Witch's Bell Book One (34 page)

But no matter how far she
flicked through this strange book, Ebony couldn't find out what the
plot was. The heroine fought things
– faced off against dangers – but didn't
appear to do it for any great purpose. She had no idea why the lead
character was doing any of the things she did. The book simply
concentrated on the how: the determination, the courage, the steel,
the concentration.

“
Ebony,” her mother's voice was
now pitching high, like a kettle at the boil, “put that book down
and face the situation like a witch.”

Ebony closed the book with a snap and
tucked it under her arm.

It seemed everyone wanted to tell
Ebony something: whether it was that she was treating this
situation too lightly, or what to do to fix it.

Everyone had their own
opinion.

And here was Harry's. An
adventure book, with, ironically, a heroine that didn't appear to
have any purpose. But it didn't matter for the arc of the
story
– it
moved on, and she moved on, simply by virtue of feeling.

In the absence of
purpose
–
courage, determination, steel, and guts would to do the
trick.

Harry, unlike everyone else in
the room, wasn't trying to tell Ebony what to do. He wasn't
suggesting she do the impossible
– find out what she truly wanted with a
snap of her fingers, or throw herself into finding out who was
after her, without a care for her true problem.

Harry was suggesting she just go ahead
and act. No, she couldn't see far enough into the future to know
what she really should be doing, and no, she didn't have any magic
to try to force her way through.

All she had were the same
things the heroine in Harry's story had
– the courage to dare, and the will
to act. Acting on what, didn't matter now.

“
Ebony,” her mother's voice was
pleading, “pay attention to what is really happening here. I don't
know why the Coven made the decision it did. I am part of it, but
not all of it,” she said, voice growing more silent. “I can't speak
for the rationale of the other members. But I can speak with the
understanding of a witch: things are happening to you in too quick
a succession, and with too much danger, to be ignored. You must
wake up to this—”

Ebony tapped the book
again.

“
Ebony,” Nate's voice almost had
the same edge of pleading that Avery's had, “we have to figure out
what to do; we can't just stand here all night.”

Okay, Harry, Ebony thought to herself,
reaching out a hand and tapping the banister. You're on.

So, she didn't understand magic. She
didn't understand what she wanted. She didn't understand what was
happening to her. She didn't understand her mother. She didn't
understand Nate.

It didn't matter. If you find yourself
lost at sea, the only advisable course is to paddle until you see
land.

“
I think,” she finally spoke,
book still in her hand, “there's more to Cecilia Grimshore than
meets the eye.”

Her mother sighed.
“This again? You
must find out what you want—”

Ebony put up a hand.
“Maybe you're
right; maybe I don't know what that is right now. But maybe Nate's
right too, and that doesn't matter. But maybe Harry's just as right
as the both of you,” she tapped the book again, “and all I should
do is press on, and try and find out both things at
once.”

Before either Avery or Nate
could start up again, her father cut in.
“What are you thinking,
kid?”

“
I'm thinking there is a box of
files in the cold case section that reads Grimshore. I'm thinking
those files pertain to magical crime, and I'm thinking that's
important.”

“
But—” her mother
began.

“
I'm thinking I'm going to stay
in the shop for a while, just until I know what's going on. Harry's
strong enough to protect me.”

As if in answer, a breeze fluttered
the ends of Ebony's hair, almost appreciatively.

“
I'm thinking I'm going to go to
the police station tomorrow morning, even though it's a Saturday,
and I'm going to go through those files, one by one.”

“
But we need to find out who is
after you,” Nate began.

“
Probably. But this is how I'm
going to do it – bed and then files. I'm also thinking,” she took a
long breath, “that this conversation is now done.”

And the thought proved to be a
reality.

Chapter 15

Ebony lay on the couch, snuggled under
a patchwork quilt, and stared up at the ceiling above her. It was
the early morning, and little slices of sunlight were filtering in
between the slats in the blinds, slicing up the room with little
bars of illumination.

True to her word, she had stayed in
the shop last night. In fact, she'd be staying in the shop until
this whole mess was sorted. She'd always had this beautiful old
lounge on the upper level, upholstered with a lovely, soft,
rich-patterned fabric. It was old, but had been worn-in until its
cushions and back were as soft as feathers. She'd managed to find a
quilt or two in the back room, leftovers from a midnight winter's
séance probably. And she'd rustled up some pillows from downstairs.
Really, it was quite comfortable.

And safe, very safe.

It had been a lusciously quiet
night. Even though Harry's store was right on a main road, no noise
made it through his thick old walls. Just the pleasant sounds of
birds twittering, or the wind rustling through the trees outside.
No traffic, no creepy creaking from the iron roof above, no rats
scratching on the walls
– no unsettling city sounds.

No, it half felt that Ebony and her
store had somehow been transported into the peaceful countryside
somewhere, with nothing but pleasant pastures and wise old oaks to
keep them company.

Ebony sighed as she kept on
staring up at the ceiling. Ordinarily, as a witch, she would never
have slept upstairs with all these magical books. They would have
given her frightful nightmares, or simply kept her awake with all
their crackling and buzzing
– like trying to sleep inside an electrical power
substation.

But it didn't matter to her now. In
her current state, all Ebony was aware of was the comfortable, warm
couch, and the peaceful silence.

All her problems were far away,
somewhat intangible, as if she were viewing them through a
smokescreen. Academically she knew that she was in a lot of
trouble, and that she really needed to start taking charge. But
just for these few brief moments, it all felt okay. It felt as if
she could get to all that dire danger stuff later in the morning,
after a cup of tea and a pastry. Right now, she could just stare
around and huddle under the covers.

She'd had a dream last night,
or several maybe. In one she was staring down at her feet as she
slowly realized she was standing in an ocean. The water was
azure-blue, and yet shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow.
She could make out the beautiful, sparkling shoals of fish darting
underneath her, and the banks of coral climbing up the sandy rock
encampments. With such wonder and color beneath her, it had taken
Ebony some time to realize that, without magic, you couldn't simply
stand on top of the ocean
– it was made of water, after all. And so she'd
sunk, feet losing all purchase, as her body dunked
itself.

There had been another dream
too. Ebony had been walking through a fantastic store, with a purse
simply full of money. The store had level after level of counters
and shops. Some sold gemstones of such deep, rich color, that they
looked as if they were the encased remnants of galaxies or stellar
gas-clouds. Other shops sold silk scarves of such fine quality,
that they seemed lighter than the air itself. One store had every
painting you could ever imagine, all strung up on its huge walls in
gilded, carved, and gorgeous frames. Another store sold books with
the most wondrous covers that you could imagine
– with titles that promised
more adventure, romance, and action, than you could hope for. A
final counter was covered in statues of all shapes and sizes – some
of people, some of animals, some of ancient gods and goddesses. The
statues were made out of all sorts of materials – glass for the
body, bronze for the hands, glittering jewels for the eyes, and
fine gold wire for the hair.

Ebony walked through that entire
store, with a purse so full she could likely buy whatever she
wanted. But in the end she didn't buy a thing. She was too busy
roaming around, trying to take in the enormity of what was on
offer, that she forgot to actually purchase anything for
herself.

She shook her head and sighed.
Strange dreams, and probably meaningful in their own way. Then
again, everything has meaning, doesn't it? The universe is either
meaningful, or it is chaotic
– it cannot be both. And a meaningful universe was
a more appealing one.

Finally Ebony extricated herself from
the covers, throwing them off with a sigh, and jumping off the
couch.

Someone was meant to come and pick her
up today, to take her to the police station. While Harry's
certainly was safe for her right now, so was the station. With the
amount of magical defenses built into that place, the Devil himself
would probably think twice about taking it on without at least a
couple of hexing rocket-launchers.

She would search through every
single file, she told herself determinedly, and she would find what
she was looking for. Yes, she didn't know what that thing
was
– she
had no real clue what this whole situation was about. But she knew
that she could know, and that was what drove her forward. It was a
hypothetical in a situation full of undesirables and uncertainties.
But it was something to cling to, nonetheless.

Ebony patted the banister as she
trotted down the stairs. She glanced across at the grandfather
clock she kept by the wall. She kept it mostly for the benefit of
the customers, considering a witch never needed something else to
count time for her. It read 7:30. She had half-an-hour until her
ride would arrive to take her to the station, half-an-hour to make
herself some breakfast and just potter.

With a warm, gentle sun filtering in
through the blinds, Ebony found herself settling down onto one of
the couches on the lower level, hot cup of chocolate in hand, and
half-eaten pastry between her lips. As the crumbs tumbled down her
front, she reached around herself for some reading material. That
was the great thing about working in a second-hand bookstore, there
was never a shortage of things to read.

Ebony clutched at a little novel
poking up between several volumes of a very old gardening magazine,
and tugged it free. She glanced at the cover. It showed a swooning
maiden in the arms of, presumably, her lover, that or an incredibly
friendly stranger. The woman had a blissful, but kind of stupid
look on her face. Ebony shook her head. Did people actually read
this kind of junk?

She turned the book over and quickly
read the blurb. It promised a tale of seduction, chase, and
titillating romance. The heroine it seemed, though that word could
hardly be appropriately used for someone who appeared so pathetic,
was swept off her feet by a passing stud, and saved from her life
of misery and toil.

Ebony gave a chuckle and just tossed
the book to the side. She grabbed at a gardening magazine instead.
She leafed through, taking in the old, but still pretty pictures.
It showed lush, inviting, amazing gardens. Ebony was suddenly taken
by how wondrous it would be to live in the country, in such a nice
old house, and have a rose and herb garden as wide and winding as
the eye could see.

She put the magazine down. Then again,
she wouldn't like to do the work such a garden would
require.

Ebony munched through another
section of her pastry, taking a quick draft of her chocolate to
wash it down. She wiped her fingers against her top, and reached
behind her for something else to read. This time she pulled out a
book promising personal power. It was some kind of self-help book,
but with an edge of crazy. The picture on the front was of a man
with wide, electric eyes, staring down at his hands as they zapped
with power. Ebony bit into her lip, more than a little amused, and
turned the book over. It promised her that, upon reading and
practicing the seven steps inside, she would be blessed with the
kind of power
“everyone wanted,” the kind of power that let people
“control the world like the world once controlled them,” so they
could stop being “just a pawn in the great game of life, and start
being a player instead.”

Ebony just chuckled and put the
book back where it had come from. Not that she was a complete
unbeliever
–
she was a witch – but that book appeared to offer something that no
one would really want. Minus the frightful looking man with the
electric hands on the cover, who would want the power of the
universe, really? What would you do with it? Get yourself a million
Ferraris and then run out of ideas?

It was the same with the gardening
magazine and that silly romance. All ideas that looked good from
the outside, but once involved in the situation, you would quickly
realize that they either required too much effort to maintain, or
weren't as inviting as they once appeared.