On the train she drew circles in her notebook and pondered her great-grandmother’s stories. She’d loved those fantastical tales of people transforming into animals and balls of fire flying through the night sky, but they always took place in what was to her an alien world. Long ago, far up the mountains. She’d never thought you could have a modern witch story. It was as if the glass and steel of office buildings repelled them. But in her backpack there was the talisman, and between her hands the notebook with her idle circles. Iron and glass might not be enough.
