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 Granny Weatherwax had always been there.

"Miss Treason is very well," said Tiffany.

"A fine woman," said Granny.

"Oh, yes."

"She has her funny ways," said Tiffany.

"We're none of us perfect," said Granny.

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

"That's good."

"They're a couple of ravens…."

"It's just as well," said Granny.

"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 annoyed at doing all the work. There was such a thing as common politeness, after all. Oh well, she knew what to do about it now.

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

"I heard," said Granny. The shadows in the room maybe grew a little darker.

Well, that explained the sulk. Even thinking about Mrs. Earwig made Granny Weatherwax angry. Mrs. Earwig was all wrong to Granny Weatherwax. She wasn't born locally, which was almost a crime to begin with. She wrote books, and Granny Weatherwax didn't trust books. And Mrs. Earwig (pronounced "Ah-wij," at least by Mrs. Earwig) believed in shiny wands and magical amulets and mystic runes and the power of the stars, while Granny Weatherwax believed in cups of tea, dry biscuits, washing every morning in cold water, and, well, she believed mostly in Granny Weatherwax.

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. Granny Weatherwax wasn't popular with anyone much—