Spring has come to the northern forest. The evening wind blows cold as the breath of the frost giants. Just overhead, there is a sound like the rushing of crows' wings. Can it be a coven of witches has flown over these woods? On any other night, you would probably swear that there was no such thing as a witch--at least, not the kind that streaks through the sky on a broomstick with guttering taper and billowing cloak. But this is no ordinary...