Witch's Bell Book One

danger, and perilous uncertainty – climb your own ladder of sense, safety, and knowledge.
    Ebony took a tremendous breath, and tried to take the lesson to heart. Okay, she told herself with the barest of smiles, you can do this. No, Ebony didn't have magic; so no, it was unlikely that the principles of summoning magic would be enough to rectify the situation. But it was worth a go.
    She stared out the window at her own reflection, and the cityscape and mountain-ranges beyond. You can do it, she told her reflection, just find the only certainty in this uncertain scenario, and latch onto it.
    The question was, though, what did she really know?
    She knew.... that she was Ebony Bell. That she was a witch, though currently without magic. That she owned a magical second-hand bookstore called Harry-
    Ebony suddenly snapped into a smile. 'Harry!' she said out loud. 'Of course'.
    Harry was her store, her charge. He also had the largest collection of history books this side of the Library of Alexandria. Yes, the magical files that could exonerate her might be missing, but Harry would still have his own source. Somewhere within that dusty shop she should be able to find a tome or two on the Grimshores. So, even if the whole of Vale turned against her – Ebony gave a thorough shudder at that horrible thought – she could still find out what on Earth was going on with the Grimshores.
    It was a start. But what to do about Frank, the Chief, and – quite possibly – the rest of the police station?
    How far did this go? How many people no longer believed Ebony's account of what happened at the crypt?
    She sucked in a breath, quickly swallowing as she did.
    She had to find out, didn't she? She couldn't just stay up here, waiting to go home, while some unknown force changed her friends and rewrote her life.
    She had to at least go downstairs to face it.
    With a very deep rattling sigh that sounded more like it belonged in a movie of the undead, Ebony turned to head downstairs. But, just as she did, she realized that she should at least make an attempt at hiding the Grimshore files. They were, after all, at least a hint that the Grimshores weren't all they were cracked up to be.
    Ebony quickly pushed her way to the back of the room. But the sight that met her on her desk set Ebony's new-found resolve back a mile.
    All the Grimshore files were gone. The picture with the Grimshore family crest. Even the box with the black, rigid "Grimshore" etched across the side, was gone.
    In fact, her desk was empty altogether. The notebook was gone. Even her pen was gone.
    Ebony put up a hand to her mouth and just shook her head silently.
    Any evidence she had that the Grimshores were even the slightest bit iffy, was now gone. The only thing she had to rely on was her memory. Which, in her current state, was somewhat like a dehydrated explorer in the desert relying on naught but a picture of water.
    It took her almost a minute to steel her resolve and try and root it all the way down her body with words of encouragement that ranged from "you can do it, Ebony!", to "if you don't go and do something, someone is going to do something horrible to you".
    Eventually, she turned around. She'd go downstairs. Try and find out, subtly, what other people knew of the Grimshores and the crypt case. If every single person she talked to wanted to hit her, or worse, every time she cast any aspersion over the Grimshores – then Ebony would have her answer, and, likely, a bruised eye to match it.
    She hit the stairs with her heart rattling deeply in her chest. But at least she was moving. At least her driving pulse was helping her to push on.
    As Ebony descended the stairs, feeling more and more like a little rabbit trotting into a den of foxes, she realized that people were returning from the Praytors case. Uniformed officers were walking to and fro, mouths pressed, and gait even. The detectives were back too – Ebony catching a glance of Ben's back as he dashed off down the corridor.
    Ebony tried to swallow a quick and painful sigh at the sight of Ben. What would he think, she asked herself. Would he have forgotten about the crypt case too? Would he spy Ebony and wonder why on Earth she was here? Would he march over to her and give her a jolly good, Ben-style, talk-down for her lack of diligence, and ability, in dealing with the crypt case?
    With a slight shake of her head, Ebony realized there was only one way to find out. She set off after him, heart now