Witch's Bell Book One

by Odette C. Bell

  Chapter 17

  Ebony stared at the file in her hands, not believing what she was seeing.

  It was empty – completely empty.

  She dropped it, reaching instead for the file behind it. She leafed through the contents, hoping somehow the crypt file had been misplaced. Far from it. Not only was the crypt file itself missing, every single file relating to magical crime that Ebony had written in the past several weeks was gone. All of them.

  She blinked hard, as if she’d just stuck her head in a wind-tunnel full of sand. She put down the files and stepped away from the shelf with a jerk of her body.

  This was all some kind of mistake, her rational brain tried to tell her, just someone playing a terrible joke.

  Ebony waited for laughter to erupt from behind her. It didn’t. So she let her mouth pull up into a bare, awful grin. It was the kind of smile a monkey showed in the face of danger – with curled lips, but not a single ounce of mirth or laughter.

  “Oh lord,” she said softly, wiping her eyes with a sweat-moistened palm. What was she meant to do now?

  This was a desperate situation, utterly desperate. So what should she do? Run through the police station and try to raise the alarm? Hope against hope there were still people out there who… who what? Who still liked her? Who remembered Ebony hadn’t stuffed up all that badly on the crypt case? Who remembered Cecilia Grimshore shouldn’t be hanging around with a man who’d once kidnapped her?

  She rubbed her face again, biting hard into her lips. Hold on girl, she told herself quickly. You’re doubting yourself again. And sure enough, she could feel the thick pall of self-doubt swirling around her. Though the effect of it was lessened up here amongst the files, Ebony could still feel this powerful desire to question everything she knew.

  She took a breath. She was missing something here. This situation was surely desperate, but making herself desperate was hardly going to fix it.

  She stared out the window at her own reflection and the cityscape and mountain-ranges beyond. You can do it, she told her reflection. Just find the only certainty in this uncertain scenario and latch onto it.

  The question was, what did she really know?

  She knew… that she was Ebony Bell. That she was a witch, though currently without magic. That she owned a magical second-hand bookstore called Harry—

  Ebony suddenly snapped a smile. “Harry!” she said out loud. “Of course.”

  Harry was her store, her charge. He also had the largest collection of history books this side of the Library of Alexandria. Yes, the magical files that could exonerate her might be missing, but Harry would still have his own source. Somewhere within that dusty shop she should be able to find a tome or two on the Grimshores.

  It was a start. But what to do about Frank, the Chief, and – quite possibly – the rest of the police station?

  How far did this go? How many people no longer believed Ebony’s account of what happened at the crypt?

  She sucked in a breath, quickly swallowing as she did.

  She had to find out, didn’t she? She couldn’t just stay up here, waiting to go home, while some unknown force changed her friends and rewrote her life.

  She had to at least go downstairs to face it.

  With a deep rattling sigh that sounded more like it belonged in a movie of the undead, Ebony turned to head downstairs.

  She hit the stairs with her heart rattling in her chest.

  As she descended, feeling more and more like a rabbit trotting into a den of foxes, she realized people were returning from the Praytors case. Uniformed officers were walking to-and-fro, mouths pressed thin and gaits even. The detectives were back, too – Ebony caught a glance of Ben’s back as he dashed off down the corridor.

  She tried to swallow a quick and painful sigh at the sight of Ben. What would he think? Would he have forgotten about the crypt case, too? Would he spy Ebony and wonder why on earth she was here? Would he march over to her and give her a jolly good, Ben-style, talk-down for her lack of diligence and ability in dealing with the crypt case?

  With a shake of her head, she realized there was only one way to find out. She set off after him, heart now louder than a military band in full patriotic swing.

  There was something to be said for no longer having magic. Every emotion and every sensation that Ebony felt now felt more intense. It came with a great deal more attached to it. No longer could she dismiss an unpleasant sensation with a quick spell. With her abilities and magic in check, all Ebony could do was watch and listen. She had to pay attention to what she was feeling and thinking.

  “Ben,” she called out, almost catching up to him. “Ben?”

  Her heart was in her mouth, trying to shake through her neck like a wild dog on a chain.

  Ben turned slowly. His expression was strange, confused. He appeared to look at Ebony like a man staring at an apparition in smoke. Was it really there or just his mind playing tricks on him? “Ebony,” he said slowly, “What are you doing here?”

  She swallowed again, and this time it hurt. “I came in today, you know, like I said I would last night?”

  “Last night?” Ben made a face that said the words last night sounded like alien mumbo jumbo.

  Before Ben could fully process the thought, the last person Ebony wanted to see walked up behind Ben: Chalcedony.

  Chalcedony appraised Ebony like a farmer might look at a fox that had broken into its chicken coop. “What are you doing here?” she asked abruptly, folding her sleek arms over her even sleeker shirt.

  Ebony’s skin started to prickle, but she had to press on, she told herself. Nothing about this situation was going to be easy from here on in. And if it wasn’t going to be easy, then Ebony had to make herself as hard and unyielding as stone. “I work here.”

  Chalcedony’s lips curled, but no one in their right mind would call it a smile. “You work here,” she repeated loudly and clearly.

  Other officers and detectives began to turn around, staring at Ebony with as much puzzlement as Ben was. It was as if Ebony was now the only square in a sea of circles, or the only bright red piece in a puzzle of grays and blacks. She didn’t quite fit.

  “Ebony Bell, you no longer work here,” Chalcedony’s voice grated like a rasp over metal. “In fact, you’re lucky you still can work, considering what you did.”

  “What I did,” Ebony repeated, using every single ounce of effort and will not to turn around and run home wailing about how unfair the world was.

  A couple of detectives gave bare laughs. Bare, unfriendly laughs that clearly told Ebony they were siding on the side of Chalcedony, the Grimshores, and all that was wrong with Vale.

  Ebony dug her fingernails deep into her palm and chewed on her lips. “I didn’t do much, Chalcedony,” she said. “In fact, taking the time to think about it, I really haven’t done much my whole life.”

  Chalcedony laughed harshly. “Now, if you are finished making an idiot of yourself, you had better leave this station before you’re thrown out.”

  Suddenly, paradoxically the last and only person Ebony wanted to see appeared.

  Nathan Wall walked toward her, his face as blank and expressionless as a slab of new marble.

  She watched his expression, her own melting into some kind of drooped-lip pout.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, as he drew up alongside Chalcedony. His expression was still as readable as a lost, ancient language.

  What he was thinking, Ebony had no idea. And what he thought of Ebony, well….

  “Oh nothing, darling.” Chalcedony turned and flashed him a smile.

  Ebony’s brow clunked down a full notch. Darling? Had Chalcedony just drawled out a little pet name for the detective? Or was that tone of familiarity—

  Chalcedony turned and patted Nate affectionately on the chest. “I’ve got this – you can go back to work.”

  Nate didn’t say anything, he didn’t move, and his expression stayed the same. In fact, Nate looked exactly li
ke Nate. He didn’t have that same tinge of confusion that crumpled the faces of Ebony’s co-workers, or former co-workers, if the stories were to be believed.

  Nate looked like the first time she’d met him. His feet were planted as if he were trying to grow roots. His jaw jutted forward with an angle that could cut the wind in two, and his eyes shone with a determination that could burn forever.

  Was this the same man she’d kissed only this morning?

  Ebony felt sick, giddy, wild, mad, stressed, pathetic, done for, and totally overwhelmed. But she somehow still stood there. If she just kept her feet in the same place and her balance intact, she could weather this storm by simply being.

  “Well, are you just going to stand there, Ebony?” Chalcedony turned on her, arms locked together again. “Because I really will throw you out.”

  “I… am sure you will,” Ebony managed. She could feel the desperation rising in her like a king-tide. But she couldn’t let it win. No, no, no. She couldn’t become desperate. Desperate people in desperate situations were, well, Desperate with a capital D. She needed to find some other way, something to latch onto for support.

  But what did she have left? No magic, no friends, and only a vague belief that her memories were worth fighting for.

  What was she without her magic, her friends, and her memories? She was just the name itself – Ebony Bell – empty and without use.

  So she’d fight for Ebony Bell, then, whatever that meant. Those two little words currently devoid of magic, love, and their usual charm. But the only things Ebony could still say, with confidence, were hers.

  “But you won’t. Because I haven’t done anything wrong,” Ebony said the words with force, pushing herself to believe in them as she pushed them out of her mouth.

  “Haven’t done anything wrong?” Chalcedony said with a guffaw of laughter. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Ebony nodded. “The jury is still out on that. But here’s a question for you.” She swallowed. She was fighting for her name, she told herself. And it was now up to her to prove that Ebony Bell was something worth living for. “Tell me, Chalcedony, what actually happened at the crypt? What time did you arrive? Who was down there? When did we get the call? What was the weather like? Who was the culprit? What was he summoning? How long had you been working for the police station beforehand? What exactly did I do?” the words gushed out of Ebony like lava boiling from a break in the Earth. As soon as she opened up the flood gates, every question she’d been longing to ask the universe flooded out of her, all laced with an aching, fierce emotion.

  Chalcedony’s expression began with a fat-cheeked laugh, which slowly shifted down until she wore a look of confusion akin to the detectives around her. “I started working for the police department…” she trailed off.

  “After I was unfairly punished for a crime I did not commit,” Ebony said, voice stronger.

  “You did,” Chalcedony suddenly spat back, her voice like a whip. “You fool, you endangered all your friends and co-workers, Cecilia, even the citizens of Vale—”

  “Oh, really?!” The passion was now arcing through Ebony like electricity through a live wire. “It’s now gone up to include the citizens of Vale, has it? What’s it going to be next? The world? The universe? Everything that has ever been and ever will be? Just what, for crying out loud, am I supposed to have done? Can you actually tell me that, Chalcedony?” Ebony’s hands were now curled into such tight fists, it felt like they’d stay that way for the rest of her life.

  Once again Chalcedony wavered. When it came to the facts, to the actual details, she couldn’t supply them. She was like a student who’d crammed for an exam only to find that the questions she’d studied weren’t on the test. She looked up and to her left, trying to blink out an answer.

  The more Ebony watched, the more she felt sorry for Chalcedony.

  It was a disarming feeling, one that started to slide down Ebony like a sheet of ice trailing over her skin. Chalcedony had no idea what she was doing, no idea why she was here. Deep underneath the anger and vanity, was… fragility.

  “You failed as a witch,” Chalcedony suddenly snapped back, her voice ringing with righteousness.

  “Failed as a witch,” Ebony repeated dully. “That’s not an actual answer, is it? You can’t tell me a single fact, all you can do is paint an emotive picture. Well, let me tell you, I would be very worried about that, witch. When you can’t remember what you’ve done, then you can’t be sure of what you are doing,” she cracked out her last words with a surety that didn’t seem to belong to her. It was different, very different from the usual confidence she had, or at least the confidence she had once had as a witch. This had an edge, a sharp, glittering edge of experience that cut forward like the strongest blade. Ebony wasn’t just throwing around a catchy comeback here. She was saying something for the benefit of them both. If you can’t remember what you’ve done, you can’t be sure of what you are doing.

  The words cut deeper into Ebony the more she thought about them. If Ebony doubted her memories, how was she to know what she was doing? How was she to have any direction at all in her present, if her past was a hazy, insubstantial fog?

  It took a moment longer for Chalcedony to bounce back, but bounce she did. “You’ve never been a real witch,” she said with the kind of spite someone should only reserve for the criminally wicked. “You’ve always been a failure, a danger to yourself and others with no idea what you’re doing and no control or dignity.” Chalcedony’s blond hair fluttered over her shoulder in a breeze that just wasn’t there. “What you did at the crypt was unforgivable. And now they’ve taken your magic away, permanently. It serves you right.”

  “Permanently?!” Ebony echoed, jaw dropping. Now there was a development. The more she pushed at this situation, the more she tried to find out, the less she submitted – the more it found ways to punish her. First it was with Frank and the Grimshores. By the second time she’d mentioned them, he was ready to burn her at the stake. The same was happening here, wasn’t it? The more she pushed, the more the situation pushed back. All in one morning she’d lost her apparent sanity, her friends, her job, her magic, and Nate… though she wasn’t quite sure she’d ever had him.

  Stunned, Ebony stood there. What would happen if she kept pushing? What was left to take? Her family? Harry? Her life?

  She swallowed, throat dry and parched. This was it, she had to decide. Walk away, or keep pushing at the impenetrable wall until she lost everything she ever had, or the darn thing fell before her.

  What was the point of backing down if she’d have to watch all her friends walk around in this terrible fugue? What was the point of giving up if her treasured magic had already been snatched from her? Her job? Nate? Why stop now?

  What did she have to lose?

  Ebony opened her mouth, but a hand descended onto her shoulder with the gravity of, well, gravity.

  She looked up into Nate’s steely expression. Being this close to him brought a strange mix of emotions to the fore. The swirl of this morning’s kiss, the confusion at having lost him before she’d even known him, and that little doubt at the edge of her mind. That little doubt that had always told her Detective Nathan Wall was much, much more than he seemed.

  “Leave now,” he said, voice as sharp and harsh as a gunshot.

  She jerked her head backward, not expecting his mood, his words, or his tone.

  “Excuse me,” she began, trying to latch hold of her strength before it all dwindled away, “But there’s a serious problem here, and—”

  “Yes there is,” he agreed firmly, “And it’s you. Now leave.” Nate’s expression was as stony as a quarry, and just as hard.

  Ebony’s eyebrows practically crossed. “No—”

  Nate pushed her back now. “Would you rather be escorted out?” There wasn’t a gram of warmth left anywhere on his expression, in his voice, or in those blazing eyes. But there wasn’t confusion either, there was—

  She backed o
ff, not sure what to do.

  Chalcedony shook her head. “Ebony, you never knew when to quit. Even when we were kids, you’d always blaze ahead like an uncontrollable idiot. I was done with you long before you stole my lucky charm.”

  Ebony blinked back, still trying to duck out of the looming shadow of Nate, but confused by Chalcedony’s claim. “Sorry, what? Who stole who’s lucky charm?”

  “My little plastic knight.” Chalcedony uncrossed her arms with a smile and stared blatantly at Nate. “Didn’t count for much though, did it Ebony? Your uncontrollable, foolish ways have just led you recklessly into your current plight. You have no one else to blame, Ebony, no one else to blame,” she repeated the saying as if it were a prayer.

  “You stole my lucky charm!” Ebony blustered. Her lucky charm – her little plastic knight.

  It was a little plastic knight, in white and gray armor, with a little plastic, silver sword. She’d found it in the attic one day when she was a child, and had carried it around with her like a teddy bear. She’d talked to it, confided in it, trusted it, and cherished it. And, being a witch, her adoration had imbued it with the kind of magic that solidified it as the luckiest of charms. Then, one day, it was gone.

  As the memory welled within her, Ebony, just for a second, realized how dumb it all sounded. Ending a friendship over something as silly as a little plastic toy?

  But now the course of history had changed, or memory at least, and Ebony was the one who’d stolen, or lost, that little lucky charm – another turn in her rapidly disintegrating wheel-of-fortune.

  She opened her mouth to reply, not knowing what to say.

  Nate descended on her like a strike from the heavens above. He latched a hand over her elbow and twisted her to the side. For the briefest of seconds, his expression appeared to change – to soften, to crinkle, to shiver. Then that rock of an expression was back. “You were asked to leave. Now I’m passed asking.” He twisted her arm until she couldn’t help but follow the direction of the force, and he tugged her down the corridor.

  Though the various detectives and uniformed-officers around her looked on with interest, there was still the hint of that mild confusion over their faces. It sat above them like low-level cloud blocking out the vast sky above – befuddling and with the hint of rain.

  No one moved or said anything, not even Ben. Though his expression was far more pained than the rest. His eyes flickered, like a fire fighting to stay alight.

  Ebony was being manhandled down the corridor, past her co-workers, and not one of them had a thing to say about it.

  “Let me go!” she protested vainly, putting up a fair fight, but stopping herself from actually reversing the detective’s grip and trying to flip him onto the floor. She still had the training of her father. And though she was now a jobless, hated, magic-less witch, she fancied she could still throw a man twice her size.

  By the time they reached the stairwell and were alone, Ebony was pretty ready to fight back. “Get your hands off me,” she warned, “Or so help me, I’m going to flip you. You’re all under some stupid spell from the Grimsh—”

  “Ebony,” he hissed in her ear, not releasing his grip for a second, “You say their name again, and I’ll gag you.”

  She started to push against him, twisting her arm in his hand until her wrist jammed against the gap in his thumbs and she could finally tug herself free.

  She jerked away, descending three or four of the stairs, pressing her back into the railing as she went, not wanting to take her eyes off him for a second.

  He didn’t dive after her and latch onto her arm like a hook onto a fish, but he did walk after her. He sucked in his lips, his chin jutting out way more than usual, and his eyes blazing like a fire in a gas plant.

  Detective Nathan Wall was livid and marched after Ebony with the determination of a whole army.