Witch's Bell Book One

stand, driving a powerful punch into Nate's side. But the Detective didn't blink, he just twisted to the side, lessening the power of the punch, and replying with one of his own.
    For the first time in her life Ebony just stood at the sidelines, watching as the action happened elsewhere. One of the lessons for young witches was to learn that it was always best to be involved – that it was only from within a situation that you could really change it.
    But here she was, the wind knocked out of her, her scalp tingling with a powerful pain from her hair being tugged, and her mind cold with dread. She wasn't involved, there was nothing she could do... but watch.
    Nate's punch connected with the man's jaw, pushing him back for a second, but not enough to bring him down. While Nate was certainly large, and knew how to handle himself, Ebony's attacker was titanic. He was some kind of gladiator – impossibly strong, relentless, and viciously violent.
    The man brought a knee up, trying to connect with Nate's ribcage to knock the fight right out of him, and possibly his teeth and ribs too. But Nate ducked to the side, trying to grab at the man's leg to pull him off balance.
    It didn't work, but Nate didn't get hurt either. The man was simply too relentless, to concentrated on his task – whatever that was.
    Ebony ducked forward, picking up her bag, which had somehow tumbled out of the man's hands as Nate had tackled him, and fallen at her feet. She started to scream, finally finding her voice. 'Someone help!' she screeched, 'help!' she repeated over and over again.
    But Ebony didn't need to be able to sense magic, to know that no one would hear her screams. They sounded weak for some reason, muffled, as if someone had thrown a blanket over this whole lane-way, ensuring that the grunts and wretched screams wouldn't make it out into the streets beyond.
    Ebony began to get an awful, apprehensive feeling in her gut. Was this man magical? Was that why her screams wouldn't carry? Was that why he seemed to have the strength of ten men? Was that why the relentless glint in his eye seemed to glow like a forever-burning fire?
    If that was the case, her and Nate were in rather a lot of trouble. Without magic, how were they going to bring him down?
    Ebony put a hand on one of her bracelets, trying to pull it off with all her might. She dug her fingers in, trying to wrench herself free of her magical imprisonment. But her nails just scratched into her own skin, finally drawing blood from her frantic efforts.
    She wanted to scream out Nate's name again, but she didn't want to distract him.
    What was she supposed to do?
    Unbidden, her father's words came to mind: 'the winner is always the one that can hold their concentration'. Making the loser the one that allowed themselves to be distracted. And while her father's words didn't constitute a universal law – with people managing to get lucky all the time – trying to distract the man seemed to be Ebony's only hope.
    She ducked down, tipping her bag out before her, and desperately searching through the contents for something that she could use.
    Anything. Anything at all.
    She looked up to see the man land a glancing blow to Nate's jaw, the Detective's head snapping to the side, his eyes blinking from the pain. But he kept on fighting, equally as relentless and determined as Ebony's attacker.
    Her top teeth bit so hard into her bottom lip, that it felt as if she'd bite her lip right off. She searched through the contents of her bag. Discarding her wallet, tissues, and such, to the side. Finally she clutched her hand around a small vial of perfume. It wasn't much, but it was all she had.
    Ebony didn't quite know how she could use it to her advantage, though she realized just spraying it in the air and trying to distract the man with its alluring scent probably wasn't the best strategy.
    She pushed herself to her feet, the small bottle clutched tightly in one hand.
    She had aim, she told herself, excellent aim. Her father had always told her that Ebony's successes on the shooting range came from her stellar aim, and not from the magic that lurked within. And even though this past week had taught Ebony to re-evaluate all of her life skills, she hoped like Heaven that her father was right.
    As Nate tried to launch himself into the man again, attempting to tackle him to the ground, probably trying to keep his wild punches more contained – Ebony saw her opportunity.
    As the man's face