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now, let me see…” said the toad sarcastically. “Better skin, better legs, likelihood of being kissed by a princess one hundred percent improved…why, yes. Whenever you’re ready, madam.”
    “There’re worse things than being a toad,” said Miss Tick darkly.
    “Try it sometime,” said the toad. “Anyway, I rather liked her.”
    “So did I,” said Miss Tick briskly. “She hears about an old lady dying because these idiots thought she was a witch, and she decides to become a witch so that they don’t try that again. A monster roars up out of her river, and she bashes it with a frying pan! Have you ever heard the saying ‘The land finds its witch’? It’s happened here, I’ll bet. But a chalk witch? Witches like granite and basalt, hard rock all the way down! Do you know what chalk is ?”
    “You’re going to tell me,” said the toad.
    “It’s the shells of billions and billions of tiny, helpless little sea creatures that died millions of years ago,” said Miss Tick. “It’s…tiny, tiny bones. Soft. Soggy. Damp. Even limestone is better than that. But…she’s grown up on chalk and she is hard, and sharp, too. She’s a born witch. On chalk ! Which is impossible !”
    “She bashed Jenny!” said the toad. “The girl has got talent!”
    “Maybe, but she needs more than that. Jenny isn’t clever,” said Miss Tick. “She’s only a Grade 1 Prohibitory Monster. And she was probably bewildered to find herself in a stream, when her natural home is in stagnant water. There’ll be much, much worse than her.”
    “What do you mean, ‘a Grade 1 Prohibitory Monster’?” asked the toad. “I’ve never heard her called that.”
    “I am a teacher as well as a witch,” said Miss Tick, adjusting her hat carefully. “Therefore I make lists. I make assessments. I write things down in a neat, firm hand with pens of two colors. Jenny is one of a number of creatures invented by adults to scare children away from dangerous places.” She sighed. “If only people would think before they make up monsters.”
    “You ought to stay and help her,” said the toad.
    “I’ve got practically no power here,” said Miss Tick. “I told you. It’s the chalk. And remember the redheaded men. A Nac MacFeegle spoke to her! Warned her! I’ve never seen one in my life! If she’s got them on her side, who knows what she can do?”
    She picked up the toad. “D’you know what’ll be turning up?” she continued. “All the things they locked away in those old stories. All those reasons why you shouldn’t stray off the path, or open the forbidden door, or say the wrong word, or spill the salt. All the stories that gave children nightmares. All the monsters from under the biggest bed in the world. Somewhere, all stories are real and all dreams come true. And they’ll come true here if they’re not stopped. If it wasn’t for the Nac Mac Feegle, I’d be really worried. As it is, I’m going to try and get some help. That’s going to take me at least two days without a broomstick!”
    “It’s unfair to leave her alone with them,” said the toad.
    “She won’t be alone,” said Miss Tick. “She’ll have you.”
    “Oh,” said the toad.

     

    Tiffany shared a bedroom with Fastidia and Hannah. She woke up when she heard them come to bed, and she lay in the dark until she heard their breathing settle down and they started to dream of young sheep shearers with their shirts off.
    Outside, summer lightning flashed around the hills, and there was a rumble of thunder….

     

    Thunder and Lightning. She knew them as dogs before she knew them as the light and sound of a storm. Granny always had her sheepdogs with her, indoors and out. One moment they would be black-and-white streaks across the distant turf, and then they were suddenly there, panting, eyes never leaving Granny’s face. Half the dogs on the hills were Lightning’s puppies, trained by Granny Aching.
    Tiffany had gone with the family to the big