Witch's Bell Book One Page 10

  Chapter 10

  Ebony awoke suddenly, with the distinct impression there was something she had forgotten to do. She remained there for several minutes, surrounded by her many plush, painted-silk cushions, her hair in a muddle as she tried to sift through her memories.

  It was Monday, wasn’t it? Or was it only Sunday?

  She clutched at her wounded shoulder, muttering to herself a quick, but entirely ineffectual curse at the man who’d done it. It was taking quite some time and quite some effort to adjust to not having magic. While she hadn’t always been a powerful witch, never in recent memory had she felt so lost.

  She had to relearn how to do the most basic of tasks. It was as if she’d lost the use of both her legs and her arms, she’d told Ben, who’d snorted at the very idea. Which was the other problem. No one appreciated how hard this was for her.

  They all thought it would be a breeze – a walk in the park. No magic for a month? What’s the big deal?

  The big deal was she didn’t know how to decide anything anymore. All through her adult life, she’d used magic to help her decide what she wanted, what she felt like doing, what she needed. In the morning, it helped her decide what to wear. During the day, it helped her with every decision. It told her what the weather would be. It suggested which streets to walk down. It decided which friends to drop in on.

  Now she didn’t have a scrap of it. What was she meant to do?

  Ever since she’d returned from the hospital, she’d been loafing around in the same sweat pants and t-shirt, eating exactly the same meal all day long (pizza from the takeaway across the street), while sitting on her couch watching TV. By the end of the month, she fancied her friends and family would instigate a search to find her cuddled among the sofa cushions, crushed by a mountain of pizza boxes, but still with one defiant hand on the remote.

  Ebony rarely watched TV, only owned said sweat-pants and t-shirt because she’d mysteriously found them in her wardrobe, and only ate pizza when her tempestuous fridge decided to turn down its thermostat and freeze all her vegetables.

  It had only been a few days, and she’d already changed so much, she realized with a shiver.

  None of this was helping her remember precisely what it was she was meant to do.

  She pushed at her wall of decadent cushions, causing them to spill out onto the floor of her spacious bedroom. She stared over at the clock her father had given her when she’d gotten out of hospital. Ordinarily Ebony didn’t need a clock. As a witch, she knew enough about time to know what time it was. Not anymore. So her father had shoved the clock in Ebony’s hand, muttering something about remembering to set the alarm.

  She stared at the clock, hoping it would jog her memory. It was a squat little thing, with bucket-like ‘50s styling. It was made out of a hideous orange plastic that probably pre-dated Ebony by a good thirty years. It was the same clock her father had used all his life to make sure he was never late for work. She could still remember the incessant shrieks of its alarm from her childhood.

  Oh.

  The memory came back to her like a hand slapping against the window.

  Work.

  This was Monday morning, wasn’t it? According to the clock, it was 8:55.

  Ebony lay in bed, the slow realization of the impossible dawning on her. She was meant to be at work in five minutes. The Police Department was half way across town.

  She pushed up, cushions falling by the wayside. She swung around, feet hitting the plush carpet with soft thuds.

  Something strange was happening, Ebony could tell. There was this weird tightness knitting around her stomach. It felt expectant, in an entirely unpleasant way.

  She was going to be late, really late. And while that prospect rarely bothered Ebony, it was having a strange effect on her today. In the past, if she’d found herself munching on a pastry too late and had only an impossible amount of time to make it to an important appointment, she would have relied on her magic, letting it clear a perfect route to get her wherever she had to go.

  Now she was on her own.

  She danced from foot-to-foot, staring at the clock as it flicked another minute by. She’d never seen time count down like this – push ahead like it was a mean old grandmother trying to get to the front of the line. It was enough to make her gulp, her throat growing ever tighter with nerves.

  She ran over to the wardrobe, her face pressed into the kind of twisted expression you have before you get hit by something hard, heavy, and painful.

  She grabbed whatever clothes came to hand. First, a blouse that looked like it belonged in a rendition of an ‘80s musical, with kaleidoscopic colors and sleeves so puffy you could comfortably hide whole sandwiches in them. Then she snatched a skirt. A svelte little thing cut above the knee, made of beige satin. It looked more like it belonged on a bed in a questionable hotel and less like a functioning piece of clothing, but she didn’t have time to question it. She didn’t have time to question anything.

  She threw on the clothes, stooping down to grab a pair of shoes on her way. Her shoes were low, manageable, careful little items that looked like, and probably were, hand-me-downs from a grandmother somewhere. They were low, brown, and had fake crocodile skin running down to the toe. They were, however, exceedingly comfortable.

  Ebony didn’t have time to look in the mirror after she’d thrown on her curious ensemble. If she had, she’d have thrown up. But she did think to herself how curious it was that she even owned these clothes. She didn’t remember buying them. It was as if things were now popping up in her wardrobe, unbidden, from some great resting place of hideous, unloved clothing.

  She thundered down her stairs, wondering what she’d do about breakfast. Did she have time to go the pizza place? Would they even be open?

  She shook her head, flying toward her door and pulling it open. She needed to move on to cooking again. She was an excellent cook, all witches were. Ebony would make the kinds of soups, stews, sauces, puddings, cakes – and various other delights – that would set a person’s mouth watering and heart overflowing. She could cure your cold with a pancake, give you a good night’s sleep with a chocolate brownie, and mend a broken heart with a full glass of home-made lemonade.

  But that was all magic stuff, and she simply wouldn’t know where to start now. So she’d stick with pizza and maybe branch out to other take-out cuisines later in the week.

  She’d try and steal whatever she could from the police station for breakfast. Ben always had chocolate bars secreted about his jacket and his desk, like a squirrel preparing for winter.

  Five minutes after she sprang through the door and down the street, she was back again, face a picture of ashen annoyance. With teeth biting her make-up free lips, she went back for her wallet and her house keys. With the frustration making her want to punch a rubbish bin, Ebony locked up her house. It wasn’t something she ever did as a witch. Why use a lock as a deterrent when you could cast a proper protection spell on the place? And the same with her wallet. She very rarely carried it unless she knew she was going to do human-style shopping. For the day-to-day business of a witch, she didn’t need the ordinary currency of people – the magic world had a far more direct system that didn’t involve silly paper notes and plastic cards.

  Ebony struggled, trying to get her key to work in her lock. She hadn’t locked the damn house since she’d bought it three years ago, and now the thing seemed rusted over. But she persevered, teeth clenched so hard she was sure she was about to break her jaw.

  Finally, she set off to work. Who knew what the time was? Certainly not her. Maybe 9:15 already? Maybe even 9:30?

  As she rushed down the street, she realized with a horrible jolt she didn’t even know the bus schedule, the train schedule, or any other useful titbit of information about the public transport system. She didn’t even know where to wait for a bus. While Ebony didn’t have a car of her own, she hardly ever took public transport. It was another thing about being a witch – she would find a
way when she needed one. She would ask politely, and the universe would deliver.

  Now Ebony was streaking down the street, her comfortable granny-loafers padding along while her giant, paint-accident hippie sleeves streamed behind her in the wind.

  Her mother had always had a theory about witches and clothing, though Ebony had ignored it up until now. What a witch wore showed more than her mood. What a witch wore showed the condition and expectation of the mind. The shape, the color, the contour, the pattern – all revealed the harmony within.

  If her mother was right, Ebony was as discordant as a bunch of three-year-olds hammering out a self-composition on upturned pots and pans.

  Finally, she found a bus stop. She tried to not be bothered by the odd looks she received from the people around her. One woman stood politely to one side, seeming to concentrate entirely too hard on keeping her mouth in a straight line. A young kid just cracked a grin wider than the Pacific Ocean and pulled his phone from his pocket, pretending to key in a text message while he took several photos of the hilariously dressed, temporarily magic-less witch.

  Ebony was about ready to throttle them all, or just go home and return to her sweat pants and t-shirt, when an old lady drew up beside her. She took one look at Ebony’s fake crocodile skin granny-loafers, and cooed. “Oooohh, those look so comfortable, dear.”

  At first, Ebony looked at the woman carefully, trying to check the old-timer wasn’t about to crack a joke.

  “I haven’t seen those for years.” The old woman seemed truly delighted. “They’re so stylish and yet so comfortable.”

  Ebony took a breath and released herself into the confusing, irritating, uncontrollable situation – like a person shrugging their shoulders and jumping off a cliff. “Thanks,” she looked down at her loafers, twiddling her toes, “They are pretty comfortable, actually.”

  The kid to Ebony’s side guffawed with laughter, being more open about taking photos of her now. He even muttered a quiet, “Freak.”

  Ebony tried to mumble a curse back, but stopped, realizing it had no chance at all of working. So… she just stood there. The once proud, saucy, confident witch simply stood there and took the insult.

  “You ignore him, dear,” said the old woman, still admiring the loafers with obvious appreciation painted over her elderly face. “He’s wearing silly shoes that hardly fit him. In sixty years he’s going to have bunions all over his toes and arthritic joints. Then we’ll see whose laughing.”

  Ebony couldn’t help but smile. It was a different smile to her usual grins. She usually peeled back her lipstick-clad lips to reveal her teeth gracefully – like a proud queen surveying her kingdom. Now… it was hard to explain, but she was smiling for the woman, not at her. She was smiling because of what the woman had said, for the brief moment of camaraderie that she’d afforded Ebony on this apocalyptic morning.

  It sent a flicker of something unrecognizable through Ebony. Before she had time to wonder at it, the bus pulled up. The bus driver gave Ebony a thorough look – starting at her unkempt hair, lingering at her tight satin skirt, and ending at her commendable granny-loafers. “Red light district?” he quipped. “Or you doing the rounds at the nursing homes?” His face scrunched with a frankly awful, objectifying look.

  Ebony, once again, opened her mouth to proudly hex the blighter right in his face – but stopped. She didn’t have magic – she didn’t have magic. All that confidence, all that power, it was gone.

  So she stood there, looked to the side, then took her ticket and moved to the furthest end of the bus. She sat carefully, wrapping her arms around her middle as she tried to make as little of herself seen as possible, considering her impossibly colorful get-up.

  Why were people so cruel?

  It wasn’t a question she’d ever asked herself. Well, she had, but not in the same way. Ebony had watched the news sometimes, seen the terrible things people could do to each other. She’d heard stories too. And hell, she worked for the police department. She knew the great potential of man to hate fellow man… but never in this way. It seemed so useless, so pointless. Why objectify someone for the way they looked? Why ruin their day? What were the kid and bus driver thinking they’d get out of dragging Ebony down? A pat on the back? A sweetie? A feeling of accomplishment?

  She saw her reflection in the glass of the bus window. She stared at it. Not like she usually did. Now Ebony saw the lines, the marks, the shadows, the imperfections.

  She became increasingly aware of the bracelets about her wrists and the choker around her neck. They felt like shackles, like chains securing her in the worst of prisons. She longed to rip them off and toss them out the window. Then she could return to her ordinary life. There would be none of this self-doubt, none of this uncertainty and confusion. She would be a witch again – a cut above the rest. She would understand, unlike these idiot buffoons. She would know the ways of the universe in its entirety.

  But the thought, which she hoped would rally her, soon fell back against the cool mood swirling within. Somehow, the knowledge that she was a witch seemed far more fragile than usual. It was filled with less of the power that had once enabled Ebony to sing through her life, hair sparkling, smile twinkling.

  By the time she reached her destination, she trundled off the bus with dejection sinking right through her. It felt like rain clouds descending from above – clouds that were going to signal a heavy and unrelenting downpour of hideousness for the next month. The sun seemed all but gone from Ebony’s life right now.

  The old woman leaned over the railing just as Ebony trundled down the stairs, her mind set on ignoring the bus driver’s back-shivering glances. “Dear, you have a good day, won’t you?”

  Ebony looked up. Was that a question? And if so, how was she to answer? “I’ll try,” she said after a pause, smiling back at the old woman.

  “With shoes like that,” the old woman settled back into her seat, handbag clutched before her, “Nothing will get in your way.”

  Ebony laughed gently, finally stepping off the bus. As it drew away from the curb, she felt even more confused than before. How could this be? How could her mood change so quickly, with such little reason? Seconds before, she’d been ready to crawl back to bed and camp under the covers for the next several weeks. Now Ebony could see the barest crack of light on the horizon.

  As Ebony walked through the great big doors at the front of the department, she noticed the swelling uncertainty in her stomach. She felt like rubbing her arms and cuddling into a jacket. But with nothing to cuddle in sight, she walked on.

  Several passing officers gave her curious looks, but they lacked the edge of objectification she’d just experienced.

  Officer Barnes cracked into a giant grin, waggling his eyebrows as she passed. “That’s quite a statement you’re making there, Eb.”

  Ebony sucked in her lips, not sure whether to try to defend herself, ignore it, or tell the officer to get stuffed. “This is how ordinary people dress, right?”

  The officer nodded. “If they’re from an ‘80s b-film about grandmas on crack.”

  She felt her heart drop, her usual defenses abandoning her like cats in the rain.

  “But you know what,” he tipped his head at her, “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.” He gave her a final flash of his smile, before disappearing down the corridor.

  Once again, she was left feeling thoroughly confused. She just couldn’t get a handle on this situation. One moment she was being torn down by what people thought of her, the next she was being rebuilt anew. How did people manage it? How did they negotiate the depths of their own identity while they were constantly being remade in the eyes of others?

  With heavy, melancholic, but philosophical thoughts whirling in her mind, she took the stairs up to her floor. Not that it was her floor, not that she even had an office there, but it was where she had to be.

  She walked in to see a room full of people hard at work. All faces she knew, she assured herself, and thus, all
people she was comfortable with. But whether it was her peculiar mood or the fact she rarely came into the office to do anything other than swan about and joke with people, she was starting to pick up details she’d never noticed before. She saw the photo of Percy’s dead wife on his desk – always reverently set to one side while the rest of his desk drowned under paperwork. She saw the coffee cup on Shirley’s desk – the one with the crazy happy face painted on it. Ebony also made out the desktop background image on Michelle’s computer – a photo of a squirrel holding a nut, looking wide eyed and shocked as the caption confidently announced it was about to get its nuts busted.

  Little details of personality now blinked out at Ebony like brightly wrapped Easter eggs hidden in a familiar room. She’d never seen these things, but now she couldn’t help but notice them.

  “Ebony,” Ben marched up to her, eyebrows peaking at the sight of her strange clothes, “You mugged by hippies? Is that why you’re so late?” he quickly added, pointing at his watch.

  Ebony didn’t have an immediate response. She shrugged, tipping her unkempt hair over one shoulder. She was suddenly noticing how comfortable her shoes were again. She usually wore the most ridiculous, toe-incarcerating shoes, because they looked good. Now, well, she just stood there with nothing to say, but at least with happy feet.

  Ben ground his teeth, narrowing his eyes. “How many days since you’ve brushed your hair – it looks like rats are living in it?”

  Ebony shrugged.

  “Okay.” A careful look grew in his narrowed eyes. “So, are you feeling okay?” Ben’s voice had an unusual edge.

  “I guess.” Ebony patted her hair away from her face with a heavy swipe of her hand. Her hair was usually as well-behaved as a police dog –now the stuff was as wild and impossible as silly-string. “They gave me drugs for the pain.” She shrugged again, starting to realize she must look like a disaffected youth. That, or her shoulders were attached to strings like a puppet. “The drugs are pretty good,” she added with a smile.

  Ben’s eyes widened, but only slightly. “Right,” is all he could manage.

  Before he could drag Ebony down to the drug squad, Nate walked up behind him. Nate’s expressions ran the full gamut, just like Ben’s had, but did so quicker. It was like watching a mime in fast forward. Finally, the gruff detective’s face settled on raising an eyebrow and looking unimpressed. “You trying out for the police musical?”

  Ebony didn’t quip back, she simply stood there. Her shoes were comfortable, she reminded herself, very comfortable.

  “Or did you cut up sheets from a cocaine party at an art college?” Nate smiled at his own joke, his chin dropping and cheeks fattening.

  Once again, Ebony didn’t answer.

  Blinking, Nate narrowed his eyes.

  “So, Eb,” Ben tried carefully, “What was your prescription again?”

  “I haven’t overdosed on drugs.”

  Ben shook his head, like a long-haired dog trying to get its fur out of its eyes. “Right. I mean, of course you haven’t. Anyhow, ah… we’ve found you an office.”

  “Okay,” Ebony’s voice was light and barely-there compared to her usual punchy tone. “Where’s my office, then?” she asked with an awkward smile. “I’m here to work, aren’t I?”

  Ben’s top teeth were sunk so deep into his bottom lip, the skin had turned a mottled white and pink. “Eb, you sure you’re feeling okay? I mean, are there any side effects from those bracelets, or the drugs maybe? Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

  She sighed, realizing Ben probably thought she was a drug-addicted, insomniac ex-witch. But her shoes were so comfortable, she reminded herself again, so very comfortable. “Don’t worry,” she said honestly, this time not shrugging, “It will take time to get used to. Plus,” she found herself grinning, “I’ve never had drugs before.”

  She meant it as a joke, but Ben’s expression became all the more pained. “Okay, I’m going to set you up in your office,” he said clearly, as if talking to a three-year-old. “There are some old cases I thought you could look at for me – but no pressure.” He raised his hands quickly, as if trying to negotiate his way out of a hostage situation. “You get to them only if you feel you can.”

  “Okay. I don’t have anything else to do. And I can still read, I think,” she tried for another joke, this time adding a grin to make sure it went down right.

  But once again, Ben looked pained. “You can’t read? I mean, that was magical too?”

  “No,” she said blankly, “I can read, Ben.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll take you to your office then.” Ben looked and acted like a worried aunt.

  Nate opened his mouth, as if trying to say something, then just blinked heavily. “Glad to have you back,” he eventually offered.

  “I didn’t go anywhere,” Ebony added, a bare spark of her usual spunky nature returning. But the spark was still dim against her current mellowed state.

  As Ben turned, ushering her on with a flick of his hand, a tall, leggy, stunning blonde walked into the room.

  Chalcedony.

  She was wearing a very smart, very stylish black skirt, an expensive looking white shirt ruffling out from it. She had high, but smart, black heels on. She had a gray handbag hanging over her arm, her usually dead straight blond hair looped into an exacting bun at the base of her neck. She wore make-up, but with the ease of someone who didn’t really care.

  Ebony saw more than a couple of appreciative glances slip Chalcedony’s way from the men in the room. Even the women looked awed.

  Chalcedony cocked her head to one side when she saw Ebony, her electric-green eyes glinting. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to – it was plastered over her face like a ten-meter billboard.

  “Glad you’re here,” Nate said, rushing up to the new witch. “We’ve got a situation down town—”

  “I’ve read the report, Detective Wall, and I am ready to go. This situation should be easy to control, but I suggest we move now. I never like to delay.”

  Was that admiration flickering in Nate’s eyes, or something else? Was the efficient detective admiring Chalcedony’s graceful go-get-’em attitude, or just her figure?

  Ebony bit down on her lips, an unusual frustration seizing her torso, as sticky and slow as melted treacle.

  Seconds before, she’d been detached and philosophical, and now she was itching with frustration. Being human and without magic was like being a flag in a hurricane. You turned this way and that entirely at the whim of the wind whipping around you.

  And the winds, apparently, had just changed. Ebony felt the annoyance draw through her with the pull of a gale.

  She tried not to meet Chalcedony’s gaze. Her former best friend may have been many things, but she was still a witch, and a very powerful witch at that. Ebony could glare at the blonde bombshell all she wanted, but Chalcedony could reply with a witch’s gaze – and Ebony would rather not grow a boil on the end of her nose right now.

  So Ebony stared down at the floor, chewing into her lips like they were leather bits.

  Ben tried to get her attention with an awkward wave. “Ah, Eb? Something on the ground? Anyhow, we’ve got to go now. Frank will show you to your office.” And with that, Ben, her Ben, turned to follow a different witch out the door.

  Nate grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, throwing it on while offering Ebony a calculating look. He checked his badge and gun were in place, still not taking his eyes off her. “I think I know what your problem is,” he said eventually.

  Ebony wasn’t so far gone she didn’t notice the sarcasm brimming in his voice, and she mustered just enough energy to stare back at him with a slightly defiant look. “Is it the fact I’ve been unfairly punished for a crime I didn’t commit?” her voice had half of her usual pluck, but she still managed to find something in her reserves of defiance to meet his unyielding gaze.

  “Hmm.” He nodded and then broke into a proper grin. It was the kind of grin you rese
rved for when you found out you’d won the lottery – it was surprising, jubilant and….

  Ebony’s eyebrows descended, her teeth clenching. What was this guy up to?

  “I definitely know what your problem is.” The smile stayed on his lips as he turned to follow the others through the door.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice cracking louder than it had been all morning, “What are you talking about? I don’t have a problem!”

  “Yeah, you do. And I know what it is.” He turned to face her, walking backward, grin as wide as the Milky Way.

  “What is it then?” Ebony crossed her arms and flicked her hair to the side.

  “Oh no, I figured it out – now you’ve got to figure it out on your own.” He turned from her and disappeared through the door without another word.

  If she’d had a lollipop in her mouth, it would have fallen out, hitting the floor and smashing into little pieces.

  What? What was that idiot up to? She didn’t have a problem! Well, apart from the obvious – but it was just cruel to point that out.

  Ebony stood there, fuming like a chimney that had caught fire. It wasn’t until Frank walked up behind her, offering a shaky cough, that she snapped back to reality.

  “Oh, Frank,” she said, unclenching her jaw.

  “Hello, Ebony Bell,” he used her full name, which summed Frank up completely. He’d been here so long, he’d seen Ebony grow up from a little bub. He still saw her father regularly too, and would always emphasize to Ebony, at any opportunity, how good her dad had been as the Detective Inspector. He had class, Frank would say, and heart. He was a good man. And you just didn’t see that these days.

  Ebony offered her own small cough. “So, where’s my office? Ben said you’d show me there.”

  Frank nodded, his graying hair flopping on his head as if it was more of a cushion and less like it was actually attached to his skin. “You are looking very nice today, Ebony Bell,” he commented with a gentlemanly nod. “You’re usually in those terribly big and pointy heels – but those are very fancy shoes you’ve got on there – very nice.”

  Ebony felt like taking a step back and shaking her head in disbelief. What on earth was with these shoes?! While the rest of her outfit was attracting more boos than a pop song at a death metal concert, old people thought her shoes were the second coming.

  Was she missing something? Were these the shoes of God? Had they starred in an awesome film in the ‘30s? Were they the shoes everyone simply had to have back when Frank was a boy?

  “Umm,” Ebony put up a hand, making a strange face, “O… kay,” she said, not wanting to be rude. “Thanks… these shoes are pretty good.”

  She made a mental note to go home and search through the rest of her wardrobe. There was bound to be an imp in there casting curious spells on her clothes. It was the only way to explain this.

  “Alright then, you follow me, and I’ll take you to your office. I’ll warn you though – it’s a bit of a walk.”

  She scratched her nose, confused. “Umm, I thought I was just going to get a desk in here, with you guys? So I could stay close to the action—”

  “Oh, never any action in there, Ebony Bell.” Frank sniffed heartily as if that fact was a grim burden. “Just coffee. Anyway, I thought, seeing as you are here to look through some old files for a while, that I’d put you with the files. Seems right, doesn’t it?”

  Ebony made an unpleasant face, but quickly shifted to a polite smile. “Really? There’s an office down there?”

  “Oh no, not down there. The basement is where we keep all the mundane files. No. Ben wants you to look through the unsolved magical cases. And we keep those up on the top floor.”

  “Top floor? But there’s nothing up there but equipment, storage, and—”

  “Files,” Frank finished off her sentence with his bland, but direct tone. “And there’s an office too. Back when this place was built, when we had a bit more magical crime doing the rounds – we had a full-time witch on who just used to do the filing. Margaret was her name.” Frank’s gaze took on a far off look, with a bare smile playing at the edges of his usually drawn-lips.

  “Really, I didn’t know this.” She followed close behind Frank as he slowly took the stairs. Though there was an elevator, Frank always took the stairs.

  “Lots you don’t know about this place, Ebony Bell. It’s full of secrets. Lots of files too. But you’ll know that by the end of the month, I’m sure.”

  Ebony smiled wanly. Yes, that was definitely one lesson she was going to learn, not that she’d ever wanted to. Filing, researching, and general paperwork were not fun. Though she worked in a used bookstore, she still hated that side of police work. She didn’t care too much about what some half-drunk university student had summoned on the morning of the 25th of December 25 years ago. It was water under the bridge.

  Ebony cared about the present. She still loved her books and loved to read. But she was no history buff, unlike a certain Detective Nate, who had now borrowed so many books from her she was thinking of giving him a library card.

  As they ascended the stairs, she let her gaze wander to the windows neatly placed along the back wall of the stairwell. The stairs were big, long, tall, and strong. They were the backbone of the department, her father had once said, like the spine sending messages to the rest of the body. If they were the backbone, then, technically, at their top should be the brain. Instead, the top floor was full of old equipment, dust, and more yellow files than the eye could see.

  Unlike ordinary files, magical cases couldn’t readily be typed-up and shifted onto computers. There was something important that was lost in the translation. So the witches had always encouraged the police department never to get rid of their old files pertaining to magical crime. As such, they’d just shifted them up to the old top-floor.

  No one liked the top-floor. It has a draft, her father had once grumbled to her, an uncanny draft that always found a way of chilling the back of your neck, even if you were wearing a scarf.

  Now Ebony was expected to work up there for the rest of her non-magic sentence. Not only would it take her ages to get there in the morning, but she would have to work alone all day without the prospect of stolen coffee or doughnuts.

  Or Nate, a little voice said in her head. But Ebony quickly laughed the little voice into submission, ignoring the kick of disappointment at the idea she’d hardly see the annoying detective for the next several weeks.

  When they reached the top floor, Frank let out a heavy sigh. “I like that walk,” he said with a toothy grin, “It’s good for the heart. And,” he pointed behind them to the giant window that sat at the top of the stairwell, “The view is the best in the building.”

  Ebony stared out the window, head tilting to one side. It was a good view – an amazing view, in fact. You could stand there and watch the rest of Vale go about its business, with the keen gaze of a hawk from above.

  Frank hardly paused, and she followed, legendarily-comfortable shoes slapping on the dusty marble floor. It seemed as though even the cleaners didn’t come up here anymore. She shuddered at the thought of all the cobwebs and dead insects she’d have to blow off the files. Ebony would probably come home from work looking like she’d been crawling through ancient caves every day and smelling like it too.

  The architecture up here was different. On the floors below, the central staircase of the department would lead into long, wide corridors that spanned the length of the building – rooms branching off them like capillaries off an artery. Up on the top-floor, everything was open. There were no offices and rooms – just the one wide, open room that stretched the length and width of the building. It was huge, or would have been if it weren’t jam-packed with old, rusted shelves, which were, in turn, jam-packed with old, yellowed boxes and files.

  At least there were windows, which meant there was light. In fact, there were a great deal more windows here than anywhere else in the police department. And none of the windows had blin
ds, which was odd, considering all the sun-bleached files that littered the room.

  Then again, these were magical files. No matter how much sun, dust, age, or moth attack – they wouldn’t deteriorate.

  Maybe the light was a good thing. With all this magical history pressed into one room, you wouldn’t want it to get too dark. Darkness tended to attract strange things….

  She sighed as she ran a finger over a dirty, old, brown box that sat close to the stair-well. In a way, she was thoroughly at home. It reminded her of her chaotic store.

  “Your office isn’t so much an office.” Frank confidently wended his way through the shelves. “It’s more of a desk.” He eventually found a squat, old, wooden desk up against a far wall. It had its back to the files and faced toward one of the large windows, a magnificent view of the mountains beyond.

  Gosh. You could see the weather roll in off those mountains a treat from this window.

  “You might need to give things a dust.” Frank coughed. “But there’s everything you need.” He pulled open a drawer, the wood grating unpleasantly, and grabbed out pens and a pad of old paper. “Now I don’t know precisely what Ben wants you to do, but I reckon he just wants you to give the unsolved cases a once-over. Doesn’t matter if you don’t find anything, but you might. Benefit of hindsight and all that. You might have come across something in the last couple of years that could put these old files to rest.”

  Ebony nodded, taken by the silent room with the incredible view of the city.

  “Anyhow, I had better go back down now, but you let me know if you need anything.”

  She smiled. She tried to rack her brain, wondering if she needed anything else up here – a heater, a water cooler, a phone, a computer, a pot plant to talk to?

  She couldn’t think of anything essential. Plus, the place was starting to have an effect on her. A curious effect….

  She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She felt her hands moisten with sweat. She felt her breath quicken as her mind sharpened to the situation. Was this anticipation or something else?

  Was she starting to settle into her month-long sentence, was she starting to feel comfortable with her lot? No, that wasn’t it. It was more than that.

  It almost felt like something was unfolding before her – like a book that had fallen unbidden off a bookshelf, only to open at a certain page.

  Well, if that was the case, Ebony would have to stoop down, pick it up, and start reading the new story.