Witch's Bell Book One

And Ebony was finally starting to realize what it was. Those birds, whatever they were, weren't normal. It wasn't the soulless eyes that did it; it was the way they moved, the way they felt. In fact, now Ebony took the time to really feel into this whole situation, she realized that none of this was normal. None of it. There seemed to be such a strange magical fog sitting over the cemetery, like a smothering blanket.
    It felt as if something was here. It felt as if something was watching them. It felt as if-
    Suddenly a hand descended onto Ebony's shoulder, and she realized she was still lying on the ground. Long after the strange birds had swooped off into some other part of the graveyard, Ebony had simply kept motionless on the ground. But she pushed herself to her feet now, trying to ignore the pressed, confused, and worried look in the eyes of Detective Nate as she rose. 'You okay?' he asked.
    Ebony dearly wished she had some gum, or a lolly, or a darn leather bit to bite down on. 'Yeah,' she said through clenched teeth, 'just birds.' Then she faked a dose of confidence, and stared forward. 'Good to go,' she said as she started off again.
    As they entered further into the area of the crypts, the storm above began to grow more intense. While it had previously only offered the occasional thunderous rattle to accompany the drenching rain – loud, frequent lightening now flashed in the distance, with deep claps of thunder punctuating the air with ear-splitting booms.
    Finally Ebony caught the scent of ghosts. Though scent wasn't entirely the right word, it was close enough. Ghosts left a trail that tickled the inside of your nose. It was as if your nose knew that it should be picking up some smell, but simply couldn't. It was the smell, she reasoned, of something that just didn't smell at all.
    She motioned to the side at a darkened path that led between close, low crypts. 'Ghost,' she turned and mouthed, 'that way.'
    Now she was aware of it, her eyes were starting to pick out the ubiquitous ectoplasm – a common residue of otherworldly creatures – covering the grass in clumps, or sliding off the sides of standing-stones. She even leaned down at one point, running her drenched fingers through the yucky, sticky stuff. Though her mother had essentially taught her everything she knew about ghosts, her father had taught her the patience and timing of a tracker.
    'It's got friends,' she said to the rest of the group, voice low but still strong enough to carry over the calamitous sound of the storm, 'maybe three or four. They aren't powerful though,' she righted herself and continued slowly towards the narrow space between the crypts. 'They'll be very ready to cross over.'
    Not that this would mean anything to the brash Detective Nate, but the rest of the group should understand. In ordinary circumstances, a ghost only ever hung around its body for a week. When the dreaming was done, and the memories of a life collated, the ghost would depart to the Other Side. The further into the process a ghost was the less power it had. It was the memories of the life-once-lived, and the emotions associated with them, after all, that still anchored the ghost to the body. The more memories it had been able to process, the less of a ghostly punch it could still pack.
    Ebony carefully, silently made her way between the crypts. The space was barely wide enough for her to fit through, so she wasn't surprised when several of her cohort had to peel off to circumnavigate. But somehow, the broad-shouldered Detective Nate managed to squeeze in behind her. Perhaps he was a cat, she thought in an inappropriate moment of levity, or an octopus, or maybe he was made of putty under all those chiseled features.
    With a whoosh, which she felt before she could hear, a ghost emanated from the wall of the crypt to her left. Barely centimeters from her face, the thing just seeped out of the wall, as if the once-solid stone was merely a hologram or an optical illusion. Nate had a hand on her shoulder and was yanking her back, almost before Ebony had really registered it. But with nowhere to really go in such a tight space, she simply fell against his chest, like a maiden swooning at her knight.
    'Get back,' he hissed, somehow managing to position an arm around Ebony, gun pointed directly at the ghost.
    'Not yet,' she clamped a hand over his arm, 'not until-'
    The ghost was a mixture of colors, shapes, patterns - all whirling around in a disembodied swirl