Carpe Jugulum

pathetic bones glowed red hot and then crumbled into fine ash.
    Away in the forest, the magpies screamed. Count Magpyr stirred in the darkness of his room and opened his eyes. The pupils widened to take in more light.
    “I think she has gone to ground,” he said.
    “That was remarkably quick,” said the Countess. “I thought you said she was quite powerful.”
    “Oh, indeed. But human. And she’s getting older. With age comes doubt. It’s so simple. All alone in that barren cottage, no company but the candlelight…it’s so simple to open up all the little cracks and let her mind turn in on itself. It’s like watching a forest fire when the wind changes, and suddenly it’s roaring down on all the houses you thought were built so strongly.”
    “So graphically put.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You were so successful in Escrow, I know…”
    “A model for the future. Vampires and humans in harmony at last. There is no need for this animosity, just as I have always said.”
    The Countess walked over to the window and gingerly pulled aside the curtain. Despite the overcast sky, gray light filtered in.
    “There’s no requirement to be so cautious about this, either,” said her husband, coming up behind her and jerking the curtain aside. The Countess shuddered and turned her face away.
    “You see? Still harmless. Every day, in every way, we get better and better,” said Count Magpyr cheerfully. “Self help. Positive thinking. Training. Familiarity. Garlic? A pleasant seasoning. Lemons? Merely an acquired taste. Why, yesterday I mislaid a sock and I simply don’t care. I have lots of socks. Extra socks can be arranged!” His smile faded when he saw his wife’s expression.
    “The word ‘but’ is on the tip of your tongue,” he said flatly.
    “I was just going to say that there were no witches in Escrow.”
    “And the place is all the better for it!”
    “Of course, but—”
    “There you go again, my dear. There is no room for ‘but’ in our vocabulary. Verence was right, oddly enough. There’s a new world coming, and there won’t be any room in it for those ghastly little gnomes or witches or centaurs and especially not for the firebirds! Away with them! Let us progress! They are unfitted for survival!”
    “You only wounded that phoenix, though.”
    “My point exactly. It allowed itself to be hurt, and therefore extinction looms. No, my dear, if we won’t fade with the old world we must make shift in the new. Witches? I’m afraid witches are all in the past now.”

The broomsticks in the present landed just above the treeline, on the edge of the moor. As Agnes had said, it was barely big enough to deserve the term. She could even hear the little mountain brook at the far end.
    “I can’t see anything gnarly looking,” said Agnes. She knew it was a stupid thing to say, but the presence of Magrat was getting on her nerves.
    Nanny looked up at the sky. The other two followed her gaze.
    “You’ve got to get your eye in, but you’ll see it if you watch,” she said. “You can only see it if you stands on the moor.”
    Agnes squinted at the overcast.
    “Oh…I think I can,” said Magrat.
    I bet she doesn’t, said Perdita, I can’t .
    And then Agnes did. It was tricky to spot, like a join between two sheets of glass, and it seemed to move away whenever she was certain she could see it, but there was an… inconsistency , flickering in and out on the edge of vision.
    Nanny licked a finger and held it up to the wind. Then she pointed.
    “This way. An’ shut your eyes.”
    “There’s no path,” said Magrat.
    “That’s right. You hold on to my hand, Agnes will hold onto yours. I’ve been this way a few times. It ain’t hard.”
    “It’s like a children’s story,” said Agnes.
    “Yes, we’re down to the bone now, all right,” said Nanny. “And…off we go…”
    Agnes felt the heather brush her feet as she stepped forward. She opened her eyes.
    Moorland stretched away on every side, even behind them. The air was darker, the clouds heavier, the wind sharper. The mountains looked a long way away. There was a distant thunder of water.
    “Where are we now?” said Magrat.
    “Still here,” said Nanny. “I remember my dad saying sometimes a deer or somethin’ would run into gnarly ground if it was bein’ hunted.”
    “It’d have to be pretty desperate,” said Agnes. The heather was darker here, and scratched so much it was almost thorny. “Everything’s so…nasty