Witch's Bell Book One

eyes.
    'No, you little trotter, the world taught me. Really, getting to your age and having no idea how to learn things! What exactly have you been doing with your life?'
    Ebony huffed. She was starting to get annoyed. It was rising in her like a hot steam off a boiling pool. It was making her skin hot and itchy and her cheeks red and raw. She was starting to get sick of this stupid question. Why did people keep asking it! As if they knew the answers themselves! She felt like they were all lording it over her, as if the world, all her friends, and all her family had the answers to the test Ebony had forgotten to study for.
    'I don't know, Harry,' she snapped. 'Maybe you should just hurry up and tell me!'
    'Tell you!' his voice trembled with anger. 'What impertinence!'
    'Harry!' her voice arced up with anger. 'I can't take much more of this! There's a hoard of police and wizards trying to break down my door! I've lost my job, my magic, and my life! The Grimshores are rewriting my life so they can maintain their hold on Vale! I can't just stand around and think like this, I have to-'
    'Ah, there you go, still can't think. Still don't know what you want-'
    'I want you to shut up!' she shot back, voice exploding in a sudden rush. 'I want this situation to end – no,' she said suddenly, 'I want to end this situation. I want my magic back. I want my friends back. I want to lift this curse, arrest the Grimshores, and reverse any damage they've done. I want... I want... I want Nate. I don't want him to be evil, I want it all to be a mistake, I want-'
    'You want him?!' Harry's voice was incredulous. 'Yuck! I knew he was trouble the first time I laid eyes on him. But he's so annoying! So righteous and bland. He also has a secret, Ebony; I can smell it on him. Something big. I just knew I had to keep you two apart-'
    'So that's why you kept on trying to kill him?' Ebony crossed her arms.
    'Ha, that and I just liked to see his alarmed little eyes. Reminds me of a gorilla, that one – a slow, dumb gorilla.'
    'He's not dumb. He's.... different. But it doesn't matter,' Ebony took a startling, sudden breath. 'Because I want him,' she reached down and picked up the pen, twisting it around in her hand. 'I want to be me, Harry. I want to be Ebony Bell. I want to live the life I want every single day. I want to potter in my shop, and return home to a hot dinner, a hot detective, and hot-'
    'Don't you finish that sentence,' he cut in.
    'Showers,' she supplied with shake of her head. 'I wouldn't really change much,' she brushed her hand along the counter top. 'Just the little details.'
    'Oh no, you'd be changing everything – because you'd want it now. Very different that. Knowing you want what you have stops you from looking for what you don't want, and ignoring your blessings for the pursuit of curses. Any wizard knows that. Except for those hairy little louts outside. I bet all they know is how to cuddle cushions and plait their beards.'
    Ebony chuckled softly. 'Right.' She stopped herself with a stage blink. Gosh, she was turning into Nate – throwing "rights" out left, right, and center.
    But it was strange, very strange. Ebony felt different. She couldn't put her finger on it, couldn't point to a specific sensation in her stomach, or a tickle along the back of her shoulders. It was just different somehow. It was like her center of gravity had shifted ever so slightly, her feet planted just that more solidly on the ground.
    All she'd said was that she wanted roughly what she already had, but with certain embellishments in the Romance Department. That, and the right to continue living the life that she wanted even when those wants changed. If she woke up tomorrow and wanted to explore the Amazon rainforest, she wanted to be able to follow that want just as much.
    'Ha!' Ebony suddenly let out an explosive laugh. It was just as that little old dear had said the other night, when she'd come in proselytizing and handing out pamphlets. The secret wasn't in the thing you wanted; it was in the wanting itself.
    The right to want, the freedom to will – whatever you wanted to call it. That was what it was all about. It didn't really matter what you wanted – whether it was a truck full of chocolate, or a hot air balloon made out of pants – the magic was in the will directed, never the object intended.
    Things started to click into place like a puzzle spontaneously solving itself.
    'Ohh,' Harry gave the blinds a bit of a flutter, 'now