Tithed by Megan Hart

     Change was coming. Elspeth Valerin knew it. She'd seen it this morning in her daily calculations. The date, her name and birthday, the color of the sky and what she'd eaten for breakfast—all had been given a numerical value and figured in an equation along with a dozen other factors.
          Everything counts, she thought as she followed Gabriana through the carved wooden door to The Slaughtered Lamb. For most people, Arithmancy was no more than a jumble of numbers. For Elspeth, it was her life.
         "I'm so pleased you decided to come out with us tonight, Elspeth," Gabriana said over her shoulder. "We've been asking you for ages. I thought you'd never say yes."
         "The stars must finally have aligned," teased Dayla Mornit. Dayla taught Runes at Somnus Keep.
         "No," interjected Callis Dardin. She taught Astronomy. "The numbers finally added up. Am I right, Elspeth?"
         Elspeth smiled a bit as she followed her colleagues to a table toward the back of the pub. "Something like that."
         The scent of sawdust, alcohol and food greeted her, and she paused to look around. Seventeen tables, each with three or four chairs. Six windows. A long, polished wood bar stretched along the left side of the room. Twenty-two stools lined up along it. Toward the back, a swinging door leading to the kitchen, and a hallway. A dartboard with eight darts stuck into the cork. Six musicians in the corner struck up a tune to cheers from the substantial crowd.
         She was counting again and took a deep breath to force herself to focus on the quality of the pub rather than the quantity of the items within it.
         "I admire anyone who can make sense of Arithmancy, much less teach it," said Dayla. "I can't add the contents of my pocket, much less turn everything I do into an equation."
         Elspeth gave a tentative smile. "It's useful to know how to do it. But it's just as useful to know someone who can make the calculations for you."
         Dayla stared at her for a moment. "Is it possible our quiet Elspeth has just put me in my place?"
         "Oh, no, I—"
         "Hush," said Gabriana. "She's teasing you."
         Callis laughed, looking at the serving lass headed their way. "Ignore her, Elspeth. She's a sour old biddy because nobody likes Runes either. And good eve to you, Gretel Deloras!"
         Elspeth couldn't help staring at Gretel, whose smile was almost blinding in its brightness. Her lush curves threatened to burst the seams of her simple peasant shirt, worn so low off her shoulders the dusky hint of aureoles peeked out from the lace around the edge. A man's hands would easily span her waist, while her hips swelled out below with the promise of sensual delights any man would be unable to resist.
         "Who's your friend?" Gretel's voice oozed such blatant sensuality it turned the heads of the men at the next table. She leaned forward to smile directly at Elspeth. "Hello, honey. I'm Gretel."
         "Elspeth," she stammered, overwhelmed by Gretel's presence.
         Gretel laughed, tossing back her mane of blond curls so they fell down her back. "Welcome to The Slaughtered Lamb, sweet thing. What can I get you? We have everything you could want and probably some things you don't."
         Elspeth hated the heatroses that bloomed in her cheeks and hoped the pub's dim lighting hid them. At the school she managed to maintain the near-constant cool and collected demeanor necessary to keep her students in line. Here she was out of her element, unused to the attention and uncertain how to react.
         Gretel took their orders and glanced again at Elspeth, her bright blue gaze lingering. "Sure I can't bring you something strong, sweetheart? You're a mite pale. Maybe an ale would do your blood some good."
         "All right," she answered, surprising herself. "Ale would be lovely, thank you."
         Gretel raised one perfect golden