Witches Abroad

looked down, beyond her avenging sister.
    “ You broke my mirror !”
    “Was this what it was all for, then?” said Granny. “Playin’ little queens in some damp city? Serving stories? What sort of power is that?”
    “You don’t understand…you’ve broken the mirror …”
    “They say you shouldn’t do it,” said Granny. “But I reckoned: what’s another seven years’ bad luck?”
    Image after image shatters, all the way around the great curve of the mirror world, the crack flying out faster than light …
    “You have to break both to be safe…you’ve upset the balance …”
    “Hah! I did?” Granny stepped forward, her eyes two sapphires of bitterness. “I’m goin’ to give you the hidin’ our Mam never gave you, Lily Weatherwax. Not with magic, not with headology, not with a stick like our Dad had, aye, and used a fair bit as I recall—but with skin. And not because you was the bad one. Not because you meddled with stories. Everyone has a path they got to tread. But because, and I wants you to understand this prop’ly, after you went I had to be the good one . You had all the fun. An’ there’s no way I can make you pay for that, Lily, but I’m surely goin’ to give it a try…”
    “But…I…I… I’m the good one,” Lily murmured, her face pale with shock. “I’m the good one. I can’t lose. I’m the godmother. You’re the wicked witch…and you’ve broken the mirror…”
    … moving like a comet, the crack in the mirrors reaches its furthest point and curves back, speeding down the countless worlds…
    “You’ve got to help me put…the images must be balanced…” Lily murmured faintly, backing up against the remaining glass.
    “Good? Good? Feeding people to stories? Twisting people’s lives? That’s good , is it?” said Granny. “You mean you didn’t even have fun ? If I’d been as bad as you, I’d have been a whole lot worse. Better at it than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
    She drew back her hand.
    … the crack returned toward its point of origin, carrying with it the fleeing reflections of all the mirrors…
    Her eyes widened.
    The glass smashed and crazed behind Lily Weatherwax.
    And in the mirror, the image of Lily Weatherwax turned around, smiled beatifically, and reached out of the frame to take Lily Weatherwax into its arms.
    “Lily!”

    All the mirrors shattered, exploding outward in a thousand pieces from the top of the tower so that, just for a moment, it was wreathed in twinkling fairy dust.

    Nanny Ogg and Magrat came up onto the roof like avenging angels after a period of lax celestial quality control.
    They stopped.
    Where the maze of mirrors had been were empty frames. Glass shards covered the floor and, lying on them, was a figure in a white dress.
    Nanny pushed Magrat behind her and crunched forward cautiously. She prodded the figure with the toe of her boot.
    “Let’s throw her off the tower,” said Magrat.
    “All right,” said Nanny. “Do it, then.”
    Magrat hesitated. “Well,” she said, “when I said let’s throw her off the tower, I didn’t mean me personally throwing her off, I meant that if there was any justice she ought to be thrown off—”
    “Then I shouldn’t say any more on that score, if I was you,” said Nanny, kneeling carefully on the crunching shards. “Besides, I was right. This is Esme. I’d know that face anywhere. Take off your petticoat.”
    “Why?”
    “Look at her arms, girl!”
    Magrat stared. Then she raised her hands to her mouth.
    “What has she been doing ?”
    “Trying to reach straight through glass, by the looks of it,” said Nanny. “Now get it off and help me tear it into strips and then go and find Mrs. Gogol and see if she’s got any ointments and can help us, and tell her if she can’t she’d better be a long way away by morning.” Nanny felt Granny Weatherwax’s wrist. “Maybe Lily Weatherwax could make jam of us but I’m damn sure I could knock Mrs. Gogol’s eye out with the fender if it came to it.”
    Nanny removed her patent indestructible hat and fished around inside the point. She pulled out a velvet cloth and unwrapped it, revealing a little cache of needles and a spool of thread.
    She licked a thread and held a needle against the moon, squinting.
    “Oh, Esme, Esme,” she said, as she bent to her sewing, “you do take winning hard.”

    Lily Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world.
    “Where am I?”
    I NSIDE THE MIRROR .
    “Am I dead?”
    T