Chapter 11
Ebony almost got to work on time the following day. That is, she was only late by an hour-and-a-half. Due to her previous experiences on the bus, she opted to take a cab instead.
A mistake.
Once again, she woke late and threw on whatever her hands could snatch from her wardrobe. Which left her standing in a pair of brilliant white pants and a top that looked like it was made out of rubber straws – making it either a blouse for wild dancers in peculiar clubs, or something to clean the floor with.
She grabbed shoes, only to find her trusty, fake crocodile-skin granny-loafers. She smiled to herself as she crammed them on her feet.
As she called the cab, she felt proud she’d get to work on time. Thirty minutes later, when the cab finally rolled up to the curb, she was spitting sparks. She waited there the whole time, ignoring the stares from passing pedestrians. Unlike the creepy, frankly rude looks she’d received yesterday, today Ebony had apparently crossed over the threshold of funny, to weirdo. One gruff-looking bin man with a limp cigarette hanging out of his mouth gave her such a confused but intrigued look, he obviously thought her top was a spaghetti monster from Mars.
Ebony shook her head. Tonight she was definitely going to get into her wardrobe and see what was going on. Where had all her real clothes gone? And where were all these hideous, peculiar, downright bizarre clothes coming from?
When the cab finally rolled up, she piled in, a stiff smile on her lips.
The cab driver was chewing gum, very pungent gum. He gassed Ebony as he chuckled in her face. “Sorry, love,” he said with a voice that was half a laugh, half a snarl, “Traffic’s bad. Been an accident, or somfin.” He gave another chuckle, as if accidents or somfins were commonly funny things. “So, where you off to?”
Ebony, who’d finally remembered to take her bag, clutched it like a riot shield. “The police station,” she said, fingers digging into the red and yellow leather like someone holding onto a rope in a blizzard. If her outfit was wild today, then her bag was more so. Once again, she wasn’t sure where it had come from. She didn’t remember buying it, or laughing at the person who gave it to her. The bag was less of a bag and more of a gag. It was big – as if Ebony was intending to carry around the kitchen sink, tissues, her wallet, and a buffet for thirty. It was also louder than a barrel full of monkeys. The exact hues of the yellow and red leather clashed so much they might as well have been titans in an epic battle for Earth.
“Police station?” His face scrunched up so tightly it seemed as if his nose was a black hole sucking the rest of his features in with a slurp.
“Yes, I work there.”
The man shot Ebony a look that said more, and in a more eloquent way than the man was capable of phrasing. His eyes narrowed, pressing in at the sides as if he was in pain. His bottom teeth pressed over his yellowed lips, and his cheeks twitched like a rat with a knot in its tail.
She turned to the front, wondering if she could get out of the cab. She didn’t want to be stuck with this man for the ten minutes it would take to get to work. Before she could mutter a sorry and leave, the cab drew out from the curb with a splutter of its engine.
She chewed her lips, clutching her bag to release the tension building in her hands.
You have combat skills, her rational brain tried to convince her. Your father taught you everything you need to know about self-defense.
Yes, her emotional mind conceded with a shudder, but that was no comfort at all. While academically she knew how to flip a man – how much of the practicality of that relied on magic? Her senses, her intuitions, her gut feelings – how many of them had been regulated, modulated, and enhanced by magic?
“Where’s your uniform, love?” The driver looked over at her, taking his eyes off the road without apparently caring about the circumstances.
Ebony wanted to ignore him. But with only the two of them in the cab, she could hardly play deaf. “Oh, I don’t have one, I’m not an officer…” she trailed off, immediately cursing her honesty. She wanted to add that she was, however, a witch, or would be again in a month. If the man tried anything, she’d hex him so bad his teeth would fall out over his steering wheel.
“What are you then, love?” The way he said love was reminiscent of a dog growling at intruders.
She started to rub her bracelets. “I’m a… secretary.” It was far from the truth, but ironically, the closest description she could give for her current job.
“Well,” the man said with a disgusting leer erupting over his face like a rash, “That’s okay then.”
No, Ebony told herself, it really, really wasn’t. “How long until we get there?”
The man didn’t answer straight away, just found some part of his mouth to chew on – as if he were some hideous zombie digesting itself. “Traffic’s pretty bad.”
“Oh.”
At least the traffic was actually bad. It wasn’t like the guy had driven up to a wall and announced he couldn’t go on because there was something blocking the path. They were, in all honesty, in a traffic jam.
Ebony receded into her seat, the feel of her rubber top against her hands sending shivers down her spine. Maybe it was her and not the situation at all. Her mother had constantly accused Ebony of overreacting.
Her gaze jumped to the traffic ahead. There’d obviously been an accident, as the cars ahead were changing lanes whenever they could. Between the lanes of cars, she could make out two cars turned around in the street, as if they were gates for the rest of the traffic. She couldn’t see the flashing lights of ambulances or fire trucks, so hopefully whatever had happened hadn’t been too serious.
“You’ll be getting to work late, love,” his voice growled again, sounding more and more like a frightful dog at a gate. “Might be another half-hour at this rate.” He ended with a hiccup of a laugh.
Ebony twisted in her seat so he couldn’t see her expression. Oh lord, could she actually spend the next half-hour in a car with this man? She might not have magic any more, and her usual intuitions were shot to pieces while these bracelets were on – but something told her she didn’t want to be in this car that long.
At the same time, indecision reigned. It was a curious feeling – being pulled between the two poles of indistinct intuition and cold rationality. Her logical mind told her there was nothing to worry about, while her feelings tumbled around like a moth being shaken in a bottle. Rather than make a decision to stay, or to go, she just sat there.
With a weird detachment, Ebony suddenly remembered a lesson her father had once taught her. There were three physiological responses to fear: fight, flight, and immobility. A bird that has been taken by a cat, but not yet killed, will lie still and stiff to appear dead. “Humans do it too,” her father had said, one hand on her hair as he’d walked her home from a hard day at school. “And not just around proper trauma,” he’d added as he’d piled her into the car. “Sometimes they just think themselves into a corner, like a trapped animal, and then give up.”
That was what was happening now, she realized with a jolt. Here she was, in a car that was hardly moving, with every right to get out if she wanted to. There was nothing stopping her. The only thing preventing her from leaving was this new-found distrust of her feelings.
“In that case,” Ebony took a sudden breath, pulling her purse from her bag and checking the amount due on the electronic display above the dashboard. She pulled out the exact amount and handed it to the man quickly. “I’ll just get out here then.”
“What?” he spluttered.
“I’ll walk.” Ebony turned around, checking the traffic before she opened the door. But with the traffic still in gridlock, she’d be safe for now. “Thank you,” she said automatically as she pulled herself from the seat and finally left the situation.
The man muttered something as she left, but she chose to block him out, concentrating instead on crossing the four lanes of traffic to get to the sidewalk. As she did, a peculiar sense passed
over her. It felt like accomplishment, but came with an edge. It was more than just getting top marks in a quiz, or succeeding at tracking down the right criminal for the right case.
It felt like Ebony had just learned something.
The wind picked up as she mounted the curb, her hair fluttering over one shoulder. She still might have no idea how humans lived in their hazy mix of feelings, reason, doubt, and uncertainty – but at least she’d just had a breakthrough. As pathetic as it sounded, Ebony had just made a decision.
“Hey, Ebony?” someone called from behind her.
For a brief moment, she feared it was the cab driver coming to drag her back to his creepy car of awkwardness, but the voices were a world apart. While the cab driver sounded like rusted metal cracking under pressure, this voice sounded like—
She turned, a smile on her lips.
Nate walked up to her, head on the side. “Shouldn’t you be at work by now?” He blinked, taking in her whole outfit. “Or out clubbing with the cleaning ladies?”
“I just got out of a cab. The guy was really creepy,” she said honestly. In fact, it might have been one of the most honest and direct things she’d ever said to Nate.
Nate nodded smoothly. “Okay, that’s a good excuse. You alright?”
Ebony released the iron-fisted grip on her bag. “Getting better. But now I have to walk to the police department.” She made a show of turning around to look up and down both directions of the street. “But I don’t actually know where it is.”
Nate cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms. The humor was there, but the sarcasm wasn’t, yet. “You’ve lived here your whole life, right?”
“Not my whole life, but close enough.”
“I’ve only been here a month and a bit, and apparently I already know the city better than you do.” He shrugged, smiling. “I call that a win.”
“It’s a fairly mild win.”
“But every win is a win.” He spread his arms trying to make his point. “And I have a car.”
“Those statements are unrelated.” She found herself smiling again.
“True, but I can use my car and my apparently excellent knowledge of the streets of Vale to successfully transport us from this street corner to our intended destination.”
“Are you offering to give me a lift?” She cocked her head to the side. “Because I know how you drive, Detective, and I’d really like to get there before the end of the day.”
He crossed his arms again. “Ever heard the saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
“Is that because they have bad breath?”
Nate shook his head. “You really know how to lay on the charm.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and motioned her down the street.
She became lost in her thoughts as they walked together.
“You’re doing it again,” Nate said suddenly.
“What?” She looked across at him, pulling her hair behind her ears.
“You’re spacing out.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Just thinking.”
“Right.”
Right? What did that mean? That spacing out was the right thing to do, considering the circumstances?
He laughed. “And again, you are spacing out.”
“I am not spacing out. I’ll have you know that I am quite in control.”
“Right.” This time there was no mistaking the sarcasm. Nate clearly meant wrong, not right at all.
“Where’s your car, anyway? I have to get to work at some point.” She stretched her neck to the side. “Someone’s got to leaf through those files.”
“While the rest of us do the real police work,” he added, motioning her over to his car and opening the door for her.
“I thought you were obsessed with history and getting things right?” She sat down, buckling herself in before whipping her long hair over one shoulder so it didn’t get messed up behind her. “Well there’s a lot of history up in those files and a lot of wrong too. There’s a whole wall of shelves devoted to cold cases spanning the last 90 years – and some going back even further. I would have thought, for a square like you, it would be a wonderland.”
“A square? Did you just hop a time machine from the ‘90s? I haven’t heard that word in years.” He started the engine, carefully checking around before he pulled away from the curb.
“You obviously don’t hang out with geometry students then, or builders, or framers.”
Nate paused, either paying attention to the traffic, or to the dig. “No, I avoid them all.”
“You’re weird, Detective, very strange.” She repositioned herself in her seat, feeling far more comfortable in Nate’s car than she had in the car of the super-creepy cab driver.
“Is that your opinion as a witch, or as an ordinary person?”
Ebony didn’t answer.
“What’s it like, anyway?” Nate broke the silence, interest subtle, but there. “How are you adjusting?”
“Oh, alcohol, drugs – the usual.”
“Hmm, lucky I’m taking you to the police station then. But, seriously?”
“Seriously? Look, do you actually care?”
Nate replied with silence.
“Fine. It’s hard – harder than it should be.”
“You mean you’re finally learning to cut us humans some slack?”
“I don’t know.” Ebony sighed, more confusion swilling around her like poison in once clear water. “It’s all just so hard.”
“I don’t get it.” Somehow Nate was paying equal attention to Ebony and to the road – without either task subtracting from the other. There was something very odd about the way he managed to streamline tasks like that. How he took everything in his stride like an accomplished master, or an unwavering knight. “Is it hard being a human, or hard not being a witch?”
Ebony sighed. He was asking questions again, and she knew from previous experience that Detective Nate never let up. “Okay, look at it like this. All my life I’ve known what I’m meant to be – a witch. And all my life I’ve known how to secure that goal – through magic. Now, suddenly, I’m not a witch, and I don’t have any magic. I don’t know what to be, and I don’t know what to do. I’m lost. And it’s hard.” The words settled into the car like sediment settling into water. Ebony was starting to feel itchy all over as it dawned on her just how uncomfortably honest this conversation was becoming.
Nate was paying attention to the traffic, or at least she hoped he was. She didn’t want his keen concentration directed at her fumbling admissions instead.
“Right.”
“It doesn’t matter though, because it will only be like this for another couple of weeks. Then everything will return back to normal,” Ebony said quietly, possibly more for her own benefit than Nate’s.
“I don’t know, a lot of things can change in a short time.” He angled his head away, checking his driver’s side mirror.
“Well, I guess. But I won’t change.” She swallowed, “I’m a witch….”
“Right.”
Ebony curled her toes. She wanted to reach around, grab his shoulders, and shake him. What was he trying to say?!
“I’m curious though,” he said as he turned down the street that housed the police station, “Why did they take away your magic in the first place? Seems like a bizarre kind of punishment, especially considering the crime was pretty minor.”
She pressed her lips together. She’d gone over this, surely. She was starting to regret getting in the car with Mr Curious Questions. “Because that was the punishment they had determined.”
“You haven’t explained anything. Why would they take away your magic – why not slap you with a fine, or make you do some time? If it’s anything like ordinary police work, it’s like they’ve impounded your car for doing one kilometer over the limit.”
“Impounded my car for speeding,” she repeated, voice brimming with disbelief. “It’s nothing like that. There simply isn’t a connection.”
“Oka
y, so you are saying they randomly assigned you a punishment, greatly disproportionate to the crime?”
“No, I’m not saying that either.” Ebony was suddenly aware that she could hear her heart beating in her ears. “The Coven is comprised of the wisest, most powerful witches. If they make a decision, there’s usually a very good reason for it.”
“Okay, so then, taking away your magic had a reason, right? Something more than punishment?”
She felt like she was a cow being led around by a farmer, chain tugging at her nose every time she didn’t walk fast enough. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess so.” She had a sudden vision of her mother, and swallowed hard. Her mother had never done anything on a whim. Nor had she ever done anything for just the sake of the rules. Every witch knew the rules were there only to modulate power – never to direct it. A witch couldn’t let herself become the tool of anything or anyone, and especially not a set of laws.
That’s how you created your destiny. By following the rules as a guide, like the lane lines on a road, but never as a route.
“So what do you think their reason was? I mean, I’ve been talking to Chalcedony, and it seems the Coven rarely give out such punishments, let alone for—”
Her mind suddenly became hazy. It was stuck, like a scratched record, on three little words: talking to Chalcedony.
Ebony tried to steady herself, not wanting to be drawn into the hurricane of unpleasant memories associated with her former best-friend. What with everything else going on in her life, she had relegated Chalcedony to a corner. Now she was back, swanning around in her fancy high-heels and designer skirts.
“Ebony? What do you think?” Nate asked, voice more insistent as he pulled into a car-park at the base of the police station. He turned to look at her and rolled his eyes. “Spaced out again? You really are hitting those drugs hard.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with keen analysis.
“Nope,” she said levelly, opening the door quickly.
“Right.”
Ebony wanted to scream, but settled for closing the door too hard.
Nate appeared amused and opened the door, leaning comfortably against the frame as he looked over at her. “So, what do you think?”
“About what?”
He shook his head. “About the fact the Coven rarely hand out punishments like this, let alone for the tiny little crime you supposedly committed?”
She frowned, finally listening to what he’d just said. She’d gone over and over this in her own mind, and had only managed to come up with one answer. “The ways of the Coven are mysterious.”
“That’s a convincing answer, thanks for that, really makes things clearer. Seriously though, don’t you think there’s something very strange about the way you were punished and the timing too?”
She felt herself spacing out again. She thought about the Coven, the crypt, and Chalcedony. She thought about the past several weeks and the pain of having to rebuild herself anew. If she had to admit it, she would – yes, there was something strange about how she’d been punished. And yes, there was something strange about when she’d been punished – smack bang in the middle of the Month of Rites. It was almost as if someone was setting her up for magical-rewriting….
“Are you serious?” Nate’s voice was low and brimming with disbelief. “I can’t believe it. You just spaced, again. What are you even thinking about?”
“Ha?” Ebony snapped back to reality.
“I’ve mentioned Chalcedony twice now. Both times it sent you off on a little bit of a vacant tizz. I call that a pattern. So, what’s the deal between you two? Not to try and drive a wedge between you, but you don’t seem like friends.”
She just wanted to get to work, as strange as it sounded, and retreat to her new castle of files and windows. She’d have to make it past the Questioning Knight first. “You really want to know? We used to be good friends – best friends.”
“What happened?”
“She stole my toy.”
Nate tried not to laugh, but his bottom lip wobbled. “She stole your toy. How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“Right…. What kind of toy was it?”
“It was a plastic figurine.” Ebony took several steps away from the car, trying to signal to Nate that the conversation had run its natural course.
He closed the car door, automatically flattening his tie. “A plastic Figurine. You, a witch, ended a friendship with another witch, over a plastic toy.”
“It wasn’t over the plastic toy,” Ebony corrected, her voice terse. “It was over the fact she stole it.”
Nate’s expression was priceless – a mixture of confusion and amusement that made his usually strong chin dimple. “Right. What did this plastic toy look like? I mean, was it a limited edition Darth Vader or Barbie?”
“It was a little plastic knight,” she said with a vague smile. She’d loved that knight, she really had.
A very peculiar expression crossed Nate’s face. But it was gone quickly, and in its place came derision. “You ended a friendship over a plastic knight… okay. I don’t get witches.”
“No,” Ebony said, turning on her heel, deciding the conversation – or interrogation – wasn’t going to end until she ended it herself. “You don’t understand women, there’s a difference.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Are you sure about that?”
Before Ebony could ask what that meant, he turned, waved a brief goodbye over his shoulder, and walked off.
She stood there, watching his departing form with confusion, annoyance, and frustration.
Argh! What an odd man! And what an odd morning. This no-magic thing was proving to be way more trouble than it was worth. It was making the once proud, beautiful, elegant, sassy, and in-control Ebony, a clumsy, spacey, eccentric, emotional wreck.
Three more weeks of this, and she’d be a completely different person.
Feeling sick at the very thought of it, Ebony Bell walked into the station, arriving for her second day of work later and more confused than ever.
Witch's Bell Book One Page 11
