Mira the Miraculous gets a part time job

Four fingered hands walked across the floured worktable like strolling people, their leg-fingers lightly kissing its surface and leaving only a breath of sticky residue. They hopped one after another into their deep rectangular pans, where each splatted and stretched into cylindrical balls. Mira floated the pans into the oven as on another surface the pie dough folded and re-rolled itself. A knife marked time like a metronome as it cut meat and cheese and fruit for the filling later.

Elanor’s light step sounded on the stair from above. She entered the kitchen with a dramatic stretch and yawn, her lily yellow hair swinging to each side under the bend of her arm. 

“Oh no,” she said, once the sleep was out of her eyes. In front of her, the dough men continued to jump gracefully into their final bed. “Will you do this every day? I hate watching how you make bread.”

“They can’t feel,” Mira told her tonelessly. She tried not to ‘talk down at people,’ but it really annoyed her how village people assumed that anything that remotely resembled a thing with two feet and arms could be a friend or an enemy in equal right. “They’re golems.” And Elanor would never appreciate how complicated of a golem they were. No one here would.

She could have used a simple looping and telekinetic spell, but she didn’t want to rust out here. She was already so bored.

“Well, whatever it is, I’d prefer not to see it.” Elanor grimaced and turned away. She took her apron from the wall and tied it around herself. “You make Garsea happy with how fast you do things, that’s for sure. And I’ll get an extra or two of sleep every night as long as you’re around.” She paused in the doorway out. “Are you coming to breakfast?”

“No,” Mira said. She would milk every second she could be alone before she was put out to play barmaid.

Elanor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Once she was gone, Mira stood in the kitchen alone, listening to the rhythmic chop of the knife. She looked down at her floured hands. Despite everything she’d done to avoid it, somehow her sharp, deep purple manicure was chipped at the thumb. Her beautiful Coven robes were gone too, replaced with an ugly brown and white dress and apron. At least they were safe from disrepair. She prayed that whoever came to get her when this was all over would be blind. 

No seeing person would recognize her as Mira the Miraculous, one of The Coven. The most fearsome of The Coven, or else why would they have kicked her out?

Temper tantrums, they called it. Out of control. A shame to The Coven. 

A shame to The Coven? She’d been the one to bring peace back to the cities. She’d been the one to control the tide, and construct the Great Dam. While they sat around and discussed things, she signed tax reforms and peace treaties. 

And now, because her term wasn't even close to being up yet and they couldn't legally suspend her, they had her wasting time in this village. 

The Coven voted unanimously. The divination council has foreseen a storm. Due to your previous experience with The Dam, we will send you there to look for signs of the coming disaster. 

It was Fielder work. They'd put her on Fielder work. The grunts who sat around, trying to prevent bad predictions, big and small. Sometimes they succeeded. But, really? Her? For a storm?

It was a purposeful insult. 

She had been staring at her nails the whole time, barely noticing the room growing with heat. Then the oven exploded.

***

  Later, Garsea, Mira, and Eleanor sat on the steps outside.

“All n’ all, not much of a loss.” Garsea said. She wiped soot and sweat off her brow and passed her rag to Elanor. 

Garsea was the matron of the bake shop, lithe, strong, and grey-haired, her face lined with laughter. “We stopped that fire almost before it started,” she continued. “Nobody hurt. Sure, we’re down one of two ovens, but that hardly matters with you here!” She patted Mira on the back, who flinched. She didn't like being touched.

“And speaking of work…” With a flourish, she flipped the closed sign around. “See you gals in there! A little explosion never got Garsea’s Pastries down before, and it sure won't now!” She went inside.

Mira sighed. She stared up at the sky and prayed for heavy clouds. 

“Hey,” Elanor said. “I saved you something. It's awful working on an empty stomach.” She handed Mira an item wrapped in a napkin.

Mira unfolded it to reveal a spiced berry tart. It had gone cold, and she knew it was at least a day old, but she couldn't deny the shimmer of sugar called to her. She made them now too, mostly on autopilot, but it was Garsea’s recipe.

She nodded to Elanor as thanks and bit in. She found she had to hold back a sound of pure enjoyment.

“You like it?” Elanor asked with a smile. 

“It is fine, very fine,” Mira said. She finished it quickly and went inside. 

Elanor laughed out loud. Their window flowers had bloomed all around her at how ‘fine’ it was.

***

Elanor was the heart of the bake shop. Mira could tell that half the people came for the food, and the other half just to be greeted by her charm and beauty. She greeted everyone with a smile. She knew everyone’s name.

And yet Mira still had to be put through the torture of customer service along with her during the busy morning hours. She tried her best not to say a word or do anything to call attention to herself. She wanted as few people to know who she was as possible -- as few people as possible to know her shame.

Garsea had taken her in when she had shown her what she could do, but besides her and Elanor, she wanted to get out clean. Even when she had written out the scrolls -- procedures for what to do in the case of a storm, she had pretended to be just a messenger of the official seal of The Coven. But she'd been the one to analyze the small village, the houses and inns, and assess the exits and shelters.

Because even if she was here to do a fake job, she would do it right. And she would do the same with this bakery.

The sound of fist on flesh and yelling broke into her reverie. 

“Break it up!” Garsea stood between two red-faced men in front of their table, a hand on each of their chests. “Ain’t the two of you brothers?”

“Only by blood. He never was brotherly towards me!”

“Me? You hardly speak a word to me, and now suddenly --” The man gestured to the mark on his cheek.

“All this before you’ve had a drop of ale?” Garsea shook her head. “Out!”

Suddenly a heavy-set woman stood up and pointed a finger at her. “Kicking them out too, Garsea? I’ve had enough of your pretend hospitality!”

“Pretend?” Garsea sputtered. 

A child who looked to be six or seven spoke up from the back. “Garsea never did anything to you!”

“You’re too young to know a damn thing!”

“How dare you speak to my son that way!” 

The shop was in an uproar, voices crowding over voices and it was barely noon. Garsea, Mira, and Elanor stood stock still in the middle of the noise.

Even a husband and wife were getting heated now. “For some reason,” the woman said, her voice growing in strength, “I was always afraid to say it, but you’ve treated me wrong! Wrong!”

“Well… Garsea makes better plum cake than you!”

The woman gasped.

“What’s going on?” Elanor yelled at Garsea and Mira, trying to make her voice heard over the crowd.

Garsea just shook her head and went back to work breaking people up.

Mira could barely hear a thing outside her own head. She was looking from table to table of the fighting patrons. They all had one thing in common: crumbs, bites of pastry, or plates licked clean. They had all eaten her work of that morning, when she had accidentally burst the oven out of anger.

***

They closed early that day. Miraculously they had managed to keep the physical fighting to only one blow out. This was between Garsea and the woman who had insulted her. In the end they hugged each other and cried. By the end of an hour, everyone was worn out from airing their grievances at the top of their lungs and they went home with little issue. 

“Tough day,” Garsea said. She sank into a chair, about to bite into a leftover pastry.

“Actually,” Mira said, and levitated the pastry right out of her hand. “It’s been so tough that I think you two deserve fresh food. I’ll get everything cleaned up and serve you two dinner.”

“Well…” Garsea hesitated. “I don’t like to waste food, but, oh… with a real wizard in our midst, you’ve got to have some special days.” She smiled wide, wiped her hands, and got up. “Thank you, Mira. I dread when we won’t have you around.”

Mira pasted on a smile in return. Once Elanor and Garsea had left, she returned to the kitchen. She stretched her fingers and felt the magic in the air. A real smile grew onto her face. This was something totally new. Something she could bring back to the Coven.

***

Mira baked with love. Literally. She baked regret pie, happiness tart, pride plum cake… And because she would hate to have her emotions manipulated without her knowledge, she labeled each with its proper title. People ate them up -- maybe without knowing how true the labels were at first, but word spread fast in small towns. Even the sad ones got eaten. One customer left her a large tip as he sobbed into his plate. 

She observed them carefully. She wasn’t out to do experiments for the sake of experiments, but for betterment of humanity. It was certainly true that the shop was booming. People traveled from the nearest city to try what she made, never knowing it was her, of course. But was it helping them? 

Mira sighed as someone bought the last slice of nostalgia rye. She shook her head at the customers in line behind him, who sulked away in almost expected disappointment. At the end of the day, Mira was just selling pastries. She was still just a baker. Maybe even a drug dealer. 

She shuddered at the thought. It was probably time to stop, regardless of what Garsea told her. 

Later in the day, she went upstairs to Garsea’s lodging rooms. Hers was the second door on the left.

“Come in!” Garsea called at her knock. Mira found her counting all the gold they’d made over the last two months.

“Oh, my girl! My wonderful girl!” She dropped the coins with a clattering chime and kissed Mira, who had learned to accept the contact. It was just Garsea’s way. 

“Garsea --” she began, ready to be firm. 

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Garsea planted two hands on her shoulders. There were tears forming in her eyes. “We’ll be able to pay the collectors this year.”

“I have -- wait, pay the collectors? What collectors?”

“What collectors! Where have you been living these past years? The tax collectors. We have the payment and more left over.”

Mira started to talk very slowly. She had become used to Garsea and Elanor, but she had to remember they were still village people with limited education. “Garsea, you haven’t been able to pay them until this year? That can’t be right. Tax collection is based on income and the amount of people in the village. You are a rich woman. I can help you with your finances, tax will only be a drop in the bucket.”

Garsea stared at her strangely, shaking her head. “No, dear. Goodness, where did you drop in from? They demand a higher price each year, and if we don’t have it, they take our food or animals. We almost went hungry last winter. Didn’t you hear of Extu?”

“Extu’s collapse was because of bandits. The tax collection is to fund better communication and resources for the towns and cities so our soldiers can be there to prevent such a tragedy from occurring again.”

Garsea smiled. “You sound just like those protocols and such the Coven sends us. I know you’re a smart one. That just isn’t the reality, I’m afraid.”

Mira couldn’t smile back. 

“So now, why did you come see me?”

Mira said nothing because her throat had closed up. She simply left, her heart pounding. But of course it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. There was some miscommunication, and she would fix it.

She left the bakery and took a long sip of cool night air. She sat at an outdoor table and watched the moon. She controlled herself. The Coven would be proud.

A tap on the cobblestones nearby signaled that she wasn’t alone. One of the regulars at the shop, Amis, was hobbling by with his walking stick. “Oh, hello!” he called to her. Everyone said hello here. It wasn’t at all like the cities.

“Hello,” she replied. To her dismay, he took that as an invitation to sit next to her.

He settled carefully on the chair across from her. “I wanted to tell you…” he said slowly. She could tell he was choosing his words carefully. She liked people who did that. “Thank you. I saw my wife again because of you.”

She stared at him, trying to make his words click.

“Your rye today. It was wonderful.” He reached his hand across the table and patted the space in front of her as if he was patting her. “Thank you.” He got up carefully and began the rest of his trek home under the silver light. 

Mira watched as he left. She had never been thanked like this since she’d come here. 

She went back into the kitchen to bake, for she wanted badly to share the feeling in her chest as a pie.

***

The next day Elanor was gone. 

At first Mira waited in the kitchen, thinking she was slow to wake up again. But ten minutes after they were supposed to open, only Garsea came down. 

“Elanor?” Mira asked her.

Garsea shook her head. “Got called away in the night. It’s her aunt. She’s got fairy flu.”

“Oh,” Mira said. “Why isn’t she back yet?”

“Back? Lord, give the girl some time! I think it’ll be just the two of us for a while.”

Mira was once again taken aback. Garsea wasn’t usually so lenient. “For her aunt’s fairy flu?

“Yes. I’m not so bad that I won’t let her mourn.”

“Mourn!” Mira exclaimed. “Have you no doctors here?”

Garsea looked shocked at her outburst. But Mira didn’t have the time. “Where is she? I can help.”

Once Garsea told her, she ran.

***

Mira barged into the house without knocking and went from room to room until she felt the stale stink of sickness. In front of her, the woman in the bed had the worst case of fairy flu she’d ever seen. Her face was already scabbing over, her eyes glassy. 

There was an attending doctor standing over her bed, looking half grieved already.

“Why haven’t you given her the cure?” Mira shouted, her confusion spurring her anger.

“Cure?” he turned to the strange intruder with bafflement. “The fairy flu is incurable.”

Elanor nodded from her corner. She was far from the bed, looking on at a distance.

Mira’s heart raced and churned her stomach. “You should… No. There were mandated medical kits. Scrolls. Training.”

The doctor continued to stare at her without comprehension. She could tell he was close to throwing her out.

She swallowed hard. “I need mustard seed, a live chicken, and half a cup of crushed ginger.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow but Elanor backed her up. “Do what she says.”

***

They all worked hard under Mira’s instructions and after a few hours, Elanor’s aunt was breathing normally again.

“It progressed too far,” Mira told them. “She’ll have scars.”

“But she’ll live,” Elanor said. She reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand.

“Yes.” Mira turned to the doctor, who had warmed considerably towards her. “Spread the cure around. Please.”

“Of course,” he told her. “I can’t than --”

A loud rumbling drowned his words and nearly shook them off their feet.

“The storm,” Mira said. It was finally here. She had waited so long and now she didn’t feel ready at all. “Does everyone remember what to do?”

“Mira.” Elanor looked more terrified than she’d ever seen her. “That’s not a storm.”

A heavy knocking came at the door.

“Stay inside,” the doctor told them. But Mira followed him out.

A team of officials with Coven seals, each on a heavy horse and under heavier armor greeted them with blank faces.

“We’ve come to collect,” said the one who knocked. He held a document and Mira felt herself swaying as she looked at her own signature upon it. These were the tax collectors? They were dressed for war.

Beyond him, doors were being kicked down and angry words sprayed the air along with the evil clinking of coin and crying children. 

Mira’s vision went red. She refocused her attention above. In the sky, a heavy cloud built on itself, rolling faster than a ball off a cliff. Its creamy depth flashed with hidden power. For a moment the sound of attack dulled as electricity made the air feel dangerous. Rain poured down in one sudden torrent and drenched the earth.

“Get out.” Mira said. 

Then she let loose the first bolt.