Witch's Bell Book One

did, though. Now Ebony saw the lines, the marks, the shadows, the imperfections.
    She became increasingly aware of the bracelets about her wrists and the choker around her neck. They felt like shackles, like chains securing her in the worst of prisons. She longed to just rip them off and toss them out the window. Then she could return to her ordinary life, she assured herself. There would be none of this self-doubt, none of this uncertainty and confusion. She would be a witch again – a cut above the rest. She would understand, unlike these idiot buffoons, she would know the ways of the universe in its entirety.
    But the thought, which she had hoped would rally her, soon fell back against the cool mood swirling inside Ebony. Somehow the knowledge that she was a witch seemed far more fragile than usual – was filled with less of the power that had once enabled Ebony to sing through her life, hair sparkling, smile twinkling. Because, after all, it wasn't helping her now. She didn't understand the emotions swelling within her – or the need of her fellow bus passengers to be so cruel – any the more for being a witch.
    By the time Ebony had reached her destination, she trundled off the bus with a proper feeling of dejection settling upon her. It felt like rain clouds descending from above – clouds that were going to signal a heavy and unrelenting downpour of hideousness for the next month. The sun seemed all but gone from Ebony's life right now.
    The old woman leaned over the railing just as Ebony was trundling down the stairs, her mind set on ignoring the bus driver's back-shivering glances. 'Dear, you have a good day, won't you?'
    Ebony looked up. Was that a question? And if so, how was she to answer? 'I'll try,' she said after a moment, smiling back at the old woman.
    'With shoes like that,' the old woman settled back into her seat, handbag clutched before her, 'nothing will get in your way.'
    Ebony just laughed gently, finally stepping off the bus. As it drew away from the curve behind, Ebony felt even more confused than before. How could this be, she wondered with a shake of her head, how could your mood change so quickly, with such little reason? Seconds before she'd been ready to crawl back to bed and camp under the covers for the next several weeks. But now Ebony could see the barest crack of light on the horizon.
    As Ebony walked through the great big doors at the front of the department, she noticed the swelling uncertainty in her stomach even more. She felt like rubbing her arms, and cuddling into a jacket. But with nothing to cuddle in sight, she just walked on.
    Several passing officers gave her curious looks, but they lacked the edge of objectification that Ebony had just experienced.
    Officer Barnes did crack into a giant grin, waggling his eyebrows at her as she passed. 'That's quite a statement you're making there, Eb.'
    Ebony sucked in her lips, not sure whether to try and defend herself, ignore it, or tell the officer to get stuffed. She just shrugged. 'This is how ordinary people dress, right?'
    The officer nodded. 'If they're from an 80's b-film about grandmas on crack.'
    Ebony felt her heart drop even further, her usual defenses. abandoning her like cats in the rain.
    'But you know what,' he tipped his head at her, 'if anyone can pull it off, it's you.' He gave her a final flash of his smile, before disappearing down the corridor.
    Once again, Ebony was left feeling thoroughly confused. She just couldn't get a handle on this situation. One moment she was being torn down by what people thought of her, the next she was being rebuilt anew. How did people manage it? How did they negotiate the depths of their own identity while they were constantly being remade in the eyes of others?
    With heavy, melancholic, but philosophical thoughts whirling in her mind, Ebony took the stairs up to her floor. Not that it was her floor, not that she even had an office there, but it was where she had to be.
    She walked in to see a room full of people hard at work. All faces she knew, she assured herself, and thus, all people she was comfortable with. But whether it was her peculiar mood or the fact she rarely came into the office to do anything other than swan about and joke with people - she was starting to pick up details she'd never noticed before. She saw the photo of Percy's dead wife on his desk – always reverently set to one side, while the rest of his desk drowned under paperwork. Ebony saw the coffee