Witch's Bell Book One

memory had she felt so lost.
    She was having to relearn how to do the most basic of tasks. It was as if she'd lost the use of both her legs and her arms, she'd told Ben, who had just snorted at the very idea. Which was the other problem; no one seemed to appreciate how very hard this was for Ebony.
    They all thought it would be a breeze – a simple walk in the park. No magic for a month? What's the big deal?
    The big deal was Ebony didn't know how to decide anything anymore. And it sounded strange, but it was very real. All through her adult life Ebony had used magic to help her decide what she wanted, what she felt like doing, what she really needed. In the morning it helped her decide what to wear and then it would help her decide what to do throughout the day. It would help her decide what the weather would be. It would help her decide which streets to walk down. It would help her decide which friends to drop in on. It would help her decide what to buy and what to eat.
    And now she didn't have a scrap of it. What was she meant to do? Ever since she'd returned from the hospital she'd been loafing around in the same sweat pants and t-shirt, eating exactly the same meal all day long (pizza from the takeaway across the street), and simply sitting on her couch and watching TV. By the end of the month Ebony half-fancied her friends and family would instigate a search to find her cuddled up among the sofa cushions, crushed by a mountain of pizza boxes, but still with one defiant hand on the remote.
    Ebony usually never watched TV, only owned said sweat-pants and t-shirt because she'd somehow mysteriously found them in her wardrobe, and only ate Pizza when her tempestuous fridge decided to turn down its own thermostat and freeze all her vegetables.
    It had only been several days, and she'd already changed so much, Ebony realized with a shiver.
    But none of this was helping Ebony remember precisely what it was she was meant to do. She pushed at her wall of decadent cushions, causing them to spill out onto the floor of her spacious bedroom. She stared over at the clock her father had given her when she'd gotten out from hospital. Ordinarily Ebony didn't need a clock. As a witch, she knew enough about time to know what time it was. But not anymore. So her father had shoved the clock in Ebony's hand, muttering something about remembering to set the alarm.
    She stared at the clock, hoping it would jog her memory. It was a squat little thing, with bucket-like 50's styling. It was made out of a hideous orange plastic that probably pre-dated Ebony by a good thirty years. It was the same clock her father had used all his life to make sure he was never late for work. Ebony could still remember the incessant shrieks of its alarm from her childhood.
    Oh.
    The memory came back to Ebony like a hand suddenly slapping against the window.
    Work.
    This was Monday morning, wasn't it? And according to the clock, it was five-to-eight.
    Ebony lay in bed for just a few more seconds, the slow realization of the impossible dawning on her. She was meant to be at work in five minutes. The Police Department was half way across town.
    She pushed herself up, more cushions falling by the wayside. She swung herself around, feet hitting the plush carpet of her bedroom with soft thuds.
    Something strange was happening, Ebony could tell. There was this weird tightness knitting around her stomach. It felt expectant, in an entirely unpleasant way.
    She was going to be late, really late. And while that prospect never usually bothered Ebony, it was having a strange effect on her today. In the past, if Ebony had found herself munching on a pastry too late, and had only an impossible amount of time to make it to an important appointment – she would have just felt ahead with her magic, clearing herself the perfect route to get wherever she had to go.
    Now she was on her own.
    Ebony found herself dancing from foot to foot for a bit, staring at the clock as it flicked another minute by. She'd never seen time count down like this – push ahead like it was a mean old grandmother trying to get to the front of the line. It was enough to make her gulp, her throat growing ever tighter with nerves.
    'Ummm,' she said to the room at large, 'ahhh – eeek?' It was as if she was asking her bedroom if this was the correct response to the current situation. When faced with the prospect of being horribly late for your “first” day in the office, were you meant to be