Prince Horace arrived in a thick, green, smelly fog. Cathy held her nose as the aroma of dark magic wafted around the library, seeping into the carpet and curtains. Hex would normally grumble and snipe about the smell and how it lingered in the soft furnishings, but today he sat, reading a book titled How To Make The Perfect Toffee Apple.

Hex clearly didn't like what he was reading because he snapped the book shut and threw it at her.

Cathy ducked as the book grazed the top of her head.

Hex heaved himself out of his chair, muttering under his breath.

"Problem?" Horace asked, placing his silver coin back into his pocket.

"Did one of us even stop to think if we could bake?" Hex said, glaring at Cathy.

"Well, I assumed your protégé would know how... after all, it was her idea." Horace joined Hex in glaring at her.

Under the weight of their scrutiny, Cathy's stomach churned.

"Can't you use magic?" she suggested. It had worked before.

Hex scratched his chin while he paced up and down, his cloak billowing and his black boots squeaking. Suddenly, he stopped, and then he spun around to face Horace.

"I don't know a single spell to conjure sweets," he said, shaking his head. "Do you?"

Horace looked confused.

"No. Why would I magic up sweets? Bugs, yes. Warts, most definitely. Pus-filled boils, for sure. But sweets, never."

"Then we have a problem," Hex said. "What about Agnes? She must know of a spell. She's as old as creation and as wily as a fox."

"Careful, Hex," Horace hissed. "But you may be right. I'll ask mummy."

Another flash and Horace was gone.

*

It was after lunch and Hex had given Cathy strict instructions to clean his study as though her life depended on it, and he'd meant it.

With a broom and a duster, she set about cleaning. Stacks of contracts covered the sorcerer's desk and floor like he'd been frantically searching for something.

Cathy began arranging the contracts in order.

At first, she tried to order them by date, but it took too long. Then she tried to order them alphabetically, but it was near impossible. Eventually, she settled on organising them by the type of spell.

She made a pile of curses, one for wishes and another for anything else. Cathy worked quickly, and in no time, she had three tidy piles of magical contracts. Placing the contracts back in the drawer, Cathy noticed an old picture. Carefully, she slid it free and smoothed the crumpled edges. Her stomach flipped as she looked at the image of a girl about her age. She had fair hair like hers and large almond-shaped eyes.

Turning it over, she found something written on the back in Hex's sprawling handwriting.

My beloved daughter, Florence.

Looking again at the girl, Cathy noticed a pendant around her neck. It was the same pendant Hex had given to her. She felt sick to her stomach. She tried to piece together what she had found out...

Hex had a daughter.

Cathy looked like her.

His daughter's name was Florence.

Her nan was Florence.

Is that why he took her? Because Florence... is his daughter? Did he take her to replace Flo? And Flo came from here? She needed to know the truth.

Cathy slipped the picture into her pocket and, before leaving the study, she picked up a pair of Hex's binoculars. The next day, they could be useful.

*

The following morning, Cathy waited for Tibbles to appear. The steaming bowl of porridge was twice as big as usual, and there were three huge piles of buttered toast with marmalade. Enough food to make a pig sick... or a very greedy cat.

When Tibbles jumped through the kitchen window, her eyes widened at the sight of the food. She leapt from the windowsill onto the table.

"Morning, Tibbles," Cathy said, beaming.

"Good morning. My, my, what a splendid breakfast you've prepared. Is there a reason for this?"

"I wanted to show you how grateful I am for all your help. I know I can always rely on your honesty and friendship."

Tibbles squealed with delight and fell face-first into the bowl of porridge. The cat slurped and gobbled, licked, and flicked her breakfast everywhere. And when the bowl was empty, she shook the blobs of porridge from her whiskers, splattering it across the table.

Cathy pushed the stack of toast towards Tibbles, guessing she wouldn't be able to resist. And she was right.

Tibbles tore into the toast like she hadn't eaten for days.

Cathy watched the cat's tummy grow bigger and bigger and bigger...

Tibbles popped the last piece of toast into her mouth and fell backward.

"How was breakfast?"

"Mighty fine... Can't move... Can barely breathe...." Tibbles burped loudly. "Pardon me."

Cathy cleared the table and washed up, whilst keeping a close eye on Tibbles.

The cat's tummy gurgled...

"Uh-oh!" Tibbles said, sitting up.

"What?"

"Gotta go... Ate too much... Feel sick."

Tibbles crawled to the end of the table and plopped to the floor. Once on the worktop, she balanced on the edge of the windowsill.

"See you tomorrow." She gave a little wave and flopped out of the window.

"That's what you think," Cathy muttered under her breath. Drying her hands on a tea towel, she picked up the binoculars and snuck out of the kitchen door to follow Tibbles.

Cathy's plan to slow the cat down with food seemed to work. Tibbles crossed the lawns and passed the pond. She carried on through the walled garden, ignoring the beautiful roses, and headed towards the treeline.

The chickens clucked as Tibbles strolled past them with her tummy still gurgling.

Cathy checked behind her to make sure the coast was clear before continuing. The Binding Potion prevented Cathy from stepping beyond the rose garden. She hoped wherever Tibbles was heading; it wasn't much further. Cathy ducked behind a row of rose bushes and raised the binoculars to her eyes.

Beyond the treeline, Tibbles stopped and scanned the area.

Above the cat, strange twinkles of light swirled. Cathy clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her cries as Tibbles changed from a cat into a... into a... witch.

The witch's robes were plain and grey, and her skin was old and wrinkled, but Tibbles' silver-grey hair sparkled in the sunlight and petals fluttered to the ground like confetti. The air surrounding Cathy filled with the smell of cherry blossom. Not at all like the awful stench that followed Agnes.

The witch stretched her bony hands above her head and smiled up at the trees...

The leaves on every tree rustled, and Cathy could hardly believe her ears as the trees whispered their hellos.

Cathy watched the witch vanish from sight and lowered the binoculars. Tibbles wasn't a cat, but a witch. Does everyone here tell lies? She couldn't trust anyone. Now she had another mystery to solve. Who was Tibbles, really? And what exactly was she up to?