The Enchanted Writes Book One (17 page)

Henrietta pushed the chicken towards Brick,
and the warrior monk grabbed at it like a hungry child.

Then she walked into the center of the room
and wrote Henrietta Gosling. She transformed, and she was back in
the clothes she had worn to the party. She changed into the fluffy
pajamas she only ever wore in winter, and shrugged into her bath
robe, cramming her slippers onto her feet. Then she made herself a
cup of cocoa, and sat back down at the table. When she did, it was
to the sight of Brick finishing off the plate of chicken, and
burping loudly.

“You are disgusting,” she mumbled as she
pressed the warm cup into her chest, reveling in the heat.

Though she was sick and tense and frightened
over what had happened with the Witch King, she calmed down enough
to go to bed.

That night she slept with her hairpin in
hand. She was careful to find some leather to put over the bottom
so she didn't end up stabbing herself in the middle of the night,
though.

Pen in hand, Henrietta Gosling drifted
off.

Brick had been right. For the next few weeks
after her run-in with Witch King Hellier, Henrietta's night-time
fights with the witches were not interrupted by the man. However,
the frequency with which the witches appeared seemed to increase,
and nearly every single night Henrietta would find herself running
off with Brick to protect the city.

She was getting better, but Brick had
assured her many times that she was still not ready to fight the
Witch King.

Which was a good thing, because she didn't
want to. Every single time she closed her eyes and imagined that
man's face, she always had to grab at her hairpin to calm herself
down.

Just the thought of him frightened the life
out of her.

He was imbued with magic; the way he had
walked so casually over water, the way he had ignored her wall
spell and had moved right through it with ease.

Henrietta shuddered again as she put
chocolate sprinkles on the coffee she was preparing.

“Feeling cold?” Patrick asked as he reached
out a hand to take the coffee.

She ran a hand up and down her arm. “I
guess.”

“Then you must be coming down with a cold,
because it is sweltering in here.” Patrick latched a hand onto the
collar of his shirt and pulled at it. “So, Henrietta, how—” he
began.

“Is my sister?” she got there first.

Patrick shook his head. He took a sip from
his coffee. “Actually, I was going to ask how you are?”

He had been doing that a lot recently. In
fact, ever since the party, Patrick had been a whole lot more
engaging whenever he had spoken to her. So had Jimmy Field, come to
mention it, so had every single man that had seen her there that
night.

Though Henrietta hadn’t worn that fantastic
dress again, and she hadn't let Brick do her hair in weeks, it
seemed the effect lasted.

“I guess I'm okay.”

“That isn't something you should have to
guess at, Henrietta,” Patrick pointed out as he shifted his head to
the side and looked at her carefully.

“Ignore me, I am just distracted.” She
brushed at her cold arms again. Then she walked off as another
customer ordered a coffee. When she came back, it was to the sight
of Jimmy and Patrick exchanging pats on the back. The two of them
were still the firmest of friends, despite Jimmy’s on-and-off
relationship with Marcia. Apparently these days it was a lot more
off than it was on. Ever since Marcia had met Brick, she'd been
going mad in her attempts to catch his affection.

It hadn't worked, and the few times Marcia
had met up with Brick, Brick had remained aloof and lovingly
bizarre.

That made Marcia want him even more. It
seemed that every single day Henrietta would get a text from
Marcia, begging her to bring Brick along on a double date.

That was never going to happen, of
course.

Jimmy ordered a slice of cake and an
espresso, and Henrietta brought them over, handing them to him as
he turned and began to laugh at Patrick. “You can't be
serious?”

Patrick nodded. “We have got photos.”

“Well, can I see them?” Jimmy put a hand on
his chin, then let it slide down, his jaw locking into a grin. He
had that familiar schoolboy look again.

“Technically, I should probably not be doing
this, but because these aren’t linked to any case,” Patrick pulled
his phone from his pocket, “and the kid who snapped them has
already put them online, then I guess it doesn't matter.”

Jimmy grabbed Patrick's phone, before
Patrick could hand it over.

Then he gave a wolf whistle. “Look at those
boots,” Jimmy said as he stabbed a finger towards the phone,
chuckling louder.

Patrick joined in.

Stiletto Girl.

It was their favorite topic these days.
While Henrietta served a lot of people at the cafe, and though
Stiletto Girl was a hot topic of conversation, nobody talked about
it is much as Jimmy and Patrick.

Henrietta always found it hard to control
herself whenever she overheard their conversations. She would
blush, start playing with the sides of her apron, and usually find
something else to talk about. But even the topic of Marcia couldn’t
get the two off Stiletto Girl these days.

“She was spotted outside of the industrial
district, helping an old lady out of her crashed car,” Patrick
said, his voice far too high.

Henrietta remembered the incident well.
Except the car had never crashed. An errant burst of wind from one
of her own tornado spells had slammed into the old sedan, pushing
it into a wall. Henrietta had cast a health spell, and the old dear
had never noticed. Then, of course Henrietta had felt compelled to
help the old lady out of her seat, and she'd even enquired as to
whether the grandma had insurance.

Henrietta shook her head ever so
slightly.

“You think that’s impressive? The other day
we were attending a fire out west,” Jimmy leaned in
conspiratorially, “and she got there first. Just as we were rolling
up in the fire truck, one of the windows of the house was kicked
out, and she appeared carrying a kid.” Jimmy pursed his lips, chin
wobbling. “Then she just ran off into the night.”

She remembered that incident too. She'd been
fighting a fire witch, when the hack had run up onto a roof, and
cast a fireball right at a house. Henrietta had banished the witch,
but she hadn’t managed to get to the house in time to dowse the
fire. She had cast a scanning spell, and when she’d realized there
was a child inside, she'd gone in to save him.

She was hardly a hero here. She was just
running around mopping up after her own mistakes or her inability
to stop the witches in time. Still, listening to Patrick and Jimmy
drool over her antics pushed away the guilt, and she felt her
cheeks blush.

“Who the hell do you think she is?” Jimmy
always asked that question, and he always shook his head as he did,
a fantastic look in his eyes.

“I have no idea. We do have orders to escort
her to the police station to answer some questions, should we ever
get our hands on her,” Patrick said as he waggled his eyebrows.

Jimmy let out a hoot of a laugh and slammed
a hand onto Patrick’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

Henrietta went off to serve another
customer, and when she came back to the two, they were no longer
gawking over the pictures on Patrick's phone, and they had in fact
changed topics.

“I thought I heard a rumor that someone
disappeared down there, one of the construction workers,” Jimmy
said, all levity gone from his expression, and his brow crumpled
over his bright, inviting eyes.

Patrick nodded at him sternly. “It's just
that, a rumor. We haven't had any reports of a missing person. But,
that being said, some strange stuff is going on down there.”

“Like what?” Jimmy finished off his espresso
and rested the cup down on his empty plate.

“Disappearances, stuff being stolen, nothing
too serious... but we have no idea who is doing it or where they're
taking it. They seem to be concentrating on the construction area
at the moment.” Patrick shrugged his shoulders and finished up his
own coffee too. Then he stood up. “I probably shouldn't say
anything more.”

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Henrietta took a step towards the bench and
cleared her throat. “What are you talking about?
Disappearances?”

She didn't like to interrupt Jimmy and
Patrick's conversations, especially when it sounded as if Patrick
was talking about his work. She was never sure how much he was
meant to say, and whether she was meant to be overhearing what he
was telling Jimmy. That didn't matter right now. She had to know
what he was speaking about, because an uneasy feeling had settled
in her stomach.

Patrick turned to her, offering her that
same engaging warm smile he always did these days. Then he shook
his head. “It's nothing, Henny,” he used her nickname, something
else that had changed since the party. He hardly called her
Henrietta any more, preferring the much more familiar Henny
whenever he could.

“Where? Around here?”

Patrick shook his head, patting down his
jacket and making it neat. “No. There's nothing to worry about.
It's just out at the new construction site in North Square. You
know, the one where they’re building another tunnel for the
subway?”

No, she didn't know that; Henrietta hardly
paid attention to what happened in this town, not now that she
spent every single day and night preparing to fight the
witches.

“Oh.” She pulled Jimmy’s empty plate and
glass towards her. “What kind of stuff has been disappearing
then?”

Patrick shrugged. “It's probably just kids.
No formal complaints have been made, this is just what I've heard
from a couple of mates that work at the site.”

She nodded.

Though Patrick appeared to think whatever
was going on at the construction site was nothing, a cascade of
panic prickling down her spine told her otherwise.

She was starting to realize that even when
she wasn't trotting around town as a witch hunter, she could still
access her magic. It was slight, but it was there. If she paid
attention to her feelings, sometimes she could trust in the same
instinct that Brick referred to as her battle brain. The sense that
told her what to do next when she was fighting a witch, what spells
to cast, and how to win.

Her instincts told her the construction site
was important.

She left work early that day, and it was
only because she had been so diligent and on time in the past month
and a half that Maria let her go. Ever since Brick had moved into
her house, she no longer had trouble getting to work. She was no
longer late, her clothes were no longer crumpled and stained, and
her lunch was always prepared. Though Brick had a nasty habit of
eating all her food and moaning when there was no chicken in the
house, he was turning out to be a fabulous house-mate. Maybe it was
because he’d grown up in a monastery, but not only did he always
ensure her house was spotlessly clean, he ironed her clothes, got
her up on time, and even prepared her lunch for her.

She was also getting used to his
personality. He had his quirks, and he never took off that leather
jacket, but apart from that, she was almost enjoying having him
around.

Almost. He did ask for chicken too much and
he cost her an enormous amount in food.

More than that, knowing he was around also
let her relax. Since her run-in with the Witch King, she’d been
forced to take this new life of hers seriously. Doom hung over her
head, and the prospect of running into that awful man loomed around
every corner.

Brick kept her sane, mostly because his
insanity could distract her from her own.

She ran home early, and it was to the sight
of Brick in an apron, scrubbing out the oven. The apron hardly
stretched around the girth of his leather jacket, but it was still
somehow tied, and it made him look ridiculous. His expression
suggested he didn't care.

“You are home early. You have not worked
your entire shift. You will earn approximately $20 less on your
next pay check. This will cost us in chicken,” he pointed out
gravely.

Henrietta ignored him, flopped a hand his
way, and walked over to the kitchen chair and sat in it.

“Brick, how can you find out about the
witches? I mean, how do you seem to know where they are and when
they are going to attack?” she had asked him this question before,
and he usually dodged right out of it.

Maybe today he was distracted by cleaning
the oven, because he cleared his throat. “Secret warrior monk
brethren communication lines. It's magic, you know.”

She nodded. Whereas several weeks ago she
would have shouted at him for such a silly explanation, she could
now appreciate that it held some truth.

“Well, have you heard anything about the new
construction site in North Square?” She leaned forward with
interest, her elbows resting on the table as she gazed at him.

He was on his hands and knees while he was
scrubbing out the oven, and he turned to face her. “No.”

She sighed and tried to let go of the
tension that was still locked in her shoulders. “That's a
relief....” Except it wasn't a relief. She hadn't managed to let go
of all the stress that had bottled up inside her ever since she had
heard about the construction site. It felt like a needle in her,
scratching at her skin. “Brick, I overheard a conversation today
between two men,” she blushed at the word men. They weren’t just
men; they were Carson City's finest, but Brick didn't need to know
that detail. “Anyway, they were talking about this new construction
site. One of them said there was a rumor about someone disappearing
there. And the other one mentioned that things have gone missing
from the construction site, but they haven't found out who is
responsible.”