Witch's Bell Book One

was frankly terrifying. And, much to Ebony's discomfort, these days things seemed to only be getting worse. While it was true that every generation always thinks that the battles they fight are far worse than those that have come before, you could be forgiven for putting more faith in the fact in Vale. Ever since Ebony had moved to this city as a child, Vale had only become wilder, more dangerous, and more ferociously magical.
    Nate eventually just shook his head lightly. 'This has been an... unusual morning. I bet it's going to be a hell of an afternoon, to boot.'
    Ebony hissed through clenched teeth. 'Don't ever make statements like that, rookie. You never know what you'll invite if you go around provoking the universe.'
    'Provoking the universe? Or provoking you?' the Detective almost smiled.
    Ebony laughed, tipping her head back and letting her tassels play against her shoulders. 'Oh too late, you've already provoked me, rookie.'
    'Alright Eb, when you're done eating the rookie alive, I'll drop you back home,' Ben sidled up to her. 'As much fun as it's been, I've got a tonne of ordinary, everyday, boring crimes to get to.'
    'And I have to clean up after this morning. And you,' she poked a red fingernail at Detective Nate, 'better read those books and return them to me sharpish.'
    The look on Detective Nate's face summed up the morning perfectly: his eyebrows peaked with defiance, his jaw jutted with attitude, and his eyes glinted with an insufferable knowing.
    By the time Ebony had made it back to the store, it was well into the afternoon. It would take her the rest of the day to clean up the mess, and probably most of tomorrow too. She had bookshelves to coax back into place, magazines to sort, and boxes to fill again.
    But despite the epic workload, Ebony found herself smiling. It was one of those smiles that curled your lips up until your cheeks pressed into your eyes.
    Strange day, she admitted to herself, very strange.
    A tsunami of books in the morning, a witch that risked it all on a forbidden love spell in the afternoon, and of course... the strange, delightfully irritating, Detective Nathan Wall.
    Despite being a consultant witch for the police force, and owning a magical second-hand bookstore, Ebony's life was usually fairly boring. She'd pack books on shelves, occasionally deal with customers, and trot down to the police station to remove a curse from a ring.
    Normal stuff, boring stuff. But now the winds of change were blowing, and Ebony could feel them playing against her hair.
    Now the only question was, just what would happen next?

Chapter Three
    E bony shifted her body from side to side, head weaving to and fro as the music pumped through her store. Her hair flicked around her like a skirt flaring in mid twirl. She clicked her fingers in time with the beat, and shook her wrists up and down till her copious golden bangles tinkled like little triangles.
    Ebony didn't believe in working without music. Working without music was like working without food: unsustainable, boring, and dull. So whenever she worked, she always made sure she had two things with her: blaring music and a bag full of lollies sprawled across the counter.
    Cleaning up the store had been quite a task. Harry really had put on a show the other day when he'd tried to teach that new detective a lesson. Really, Ebony sighed, though it had been amusing when it had happened, she was now thoroughly sick of picking up books and stuffing them into shelves.
    Time for a lolly then. Ebony just dumped the three or so books she had in her arms down on the ground, little dust clouds eddying up off the floor as they struck. Sweeping the floor was a task she had simply never gotten around to doing. It was because of brooms, she'd convinced herself, she just hated brooms. Human fiction had gotten that part dead wrong over the years. Witches didn't fly around on broomsticks all the time, black cloaks billowing in the wind, wands at the ready. Why? Because witches hated house work, the color black was boring, and wands were for magicians.
    Plus, Ebony reasoned as she flung herself down the old metal spiral-staircase that separated the first-floor from the second, people expected dust when they came into a used bookstore. If the books they were looking for weren't absolutely caked in the stuff, how would they know they are old and used?
    The stairs clunked with rusty creaks as Ebony's red, bedazzled high-heels pounded them. This bookstore really was