The Enchanted Writes Book One

by Odette C. Bell

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was a week until the masquerade. It seemed as if the entire city was buzzing over it. Nearly everyone who came into Sizzle Cafe talked about it, and it was about the only topic that could stop them chatting about Stiletto Girl. Even Jimmy and Patrick had switched topics from Stiletto Girl’s nightly activities to the upcoming ball.

  It sounded like nearly every single man in the city had asked Marcia to go with him, but as of yet, she hadn’t accepted anyone's invitation. Every single night she would call and ask if Brick had agreed to go with her yet. But Brick wasn’t going to go with Marcia, because Brick was going with Henrietta.

  With every single day that passed, Henrietta felt steadily sicker, but she wasn't going to get out of this. She had to go to the masquerade, because she had to find out what Hellier was up to.

  She wasn't sleeping well. She kept dreaming of him.

  “I am telling you, I saw a woman disappear,” one of the construction workers sitting on a stool in front of Henrietta's bench suddenly admitted to his friend.

  Henrietta looked up sharply.

  “But the police said they couldn't find anything, there are no missing people, and nobody else saw it,” his friend said.

  The construction worker shook his head, and his dark, stubble-covered skin looked sickly and pale. “I know what I saw. She was just this little stick of a girl, wearing this torn and dirty dress. And I'm telling you, I saw her jump down that hole. Or maybe she fell, I don't know. But the point is, that hole has got to be 10 meters deep. She would have broken her neck.”

  “But nobody found anything, and nobody else saw anything either,” the friend protested.

  “I know what I saw.” The construction worker waved one of his hands in a straight line, eventually letting it bang onto the end of the bench lightly.

  She had several coffees to make, but she wasn't moving. In fact, it took Maria to come over and snap at her before Henrietta pried herself away from the construction worker and his conversation.

  A witch. It had to be a witch. In fact, now that Brick had set the other warrior monk brethren the task of finding out what was going on at the construction site, it seemed as if Henrietta's instinct had been confirmed.

  It sounded as if there was a great deal of magic emanating from that site, and, what was more, Henrietta had been called to several witch sightings around that area. Brick was convinced that the construction site must be sitting on top of a coven, but as of yet he hadn't let her go down to investigate it.

  He was still protecting her, because, as he told her at every single opportunity, she was still learning. She was still training. And yes, of course, she still didn't have what it would take to defeat the Witch King. Which was a problem, considering she was meant to show up at his ball in a week’s time.

  The rest of Henrietta's day was a tense one, and when she returned home to Brick that evening, she didn't get any reprieve. She didn't have time to have a shower, or a bath, or to conk out on the couch watching TV.

  No, because Brick was teaching her about style.

  The man was adamant about it, fanatical even, to Brick, style sounded like it was almost as important as chicken.

  Brick walked around her, prodding at the dress. “This will not do,” he said with a disappointed sigh.

  Henrietta looked down at the dress, and then she looked over at the mirror she had hauled in from the bathroom and had rested up against the couch.

  To her mind, she looked incredible. The kind of incredible that you didn't see outside of cartoons. Even people in movies couldn’t look this good, because the way the lines of her dress and the color and the form and everything worked together wasn't possible in the real world.

  Neither was the fabric, for that matter, or the cut or the way it sat. It made her look like one of those perfect Disney princesses, or like someone from a drawing.

  “It looks gaudy,” Brick pointed out again. Gaudy was his favorite word. On several occasions she’d pointed out to him that his leather jacket was hardly fantastic, but he’d always offered her a nonplussed look. It seemed Brick could shift from being caring to being fabulously disdainful, as if he was off some kind of reality TV fashion program.

  “Look, surely it will do?” she said as she looked down at her dress, picking up a handful of the skirt and letting it flop back down.

  She was in a ball gown, a perfect ball gown. It had layers and layers of the softest silk that somehow sparkled and glittered. The bodice and top sat so perfectly, and gave her such a stunning figure, that Henrietta couldn’t recognize herself. Her hair was also done up into the most stylish of dos, and fixed in place with a gold and diamond clip. She had perfect white heels on her feet, and to top it all off, she wore a detailed white mask.

  Brick was not impressed. He crossed his arms and shook his head. “A witch hunter’s appearance is her most important asset.” He paused. “Other than her wand... and her magic... and her ability to run... and her battle instinct.”

  Henrietta rolled her eyes. “I get it. But honestly, this seems fine.” She looked at herself in the mirror again. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she could hardly recognize herself. That was the point. This was a disguise, after all.

  Just after she found out about the masquerade, Brick had taken her away and taught her a new spell. After she'd transformed into a witch hunter, she'd written the word disguise with her wand. At first, she had twisted around in the air, as a symbol had appeared underneath her, and then she'd fallen on her feet, dressed in one of those ghillie suits that they use in the army when they are trying to hide in long grass.

  It had taken Henrietta a few tries to even begin getting a hold of the spell. In fact, every single time she had returned home from work, and before she would go out to hunt the witches, Brick would make her practice the spell.

  It wasn’t like most of the other spells she cast. Whenever she wrote wall or ice or tornado, all she had to do was pay attention to where she directed them. Disguise was different. She had to try and concentrate hard on a costume, and that very costume would soon appear around her form.

  Brick didn't like her efforts.

  “You need to be wearing something that will catch everyone's attention,” he told her for about the 10th time, “including Hellier's. You need to get as close to him as you can, so we can find out what he is doing and we can thwart him.”

  Henrietta always felt uneasy when Brick would go over that part of the plan. While she was standing in her lounge room flouncing about in her ball gown, she could pretend that it was all a bit of fun. But in six days, she would be attending a masquerade, trotting up the steps of the City Hall, and attempting to mingle with the Witch King.

  Brick assured her that if the spell worked, the Witch King would have no idea she was a witch hunter. The disguise spell would hide her magic completely. It would even disguise her wand, changing it into a ring or a bracelet or a fan. If needs be, she could grab at it in an instant, write in the air, and the disguise would fall, and her ordinary witch hunter costume and magic would return to her.

  Henrietta hated this plan; there were so many ways it could go wrong.

  “I have discovered from my warrior monk brethren that Hellier is fond of the color black and he prefers heavier make-up.” Brick nodded at her face.

  Brick had already told her that several times, but each time she had refused to disguise herself in layers of black silk and mascara.

  She looked back at her reflection in the mirror.

  Henrietta hadn't been much of a girly girl; Marcia had already beaten her to it. By the time Henrietta had grown old enough to discover make-up and boys, Marcia had cornered that market entirely.

  Still, Henrietta had grown up with dreams, little fantasies that were left over from her childhood. And yeah, dressing up in a flouncy white ball gown was kind of one of them.

  Okay, she was an adult now, and she wasn't a little kid anymore, but the prospect of dressing up like a Disne
y Princess still excited her. And the fact she could now make that fantasy a reality with her magic wand... it was too hard to pass up.

  “I'm sure I will catch his attention in this dress,” Henrietta said as she did a twirl on the spot, her skirt flying out in a circle. There were so many layers that it sat perfectly over her hips and spread out like a princess’ dress should. It was the right color too. Such a soft white, and there was delicate beading up and down the folds of her skirt, and the prettiest lace poking out from underneath.

  As for the make-up, it was subtle; it made her eyes sparkle and her lips wet enough to kiss. Fortunately it didn't make her look like she had been attacked by a stick of eye-liner.

  Brick took a heavy sigh. “It seems impossible to teach you style, Warrior Woman Henrietta. Obviously you have too much of a mind for battle, and cannot concentrate when it comes to fashion.”

  She looked at him askance. He did like his clothes and shoes, didn't he? Over the past week she'd met more warrior monks, and it seemed the lot of them were far too interested in style. They all had their views on high heels and skirts, and every single time Brick brought them around for dinner, each one of them commented on her bathrobe or her track pants or her hair.

  She had tried to ask Brick why he was so damn interested in clothes, and his reaction was always the same. Clothes, when it came to battle, were paramount. They allowed for freedom of movement, for protection. Yet if you chose them incorrectly, if you wore the wrong set of shorts or shoes to the witch fight, then that could lose you the battle. Apparently style was a foundational unit in every warrior monk’s course in understanding war.

  Henrietta had to admit even though Brick reminded her of some fashion designer, outraged at her choice of clothing, his countenance wasn't the same. There was a strict edge to what he was saying, and he always backed up his statements with comments like “you won't be able to run in that very easily,” or, “if we make those heels a bit taller, your feet won't get wet when sprinting through puddles produced by water witches.”

  “For tonight, this will do. But tomorrow you must attempt to disguise yourself in something more appropriate.” With that Brick backed off, grabbed the mirror from the couch, and returned it to the bathroom.

  Henrietta let out a heavy sigh and looked longingly down at her dress for several more moments until she transformed out of it.

  Then the two of them did what they did every night; they went to hunt the witches.