Witch's Bell Book One (26 page)

Ebony let the memory go, but in its
place, the current situation returned.

At least, Ebony admitted to herself
with a quiet but shuddering sigh, the traffic was actually bad. It
wasn't like the guy had driven up to a wall and announced he
couldn't go on because there was something blocking the path. They
were, in all honesty, in a traffic jam.

Ebony receded into her seat,
the feel of her rubber top against her hands sending shivers down
her spine. Maybe it was her, she reasoned, and not the situation at
all. Overreacting was not a term Ebony had never heard. In fact,
her mother had constantly accused her of overreacting when Ebony
had been growing up. Ben even shook his head sometimes when Ebony
would come out with a fiery tirade directed at a magical
abuser
—’you're overreacting, Eb,” he'd say, “tone it
down.”

So this might just be
overreacting too, except the other side of it. While Ebony had
always allowed herself to be fired up with the passion of a
situation
–
defending something, attacking something, or just reveling in her
confidant ability to take control – she'd hardly ever felt
something like this. Now, rather than be taken by the power of
confidence, she was sinking into the menace of uncertainty. It
almost felt like the same feeling – but in reverse, like putting a
jumper on your legs.

She could feel herself getting caught
up in the situation, surrendering to ever-more-terrible little
imaginings of what might be. So, she was overreacting,
right?

But even the admission, if it
was indeed true, wasn't enough to quell the swirling distrust
inside. Whether Ebony didn't trust the cab driver, didn't trust the
situation, or just didn't trust in herself to know how to
act
– it
didn't matter, it was the feeling itself that was
horrible.

Just as Ebony felt more and
more worried and unsure
– her eyes jumped to the traffic ahead. There had
obviously been some kind of accident, as the cars ahead of them
were changing lanes whenever they could. Between the lanes of cars,
if Ebony strained her neck, she could make out two cars turned
around in the street, as if they were gates for the rest of the
traffic. She couldn't see the flashing lights of ambulances or fire
trucks, so hopefully whatever had happened hadn't been too
serious.

“
You'll be getting to work late,
love,” his voice growled again, sounding more and more like a
terribly frightful dog at a gate. “Might be another half-hour at
this rate.” He ended with a hiccup of a laugh.

Ebony twisted in her chair so
he couldn't see the expression that formed on her face. Oh lord,
she thought, could she actually spend the next half-hour in a car
with this man? She might not have magic any more, and her usual
intuitions were shot to pieces while these bracelets were on
– but something
told her she just really didn't want to be in this car that
long.

But at the same time indecision
reigned. It was a curious feeling
– being pulled between the two poles of
indistinct intuition, and cold rationality. Her logical mind told
her there was nothing to worry about, while her feelings just
tumbled around like a moth being shaken in a bottle. But rather
than make a decision to stay, or to go, she just sat
there.

With a strange detachment,
Ebony suddenly remembered a lesson her father had once taught her.
There were three physiological responses to fear: fight, flight,
and immobility. A bird that has been taken by a cat, but not yet
killed, will lie still and stiff as if to appear dead.
“Humans do it too,”
her father had said, one hand on her hair as he'd walked her home
from a particularly hard day at school. “And not just around proper
trauma,” he'd added as he'd piled her into the car. “Sometimes they
just think themselves into a corner, like a trapped animal, and
then give up.”

That was what was happening
now, Ebony realized with a jolt. Here she was, in a car that was
hardly moving, with the perfect right to get out if she wanted to.
There was nothing stopping her. The only thing preventing her from
leaving was her new-found distrust of her feelings. She doubted
them now
–
couldn't read them without her magic. So here she sat, feeling more
uncomfortable at the situation, and more so at herself – when all
she had to do was act.

“
In that case,” Ebony took a
sudden breath, pulling her purse out of her bag, and checking the
amount due on the little electronic display that sat above the
dashboard. She carefully pulled out the exact amount and handed it
to the man quickly. “I'll just get out here then.”

“
What?” the man spluttered,
slightly confused at her sudden decision.

“
I'll walk,” Ebony turned
around, carefully checking the traffic around her before she opened
the door. But with the traffic still in gridlock, she'd be safe for
now. “Thank you,” she said automatically as she pulled herself from
the seat, and finally left the situation.

The man muttered something as she
left, but Ebony chose to blank him out, concentrating instead on
crossing the four lanes of traffic to get to the side-walk on the
other side. As she did, a strange sense passed over her. It felt
like accomplishment, but came with an edge. It was more than just
getting top marks in a quiz, or succeeding at tracking down the
right criminal for the right case.

It felt like Ebony had just learned
something.

The wind picked up slightly as
Ebony finally mounted the curb, her hair fluttering gently over one
shoulder. She might still have no idea how humans lived in their
hazy mix of feelings, reason, doubt, and uncertainty
– but at least
she'd just had a breakthrough. As pathetic as it sounded, Ebony had
just made a decision.

“
Hey, Ebony?” someone called
from behind her.

For a brief moment Ebony feared
it was the cab driver coming to drag her back to his creepy car of
awkwardness
– but the voices were a world apart. While the cab driver
sounded like rusted metal cracking under pressure, this voice
sounded like –

Ebony turned, a smile on her
lips.

Detective Nate walked up to
her, head to the side.
“Shouldn't you be at work by now?” then he
blinked, taking in her whole outfit. “Or out clubbing with the
cleaning ladies?”

“
I just got out of a cab. The
guy was really creepy,” she said, very honestly. In fact, it might
have been one of the most honest and direct things Ebony had ever
said to Nate. And while she wasn't quite sure why she'd said it,
Ebony didn't feel a flush of embarrassment, or the need to try and
explain it away. She just stood there.

Nate eventually nodded
smoothly.
“Okay, that's a good excuse. You alright?”

Ebony released the grip on her
bag somewhat.
“Getting better. But now I have to walk to the police
department,” she made a show of turning around to look up and down
both directions of the street. “But I don't actually know where it
is.”

Nate cocked an eyebrow,
crossing his arms. The humor was there, but the sarcasm wasn't,
yet.
“You've
lived here your whole life, right?”

“
Not my whole life, but close
enough.”

“
I've only been here a month and
a bit, and apparently I already know the city better than you do,”
he shrugged, smiling. “I call that a win.”

“
It's a fairly mild win,” Ebony
felt soft prickles of her usual humor returning, but they lacked
the over-the-top edge she usually had.

“
But every win is a win,” he
spread his arms trying to make his point. “And I have a
car.”

“
Those statements are
unrelated,” she found herself smiling again.

“
True, but I can use my car and
my apparently excellent knowledge of the streets of Vale to
successfully transport us from this street corner to our intended
destination.”

“
Are you offering to give me a
lift?” she cocked her head to the side. “Because I know how you
drive, Detective, and I'd really like to get there before the end
of the day.”

He crossed his arms
again.
“Ever
heard the saying about not looking a gift horse in the
mouth?”

Ebony nodded eventually.
“Is that because
they have bad breath?”

Nate just shook his
head.
“You
really know how to lay on the charm,” he pulled his keys from his
pocket and motioned her down the street.

As they walked, Ebony became
aware of the little details again. While she was a witch, she might
notice the feel of the sun on the back of her neck, or the scuff of
paint on a car door, or the slightly loose button on a man's shirt.
But she'd always work it into the bigger pattern. That was the
thing about magic
– the beauty of it, the power of it – the magic of it.
Everything stood for something, everything was there for a reason,
and – if you knew how to do it – you could change things, bring
about the spectacularly unlikely by paying keen attention to the
relation of the part to the whole.

But now things had been turned
on their head. Ebony no longer knew what the whole was. Without
magic, she had no more ability to affect the probabilities of her
life than Nate
– and maybe even less so, considering how much a blank
slate she was to all of this. But the feeling of being isolated
from the universal plan was as sharp and bitter as lemon on the
tongue. Ebony no longer knew automatically how the little details,
the little experiences, the little feelings of her day fit into the
overall plan.

So here she was, finding
herself lost in the details instead. Suddenly the way Nate walked,
his hips tense and steady, fascinated Ebony. And the fact his shirt
always ruffled out more at one side
– creasing while the rest of the clean
white-cotton remained straight and neat. The way he looked casually
to each side also filled Ebony with a sudden curious wonder. She
had no idea what he was looking at, or why he might be doing it, or
what such a behavior could afford him – all Ebony could really
concede was that it grabbed her attention.

She had no idea how to
construct the whole from the parts, to integrate the tiny
experiences until they were once again the sum of their
parts
– but
maybe that was the curse and blessing of humanity. For, just as
lost as it seemed to leave her, it ignited interest and wonder in a
way she'd never experienced. To a witch, a possibility was
something to be changed, a fact to be manipulated with the correct
application of magical power. To Ebony's now mundane eye, a
possibility was a mystery. It hinted at the unknown in a way a
signpost can point through a desert, confidently asserting that
your destination lay in that direction, but without giving you the
course or means to get there.

Once again Ebony found herself
being lost in her thoughts
– her brain trying to get a hold on all her new
experiences – with lashings of wild emotion, spiraling thoughts,
and just plain confusion.

“
You're doing it again,” Nate
said suddenly.

“
What?” she looked across at
him, pulling her hair behind her ears.

“
You're spacing out.”

Ebony felt her cheeks warm.
That was the thing about spacing out
– for some reason it was so easy to slip
into, but hard to explain. She gave an awkward chuckle. “Just
thinking,” again with the honesty. What was Ebony turning into, a
nun? In which case, there were a great deal of inappropriate
clothes in her wardrobe she'd have to get rid of.

“
Right,” and he left it at
that.

Right? That's all he'd said.
But what had he meant? Had he meant that it was alright, or that it
was right that Ebony had been thinking
– that it was a correct description
of what she'd said? Was it meant to be ironic? Or did he mean
something else? For the first time, Ebony actually thought about
what the Detective was really trying to say every time he used that
word.

He laughed.
“And again, you are spacing
out.”

“
I am not spacing out. I'll have
you know that I am quite in control.”

“
Right,” this time there was no
mistaking the sarcasm. Nate clearly meant “wrong,” not “right” at
all.

“
Where's your car, anyway? I
have to get to work at some point,” she stretched her neck to the
side. “Someone's got to leaf through those files.”

“
While the rest of us do the
real police work,” he added, finally motioning her over to his car
and opening the door for her. Ebony barely noted the move, but some
part of her mind registered it.

“
I thought you were obsessed
with history, and getting things right?” she sat down, buckling
herself in before whipping her long hair over one shoulder so it
didn't get messed up behind her. “Well there's a lot of history up
in those files and a lot of wrong too. There's a whole wall of
shelves devoted to cold cases spanning the last 90 years – and some
going back even further. I would have thought, for a square like
you, it would be a wonder land.”