Witch's Bell Book One

any purpose. But it didn't matter for the arc of the story – it moved on, and she moved on, simply by virtue of feeling.
    In the absence of purpose – courage, determination, steel, and guts seemed to do the trick.
    Harry, unlike everyone else in the room, wasn't trying to tell Ebony what to do. He wasn't suggesting she do the impossible – find out what she truly wanted with a snap of her fingers, or throw herself into finding out who was after her, without a care for her true problem.
    Harry was suggesting she just go ahead and act. No, she couldn't see far enough into the future to know what she really should be doing, and no, she didn't have any magic to try and force her way through.
    All she had were the same things the heroine in Harry's story had – the courage to dare, and the will to act. Acting on what, didn't matter now.
    'Ebony,' her mother's voice was pleading, 'pay attention to what is really happening here. I don't know why the Coven made the decision it did. I am part of it, but not all of it,' she said, voice growing more silent. 'I can't speak for the rationale of the other members. But I can speak with the understanding of a witch: things are happening to you in too quick a succession, and with too much danger, to be ignored. You must wake up to this-'
    Ebony tapped the book again.
    'Ebony,' Nate's voice almost had the same edge of pleading that Avery's had, 'we have to figure out what to do; we can't just stand here all night.'
    Okay Harry, Ebony thought to herself, reaching out a hand and tapping the banister. You're on.
    So, she didn't understand magic. She didn't understand what she wanted. She didn't understand what was happening to her. She didn't understand her mother. She didn't understand Nate.
    It didn't matter. If you find yourself lost at sea, the only advisable course is to paddle until you see land.
    'I think,' she finally spoke, book still in her hand, 'there's more to Cecilia Grimshore than meets the eye.'
    Her mother sighed. 'This again? You must find out what you want-'
    Ebony put up a hand. 'Maybe you're right; maybe I don't know what that is right now. But maybe Nate's right too, and that doesn't matter. But maybe Harry's just as right as the both of you,' she tapped the book again, 'and all I should do is press on, and try and find out both things at once.'
    Before either Avery or Nate could start up again, her father cut in. 'What are you thinking, kid?'
    'I'm thinking there is a box of files in the cold case section that reads Grimshore. I'm thinking those files pertain to magical crime, and I'm thinking that's important.'
    'But-' her mother began.
    'I'm thinking I'm going to stay in the shop for a while, just until I know what's going on. Harry's strong enough to protect me.'
    As if in answer, a breeze fluttered the ends of Ebony's hair, almost appreciatively.
    'I'm thinking I'm going to go to the police station tomorrow morning, even though it's a Saturday, and I'm going to go through those files, one by one.'
    'But we need to find out who is after you,' Nate began.
    'Probably. But this is how I'm going to do it – bed and then files. I'm also thinking,' she took a long breath, 'that this conversation is now done.'
    And the thought proved to be a reality.

Chapter Fifteen
    E bony lay on the couch, snuggled under a patchwork quilt, and stared up at the ceiling above her. It was the early morning, and little slices of sunlight were filtering in between the slats in the blinds, slicing up the room with little bars of illumination.
    True to her word, she had stayed in the shop last night. In fact, she'd be staying in the shop until this whole mess was sorted. She'd always had this beautiful old lounge on the upper level, upholstered with a lovely, soft, rich-patterned fabric. It was old, but had been worn-in until its cushions and back were as soft as feathers. She'd managed to find a quilt or two in the back room, leftovers from a midnight winter's seance., probably. And she'd rustled up some pillows from downstairs. Really, it was quite comfortable.
    And safe, very safe.
    It had been a lusciously quiet night. Even though Harry's store was right on a fairly main road, no noise made it through his thick old walls. Just the pleasant sounds of birds twittering, or the wind rustling through the trees outside. No traffic, no creepy creaking from the iron roof above, no rats scratching on the walls – no unsettling city sounds.
    No, it half felt that Ebony and her store had