Amelia stirred the silver spoon around and around in the cup. She watched as the liquid swirled and lapped against the side of the slightly chipped china. She was exhausted, but didn't want to call a halt to her efforts, didn't want to give up on Constance without at least making some sort of breakthrough. Her eyes burned with weariness and she fleetingly thought about trying some of the wide-awake potion that her deputy seemed to live on. She pushed the thought away. She was not going to help things if she over-worked and ended up crashing just as she was needed.

She had always considered herself a loyal witch, obeying the code because it made a lot of sense; paying her dues when they were owed and enjoying the benefits that came from being part of the wider witching family when things got tough.

When you reached a certain age as a witch,it was accepted that there was one of two ways you could go. To the great relief of the witches council, the vast majority of those leaving the academies chose a path where they would work hard and benefit their chosen community. There were always those who strayed from the path and needed to be called to heel; she'd experienced enough of that with her own sister, but in that particular case it had been necessary. Agatha had always been hard to live with and had never seemed to appreciate that magic was a gift and something to be nurtured and crafted. She had always wanted to bypass those spells that grew things, or worked in harmony with nature. She had always wanted to concentrate her energies on those spells that were connected to the darker side of the arts. Constance was nothing like her. Constance studied the craft, wanted to learn every possible thing about her chosen specialisation. It wasn't right to sit back and let her be judged because of decisions she had made in the past. Those decisions had been unwise in the extreme but, unlike Agatha, she had worked hard… perhaps too hard to make up for them.

She glanced up blearily as there was a knock at the door. As far as she was aware Imogen was the only other person still within the school. "Come on in dear," she encouraged as she placed her cup down on the table next to her.

The door opened and Imogen entered, looking just as defeated as she younger woman slumped down onto a chair. "So have you finished with Mistress Buckweed?"

Amelia ran the fingers of her right hand across the top of the table. "I think it's safe to say that I've said all to her that I intend to."

"Right." There was a frown and a pause. "And is she going to go back to the council with some further damning report?"

The tips of the fingers were brushed across the top of the table again. "I think it's safe to say that the next time she speaks to the council, her outlook will not be positive."

Imogen opened her mouth to say something and then shut it again, something niggling away at her.

"You knocked?" Amelia prompted.

There was a look of confusion for a second before Imogen explained herself. "I didn't see Mistress Buckweed leave; I assumed that you were still engaged in talks." She looked around. "Where is she?"

Amelia waved the question away. "She's around," she replied airily.

"You seem awfully laid back about it."

"There's nothing she can do right now, trust me."

"What's going on? Is there something I should know about?"

"No dear," Amelia's answer was firm. "It's much better for you if you know nothing about what's going on."

There was a scrape of chair against stone floor as Imogen rose to her feet. "What exactly have you done?" she looked around, trying to see if anything was out of place. She looked back at Miss Cackle, but there was a look of practised innocence on the woman's face. "You're definitely up to something, you've definitely….ahh…." She tailed off as her eyes took in the large glass tank that now appeared to have pride of place on top of the bureau by the window.

"Leave that alone dear," Amelia advised her as she made her way towards it. Sitting at the bottom of the large tank, munching on a piece of leaf was a rather large snail.

Imogen looked at it intently, and then back at her head mistress. "That isn't…." She turned and looked again. The snail seemed to be giving her a very piercing stare. "Oh my god…. Oh my good god. It's her, isn't it? You've only gone and…. You can't do this!"

"Well, as you can see…"

"Well, yes," Imogen corrected herself. "You can do it, but I really don't think you should be going around turning investigators from the witches council into snails." She squinted at the creature in the tank again. "That is a snail, isn't it? I've never really been that up on my molluscs."

"Firstly, yes, it is a snail, and secondly, what would you have me do? Mistress Buckweed there was all for launching a full scale search for Constance, and not the sort of search that would have ended with a nice cup of tea and a slice of cheesecake at Cosie's."

"An actual witch hunt!"

"Please don't call it that dear, it is rather tacky."

"But that's what it amounts to, isn't it? Since the moment she parked her broom in the broomshed I've had the distinct impression her mind was made up. Everything else has been mere pretence."

"The witches council aren't very big on forgiveness," Amelia confessed. "Too many witches in the past have been altogether too quick with the 'I'm really sorry, I'll never do it again' line, only to cast a spell on some poor unsuspecting individual the next. They've got a zero tolerance policy now."

"But Buckweed's attitude was beyond hard line; she'd convicted Constance before she landed." She stopped, as she realised who she was talking to. "You're the one who turned the woman into a snail. You know that she was out of line."

"I know that she had her own agenda," Amelia corrected. "She was gunning for Constance, and I'd like to know why."

"But turning her into a snail!"

"That was a little 'heat of the moment' I'll admit. She was about to fly out of here and bring the weight of the whole council to bear. I had to buy myself some time." Amelia pushed herself to her feet and made her way over to the tank. "I'm really not sure how I'm going to explain this."

"Getting Constance back here and proving that she had nothing to do with reuniting with her former coven would be a start surely."

Amelia said nothing for a few moments before tapping smartly on the side of the glass. "Can you make sure that Mistress Buckweed has a daily supply of fresh leaves and can you clean her tank out regularly as well. There are certain standards one has to maintain when one takes on the responsibility of turning a fellow witch into a snail."

"Why will I need to do this?" Imogen wanted to know; already fairly sure of what Amelia was going to say next.

"I need to find Constance. I need to get out there and persuade her to come back and speak to the council." Amelia bustled towards the door, muttering something about a hat under her breath.

Imogen watched her open-mouthed for a few seconds. "You can't leave me here," she finally protested. "I'm not baby-sitting some snail whilst you go and look for Miss Hardbroom."

"And why not? You have something against snails?"

"No! I….I'm coming with you."

"Really!" Amelia stopped dead and turned to look at the younger teacher. "I didn't think the two of you got on?"

"Well…" Imogen halted as she realised that Amelia had raised a very valid point. "I don't suppose we do, but I've no wish to see anything happen to her."

"And you're happy to use magic to get to our destination?"

"What? I…" Imogen tailed off as she realised she'd not really thought things through. "I was thinking we could take the train, or maybe a bus."

"I'm a witch of some standing," Amelia reminded her pointedly. "I do not take the train!"

"Where do we start this search? Constance isn't exactly renowned for her outgoing, gregarious nature!"

Amelia had one hand on the door. She drummed her fingers against the well-worn wood. "I think I might know someone who can help."

The cottage was small. Stone walls, whitewashed many years earlier, were now almost lost behind a heavy curtain of ivy that threatened to smother the tumbledown building. The cottage stood alone at the end of a deeply rutted track. It had taken them the best part of an hour traipsing though the village before someone had finally told them where to find the place. Imogen felt that it was only politeness that prevented the villager they stopped from asking why they wanted to find that particular address.

She took a step back and glanced up, half-expecting to see a face peering out at them from an upper storey window. She'd been more than a little surprised when Miss Cackle had suggested coming to Hecketty Broomhead for help. She'd only met the senior witch on two occasions, and neither one had given her the impression that she was any sort of a friend to Cackles.

"She is the only other person who can tell us more about Constance," Amelia had reminded her when she suggested that perhaps they should give up on this particular idea.

Imogen wasn't sure that she wanted to hear anything that Broomhead had to say, whether or not it would turn out to be useful. The woman, quite frankly, gave her the creeps.

There was a huff of annoyance from Amelia as her knocking on the front door went unanswered. Imogen was about to suggest they try peering through the letterbox, when it dawned on her that the door didn't have one. She glanced around but failed to locate anywhere the local postman could leave anything. It was, she supposed, one way of avoiding junk mail.

Without warning the door was jerked opened a crack. An action that caused both women to take a surprised step backwards. Hecketty peered round the narrow gap and glared with undisguised contempt at the two women. "I don't give to charitable causes, I don't need my windows doing, and if you're trying to sell me double-glazing you are wasting your …." She tailed off as she realised the identity of her visitors. She straightened up but made no move to open the door wider. "What can I do for you Miss Cackle and …" she turned her gaze in Imogen's direction and there was a slight crease of her brow as she struggled and failed to remember the other women's name. She paused, before finishing with. "….and you young woman?"

"Drill," Imogen told her sharply.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"My name," Imogen replied. "It's Drill….Imogen Drill."

Hecketty shot her a look that made Imogen wish she'd not spoken. She was on the verge of opening her mouth and apologising for her own name, when Amelia came to her rescue.

"I…that is we….that is…"

Hecketty cut off the hesitant words. "You've come to talk about Constance." She took in the confused expression on the faces of the two women in front of her. "Well of course I know why you're here. The only surprise is that it's taken you so long to ask."

"May we…"

Hecketty glared at them both again. "I'm not prepared for guests," she retorted tartly before stepping back. The door creaked opened slowly on rusting hinges, and Hecketty beckoned them both over the threshold. There was a moment of hesitation from Amelia; something which didn't go unnoticed by Imogen. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but before she could say a word, there was a barely audible pop, and the air around her smelt faintly of pear drops.

"Protection spell," Amelia muttered as she bustled past Imogen and stepped into the dark hallway beyond. "My magic will keep me safe from anything she might try. You…. You need a little help."

"You think she'll try something?" Imgoen hissed as she watched the headmistress disappear into the gloom. No reply floated back in her direction. "Great!," she muttered to herself, disconcerted to find the way that her heart rate was now accelerating. She tried to tell herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, but the message just didn't appear to be getting through.

"Come on in if you're going to!" Broomhead's voice spat in her ear. "I didn't light a fire just so you could let all the heat escape."

Imogen hurried over the threshold, and tried not to yelp as the door slammed shut behind her, Broomhead's disembodied voice still ringing in her ears.