to seizing her house and possessions.
THE MALEVOLENT
These witches draw power from the dark and pursue their own ends—either without any consideration of the consequences for others, or deliberately setting out to do harm. While some serve the Fiend directly, many act of their own volition. There is also a whole spectrum of power and ability. At the lowest end of the scale, witchcraft is dabbled in to survive; it is a means to fill the belly and gain shelter against the cold ravages of winter. Such witches are little more than beggars. At the highest end of the scale, whole kingdoms may rise or fall at the whim of a powerful witch.
THE BINDING OF MOTHER MALKIN
The most dangerous malevolent witch I ever had to deal with was, without doubt, Mother Malkin. She had a long history of slaying children. Living on boggy moss land, far to the west of the County, she had once offered homes to young women who, although expecting babies, had no husband to support them. For this supposedly charitable enterprise, she earned the title Mother. It was, however, a cruel ruse: Years later, when the local villagers finally grew suspicious and drove her out, they found a field full of bones and rotting flesh. She had slain both mothers and babies to feed her insatiable need for blood.
Mother Malkin
I’d spent the long cold winter at my house in Anglezarke, returning late in the spring to find that Chipenden had been terrorized in my absence. Mother Malkin wasn’t working alone; she was with her son, a terrifying creature known as Tusk, and her granddaughter, Bony Lizzie. During that long winter people had been afraid to venture out after dark, and the threesome had used the time to steal, intimidate, and commit murder.
Five local children had been taken, the last over a month earlier so there was no hope of retrieving them alive; they would have been sacrificed for blood magic. All I could do was prevent further abductions by dealing with the witches and their thuggish accomplice.
Tracking them down wasn’t difficult, as they had set up home in an abandoned farm about three miles southeast of my Chipenden house. As I was dealing with three adversaries, I was forced to compromise: I had only one silver chain and could therefore only hope to bind one witch and put her in the pit I had already prepared in my eastern garden. But I also hoped to drive off the other two and make the area safe once more. First I decided to dispose of the creature. It was clear why the villagers had nicknamed him Tusk. His canine teeth were huge and horribly deformed, protruding sharply from his mouth. He was dangerous and immensely strong, so my first priority was to prevent him from getting too close to me. Many of the victims that were dug up from that boggy moss land had clearly suffered broken ribs. It was thought that Tusk had squeezed the breath from their bodies, shattering their bones in the process. I waited until he returned one night, his large sack of ill-gotten gains over his shoulder, and followed him back through the trees.
Tusk
“Put that down, thief!” I called, putting a mixture of disdain and imperiousness into my voice in an attempt to rile the creature so he would charge me recklessly.
It worked almost too well! Even faster than I’d anticipated, he whirled round, dropped the sack, and charged straight at me, bellowing like an angry bull. I used my staff, stepping to one side to deliver a heavy blow to his head. He went down hard but scrambled back to his feet within seconds to attack once more. Four or maybe five times I managed to fend him off, bringing him to the ground on two occasions at least. But he became wilder and more aggressive, and I began to tire. I was worried that he’d succeed in grappling with me at close quarters. I had two witches still to deal with, so it was time to finish it.
I pressed the recess in my staff, and with a click, the retractable blade emerged. I was prepared to kill him—after all, he’d already played his part in the abduction and murder of children. When he charged again, I wounded him in the shoulder. Even that was not enough to deter him, so the next time I stabbed him in the knee. He fell down in the long grass and howled with pain like a