Note: Thank you so much for all the positive feedback for the last two chapters, you don't know how nervous I was about them! Anyway, on with the show!

By the way, this also briefly references my story Hair of the Dog. Shameless self-publicity there but hey!

Pandora's Box

Ten

Constance ran into the stifling room, throwing open the windows to allow some of the cool night air to circulate before going over to Amelia. The older witch was lying motionless on her bed, seemingly in slumber, but her ghastly, bluish-grey pallor and laboured breathing told a different story. Constance reached out to touch her perspiring forehead and gauge her temperature, but she was shocked back before her fingertips could make contact with the headmistress's clammy skin; violent, if tiny, indigo sparks pushing her back like the poles of magnets repelling each other. Constance felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she knew in that instant the cause of Amelia's dramatic change in health. The anger bubbled up in her throat.

"Where are you?" she hissed, turning round and searching the shadows of the room for any physical manifestation of the presence that had haunted her for two decades. "Where are you, you demon! I'm the one you want, not her! What did she do to deserve this?"

There was no response. She had not expected one. Constance felt sparks crackle under the skin of her fingertips and clenched her hands into fists, willing herself to keep a lid on her temper and frustration. For now, she had to concentrate on Amelia and alleviating her suffering. The search for the evil that had caused her obvious illness could wait until she was on the mend. Gingerly, she reached out a hand towards Amelia's forehead once more, not sure what reaction to expect this second time. The sparks from before came again, slightly more violent, but instead of pulling away, Constance persevered through the pain and brought her hand in to take Amelia's temperature. Despite the definite pale tinge to her complexion, she was burning up. After only a brief second, the agony from the constant shocking of the sparks became too much and Constance had to retreat, nursing her fingers in her other hand, worried. Producing sparks and static shock was a witch's natural defence system, a last resort should all other magic fail. She knew that distinctly from her own experiences. The sparks that Amelia was producing however... they were different, more vicious, almost as if they had a life of their own, and Constance couldn't tell if they were cause or effect of her mysterious illness. Either way, they only served to increase Constance's already conspicuous sense of unease. If she could not get near enough to diagnose exactly what was wrong with the headmistress, then she could not begin to try and treat her. Constance took a few deep breaths to calm her rising panic before taking a moment to think over her situation in her usual no-nonsense, logical manner; the continued growling of the cats at the door frame doing nothing to aid her frame of mind.

Constance produced a thermometer from thin air and gently placed it into Amelia's slightly open mouth, letting go before the shock could travel up the device. Finally it registered, leaving Constance in even more doubt as to her course of action: whilst Amelia's skin was definitely burning up, her actual body temperature was far below what it should have been. Constance's heart skipped a beat. The only time she had seen an illness like this was when Maud Moonshine had been poisoned at the end of her second year, but this time Constance knew instinctively that this was not poison, and she would not be able to produce an antidote to save her like she had done for Maud. She was at a complete loss for what to do. She removed the thermometer quickly, feeling the dull ache from being on the receiving end of too many sparks beginning to creep up her arm, causing her fingers to spasm into claws. She clenched her fist a few times to try and regain the movement and pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead, completely at a loss. The Devil had engineered this, she was sure, and now she was cursing herself for not taking the opportunity to open up to Amelia earlier in the day. Perhaps, if she had done so, they would not be in this position now, they would have found a way around his nefarious plans. If only she knew his game. She was the object, of that she was absolutely certain: the hateful letter had said as much. But Constance knew that the Devil could never be predicted, never be trusted. His whole existence was an enigma. He was an agent of anarchy, chaos embodied. If they could fathom the way his mind worked then they would be no better than he was, all demons in themselves. Constance looked out into the night sky, the full moon staring back at her through the open window, so calm and sure. For the first time since childhood, Constance found herself praying. She couldn't cope with this alone. She needed someone, but her first point of call, the first person that she would always run to for assistance was the witch whose wellbeing now lay firmly in her hands.

XXX

In all the years that Davina had taught alongside Constance at Cackle's, she had never seen the younger witch panic. Even in the height of trauma, even when the castle was falling down around their ears, even when they were in the depths of hell. She had seen her stressed, and frustrated, and she had definitely seen her terrified beyond belief, but she had never seen the stoical deputy-head panic to the point of incoherence. When she had wrenched open the staffroom cupboard doors and half-dragged Davina out of her cosy slumber in among the stationery, the chanting teacher thought for a moment that her superior had been possessed.

"Constance, what on Earth is the matter?" she asked groggily as she ran down the corridors, struggling to keep pace with the taller witch's strides. "What's happening? Couldn't it wait till morning?"

"Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying?" Constance hissed, the low tone managing to convey her frustration better than a scream that would have woken the whole school could have done. She stopped dead in her tracks, and Davina could see the chaotic panic in her eyes. She was suddenly not only awake and alert, but also very scared. If whatever it was could drive the enduring Constance into such a state, then it was something bad. What was it that Amelia had said at the meeting before they had been interrupted by the fourth-years and Fenny and Griz? Something beyond their control...

"Amelia is ill," continued Constance, and if Davina didn't know better, she would have said that the deputy was fighting tears. Her brown eyes were already red-rimmed from earlier crying, and Davina felt that this was not the best time to inquire as to the cause. They had been tiptoeing round Constance ever since her unexpected departure from the staffroom earlier that day. "She's ill and there's nothing I can do to help her, Davina."

By this time they had reached the headmistress's room and both women ventured inside. Davina was frozen into shock by the sight of her oldest friend in such a terrible state.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked, choked.

"I don't know for certain," said Constance weakly. "Symptoms of poisoning, but it isn't... Davina..."

"What, Constance?" Davina did not like the unsaid implication heavy in the younger witch's words.

"The Devil is behind it."

"What?" Davina refused to believe what she was hearing. True, Amelia's words at the meeting had pointed her thoughts in that direction, but she had firmly drawn herself away, not wanting to get pulled into that downward spiral of fear and worry, concentrating instead on trying to remember the middle-eight of a particularly difficult chant that she'd dreamed up the evening before. To have the demonic intervention put into plain words was too much for her to comprehend.

"The Devil..." Constance sighed, and Davina could see the effort it was taking her to confide in her. "The letter I received this morning... It warned me that something would happen. I just never dreamed it would be... I thought it would be me who suffered, and I was prepared for that. But this is Amelia, and I just don't know what to do."

Davina could not give a reply, and didn't even try to. She advanced across the room with baited breath and reached out to touch her, Constance's warning coming too late. She withdrew her hand immediately, massaging her fingertips.

"This isn't right," she said. "How can we hope to help her when we can't get near her?"

"I don't know!" exclaimed Constance, abandoning all attempts to be quiet for the good of the sleeping students in her raw fear. The two witches heard movement above them and Constance rested her forehead in her hands with a groan. Davina gulped, the prospect of losing Constance's stern, sensible, logical methodology truly terrifying her. Davina did not want to have to take charge, she knew she simply would not cope. Whilst she had often argued with Amelia over having more influence within the school, she knew that if she had as much power and responsibility as Constance, her delicate sensibility would send her into a nervous breakdown.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" said Constance, her no-nonsense manner seeming to return to her after a moment of weakness, moving over to Amelia's bedside and preparing to cast a spell with some medicinal effect. As she did so however, the sparks that Amelia's body was giving out as a natural defence struck out with even more ferocity than before, catching Constance's fingers as she tried to cast, forcing the effects of the spell away from their intended target. Davina watched in horror as Constance panted and shook through the pain from the shocks, trying to keep up a connection in the vain hope that some relieving effect might come of her attempts. As she did so however, Davina noticed something else. Amelia's pallor was growing ever more sickly, as if fighting off Constance's magic was physically draining her, even though the deputy's spells were not a vicious attack.

"Stop!" she cried. "Constance, stop, it's hurting her as much as it's hurting you! It's the magic!"

Constance immediately broke the connection, her knees buckling beneath her as she crumpled into an ungainly heap on the floor, her breath heaving.

"What did you say Davina?" she asked between gasps.

"It's the magic," said Davina, remembering her own magical studies as a girl, so long ago now that she could barely recollect what she had been taught. "Witches have a natural defence, if all else fails, they can still defend themselves against magic if needs be."

Constance looked down at her casting fingers and up at Amelia.

"So we can't help her because we're magical?" she asked weakly. "I knew about the final defence... I never realised it was due to our magic..."

"Yes..." Davina began, but she broke off on seeing Constance's eyelids flutter as her breath hitched and she hit the ground in a faint, the pain and stress of the past few seconds of casting finally getting the better of her.

Davina had never felt so alone in her life. A small, frightened squeak escaped her lips as she fell to her knees between the bed and the fallen deputy, looking from one incapacitated witch to the other. Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn't handle this situation, and at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to escape into the safety of her stationery cupboard in the staffroom, away from all the ills and evils of the world, where she could pretend that it was all a bad dream until Imogen woke her up with a bowl of fruit salad and double cream. But Imogen was not there, and as the only remaining member of senior staff, Davina knew that the management of the school was in her shaking hands. She noticed how much her fingers were trembling and sat on them, hoping that might stop the shivers, and that in turn would give her the confidence to pull through this. She could do it. She could do it. If she told herself enough times, surely that would work... Davina shook her head. She was out of her depth completely, and if Constance had no idea what she should do, then Davina knew she didn't have a hope.

She was pulled out of this self-destructive circle of thoughts by the softest of knocks at the door. Ice shot down Davina's spine and she pulled herself to her feet. Better to face whatever it was standing, lest it be an evil force come to finish the job it had started... Two teachers down and one to go... Davina called out in a quavering voice.

"Who's there?"

"It's Mildred. May I come in?"

Relief flooded through Davina's veins as she crossed to the door and opened it to reveal Mildred's wonderfully familiar face.

"Miss Bat," she said, her eyes worried but with the slightest hint of what Davina divined to be triumph. "I've had an idea."

Note2: Stay tuned to find out what that idea is!