witchcraft could be an ill-reputable place?"

"Ill-reputable, Madame Ferguson? Over gloves?" Nylah blinked back.

"Image is a powerful thing, Lovecraft. Image is the first thing we will recognize. Whether good or bad. We must take the utmost care to maintain our image. If we do not, people will create conclusions that will not be in our favor. And we don't want that, do we, Lovecraft?" Madame Ferguson paused to allow Lovecraft to respond, but the young witch just looked back.

Nylah was perplexed. Her lack of response seemed to annoy Madame Ferguson. She narrowed her eyes and spoke again.

"Do not the ladies in Freet wear gloves? Or something to the same effect?"

"Just...scarfs. We wear them over our heads to protect us from the sun." Nylah voiced after having to take a moment to think of something similar.

But the scarfs don't serve as a symbol of status. Nylah thought. They are just practical to use. No one looks at scarves like that.

It would be silly. Nylah thought and gave her boss a quizzical look.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand why you are talking about gloves? They are not part of the D.O.W. regulated dress code."

Madame Ferguson let out a gust of air. She then moved to pull a pair of gloves out from a desk drawer and throw them into Nylah's lap. They were brown cotton and had silver buttons on the side.

Madame Ferguson spoke again as she slammed close the drawer.

"Put those on, Lovecraft. And from this time forward, I expect you to be the highest degree you can afford. You will wear them at work or whenever you are wearing our uniform. They may be too small for your...hands, but they'll do for today.

If I catch you not abiding by this, you will be penalized. It will be seen as an act of insubordination." Madame Ferguson concluded.

Nylah leaned forward in her chair with her mouth open. She blinked once, then twice.

This is...

Nylah lifted the gloves off her lap and onto the desk. Her eyes looked to the decorative unicorns for clarity. They said nothing but gave a blank stare back.

Nylah looked up at the older witch with disbelief.

"You can't do that- How can I be? There is not even a rule for it."

Madame Ferguson ignored her. Instead, she took up the gloves to throw them back into Nylah's lap. The young witch looked shocked at this. Madame Ferguson began again.

"Since we are on the subject of appearance, it's best that you also do something about your skin tone. It's...dark. Lightening it up a few shades will improve things." Madame Ferguson finished and sat back. Nylah stared after her with a lost look. She looked to the floor and then back at the older witch.

"How would that...Improve what?" Nylah said as she stumbled on her words. She saw the older witch shrug.

"You'll do better at work." Madame Ferguson answered without having to think. Nylah automatically shook her head.

"No, no, it wouldn't. How I look has no factor in how I work. This is an opinion. A fact-less preference. You have no grounds even to say that." Nylah said and looked at her.

"You just don't understand yet. Give it a try and see for yourself." Was all Madame Ferguson said in a dismissive tone. She then moved to take out a piece of paper with many red checks on it. Nylah's name was scripted in bold black letters on top of the form.

Madame Ferguson began as she looked at the paper.

"Well, let's get to why I called you in. I would like to discuss some complaints that have been filed under you-

"Sorry?" Nylah squeaked out. The word 'complaint' brought her back.

"- did you just say I have complaints?" She spoke again with disbelief. There was no way she could have complaints. She was a good worker.

Madame Ferguson shot her a dark glance.

"I need you to save all comments till the end, Madame Lovecraft. Or we will be here a while.

As I was saying, you have amassed a list of complaints. And I must admit, I am concerned that you haven't been here that long. But we must go through these issues together. Can I read them out to you?" Madame Ferguson paused. She looked up at Nylah.

What did I do wrong? Nylah wanted to know. She wanted to know so she could fix it. She hated the idea of being a problem.

"Yes," Nylah spoke through her accent. Madame Ferguson smiled and lifted the paper to read. She cleared her throat.

"Ahem, First will be regarding issues on attendance-

"My attendance? I never missed a day-"

"Ahem." Madame Ferguson coughed as a cue to be quiet. But, instead, she shot her another dark look.

"...You have, multiple times, clocked in before set time to work. Then you left past the set time to clock out.

You have been noted to be invasive with your coworkers. Some say that you domineer over their set work tasks, pushing them to rush into completion. Others say you complete all your work quickly and then do nothing the rest of the week-

"I do not rush anything. I am efficient with my time and resources. I always have been. And I was not pushing anyone. I was helping them with theirs-"

Madame Ferguson quickly spoke over her.

"Lovecraft, is this going to be an issue. I said, save your comments till later." Madame Ferguson boomed with an angry face. Nylah shrank back into her chair. She bit her lip and folded her hands over her lap.

"Let's continue from where I left off. Next has to do with customer relations. You have been reported as having arguments with our customers. They said you were: unfriendly, obstinate, provocative, unapproachable, intimidating, unsympathetic-

"I am enforcing the rules," Nylah interjected out of habit.

Madame Ferguson slammed a hand onto the unicorn desk. It shook from the violent action. The unicorns looked up at Nylah with sad eyes.

"I am at my wit end with you, Lovecraft. You have been a problem since you came over here. You are a stubborn and argumentative person. All you do is create a hostile working environment. You don't try to fit in with us and...I have never had an employee as troublesome as you." Madame Ferguson spoke, then looked down at Nylah's still bare hands. She scuffed.

"You still haven't even put on the gloves. Unbelievable." She said in a disgusted voice. Nylah gaped at her a moment.

"They are not in the dress code-

"Quiet!" Madame Ferguson erupted and slammed the desk again. Nylah closed her mouth and looked down. She looked into her lap and at the gloves. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence with only the sound of Madame Ferguson breathing heavily.

"Put. On. The. Gloves." Madame Ferguson said after a long silence in a deep, slow voice.

Nylah regretfully moved to force her big hands into the small-sized gloves. They managed to fit but barely. The cotton was pulled taut at the seams with no give for movement. It hurt Nylah to move her fingers, and she tried to adjust them to no avail. Finally, she looked up at the older witch, who looked at her unsympathetically.

Madame Ferguson then moved to pull out a file from a drawer. She closed the drawer softly. She held the file out to Nylah with her fine leather gloves. Nylah struggled to take the packet with her now useless hands. When she finally managed to take them, she then opened the cover.

Inside the file was a small piece of paper with typed information on a witch named "Madame Madeline" and a pink slip. The pink slip had the words "FINAL NOTICE" in large print. It was a final warning to pay off her outstanding fee for her P.W.L.

Madame Ferguson spoke in a softer voice, and Nylah looked up at her.

"I am giving you this one chance to redeem yourself. If you fail, I will demote you to as low as janitorial services and keep you there. Do you hear me?" Madame Ferguson asked.

Nylah could feel herself shiver at the threat in horror. So she was going to be a janitor? Her? But she was doing everything she was supposed to be doing…at least she thought she had.

Nylah felt her breath shorten. She could only imagine how worse it would be as a janitor. Every day would be dull and repetitive. Her mind would turn to mush from the lack of mental stimulation. And she was already feeling symptoms of that now. But to a lesser degree.

No, Nylah affirmed to herself, she would not become a janitor. After every wrong she had to endure here, there was no way she would let that happen in hell. She would not allow it. The very idea made Nylah grow angry, and her blood boiled.

She was Nylah Lovecraft. She was intelligent and good at what she did. And she would prove it. Nylah knew she could. No matter what that was.

Nylah stopped shaking and forced on a severe face. She looked dead straight through her large-rimmed glasses at Madame Ferguson with unwavering resolve.

"What do I need to do," Nylah spoke. Ms. Ferguson noted the change and smirked. Then, she leaned forward to speak.

"I'm taking you off the floor entirely. You will not be working inside the bank office anymore. Instead, I'll have you on foot outside as a messenger. That file there in your hands gives a summary of your first recipient. It details all the places where you can find her.

You must personally deliver her final notice to pay her P.W.L. She must also be told that if she is to fail at repaying it within the set date, there will be no excuses this time. She will revoke her license and be sentenced to trial in the Magic Courts for ruling and punishment." Madame Ferguson stopped and moved out of her chair. She passed Nylah to head towards the door. Her gloved hands turned the knob. The door opened with a long creak.

Madame Ferguson looked over her shoulder to give Nylah a sly smile. She spoke again with a tinge of laughter under her voice. It sounded off and made the younger witch shiver again.

"And Lovecraft, either deliver this to Madame Madeline personally or don't bother coming back." Madame Ferguson then began to laugh softly.

"Oh...and one more thing. No one before has been able to find Madame Madeline. They've all failed.

I wish you luck." Madame Ferguson finished and took off down the hall with a significant smile.

Nylah didn't wait long after Madame Ferguson got up and left. She made her way down the beautiful hall and took a turn. This brought her to another hallway lined with full-length mirrors in gold trim. The young witch stopped when she caught sight of her reflection.

Before her reflected a short, stocky, and dark-skinned girl with large-rimmed glasses, she moved to touch her cheek with an awkwardly gloved hand. It felt rough against her smooth skin, and she exhaled deeply. It felt like she had been holding it in for a while now. She felt exhausted from the encounter.

"This is all absurd," Nylah spoke to her reflection. She couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed from earlier. She had not expected this at all. Nylah took in a deep breath. She replayed the entirety of the conversation in her head. She then grimaced and stopped herself.

Her eyes drifted down to the ill-fit gloves. She shook her head with disapproval.

Freet was nothing like Terra, Nylah could see, but she seemed to have underestimated how much. Terra was a place filled with unspoken rules and expectations. And one was expected to follow regardless of its redundancy.

What did it matter about what one wore or how they looked? Nylah had to question again. She looked to the reflection for an answer. The girl only looked back with a troubled expression.

Nylah then looked down at the file in her hands. She could barely feel it with the gloves numbing her senses. She gripped it tighter and looked back at herself. The girl in the mirror gave a firm look of resolution.

Nylah nodded to it.

"I should get started, then," Nylah spoke to herself. She was determined.

Nylah then felt a shot of pain come up from her left hand. The glove was squeezing too tight. It was starting to cut off circulation. She lifted it and frowned.

"Gloves first," Nylah said.

Nylah took up walking again and moved down the hall with speed.