The Enchanted Writes Book One

by Odette C. Bell

  Chapter Five

  It had taken Henrietta maybe two hours to pull herself together that morning. In fact, it had only been an angry call from her boss that had made Henrietta walk out of her room and face the day.

  She couldn't stop mumbling to herself.

  “You're mad, you must be mad,” she told herself as she stared at the hairpin she had propped up in her bath. At first she'd placed the hairpin on her kitchen table, but within minutes the damn wood had started to singe. So after an age of experimenting, she had settled on the thick ceramic of the bath, which was about the most fireproof thing she had in the house.

  Now she was staring at a sodding hairpin in her bath as her arms were folded up over her knees.

  Maria had given her an ultimatum. Unless Henrietta got off her butt and got into work before noon, Henrietta would be out of a job. She did not want to be unemployed again. Considering her infamous run of bad luck, few people would offer her a job. In fact, Maria had been the only person willing to employ her. So it would be a big deal if the diminutive Italian woman fired Henrietta.

  But, seriously, she had transformed into a Witch Hunter last night and had managed to produce magic by writing it in the air with a wand.

  At first, after she'd woken that morning, Henrietta had been inclined to write the whole thing off as a terrible dream. Then she had tried it again. In an attempt to prove to herself that it was an ordinary hairpin, Henrietta had brought it up and written the words Witch Hunter. The whole transformation had occurred again, this time trashing her kitchen in the process.

  It had been the conclusive evidence Henrietta could not turn from. The hairpin was magical, and so was she apparently. Unless she got off her butt, dressed, and got down to Sizzle Cafe in the next 45 minutes though, she would be an unemployed, underfed Witch Hunter.

  So Henrietta pulled on her clothes, but only after standing for a full 10 minutes in the mirror telling herself that she could get through the day, that she could be normal, and that nothing was going to happen.

  Before she had run out the door and down the street, Henrietta had glanced back at the hairpin. She didn't like the idea of keeping it there in her bath; for all she knew when she came home it could have burnt her house down. Plus... she had to admit she didn't like the idea of leaving it full stop. She seemed to have the strangest of connections to that hairpin, and it gave her such reassurance to pick it up and hold it in her hand.

  So Henrietta had done the only thing she could think of, and had twisted her hair into a bun, cramming the hairpin through it like a hairpiece. Then she ran to work.

  Unlike her display last night, when she’d been fully capable of jumping onto buildings in a single bound, Henrietta lost her grace that morning, and was back to being entirely uncoordinated. As she ran along, she collected the side of a trash-can, bruising her shin something horrible. She also banged her head on a sign, leaving a nasty bruise on her forehead. But she made it to the cafe, and in time for the lunch-hour rush.

  Maria was there waiting for her in the doorway, and she promised Henrietta that they would have a good chat after work.

  It was a surreal experience picking up her apron, tying it around her middle, and getting behind the counter.

  It was a busy day, and the cafe was full. From firemen to policemen, to people who had wandered in off the street to get out of the sunshine – Sizzle Cafe was always popular.

  While Henrietta was usually fantastic with customers, and could on any ordinary day chat until the cows came home, she was deathly silent. She offered up bare smiles whenever anyone said hello, and when she wasn't behind the coffee machine, she found herself staring off out of the plate-glass windows, a preoccupied look on her face.

  She kept checking her hair too, bringing her fingers up until they brushed over the hairpin.

  “What did you get up to last night?”

  Henrietta turned to see Patrick Black walking up to the counter and sitting up on one of the tall stools.

  Her heart started to beat wildly and her mouth was dry.

  “Sorry?” her voice shook.

  A single thought was running through her head: he knows.

  Patrick gave a soft chuckle, then let his eyebrows clamp over his eyes as he nodded towards her. He brought a hand up and tapped his head. “The bruise over your eye.”

  She brought her fingers up, pressed them into her skin, and then winced. She also let her shoulders deflate, and she let out a relieved sigh. “I ran into a sign,” she admitted.

  Jimmy Field appeared at Patrick's side, and he gave a low chuckle as he did.

  Jimmy and Patrick were good friends. Despite the fact that the both of them vied for the affections of Marcia Gosling, that didn't stop them from hanging out. Henrietta had no idea how that worked, but figured it had something to do with Marcia's fantastic good luck. Her efforts to sleep her way around town never resulted in any hatred or ill feeling towards her, and the mere fact that two men could remain friends while still attempting to woo her was conclusive evidence that Marcia had no ordinary human level of luck.

  “Ran into a sign, you know, that sounds like you, Henrietta,” Jimmy pointed out, a beautiful smile pushing up his cheeks.

  On any other day, she might have paused and ogled the two. Patrick and Jimmy would easily be the hottest men in town, and they were so far out of her league that it wasn't funny.

  Henrietta was in no mood to stare at their loveliness today. Instead she kind of gave them a dead-eyed look and went back to wiping down the counter.

  Jimmy's chuckle stopped, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Jimmy and Patrick exchange a look. A mildly worried look.

  “Are you all right, Henrietta?” Patrick asked, a note of professionalism running through his voice.

  Henrietta didn't answer him. She kept wiping at a non-existent spot on the counter, putting her elbow into it, even though there was no mark there to be cleaned off. If she put all her attention into cleaning or working, she could keep her mind off what had happened last night.

  A witch. An actual witch. Magic, wands, spells, and a man in a ridiculous leather jacket. Not to mention her own costume....

  “Henrietta,” Patrick's voice was louder, and it forced her to look up and offer him a quick blink.

  The man looked clearly concerned, and so did Jimmy. The calm, friendly edge was gone from their countenances.

  “You should have taken the day off,” Jimmy nodded at her, a frown forming on his lips. “Considering what happened yesterday—”

  Henrietta looked up at him sharply.

  “With the fire,” he continued.

  Her shoulders deflated and she looked to the side, blinking, bringing her hand up and touching her hairpin.

  “Why don't you head home?” Patrick suggested.

  The two of them were so obviously concerned, and somehow it served to make them all the more attractive. There was something about fantastically handsome burly men in uniform looking out for you that had to make any girl swoon.

  Henrietta was in no mood to swoon, and she also couldn't afford to take the day off.

  “I'm sure Maria will understand,” Patrick said as he got off his stool, “it's inappropriate to have you come back to work so soon after the incident.”

  Maria would not understand. Maria was a ball breaker. Maria was one hell of a woman and believed in her own special kind of discipline. Short of an actual letter from a doctor or a lawyer, there was no way she was going to let Henrietta head home today. Maria was fully aware she’d suffered smoke inhalation yesterday, but had been given the all clear from the doctor. Maria was also aware that Henrietta was the cafe's best barista, and tended to bring in far more customers when she was at work.

  Henrietta shook her head and tried to give them both a reassuring smile, but she couldn't manage it. Though she spread her lips, it looked a hell of a lot more like a grimace. So she brought her hand up and gave a cough to hide it.

  “Are you okay?” Jimmy asked, n
o doubt thinking that her cough meant she was about to choke up her lungs, a delayed effect of the smoke inhalation and shock.

  She shook her head, then she nodded it.

  Patrick was already on his feet, and he was surveying the cafe looking for Maria. So Henrietta had to do something. Short of pulling out her hairpin and writing the words “sit back down in your seat, Patrick,” she had to find some way to stop him from heading over to Maria.

  So it was time to lie.

  There was only one kind of lie that would get both of these men to pay attention.

  “It's my sister,” Henrietta said through a hearty and faked sigh.

  Patrick turned around, and so did Jimmy. In fact, the two of them looked like dogs who had heard the dinner bell.

  “What about your sister?” Jimmy snapped.

  “Is Marcia okay?” Patrick followed up, sitting back down on his stool.

  Henrietta had to press her lips hard together not to smile. It was so bizarre that the mention of her sister's name could have such power over these two professional and capable men. It was like Marcia turned them into malleable putty, and even the mere mention of her name made the men melt on the spot.

  Henrietta blinked. “She is angry at me,” she said through faked glumness.

  Jimmy nodded. It was a knowing move. “Oh.”

  They had all been there before. All three of them had been on the receiving end of Marcia's legendary anger. That was the thing about being a full-time beautiful drama queen: Marcia could get dramatic easily, and woe betide if you were on the wrong end of that drama.

  “I was meant to go to her house and have dinner last night,” Henrietta noted, “she wasn't exactly happy when I couldn't make it,” she grimaced. To be fair, she was telling the complete truth here; Marcia was angry at her. But the prospect of her sister being mad at Henrietta was not what made her go staring off into space, and it was not what was making her so edgy today. Henrietta was not about to tell the town's finest police officer and fireman what exactly was up with her.

  “You could try flowers,” Patrick suggested helpfully.

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “You only try flowers with Marcia when she has been sick or she has demanded them.”

  The two men looked interested, as if they were ready to take notes.

  “Chocolates?” Jimmy offered. “She seems to always like chocolates.”

  “She likes the boxes,” Henrietta noted as she shook her head, “she won't eat them, in case she gets fat.”

  “I didn't know that,” Jimmy looked scandalized. “I've been buying her the finest boxes of chocolates I can afford.”

  She shrugged. “As soon as she gets them, she chucks out the chocolates and keeps the empty boxes. Apparently she likes the color and patterns.”

  Jimmy crumpled a bit.

  “Look, it's okay, thank you both for your help, but I'm sure I'll get through this.” Henrietta tried to blink prettily, but there was no point. She was never going to get the eye of either Patrick or Jimmy. They both viewed her as just Marcia's sister, and only an avenue to learn more about the blonde bombshell, and never as a romantic prospect in herself.

  Which made Henrietta glum. In another second she reminded herself she didn't have the time to be glum; she had found out she was some kind of magical Witch Hunter.

  Her lips crumpled together and she gave an odd and loud swallow.

  “You’ll be okay; Marcia will forget eventually,” Patrick tried.

  “Thank you.” With that, she went back to attempting to clean the already pristine bench. This time neither Patrick nor Jimmy looked on at her with great concern; they were clearly satisfied by her excuse.

  The day dragged on, and every single time Henrietta looked at the clock, it seemed as if the minute hands had frozen in place. A few times she brought her hand up to her hairpin, with the sudden idea of writing “make time go faster,” but of course she never did it. She desperately wanted to run home, lock the doors, pull the curtains, and whip out her hairpin. She wanted to write Witch Hunter in the air with it, to see what would happen.

  As the day drew on, and the normal drudgery of her life continued, she began to realize how fantastic last night had been. Could she be a magical Witch Hunter? Could such a thing exist? What of the strangely-dressed Brick? Could a man so unflappable, odd, and powerful be real?

  Henrietta had to wait until the end of her shift to get any answers.

  It was when she was walking home, and she flagged down a bus, that her normal and boring day took a turn.

  She usually didn't take the bus; she didn't live that far away from where she worked. Plus, she always liked the light exercise. But with ominous-looking rain clouds building on the horizon, she had decided the bus was her only option.

  She was in a hurry to get home. She was in a hurry to push all the furniture to the side in her bedroom and to take up her magical hairpin.

  When she sat on the bus, it took Henrietta a long while to realize that it was empty save for her and the driver. In fact, it wasn't until the bus took a turn in the wrong direction that she looked up.

  Had she gotten on the wrong bus? Wasn't it meant to turn left at Hickory Street?

  For a while she sat there, pressing herself closer to the glass so she could get a better view of where it was driving. Eventually she realized the bus was heading out of town. That's when she got to her feet and cleared her throat.

  Latching a hand onto a handrail so she didn't fall over considering how damn uncoordinated she was, Henrietta turned towards the driver. “Excuse me, but where are we headed? I think I may have gotten on the wrong bus.”

  The driver didn't reply.

  She took several steps forward, always ensuring to latch her hand over a rail so she didn't tumble over her own feet. “Excuse me, but where are we going? I think you better let me out; my stop is in the other direction.”

  The driver still didn't answer.

  It wasn't until she made her way up to the front of the bus that she figured out why. The driver was not wearing an ordinary cap. He wasn't even wearing an ordinary uniform. He was in a full leather jacket with a black leather Akubra.

  He turned around and offered her a grin.

  Brick.

  Henrietta gripped harder onto the rail she was leaning next to, and she spluttered. “What are you doing here? Are you a bus driver?” It was a stupid question. From her brief experience with this man, she could bet that he was not a sodding bus driver. He was a warrior monk, with ninja-quick, lightning-like skills, a magical crossbow, and a jacket that seemed capable of swallowing anything.

  Brick shook his head. “Don't worry, I used to drive the bus at the Warrior Monk Monastery; I have my bus license.”

  It was such an incongruous thing to say, but at least it made her snort. Then she realized she was on a bus with Brick the warrior monk, headed out of town. “Where are you taking me?” she hissed.

  “I know, I know, it's not night yet, and I did promise to come and get you at night. The only problem is, we have to get to work now. I have heard news of a witch on the outskirts of town, and she is playing around in the forest unfortunately.” Brick shook his head briefly.

  Henrietta clamped a hand on her face, crumpled her eyes closed, and shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Really? Do I have to explain that you are a warrior woman Witch Hunter again?” Brick turned around in his seat, not bothering to glance at the road, and giving her pause to wonder whether the man did have his bus license.

  Somehow he managed to keep the bus straight, and avoid every single cyclist and car in his path, while fixing Henrietta with a disgruntled look.

  “You don't need to repeat that,” she assured him after a moment. “But...” she trailed off. Maybe Brick did need to repeat the story again, because maybe she still couldn't believe it.

  Brick sighed and gave a croaking cough into his hand. “Excellent. You should take the time to transform.” He nodded tow
ards the back of the bus. “There isn't much room here, so you might bang into a couple of rails, so be as careful as you can.”

  She grimaced. “What are you talking about? I'm not going to change in a bus!”

  “Transform,” he corrected her. “Yes you are. I am going to put the pedal to the metal, or whatever that human phrase is, and we are going to head out to the witch before she can set the forest on fire with her fireballs.” Brick shook his head again. “It is appalling how some people have such poor hygiene around forest fires. You know,” he put up a finger, neither hand on the wheel, “all it takes is an errant spark to start a forest fire, and that forest fire can go on to destroy property and lives. This has been a dry summer,” he emphasized.

  She stared at him, her lips parting gently. He babbled, and it was worse than the trash that usually came out of her mouth.

  He turned to her again, taking both his hands off the wheel once more. “Go and transform,” he nodded towards the back of the bus, “don't forget—”

  “I have to grab destiny,” Henrietta finished his sentence. They probably weren't the exact words he was going to use, but it was the same sentiment.

  Brick nodded.

  He turned back, and he came good on his promise: the warrior monk slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, and the bus shot forward violently.

  She grabbed harder onto the rail to steady herself. Then she began to walk backwards towards the end of the bus.

  “What are you doing?” she asked herself as she pulled the hairpin from her hair. It was sharp, and she had to be careful not to stab her neck as she tugged at it. She held it for a moment and gave it a jolly good staring at. “Really, girl, what are you doing?”

  “You are off to fight the witches,” Brick called from the front of the bus, apparently possessing super hearing.

  She darted her gaze over to glare at him, and then she clutched the hairpin tighter.

  She closed her eyes.

  Only several days ago she’d been a normal sensible girl. An unlucky one, sure, but she certainly hadn't been involved in anything as bizarre and improbable as magic and witch hunting. Yet here she was in a speeding bus being driven by a warrior monk towards a witch.

  Henrietta let out a heavy breath, then, glancing to the side, she brought up the hairpin. “What happens if someone sees me transform? What happens if some kid captures it on his mobile phone?”

  “I'm driving too fast,” Brick said, a smile in his words. “Plus, I have made some adjustments to this bus to ensure our anonymity. Feel free to change now, Warrior Woman Henrietta. We will be at our destination shortly.”

  This is mad, she told herself.

  She brought the pin up and wrote two words: Witch Hunter.

  As had happened last night, she began to transform. The symbols appeared at her feet, the energy rushed up her body, and then she began to float. Within about 20 seconds, her costume had fully formed over her body and she landed on the floor, falling over promptly and hitting her butt with a thump. She rubbed at it, swore, and then pulled herself up. She looked down at her outfit and shook her head. She brought a hand up and felt her mask, even letting her fingers play over her tight, neat, sexy bun.

  Henrietta Gosling had become a Witch Hunter.

  Now it was time to hunt a witch.