Witch's Bell Book One

licking her lips quickly, 'I'm just-'
    'While I sit on the Coven, I only follow their rules. I do not lead the Coven. Nor did I vote against you,' she admitted, 'others did. Regardless, I cannot change their ways. Nor do I decide what direction they travel in. I lend my power to their will. The Coven is beyond the individual's story, and stands for the collective force, direction, and energy, of all witches, past and future.'
    Ebony tried to hide a little shiver. So her mother hadn't voted against her, wasn't directly responsible for the punishment Ebony now weathered. Even so, her mother was hardly on Ebony's side. She was hardly rushing to her aid here.
    Ebony wanted to stay angry, she really did. But she also wanted this conversation to stop now. Somehow all the fight had left her, and in its place all she found was a shivering, icy cold. She wanted to go home, have a shower, have a hot cup of chocolate, and crawl into bed.
    She didn't want to hear this; she didn't want to be here.
    'That you came to us, for the supposed crime that you committed, and were punished in the way that you were – is a part of your own story, child. That it does not make sense, that it does not seem right – these are all forces you have allowed to enter your life. You have invited chaos and injustice into your life, and now they sit at either side – confusing, containing, and maiming you. You look outside for the blame and cause, but you fail to see the origin.'
    Ebony fought against the urge to just turn around and walk away. To leave everyone and everything behind, and just run back home. Her mother couldn't be right, she told herself, Ebony would never have allowed such forces into her life. She was boisterous, yes, and sometimes foolish. But Ebony Bell still understood enough about the true power of a witch to control her own destiny.
    Why, she had everything she wanted, didn't she?
    Yes, she hadn't thought about her Month of Rites yet, and yes, she hadn't written in her Journal of Life for some time. But that didn't mean anything. Ebony still knew what she wanted.... she still knew what kind of story she wanted to write for herself.... she just couldn't remember what that was right now.
    'You languish in life, in work, and in spirit. Your story has no power, no direction, no will. You do not know what you want, so you cannot find it.'
    'Now hang on,' Nate said from behind, voice just brimming with defiance now. He was probably about to call her out about this entire business, knowing him. But Avery Bell just flicked her hand, and suddenly he was silent as a still night.
    'Life isn't that easy,' he continued.
    Avery Bell's eyes suddenly opened wide, and she flicked her gaze over to Nate. 'How are you speaking?'
    'With my voice,' he answered plainly. 'But that doesn't matter right now – though I'll tell you what does. I don't care if both of you are witches, if you've got magical rites, and your own magical ways of doing things. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that Ebony was attacked, and that we don't know why or by whom. You can talk all day about stories, and choices, and knowing what you want – but the more you talk, the less you act. Now we've got a crime scene that's getting colder by every minute. Shouldn't we do something about that?'
    Avery Bell's eyes were now narrowed, her irises a sheer blue. 'You curious little man. You think you can tell a witch that the way she sees the world doesn't matter? We have magic and power – both things that depend on our perspective, rites, and rituals. And yet you maintain that this is of no consequence? By the history, law, and way of the witches, Ebony had kept herself open for an attack. Letting her story flounder until a greater, more powerful purpose came to rewrite her. And yet you maintain that this does not matter. Tell me, little chevalier, why such hubris?'
    Ebony looked behind her to see Nate with his arms crossed in front of him. If the thought had crossed his mind that he was baiting an incredibly powerful witch, he didn't show it. He looked stony, determined, and very, very Nate. 'Hubris? You think I'm being arrogant here? You sure it's just me? Here you are, telling us all how to explain the world – with your stories, and magic, and your universal forces. Well, I'll tell you what, there are a whole lot of people out there that aren't magical, a whole lot of people that don't share your little outlook. So, who's right? You or me? And who has the