Witch's Bell Book One (14 page)

“
We don't have much time. Here's
the quick version,” she began to half-walk, half-jog over to the
van. “When you summon Death through someone who has died, you are
replacing the magic of their life, with the magic of Death. Death
is a permanent, overwhelming fixture of the universe – it is
powerful, powerful magic. And when it is summoned in the place of
someone's life, it trumps it. You remember what I told you about
stories? Well this is the same thing. Rather than living for their
life, if you summon Death through the dead, you rewrite the ending
of their story. No longer did they live for what they achieved,
what they meant – they now lived for death.” Ebony kept flexing her
hands inside the sleeves of Nate's jacket, trying to ensure the
blood kept flowing to them. “But no soul would sit by and watch
that happen. That's where the ghosts come in. They arise from the
body, trying to protect the lives they lived from being
rewritten.”

“
So they attack the guy, right?
Whoever is trying to summon Death—”

“
Yeah. But not if the maniac is
smart enough to have collected enough meaningful objects from the
ghost's life. If you have a beloved wedding ring, a journal, a
necklace – anything that strongly connects to some memory of life
for the ghost – they won't attack because they simply won't let
such a memory be destroyed. And heaven forbid if the summoner
manages to get their hands on a loved one ....”

“
You mean a person?” Nate said
quickly. “You mean that maniac could have an actual person in there
with him?”

“
I don't think so, not on this
occasion. We would have been told ... though don't rule it out.
Anyhow, the ghost usually becomes enraged as it watches,
helplessly, as its life is rewritten. And, well, the ghost loses
its head, figuratively speaking, and just goes off on a path of
destruction.”

“
So just to clarify, we've got a
madman in there, potentially with a hostage, that is trying to
summon Death through the dead. And we've got an enraged ghost who's
going around trashing the cemetery, to boot?”

“
And maybe other ghosts,” Ebony
shivered as the cold from the sodden ground pressed up through her
feet. “They always tend to band together at times like
these.”

“
So an enraged ghost and his
ghost friends?”

“
Yep,” Ebony drew Nate's jacket
closer around her.

“
Jesus.”

“
No, he shouldn't be
there.”

Nate looked down at her. There
was an odd expression on his face. His chest was puffed out with
his usual Chevalier strength and arrogance, but there was something
else at the side of his eyes.
“And you are going to go in there and take this
guy down, without any shoes on? Are you sure there's no one you can
call for backup?”

Ebony decided she didn't like
Nate's tone
... it was too nice. “Well, you don't think I'm
capable?”

“
No,” he said very evenly, and
somewhat honestly, “believe it or not, I don't want you to get
hurt.”

Chapter 6

Ebony didn't have a great deal of time
to ponder the Detective's once-in-a-blue-moon kind words, because
just as soon as she angled her face towards him to try and pry out
the sincerity from his eyes, a chunk of gravestone came hurtling
over the cemetery wall, striking the windscreen of a cop car. The
screen buckled and shattered on impact, the car's alarm going off
with violent shrieks that pierced through the muffle of
rain.

Ebony ducked to the side, breath in
her throat, tugging Nate's arm as she went.

“
Alright,” she heard Ben scream
from just beyond her, “It's time to move out!”

She immediately sprang to
follow his words, her mouth drawn thin with her ever-dimming mood.
It simply seemed this situation was becoming ever more serious, as
her face paled with stretched, but unnerved, determination. Ben
didn't have his usual sarcasm either. More often than not, the
erstwhile Detective would chortle at the door of danger, declaring
something along the lines of
“obviously someone's having a hell of a party in
there, and we weren't invited – so let’s show them gate-crashing,
police style.” Even though she always knew Ben was serious, he had
this wonderful charm about him that somehow made situations
manageable. But now he was as drawn and tight as everyone
else.

“
We've got four points to
cover,” the water no longer dripped off Ben's face, as he'd managed
to borrow a stiff-brimmed police hat from someone, and had crammed
it over his abnormally round head, “front gate, southern gate, main
path, and of course, the crypt. I've got officers on a perimeter
around the walls, and I'll have backup at both of the gates as soon
as you can blink. Inside, I want to keep it to a minimum. There are
too many gravestones, trees, crypts, and the like to cover – I
don't want people being attacked from behind. If anything decides
to jump the walls, we'll deal with it. But the main team will have
to make their own way to the crypt.”

Ebony began pulling her hair from her
face, trying to gather it into a bunch so she could have half a
chance of running without wet tendrils slapping against her eyes
and obstructing her view.

“
Once inside, head straight to
the crypt. If you meet ghosts,” he shrugged, “try to be polite.
Don't shoot if you don't have to. But if you do ...” his voice
trailed off.

If they did, Ebony picked up
the abandoned sentence in her mind, she'd have to answer for it
later. It wasn't just her duty after all, to protect herself, the
police, and the citizens of Vale
– wherever possible, a proper witch had to
protect all magical creatures in need. It was all about keeping the
balance – protecting the legitimacy and sanctity of the stories of
all life.

“
We don't know what else might
be out there,” Ben now stared directly at her, paused, then licked
his lips, “could be anything. Now this I don't have a problem with,
anything unidentified comes your way – use your discretion. But I'm
telling you, if it's got ten tentacles and flaming eyes, I doubt
it’s just going to stop you and ask for directions.”

Nate nodded. It was a quick nod, but
it wasn't nervous. It had tension in it, sure, like a spring under
pressure, but it wasn't erratic. It was perfectly controlled. Ebony
tightened her lips around her teeth, once again it seemed, the
Detective was completely okay with the situation. While she was
sweating, even while being pounded by a downpour, Nate was taking
it in his stride.

“
You go to the crypt, Eb removes
the protection spell, and ....”

“
I go inside alone,” Ebony
finished.

“
What?” Nate's voice was harsh.
“You aren't serious?”

She nodded, head so wet the
move sent water cascading off her nose and chin.
“I go in first, and
you wait till I give the all-clear.”

“
Why?” Nate obviously wasn't
going to give this up. For all his painful arrogance and sarcasm,
he still fancied himself a chevalier underneath. And knights might
stare down at the world from atop their dazzling steeds, but they
don't leave women alone in danger. “That's
unacceptable.”

“
It's the only way. I go in
first, in case our madman has succeeded and is midway through a
chat with Death itself.”

Nate's expression
stiffened.

“
And believe me; you don't want
to interrupt Death. I'll do that bit. But when I give you the
all-clear, you get to rush on in and take down the bad guy. If I
haven't already done that myself, that is.”

“
Okay,” Ben cut in immediately,
“so we're clear now. The team is going to consist of Eb, Officer
Andrews, Phil and Grant from the Special Weapons and Tactics Unit,
and me.”

It took barely a second for
Nate to realize he hadn't been picked for the team.
“Hold on, why not
me?”

“
Because you've never done
anything like this, and we need experience right now,” Ben sucked
in his bottom lip, his chin dimpling with the move. “But you'll get
your call, one day.”

“
With all due respect, I'm the
best shot in this department—” Nate's hands had stiffened by his
sides.

“
You've never dealt with
anything like this. Accuracy doesn't mean anything if you come up
against something that snatches your gun from you.”

Nate took a breath, obviously readying
for another volley.

“
That's enough,” Ebony cut in,
hand rising with the speed of a cobra strike, “let him come,
Ben.”

Ben turned to her, face muddled with
confusion.

“
Look, the team's there to get
me to where I need to be. So I should have a word about who goes.
Just let him come. He's annoying, but he is still a good shot.”
Ebony couldn't quite believe she'd just said what she had. She'd
just stood up for the annoying Detective when she could have
equally left him hanging. But she couldn't shake that niggling
feeling that, regardless of the fact he thoroughly irritated her,
she still wanted him by her side on this one.

“
If you're sure, Eb, then you're
sure.”

“
I am, but we don't have much
time,” she took a hesitant look at the almost black clouds above
them. “We need to do this before this storm breaks completely.
Powerful storms, graveyards, and pointless magic is never a pretty
mix.”

It barely took three minutes for Ebony
to strap the bulletproof vest around her, grab a gun, and be
waiting at the mouth of the imposing iron gates of the cemetery.
She'd taken the vest, even though she knew it would count for
diddly, considering what she was up against. She wiped her free
hand under her nose, the other hand firmly pressed against the gun.
Usually Ebony, as a witch, was bound not to use her magic in
relation to things like guns. The arcane reason was something along
the lines of guns, to humans, were a bit like magic, giving whoever
wielded them a shot of inhuman power. And a witch, if she was
careful, never mixed her magics.

But this wasn't an ordinary day, and
it wasn't an ordinary gun any more. The gloves were off, so to
speak, and Ebony now had the blessings of the Coven behind her.
Which was going to make her a dead-shot in the graveyard, if you'd
pardon the pun.

The rest of the team quickly
assembled around her, the other officers of Vale Police Department
set at strategic points around the perimeter wall. Ebony would take
point on this one, not because she was the most skilled at
combat/weaponry/command
– but because if you were running an incursion
into a ghost-infested graveyard – you wanted the witch at the
lead.

When she was confident everyone around
her was ready, Ebony opened the gates. There was a basic protection
spell in place on them, but it wasn't hard to break. Someone had
tied a red cloth around the closed gates, weaving it around the
metal rods and tying it carefully in the middle. Though it didn't
look like much, no ordinary human would be able to break through
it. Scissors would somehow lose their ability to cut, when pressed
against the fabric; hands would lose their grip; and matches would
simply fail to ignite it.

Ebony just yanked at the damn thing,
tossing it to the side with a mumbled curse. While it was an okay
spell, it was still basic, which simply served to irk her even
more. If whatever maniac had chosen to perform such a dangerous
spell didn't have the ability to set up a proper safety perimeter,
then it was becoming all the more likely that he was weaker than
Ebony had hoped. Weak idiots form soft targets for stronger idiots,
she reminded herself with a cocked eyebrow.

With her gun still in her hand,
Ebony pressed a shoulder into the iron gates, muttering a short
motion spell that propelled them slowly open. They made a sound
like aching metal
– groaning open with creaks that could wake the dead – but
hopefully wouldn't.

The graveyard was dark, the growling
storm above offering just enough dim evening-light to see the white
stone-path that led through the grass. Headstones of varying sizes
and styles were laid out either side of the path with such
regularity and geometry that they looked like lines drawn with
rulers. To the back, and interspersed among the gravestones, were
ancient trees, gnarled and giant. They were like sprawling, knotty,
guards standing silent duty in the most silent of
places.

Just the sight of the trees
gave Ebony the jitters. Ordinarily such trees really would function
as guards, keeping the graveyard rooted to the ground as it
were
–
standing for the great cycle of life – the symbolic growing of the
living among the dead. But now the trees were cast into such
darkness from the billowing skies above, they could easily be
mistaken as lifeless marks on paper, under this light.

They took the white path with
quick, but careful steps, Ebony always at the lead, her senses
feeling out before her in great arcs of concentration. The path led
up the softly ascending hill, the interspersed gravestones slowly
giving way to the older part of the cemetery. And it wasn't so
ordered here, it wasn't so neat and nice. It was like walking back
through the past. The gravestones on the perimeter were from more
modern times. For, as Vale had changed over the centuries, so had
her aesthetic, her ideal. Town planners now liked neat, orderly,
countable rows. But the same couldn't be said of the inner section
of the cemetery. Things were older here, less maintained, more
chaotic. Gravestones were littered about, as if someone had
gathered them together and thrown them into the air
– not bothering
where they landed. The headstones weren't all turned in the same
direction either – they were all erratic – with stone angels turned
to face winged cherubs, or statues with their backs to each
other.