Amelia raised a hand and watched the skies, waiting for the arrival of the investigator from the witches council. She'd spent a good hour trying to talk Constance out of sending the report, or at the very least rewording her message, but her deputy was nothing if not stubborn. She had insisted that the message be sent exactly as she'd worded it and had then retired again to her room, asking only that she be informed when the investigator arrived.

What had started as a mere pinprick in the sky gradually grew larger as the witch on the broom flew closer. Only the previous year she'd had to wait three months for the witches council to send word they were granting the school approved status for a further year, but one mention of potential impropriety and they could manage to send someone within a day. She tried to keep her frustration in check as the flier brought her broom into land. The attempt failed as she realised who was riding atop the broom.

Hester Buckweed had been in the year above Amelia all through her schooling, and she couldn't think of one occasion throughout all that time where the woman had ever done a single charitable deed. She had, as far as Amelia could ascertain, always been destined for the most hated job within the wider witching community. No-one liked those who chose to judge their own and thought it their calling.

She plastered a neutral expression on her face and waited for the broom to land. The woman wore the same sour expression that Amelia remembered, but her dark eyes were bright, boring into her immediately. Age had not dimmed her intensity, and Amelia realised with a sinking heart, that this visit wasn't going to to be a mere formality.

"Good day to you." The hand was thrust out, the tone snappy, the tall hat wobbling slightly on top of the mop of untamed white hair.

Amelia returned the greeting and invited the witch into the school.

"So you finally inherited the family business then!" Hester noted, and Amelia had the distinct impression that she was trying to make it sound like a failure.

"I was always intending to take the school on," Amelia corrected her, managing to keep her voice light. "I never made any secret of my intentions."
Hester removed her hat and brushed vigorously at a small mark on the brim. "I seem to remember your sister having the exact same intention." She paused for a beat. "And how is Agatha these days?"

Amelia pursed her lips, her sister's fugitive status was known to all within the witches council. "She is keeping her distance as she promised she would."

Hester tutted. "Such a shame that one so promising turned away so completely from the true path." She glanced up at the crumbling facade of the main building. "I have to say that I'm disappointed, although not completely surprised to be called here."

Amelia was determined not to be dragged into an argument this early. "Constance thought it best to speak to someone."

"Thought it best! Thought it best! When one is the subject of a council ruling, one adheres to it, one doesn't get the luxury of deciding what they think is best. I sincerely hope this isn't indicative of what is to follow." Hester pushed her hat into Amelia's hands and undid the bow on the long black cloak that sat heavy on her shoulders. "I said at the time we were being too lenient. I hope we don't all come to regret our actions in this matter."

Amelia bit her tongue. Arguing with Hester wasn't going to do anything to help Constance. She edged round the woman and gestured down the corridor. "Please Mistress Buckweed. There is tea and light refreshment waiting for us in my study. You must be tired after such a long flight."

Hester snorted in derision. "I have no time for your petty distractions Miss Cackle. I need to locate a suitable room for questioning. My fellow investigators will be along shortly."

"Fellow Invest… I thought the council sent you?"

"There are to be three of us - as is stipulated when any witch convicted of a level three offence transgresses the terms of their licence."

"Transgresses the…" Amelia was struggling to keep up with the turn of events.

"I want her broom placed under magical restraint and her room sealed - the woman is to be considered a flight risk."

"Surely that's a little unnecessary given how she's behaved for the last…." Amelia tailed off as Hester made a series of sharp motions in the air with her right hand. She could feel the Hester's magic as it went about its work.

"Never under-estimate," Hester advised. "Better to be safe,"

Her piece said, the investigator strode on. Amelia watched her go, and wondered if it would be possible to get Constance out of the school before a meeting could be held. She had the distinct impression that Mistress Buckweed had arrived with her mind already firmly made up."Come along Cackle," the words floated down the corridor towards her, causing an unexpected, and not altogether pleasant memory of school to flash through her mind. She pushed up the sleeves of her cardigan and set off after the woman.

Two hours later Amelia flopped down on her usual chair in the staffroom and stared at the space where the fire should be. She was exhausted. Mistress Buckweed had dragged her through every floor of the building in the search for the right room in which to carry out the interview. She had offered her the use of her study, but that had been abruptly poo-pooed and the woman had stomped off in search of something of her own choosing, muttering beneath her breath about the state of the school as she did so. After what seemed like an age she finally decreed that a small dank storeroom in the former dungeons was to be the selected room, and promptly caused the entire stock contained therein to disappear.

Mrs Tapioca had immediately waved her arms around in a state of high agitation, refusing to speak to anyone in English. Amelia had tried to placate her; had told her that everything would be returned as soon as the meeting was concluded, but the usually placid cook was not having any of it. She shouted something that Amelia tried hard not to translate and then stormed off to her kitchen, slamming the door shut behind her.

Amelia rubbed her temples and glanced up at the clock on the wall. There was, if she hurried, the chance to get another letter out to the council. She'd known that they'd come, but she'd not expected this level of outright hostility from the word go. Perhaps there was someone a little more forward looking who could act as a mediator.
She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't hear the door to the room open, and it came as something of a shock when Imogen's voice broke through the silence.

"Who's the new arrival?"

"What? Oh that dear. Nothing, absolutely nothing for you to worry about." She watched as the younger woman immediately placed her hands on her hips.

"Miss Hardbroom has locked herself away in her own room, refusing to talk to anyone, and now there's a hatchet-faced old woman who's stomping round the school as though she wants to reduce it to a pile of smoldering rubble, and you want me to believe that there's nothing going on! Come on Miss Cackle, what gives?"

Amelia sighed and opened her mouth to try and find the least damaging version of the truth to tell her colleague, but it was Mistress Buckweed's voice that boomed out into the cold air.

"What gives, as you so colloquially put it, is that I'm a senior member of the witches council here on official duties, and you my dear girl, as far as I can ascertain, have no business involving yourself with the affairs of witches." The tall spindly figure of Hester Buckweed appeared out of thin air. Her arms were folded and her face wore an expression that could only be described as dangerously angry.

"Miss Drill is a teacher in this academy." Amelia was up out of her chair in record time, and manoeuvred herself to stand between the two women. "An act against any member of staff… magical or otherwise would reflect badly on the impartiality of the process."

Mistress Buckweed huffed at the words, but the sharpness of her gaze seemed to lessen somewhat, and moments later Amelia's shoulders sagged with relief. "You will make yourself scarce." The words were aimed squarely in Imogen's direction, and there was no room for argument. "I'm aware that some academies deem it acceptable for young witches to mix with the non-magical. I myself see no benefit. There is nothing a young witch can learn from someone who fails to possess even the most basic proficiency in the arts."

Imogen looked for a moment as though she was going to argue, but then pressed her lips together and wordlessly settled down onto her usual chair. She picked up her book from the table and opened it on the last page she'd read. Amelia chewed the corner of her mouth as she waited for the reaction from Mistress Buckweed. If she'd been the sort to place a bet, then she was banking on Hester being the one to break first.

"I hope this isn't indicative of the sort of school you run," Hester said tartly as her attention swung back towards Amelia. "I trust you also will remain here for the duration of the interview." She paused and Amelia didn't care for the judgemental gaze that followed. "I hope you won't come to regret your propensity for taking on lame ducks."
Her piece said, she gave a flick of her wrist and vanished from the room as silently as she'd arrived. Amelia stared at the space where Hester had been and let out a long, slow, breath before turning on her heel and heading over to the urn that sat incongruously in the corner of the staff room She busied herself filling the teapot and swirling its contents gently around. Before she did anything else, she needed to centre herself. It wasn't going to help Constance's case if she was at loggerheads with the investigating witch.

After Mistress Buckweed's abrupt departure from the room, Imogen had been expecting more by way of detail from Miss Cackle. She slowly closed the book that lay open in her lap and asked the question that had been nagging away at her from the moment Mistress Buckweed's broom had landed in the courtyard.

"Why are the council gunning for Miss Hardbroom?"

She heard the heavy sigh that immediately issued from Miss Cackle, and watched the way that her shoulders dropped slightly. It was at least a question she could answer. "She broke the rules my dear," was her rather simplistic response.

"Miss Hardbroom?"

"Don't say it like that," came the chiding reply. "There's a lot about the woman you don't know."

"Well, that's becoming apparent." Imogen left her chair and moved to stand by the window, looking out at the heavy rain that was now beating firmly against the window.

"What did she do?" The silence from Miss Cackle told her that she'd asked the wrong question. She quickly apologised. "I'm sorry. This….this is a little hard to get my head around. She's so by the book, so strait-laced, she enters a room and the fun is immediately sucked out of it, she…." She tailed off realising that anything she said would not be taken in the way she intended. She watched as Amelia opened and closed her mouth a few times before finally deciding on an explanation.

"She was…involved… in a rather regrettable incident when she was younger."

Imogen wanted to shake Miss Cackle by the shoulders until she told her everything she wanted to know. Her delicate silences were starting to drive her mad. "I take it you know the full details?"

Amelia nodded. "She told me herself before I agreed to take her on."

Imogen had had occasion in the past to wonder how someone of Miss Hardbroom's obvious magical ability had ended up somewhere like Cackles, but 'last chance saloon' had never been one of the scenarios she'd envisaged. She frowned as she spotted two other witches coming into land; weaving slightly as they fought against the elements. Vicious crosswinds were now sweeping across the courtyard.

"Were you expecting anyone else?"

She saw the frown that darkened Amelia's face for a few moments before it was quickly hidden. "They're part of Mistress Buckweed's party."

"Why are we suddenly overrun with investigators? Why now?"

Amelia mulled over the next sentence for a few moments. "Were you ever in a gang at school?"

Imogen let out what sounded very like a snort of a laugh. "Are you about to try and tell me that Miss Hardbroom was ever gang material?"

"We don't say gang dear," was the gentle, slightly reproving reply. "Witches, young witches particularly, tend to form covens."

"I've read about those."

There was a definite frown from Miss Cackle, and that was slow to disappear. "You may have read a great many things regarding witches Imogen, but I do wish you'd bear in mind that the majority of them are written by people who have never had cause to come into contact with a real witch in their life."

Imogen held up her hands, to show that she hadn't intended to cause any offence. "I'm sorry Miss Cackle. Please; tell me more about them."

"The coven that Constance was involved with when she was at school… They are the reason the investigators are here. She was told to have no contact with them; ordered to never consort with any of them ever again."

"That's a very… draconian measure."

"It was considered a necessary action at the time."

"And I'm guessing she's seen one of them…" The conversation she'd walked in on between the two teachers sprang to her mind. "She's seen one of them whilst she's been off on that annual trip of hers, hasn't she?"

Amelia nodded. "And that trip is connected to the whole affair. She won't thank me for telling you this but that coven was dangerous."

Imogen rubbed at her temples as she tried to square away what Miss Cackle was saying. "You don't think she's done anything wrong though?"

"No." The reply was immediate; fired back almost the moment the question had been raised. "There is no way that Constance would choose to have anything to do with any of those girls again. The thing that they did…" Amelia shuddered. "Forgive me Imogen. This is Constance's story to tell."

"Well she can't very well say anything whilst she's shut off in that room of hers." Imogen's patience snapped. "If we're going to do anything to help her, then I need to know what happened."

Amelia looked at the young woman levelly. "They sought to steal magic from a powerful wizard. They broke into his house and tried to steal what he'd spent a lifetime amassing. Witches are better designed to carry magic than the non-magical, but it is an ability that grows with age and experience. They broke just about every line of the witches code, and it was a miracle that not all of them were killed."

Imogen fell silent as Amelia's words struck home. She wasn't sure what she'd imagined the crime had been, but it wasn't on that scale. She raised a hand as Amelia's words turned themselves over in her head. "Not all of them were killed?" she sought out the head teacher's gaze. "It cost a life?"

Amelia nodded sadly. "I know of one death."

Constance sat on one side of the table and glared at Hester Buckweed. She understood exactly why the investigator was within the school walls, but the woman seemed to be enjoying her role a little too much.

The furniture in the room consisted of simply a table and four chairs. Lights were provided by means of a spell, and Constance half suspected that they were also recording everything that took place. Buckweed was flanked by two stern-faced witches, who said nothing, but took notes about everything. Mistress Buckweed exchanged a nod with her fellow investigators and then turned her attention to Constance.

"It's been a long time since we had cause to see you Constance. I trust you are well?"

"Let us dispense with the pleasantries." She failed to see the point of maintaining any sort of charade.

Hester's sour expression deepened. "We can do this one of two ways. I don't see the need of making it more unpleasant than necessary."

"Ask your questions."

Hester narrowed her eyes, but refused to comment on the remark.

"Explain to me how you came to meet Alice Wellspring."

"I explained everything in the letter,"

"I'd like you to explain it to me.. To us. You were not supposed to have any contact with her." The tone was accusing, and it was something that Constance took immediate exception to.

"I did not choose to have contact. She was there, waiting for me."

"And you didn't just walk away?"

The words needled. "Contact had already been made. I thought it best to try and find out what she wanted."

"I suppose I needn't remind you of the oath that you took, the promise that you made to…"

"No!" There was a dangerous edge to her voice, "You of all people do not need to remind me. I went to the hill as is my custom… she was there. I assume she knew I was coming."

"And it was just her?"

"I'm sorry?"

Hester stared down at the book she'd been making copious notes in. "Wellspring. She was the only one who was there?"

"I am not in the habit of lying. I have said she was the only one there…"

"And you make a habit out of going to a place you were forbidden…" Hester butted in again, her tone matching Constance's.

"I do not go to the place - the 'place' as you very well know is no longer within the current plane. There is nothing that says I am not permitted to visit the hillside."

"You choose an unwise interpretation of the ruling. Why go back to that place? You must realise that it raises questions that will be very hard to answer."

Constance straightened up. "I am not afraid of questions. I have nothing to hide."

"I'd tread very carefully if I were you," Hester warned sharply. "I only need to have proof of contact to have you recalled before the council. A meeting that will only have one possible outcome."

"I was the one who reported the contact. I would not have done so if I'd had anything to hide."

"There were those who thought that you escaped too lightly. Those that thought the punishment should have been harsher. If it wasn't for Hecketty Broomhead you would never have been permitted to practice again."

"I take it you were one of those people?" Constance snapped. "I made a mistake. I am not going to deny one word of that, but I have not stepped beyond the bounds of the code since that day."

"You went to the hillside; you yourself have admitted that. You have gone back to a place where you were expressly forbidden to return." Hester glanced at her two silent partners, receiving a single nod of agreement from each of them. "I can do nothing but act in accordance with the tenets of the witches code..."

"This is nothing more than a sham," Constance protested, unable to keep her temper in check.

"You dare to stand against the council?"

"If the council representative is determined to twist the intent of the ruling, then I don't see that I have much choice."

"That ruling was far too lax in my opinion."

"But it's not your opinion that's being sought here. The council handed down their findings and I've lived by those ever since."

"You at least got to live… to practice your magic… unlike Veronica Quickthorn."

Constance's hands balled into tight fists; an action that wasn't lost on Hester. "Do you not think the Quickthorn family would be unhappy to hear that one of their daughter's killers was making regular pilgrimages back to the scene of the crime."

"I did not kill Veronica." Constance forced the words out.

"You seem to put a lot of store by the original verdict of the council," Hester turned the screw further. She slowly and deliberately turned the pages of the book that she'd been writing in, finally selecting the one she wanted, and running the heel of her palm over it to flatten it. "You were found complicit in the death of Veronica Quickthorn, Your actions, and the actions of the other members of the coven were decreed to be directly responsible for the loss of life that night." Hester glanced up from the book. "Nothing to say all of a sudden?"

"I did not kill Veronica," Constance repeated the words, her voice lacking its previous energy, her attention fixed somewhere in the middle distance. "He killed Veronica."
"His may have been the magic that struck the fatal blow, but she was only within those walls because of the rest of you."

"We were children and we made a very stupid mistake. We paid for that more times over than you can ever imagine."

"And you think that absolves you of your guilt? You went to that hillside, you went to where the barrier between this world and the next is at its thinnest and you expect… what? Understanding? You sit there with your painted on respectability as though that young girl's death meant nothing to you."

Constance pushed her chair away from the table; the loud rasping sound it made against the stone causing the older woman to jump, and headed for the exit

"I have not given permission for you to leave the room."

Constance swung back to face her, her eyes burning, but she was pulled up short.

"You threaten me, and I will see to it that you never set foot within this school again." Hester pointed a bony finger in the direction of the door and released the lock. "One step outside of this room and everything is over. Everything; do not think that even a witch of your prowess is above the law."

Constance hesitated for the briefest of moments before pulling hard on the handle and stalking from the room.