Wintersmith

She sat silently in her rocking chair. Some people are good at talking, but Gra

It upset people. It was probably meant to. But Tiffany had learned silence too, from Gra

Gra

Tiffany thought of it as the I'm-not-here spell, if it was a spell. She reasoned that everyone had something inside them that told the world they were there. That was why you could often sense when someone was behind you, even if they were making no sound at all. You were receiving their I-am-here signal.

Some people had a very strong one. They were the people who got served first in shops. Gra

She could turn it off, too.

She was doing that now. Tiffany was having to concentrate to see her. Most of her mind was telling her that there was no one there at all.

Well, she thought, that's about enough of that. She coughed. Suddenly Gra

"Miss Treason is very well," said Tiffany.

"A fine woman," said Gra

"Oh, yes."

"She has her fu

"We're none of us perfect," said Gra

"She's trying some new eyes," said Tiffany.

"That's good."

"They're a couple of ravens…."

"It's just as well," said Gra

"Better than the mouse she usually uses," said Tiffany.

"I expect they are."

There was a bit more of this, until Tiffany began to get a

"Mrs. Earwig's written another book," she said.

"I heard," said Gra

Well, that explained the sulk. Even thinking about Mrs. Earwig made Gra

Mrs. Earwig was popular among the younger witches, because if you did witchcraft her way, you could wear so much jewelry that you could barely walk. Gra

—except when they needed her. When Death was standing by the cradle or the axe slipped in the woods and blood was soaking into the moss, you sent someone hurrying to the cold, gnarly little cottage in the clearing. When all hope was gone, you called for Gra

And she always came. Always. But popular? No. Need is not the same as like. Gra

Tiffany did like her, though, in an odd kind of way. She thought Gra

"The new book is called First Flights in Witchcraft," she went on, watching the old witch carefully.

Gra

"Hah!" she said. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: You can't learn witchin' from books. Letice Earwig thinks you can become a witch by goin' shoppin'." She gave Tiffany a piercing look, as if she were making up her mind about something. Then she said: "An' I'll wager she don't know how to do this."

She picked up her cup of hot tea, curling her hand around it. Then she reached out with her other hand and took Tiffany's hand.

"Ready?" said Gra

"For wha—" Tiffany began, and then she felt her hand get hot. The heat spread up her arm, warming it to the bone.

"Feelin' it?"

"Yes!"

The warmth died away. And Gra

The tea dropped out in one lump. It was frozen solid.

Tiffany was old enough not to say, "How did you do that?" Gra

"You moved the heat," Tiffany said. "You took the heat out of the tea and moved it through you to me, yes?"

"Yes, but it never touched me," said Gra

"Can I learn that?"

"I daresay. It's not hard, if you get your mind right."

"Can you teach me?"

"I just have. I showed you."

"No, Gra

"Can't tell you that. I know how I do it. How you do it'll be different. You've just got to get your mind right."

"How do I do that?"

"How should I know? It's your mind," snapped Gra

There was something almost spiteful about all this, but that was Gra

"An' I see you're still wearing that trinket," said Gra

Tiffany touched the little silver horse she wore around her neck. It was small and simple, and it meant a lot to her.

"Yes," she said calmly. "I still am."

"What have you got in that basket?" Gra

"I brought you something," said Tiffany, swinging the big black kettle onto the fire.

"You've got no call to be bringing me presents, I'm sure," said Gra

"Yes, well," said Tiffany, and left it at that.

She heard Gra

"Her mother is Pinky, the Widow Cable's cat," said Tiffany, to fill the silence.

"You shouldn't have," growled the voice of Gra

"It was no trouble." Tiffany smiled at the fire.

"I can't be havin' with cats."

"She'll keep the mice down," said Tiffany, still not turning around.

"Don't have mice."

Nothing for them to eat, thought Tiffany. Aloud, she said, "Mrs. Earwig's got six big black cats." In the basket, the white kitten would be staring up at Gra

"I don't know what I shall do with it, I'm sure. It'll have to sleep in the goat shed," said Gra

The kitten rubbed against Gra