Witch's Bell Book One

of wafting smoke. It was like someone was projecting broken scenes from a movie right onto the steam wafting off boiling water, or the smoke from a raging fire. Somehow the thing managed to form a face, and then a jaw that it opened to screech out a howl. The face wasn't made of flesh of any color or kind relating to a human or animal, in fact. It was made of the coalesced smaller images of before. Each tiny memory as it played out on the wafting smoke, moved together at once to form the outline, but not the spirit, of a human head.
    It was recognizable, in that way that sent powerful, but hideously unpleasant jolts punching through your stomach.
    But the ghost didn't attack. It screamed its unearthly, deeply frustrated scream, and then disappeared into the wall of the adjoining crypt. Ebony, heart pounding and arms still shaking, took a moment to steady herself. She was still pressed up against Nate's chest, but she was hardly in the mood to recognize the feel of his arms, the cut of his torso, or the cling of his wet shirt. All she was thankful for, and all she had the ability to concentrate on, was that she was somehow okay, for the time being.
    But in a second she heard a blustered shout from just beyond the crypts. She propelled herself forward, pushing her way from the narrow passage with the speed of a hawk on the hunt. 'Ben!' she shouted, rounding the corner with her gun pressed into both hands.
    In a second, she saw the rock hurtling towards the other four members of her team. A giant headstone thrown from who knows where, but on a direct collision course with her team-mates. Time slowed down, thankfully, allowing her just the moments she needed to plunge herself into the object's path, firing off three rounds into the heart of the stone, till it shattered into pieces. As time righted itself seamlessly, the shattered chunks of rock erupted in her face.
    Though the rocks were too small to do any real damage, she still reeled back on her feet, her balance stolen for a second as her eyes filled with dust, her cheeks and arms stinging from the impact.
    But after a blurry moment she managed to shake her head and run a quick hand over her eyes, trying to rub out just enough dust so she could see again.
    'You alright?' Ben asked by her ear, clasping a hand over her shoulder. 'Eb, that was close.'
    She shook her head once more, blinking rapidly, and just nodded at him. Luckily time had stretched for her; otherwise she'd wouldn't have gotten there in time...
    That was the funny thing about witches and time. Maybe it was due to all their magic, but time didn't always behave around a witch. For an ordinary, everyday, non-magical person, time was as steady and reliable as a Volvo. It didn't waver, only sped up sometimes, and only really slowed down when you were really, really bored. But for a witch, time would sometimes hiccup, slowing the world down to moment after moment, as if it had shifted from a movie, to a picture book – and some child was patiently flipping each moment over to the next, wondering at the marvelously still, colorful pictures.
    At other times, time would shoot ahead like an arrow on its way to a target somewhere off in the distance. A witch might be carried with it too, living a life that hasn't yet happened, in a present that only had time for now.
    But it was at those moments when time slowed down, allowing the witch precious seconds to bring about some change in reality, that made time just as sacred as it was meant to be. Though it didn't always happen, and you really couldn't count on it at all, all witches would experience it on occasion. For some reason, they would be granted just enough time, and then a little more, to do whatever they had to do.
    Ebony spluttered out several deep coughs, running the back of a hand over her mouth. 'We've got to keep going,' she said through a rasp. 'The crypt must be close by.' She kept her gun at the ready. 'So keep your eyes peeled, things are going to get nasty now.'
    As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a tremendous clap of thunder roared from above. It seemed to almost shake the ground, as the heavens shouted down in their powerful voice. Several faint wisps of ghost shot off the roofs or walls of nearby crypts, spiraling this way and that on their paths of chaotic destruction. One ate into the side of a roof, spewing out a mouth-full of roofing tiles onto the ground below. Another delved deep into the earth, then reappeared, trailing long