Witch's Bell Book One

handle of the door fondly, before walking out and closing it behind her.
    By the time Ebony had made it to the Vale Police depot, it was already late afternoon. The wind really had picked up, she'd noted with more than a few harrumphs as she'd tried to keep one hand on her hat, one hand on her file, and one hand on her skirt – which had proved to be impossible in the extreme.
    She'd been sure she'd flashed more than a few passing motorists as the circling breeze had lifted her skirt in all the wrong places. 'Oh go away, silly wind,' she'd berated the weather with pressed teeth. 'You were such a nice day this morning,' she looked up as more and more pale clouds gathered at the horizon, 'and now look at you? I wouldn't be surprised if it rained tonight. No, scratch that, poured.'
    Ebony walked into the depot by ducking under one of the large garage doors as it closed behind a departing car. The depot was a large, stout building that sat underneath the police station. The station proper was a tall elegant building, with the soft lines, blacks, and creams of the Art Deco period. The depot sat around and underneath the police building, with street access on all four sides.
    The witches had enjoyed more than a say in the design of the current police station. When the last one had burnt down during the late 20's, the witches had been sure to run a careful magical eye over the architectural designs for the new one. They suggested building it in the center of a crossroads. It ensured the building had a view of, and access to, everything that lay around it. The corners of the building were rounded off too, in usual Art Deco style – but a feature the witches more than agreed with. What, with the round edges and central access, the police station was practically a circle inside a circle of roads – which made for a powerful building indeed.
    It would be incredibly protected; the witches had assured the police at the time. And sure to their word, never since, had the station ever been under direct threat.
    The witches had done more though, ensuring that etched onto every single supporting beam of the structure were powerful protection symbols. They even consecrated the ground with a month-long ritual that involved a lot less nudity and wine than you might expect your average witch get together.
    She always felt comfortable here, the police station always felt a little like home. It was partly due to the powerful protective magic, but also due to her childhood. She had such fond memories of following her father around as a child, teddy bear in one hand, her father's large hand clasped over the other. Everyone was always so friendly. People would pat her on the head, offer her sweets, even let her play around in the uniform cupboard.
    Despite the wind and clouds, part of Ebony's smile returned. 'Show me some cursed rings,' she announced to the room as she entered.
    'Ebony!' Barney greeted her with his over-the-top, show performer's voice. 'How are you going, girl?'
    Ebony clicked her fingers. 'Fine and dandy, how's the old Barney.'
    Barney made a show of patting himself down. 'I don't feel dead, so I must be okay, I guess.'
    'You're the best police officer I know,' Ebony chuckled, 'so where's all that cursed jewelery.?'
    'Round back. You're going to like this one, Eb,' Barney said as he unlocked the door to the evidence cage. 'A pair of cursed wedding rings.'
    'Eek, what did they do?'
    'They just had a return spell on them, I think. I mean, I don't know this magic stuff! But whichever happy couple would buy them, they'd get a divorce in a week, and sell the rings back to the jeweler they'd bought them from.'
    'Ha, very charming. Casting spells on your goods to get guaranteed returns. Surely there's a better way?'
    Barney shrugged. 'Hey, don't ask me to try and understand this, this is all your weird magic-crime.' Barney patted his chest. 'Me, I'm just a regular guy. This is your stuff, Eb.'
    Ebony reached down and carefully picked up both of the rings that Barney had pulled from an evidence bag. 'It's not my stuff, Barns, there's a lot more to magic than witches.'
    'Yeah, I know,' he handed her a washable marker and grinned.
    Ebony took the marker, dumped the rings on the table, and started to draw careful, precise symbols around them. It was just a regular child's marker from the local news agent, but what she was writing with it was anything but regular. She concentrated as she looped the writing, eventually drawing a