Edna used to be very good at potions. Once upon a long time ago, the eldest of the sisters was the queen of concoctions and the matron of making bubbly things in cauldrons. There was no ailment she couldn't cure (or cause) and her reputation had spread far and wide. She made a nice tidy profit from the small store she opened up in the front room of their house. A dozen customers a day would tread through the always-open front door, hoping and expecting that Edna could solve their problems for them.

Generally she did just that. She was normally kind and helpful. Occasionally though, with no warning whatsoever, Edna would decide to be decidedly unkind and unhelpful. It was usually only a brief lapse, but that was all it took to 'accidentally' substitute, for example, rat's tail for rat's ear. Well, imagine! A humble paying customer would want to clear up a nasty rash and instead end up sprouting an extra toe. It didn't go down too well. OK, so an accident was accidental (as accidents usually are), but when the mayor found he could only walk backwards between three o'clock and half past seven, it simply had to stop.

Banning a witch from using her magic was like telling the sun not to rise in the morning. It was like telling sheep not to dip or corn not to flake. Apart from the fact that she'd say "Stuff you!" just before turning you into a frog, a witch couldn't not use her magic. It was part of them. It was more natural than breathing. It was instinct.

Besides, they liked doing magicky things. Why should they stop? And try making one do that!

The mayor, an ever-smartly dressed man who seemed to roll when he walked, thought to take it upon himself to stop the 'wicked' witches from performing their black arts. He conveniently forgot that Edna had previously given him a lush full head of hair, had cured his wife of some extremely unsightly boils (which, granted, Edna had caused in the first place), and had turned his daughter into a beautiful young woman from the, well, homely girl that she was.

Mayor Harper approached the front gate to the witches' garden all beefed up with his own self-importance. His chest was out, although it was hard to tell over his Honourable Rotundness, and his nose was high. A gaggle of his cronies waddled on behind. Behind them prowled what would have been a mob of angry villagers if more than a slack handful had been courageous enough to face the wrath of the demon witches. Those that did shamble along being Mr. Pompous, sorry, Mayor Harper's entourage were only really there for the show they were sure would ensue.

Mayor Harper, Kenny to those who liked him and Harpy to those who didn't (which, pretty much, meant no one called him Kenny, especially since his name was Jeremy), paused at the gate. Bravado was one thing, stupidity was entirely another. He'd persuaded the villagers, or at least some of them, that the witches had to be stopped. Yes, his argument was with Edna, but all three were witches and, as such, all three were responsible for the countless number of times he walked into a wall or tripped over a stone because, between three and seven thirty, he could only walk in reverse.

At a town meeting the previous night, only a dozen or so had turned up to hear his plea and not all of those had appeared today. He wasn't disappointed though. Harpy didn't quite see things the way everyone else did. As far as he was concerned, the lack of any decent turnout simply implied that his villagers thought he was man enough to handle the situation on his own. Some, though he didn't know it, actually thought he was big enough for two men, or maybe even three on a good day and after a hearty breakfast.

He held onto the gate, steeling himself for the task ahead. As far as he knew, Edna and her sisters were normally friendly. They lived quietly alone in their tidy, if small, home. They wouldn't say boo to a goose, although he had witnessed the youngest one, Puddlebrain, having a lengthy conversation with one once. He didn't really expect any trouble, but he was quite prepared to face any that might come trotting along. He was mayor. He could handle it.

His pudgy hand pushed open the gate. He expected it to creak as it moved, but it didn't. It wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Harpy stepped through into the front garden and began to walk to the house. He glanced back briefly to check that his followers were doing just that - following. They weren't. He felt so proud! They had the utmost confidence in him too! He smiled to himself.

Right, witches, here I come.

The path he was on was smooth, polished stone. It kept itself clean and was proud, almost to the point of being vain, of its appearance. The path knew who might be an unwelcome visitor and knew just how to handle such guests. Sometimes, particularly on lazy summer's days, it might meander for a while, pausing here and there around the garden to give whoever might be walking it time to have a leisurely stroll. Other times, such as during a harsh winter's blizzard, it would lead slap-bang straight to the door, hurrying you along so you didn't get too wet or frozen to the bone.

In the case of Mayor Harper, the path led a merry figure eight and ended up right where it started. Before he knew it, he was going back the way he came, facing, once again, his brood. He turned around and frowned. The path was, once more, straight to the door. Not one to give up easily, he started again towards the house. Persistent was how he thought of it. Stubborn as a mule with a bad hair day who soooo didn't wanna pull that plough and wasn't going to no matter how many carrots you bribed him with was how almost everybody else thought of him.

By the third time, he was beginning to lose his patience. He didn't exactly have too much of that to begin with. Patience is supposedly a virtue and Mayer Harpy was far from a virtuous man. He only became Mayor because no-one else could be bothered to spare their Sunday afternoons to go knocking on doors canvassing for votes. It had been an almost unanimous victory at the election - unanimous in that out of those who actually made the effort to put their cross on the slip, only three had voted for the other candidate, Burner, the donkey who pulled the plough over in Farmer Hopkins' south field. Of course, Harpy insisted, his majority vote had nothing to do with the fact that his name was at the top of the slip and no-one had read any further down. They had faith! He would prove them right, he decided. He would show them he could live up to their expectations. Well. The villagers' expectations of Jeremy Harper had certainly been lived up to. Harpy, Mule and Pompous were only a few of the... compliments aimed at his Heftiness.

Mayor Harper was becoming rather rosy faced. If he'd have been a kettle, steam would have been hissing from his ears and his eyes would have been boiling. This was a thought that occurred to Edna as she hid with her sisters behind the curtains of their front room. They weren't hiding out of fear, oh no. They were simply enjoying the waddlesome one's predicament. They were justifiably proud of their path and would see to it that it was rewarded with a nice scrub and polish before the day was out.

"Come on Edna," Gemini said. "Get rid of him. Send him packing on his way. It's almost thirteen o'clock."

Gemini was hungry for a change. She didn't want anything to interrupt feeding time at the zoo. Puddlebrain, who had joined them to see what the fuss was about, for once agreed with her sister.

"Just give him what he wants and he'll be happy," she said. Granted, she was laughing along with her sisters, but she knew the mayor wouldn't be happy. They were witches and, while they were normally treated with friendship, she knew there was always a hint of mistrust from the villagers. The mayor was an ass, rather than a mule, but he could make things particularly awkward for them if he had half a mind, which was about all he did have.

"Oh, I suppose so," Edna sighed. "Spoil my fun, why don't you? And it's already been thirteen o'clock, Gemini. Twice. You're just being greedy."

Gemini looked sheepish. She was a growing girl. She couldn't help having a healthy appetite.

Edna stood back from the window and brushed herself down. She would greet the mayor with all the sweetness and light she could muster, mister. She would apologise profusely for her 'accident' and would put it right with a flick of her finger. And he wouldn't grow the donkey's tail for a good three months.

"How do I look?"

"Divine," said Gemini. She meant it too. Edna was only three minutes older, but was so much more confident and self-assured. Gemini couldn't help but look up to her. Edna knew she was, basically, her sister's hero and took every opportunity to milk the situation like a farmer tending his prize cow.

"Like you mean business," Puddlebrain said. Being the youngest, and made to remember that fact by various comments, she still had a rebellious streak in her. It kept her from fawning too much at either of her sisters, although she liked and respected them immensely. The arguments that flew around the house between them like bats in a belfry were signs of how much they loved rather than hated one another. In this instance, Edna knew her stuff. They were all skilled witches, but Edna was in a league of her own.

"Right," Edna said. "Let's go get him."

"Don't do anything... unreasonable now," Puddlebrain said.

"Me? As if."

Gemini and Puddlebrain looked at each other. As if, indeed.

Edna walked purposefully towards the front door, which, naturally, opened for her. The door had forgotten to do its job once before and Gemini had ended up with a sizable lump on her forehead. The door never made that mistake again, not once its splinters had healed anyway.