Witch's Bell 1 Read online

  Witch’s Bell Book One

  Odette C. Bell

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Witch’s Bell

  Book One

  Third Edition © 2018

  Copyright © 2010 Odette C. Bell

  Cover art stock photos licensed from Depositphotos.

  www. odettecbell.com

  Witch’s Bell Book One

  Can this witch survive in a world of magic, possibilities, danger, and love?

  Ebony Bell owns a cantankerous magical bookstore with a personality like a battering ram. Her best friend is a detective who drives like a bat out of hell. And a tall, dark, handsome, but seriously irritating stranger by the name of Nathan Wall has just walked into her life.

  Oh, and she's a witch. A consultant witch, to be precise. She spends her mornings selling books and her evenings investigating magical crimes for the local police department.

  While her life is messy, she manages until one investigation ends in a costly mistake. She reveals her powers to a normal human, and in punishment is severed from her magic for one lunar cycle. If that was her only problem, she would cope, but very soon darkness surrounds her.

  Something is after Ebony Bell. A curse. She must fight it or die. And if that wasn't bad enough, she has to rely on the help, and kisses, of that darn Nathan Wall.

  …

  This seven-book series is complete, so start reading today.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Witch’s Bell Series Information

  www.odettecbell.com

  More Fantasy Series by Odette C. Bell

  1

  Ebony opened the door, her keys banging softly against the chipped wooden frame. She gingerly rubbed the scratched paintwork, hoping to smooth out the imperfections. Instead, all she managed was a splinter.

  “You need a paint job,” she told the store as she walked in, dumping her bag on the counter. She bit her thumb, removing the shard of wood with little effort and spitting it onto the ground. “And I need manners,” she replied to herself with a satisfied laugh.

  She didn’t have much to do today, in the way of store business, that was. She had to stack some shelves, move some books out from the back, and post a couple of rare tomes overseas. Apart from that, this would be a quiet day.

  Ebony abruptly stopped short, halfway through flipping the closed-sign to open. This should be a quiet day, she corrected herself. You should never tell the universe what to do. Giving it categorical orders only ever made it tetchy.

  Ebony kicked several dusty books out of her path as she made her way over to the window. She intended to yank open her ancient blinds and throw some much-needed morning light over this shemozzle. As the old wooden slats parted with a creak, perfect stripes of light moved across her face and into the room behind. Like seedpods on the wind, the sunlight lit up the dust motes drifting through the air and played against the dark mahogany of her loose hair.

  Ebony took a moment to stare through the windows, fixing her gaze on the blue sky above. It should be a beautiful, warm summer’s day.

  Should be, she repeated to herself as she turned from the view.

  Her long hair trickled over her shoulder as she turned. Though trickle was not a word you associated with dead, lifeless hair, you had to widen your vocabulary when it came to Ebony. Not only did her curled strands store up the light like a handful of diamonds glinting in the sun, but the hair itself had a mind of its own. It sometimes swayed from side-to-side like wind over long grass. It sometimes danced between her shoulders like a bird hopping from branch to branch. Sometimes it sat there like a storm – eddying, brewing, each tassel a wild, concentrated wave.

  No, Ebony’s hair was not every-day, normal, humdrum, or ordinary. Nothing about Ebony was ordinary – not her appearance, not her life, not her store, not her job.

  Ebony Bell was—

  The bell above the front door tinkled as someone came in. Ebony cocked her head to one side, her long neck straining until she got a full view of the door and the two men who cautiously walked in.

  One was tallish, the other stout. Both were dressed in cheap but well-made gray suits. Both had the same starched white shirts, their collars so stiff and neat, they could have been carved from stone. The tall man wore a simple black tie, which sat straight all the way down his front. The short man didn’t wear a tie, and his top button had popped all the way open.

  Detectives.

  How Ebony could deduce who these men were based simply on the appearance of their clothes was not important. She had many gifts, many useful, unusual gifts. She also knew the stout man, which helped.

  “Ben,” she curled her lips into a smile, flicking her hair over her shoulders as she moved out into the center of the store, “I thought I told you never to come here without food?”

  Ben, a middle-aged man with a balding patch so circular it looked like a mushroom ring, grinned. His grins were half-cheeky, half-lopsided, and mostly chin. He shoved a hand into a pocket and produced a brown paper bag.

  “Ohh,” Ebony pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow, “I have you trained.”

  Ben nodded in a humble but fake way and threw her the packet. Ebony could see the grease glistening off it as it spiraled through the air. When it came to Detective Benjamin Tate and food, salt, sugar, and grease were guaranteed.

  She caught the packet without shifting her eyes. One long, elegant hand snatched it out of the air with a snap.

  Ebony let her gaze draw to the man with Ben – the tall, silent, brooding man who looked like he belonged in a classical painting of a knight. It wasn’t just the way he stood with his chest puffed out, his feet planted, and his hands rounded into soft fists. It was the way his jaw was set with an edge of righteous defiance. The way his short, brown hair lengthened the shadows on his face. The way his dark eyes glinted at the world like pinpricks of fire on a moonless night.

  If Ebony smiled, she couldn’t help it. Ben’s friend looked like a barrel of fun. With one glance, it was clear he found her irritating.

  This made her smile all the harder.

  Ebony slid her gaze off the man and onto the greasy packet in her hand. She peered inside to see some kind of fried biscuit. Why someone would intentionally deep-fry something that was already fat and sugar molded into a lump mystified her.

  “So, Ben, tell me, what brings you here so early in the morning?”

  “Early?” Ben produced another packet with the same type of fried biscuit inside and proceeded to squeeze it into his mouth between breaths. “It’s ten. I’ve already been up for four hours.” Crumbs tumbled off his lips and between his fingers, forming a pile at his feet.

  She shrugged expressively, rolling her make-up-clad eyes. “We appear to have a different concept of time.” Which was true. For Ben, time trundled on like a clock strapped to a packhorse. For Ebony, time spiraled. “Now, can I actually help you? Or are you here to drop crumbs all over my precious stock?”

  Ben ignored her comment, instead leaning down to pick up the book near his feet, bits of biscuit c
rumbling in his fingers. “Precious? You sure? This looks like a dog-eared Nancy Drew novel.”

  This drew a sharp snort from Ben’s friend.

  Ebony shifted her gaze over to him, like a cat looking up, mid-slumber, to see a mouse frolicking across its path.

  Who was this man?

  “So, who are you exactly?” Ebony didn’t beat about the bush or soften her tone. She took several confident steps toward the man and curled up one ruby-red lip. “I’m not used to men giggling from the stalls.”

  The man bristled, his head shifting back slowly and his chest punching out even more.

  Before she could exact her reply, Ben ruined the mood with a jovial laugh. “Leave him alone,” he pleaded. “The guy’s new.”

  “Then why is he in an old suit?” Her smile was now nothing but her teeth pressed into her lips. She knew she was being cheeky, but she loved it.

  The man’s look of affront hardened with a gaze that could cut steel. Making a show of looking around the room, he found his voice finally. “Strange, I would have thought it was the newest thing in this store and certainly the cleanest.”

  Ben chortled from behind her, crumbs spraying out like waterfalls all over his jacket and tie.

  She had to suppress the gleeful smile threatening to turn her into a Cheshire cat. “Ohhh,” she purred, lips forming a long and drawn out W, “aren’t you sharp? With wit like that, you should come with a warning.”

  The man didn’t falter for a second. “I’ll send around a police dispatch now, or—” he paused, trying to look as if he was concentrating, “I could just leave and do some real police work. Why are we here again, Ben?” The man now turned from Ebony, facing Ben with a disapproving look. “Unless we can fine this woman for violating OH&S laws,” he reached out and tested the stability of a teetering tower of boxes and old magazines, “I think we should start on the murder from last night.”

  Ben finished his final swallow, coughing heartily as some of the crumbs stuck in his throat. “Yeah, yeah, rookie. We’ll get to the case. Remember, the way of the mentor isn’t always clear to the little new guy.” He patted his hand at about hip height, indicating the man who stood a full five inches taller than him was a midget in Ben’s eyes. “You’ve got to relax. This is your first day, and I’m taking the time to show you the ropes, because around here the ropes are real important.”

  “And food,” Ebony added, resting her chin on her hand, her fingers drumming against her cheek. She was getting bored with this conversation. She had a lot to do. But watching Ben’s new friend had a certain appeal. He was like some righteous Greek god who’d been plucked from Mount Olympus only to be slapped down amongst all these mundane little people who didn’t understand the justice and order of things.

  The man was ignoring her now, concentrating instead on dragging Ben out of here. “Look,” he said with a sharp sigh, “I don’t see any ropes around here. And frankly, this is a used bookstore, Ben. Don’t you think a dark alley or a drug den or an abandoned warehouse or practically anywhere but here would be more relevant to police work?”

  Ben trotted over to a half-full wastepaper basket and threw away his crumpled bag. Wiping his fingers on his pants, he shrugged. “Drug den? Have you been reading cop novels from the 1920s or something?”

  The man’s expression grew more exasperated. “You know what I mean – meth lab, hydroponics unit, whatever. Point is, we’re wasting our time. That murder isn’t going to get solved by standing around—”

  Ben raised a hand, and Ebony was pleased to note there was an edge of finality to the movement. For the most part, Detective Ben Tate was a softy. He’d never say anything without a grin, was sure never to drop by before ten, and hardly grumbled when Ebony stole his coffee. But when he wanted to, he could muster the authority of a field general. “Alright, Detective Wall, that’s enough. I brought you here to meet Ebony Bell. Ebony, this is Nate Wall.”

  Ebony smiled, her perfect white teeth glinting between the ruby-red of her favorite lipstick. “Detectives Nate and Tate, hmm, now doesn’t that roll off the tongue?”

  Ben made a loud sound like a buzzer. “Wrong answer, Eb. That’s where you curtsy and say, ‘nice to meet you, Detective.’ And as for you,” Ben turned on Nate, “this is where you—”

  “It’s such a damn pleasure to meet you.” Nate crossed the room quickly and, much to Ebony’s surprise, lifted up her hand and shook it vigorously. He had a grip like a jeweler’s vice and shook Ebony’s hand like a businessman after a sales pitch. “Gee,” his voice was high and fake, “my name’s Detective Nathan Andrew Wall, such a pleasure.”

  Ebony blinked, surprised at his sudden personality change. Her first impression of this man had been one of a sarcastic but mostly boring all-around good guy. Tall, handsome, officious, and would cite every single rule in the book, given a chance.

  Now she had to change her estimation of Detective Nate Wall. Why? The man was playing her.

  “So, Eb,” Nate stood too close to Ebony, his looming height and solid build a touch inside her personal space, “do you mind if I call you Eb?”

  Just as she’d teased and prodded him before, the good detective was now getting his own back. “No, pet,” she stressed the term of endearment, “you call me whatever you need to.”

  “Ah, how accommodating.” Nate nodded, face full of false cheer. Only the curl at the corners of his lips looked real. “So, Eb, I’m the new detective in town, and my partner here was just showing me the ropes.”

  Ebony nodded, her eyes narrowing. Detective Nate could play this game all he wanted, but the boy had no idea what was coming.

  “Anyhow, my partner here really seems to think it’s important that I meet you. I don’t know why.” Nate’s tone was beginning to shift. “I mean, you run a used bookstore. Hey, maybe you have a great section on crime or something? Or some collector’s editions of Guns and Ammo? Or—” the detective’s tone was as dry and sharp as a newly forged blade, “maybe this is a waste of time.”

  “Hmm.” Ebony made a soft, careful noise. “You are in luck – I do have a very good collection of books relating to crime. And I might even have a couple of copies of Guns and Ammo hanging around.”

  Nate’s expression was stony.

  “Also,” her mouth formed the slowest of smiles, “I’m a witch.”

  Dead silence met that fact. Finally, Nate’s expression cracked, and he let out a bullet blast of laughter. “A witch? Great, you’re wasting my time, and you’re mad.”

  If Nate Wall had half a mind to look at his partner, he would have seen the ashen look of fear cross Ben’s face. “Ah, Nate,” Ben began, “you might not want to—”

  “You know what, lady? I have work to do. There was a horrible, brutal murder last night. As fun as this has been, I have a real job.” Nate turned around and started picking his way toward the front door. “Judging by the look of this store,” he mumbled under his breath, “you would have no idea what work is, anyway. This damn thing should be torn down.”

  Ebony crossed her arms, her red fingernails drumming on the sleeves of her white summer dress.

  “Ebony,” Ben’s voice had a note of pleading, “don’t do anything too—”

  A pile of old books and magazines suddenly tumbled off the counter and right into the path of the retreating Detective Nate. The detective had quick reflexes and dodged to the side with little effort.

  “This place is a death trap,” Nate noted through a grunt.

  Another pile of books tumbled over, then another. None of them were close enough or large enough to do any damage to the rude detective. Still, the man’s face started to tighten with fear. “What?” he snapped. “This store is coming down around your ears.”

  “This store,” Ebony said, her voice a cold whisper, “doesn’t like to be insulted. Me,” she brought an expressive hand up to her chest, “I don’t care what you say about me, pet, but you really shouldn’t insult the store.”

  Nate’s eyes widened as ano
ther pile of books tipped over by his side. Old novels and yellowed magazines were now strewn everywhere as if Ebony had gone up the spiral staircase that led to the second level and tipped box after box over the railing and onto the floor below.

  “You’re going to have to say sorry.” She lifted her face to meet the detective’s gaze.

  His eyes were wide, his brow more creased than a shoreline after a storm. Yet, somehow, he didn’t appear shaken. Boxes may have been erupting books like geysers spewing water at a hot spring, but somehow the man still had a determined tilt to his jaw.

  “You aren’t serious—” he began.

  Books now tipped from the bookcases as if shoved from behind. The open-sign somehow fell off its hook, striking the floor with a thud and coming to rest against Detective Nate’s shiny shoes.

  Nate looked down.

  “Quickly,” Ebony hissed, “before he starts tipping the bookcases over.”

  There was an ominous thud from upstairs.

  Nate looked up and to each side, then finally back at Ebony. His chin close to his chest, he tilted his head down and looked up at her. “Sorry,” he began.

  A tenuous silence filtered through the store.

  “But this is ridiculous,” Nate finished.

  Ebony sucked in a breath. “Why you little—”

  One of the large wooden bookcases behind the counter began to tilt forward. Left alone, the thing would crash right over the counter and splinter on top of a surprised Detective Nate.