Was there ever a witch with less enthusiasm for Halloween? Margot wondered, and frowned at her reflection. Yes, it was traditional that all the elders go to the dance, but she didn’t quite see the point. It wasn’t as if it were a McAllister function, not really; the dance was put on as a fundraiser by the volunteer fire department, about half of whom were civilians. But she’d given up trying to get out of it.
She smoothed her long skirt, then reached up to adjust the golden circlet she wore on her head. If she had to go to this thing, then she’d go looking dignified, which was why for the past few years she’d dressed up as Eleanor of Aquitaine, in a flowing medieval gown with a jeweled belt and a crown and veil, her long dark hair lying loose over her shoulders. All right, apparently Elea
