Bratch narrowed her eyes. People folk weren't her favorite, not when they were still alive and talking and Bratch was supposed to be pretending and going along with her sister's schemes. Bratch preferred the company of her bats and rats and screechy creepy-crawlies most nights. But this time — her tongue flicked out the last bit of slimy meat from under her fingernail — the irritation would be worth it.<br/><br/>"Rodents and rattlesnakes, Witch Higgens. We need to get going now to sneak in for the fire and the shouty songs. Bottle me a beauty brew and I'll get what we need."<br/><br/>Animated by hungry anticipation, Bratchwitch kicked and scooted clumsily over the entrail-covered table, leaving it where it blocked the doorway. Humming to herself as hags do, she gathered rough ropes and wrist-wires, red-stained rag-gags, and an extra-long getaway broom for two. And if any spiders wanted to sneak up a sleeve and accompany her today, Bratch never stopped them.