All around Angela there was confusion and commotion.

One of the soldiers who had come for her in the night (a brutish looking squat man with a scarred face under his helmet) was tying her hands in front of her with thin, rough rope. Another was ripping the thin nightdress from her young shoulders, cackling, his bad breath on her neck and his semi-erect cock pressing to her butt.

A third, a worried looking boy who had been told tales of monsters flying from the lips of witches, was hovering with the damp leather bit gag she would wear, eager to get close and force it into her mouth. His friend, an older man with one eye, was cursing the fourteen year old girl for being a whore of the Devil. But he was trying to get his grubby hand on her firm, proud breasts.

A fifth, sword in hand, was sniffing his mucus up and spitting noisily in the girl's direction. Superstition, to appease the powers that be and defend them from the evil this pale-skinned child could do.

Ahead of Angela an officer on his horse was scowling and shouting orders to his men, a man who sneered at the girl but didn't take his eyes off her. He was demanding the rope to be attached to his saddle and another length tied between the witch's knees.

The street around them was silent. If anyone peered out, they did not want to be seen. Perhaps they had told the authorities they had a witch in their midst, or feared she would send curses in their direction. Could be even the Devil himself would burst from the ground, burning with fire and anger, to save his very own child.

But there was no Devil. Nor was there a fork of lightning from Heaven to burn up the evil creature. God and the Devil were content she should be taken to the Witchery Court for justice to be done.

The ropes were tied and the horse spurred on. Angela stumbled as she was hauled after it, trying to keep her feet in the cold mud, her torn dress trampled in the wet ground.

A sword point prodded Angela's naked body, prompting her on as if she had any choice in the matter. She made her first sound since her arrest, a faint groan that no one heard save for the soldier closest. Scared, the man rewarded the girl with a blow on the back from the long pole he carried.

********

All around Carole West the stores were closing.

The mall was rapidly emptying and the girl felt lost. Not for the first time, the fourteen year old felt unsure what to do, not knowing how to please the two girls who said they were her friends.

Briony and Athena. Two inseparable girls who said they were a gang, calling themselves the B.A.'s. And if Carole wanted to join them and be their real friend she had to do what they said. A test, to see if she was good enough (or bad enough, Athena snickered) to be one of them.

"Go and steal something," said Briony coldly, flicking back her long brunette hair. "Then you can be one of us. Bring it to us. We'll be in the food court."

"Get something valuable," sneered Athena, a girl who contrasted with her friend because she was taller and blonde. She had a spiky blonde cut that made her look like trouble. "You know what that is, don't you?"

Carole nodded. All three girls were in the same grade, had the same interests outwardly. But there was something about Briony and Athena, always arm in arm, that sooner or later seemed to exclude Carole. Yet she so much wanted to be their friend and maybe stealing something to impress them would help.

"Remember, this is something you have to do on your own. Kind of an initiation test." Briony smiled at Carole. Now her voice seemed warm, her demeanor friendly. But then, she was always like that. Cold one moment, warm the next.

"Sure. But I've never stolen before," Carole admitted .

"Get used to it, Carrot," laughed Athena and Briony joined in. Older by six months they were both already 15 and looked it with their heavily applied makeup and short, swishing skirts. They also looked down on the shorter, red-haired Carole and made her feel insignificant and immature whenever it pleased them. They even called her Carrot for no reason other than it amused them.

Carole had gone to look for something to steal, but she didn't know what but she was sure she would find something valuable. Yet when she went in a store, eyes seemed to be on her as if they knew what she was planning. Blushing, she retreated from each one without doing anything more than idly investigate the skirts and tops on the racks, or the makeup on display. If it wasn't human eyes watching her she saw the cameras recording her moves.

Now the stores were closing. She began to feel desperate. She didn't know how long would Briony and Athena would wait before they went, convinced Carole would fail.

Carole wasn't going to let herself do that. Not like the time at school they said she had to call their teacher a cow but her courage failed. She stood, feeling both apprehensive and determined.

She turned on her heel and stalked towards a host of small stores that mostly were already closed. She wasn't sure why she was walking this way with such purpose but she maintained her brisk pace. Maybe she hoped the other two would come running after her, saying they didn't mean it.

There were no footsteps behind her, no one begging her to come with them. Ahead of her there was just one store still open; a second-hand book store. But it was a place to steal from.

Carole walked briskly in. The owner, an old man with a well-lined face and mop of straggly gray hair, peered at the girl over his small spectacles and sighed, glancing at the wall clock. "I was going to close," he grumbled. "You got a home to go to?"

It was a rag-tag store with piles of old books. Most looking dusty and faded and torn and Carole felt defeated. There would be nothing valuable here. But then you never knew, maybe there was something good. "Have you any new old books?"

"New old books," sniffed the man, raising an eyebrow. "Only the very young could say that and mean it. Over there, look for yourself." He waved his hand airily at the back of the store. It was empty apart from the girl and the old man. Carole noticed there were no closed-circuit camera watching her every move. "We had some books in yesterday but nothing unusual. Least not for sixty years ago," continued the man, not looking up from what he was doing. "An old woman's collection. Seemed no one in her family wanted them after she died. Real pity." The old man shook his head at a world he no longer understood.

Carole saw a large pile on a table groaning under the weight of piles of books. She waded into them but was soon disappointed. Most of them were the usual mixture of old romances, cookbooks, faded magazines, the odd mystery thrown in. But among them was something quite extraordinary. It was a leather bound volume without any lettering on the spine or cover.

It looked as if it was very old. Could be very valuable. Without a word Carole slid the book up under her sweater and jacket.

It was as easy as that. No alarm bells and no security guards to stop her. No irate owner screaming at her. Just the same dusty silence, the old man muttering to himself oblivious to what she's done. A few moments later she was walking out, saying goodnight to the old man. She felt guilty that she was now a fully fledged thief but a sense of relief that she could now be in the B.A's gang.

They might let it be called the B.A.C's gang now, she was sure.

********

In the dark, dank cells lit by the spitting flames of a dozen torches, Angela screamed as the first whip lash met her naked back. It would have been a louder scream but the sodden leather gag wedged between her teeth, pressing her tongue down, muffled it perfectly.

Or almost perfectly. The gathered men were grinning at how she was writhing in agony where she was tied spread-eagled in the vertical wooden frame. They could hear her desperate cries despite the gag that filled her mouth. "Make her scream more," chuckled one of the men leering at the naked teenager.

"I haven't warmed up yet," grunted the man they called the whipmaster. He flexed his muscular arm, cracking the leather whip noisily before aiming a second blow at Angela's unprotected back.

"You going to whip a confession out of her?" queried one of the men as he did what several others had done and flipped his cock out of his pants and began to stroke it. He was mostly staring at the fourteen year old's firm young tits.

"He don't want a 'fession," chortled the man next to him who was already on his way to his first climax of the event, his hand blurring on his stubby but hard shaft.

Angela screamed into her gag at the second cruel blow, a vivid red slash appearing instantly on her back.

"That's why she's got a gag. No one wants to hear she says." A another man grunted. He was masturbating furiously, his eyes fixed on the naked teenager. He was looking at her lightly haired mound. "So she can scream for the Devil an' he won't hear none."

"I don't care what she wants to do. I just whips them," sneered the whipmaster as he lined up a third stripe, his own cock pushing upwards against the grubby pants he wore and looking forward to splattering the girl's bloody back with his cum.

But that wouldn't be for a time yet. Not until her back was well-striped and even the Devil himself wouldn't want her as one of his own.

********

"Valuable? You call that valuable?" Athena sneered as she stared at the book in her friend's hand.

"It is," pleaded Carole, watching anxiously as Briony flicked through the old thick pages. "People pay lots of money for books like that."

"Fuck, Carrot," said Briony, her face in a scowl as she slammed the book shut. "This hasn't got any pictures. Who'd buy this? It isn't even in English!" With a flick of her wrist the brunette threw the book at Carole's feet, making the younger girl dance back a step as it hit the floor.

"Hey Carrot," smirked Athena. "You could get into trouble for stealing that."

"But... you said I could be in your gang if I took something." The fourteen year old girl swept the book up, looking more than concerned that her efforts had failed.

"Did we?" Briony laughed. "What made you think we'd want a common thief in with us?"

"Y-you said!" Tears were glistening in Carole's eyes.

"No fucking way. You're imagining it," shrugged Athena. "If I were you, I'd get it back where you took it from. Before someone notices."

"Or tells the cops," chortled Briony. "Wouldn't that be bad for you if someone called the police and said they knew of someone who stole."

"Yeah, a girl who sounds like she's a real thieving witch!" Both of the girls' laughed at Athena's joke.

Carole knew what these two were thinking and shivered in fear. "Please don't! But I can't take it back. Not yet. The store's closed. Please let me be in your gang... I promise I'll try to steal something valuable!"

Neither Briony or Athena said anything. They grinned at each other, turned on their heels and left the distraught girl clutching her valueless book.

********

For Angela, the steel cage - a heavy and crude Scold's Bridle - looked more than intimidating as the men lowered the device on to her head.

She had not been ungagged so far but the inward pointing savage spike with its rough protrusions below the nose hole was clearly intended to go into her young mouth. She didn't know if it was just hold her tongue down or worse, to rip into her palette.

Angela gulped as much as her sodden leather gag allowed. One of the men behind her was twisting her arm up behind her, almost putting her shoulder out of joint and agony registered on Angela's soiled, sweating face. As the iron settled on her naked shoulders and she felt a man behind her fumbling with the collar, trying to close it. A man in front of her was impatient holding the face section, eager to close it next. That would be when the gag would be torn out, to make way for the rough iron spike.

The girl could see, ahead of her in the dank castle cellar, a man standing by a brazier full of hot coals. He had hold of what she knew was a branding iron. A red-hot iron that would be pressed to her back or between her small breasts. Or on them. They'd give her what they called the mark of the devil so that there'd be no doubt she should be tortured.

Guilty, as already decided. Then the execution could be ordered.

Angela had so little time, no more than a couple of heartbeats. It had to be now.

********

Carole sat in her bedroom, feeling angry. Her friends said they wanted her to do this. They encouraged her to steal so she could be in their gang. But she wasn't and now she was more alone than ever.

Didn't they know she needed a friend? That she'd do anything to be their friend?

All she had was this book.

Tears were in her eyes as the girl opened the old book and stared at the words. She gave a grunt. Athena and Briony were right. This book wasn't English. Just strange words.

But they didn't look like French or Spanish. Or anything she thought it might be. She went to close the book but it felt heavy, and strangely warm. The words, whatever they were, seemed to dance before her eyes.

Carole shook her head, blinked away the tears in the corners of her eyes. She wanted to put the book down but couldn't.

********

"I can't get this'n fastened,' said the man at Angela's back.

Someone else behind her grumbled, "Fuck, Jacob! Lift it off'n the bitch, let me try."

The cage came off. Hands gripping Angela's sore, still bound arms relaxed briefly.

The man with the branding iron had brought it close, a red hot glow in her face. He was sneering at the girl, enjoying her terror. "I can brand her now. We don't need no cage."

"We do," snapped the most senior figure in the room from behind the girl. "Church law she wears iron before we begin, before you do your burning. So hurry with that head cage and get her bent over!" He sounded slightly impatient, like a man playing with his cock and eager to get on with what he had promised himself.

A few more moments, Angela knew. That was all she had. Do it now!

********

Carole said the words. She had thought maybe it was poetry of some kind. And poetry was supposed to be read out loud, so it had more meaning. The teenager took a deep breath and spoke the strange, burning words out loud.

Just her and the heavy, hot book in the empty room. And the words ringing out round the room. Sounding as if she was shouting when she wasn't.

The teenager felt scared. But she said it all anyway.

********

The annals of the times of Angela would have recorded what happened, had the men not been so stricken or so scared. They knew, or at least suspected, that witches really didn't do anything. They never escaped, never magicked up a familiar let alone a devil.

Witches were simply tortured in whatever ingenious way that could be thought up. Branding and whipping and ducking and stretching and fucking. And the pretty young ones like this wench were tortured slowly for days for maximum enjoyment. They died in the end as expected. Just as everyone approved. After they had all had their fun.

But the people who wrote the annals didn't dare write about this one. This Angela, who was probably married to the devil himself and could bring back evil powers from the depths of hell, defied the goodness in the men.

She was so evil that even the churchgoing guards and torturers were lost. Not even the devout priest whose first task would have been to bugger the girl before her branding could do anything to stop the witch.

Oh, they spoke about it in hushed tones afterwards. When they had the courage of drink in them. The men who saw what happened all prayed fervently. They crossed themselves at every memory, threw themselves into the arms of the good church at every dream they had about it.

The men, seven of them gathered in the dungeons below the old castle, saw it happen. They ran screaming. Scattering the iron head cage and the branding iron and the whips.

And the church and the elders said no one must ever know, or they'd be cursed and the crops would fail and the demons would come from the ground.

Which was why they bricked up the old dungeon so no one could see where the ground opened up to swallow the child.

********

The air in front of Carole dissolved.

There was no crash of thunder, no sparkles of light. The air simply moved and became liquid.

Carole dropped the book. Gladly as it suddenly felt unbearably heavy. About to catch fire, she was sure. In front of her this weird liquid shape formed round something.

A figure. A naked girl, arms bound behind her, a leather gag in her mouth, fell through. The air smelt strange - both hot and damp - and settled back to normal.

Thanks to Carole's words, Angela had shifted hundreds of years in time and space. She fell, exhausted, to her knees in front of the startled teenager.

Carrot, if she hadn't fainted back on to her bed, would have screamed.

********

Angela waited, shivering and cold as she lay on the floor of this strange but light room. She couldn't do anything, bound as she was. With the gag between her teeth she could do nothing to try and arouse the girl sprawled on the bed close to her.

But she was safe. The young witch wasn't in the dungeon, feeling the heat of the branding iron approach her. She couldn't have known that the spell that transported her through time and space would leave her so cold and so weak. But then she'd never done this before. It was a spell for the direst emergency. A spell so powerful it was to be used once and once only.

It wasn't her spell though. Not her words. The gag made sure of that.

It had to be another witch. Someone who knew a sister of the art was in trouble.

From where she lay, Angela felt some warmth coming back to her. The sun was streaming through the window, the floor had cloth on it.

Cloth? What strange thing was this? It wasn't stone or wood flooring. It wasn't the rushes scattered on the hard earth floor of her own home. This witch, she thought, had more power than anyone to put this soft cloth on the floor.

In front of her, fallen open on this rich cloth, was a book. The book without a name. Despite her gag Angela smiled.

The bound teenager looked round. The walls she could see amazed her. They were a soft shade, a pink with patterns in it. Stuck to it was a large painting of a male with short dark hair, mouth open and a stick with a thin cord at the end held up to his face, blue and red lights behind him. But it wasn't like any painting she had ever seen before, not like the baron would have in his castle or the church would have at the altar.

It had words on it. Angela could make out "Timberlake." She wondered if this was the name of the village.

And the window on the far wall! Not stained glass. Not a sheet of oiled cloth stretched over the opening as she knew people had. But what looked to be plain glass.

Angela gave a twitch of shock. Through the window she saw something small and silver, leaving a thin white cloud behind it. The small arrowhead shape slid silently across the sky and out of sight. After a few minutes, the cloud it made dispersed.

Another cloud-making shape moved from the other side of the window, serene and slow, until that too disappeared.

This, Angela concluded, was a time of great magic. And above all, she had escaped to see it!

So she lay and waited for the Queen of Witches to wake.

********

Carole woke, her head thick. She thought of her dream, how someone terrifying and wild had plunged through. She wondered how she'd dreamt that she was awake and saw it happen in her own bedroom. She wondered how long she'd been asleep.

The book! It was hot and heavy and she had read from it. With a gasp she sat up. And gave a small scream.

Next to the book, lying on the floor, was a naked girl, arms bound behind her and a gag in her mouth. A girl disheveled and dirty, but with large almost luminous eyes. A look of gratitude in them.

"Who the fuck are you?" Squealed Carole. 'How'd you get in here?"

Angela shook her head, making a grunt into her gag. Her way of saying "Can't you see I can't talk?"

"Shit!" Another yelp . "How d'you manage to get that?"

Angela shook her head again. More at the fact that even this Queen of Witches didn't understand gags. To the naked girl's relief, the other female hopped off the bed and tugged at it. Clumsily, but well enough to free it. Perhaps to Angela's alarm, this savior shrank back, dropping the sopping wet leather gag to the rich floor as if it was poisonous to touch.

"Thankyou, O Queen," breathed Angela, flexing her jaw.

"Queen? I'm not any queen. I'm Carole. Carole West."

"Queen of the West?" A smile came to the naked girl's face. "Good."

Carole looked confused. Her condition wasn't helped by the fact this girl spoke strangely. Foreign sounding.

"You rescued me from the castle, remember?" Angela stirred, trying to get to her feet.

Panic replaced confusion in Carole's face. "Wait. Don't come near me. I'll scream." The teenager paused and then added, "I haven't been to a castle. Never. Well, only Sleeping Beauty's castle at Disneyland."

Now it was Angela's turn to look confused. A beautiful queen who slept in a land she had never heard of? She puzzled this for a second but stopped trying to rise.

"What's your name?" Carole leaned forward a little, happy this crazy child wasn't jumping up at her.

"I am Angela of Thurnow. I am and was held as a witch. But you freed me. With the spell." The now kneeling girl nodded at the book by her. "You called the words and I came."

"Came. From where?"

"The great castle at Thurnow Hill. I was about to be slain as a witch."

It was at that moment that Carole realized the girl was badly marked with bruises. It wasn't dirt. It was dried blood from cuts and lashes. "Uh, you're hurt," she said.

Angela gave a laugh. "Nothing that a healing spell wouldn't cure." She nodded at the book. "Read it and speak it."

"Read what?" Carole looked at the book too. "I can't read that!"

"But you did." Suddenly Angela doubted that this girl was as powerful as she'd expected. "You are a Queen of Witches. You have the Nameless Book. It is yours, is it not?"

Carole blushed. "I uh, borrowed it. From the mall."

"Mall? Is this your village. I thought it may be Timberlake."

"Timberlake?" She shook her head at this. "No, we're in Riverwood." then she gave a laugh. "Guess that sounds like Timberlake, right?"

Angela nodded, glad her rescuer could laugh. She had not heard soft laughter like that since she lay with her sister and they played with each other's small breasts, curled up under the blanket. Before Mary fell sick and died. For a few moments a look of pain crossed her face, that for all her skills and spells she could not save Mary.

"What's wrong?" Carole sat forward more.

"Nothing. I remembered laughing, that's all. Tell me, do you live here alone?"

"Hell no! My mom and dad too. But they're out. Junior softball, with my kid brother Ryan. He's a catcher." Carole grimaced as if it was a waste of time.

Angela didn't grasp why this pleasant sounding pastime would seem so distasteful, but she let it go.

The teenager hopped off the bed. "I guess I should untie you. You ought to get cleaned up. Your hair is... ugh. And you haven't got anything to wear, have you?"

Angela shook her head. "I am as you see me."

"Why you all tied up?" Carole had moved round the kneeling girl and began to try to untie the knots. They were tight and the rope rough.

"So I can be tortured. Usually they would seal chains on a witch, but they feared my hands waving." Angela chuckled. "As if a witch would wave her hands to cast spells."

"You're a real witch?" The awe in Carole's voice was obvious. The first rope came free.

"Most women aren't who are taken to the Witchery Court. But they took me as what I am. Aah! That hurts, to be freed!" Another rope fell loose. "For once the dolts were right."

"But... when was this?"

"When is this? What year is this land of magic?"

"Magic?" Carole shook her red hair, mystified. "This is just Riverwood. It's June, 2005."

"Ah, five hundred years."

"Five hundred? No, two thousand and five." Carole didn't make the connection.

"And this Timberlake. He is your king in this time?" The kneeling girl nodded her head towards the poster.

Carole blurted out a laugh as she freed the last knot, the one at the witch's wrists. "He's just a singer. I kinda like him."

"A singer of songs. How strange."

"You heard him?"

"No. We witches sing our own songs." Angela was rubbing her sore wrists.

"These marks on your back. They hurt?" For some reason Carole wanted to touch the marks, the way the skin was swollen and purple and red.

"Yes. But I would have forgotten them when they caged me, branded me and stretched me on the rack."

"Shit!" Breathed Carole. "You have a lawyer?"

"Lawyer?" Angela pondered the word but grasped it. "The judges speak the law. The church, when it decrees."

"I better get you something to wear." Carole stood up, eyes still on the naked girl. She couldn't help but notice that despite the savage marks and the dirt this child was good looking with a firm, well shaped figure. "You're 'bout my size. I'll have an old dress in the closet."

Angela nodded. She watched the girl move, not fully understanding why she lived in a luxurious place but her clothes were poor with the faded and coarse blue leggings and a top that was too short for her and showed her belly. But she was clean and smelled of flowers. Her red hair too, wasn't soiled and knotted and swung on her shoulders easily.

The witch liked that. She decided she would like this place too.

********

"Carole." The now bathed and clean girl faced her rescuer as they stood in the kitchen of the house. She was wearing the old dress the teenager had found in her closet and was stroking it, admiring the blue and yellow flowered pattern. "I have to thank you."

"The dress?" Carole was preparing something for them to eat and shrugged. "It's old. Bit childish for me. I don't wear things with flowers in much."

"Not the dress. I have to thank you for your act. You may not be who I prayed to rescue me but your words were timely. And you have the color of a Witch Queen and the name of the direction I wanted. I needed to fly west, from my enemies. But it wasn't that you simply said the words. You had to be a witch. I understand that now."

The red-headed girl colored at what her so-called friends had called her earlier. "I'm no witch. Except for what Briony and Athena call me."

"They are who?"

Carole shrugged as she prodded the bacon round the pan on the stove. "Two girls. My age. I thought they'd let me be their friend. But they said I was, uh, a witch."

Angela laughed. "And that is bad in this age?"

"They meant bitch." Carole glowered at the memory, glancing at Angela. "They don't like me. They want to hurt me."

"They do not understand the difference between a female dog and a woman of power? You want friendship with these two?"

Carole blushed. "I thought I could be one of their gang. I thought they'd like me as a friend. But they laugh at me." It was the first time the red haired teen had admitted this to herself, let alone anyone else. "They got me to steal the book. The Nameless Book, you said it was. But then they said they would call the police as I was a common thief, unless I took it back. But the store was closed."

"The police. This is like the army, right?" The witch pursed her lips. Pretty, now they were clean and had some color.

"Yeah, the cops," sighed Carole as the bacon sizzled.

"My dress is like a wealthy woman would wear," said Angela, returning her attention to the fabric of the dress. It was a little too short for her and her bust strained it slightly, but her nakedness was covered over. It even hid the marks on the girl's back, from her whipping centuries earlier. Or a day earlier, depending on your view.

"Briony and Athena laughed at me when I wore that dress at a party."

Angela considered this. "Carole, do you know that Athena was the Greek Goddess of War?"

Carole stared blankly at the girl, half way through serving the bacon on a plate.

"She makes war on you," said Angela as if this was a fact. "Briony is no better, if she is her ally. You do not need these two troublesome ones."

Tears suddenly filled Carole's eyes. "But you don't understand. I don't have any friends."

"I think you do," smiled Angela in a comforting way. "You haven't found them yet."

********

"We shouldn't be here," said Carole as she reluctantly led Angela through the mall.

"I have to see the man who had the Nameless Book. In his store, you said."

"He's probably not there." Carole didn't sound convinced. "And even if he was, he would only call the cops."

"I will talk to him," said Angela. "I know the words."

"Uh, your words didn't work on that healing spell," muttered Carole.

Angela frowned. "My spells may have lost power, since my time. But you said the words from the Book. They worked for you and my back is not hurting as much. You are a witch!"

Carole began to object but didn't get to speak. Athena and Briony had appeared right in their path and the red-haired teen pulled up short and the girl following almost collided with her.

"Hey, it's the thief with a friend," smirked Briony.

"Yeah, someone with the same lousy fashion tastes." Athena sneered at Angela and her dress. "Where'd you find this one, Carrot?"

"Carrot?" Angela's brow furrowed. "Does she mean you with this name, Carole?"

"Does she mean you with this name," snorted Briony, trying to mimic the strange girl's obvious accent. "Hey, she can't even talk normally."

"Weird," agreed Athena. "But then she's only a dork. Jeez, look at that dress. Hey, isn't it yours Carrot?"

"Dork?" Angela was mystified. "Is this their name for witch?"

"Hush," whispered Carole. "Don't upset them."

"Ah," said Angela as a light dawned in her. "You are the goddess of war and her poisonous friend."

Now the two girls who obstructed the way were puzzled. "What the fuck," began one of them.

"Athena and Briony I believe," smiled Angela, stepping in front of the redhead. "Carole told me about you and your ways. Yet you do not look so dangerous."

The two girls exchanged a look, unsure how to handle this.

"Where're you from?" It was Briony speaking.

"Far away. Perhaps you would like to see it? I can assure you they would welcome two helpless girls. Virgins who would not be so brave when they see the rack and the whips and the ducking stool."

Confusion and a trace of fear crossed both Athena and Briony's face. The way this girl stood in her ill-fitting dress, her confidence and her refusal to be scared made them think she was mad. Or worse.

They retreated with a glare at Carole and a threat that she couldn't hide behind this crazy bitch all the time.

"That's witch," said Angela after them.

********

"They're right," said Carole as she and Angela stood outside the book store. "You can't protect me all the time."

Angela laughed. "Why not? You saved me and gave me shelter and food. And my new dress, too. Anyway, you are a witch. I will show you how to summon protection."

"But it didn't help you!"

"I was asleep when they came for me. A witch is vulnerable then, and they knew this. They gagged me before I could speak any protection and bound my hands."

"So you couldn't magic them away?"

"Not that. So I did not hit them!" Angela laughed. "But I am not scared of those females who bother you. They have no swords, no spears. As I say, I can protect you by sleeping close."

Carole's face froze. "Close? But... my mom and dad! What will they say?"

"I will explain to them too." Angela radiated her usual confidence. Then she looked up at the bookstore sign and gave a small gasp.

"What is it?" asked Carole, looking up but not seeing anything.

"The shape in the first letter O," said the witch, a little less confidently than before. "It is a Mark."

"Mark? You mean that squiggle?"

"My coven has a Mark, so we know ourselves. But that line with a curl at the end... it is the Mark of the Cold Coven." She paused and gave a shudder. "They are not always my coven's friends."

"I don't understand."

"Carole, this is no ordinary shop. The owner knew what the book was. He may have allowed you to take it."

"But that's good... I mean, I saved you."

Angela nodded but looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. But there is a price to be paid."

********

"So, one of the Stream Coven," said the old man peering over his small spectacles from behind the counter as the two girls entered. "I wondered who called."

"And I wondered how a malewitch of the Cold had so much power," Angela retorted.

"Uh, you two know each other?" Carole was a little scared and hung back, noticing the old man and Angela had their eyes fixed on each other.

"We know the Marks," said Angela quietly, not taking her eyes from the man. "But know that you did the summoning, Carole of the Stream Coven, Queen of the West."

"Uh, me?" gasped Carole.

"You have been claimed," said the old man, standing up straight and not looking quite so old and vulnerable. "But it seems before I could take you into the rightful coven."

Angela shook her head. "You are too late. I claim her spellskill, for I am Angela, daughter of Leonora, of the Stream. She helped me, and I owe her privilege. Also she has the Nameless Book."

"Ah, my Nameless Book."

"Not yours now. It came to find witch Carole for its own purpose. Thus it does not have to be returned."

"If she changes Mark then the bo..."

"She is in my coven," interrupted Angela. "It is sealed."

Carole shivered as she realized she was suddenly part of something. She was in a special gang. One called a coven. But there was an air of ominous and unchecked power in the bookstore and she drew back further. She glanced round, wondering if anyone else was watching them. Someone who might know Carole or her family. Thankfully, the store was empty.

When Carole looked back at the old man and her friend in the flowered dress, both were still staring at each other. But the menace had subsided. The man even appeared to be smiling.

"Very well, Angela of the Stream. I acknowledge Carole of the Stream." The old man bowed stiffly.

Angela bowed back.

"So it's okay?" Carole stepped forward.

"Okay?" Angela shook her head and looked over her shoulder at Carole. It was another word she did not know.

"You have come from afar," chuckled the old man. "You do not know much of this time, Angela. Fortunately your Queen of the West can aid you. Okay means everything is good. No danger."

Angela nodded. "Okay it is."

"But I need recompense for the Nameless Book." The old man leant forward, sure of himself. "Unless you seek another war between our Marks."

Carole gulped but was relieved when Angela shook her head. However what she heard next panicked her.

"I have two virgins for you. That should recompense you."

"I could find my own virgins," said the old man.

"But these two will be delivered, at no risk to you and no fear of reprisal." Angela grinned, ignoring the cry of horror from Carole behind her. "With the blessing of the Stream."

********

"What did you mean?" Carole hurried after Angela as they left the store. "What was all that about delivering virgins?"

Angela stopped and turned to face the redhead. "You shouldn't worry. It isn't me or you."

"No," exploded Carole. "It was Athena and Briony, wasn't it? You want to give them to the old man."

"True. For all our benefits."

"And what does he do with them?" Carole almost didn't want to ask.

"He does what all malewitches do to prolong their power. He fucks them," said Angela flatly. "In all three places."

********

"I can't do it," said Carole, back in the sanctuary of her bedroom. She was pacing back and forth, with Angela reclining on the soft bed. "I can't be part of this."

"Why not. They oppose you. I have seen them and felt their evil."

"We don't do things like that. Not in this day and age." Carole hadn't stopped walking.

"A Queen of witches doesn't hesitate," said Angela, a touch of anger in her voice. "I did, and I almost died for my error."

"What?"

"In my time, I was given by a neighbor. She hurried to the Witchery Court and told them of me, told them when I would be in my home, asleep. She let them in to my house when they came."

"How... how do you know this?"

"I saw her with the Captain of the guard, receiving her silver coins. But you see, Carole, I trusted her not to harm me when I saved the life of her child. But more than that, the woman's name was Briony."

"That's just a coincidence!"

Angela sat up. "Coincidence? A chance occurrence? Witches do not work that way. There is a connection between then and now. You should know my neighbor Briony was a witch too."

Carole felt dizzy as she suddenly understood. "You mean... she was of the Cold Mark?"

"You learn quickly," said Angela grimly. She got off the bed and smoothed her tight, short dress. "I knew when I came here that this was not just a chance rescue. There is a purpose." She laughed quietly. "And gain for me."

"I don't get it," said Carole.

"This Briony has the potential to be a witch. She will join the Cold Coven in time."

"But... handing her over to that man. Surely that won't be good. You said he was a malewitch..."

"Malewitch's have less power than a true witch and need to be sustained. He knows it. Fucking a virgin will enable him to endure. Two will be better and he cannot resist that."

"But in his hands, even if he does this... this thing to her... that will make her part of his gang. I mean, Coven."

Angela laughed. "You are so innocent for a Queen of witches. The truth is that if he does this to her he will erode her power. You are a virgin and have great power to be a true witch. I am a virgin, though the soldiers wanted to take that from me, so I could not rise against them."

Carole wrung her hands. "No, it's wrong. It's against the law."

Angela laughed again. "The law was created by men who wanted to take virgin power themselves, for their own strength. By banning it for others they preserve more of what they need for when they want." The witch grew serious. "Carole, this man we saw at the shop would take your virginity if he could."

"No!"

"Then we must preserve the power of the Stream and deny the Cold." She rubbed her chin. "Think! This is Riverwood. The Stream should be here. It is here now!"

Carole shivered. "Coldwood! Huh!"

Angela nodded. "So you do understand, deep down what we must do."

The redhaired teen wiped her hand over her brow. "My mom and dad will kill me if they knew."

"Not if we prepare them carefully. The Nameless Book will show you what to do."

********

Mr and Mrs West - and their youngest child Ryan - sat staring. Not incredulously, but at what Carole had said. She had repeated the words from the Nameless Book, and they were literally entranced.

"They will accept me now," whispered Angela to Carole from where they were on the other side of the family room.

"Great," said Carole. "I bewitched my own family. God knows what all this means..." She turned to Angela. "God? You think I've sinned and I'll go to Hell?"

"God and Hell are opposite ends of life. We are between them but Witchery is life itself. You need not fear for your future. If you are unsure, consult the Nameless Book. It explains you have nothing to be concerned over."

"But it's just spells!"

"No," sighed Angela. "It is a book of knowing. You will see. Now you must say the release words, as I taught you. Your family cannot sit like that forever."

"Then they'll accept you?"

"Of course. They will even help us."

"Oh grief," whispered Carole. But she said the release words anyway.

********

"She's a lovely girl, that Angela," said Mrs West to her daughter at the kitchen table. Mrs West was dressed, as she usually was in a prim blouse and straight skirt. Unremarkable, plain colors. "Where did you meet her?"

"She just kinda dropped in one day." Carole shrugged.

"Well, I think it's great you have a friend, honey. By the way, what did you say her family name is?"

"It's... uh, Stream. Angela Stream."

The woman holding her coffee cup nodded. "Well, she's welcome to stay as long as she wants."

"Mom," asked the redhead carefully, "You know what you're saying?"

"Sure. Why?"

"It's just that... no, never mind." The girl looked down at her glass and finished the soda. "You believe in witches and things? You know, magic."

"Witches?" The woman laughed. "Now what brought that up? Of course I don't. Ain't no such thing, no matter how much TV you watch."

"So you don't mind her, y'know, sharing my room?"

"Course I don't. She's such a sweet child I swear she could almost be family."

Carole nodded. "Don't you think it's odd that Angela isn't like us?"

"Like us? Why, she's almost one of the family." The woman nodded to the window and the yard beyond. "See, she's out there helping Ryan with his catching. He thinks Angela's a great pitcher. The ball just dances he says, but he thinks he's a lot better at catching the ball since she came."

"Yeah. She sure pitches like magic." Carole smiled.

********

"So why are we waiting?" Carole frowned at Angela. She shivered as it was cold in the garage, how the concrete floor was cold on her bare feet.

"For the right moment," said Angela as she tied Ryan's elbows together. The kneeling twelve year old boy simply stared ahead, blankly. He gave a small grunt as his elbows touched behind him.

"Yeah, the full moon or whatever." Carole sighed as she watched her friend start to tie the rope round the boy's arms and chest.

"Not the full moon. That would be the wrong moment. We need to present the females at the new Moon. I told you."

"So all you do is practice while we wait."

"Practice makes good witching. And dear Ryan here doesn't mind. Do you Ryan?"

The pre-teen boy looked up at his sister, stood in front of him. "No," he said simply.

"See! He doesn't know what's happening. He thinks I asked the question."

"You cast the spell. And you're here." Angela shrugged as she began to knot the rope that held the boy's naked arms to his body.

"And I'm tied like him! Shit, hasn't he noticed his older sister is naked and tied up?"

"I told you. I need to practice." Angela continued tying more rope around the boy's slim upper body. "But he doesn't see what you see."

Carole snorted. "I see his pecker is stiff."

"Pecker? Oh yes, his cock. Boy's cocks harden when they are tied up. It's natural."

"But this isn't," complained the girl, tugging at the way her wrists were bound over her head to a hook in the garage wall. "And he can see me."

"He does not see you naked."

"How do you know?"

"I am a witch."

"So am I, or so you keep telling me. Maybe he's all hard because he can see my... you know."

"Tits? Cunt?"

"I hate that word." Carole blushed.

Angela laughed lightly. "But that is what it is called. It has been thus called for hundreds of years. Shall I call your mother here and ask her?"

Carole's face drained of color. "No! You wouldn't!"

Angela chuckled. "If you say the words I instruct you, she too wouldn't notice."

Carole shifted her weight uneasily. Her legs had been bound held apart by a pole, so she was certain that her kid brother could see her slit and lips of her... her cunt. "I think you put a spell on me, so I'd agree to be tied up." The naked bound girl glowered.

Angela shook her head. "You agreed because..."

"Because you explained it." Carole snorted. "I don't know why I allowed you to do this."

"Practice." Angela shrugged and picked up the leather gag she had worn when she arrived.

"On both of us?"

"For a Queen of the Witches you sometimes do not understand." Angela sighed. "I have to bind two females. I need to establish how I do this."

"And I'm which one exactly?"

"Athena. Briony is Ryan here. A similarity, you can hear in their names." The witch stood. "Now I have to gag you, Athena."

Carole's eyes widened. "Me?"

"You." The gag slid into Carole's astonished mouth before she could object. In a moment, Angela had fastened it tightly, rendering anything Carole wanted to say as pointless. "Ryan, Briony here, will be quiet without the gag."

The girl went back to binding the boy, pausing only to rub his hard dick until it spat a thin, white cum over one of Carole's feet.

Carole groaned as her younger brother's jizz hit her foot. This wasn't how she thought being a witch would be.

********

"I still don't see how me being tied up helps." Carole tested the rope at her wrists. "I didn't like it in the garage yesterday and I don't like it now."

"We have to capture the two who oppose you and deliver them to the malewitch." Angela busied herself with tying the knot on the redhaired girl's wrists.

"So, you know how to do this. You showed me in the garage yesterday. And Ryan." Carole frowned at the tightness of the cord. "You said that was where they should be kept, for the old man to use."

"Yes. We entice them in, perhaps a simple spell, but I think it would be better to see the look on their faces when they see what lies in wait for them. Terror, at his stiff cock."

"Sometimes, Angela, I think you're real sick."

"No, I am well."

Carole sighed. "I mean... oh, it doesn't matter." She paused. "You think what'd happen if my mom and dad came in here now and saw me, with nothing on and hands tied behind me?"

Angela grinned. "I told you which locking spell to say. You said it so the door will be locked to them."

"But not Ryan."

"No. Not him. He will come, when you call, and I will tie him like you."

"But will the spell from yesterday still work. I mean, what if it's worn off?"

Carole didn't see Angela smile, but heard the amusement in her voice. "We will soon see, yes?"

********

Ryan stared at his sister's naked body. His pecker was harder than yesterday. He sat, arms bound to his body, legs tied together, and stared at his sister on the bed.

"Angela!" Carole grunted into her gag, wriggling with embarrassment as she felt her young brother's eyes bore into her spread sex.

"Oh, be silent. There is no need to worry. I will tell you a memory erasing spell later. Your brother won't remember." She laughed. "But I think for now he enjoys this view of you."

Carole felt hot with embarrassment and tried to turn her face away. But she could feel her younger brother's eyes on her. And she just knew he was going to cum soon.

********

"It was cool," said Ryan quietly at the breakfast table. "Seeing you like that. You know..." the boy chuckled.

Carole stared at the boy. "Like what?"

"In your room." The boy glanced round to make sure they were alone, no one overhearing them. "Your pussy on show."

Carole's mouth gaped. "You aren't supposed to remember," she said.

The boy shook his head. "Sure I remember. I can't forget that view, you on the bed like that."

"Angela said you wouldn't remember!" Carole leapt to her feet, cross.

The boy looked up at her. "Huh? Who's Angela?"

"Angela! you know -" She stopped herself. That was the forgetting spell. Ryan had no recollection of the witch. All he could remember was seeing his sister naked on the bed.

"You don't know who she is, do you?" Carole sighed.

"No." The boy was puzzled. "But can we do that again."

"Can do what? There's no way you're going to look at me on a bed."

"Not that," chuckled the boy. "The other."

"What other?" Carole felt a chill in her.

"The screwing." The boy's voice was barely audible. "You letting me tie you to the bed and screwing you."

"You never scr-" Carloe realized she was almost shouting and dropped her voice to a hiss. "You never tied me anyplace and you never screwed me. Angela wouldn't let it happen."

"Who the fuck's this Angela," scowled the boy. "It was jus' me and you. You let me cum inside you. You said it was great." He snickered again. "I got to play with your bubbies, too."

Carole felt dizzy with a sudden panic. She left the table and ran upstairs to her room, intending to have this out with the young witch.

But there was no sign of Angela.

********

"You seen Angela, Mom?" asked Carole when her mother wanted to know why her daughter was running from room to room.

"Angela?" The woman looked lost. "You haven't had Angela since you were... I dunno. Six or seven. She was your favorite but you gave her away."

With a jolt Carole realized her mother was talking about an old doll. "No not my doll, I mean her!"

"Her? What do you mean?" Mrs West sounded scared. Scared like a woman who thought her child was acting crazy. Maybe taking drugs. "Angela was just a doll."

"No, you've seen her. Here. She's staying with us. With me, in my room." Carole felt frustrated beyond measure. "Is this some crazy game you're all playing?"

"Carole, honey, no one's staying in your room. I'd know - and I am not sure I'd welcome it. Wouldn't be right."

"You like her! You said you did. You even like the way she plays ball with Ryan. He said -" Carole didn't go any further. What he'd said at the table wasn't what she wanted her mother to hear.

"Honey, are you feeling okay? You look kinda flushed. You sick? You want to have the day off school?"

"I'm fine," snapped the teenager, but suddenly realizing she wasn't. She also wasn't going to get to the bottom of this by arguing with her mother. "Uh, I'm sorry mom. No, maybe you're right. I don't feel too good. Think I'll go and lie down for a while."

"I'll call school," said Mrs West, relieved she had some sense from her daughter.

In her bedroom, Carole did another search for any sign of Angela but there was no sign of anyone, though there were scuffs on the bedpost wood where someone - herself - had been tied down spreadeagled. Worse, there was at crotch height a mark on in the center the bedcover, as if something had leaked from her. Something hard that could have been semen. The girl shivered. She instinctively put her hands up her school skirt, up between her legs, wondering if she was leaking more. Or if she felt bruised around her cunt.

Then she remembered the book. The Nameless Book. Carole ran to the closet and where it was kept, wrapped in black cloth as Angela said it had to be. But there was no book, no black cloth in the space where it sat.

Carole felt overwhelmed, felt like crying. She sat on the bed and wondered what to do next. Downstairs, she could hear her mother on the phone to the school, telling them her daughter would have the day off. That, reflected Carole, at least gives me some time to find out what the hell's going on.

The word hell though made her shiver.

********

The mall wasn't busy and Carole moved as confidently as she could towards the book store. She prayed that it wouldn't be busy, but a store like that never attracted many customers. And she was right. The store may have well been closed.

Carole shivered as she pushed the door open. The weird thing was the store was dark but there was a strange half-light that couldn't come from any technology she knew.

The man with the straggly gray hair and small spectacles was behind the counter but didn't glance up as Carole came in, so she took a deep breath and announced herself as boldly as she dared. "I am Carole. Carole of the Stream Coven, Queen of the West. I come to claim the Nameless Book that belonged to me and was taken."

"No," said a voice from the back of the store, an all too familiar voice. "I am Queen of the West. But I am of the Cold Coven."

The man was laughing as Carole turned to face her mother, dressed as all good witches are, in black. Worse, she was holding the damned Book.

********

"You shouldn't have come," said Angela grimly. "You should have taken the opportunity to run."

"Run where? But I couldn't. I mean, I didn't know where you were."

"Or if I had betrayed you," said Angela. "You thought I had dissolved and taken the Nameless Book."

"No... It's just that no one knew... I mean, I wondered what was happening to me."

"Witchery was happening. I did not know that your mother was of the Cold Coven, though I should have realized a danger when I was brought to this time. Witches do not travel centuries to witchless places. I had assumed the Book alone, but then," the naked girl shrugged, "I dropped my guard in relief at being free from that castle dungeon. And the man with the books. He was a mere malewitch, not a power like your mother."

"My mom..." Carole gulped. "I didn't know she was..."

"Do not trouble yourself. Why should she tell others? She is known to those who need to know."

"We shouldn't be like this." Carole shivered, embarrassed by her own nakedness, testing the chains yet again that held her arms spread wide. "They can't keep us like this!"

"They can and do. So save your energy, Carole. We are their bared prisoners and they can leave us to rot if they wish."

"The law. The police will want to know where we are!"

Angela gave a hollow laugh. "In this there is only the law of the witches. Your police could not penetrate this cell, even if they knew it was at the back of this bookshop. They will have no knowledge to help them."

"But you can! You know spells! You can get us free."

"My spells do not work here. A hex is on the place, it is the Cold Coven's meeting place. If you had the book perhaps you might break a link."

"They have it," groaned the red haired girl. "They stole it back."

"Of course. When they took me and cast spells on your house."

"I don't get it!" Carole was frustrated and sounded angry. "You jump through time and do all kind of things and yet you can't get us out of this!" In her anger Carole strained against the steel chains that pinned her spreadeagled to the wall, like Angela was.

"Perhaps you can, if you are still a virgin."

"What?"

"If you are untouched, unbroken in you."

"I... I don't think I am." Carole gulped. "My brother... when I was tied out on the bed. H-he said he fucked me."

Angela shot a look at the girl next to her but allowed herself a grim smile. "Ah, so they took advantage of that. It lowers your powers. I should have thought of that, with the boy Ryan there."

A silence fell. "I feel so dirty," said Carole after a while, tears running down her face.

"You aren't dirty. You merely have entered a world you thought was legend, or stories. Fairy stories, though those creatures would not be pleased." She paused and tugged at one of her wrist chains. It rattled but didn't come free. "A dangerous world if unprepared."

Carole nodded. "The hex on this place, is that why you aren't gagged? Because you can't make spells anyway?"

"You learn so quickly Carole, it would have been a pleasure to be in your Coven helping you," said Angela with a genuine purr.

"M-my Coven?" Carole's jaw sagged.

"Of course. Why do you think your mother fears you, why she has you here like this? She knows you can usurp her power. The Stream has always been better than the Cold. We are life. Only the Forest Coven are more able because they are enduring."

"Who are they?"

Angela smiled ruefully. "The greater of all Covens. The most powerful. The most difficult to understand."

"But you are Stream."

"And gladly so. Ours is a Coven of progress, we say."

Carole considered the point, and then asked: "What will they do with us?"

"I will be dissolved. Eliminated you may call it. I have no use. You they will torture until you recant to their way. You will be their subject, one of the Cold Coven. What we call a slave child, only to do their bidding."

"No!"

"You will have no choice," said Angela grimly. "She has cast a spell on your brother. Your family will be easy for her, too. Once you are subject."

There was a long silence between the two chained girls. Then Carole said suddenly: "The Forest? You mean people with... Wait!" Carole gave a small cry. "With names like Woods and Birch... and Alder?"

"Yes, perhaps. If the order is strong, the Coven true."

"Athena and Briony! They're Athena Birch and Briony Alder. The B.A.'s... Now I get it, and not because they don't know the alphabet!"

"What?" Angela stared at Carole.

"Don't you see? I thought they were dumb. That they didn't know A came before B, but it's their second names, their family names that make up B.A."

"I do not understand," sighed Angela.

"These two, the ones who ran the gang. Are the gang. They're witches too. Of the Forest Coven."

Angela gave a small gasp as the truth hit her. "Keep your voice low, Carole. Even here the name of their Coven must not be said loud."

"But I don't understand... If they're witches, then why do what they do?"

"Now I see a little more. They knew the Nameless Book was valuable, but they sneered at you," said Angela with a sigh. "They were testing you, to join them."

"But they didn't want the book. They threw it down."

"Because they have no need of a spell book. They know their powers well."

"Angela, why didn't you see them as witches? When they confronted us in the mall?"

"I did not know there was witch-war here in this place. I thought they were just two brutals." Without warning the witch laughed. "Yes, they disguise themselves well. Better than I could. The Forest has deep powers."

"So what do we do?"

"Summon them."

"What? How?" Carole shook her head. "We can't do spells here."

"Use their coven names aloud."

"I don't know them! Only Athena Birch and Briony Alder."

"They each have another name. If they wanted you to join them they will have given you knowledge. Think!"

Carole thought for a few minutes, going over everything she knew about the two girls. "I can't think," she blurted out, almost tearfully. "The only thing I know is their street addresses and email tags."

"Street names?"

"Uh, Fifth Drive and Belston Lane. I think."

"No, not those. Think more!"

"But the email tags..."

"Ah!" exclaimed Angela. "They let you know their Coven names."

"I don't see... you mean, their email stuff is their Coven names..." Carole suddenly grinned. "Sure. How cool is that. They're called..."

"No, don't tell me. Say it three times, each one, out loud. As if you were calling them to you."

"I may be wrong," said Carole, panicking. "What if I'm wrong?"

"Then we have tried. We cannot wait for me to be removed and you hurt."

Carole gulped, and then said the names aloud as she should. "Alnus! Alnus! Alnus!" A momentary pause and then "Betula! Betula! Betula!"

For a second nothing happened, but then the room grew colder, darker somehow. Both Angela and Carole held their breath.

The air shimmered in front of them, a light glowed. And Athena and Briony stood before them, smirking as only they can.

********

Carole took the bowl of hot soup in to the room, where Angela was chained to the wall. The witch was sat on the bed and she reached up behind her head and unbuckled her gag, dropping it at her side and smiling at her friend.

"You look well," said Angela, taking the bowl of soup and the bread. "The Forest Coven is good to you."

Carole sat on the edge of the bed. "They want me to be one of them."

"Good." Angela was starting to feed herself, her wrist and neck chains rattling.

"But I had told you I was part of the Stream Coven."

"No," Angela was speaking between mouthfuls of bread and soup. "You wanted to be, but it wasn't your natural Coven. Nor was the Cold, I am happy to say."

"The Cold! My mom will be mad, now I've gone and disappeared."

"She was mad," grinned the naked witch as she ate. "Mad to think she could use her daughter in her narrow way."

"I'm worried about you," confessed Carole, watching Angela eat.

"Don't be."

"But you are chained up. Like before!"

"No, not like before. In the Cold Coven place I was spreadeagled. Weak, open. Here I can move more."

"But the gag, the one they make you wear. Briony and Athena shouldn't do that to you. They know you won't use your spells here."

"They are wise. I may use the words in error. If they trust me to gag myself then I am trusted. I would not want that to change. For your sake, Carole of the Forest Coven."

"Um, it doesn't sound right."

"Then use it until it does."

"Angela, I do love you." The girl blushed. "Not in a weird way, but what you did. How you helped me."

"Good," grinned Angela. "That is what I hoped for."

"But I don't know what they will do to you."

"They will send me on my way."

"But to where?" Alarm was evident in Carole's voice.

"Not where, but when. They will offer me the choice of forward or back. I will settle in some place, in another time."

Carole looked in a panic. "But I won't see you again!"

"No. Not unless you asked to come with me."

"With you! But how can I?"

"Your new mistresses will give you every chance to be one of the Forest Coven. Or they will help you go elsewhere." Angela looked at her friend. "You wanted friends here and now. You wanted to part of their gang as you call it. Now you can be that."

"But you said mistresses!"

"They are, for you. You wear chains too." Angela nodded at the slender, light chain between Carole's wrists.

"But this is just... just some fun," protested the red haired girl, holding up her wrists to show the one foot six inch chain. "They said it helps me."

Angela shrugged, her chains clinking slightly. "It helps you. It helps them as they control you. Connecting the wrists with iron transfers power between each hand, diffuses it. Witches are subdued if their power leaks to each hand, as if draining it."

"Wow," breathed Carole staring at her chain. "But... They didn't want to hurt me, not in the end. And I wanted to be with them."

"Then be with them. Forget me."

"No, I'll never do that." To Angela's surprise Carole leant forward and planted a tender kiss on the witch's lips.

"That is a gesture of a deeper friendship," said the witch as Carole pulled away.

"Huh, yes," breathed Carole, blushing at her unexpected gesture.

"If you want to come with me, you can. It is just I cannot, will not, stay here."

Carole blushed and looked away. "I don't what to do... yes I do. I must tell Briony and Athena, even though I just don't know how. They still scare me."

"You do not have to tell them. Have you not noticed? Here next to me is an open neck chain collar, open manacles. All you have to do is shed your clothes, and place yourself in the chains. There is even a spare gag, so you are like me. We are together."

Carole had noticed but had preferred not to think about it. She gulped. "But what will they say when they know?"

"Nothing. There is nothing to be said. You will have made your choice. They arranged this to give you that opportunity. So they will send us together to another place."

Carole gulped once more and kissed her friend gently again. "I do want to be like you. With you."

"Then you have the power to decide, as witches must," breathed Angela, returning the kiss.

With a laugh the red haired girl jumped up, shed her clothes and slipped into the chains waiting. Then the two young witches of the Stream Coven gagged themselves and waited to see what the future held.