Mistletoe was third-rate at possession and right now the mouse she had possessed was about to be eaten by a hawk.
    To most witches this would be no problem; they would just recede to the back of the skull, pull back and with less than a shake of a tail (as it were) be back in their own body. But Mistletoe had never meant to be a witch. It certainly wasn't part of the family name - her father was a shoemaker by trade and her mother a seamstress. In fact both of them had been simply appalled when they found out their daughter was to be a witch. "No daughter of mine is going to be a Dilly Crone" her father had roared at her in his brisk Yorkshire accent.
    "Dilly Crone" was the name her father had always given to witches and the word stunk of loathing and disgust. For in the small and rural village of Ken-Tire witches were not very popular. In fact the Chief Witch of the local coven, Lady Gwenervere, had been harnessed to a hot air balloon and let off over Mount Killmore just seven months ago and tensions in the village were still high. Mistletoe had only become a witch because her boyfriend found that sort of thing attractive. She was young and foolish, and he a prosperous iron monger but now he was off in the city and she stuck in the most hated of professions - Royal Witch Gardener. The Royal Castle always hired witches as gardeners because, as everyone knows, witches are renowned for their pumpkin expertise - and besides, a little magic does the plants some good now and again!
     Mistletoe only knew three spells as of yet and not one of them was to do with hoeing, raking, watering, trimming or anything else to do with gardening. One of the spells she knew, however, was possession and today she had tried it out on a mouse. Small creature - very low level of consciousness - not hard to possess. And possess it she had. She had quite enjoyed snuffling round the gardens at the back of her parents' cottage; they smelled fresh and damp although sometimes nectar got stuck in one's fur and made you itch. She had just been inspecting a particularly interesting acorn when, with much chaos and a-swooping, she had been snatched into the air and flung from the ground.
     Immediately she was disorientated; her tail flapping feebly in the wind like a loose blade of grass. Her little whiskers trembled as a shiver roared up her spine. She kept on trying to force her mind to the back of the skull. Back BACK! But it wasn't working and all the while the hawk soared higher and higher above the trees.
     She had to come up with a new plan. She thought back to her days at Witch College, in the idyllic town of Humgermire. Her teacher had always known her to be a half baked witch. Her heart was in the right place, but it just was not what she was meant to do. Dr Zhelnev had studied at Gintyford Witch University, and had a doctorate in 'Alternative Witching'. This was a fancy name for quick fixes for half baked witches; witches like Mistletoe.
      Although Mistletoe had something of a knack for possession, she could never retreat. This led to a near-fatal disaster in Aquatics class, when she possessed a trout in the aquarium, and another student cast a materialization spell, and a shark appeared in the tank with her. She tried to force her mind to the back of the skull, screaming 'Back!' to herself, over and over, but to no avail. She was nearly devoured by the shark before the Aquatics teacher, Mrs. Albertross, cast a disappearing spell on the shark.
      Mistletoe was referred to Dr Zhelnev for counseling. She explained her problem, but unfortunately there was nothing that he could do directly. However, the quick fix for this problem was transference. This meant that, if she got in a situation like this again, she should not try to retreat, but instead possess another animal that was in no danger. Transfer from the trout to the shark. From the mouse to the hawk.
      Her days at Humgermire had at last paid off! With all her concentration, she pushed her mind from the brain of the lowly mouse to that of the majestic hawk, and found herself soaring through the sky! She enjoyed the feeling of freedom that came with this new host, and weaved and tore the air apart, the wind rustling her feathers. Suddenly, she remembered how she felt as the mouse; petrified, helpless, trapped. She swooped back down to the gardens of the Royal Castle and dropped the mouse from a safe height, and perched on a nearby branch. She surveyed the grounds, and the turrets of the castle. In each, she saw a face; in one, her disapproving, disappointed parents, frowning at her; in the next, the faces of the Ken-Tire village elders, persecuting Lady Gwenervere as a heathen witch, when all she had done was good; in another, that of her ex-boyfriend, presenting PowerPoint presentations to the board of executives in some cushy nine-to-five office job, a smug know-it-all grin contorting and harking back to foolish mistakes made in her early life. In each turret, she saw something she did not want to see any more, and with each new turret, she found more and more reason to do what she had wanted to from the moment she started this job. She watched the mouse scurry under the perimeter walls of the Royal Castle. She looked over to her body; stood with its fingers on its temples and its eyes closed, beautiful, but empty. She realized, it wasn't hers any more. This life wasn't hers any more. Mistletoe flew off, not once looking back.