Witch's Bell Book One

blinds ruffling with a puff, 'I didn't know the police wanted it at the time. They came later, with those wretched little nancy wizards. I thought it was just some book from one of your suppliers.'
    But by that time, Ebony had opened the package. Inside wasn't a book, that was for sure. It was a pouch of Wizard Gold.
    Wizard Gold wasn't like the ordinary stuff. It wasn't shiny and pretty, and you certainly wouldn't be making rings out of it. It was black, sooty, and looked, for all the world, like coal. But it was also a powerful alchemical substance that could be used to turn any metal into gold. With the right incantations, and a pinch of this black stuff, a trained wizard could turn a handful of iron ore into a gold ingot.
    It was, obviously, incredibly valuable. It was the equivalent of having your own fully functional money-machine.
    'Ah Harry,' she said, voice shaking, 'this isn't a book.'
    Harry had grown momentarily silent, then all the books sitting on the counter gave a tremendous flutter. 'Gadzooks,' Harry said, very seriously.
    'Something like that,' Ebony bit into her hand, pushing the package away from her. 'I didn't order this,' she said weakly.
    'Yha! They would never have given it to you! That stuff is regulated by the International Wizard Bank. They have inflation to think about, you know.'
    'No wonder they're trying to break down my door,' Ebony leaned on the bench and took heavy breaths, the desperation of the situation spiraling around her again.
    'Calm down, child.'
    'Calm down? Where are these even from?' she spluttered back.
    'Oh, only place in Vale registered to print gold is Praytors.'
    'Praytors!' Ebony replied, voice catching. 'But there was a break-in there only this morning!'
    'Well then, I fancy we've just found out what was stolen,' the books by Ebony all fluttered closed with a snap.
    'This is terrible,' she groaned, head collapsing on the bench. 'What are we meant to do now? That's why those wizards are outside, and the police. But how did they know? I mean,' she straightened up for a second, 'maybe they know it was posted here, but they don't actually think that I'm responsible,' she patted her chest, hands a little floppy. 'So I can just open the door and give it to them, and everything will-'
    'Blow up in your face like TNT in your pocket. Are you mad? Have you learned nothing about today? Do you really think those wizards are just knocking politely to have their stuff returned? Get wise, girl, this is all part of the Grimshore curse. Mark my words, they not only think you are responsible, and will gloss over the fact that the Gold was patently posted to you – they will drag you off to prison and likely bring back witch-death by burning.'
    Ebony shuddered. 'Harry, that's awful!'
    'Ha, you need to be shocked into paying attention, my dear. So that was the shock. Don't you go opening the door, all conciliatory and pathetic. They aren't going to listen to you! All their reason has been sucked up the Grimshore spell. They all think you are guilty as a scheming dragon. You've been rewritten to them, remember? Nope, as long as the Grimshore spell is taking effect, you won't be able to trust a soul. And the only way to deal with those Grimshores is a good blasting,' the floor trembled, as if with laughter.
    'I guess,' she turned away from the door, and settled her gaze on the recently-stolen Wizard Gold in front of her. 'That's a good point. But, what now?'
    'Hmm, thinking, always thinking. We've got to think ahead, before we can act ahead. So, get in your head and start thinking!'
    About what, she wondered. About this situation, about Nate – about the impossible, awful, intolerable, nastiness of it all?
    'Constructive thoughts!' Harry bellowed. 'Not that poor-me crap!'
    'Harry,' Ebony said with a little shake, 'can you read my mind?'
    'No, but you are predictable. So, here's a tip: stop being so blasted predictable, and start being creative. Stop running from everything that's going on, or blundering around like a drunk miner in the dark, and start digging for diamonds, girl!'
    'I'm not blundering around,' she said, voice barely defensive, because she patently knew that she'd been blundering for most of her life. In fact, considering how things were working out for her, she might as well change her name to Blundering Bell.
    'Yes you are. And it stops here. Ebony Bell, you are being rewritten. But you, witch, know that such a thing cannot happen to a person of strong will. If you