Witch's Bell Book One (7 page)

“
Obviously,” he agreed with a
slight huff.

“
But I can tell you this,” Ebony
ducked around a pile of teetering boxes, her moves graceful and
elegant, “the Portal itself, while important, isn't what you should
be concentrating on. You need to know about magic first,” Ebony
sighed, hating this impromptu lecture more and more. She hadn't the
faintest idea where to begin schooling this brat. “Okay, we'll
start with this.” She pointed very obviously to herself. “I am a
summoner witch,” she said slowly. “Now, the first rule of summoning
is to become.”

“
And how does this relate to the
Portal? Not that it isn't fascinating,” he added drolly.

“
Oh for heaven's sake, listen to
me. You are jumping ahead. Magic is where you need to start this
story, Mr Detective. If you want to understand why the Portal is
important to Vale, then you have to understand that it is not
because of the Portal itself, but because of how it affects magic
here. Magic is everywhere; in fact, it is as ubiquitous a force of
nature as Death, Truth, Movement, and Light.”

“
None of which are forces of
nature,” he pointed out, voice toneless.

She ignored him.
“Magic isn't
zipping around on brooms, waving wands, and waking the dead. Magic
is a part of reality. It's the part of reality, in fact, that makes
the unlikely likely, the impossible real.”

“
You mean delusion?” he cleared
his throat.

“
No, I mean chance. Look around
you – notice anything? Books, shelves, maybe some dust. Nothing
unusual, right?”

“
I don't know, I would hardly
call you ordinary,” he offered a sarcastic grin.

“
It's a Labor of Hercules trying
to teach you something, Detective. And if you interrupt once more,
I shan't tell you a thing.”

He put his hands up, as if in
submission.
“Please, go on. Magic is chance,” he prompted
her.

“
Not exactly. Magic is simply a
type of Movement. It's one of the forces of reality that make
things happen. Magic simply pertains to the unlikely, the
impossible, and the apparent never-can-bes. If you manage to do the
impossible once, we call it a miracle. If you manage to do the
impossible every day, then you are magical.”

He crossed his arms.
“So people who know
magic are mini-gods then?” he looked at her carefully, obviously
not believing his conclusion for a second.

“
If I could smite you right now,
darling, I would. But it doesn't work like that. Sometimes if you
know enough about reality – about the real reality, and not that
nonsense they teach you in science class – you can affect a change.
There are two truths, detective, and two paradoxes. We are told
anything can happen, that anything can become, right? We are also
told that whatever occurs is brought to be through laws and
regularity. Chaos and Order. Now, magic sits between these two,”
she took a sniff, suddenly feeling quite happy at her
explanation.

Nate's expression grew even
less impressed. His eyes pressed together slightly, and he wore a
tight frown.
“That tells me nothing. This doesn't make any sense. I ask
you to explain the Portal, and you get sidetracked trying to
explain the impossible—”

Ebony gave a harrumph, and
crossed her arms quickly.
“Teaching you is like teaching a
stone.”

“
Perhaps you should try harder
then. I don't need to know the inner workings of your world,
believe me. What I do need to know, is all about the Portal. Now,
are you going to tell me, or what?”

Ebony had never, in her life of
book-sales and police work, dealt with a man like this. To say he
was dogged, was an understatement. Nate was impossible.
“Okay. Time for the
three-year-old version,” she sniffed quickly. “Magic is real. It
works. It's regulated. It also can't be understood by thick-headed
detectives who ask too many questions, but don't have any insight.
The Portal is a doorway between worlds, and serves to increase the
incidence of magic within Vale. I'm a witch, you're a detective –
and now we have to find a way to work together.” She ended by
cocking her head to the side, and smiling sarcastically. “Got
it?”

Detective Nate, eyes still
narrowed, opened his mouth to presumably ask a million more
questions, but the mobile in his pocket began to ring. He grabbed
it up and snapped it open in a flash.
“Detective Wall here.”

Ebony could make out the muffled tones
of the person on the other end of the line, but found it far more
interesting to watch Nate's expression instead. Really, the man
obviously grew up on too many movies of knights in shining armor.
He simply couldn't puff out his chest any more, or jut out that jaw
any further.

Chevalier. She rolled the term around
in her mind. Idiot Chevalier.

“
Ah ha, got it,” he said
quickly, tone even. “Corner of 22nd Street and Matriarch's
Place.”

Ebony looked up. She knew that
place
– old
antique store run by a peevish old woman who always wore too much
floral.

“
Yep, don't you worry, I'll go
and find our official witch liaison now,” Nate looked over to her
and nodded his head, “we'll be there in 20.”

Ebony clapped her hands
together.
“We have work, don't we?”

“
Apparently.”

“
How lucky for you that you just
happened to be here,” her tone could only be described as luscious
– dripping with enough chocolate and honey to catch any
fly.

“
Lucky,” Nate returned the phone
to his pocket and tucked the book under his arm, “let's
go.”

“
I mean, don't you find it
strange, “she fluffed her hair out from her face, “because I
certainly do.”

“
Find what strange?” Nate
shifted his feet, half turning to face the door, but still keeping
an eye on Ebony.

“
Oh come on. Why didn't you
admit that you were already here?”

He didn't reply.

“
Hmmm,” Ebony made an
appreciative sound as if she'd just come across a buffet
cram-packed with delicious desserts of every kind. “You said you'd
just go find me, rookie, why didn't you admit that you already
happened to be here?” she winked.

He cleared his throat.
“Does it
matter?”

She looked wistful.
“I think it —”
Ebony suddenly looked up. A book had somehow found its way to the
edge of the bookcase just behind Nate. In the extended, drawn out
time that a witch enjoyed during periods of danger, Ebony saw the
thing fall off the edge and angle straight down towards the
Detective's head.

She pushed herself forward, without a
moment to lose. She planted a foot right next to his own, pressed a
hand onto the shelf just behind his hip to get purchase, and
reached up in time to catch the book.

The thing clunked into her
palm, time returning to normal in a snap.
“Oooph,” she said, realizing how
heavy the thing was, and tumbled with surprise backwards, right
onto the ground.

She lay there a moment, the
considerable tome resting on her chest, a stack of magazines
digging into her back, the swirls of her gypsy skirt surrounding
her like clouds.

“
What the—” Detective Nate
managed, his facial expressions running the full gamut of open-eyed
shock to mild amusement. “What are you doing on the
floor?”

Ebony groaned, quickly righting
her skirt, and pushing herself to her feet.
“Harry,” she muttered under her
breath, “that's very rude.”

“
Harry? You mean – you mean your
store is still trying to kill me?” Detective Nate hooked a hand
onto Ebony's elbow and helped pull her up, taking the heavy book
from her hands as she finally righted herself. He glanced at the
cover. “Your store is trying to kill me with this? The Illustrated
History of Man Bags? What is a man bag?”

Ebony chortled, trying to rub
the pain from her back.
“Well, I'm glad Harry still has his sense of
humor.”

“
Your bookstore just tried to
kill me, again,” Nate's words were quick and sharp, his teeth
clenched, “and you're making jokes?”

“
I saved you, what's the big
deal? Plus, we have to go to Matriarch's place, remember? We have a
job to do.”

As they both walked out of the store,
Ebony was somewhat amused to see the extra-careful look on Nate's
face as he surveyed each shelf and box. Gone was the arrogant
competence, and back was the boy who'd just found out magic was
real.

By the time they'd reached their
destination, Ebony was ready to scream. Twenty minutes in a car
with Detective Nate, was like a lifetime of driver's ed courses. He
would stop well before each light, put his hand break on when
paused in traffic, pause to let people into his lane, even slow
down to let bikes past.

“
You drive like an
Eighty-year-old preacher,” Ebony virtually spat as she hauled
herself out of his car, patting down her skirt and flaring out her
hair.

“
No, I drive like you're meant
to. I obey the rules, something wrong with that?” Nate waited till
Ebony had slammed her door closed before he locked the car. Then he
took a quick sweep of his surroundings, those camera lenses of eyes
seeming to pick up and document every single detail in sight. “So,
apparently we're looking for—”

“
Cursed rocking chairs,” Ebony
shot an appreciative grin at a handsome man that walked past, “or
maybe cursed arm chairs – depends what the fool has been up to
lately.”

“
Sorry, cursed rocking
chairs?”

“
Hmm,” Ebony played with her
earrings, enjoying the feel of the warm sun on her back and hair,
“Flora Wheatly,” she pronounced the words clearly, turned round
with a flutter, and started to march off down the street, “we've
warned her before.”

“
Ben just said something about
an antique store and curses—” once again, the Detective seemed to
appear at Ebony's side, matching her pace without the slightest
apparent effort.

“
Mmmm, it's Flora. We've really
told her.” Ebony rounded the corner into Matriarch's Place. It was
an open arcade of sorts, dotted with various little shops: spice
stores, booksellers, cafes, and one lonely little antique
store.

Flora's Antiques was an old,
dingy building. The once-white sign above the door was missing so
many letters, you could really only make out
“ra – nts” by now. Which, Ebony
thought with a smile, was incredibly fitting when it came to
Flora.

Ben was standing outside,
sharing the shade of the awning with a uniformed officer. His face
was drawn and tired.
“Blimey, Eb,” he said as soon as she came into ear
shot, “this is doing my head in. It's the second cursed rocking
chair in a month!”

Ebony shook her head knowingly
as she marched up to him.
“I know; the fool is insane.”

Ben gave a brief nod to
Nate.
“Isn't
there anything the Coven can do?”

“
She's not a witch, Ben,” Ebony
said softly, “she's not a normal woman,” she added as an
afterthought, “but not a witch.”

Ben gave a bare laugh.
“So, rookie, how's
the morning been?”

Nate's expression didn't
waver.
“Barrel of fun.”

“
Sounds like you've been hanging
out with Eb,” Ben gave a gruff laugh. “Anyhow, we've got to find
some way to deal with this one, it's driving me insane.” Ben turned
back to Ebony.

“
What's the story—” Nate began,
but quickly corrected, “what's the case?”

“
Cursed rocking chairs. So
comfortable you just can't escape,” Ebony peered through the dingy
windows of the shop, trying to catch a glance of the awful
Flora.

“
Sounds ... terrible. So, if we
know she's been selling them, why don't we just go in and arrest
her?”

“
Not so fast, cowboy,” Ebony
finally caught a glance of the old woman sitting behind her
counter, her menacing eyes glinting out at the world, “ever heard
of the word “warrant'?”

“
Are you serious? You need a
warrant to make an arrest for magical crime? I thought only the
police force were bound by the Pact. How do you ask the local
magistrate to sign off on arresting someone for cursing rocking
chairs without being locked up for wasting the Court's
time?”

“
Witching Warrants are kind of
different,” Ben shrugged, “same premise though. You've got to have
a reasonable case before you can arrest someone. You can't just
swan around throwing every kid with a Wicca book in the lock up –
you've got to have a case before you arrest.”

“
And we don't have a case? You
said you knew it was her, what more do you need?”

Ebony sighed heavily.
“We've brought her
down to the station before. She just claims that she didn't
knowingly import cursed-furniture, and nor did she knowingly curse
the chairs herself. Says that the wood the chairs are made from
came from a cursed forest.”