They came for the coven first, which was a tactical error.
Down out of the green murk they dropped, three of them, each one carrying a brain in a jar — and let the record show the brains were doing the driving. You could see them through the glass, pulsing away, very pleased with themselves.
"Superior intellect," the lead jar announced over some kind of speaker. "Surrender your primitive—"
Old Mother Bellwether hit it with a broom.
Not a spell. A broom. Straight across the dome, and that jar went sideways into a headstone with a noise like a dropped punchbowl, and the whole graveyard stood up to watch.
Turns out a brain in a jar is mostly jar.
The abbey bell rang eleven. The coven got back to what it had been doing.
