Witch's Bell Book One

old, yellowed boxes and files.
    But there were windows, which meant there was light. In fact, there were a great deal more windows than anywhere else in the police department. And none of the windows had blinds. Which was odd, considering all of the sun-bleached files that littered the room. But then again, Ebony reminded herself, her eyes carefully searching around the room, these were magical files – and no matter the amount of sun, dust, age, or moth attack – they wouldn't deteriorate.
    In fact, maybe the light was a good thing. With all this magical history pressed into one room, you wouldn't want it to get too dark. Darkness tended to attract strange things....
    Ebony sighed as she ran a finger over a dirty, old, brown box, that sat close by the stair well. In a way, Ebony was thoroughly at home. It reminded her of her chaotic store. In fact, what would probably end up happening would be that Ebony would work up here with the magical files all day long, only to go and check on Harry for a couple of hours at night. Even though she wouldn't need the income from her bookstore, considering she'd be working full-time for the police, she would still have to run a careful hand over her bookshelves at least once a day. Harry didn't like to be alone too long.
    'Your office isn't so much an office,' Frank confidently wended his way through the shelves, 'it's more of a desk,' he eventually found a squat, old, wooden desk up against a far wall. It had its back to the files, and faced out at one of the large windows, a frankly magnificent view of the mountains beyond.
    Gosh, Ebony thought as she patted the old chair next to the desk, you could see the weather roll in off those mountains a treat from this window.
    'You might need to give things a dust,' Frank coughed. 'But there's everything you need.' He pulled open a drawer, the wood grating unpleasantly, and pulled out pens and a pad of incredibly old paper. 'Now I don't know precisely what Ben wants you to do, but I reckon he just wants you to give the unsolved cases a once-over. Doesn't matter if you don't find anything, but you might. Benefit of hindsight and all that. You might have come across something in the last couple of years that could put these old files to rest.'
    Ebony just nodded, strangely taken by the silent room with the incredible view of the city.
    'Anyhow, I had better go back down now, but you let me know if you need anything.'
    Ebony smiled. She tried to rack her brain, wondering if she needed anything else up here. A heater, a water cooler, a phone, a computer, a pot plant to talk to? But she couldn't think of anything essential.... Plus, the place was starting to have an effect on her. A very curious effect. And it wasn't magical, Ebony reminded herself, as she looked around slowly, because Ebony couldn't feel magic any more.
    No, this effect was....
    Ebony felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She felt her hands moisten slightly with sweat. She felt her breath quicken imperceptibly, as her mind seemed to sharpen to the situation. Was this anticipation, she thought, or something else?
    Was Ebony starting to settle into her month-long sentence, was she starting to finally feel comfortable with her lot? No, that wasn't it. It was more than that.
    It almost felt like something was unfolding before Ebony – like a book that had fallen unbidden off a bookshelf, only to open at a certain page.
    Well, if that was the case, Ebony would simply have to stoop down, pick it up, and start reading the new story.

Chapter Eleven
    E bony almost got to work on time the following day. That is, she was only late by an hour-and-a-half. Due to her previous experiences on the bus, Ebony had opted to take a cab instead. Which had posed even more trouble.
    Once again she'd woken up late, and thrown on whatever her hands could quickly grab from her wardrobe. Which left her standing in a pair of brilliant white pants, and a top that looked like it was made out of rubber straws – making it either a blouse for wild dancers in peculiar clubs, or something to clean the floor with. She'd grabbed at shoes, only to find her trusty old fake-crocodile-skin granny-loafers. She'd actually smiled to herself as she'd crammed them onto her feet.
    As she'd called the cab, Ebony had almost felt proud that she might just get to work on time. Thirty minutes later, when the cab finally rolled up at the curb, Ebony was practically spitting sparks. She'd waited outside the whole