It was a long time before the ball, still whirling in a gentle spiral, reached the top of its arc and began to descend. It seemed to hang in the air, momentarily indecisive about where it would land. Then momentum and gravity took control, and the little white sphere hurtled forward, annihilating the top window of the house with a crash that went on for years.

Far below, standing motionless in the middle of the street, two figures gazed at the bare shards of colored glass still clinging to the circular windowpane. They had each winced in unison when the ball smashed through, and now straightened up enough to settle into some good, solid, horrified staring.

After about a half-minute had passed, the taller of the figures turned slowly to his companion.

"That was our ball, right?"

The shorter looked up at him, frowning. "Yeah, of course. Who else could it have belonged to?"

"Dunno." The boy ran a hand through his brown-blonde hair, stole another look at the destroyed window, and shuddered. "I was hoping that there was someone behind us. That maybe they hit their ball at the same time."

The girl shook her head, flipping a short, brown ponytail that poked out the back of her baseball cap. "No. Just us."

"That is the house I think it is, right?"

"What house do you think it is?"

The boy took a deep breath, as if steeling his nerves. "The witch. Mrs. Glauss. It's her house, isn't it?"

"I don't think anyone else around here has stained-glass windows with little bats on them."

"Good point."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, again peeking with apprehension at the slivers of glass that had been the topmost window in a witch's house. A few fragments had tumbled down to the sidewalk amid the destruction; they glittered in the four o'clock sun like abandoned jewels--red, yellow, and black.

"What do we do now?" asked the boy weakly. He picked up a piece of the debris and looked at it desolately.

The girl shrugged. "Dunno. Run for it?"

"She's a witch, though. Won't she have a crystal ball or something?"

"Why would that matter?"

"Because she could use it to see who broke her window."

"Oh." The girl had clearly not considered this. "I guess. I hate when you think of stuff like this, Dirty."

"My name's Sandy."

"Gritty. Got it."

"Shut up, Doreen."

"Dory."

"Don't make fun of me, and I won't make fun of you."

"Don't make it so easy, then."

Sandy pushed the brim of Dory's hat down over her eyes. She didn't push it back, and seemed to be trying to hide beneath the visor.

"D'you think she'll be mad?"

Sandy heaved a weighty breath. "I hope not. I've seen her around, and she doesn't look mean."

"I heard that kids disappear around here sometimes. That they go into her house, and don't come back out."

"That's probably just a rumor." He sounded unconvinced of this, even as the words came from his mouth.

Dory pushed her hat back up. "I don't like 'probably'. What if we just go back to my house and see if we can find her phone number? We can call and tell her that we broke the window."

Sandy thought about this, and began to nod. "Yeah, that sounds good. I mean, as long as we admit it, we should be okay. We're not going to lie about it or anything."

Dory joined in, nodding with building enthusiasm. "Right! So let's go, then. Where'd my glove end up?"

Both glanced around the sidewalk. Dory's glove was nowhere to be seem amongst the lengthening shadows.

"I know I had it," she muttered, shielding her eyes from the sun. "I was going to catch the ball before it broke the window...did you see if I dropped it?" She bent her knees, falling into a low crouch, and cast her gaze up and down the empty street. "You aren't hiding it, are you?"

"Uh-uh," Sandy said. He peered into a drain at the edge of the sidewalk, but the brown leather of the glove was nowhere in sight. "Could you have kicked it, or maybe--"

He broke off in mid-sentence. A flat, rhythmic slapping sound had begun to echo loudly off the road, and the kids turned slowly back toward the house. On the sidewalk before them, standing squarely in the smattering of glass fragments, was the witch. One hand was tucked into Dory's glove, and the other was repeatedly tossing Sandy's baseball into it; each impact sounded like an explosion.

"Why, hello there," she said evenly, and smiled. "Could these belong to you?"

Sandy and Dory looked at the ball and glove. They looked at each other, and swallowed.

"Yes," Dory said at last. "We--um--sort of broke your window."

The witch and the two kids all awarded the window a short examination, as if checking to see if it was still broken.

It was.

They all turned back to face one another.

"It was an accident," Sandy added hopefully. "I kind of threw the ball too hard, and...well..."

"Accidents do happen," agreed the witch, who was definitely the fabled Mrs. Glauss that Sandy had seen. She had the straight, glossy black hair that was the hallmark of a witch, as well as the near-luminous green eyes. She might have been imposing, or even frightening, but the effect was spoiled somewhat was the fact that she was decidedly plump, pink-cheeked, and wearing a flowery house-dress. "That was my favorite window, though. I did love the bats."

"Er...can we pay you for it?" Sandy asked, though he and Dory were experiencing identical sinking sensations in their stomachs.

"Oh, it really isn't replaceable. A friend of mine made it for me years ago, and I've long since lost track of her." The witch shook her head sadly. "No, I'm afraid it's gone forever. A pity." She slapped the ball into the glove once or twice; the noise reverberated for an unnaturally long time.

"Can we make it up to you?" Dory asked hesitantly. Sensible bits of her brain were glaring at other, less sensible bits; flowery house-dress or not, she had no desire to spend any more time around this witch than was absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, it did feel like some compensation was owed. "Sandy's really good at mowing lawns, and I can--um--well, I'm pretty good at cleaning..."

"Are you?" Mrs. Glauss sounded interested. "Well, that is a kind offer! I'm not as young as I used to be, and I do let the cleaning get away from me sometimes." She smiled widely, and Sandy and Dory both felt their humming nerves slacken just a little. "I have a lawn-care service, though, so I don't really need help with that...what if you both just came back tomorrow and helped me clean up the attic?"

"The...attic?" Sandy repeated.

"Yes," said Mrs. Glauss smoothly. "There's some broken glass that could do with sweeping up." Both kids flushed, but the witch waved them down with a little chuckle. "No worries, no worries, my dears. Just pop on by around...let's call it eleven o'clock? It shouldn't take more than a few hours, I'd say. Just some old boxes to sort through, and maybe an antique rug I stuffed into a corner years ago. How would that be?"

"That sounds fine," Dory said. The idea of going into the witch's house appealed to her very little, but what choice was there? "Can I--um--have my glove back?"

"Yeah," Sandy added cautiously, "and my ball, too? Please?"

And now Mrs. Glauss' open, friendly smile narrowed slightly. She looked pensively down at her hands; one still wore Dory's glove, and the other held Sandy's baseball. She tilted them from side to side, and eventually looked back at the kids.

"I think you can have them back tomorrow," she said, still smiling the narrow smile. "I'll keep them nice and safe until then, shall I?"

"Oh." Dory did not like this idea at all, but an internal gauge told her that it was the best she would get. "Okay. We'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Bye bye, my dears!" Mrs. Glauss sing-songed, as Dory and Sandy crossed the street and hurried toward their own neighborhood. "Have a lovely evening!"

They walked wordlessly for a few blocks, and turned several unnecessary corners, before Sandy finally spoke.

"Well, it could be worse," he said, though there was little conviction in his tone. "Cleaning an attic, that isn't so bad."

"Cleaning a witch's attic," Dory amended. "And attics make me sneeze."

"Everything makes you sneeze. You're almost allergic to yourself."

"Shut up, Grainy."

"Sandy."

"Rocky."

"It's 'Sandy', Doreen."

"You're stupid."

They started walking again. Dory's shoulders began to sag, though she no longer had even a baseball glove to carry home. Sandy noticed the droop, and squeezed his best friend in a one-armed hug.

"Don't sweat it. We'll just go, clean the old bat's stupid attic, and be done by lunchtime. No problemo."

Dory sighed, and reached up to put an arm over Sandy's shoulders in return. "I guess. I just hope I don't sneeze too much."

Eleven o'clock the following day--despite Sandy's fervent hope that a hurricane would make the short walk to Mrs. Glauss' house a physical impossibility--was cool, clear, and comfortable. He met Dory outside her house, and they started off down the sidewalk.

"My mom wasn't any help," Dory muttered grumpily. "When I told her what we had to do, she said that I should try not to get turned into a frog."

Sandy considered this. "It's not terrible advice," he reasoned. "You don't want to be a frog, do you?"

"Not especially," Dory admitted. "I hate flies."

"See, there you go. Good advice after all."

As they neared the witch's house, Dory's pace slowed noticeably. Sandy put a hand on her back, propelling her gently forward.

"Come on. The sooner we get to it, the sooner we'll be done."

"I don't want to go, Sandy," she murmured. "I've got a really bad feeling about this."

"You get bad feelings all the time. We'll be okay."

Dory made a pouting sort of sound, but allowed Sandy to continue guiding her toward the house. "Just do me a favor, okay?"

"What's that?"

"Don't tell her my name's 'Doreen'. Just call me Dory, like usual."

"How come?"

"Because she seems like the kind of person who wants to call you by your full name, and I hate 'Doreen'. It makes me sound like I should be wearing a dress and going to ice cream socials."

Sandy, whose parents had been aiming for the chance to name a girl 'Sandra', nodded in a conciliatory manner. "Okay, but only while we're there. After that I get to make fun of your stupid, stupid name as much as I want."

"Fine. Jerk."

Both kids were momentarily relieved that Mrs. Glauss was not waiting on the sidewalk for them. The relief faded, however, when they realized that this meant they would have to ring the doorbell.

"I don't want to do it!" Dory hissed, casting suspicious glances at the little round button. "It's a witch's doorbell! What if it--I don't know, bites you or something?"

"A biting doorbell," Sandy repeated. "Wow. You are really something."

There was a long pause.

"So?" Sandy looked expectantly at her. "Push it."

"No! If you aren't scared, then you do it!"

"Maybe I just don't want to--"

The door swung open, and Mrs. Glauss smiled widely at the pair of them. "Well, good morning! And how are you today?"

"Great," said Sandy quickly, deciding that this was not the time to allow Dory to wield adjectives. "So, off to the attic?"

"To the attic indeed!" Mrs. Glauss agreed. She stood to one side and beckoned them in. "It's lovely to see such enthusiasm!"

"Oh, I love attics," Sandy said easily. "All that...dust and cobwebs. Great stuff. Right, Dory?"

"Yeah," Dory muttered. "Great." She pulled her baseball cap down, so that it mostly hid her eyes from view. "I'm super excited about it."

"Wonderful!" the witch enthused. She closed the door with a loud thunk, and the hallway sank into semi-darkness. "I don't want to take too long about it. I have a meeting to attend this evening, and there are so many little things one must see to."

"What kind of meeting?" Sandy asked, as he and Dory were led further into the house. The door quickly disappeared into the gloom, and they advanced into a long, high-ceilinged hallway. "Is it a--er--witch thing?"

"You could say that," Mrs. Glauss replied, chuckling. "Some of the younger witches want to start getting together on a regular basis. We're not too good at keeping in touch, you see. Tend to get a bit reclusive and caught up in our spells. Before you know it, you've got a dozen cats and you're eating the neighborhood children." She shook her head, oblivious to the alarmed glances suddenly being swapped by her guests, and said, "All sounds a bit silly to me, but then, I am getting on in years."

"So...how many cats do you have?" Sandy inquired cautiously.

"None at the moment."

"Oh." Sandy nodded. "Well, that's good, I guess."

"I have some snakes about somewhere," said the witch, peering thoughtfully over her shoulder. "They like to run off, though. Maybe that's where all the cats went." She walked on, apparently not noticing the short scuffle that ensued behind her, during which Sandy was forced to pick Dory up and turn her around to face the correct direction so that she didn't run away.

"You heard her!" Dory hissed. "She said it herself, she had lots of cats and--"

"She doesn't have any now, though," Sandy pointed out. "Look, let's just follow the plan, okay? We'll clean her attic and run like crazy, and by tomorrow we'll be laughing about it."

Dory stared at him. "Aren't you scared?" she asked, her face pale in the shadowy hall.

"Not a bit," he said confidently. "Just follow me, okay? Everything'll be fine."

"It better be," she murmured. She kept pace with Sandy, but only by clinging to his sleeve.

The witch led them up several winding flights of stairs, and past more floors than should have reasonably fit into a two-story house. Sandy and Dory saw metal doors that were chained shut, doors with strange, reddish steam seeping out from around the cracks, and even a door that seemed to be made entirely of wriggling vines.

"It used to be my greenhouse," Mrs. Glauss sighed.

"Why isn't it anymore?" asked Sandy, who couldn't pass up a question if his life depended on it.

"Oh, the weeds got out of control. I thought my gardener could handle them, but there were just too many for the old boy." She shook her head sadly. "I can only hope he didn't suffer. Come on, we're almost there."

The attic's entrance was something of a letdown after the greenhouse--just a plain, slightly faded door with white paint and a brass knob. Mrs. Glauss pushed it open and led the way into a large, open room with wooden vaulting leading up to the peaked ceiling, and a number of piled cardboard boxes heaped in various corners. Set into one wall was the broken window, now covered by plastic sheeting and duct tape.

"Not much to do, really," said the witch, hands on her plump hips. "I just want to peek into a few boxes, and move the piles into a storage room on the floor below us. I've been meaning to turn this into a workshop for ages, it gets such lovely sun in the morning. This is as good an excuse as any."

"I can start moving the boxes," Sandy piped up, glancing at the heaps. "Stuff like this is easy for me."

"Oh?" said the witch, smirking a little. "Strong, are you?"

"Yeah!" Sandy nodded shamelessly. "I'm the strongest guy in my class!"

"Hmm. Well, off you go, then. Down the stairs, and the second door on the right. It should be unlocked." She looked at Dory and smiled. "We girls will just get to the cleaning then, eh?"

Dory did her best not to fidget under the witch's eyes. "Sure," she muttered, as Sandy grabbed two boxes at once and staggered out of the room.

"That should keep him busy," Mrs. Glauss said, after Sandy had gone. "If you want to get out of hard work, tell a man you need something heavy moved, that's what I say."

Dory blinked. "What?"

"Oh, come now," chortled the witch, plopping down on a box. "That's what men are for, after all--doing the work that women want them to do. Always so eager to show off their muscles, and so very easy to...coerce." She winked conspiratorially. "Wouldn't you agree?"

To her astonishment, Dory found herself giggling. It was completely true, she thought--Sandy would drop whatever he was doing to show off how strong he was. "I guess so," she agreed. "I never have to carry anything when he's around."

"Precisely!" said Mrs. Glauss. "And therein lies the reason to keep him around. Now, let's see what strange old junk I've had packed away, shall we? Maybe there's something pretty you can take home."

Somehow, the sight of Sandy's progressively-reddening face made it easy for Dory to keep laughing as she and the witch opened boxes and sifted through their contents. After a while, Dory decided that though she still hated attics, Mrs. Glauss didn't seem to be all that scary after all. Weird, yes, but not scary. It was hard to be afraid of someone who said things like, "Oh, foo," when mice turned up in crates of sewing equipment.

"How long have you lived in this house, Mrs. Glauss?" Dory asked, as they examined ancient, rodent-nibbled copies of National Geographic.

"Lots of years," said the witch breezily. "Heaps and heaps of years, my dear. I can scarcely recall, to be completely honest."

"You don't look old, though," said Dory. "Not at all. Is that magic?"

"Perhaps," Mrs. Glauss said, sounding a bit smug. "We witches do have our secrets."

Dory gauged that this was meant to end the line of questions, and settled for staring in fascination at what the witch referred to as 'the attire of my youth'.

"It's been some time since I could fit into this," she sighed, holding up a significantly low-cut dress. "Those were the days."

"It's really..." Dory began, but couldn't quite come up with the adjectives. She owned one dress, which--in her opinion--had far too many flowers on it. Mrs. Glauss' old dresses, on the other hand, consisted mostly of black lace and bodice. They were dresses in which you could do some serious witchcraft; dresses, in short, that meant business.

Mrs. Glauss gave Dory a sidelong look, and turned the dress to face her. She held it up to shoulder-height, and tipped her head at an angle. "You know," she said, "I might say that you'd fit these old things perfectly. They smell a bit of mothballs, but the fabric seems to have held up well enough. Why don't you go and try one on?"

"Wh-what, right now?" Dory half-stammered, caught unawares. "Don't we have to keep cleaning?"

The witch waved a dismissive hand. "I think we've seen everything we're going to see. I'll just do a quick sweep and let strong Mister Sandy finish up." She rummaged in the box, blind and deaf to Dory's protests. "What about this one? It would have been a little on the demure side for me, but I think it would suit you just fine. What do you think?"

Dory found her will to argue evaporating. Her choice in clothes was usually dependent on how many bases she could steal in it, or how many times she could fall on pavement before it ripped. The dress that Mrs. Glauss was holding up looked as far from suitable for a baseball field or skate-park as it was possible to be, but there was something irresistibly seductive about it. Dory had never seen light act that way on cloth before, and had never even suspected that you could do such things with ribbon.

"I...guess I could try it on," she managed. "Just for a minute, I mean."

"Of course!" the witch said, nodding. "Just for a minute. There's a guest room down the stairs that you can use, first door on the left." She handed the dress to Dory and gave her an encouraging smile. "Go on, dear!"

Not entirely sure of herself, Dory stood up, exited the attic, and tumbled down the steps. She nearly collided with Sandy on the landing, and they both ended up with their backs against opposite walls, facing one another.

"Are we done?" Sandy asked. His face was sweaty, and he sounded vaguely disappointed.

``There are more boxes to move," Dory said, and heard herself mumble something about 'try on dress'.

"What, that thing?" Sandy gazed at it in disbelief. "You're going to put that on?"

She frowned at him. "Why is that so weird? I'm allowed to try on a dress!"

Sandy held his hands up in defense, and shrugged. "Sure, you're allowed. I just want to know what happened to the real Dory, that's all."

She made a face at him. ``Go move more boxes, Dirty.''

He snorted and stomped up the stairs.

Dory turned away in a huff, and found the door Mrs. Glauss had mentioned. The room was much like the dress: ornate, old-fashioned, and smelling of mothballs. There was a big, tarnished mirror in one corner, and after she had locked the door, Dory stood in front of it.

``I can too wear a dress,'' she muttered, looking at her reflection. She was short, but not too short. Brown hair, green eyes. Long legs, which she liked; she was a fast runner, and people who didn't know her were often unprepared for her speed. ``Stupid Sandy.''

She tossed her jeans and t-shirt onto the faded, old-fashioned bedspread, and held the dress up to her shoulders. It actually looked good. Very good. She gave so little thought to her attire in most cases that it had never occurred to her that a dress might actually suit her. The fact that the dress that did suit her was an antique, semi-Gothic hand-me-down from a witch was mildly off-putting, but you couldn't argue with results.

She pulled it on, and spent a few minutes turning this way and that in front of the mirror. It wasn't exactly like looking at a different person, but not far off. So much lace, and so many little ripples and where had she gotten those curves? She had never seen those before.

She tried some poses, and liked the effect. Depending on which direction she turned, the light caught her face and bare shoulders at interesting angles, and made her look quite mysterious.

``I wonder if this is how witches feel all the time?'' she murmured, grinning. It wouldn't be a bad way to live

An abrupt, loud bang on the door snapped her from her trance, and she spun around.

``Hey, Doreen! Are you done yet? Mrs. Glauss says we can leave if you are!''

``I'mjust a minute!'' Dory gasped, her heart thudding. ``I'll be right out!''

On the other side of the door, Sandy rolled his eyes. ``Come on!'' he called. ``How long does it take to try on a dress?''

From behind him, Mrs. Glauss quietly said, "Don't rush her, dear," and made Sandy jump. "She's testing."

``Testing what?'' he asked, frowning, but the witch only smiled.

``Never you mind.'' Toward the closed door, the witch said, ``Dory, why don't you come out for a moment? I'd love to see how you look!''

``UmIreally?'' Dory's voice was muffled by the door, but the hesitance in her tone was clear.

``Of course! Just give us a quick little twirl, won't you?''

Slowly, the door opened, and Dory came out. She looked awkwardly at the witch and Sandy, her cheeks pink. ``Um so?''

``Spectacular,'' Mrs. Glauss said, beaming with approval. ``It looks even better on you than it did on me.'' She glanced down at Sandy. ``What do you think, Mister Strong?''

Sandy's eyes were doing an odd, up-and-down jerking motion; he seemed to break from a reverie at the witch's question. ``Huh? Oh, itlooks fine. Good, I mean.'' His ears turned scarlet, and he was suddenly very interested in his sneakers. ``Sorry, Dory,'' he muttered. ``I didn't mean to make fun of you.''

``That's okay?'' Dory ventured, completely unsure of how to handle this new, awkward Sandy. ``I guess I'll go change, then thanks for letting me try it on, Mrs. Glauss.''

``Don't mention it,'' said the witch happily. ``In fact, I insist that you keep it. And before you even think of it,'' she said, when Dory opened her mouth to protest, ``I shall turn you into a frog if you argue. Would you like to be a frog?''

``Wellno, not really, but''

``Then it's settled. I've no use for the silly old thing, anyway.'' She nodded in a self-satisfied way, and then looked at Sandy. ``And what about you, Mister Strong?''

``Huh?'' Sandy asked. His ears were still red, and he seemed to be having some trouble paying attention to Mrs. Glauss; his head appeared to be magnetized by Dory.

``Well, I'm sure you don't want a dress, do you? But I'd hate to send you home empty-handed after all your hard work.''

``ButMrs. Glauss, we were working for you because we broke your window!'' Dory exclaimed. ``You shouldn't be giving us presents!''

``Nonsense,'' said the witch impatiently, waving a plump-fingered hand. ``I can give presents to whomever I like. Now, what would you enjoy, Sandy?''

``I don't know,'' Sandy said flatly. He and Dory shared a moment of dumbfounded silence. ``Maybe my baseball?''

``Oh!'' said Dory, as remembrance dawned. ``And my glove! Can we have them back, Mrs. Glauss?''

The witch looked disappointed, but the expression faded quickly. ``Just that?'' she asked Sandy. ``Nothing else?''

``I really can't think of anything,'' he said, shrugging sheepishly. ``Sorry, Mrs. Glauss.''

``Oh, all right, then,'' said the witch. ``I've actually got them just around the corner, follow me.''

Sandy and Dory fell into step behind Mrs. Glauss as she led them down the corridor. Sandy's neck was working properly again, though he walked a little more stiffly than usual.

``I'm sorry about before,'' he said quietly, as they passed the winding staircase that had taken them through the witch's house. ``It was kind of a mean thing to say.''

``Don't worry about it,'' Dory said. She was suddenly very conscious that she was not in her own comfortable, familiar clothing. The dress rustled as she walked, and the carpeting was stiff and cold under her bare feet. ``I know I never wear stuff like this.''

``Itit looks good,'' Sandy said. ``I'm just not used to it.''

``Me either.''

They were both silent for a few moments. Mrs. Glauss gestured them around yet another corner, and past a glass cabinet full of tiny animal skeletons with yellowing paper labels.

``Let's go swimming later,'' Sandy said, in a hurried voice. ``Or play soccer or something.''

``Swimming,'' said Dory firmly. ``We can go to the Drift.''

Sandy nodded emphatically, just as the witch came to a halt. ``Okay,'' he said quickly. ``Sounds great.''

``I do hope you'll forgive me,'' said Mrs. Glauss, her hand on the doorknob. ``I didn't know what nice children you'd turn out to be, so I locked them up for the night.''

``It's okay,'' said Sandy and Dory in unison. They looked at each other and smiled.

``I am glad that I had them overnight, though,'' the witch went on, tugging the door open. Hot, purple light spilled out, illuminating the hallway. ``It's simply wonderful what you can do when you have someone's belongings, isn't it?''

``What do you '' Sandy began, but his question faded into nothingness as he and Dory entered the room.

It was a small chamber, empty save for a single round table in the center. The surface of the table was deeply etched with a mass of complicated lines and circles, all joining into a unified, labyrinthine symbol. Placed carefully in the middle was Dory's glove, and beside that was Sandy's baseball. The two objects were wreathed in the electric purple glow; an occasional spark would crackle outward, sizzling loudly before disappearing.

``Isis this how witches lock things up?'' Dory asked, staring at her glove in bewilderment. ``It looks pretty safe ''

``No, no!'' the witch said, beginning to chuckle. ``This is how you control someone's actions. It's much easier than stealing locks of hair or baby teeth, wouldn't you say?''

Sandy and Dory stood rooted to the floor; neither could quite get a grip on the witch's words.

``Control our actions?'' Sandy repeated. ``But what''

``Oh, it would be much simpler to show you,'' Mrs. Glauss said brightly. ``Let's go downstairs.''

And then they were going downstairs. Mrs. Glauss led the way again, with the kids behind her. They hurried down the landings and past the strange doors; Mrs. Glauss' excitement seemed tangible.

``Wait a second!'' Dory protested. Her feet were tripping lightly down the stairs, moving her along quite speedily. ``Mrs. Glauss, what's going on? Are you angry with us?''

``Of course not!'' said the witch, her voice full of energy. ``But no more questions for now, dear. We're almost there.''

Dory stopped talking. It happened very suddenly, though she was still full of confusion, and her nerves were jangling.

They came to the first floor at nearly a run, and blazed a path through the front hallway. Beyond that was a sitting room they had not seen that morning, and then

``And here's the kitchen!'' said the witch. ``The heart of the home, as the saying goes.''

``Mrs. Glauss, please,'' Sandy nearly begged. ``What are you doing? I can't stop following you!''

``That's because I told you to!'' Mrs. Glauss said, smiling from ear to ear. She patted his cheek. ``Not so strong now, are you? Better than a voodoo doll, that old control-spell.''

``But why?'' Sandy persisted. ``We cleaned the attic for you, andwhat else is there? Are you mad because I don't want a present?''

``Silly boy!'' laughed the witch. ``I'm not mad at all! I'm terribly glad you broke that window, as it happens. If you hadn't, I don't know what I would have cooked up for the meeting tonight.''

The words hung in the air like an axe.

``Cooked ?'' Sandy repeated.

Beside him, Dory had turned white. She wanted to ask questions of her own, but her mouth was uncooperative.

``Quite so,'' Mrs. Glauss agreed, nodding. ``I'm the senior witch attending, so it falls on me to provide supper for the group. I was afraid I was going to have to order pizza, but then you broke my window.'' She smiled enormously. ``Such exquisite timing!''

``No way!'' Dory said, finally finding her voice. ``I'm not getting cooked!'' She spun and managed to take several steps toward the door, Sandy right behind her.

``Not another inch!'' The witch's voice was a ringing command, and as it faded from the kitchen, all was suddenly perfectly still.

``I can't walk,'' Dory whispered. ``I can't move at all, Sandy. What is this?''

``I don't know,'' Sandy said, his own voice hoarse. ``It's''

``I told you!'' Mrs. Glauss walked around so that she could face them. ``It's a control spell. Please try to keep up.'' She shook her head like a teacher unsatisfied with a student's academic progress. ``I used your ball and glove to create a binding field. Which means,'' she said, putting a hand on either of their shoulders, ``that you're all mine! Now, if you don't mind, I do have that meeting to think of, and you'll take a while to cook properly. I'd like to get started. Over by the table, if you please.''

``No!'' Dory shouted, but her legs had other ideas. They turned her in a brisk about-face, and walked her over to the witch's oblong wooden table. ``Stop it! Stop!''

``You stop,'' said Mrs. Glauss, as Sandy's legs positioned him beside Dory. ``No shouting from either of you. You can talk in normal tones, but please don't be rude.''

Sandy's mouth closed with a snap, cutting off what would have been a truly excellent stream of profanity. Instead, he said, ``Mrs. Glauss, please don't cook us.''

``Yeah,'' Dory agreed, far more calmly than she had intended. ``Please let us go.''

But the witch only smiled and shook her head. ``That's much better, but no, you can't go. And,'' she added, turning to Sandy, ``I'm afraid I am going to cook you. See? The oven's already nice and hot.''

The witch waved her hand, and a massive, cast-iron hatch, set directly into the brick wall, opened with a clang; inside was a cavernous oven, lit orange by glowing coals.

``I haven't done a roast in years,'' Mrs. Glauss sighed happily. ``I'll be the toast of the coven.'' She continued to smile dreamily for a few moments, but seemed to catch hold of herself. ``But, in any case, there's work to do first. Sandy, be a good boy and shovel a bit more coal into the oven. Dory, help me get the pan ready.''

Sandy and Dory suddenly sprang into action, their bodies quite ignoring what their owners wanted them to do. Sandy located a shovel and a barrel of coal beside the oven, and began to toss heaping scoops onto the glowing bed; Dory followed Mrs. Glauss, and assisted her in setting a huge, flat tray on the tabletop.

``I'll worry about garnish after you're cooked,'' the witch mused. ``I don't think you'll need anything too fancy, just some potatoes and parsley.''

``I don't understand,'' Dory said, her voice still unnaturally and unnervingly steady. ``Why did you go through all of this if you were just planning to cook us? Why let me try on your dress?''

``Call me an old softy,'' the witch said, chuckling. ``It does look quite lovely on you, doesn't it? Nobody's worn that thing in years, and when I saw you yesterday, I just couldn't resist having it ready. That should be enough coal, Sandy.''

Sandy set the shovel down and stood by the oven; without an instruction, his body did nothing. ``I'd really like to leave,'' he commented, sounding casual and unconcerned.

``Not a chance. Come over here.''

Sandy joined Dory by the table and waited. The witch leered at them, grinning.

``Such fun we've had!'' she sang, clasping her hands theatrically. ``Alas, it's time for your final game together. Do behave now, and get undressed. Dory, please be careful with the dress.''

``I'm not doing that,'' Sandy said, but his hands still weren't paying attention to him. They proceeded to remove his shirt, heedless of his desires.

``You're horrible,'' Dory said. She wanted to say much worse things, but it was the best she could manage, even as she slipped out of the dress and stood naked before the witch. ``You're just a mean old witch after all.''

``Could be,'' Mrs. Glauss admitted. ``Up on the tray, both of you. Back to back.''

Sandy and Dory climbed onto a chair, then onto the tray; both knelt, and settled down facing away from each other. Mrs. Glauss fussed over their positioning for a while, moving Sandy's arms, pulling Dory's legs further back. Eventually she was satisfied, and fetched a bottle of spicy-smelling oil from a cabinet.

``Nothing like oil to crisp the skin while you cook,'' she told them, drizzling it over their shoulders. ``It works a treat, believe me. You'll look marvelous!''

``Our parents will find out,'' Sandy said, cringing as the witch began to smear the oil over his chest with a wide, stiff-bristled brush. ``They know where we went, we both told them.''

``That's as may be,'' Mrs. Glauss said, completely unconcerned. ``I'm sure I can make them see my point of view. Parents are remarkably flexible in their perspectives.'' She sprinkled a few pinches of dried herbs over them, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. ``You look spectacular,'' she said proudly. ``Be good, now, and roast up properly. Witches are very particular about their meals, I don't mind telling you!''

``We're not a meal!'' Dory snapped. She had been struggling, fighting with every bit of her mind to force herself off the table, but it was useless. Still, she continued to strain even as the witch made the tray levitate and float toward the oven door. ``You rotten old hag!''

``Manners,'' sang Mrs. Glauss. ``You do have some determination, don't you? Lots of girls wouldn't be able to insult me at all with this sort of binding spell at work.''

``I'll keep insulting you!'' Dory shot. ``I'll call you a''

``Quiet down,'' said the witch, and Dory's mouth snapped shut. ``You can talk while you're cooking, but don't make too much noise.'' She twitched a finger, and the oven door dropped open again. ``It has been a pleasure, both of you. See you soon!''

The tray eased forward, settling neatly onto the coal Sandy had shoveled inside. Sparks and tendrils of flame licked up around the metal rim, not quite reaching either of the children. After a final, lingering, unbearably smug smile, Mrs. Glauss closed the door.

Smokey silence filled the oven, and the suffocating heat began to build immediately. The chamber was still moderately bright, due to the embers; Dory could made out the brickwork of the ceiling and walls, but she couldn't turn her head to see anything else.

``She's really going to cook us, isn't she?'' Sandy gulped. ``We're not getting out, are we?''

``There has to be a way,'' Dory said weakly. Her heart was throbbing, and she felt like she might pass out. ``This can't really beI mean, it can't be how we''

Neither of them spoke. The heat continued to surge, wrapping and coiling around them like a searing snake. Below them, the coals began to warm the metal tray.

``Dory?''

``What?'' She could move her eyes, there had to be something

``I'm sorry for making fun of your name all those times. `Doreen' isn't a stupid name.''

``Yes it is, shut up. If we could move, maybe we could kick the door down ''

There was a pause.

``I still can't move,'' Sandy said.

``Me either.''

They waited.

``I'm sorry for making fun of your name, too,'' Dory murmured. ``I was just teasing.''

``It's okay. It's a stupid name.''

``No it's not.''

``Sure it is, Doreen.''

``Shut up, Dirty.''

After a few seconds, Sandy laughed. It was small and weak, but he laughed anyway. Eventually, Dory laughed too.

Mrs. Glauss took them out of the oven some hours later, and rather thought that she had outdone herself. Both of the children were crisp and beautifully roasted, andshe thought, very pleased with herselfwould impress the daylights out of all the other witches.

It was, of course, partially due to luck. But then, it never did hurt to have a baseball-attracting window right in the front of your house.