A witch's familiar leaves one black hair on every threshold its witch means to cross that day, and the hair lies pointing at the door like a needle that has made up its mind. This morning at Embrey Crag there is one on Pernel Wix's step, nine inches long and stiff as fence wire, aimed at her kitchen. Nobody on the Crag touches these with bare fingers. A household that finds one wets a hazel spoon at the pump, slides it under the hair and says "passing through" aloud before lifting. Pernel says a bare finger makes the hair swing around and point back at the finger.
Pernel is a needle-setter, one of four on the Crag, and the trade exists only because of that hair. By eight she has walked the lane toward Bascombe Fen with her spoon and a tin lined in wool, collecting from eleven steps. At her bench she threads each hair through a disc of cork and floats it in a saucer of rainwater, where it turns a few times and settles. A settled needle points at the witch, not at north. Drovers and carters buy them for a loaf apiece and keep the point behind them after dusk. Pernel sets perhaps thirty a day and throws out any that wobble.
The familiar itself appears twice in her day. At noon it is on the pump wall: a black cat, then another half cat's length of black, too long to be one animal. Its tail ends in a pewter thimble that looks grown on, not worn. The eyes do not agree. The amber one follows the saucers on her bench while the green one holds the lane, and neither blinks. She sorts corks. When she looks up the wall is empty and the wool in her tin has a fresh hair in it. It comes again at dusk, crossing the lane in a slow glide with its belly nearly on the ground, and stops once to look in through her window with both eyes on her this time.
On my first visit every saucer on the Crag swung to the gray cottage on the north shoulder. This season they swing east, to the drained mill at Bascombe Fen, and the carters have changed their autumn roads to match. I leave by the Fen road as the lamps come on. Every gatepost I pass has a single black hair laid across the top, pointing the way I am going.
- Classification
- Bound spirit-cat, a witch's companion
- Habitat
- Thresholds, hearths and lanes near a witch
- Danger
- Low
- Size
- a cat's body stretched to 3 ft
- Activity
- Nocturnal
- Realm
- Hedgerow villages and fen roads
- Binomial
- Umbrafelis liminaris
- Diet
- Milk, moths and spilled candle tallow
- Temperament
- Watchful, aloof, loyal to one witch








