Sorry this part has taken so long! So far, I've been pretty fortunate in that I've done an absolute minimum of revision, apart from spellcheck/grammar etc. This chapter, despite being planned, went off on an unexpected tangent. I haven't used the tangent, but I don't regret it, for it's given me something to go on for… the sequel! Assuming you want one, that is…

Thank you to all readers and reviewers: all comments – including concrit and slavish praise – are more than welcome, and make me dance with glee, much to the mystification of my dogs. You'd think they'd be used to it by now!

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was the witching hour of midnight, and the moon hung low in the sky over the turrets of Cackle's Academy. Stars were spangled sparsely though the night sky, cold and brilliant, their light only faintly reflected in the sparkling diamante of frost-encrusted snow. Instead of darkness or the soft glow of candlelight, a faint pulsating light emitted from the castle's narrow windows, but everything else appeared still and eerily quiet for a school; even the animals – the owls and cats and bats – were hushed, waiting for the storm.

Inside, Mildred Hubble pulled her pillow over her head and mentally cursed Frank Blossom and his attempts to provide Cackle's with a reliable alarm system.

'I'd rather burn,' she muttered, shutting her eyes tight in order to block out the flickering from the restored gas lights.

After the disaster that had been the last audible fire alarm – it had wakened not only the castle, but three of the surrounding villages too, and resulted in an avalanche of complaints for Miss Cackle – the powers that be had ordained that silent methods of rousing the girls in the event of an emergency needed to be developed. Thus the unused Victorian gas lights were brought back into service, and their insistent flashing proved reasonably fit for the purpose.

Realising that the flashing was persistent and showing no signs of stopping – Mr Blossom had been known to inadvertently trigger it at all times of the day and night – Mildred reluctantly concluded that perhaps this time it was a real alarm.

'Come on, Tabby,' she whispered to the little cat curled up on his usual spot on her pillow, his tail encircling him almost entirely. 'We'd better go.' Shivering in the biting air, she pulled on her boots and cloak, tucked a grumbling Tabby under one arm and grabbed her hat with the other, and opened her door – only to find herself face to face with a similarly attired Maud.

'I was just coming to see if you're up,' Maud whispered, swinging a snarling Midnight away from Tabby. She glanced furtively about. 'I don't think this is a drill. Something's up.'

Mildred yawned as she followed her friend onto the gallery where they joined the long line of stumbling, half-asleep girls as they made their way down the stairs.

'Thank goodness we're to go to the dungeons and not the courtyard,' she leaned forward to murmur into the other girl's ear, one half-done braid falling over the banister. 'We wouldn't burn if it was a fire, but we'd probably all die anyway – from hypothermia!'

Maud cast a very Hardbroom-like glare over her shoulder. 'Don't say that, Millie!' Instinctively, she tapped her fingers against the carved oak of the banister beneath them, touching wood: a gesture of protection. 'Now come on. I want to find out what's happening, and I don't think it's going to be as simple as a fire.'

'That's hopeful,' Mildred said glumly. Lack of sleep always made her pessimistic. 'What's the betting that they'll call us down and then tell us nothing?'

'We'll find out soon enough,' Maud said sensibly, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. 'It really is terribly cold.'

'And dark,' Mildred commented with a shudder, her fear of the dark raising its head as they made their way tentatively down the twisting spiral staircase that would bring them to the dungeons below. Her breathing quickened, and she reached out to steady herself against the wall – only to pull her hand back at once in disgust. 'Eurrgh! It's all damp and slimy!'

'It's horrid, isn't it,' Maud said uneasily. 'Odd, too. We've been up and down this staircase loads of times, and it's never been like this.'

Mildred's teeth chattered, and she poked her friend in the back, urging her forward – not least because the girl behind Mildred was starting to complain that they were being slow. 'Go on, Maud. The sooner we get off this rotten staircase the happier I'll be.'

Her answer was a commiserating glance flung over Maud's shoulder, eerily lit by the single lamp that glowed at the bottom of the staircase.

Then Miss Bat appeared, her grey hair a wild cloud about her, minus glasses, but still with the inevitable conductor's baton behind one ear.

'Come along, girls,' she called sharply, and Mildred and Maud exchanged nervous grimaces as they sidled past her. 'Get into the kitchen and be quick about it. There's no time for this – this dilly-shally-dallying.'

The girls gave a sigh of relief as they entered the kitchen, made spacious enough to accommodate the girls by pushing the long trestle tables against the walls, and opening the doors into the scullery and pantry. There were no flickering gas lamps here, and Mildred looked almost affectionately at the candles on the tables and along the broad mantelpiece. Candlelight was kind and familiar, she thought, as she followed Maud across the room to the corner where they could see Ruby and Jadu.

'At least it's warm,' the former said as they joined her. She grinned. 'I think I'd almost prefer being down here, awake, than in bed asleep when it's definitely below zero in the dormitories and the blankets have got to be atleast fifty years old.'

Cheered by this, Maud and Mildred giggled. They put the cats down; the animals were all used to each other, more or less, and the girls had become resigned to the occasional spat. Tabby twined about Mildred's ankles before slipping through the crowd of girls towards the large fireplace, and settling himself contentedly near the hot grate.

'Spoilt puss,' Mildred complained under her breath, watching her cat enviously. 'It's nice for some.' She rubbed her hands together, attempting to get some warmth back into her frozen fingers. 'Does anyone know what we're doing here?'

'Are we all here?' Jadu asked from Maud's other side, her question obliterating Mildred's.

'Miss Drill's bringing the First years in now,' Ruby told her. 'And look at who's standing next to HB,' she adding with a meaning glance in the direction of the fire, where Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom stood.

'It's Ethel!' Mildred said, outraged. 'What's she doing here? I thought she was leaving.'

Ruby shrugged. 'I asked Gris, and she said that she'd heard that Ethel and Sybil are leaving, but Daddy Dearest wants to wait for the weather to let up.' She smirked. 'He mustn't be much of a wizard if he can't fix that.'

'He isn't,' Maud said absently, rubbing her eyes. 'Everyone knows that. That's why he's so obsessed with Mugical technology.'

'Mugical?' Jadu repeated, puzzled. 'What's that?'

Maud grinned. 'Exactly what it sounds like. It's Muggle-style tech that's been adapted to work in magical environments. Mr Hallow owns the company that makes the stuff. My parents got our TV from there.'

Ruby's eyes lit up. 'I'm so going to beg Old Cackle to let me go there for work experience. It sounds amazing.'

Maud's grin faded. 'That's assuming Mr Hallow will have anything to do with us after all this.' She rubbed her eyes again. 'I can't believe I was so stupid as to forget my glasses.'

'Don't worry, Maud, I'll help you,' Mildred assured her, but before Maud could respond to this, Miss Drill had climbed onto one of the long trestle tables than stood against the kitchen walls and demanded silence.

'Attendance, girls!' she called. 'Make sure you're standing in your year groups and we'll begin.' She paused, and there was a degree of shuffling, but with Miss Hardbroom glaring at all and sundry, no-one wasted any time over it.

'Angelica Archangel!' Miss Drill began the register, and the Third years had to stop talking and wait with what patience they could muster for the explanations they hoped would be forthcoming.

xxx

Miss Cackle watched her pupils settle down and respond to Miss Drill's taking of the register with some pride. This had been, she felt, an exemplary drill – if only it was a drill. She could not shake the dread that had wakened her just before the gas lights began their silent summons, and with every moment that passed, her fear increased. It settled low in her gut, a cancerous growth that could deter her from being what she must be and doing what she must do.

'Constance,' she murmured into her deputy's ear. 'Walk with me, will you? I want to put the castle into full lockdown.'

The younger woman's only response was a sidelong glance and a quiet inclination of the head; Amelia could not tell from Constance's expression whether the other woman was fighting with terror as Amelia herself was.

Silently, she lead Constance out of the kitchen; they ascended the dark stairs without a word being exchanged, and it was not until they had emerged into the front hall and were thus safely out of the girls' earshot that Constance spoke.

'Did you set the alarm off?'

Amelia shook her head and shivered, wishing for something warmer than her cloak. It was enchanted wool, but like all enchantments, it only worked in conjunction with a magical being. 'I thought you did.'

'I did not.'

'Perhaps it was Davina … or the castle itself,' she suggested. 'It's a magical entity in a sense.'

Constance nodded her agreement, but said nothing.

Amelia managed a weak smile. 'I'm going to check the Gate,' Amelia told her junior as they reached the double doors. 'You stay here in the - uh – warm. I don't want you falling out there.'

'That doesn't help if you fall, Headmistress,' Constance pointed out as one of the doors swung back. 'The ground will be slippery, and your footwear-' She raised an eyebrow at Amelia's knee high fluffy slippers, and Amelia felt her colour rise.

'They've got proper soles and they're warm,' she returned with dignity. 'Besides, I can walk in a straight line without needing the support of a wall every couple of paces.'

Without stopping to see how this carrying of the war into the enemy's camp was received, Amelia pulled her cloak tight about her shoulders, and stepped out into the night. Almost at once, she regretted acting alone. Inside, the night sky had seemed frosty-clear, the courtyard bright from the moonlight that streamed across it. Now that she was outside, it seemed less bright, less clear… Amelia blinked, trying to clear her vision and wondering if she was imagining things.

And then the moon went out.

A thick mist enshrouded the castle, turning the darkness impenetrable. The fear that Amelia had tried so valiantly to control rose, choking her, and she screamed for help, her panicked mind hoping that somehow Constance would hear. The cry was ripped from her throat and swallowed by the mists, and Amelia realised that she could scream and cry all night, and no-one would hear, no-one would know.

Frantic with fear, she tripped something hard embedded in a snowdrift and fell, heavily. Fortunately, the shock of the icy impact returned her to her senses, and she lay in the snow, thinking hard. She peered into the darkness, and thought that the mist was lifting a little; she thought she could just about make out the looming shape of Walker's Gate a short walk ahead.

It's a magical mist, she thought as she climbed slowly to her feet, her ageing joints protesting against the abuse they had received. Perhaps it feeds off my emotions…

That idea was strangely comforting; she could not control her environment, but she could control how she responded to it. She took a deep breath of the freezing air, allowing it to burn a path all the way down to her lungs, focusing on how it felt, and expelled it again. As she did so, she noted that the mist had indeed lifted a fraction: now she could see how the warm air of her expelled breath swirled amongst the frigid air of the mists, and through them both, filtered the pure still light of the moon.

Amelia smiled grimly as she stumbled towards Walker's Gate and triumphantly slammed the great iron bolt home, rejoicing in the almighty clang it made, the sound echoing amongst the trees. It was futile gesture, she knew: their foes were magical and to them the gates would be a mere trifle. Yet the gesture heartened her, and she started on her return trip back to Constance with her head held high. All the same, that walk was the longest she had ever taken, and when Constance's hands enclosed hers to draw her into the blessed shelter of the castle, Amelia practically fell into her deputy's arms.

'Close the doors,' she panted as Constance staggered back, still too weak to handle the unexpected weight. 'Close 'em tight, and lock them with all we've got.' She stepped away from the younger woman, her hands closing over Constance's upper arms in an effort to steady them both.

'Now,' Constance said, and they moved together as one to close the doors and lock them; even the heavy ancient beam was brought down across the doors, running from wall to wall.

'That's the best we can do without magic,' Constance observed, wiping her hands.

'And it's definitely magicalmayhem that's stirring tonight,' Amelia told her grimly as she clapped her own hands to rid them from centuries of accumulated oak dust. 'Constance, were you watching me the whole time?'

'I saw you fall into a snowdrift next to the broomshed. What happened?'

'There was… Wait. You saw that? You were able to see where I fell?'

Constance's arched brows went up towards her hairline. 'Of course. It is a very bright moonlight night.'

'Yes – until you step out there.' Amelia shivered at the memory. 'As soon as I went more than a couple of paces away from the door… it changed. The moon went out, Constance, and I was lost in a mist … Thank goodness I did fall over that snowdrift. I think it may have saved my life. Otherwise I'd still be out there, and if you'd come looking for me….' Amelia shuddered again. 'We'd have both been lost in the mists, leaving the school even more defenceless than it already is.'

Constance drew herself to her full height.

She looked… regal, Amelia thought wistfully. Unlike Amelia herself, the younger woman had clearly not been roused from her bed. Her hair was down, flowing in unrestrained waves to her waist, but otherwise she looked as she always did: low boots, prim black dress, the bundle of keys that always swung at her waist at its usual place, and her black-and-green cloak was immaculate.

'So it begins,' the Deputy Headmistress said, her gaze meeting Amelia's without wavering.

A rush of pride went through Amelia for the second time in an hour. 'Yes.'

'I see.' Constance reached out to steady herself against the wall, and gave Amelia a tense smile. 'Shouldn't we go and warn them?'

Amelia sighed before she returned the smile, edging hers with regret. 'Yes. Let's go and warn them.'

xxx

Constance followed her superior as they slipped back into the kitchen, where Miss Drill was finishing off the register. As soon as the last name – Yolanda Yarrow – was called, a low murmur arose from the girls.

Constance's lips thinned; they seemed to have forgotten the recent troubles in favour of enjoying the accustomed warmth and the excitement of company at one in the morning. She glanced at Amelia, and sighed internally as she saw the indulgently maternal smile on the headmistress's face – now there was no hope that Amelia would give the warning that so desperately needed to be given! Amelia, Constance thought acerbically, was the epitome of the triumph of hope over experience.

The internal sigh became a real one as she watched Davina float over to Amelia, whisper into her ear, and lightly jump onto the nearest trestle table.

'Girls!' the chanting mistress called, whipping the baton from behind her ear and sneezing as the movement caused one of her frizzy tresses to tickle her nose. 'Ach-too! Sorry, dears.' She blew the offending hair out of her face and continued blithely. 'I have had an idea, a marvellous idea!' She clasped her hands and beamed and the girls.

Constance was sourly pleased to note that only a few beamed back.

Nothing daunted, Miss Bat went on in her usual breezy fashion. 'I've just been talking to Miss Cackle' – here she pointed at the Headmistress with her baton, causing that lady to squawk when said baton hovered dangerously near her eye – 'and we've decided that everyone needs some cheering up. Won't that be nice?'

No, thought Constance grumpily, sending a minute glare in Amelia's direction. How could Amelia ignore what had happened outside?

'So,' Miss Bat announced, 'we're going to do some chanting!'

Her bright smile vanished when the girls groaned. 'Now, now, enough of that,' she snapped out, trying – and largely failing – to look impressive. 'These are dangerous times, you know, and we need to keep our spirits up. Shall we start with a nice round of Eye of Newt? Griselda Blackwood!'

'Yes, Miss Bat?' Griselda's voice came reluctantly from one dark corner.

Constance wondered if the girl had sought out Fenella after the latter's ordeal at Deirdre's hands.

'Take it from the top, Griselda dear!' Miss Bat ordered with a sweep of her baton.

Obediently, albeit with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, Griselda began to sing the old chant. One by one the others followed, and as more and more young voices came to swell the chorus, Constance found herself thinking – most unusually - that perhaps Davina had been right. As Amelia would say, their pupils may be young witches, but they were also children… was it not their duty to protect them?

Her unaccustomed moment of sentimentality was interrupted in the cruellest of ways.

Just as the girls had finished the end of the third verse of Eye of Newt, a wispy skull trailing tendrils of black and green flames shot from one end of the kitchen to the other, taking all the light and warmth with it, and leaving only darkness and frigid, choking, terrifying cold behind.

There was an instant of shocked, stunned silence: then the screaming started.