Wintersmith

said Granny, satisfied. “Now we must go.”
    “You were watching me,” said Tiffany sullenly.
    “All morning. You could have seen me if you’d thought to look,” said Granny. “But you didn’t do a bad job at the burial, I’ll say that.”
    “I did a good job!”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “No,” said Tiffany, still trembling. “You didn’t.”
    “I’ve never held with skulls and suchlike,” said Granny, ignoring this. “Artificial ones, at any rate. But Miss Treason—”
    She stopped, and Tiffany saw her stare at the treetops.
    “Is that him again?” she asked.
    “No,” said Granny, as if this were something to be disappointed about. “No, that’s young Miss Hawkin. And Mrs. Letice Earwig. Didn’t hang about, I see. And Miss Treason hardly cooled down.” She sniffed. “Some people might have had the common decency not to snatch.”
    The two broomsticks landed a little way off. Annagramma looked nervous. Mrs. Earwig looked like she always did: tall, pale, very well dressed, wearing lots of occult jewelry and an expression that said you were slightly annoying her but she was being gracious enough not to let it show. And she always looked at Tiffany, when she ever bothered to look at her at all, as if Tiffany were some kind of strange creature that she didn’t quite understand.
    Mrs. Earwig was always polite to Granny, in a formal and chilly way. It made Granny Weatherwax mad, but that was the way of witches. When they really disliked one another, they were as polite as duchesses.
    As the other two approached, Granny bowed low and removed her hat. Mrs. Earwig did the same thing, only the bow was a little lower.
    Tiffany saw Granny glance up and then bow lower still, by about an inch.
    Mrs. Earwig managed to go half an inch farther down.
    Tiffany and Annagramma exchanged a hopeless glance over the straining backs. Sometimes this sort of thing could go on for hours.
    Granny Weatherwax gave a grunt and straightened up. So did Mrs. Earwig, red in the face.
    “Blessin’s be upon our meetin’,” said Granny in a calm voice. Tiffany winced. This was a declaration of hostilities. Yelling and prodding with the fingers was perfectly ordinary witch arguing, but speaking carefully and calmly was open warfare.
    “How kind of you to greet us,” said Mrs. Earwig.
    “I hopes I sees you in good health?”
    “I keep well, Miss Weatherwax.” Annagramma shut her eyes. That was a kick in the stomach, by witch standards.
    “It’s Mistress Weatherwax, Mrs. Earwig,” said Granny. “As I believes you know?”
    “Why, yes. Of course it is. I am so sorry.” These vicious blows having been exchanged, Granny went on: “I trust Miss Hawkin will find everything to her likin’.”
    “I’m sure that—” Mrs. Earwig stared at Tiffany, her face a question.
    “Tiffany,” said Tiffany helpfully.
    “Tiffany. Of course. What a lovely name…. I’m sure that Tiffany has done her very best,” said Mrs. Earwig. “However, we shall shrive and consecrate the cottage, in case of…influences.”
    I already scrubbed and scrubbed everything! Tiffany thought.
    “Influences?” said Granny Weatherwax. Even the Wintersmith could not have managed a voice so icy.
    “And disquieting vibrations,” said Mrs. Earwig.
    “Oh, I know about those ,” said Tiffany. “It’s the loose floorboard in the kitchen. If you tread on it, it makes the dresser wobble.”
    “There has been talk of a demon,” said Mrs. Earwig, gravely ignoring this. “And…skulls.”
    “But—” Tiffany began, and Granny’s hand squeezed her shoulder so hard she stopped.
    “Deary, deary me,” said Granny, still holding on tightly. “Skulls, eh?”
    “There are some very disturbing stories,” said Mrs. Earwig, watching Tiffany. “Of the darkest nature, Mistress Weatherwax. I feel that the people in this steading have been very badly served, indeed. Dark forces have been unleashed.”
    Tiffany wanted to yell: No! It was all stories! It was all Boffo! She watched over them! She stopped their stupid arguments, she remembered their laws, she scolded their silliness! She couldn’t do that if she was just a frail old lady! She had to be a myth! But Granny’s grip kept her silent.
    “Strange forces are certainly at work,” said Granny Weatherwax. “I wish you well in your endeavors, Mrs. Earwig. If you will excuse me?”
    “Of course, Mis—tress Weatherwax. May good stars attend you.”
    “May the road slow down to meet your