Witch's Bell Book One (8 page)

“
A cursed forest?” Nate was
looking at her askance.

“
It happens,” Ebony shrugged,
“point is we can't prove it. If she's right – which she isn't,
because she's a rotten little liar – but if she was right, and the
chairs were actually harvested from a cursed forest, then we
wouldn't have grounds for arrest. She could, and has, complained
that she ordered those chairs from a legitimate, ordinary supplier.
And that if they were cursed, it's only the unusual magical
environment of Vale that is bringing out the full power of that
effect.”

“
You see,” Ben had found some
kind of chocolate bar in one of his pockets and was nibbling it,
sure to keep it well out of reach of Ebony, “if the cursed chairs
had been bought anywhere else but Vale, the curse wouldn't have
manifested properly. The worst the owners could expect is a couple
of splinters and maybe the chair would fall on the cat once –
nothing too bad.”

“
But because it's in Vale,” Nate
interjected, his keen eyes sparkling with that annoying competence,
“the curse comes out in full. But if this Flora woman didn't curse
them herself, and imported them legitimately, she can't be held
accountable for any damage caused, right?”

“
She can be held accountable,”
Ebony said passionately, curling one hand into a fist and shooting
Flora a defiant look from behind the glass, “because the stupid
woman obviously cursed the darn things.”

Nate just scratched his
neck.
“I
don't get it, so we can't charge her. Surely we can get her to stop
selling the chairs, and recall the ones she's already
sold?”

“
We did,” Ben stowed his
chocolate bar. “I slapped her with the warning myself. But now
she's claiming she's switched suppliers, and much to her horror,”
Ben's voice was staccato and sarcastic, “it looks as if these
chairs are cursed too.”

“
Cursed rocking chairs,” Nate
repeated dully. “This really is different to my previous
job.”

Ben slapped him on the
back.
“You'll love it, in time.”

Ebony looped her hair behind
her ears.
“Alright, I'm going in,” she snapped at Ben, “I've had
enough of this idiotic—”

“
Eb,” Ben warned, “don't be too
fiery now. There's the law, remember.”

Ebony arched an eyebrow, took a snort
like a bull, and pushed defiantly at the glass door of Flora's
Antiques.

“
You know,” she heard Ben
whisper to Nate behind her, “most of this job is controlling
Eb.”

She almost whirled around to swear at
Ben, but caught sight of Flora instead. The old devil was perched
on a white wicker-chair behind the counter, beady eyes staring out
over floral-rimmed glasses.

“
Dear,” Flora intoned in a
creaky voice that sounded like a rusty weather cock shuttling
around in the wind, “it's dear little Ebony.”

Ebony drew to a halt at the
counter; she rested one long hand on the wood and started to drum
her red fingernails with a steady beat.
“Don't you call me dear.”

Flora looked up with a fake,
meek, little smile.
“Oh sorry, darling.”

Ebony snorted.
“Look here, we know
what you're doing. It's got to stop. If you have some strange
fetish about furniture that hugs you to death, keep it to yourself,
for crying out loud!”

Ben drew up beside Ebony, Nate
taking position on her other side. She suddenly felt hemmed
in
– or
contained, maybe.

“
Officer Tate,” Flora smiled
drearily up at Ben.

“
It's Detective
Tate.”

“
You have a new friend,” the old
woman's voice was soft and deceptively friendly.

“
I have a new partner,” Ben
corrected, “and you, apparently, need a new warning.” Ben produced
a folded-up piece of parchment from his pocket. “And here it
is.”

“
Oh, but Detective Tate,” the
old woman teetered on the edge of her dirty white wicker-chair,
“but I didn't know, honestly, it was just another
accident.”

“
Yeah okay,” Ben's voice was
strained, but even, “don't let it happen again, Flora.”

Ebony's palms curled, her fingernails
digging ceaselessly into her flesh. They were just going to let the
fool get away with it again, weren't they? So a couple of weeks
down the track she'd sell yet another cursed chair and some poor
old grandfather would get quite a shock while nodding off in front
of the news. Sure, Flora hadn't killed anyone yet, but it was
precisely misuse of magic like this that annoyed Ebony more than
anything. It was just so pointless.

“
Now you listen to me,” Ebony's
voice became darker. In fact, the clouds outside began to block out
the sun, casting long shadows into the store. “You may not be a
witch, Flora, so you won't have to deal with the Coven. But there
are worse things, Flora, much worse.”

“
Eb,” Ben hissed sharply in her
ear, “don't do anything stupid.”

Ebony ignored him.
“You keep
practicing magic, especially magic like this – magic without a
purpose, magic without a story – and you'll attract things, Flora,
horrible things.”

Ebony was satisfied to see Flora's
bottom-lip quiver a touch.

“
But I'm not practicing magic,
dear,” she said quaintly, but a little unsure.

“
Oh, of course you aren't, I'm
just saying, hypothetically, if you were – then I'd watch out. You
can curse all the chairs you want, getting whatever bizarre kick
you get from it. But sooner or later something stronger is going to
sniff out your magic, pet, and latch onto it like a tentacle in the
dark.”

Ben now hooked a hand over Ebony and
pulled her back.

Flora's face was growing as
off-color as the chair she sat on.
“You get out of here, witch. You can't
touch me.”

As Ben pulled the fuming Ebony
back, Nate stood in front of her, right between Ebony and the
counter. He set himself down with the finality and weight of an
anchor.
“You
have your warning, ma'am. Be sure it doesn't happen
again.”

Flora's aged and inexpertly
lipstick-clad lips beamed out a smile.
“Oh thank you, dear. Aren't you a
sweet one?”

“
Thank you, ma'am,” Nate said
expressionlessly. “But I suggest you take this warning seriously.
It's an official document—”

“
Of course it is. I'll take it
very seriously.”

“
Be sure you do.” Nate turned
and gave Ebony what could only be called a devastating look. It
said clearly that he couldn't believe she'd just had an outburst
like that. “I see what you mean,” he whispered to Ben, “she does
need controlling.”

Ben, hand still latched around Ebony's
elbow, tried to head for the door.

“
That's it, Detective Tate,”
Flora rocked on the edge of her chair, grin showing her teeth, “you
get rid of that little witch. Horrible, warty little
hag!”

Ebony's face paled.
“Why you little—”
she began to shriek.

“
Alright,” Ben practically
picked Ebony up and wrestled her out of the door, “I really
wouldn't go saying things like that, Flora, not if you want to stay
this side of the law,” while Ben's tone wasn't overtly threatening,
it had the weight of a judge's gavel.

When Ben finally managed to get
the erupting Ebony through the door, he swore like a sailor.
“Why that stupid
old woman,” he finally put Ebony down, “the department is really
going to have to do something about her.”

Ebony's top teeth were dug so
hard into her bottom lip that the flesh had turned white from lack
of blood.
“Errgh!” she stamped at the ground. “How dare
she!”

“
You handled that situation very
well, I thought,” Nate rounded on Ebony.

“
Oh get—” she began.

“
Alright then, that's all done,”
Ben clapped his hands together loudly. “Time you and me get back to
the station, rookie. I've got an in-tray of ordinary crime, and two
doughnuts sitting on my desk.”

“
So, we're done here then?” Nate
shot a careful look at Ebony.

“
No, we're going to go back in
there and hex that stupid—” Ebony began.

“
Yep, that's a wrap,” Ben said,
tone strong and hard.

Chapter 4

Ebony drew the brush through
her hair. It ran as smooth and quick as a flag through the air.
There had never once been a knot in Ebony Elizabeth Bell's hair,
and heaven forbid there ever would be. She only ever brushed it to
liven it up
– to give it bounce, body, and remind it of its magical
roots.

Ebony hummed to herself softly as she
picked a pair of earrings off her dressing table. They were silver
dangling things, with beautiful little blue stones that sparkled
out at the world like stars on a dark night. Once she'd finished
hooking the earrings in, Ebony selected two or three bracelets and
crammed them over her wrists. They were all golden, gleeful, and
just so pretty.

Still humming, her hand hovered
over her collection of rings, wondering which to choose. Rings were
always difficult accessories, especially for a witch. The problem
with rings was they were, well, ring like. They were circles. And
circles were powerful symbols for witches. Circles magnified,
concentrated, and strengthened anything that lay at their center.
And while a bangle was technically a circle, and for that reason
also had its power
– rings were worse. They were worse because of where you
wore them, on your fingers. And fingers could point. And a point
was like a circle, it concentrated, it restricted – it magnified.
So a ring worn on a finger was a powerful thing indeed, especially
considering which finger you chose to wear it on.

Ebony sighed, eventually deciding not
to wear a ring at all today. It was too hard, and anyhow, she
hadn't even begun to decide what outfit to wear, and it was already
10:30!

Though most people chose what to wear
before they picked what accessories could match it, Ebony always
did things around the other way. She picked her accessories first
and then her clothes last. Why? Because Ebony changed accessories
depending on her moods, not her tops.

“
Now, now, now,” she said softly
as she walked in to her walk-in wardrobe. “What kind of day will
today be?” she asked a pair of jeans as she ran a hand over the
tough fabric. “Is today a jeans day? Will I be sitting down at
restaurants and walking in the rain?” She pointed over to a pair of
cowboy boots, “will I be stalking down the street, hair flaring
behind me?” She tugged at a 50's-style red dress, “will I be posing
on the tops of stairs?” she grabbed at a white hat, “will I be
staring melancholy as the rain drizzles down the
window?”

Ebony giggled. By far, this was her
favorite part of the day. Dressing up. Her father never could
understand why she always took so long to get ready in the morning.
He'd always have a shower, slap on his uniform, tug his hat over
his hair, kiss Ebony's mother, and walk out the door.

Ebony, on the other hand, sometimes
took a full hour to decide just what to wear and how to do her hair
and make-up. And only her mother really understood why. It was
because a witch always had to be careful about how she met the day
in the morning, especially a summoner witch. Wear a floral dress,
and don't be surprised if someone gives you flowers. Wear winter
boots in summer, and don't be surprised if it rains all day. Go to
breakfast in an evening gown, and you could fully expect someone to
run past and dump a cocktail in your hands.

No, Ebony always had to be careful
what she wore. So really, it was quite lucky that she had such a
giant number of clothes to choose from.

“
Okay,” she ran a hand down her
face, “what do I have to do today?” she asked her assembled
collection, playing with the bangles around her wrists. “Well, I
have to go to the post office to buy more tough bags for the store
– I also need more pens.” Ebony ticked something off her imaginary
list using her French manicured pinkie. “Then I have to go to
Wonda's Witch Wonders and buy more candles for Friday's séance.”
Ebony looped her long hair around her hands, lifting it up off her
neck, and then letting it fall down again softly. “Then I have all
those files to look through for Ben,” Ebony ran a hand through her
rack of dresses. “Then I have to go down to the police depot and
remove curses from all that jewelry.”

Ebony nodded briefly.
“Okay, that's it.
Well, it's really simple then, isn't it? I have just too much to do
today, and I just don't want to be bothered by anyone when I'm just
so busy,” Ebony clicked her fingers. “So I simply must wear
white.”

She grabbed at a very pretty
pure-white summer's dress. It was a light, but thankfully opaque,
cotton. The shoulders were tied into little bows at the neck; it
was pinched in at the waist, and flared out at the hips. Ebony also
grabbed at a pair of white high-heels
– not too tall, but not too short.
Then she finally grabbed the white hat from before – the one with
the wide, but stiff, brim.