“Welcome to Macbeth’s..."

I go to the apple tree where the bishop hung the witch...

The witches began to fly, brooms laden with heavy saddlebags...

“Now you’re a swan!” the witch laughs. “The princess will never—”...

To know their order is to fly on dreams in the night...

Reanimated dead fling themselves in a frenzy...

“Trouble?” he asked...

The huge man watched Lettie part dark curls and show a scar on her skull...