Witch's Bell Book One

that has ever been and ever will be? Just what, for crying out loud, am I supposed to have done? Can you actually tell me that, Chalcedony?' Ebony's hands were now curled into such tight fists that it felt like they'd stay that way for the rest of her life.
    Once again Chalcedony wavered. When it came to the facts, to the actual details, she couldn't supply them. She was like a student that had crammed for an exam, only to find that the questions she'd studied weren't on the test. She looked up and to her left, trying to blink out an answer.
    The more Ebony watched, the more she felt sorry for Chalcedony.
    It was a disarming feeling, and one that started to slide down Ebony like a sheet of ice trailing over her skin. Chalcedony had no idea what she was doing, no idea why she was here. Deep underneath the anger and vanity, was... fragility.
    'You failed as a witch,' Chalcedony suddenly snapped back, her voice ringing with righteousness.
    'Failed as a witch,' Ebony repeated dully. 'That's not an actual answer, is it? You can't tell me a single fact, all you can do is paint an emotive picture. Well let me tell you, I would be very worried about that, witch. When you can't remember what you've done, then you can't be sure of what you are doing,' Ebony cracked out her last words with a surety that didn't seem to belong to her. It was different, very different, from the usual confidence she had, or at least the confidence she had once had as a witch. This had an edge, a sharp, glittering edge of experience, that seemed to cut forward like the strongest blade. Ebony wasn't just throwing around a catchy comeback here; she was saying something for the benefit of them both. If you can't remember what you've done, you can't be sure of what you are doing.
    The words cut deeper into Ebony the more she thought about them. If Ebony forgot, or truly doubted her memories, then how was she to know what she was doing? How was she to have any direction at all in her present, if her past was a hazy, insubstantial fog?
    It took a moment longer for Chalcedony to bounce back, but bounce she did. 'You've never been a real witch,' she said with the kind of spite someone should only reserve for the criminally wicked. 'You've always been a failure. A danger to yourself and others. No idea what you're doing, and no control, or dignity,' Chalcedony's blond hair fluttered over her shoulder in a breeze that just wasn't there. 'What you did at the crypt was unforgivable. And now they've taken your magic away, permanently. It serves you right.'
    'Permanently?!' Ebony echoed, jaw dropping. Now there was a development. It seemed the more she pushed at this situation, the more she tried to find out, the less she submitted – the more it found ways to punish her. First it was with Frank and the Grimshores. By the second time she'd mentioned them, he was ready to practically burn her at the stake. The same was happening here, wasn't it? The more she pushed, the more the situation pushed back. All in one morning she'd lost her apparent sanity, her friends, her job, her magic, and Nate... though she wasn't quite sure she'd ever had him.
    Stunned, Ebony stood there for a moment. What would happen if she kept pushing, she wondered with a chill. What was left to take? Her family, Harry, her life?
    She swallowed, her throat dry and parched. This was it, she had to decide. Walk away, or keep pushing at the impenetrable wall until she lost everything she ever had, or the darn thing fell before her.
    What was the point of backing down if she'd have to watch all her friends walk around in this terrible fugue? What was the point of giving up if her treasured magic had already been snatched from her? Her job, Nate? Why stop now?
    What did she have to lose?
    Ebony opened her mouth, but a hand descended onto her shoulder with the gravity of, well, gravity.
    She looked up into Nate's steely expression. Being this close to him brought a strange mix of emotions to the fore. The swirl of this morning's kiss, the confusion at having lost him before she'd even known him, and that little doubt at the edge of her mind. That little doubt that had always told her that Detective Nathan Wall was much more, much more, than he seemed.
    'Leave now,' he said, voice as sharp and harsh as a gunshot.
    She jerked her head backwards, not expecting his mood, his words, or his tone.
    'Excuse me,' she began, trying to latch hold of her strength before it all dwindled away, 'but there's a