Witch's Bell Book One

along, while her giant, paint-accident hippie sleeves streamed behind her in the wind.
    Her mother had always had a theory about witches and clothing, though Ebony had ignored it up until now. What a witch wore showed more than her mood, her mother would warn. What a witch wore showed the condition and expectation of the mind. The shape, the color, the contour, the pattern - all belayed the harmony within. Well, if her mother was right, then Ebony was now as discordant as a bunch of three-year-olds hammering out a self-composition on upturned pots and pans.
    Finally Ebony found a bus stop. She tried concertedly to not be bothered by the odd looks she received from the people around her. One woman stood politely to one side, seeming to concentrate entirely too hard on keeping her mouth in a straight line. A young kid just cracked a grin wider than the Pacific Ocean and pulled his phone from his pocket, pretending to key in a text message while he took several photos of the hilariously dressed, temporarily magic-less witch.
    Ebony was about ready to throttle them all, or just go home and return to her sweat pants and t-shirt, when an old lady drew up beside her. She took one look at Ebony's fake crocodile skin granny-loafers, and cooed. 'Oooohh, those look so comfortable, dear.'
    At first Ebony looked at the woman carefully, trying to check that the old-timer wasn't about to crack a joke.
    'I haven't seen those for years,' the old woman seemed truly delighted. 'They're so stylish, and yet so comfortable.'
    Ebony just took a breath and released herself into the confusing, irritating, uncontrollable situation – like a person shrugging his shoulders and jumping off the cliff. 'Thanks,' she looked down at her loafers, moving her feet to and fro, 'they are pretty comfortable, actually.'
    The kid to Ebony's side just guffawed with laughter, being more open about taking photos of Ebony. He even muttered a quiet 'freak'.
    Ebony tried to mumble curse back, but then stopped, realizing it had no chance at all of working. So... she just stood there. The once proud, saucy, confident witch simply stood there and took the insult....
    'You ignore him, dear,' said the old woman, still admiring the loafers with obvious appreciation painted over her elderly face. 'He's wearing silly shoes that hardly fit him. In sixty years he's going to have bunions all over his toes and arthritic joints. Then we'll see whose laughing.'
    Ebony couldn't help but smile. It was a different smile though, she realized with a strange sense of detachment. Ebony usually peeled back her lipstick-clad lips to reveal her teeth gracefully – thoroughly in control. But now... it was hard to explain, but she was smiling for the woman, not at her. She was smiling because of what the woman had said, for the brief moment of camaraderie that she'd afforded Ebony on this apocalyptic morning.
    It sent a flicker of something unrecognizable through Ebony. But before she had time to wonder at it, the bus pulled up. The bus driver gave Ebony a thorough look – starting from her unkempt hair, lingering at her tight satin skirt, and ending at her commendable granny-loafers. 'Red light district?' he quipped. 'Or you doing the rounds at the nursing homes?' his face squeezed up with a frankly awful, objectifying look.
    Ebony, once again, opened her mouth to proudly hex the blighter right in his face – but stopped. She didn't have magic – she didn't have magic. All that confidence, all that power, it was gone.
    So she just stood there, looked to the side a bit, then took her ticket and moved to the furthest end of the bus. She sat carefully, wrapping her arms around her, and trying to make as little of herself seen as would be possible, considering her impossibly colorful get-up.
    Why were people so cruel?
    It wasn't a question she'd ever asked herself. Well, she had, but not in the same way. Ebony had watched the news sometimes, seen the terrible things people can do to each other. She'd heard stories too, and hell, she'd worked for the police department. Ebony knew the great potential of man to hate fellow man... but never in this way. It seemed so useless, so pointless. Why objectify someone for the way they looked, why ruin their day? What were the kid and bus driver thinking they'd get out of dragging Ebony down? A pat on the back? A sweetie? A feeling of accomplishment?
    Ebony saw her reflection in the glass of the bus window. She stared at it. Not like she usually