Jo-Jo, Matt and Marcus stopped their snowball fight. “Where’s she gone?” they demanded.

“Where’s who gone?” asked Jenna.

“You know who, Jens,” said Jo-Jo. “Marissa.”

“What’s it to you?” demanded Marcus, eyeballing Jo-Jo.

“None of your business,” Jo-Jo retorted.

“Hey, Forest boy, don’t get clever with me—”

“Stop it!” said Jenna, stepping between Jo-Jo and Marcus. “She’s gone off with Beetle if you must know.”

“Beetle?” three voices chorused incredulously. “Jeez.” They sloped off disconsolately and resumed their snowball fight, but with a lot more edge.

A succession of good-byes followed until Jenna was left alone with Septimus and Rose.

“Hey, Jen, you okay?” asked Septimus.

“Fine, thanks.”

“It was great, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” said Jenna. “I mean, yes, really great.”

“Time we went, Jen,” said Septimus. “Got to get Rose back before her pass expires.”

Jenna had an idea. “If you hurry you can catch up with Beetle.”

Septimus grinned. “Maybe he doesn’t want catching up with, Jen.”

“Don’t be silly, Sep,” said Jenna snappily.

“Ah. Well, g’night, Jen,” said Septimus. “And thanks. Great party.”

“Thank you,” said Rose. “It was really lovely.”

Septimus gave Jenna a hug; then he and Rose wandered off, weaving their way through the sculptures. After following a well-trodden path past the giant frog, a large chicken, a rowboat, a huge crown, three fat bears, a large, rude Water Gnome and something that bore a remarkable resemblance to Marcia Overstrand with a pile of saucepans on her head—much to their amusement—they reached the Palace Gate. In the distance Septimus saw Beetle and Marissa walking arm in arm up Wizard Way. After a few moments’ thought, he took Rose’s arm and followed slowly, in no more hurry than Beetle was.

Jenna felt decidedly unsettled. She looked up at the Palace, which was blazing with light from the candles in the windows, and sighed. It looked beautifully welcoming, but she didn’t want to go to bed. Not just yet. She slipped into the entrance hall and took her thickest fur cloak from the coat cupboard under the stairs. Beside it hung her Witch cloak, which she grabbed and angrily scrunched up into a ball: that was going in the trash. She’d had enough of witches.

Witch cloak stuffed under her arm, Jenna took the path that led round the back of the Palace to the new kitchens where the trash was. As she bundled the cloak into the bonfire bin something brushed against her dress. Jenna looked down. “Binkie!”

Maizie Smalls’s cat stared balefully up at Jenna. Jenna felt a little spooked—Binkie was not the kind of cat you wanted to meet alone at night. If it had been any other lost cat she would have picked it up and taken it into the warmth of the Palace, but there was no way she was going to touch Binkie. Jenna watched the cat stalk off toward the thicket of trees that bordered the Palace gardens. A feeling of unease made Jenna reach into the bonfire bin and take her Witch cloak out again. She threw it over her red fur cloak and set off toward the river—somehow, she didn’t know why, she felt protected by her Witch cloak.

There was a disused jetty just past Spit Fyre’s dragon field where Jenna liked to sit and think, and right now that was where she wanted to be. As she cut across the Palace lawns, Jenna glanced over to the thicket of trees that bordered the Palace grounds. She shivered, and felt glad of her Witch cloak surrounding her like a shifting shadow.

Deep in the darkness of the thicket, Binkie, chief of the Forest Cats and new familiar to Morwenna Mould, the Wendron Witch Mother, was purring loudly. Morwenna stroked the cat and crooned, “Well done, my little spy. Well done.” She eased her bulk off a fallen log and moved silently out of the trees. Morwenna was determined that this time, the Princess would not get away, unlike a few years back, in the Forest.

All Witch Covens crave a true Princess—it gives them great power among other Covens—and Morwenna knew that this was her last chance. Soon enough Jenna would no longer be a Princess and then the Wendron Witches would have to wait for Jenna’s daughter. The Witch Mother smiled grimly. The Wendrons would get in fast next time—CradleSnatching was so much easier. If only she hadn’t once made a promise to that lovely young Wizard, Silas Heap, they would have CradleSnatched this one fourteen years ago. How different things would have been.