Chapter 6
Ebony didn’t have a great deal of time to ponder Nate’s once-in-a-blue-moon, kind words. As soon as she angled her face toward him to try and pry out the sincerity from his eyes, a chunk of gravestone came hurtling over the cemetery wall, striking the windscreen of a cop car. The screen buckled and shattered on impact, the car’s alarm going off with violent shrieks that pierced through the muffle of rain.
She ducked to the side, breath in her throat, tugging Nate’s arm as she went.
“Alright,” she heard Ben scream from beyond her, “It’s time to move out!”
She immediately sprang to follow his words, her mouth drawn thin with her ever-dimming mood. This situation was becoming ever more serious, she realized as her face paled with stretched, but unnerved, determination. Ben didn’t have his usual sarcasm either. More often than not, the erstwhile detective would chortle at the door of danger, declaring something along the lines of, “Obviously, someone’s having a hell of a party in there and we weren’t invited – so let’s show them gate-crashing, police style.” Though she always knew Ben was serious, he had this wonderful charm about him that somehow made situations manageable. But now he was as tense as everyone else.
“We’ve got four points to cover,” the water no longer dripped off Ben’s face, as he’d managed to borrow a stiff-brimmed police hat from someone and had crammed it over his abnormally round head, “Front gate, southern gate, main path and, of course, the crypt. I’ve got officers on a perimeter around the walls, and I’ll have backup at both of the gates as soon as you can blink. Inside, I want to keep it to a minimum. There are too many gravestones, trees, crypts, and the like to cover – I don’t want people being attacked from behind. If anything decides to jump the walls, we’ll deal with it. But the main team will have to make their own way to the crypt.”
Ebony pulled her hair from her face, trying to gather it into a bunch so she could have half a chance of running without wet tendrils slapping against her eyes and obstructing her view.
“Once inside, head straight to the crypt. If you meet ghosts.” He shrugged. “Try to be polite. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to. But if you do….”
If they did, Ebony picked up the abandoned sentence in her mind, she’d have to answer for it later. It wasn’t just her duty to protect herself, the police, and the citizens of Vale. Wherever possible, a proper witch had to protect all magical creatures in need. It was all about keeping the balance – protecting the legitimacy and sanctity of the stories of all life.
“We don’t know what else might be out there. Could be anything. Now this I don’t have a problem with, anything unidentified comes your way – use your discretion. But I’m telling you, if it has ten tentacles and flaming eyes, I doubt it’s just going to stop and ask for directions.”
Nate nodded. It was a quick nod, but it wasn’t nervous. It had tension in it, sure, like a spring under pressure, but it wasn’t erratic. It was perfectly controlled.
Ebony tightened her lips around her teeth. Once again he was completely okay with the situation.
“You go to the crypt, Eb removes the protection spell, and—”
“I go inside alone,” Ebony finished.
“What?” Nate’s voice was harsh. “You aren’t serious?”
She nodded, head so wet the move sent water cascading off her nose and chin. “I go in first, and you wait until I give the all-clear.”
“Why?” Nate obviously wasn’t going to give this up. For all his painful arrogance and sarcasm, he still fancied himself a chevalier underneath. And knights might stare down at the world from atop their dazzling steeds, but they don’t leave women alone in danger. “That’s unacceptable.”
“It’s the only way. I go in first, in case our madman has succeeded and is midway through a chat with Death itself.”
Nate’s expression stiffened.
“And believe me. You don’t want to interrupt Death. I’ll do that bit. But when I give you the all-clear, you get to rush on in and take down the bad guy. If I haven’t already done that myself, that is.”
“Okay,” Ben cut in immediately, “So we’re clear now. The team is going to consist of Eb, Officer Andrews, Phil and Grant from the Special Weapons and Tactics Unit, and me.”
It took barely a second for Nate to realize he hadn’t been picked for the team. “Hold on, why not me?”
“Because you’ve never done anything like this, and we need experience right now.” Ben sucked in his bottom lip, chin dimpling like soggy cardboard rolled into a ball. “But you’ll get your call, one day.”
“With all due respect, I’m the best shot in this department—” Nate’s hands stiffened by his sides.
“You’ve never dealt with anything like this. Accuracy doesn’t mean anything if you come up against something that snatches your gun from you.”
Nate took a breath, obviously readying for another volley.
“That’s enough,” Ebony cut in, hand rising with the speed of a cobra strike, “Let him come, Ben.”
Ben turned to her, face muddled with confusion.
“Look, the team’s there to get me to where I need to be. So I should have a word about who goes. Just let him come. He’s annoying, but he is still a good shot.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. She’d just stood up for the annoying detective when she could have left him hanging. But she couldn’t shake that niggling feeling that, regardless of the fact he irritated her, she still wanted him by her side on this one.
“If you’re sure, Eb, then you’re sure.”
“I am, but we don’t have much time.” She looked hesitantly at the black clouds above. “We need to do this before this storm breaks completely. Powerful storms, graveyards, and pointless magic are never a pretty mix.”
It barely took three minutes for Ebony to strap the bulletproof vest around her, grab a gun, and reach the imposing iron gates of the cemetery. She’d taken the vest, even though it would count for diddly, considering what she was up against.
She wiped her free hand under her nose, the other hand firmly pressed around the gun. Usually Ebony, as a witch, was bound not to use her magic in relation to things like guns. The arcane reason was something along the lines of guns, to humans, were a bit like magic, giving whoever wielded them a shot of inhuman power. And a witch, if she was careful, never mixed her magics.
But this wasn’t an ordinary day, and it wasn’t an ordinary gun any more. The gloves were off, so to speak, and Ebony now had the blessings of the Coven, which was going to make her a dead-shot in the graveyard, if you’d pardon the pun.
The rest of the team assembled around her. The other officers of Vale Police Department were set at strategic points around the perimeter wall. Ebony would take the lead, not because she was the most skilled at combat/weaponry/command – but because if you were running an incursion into a ghost-infested graveyard, you wanted the witch at the lead.
When she was confident everyone was ready, she opened the gates. There was a basic protection spell in place on them, but it wasn’t hard to break. Someone had tied a red cloth around the closed gates, weaving it around the metal rods and tying it carefully in the middle. Though it didn’t look like much, no ordinary human would be able to break through it. Scissors would somehow lose their ability to cut when pressed against the fabric; hands would lose their grip; and matches would simply fail to ignite it.
Ebony yanked at the damn thing, tossing it to the side with a mumbled curse. While it was an okay spell, it was still basic, which simply served to irk her even more. If whatever maniac had chosen to perform such a dangerous spell didn’t have the ability to set up a proper safety perimeter, then it was becoming all the more likely he was weaker than Ebony had hoped. Weak idiots form soft targets for stronger idiots, she reminded herself with a cocked eyebrow.
With her gun still in her hand, she pressed a shoulder into the iron gates, muttering a short motion spell that propelled them open. They made a sound like
aching metal – groaning open with creaks that could wake the dead, but hopefully wouldn’t.
The graveyard was dark, the growling storm offering just enough dim evening-light to see the white stone-path that led through the grass. Headstones of varying sizes and styles were laid out either side of the path with such regularity and geometry that they looked like lines drawn with rulers. To the back, interspersed among the gravestones, were ancient trees, gnarled and giant. They were like sprawling, knotty guards standing in silent duty in the most silent of all places.
Just the sight of the trees gave her the jitters. Ordinarily such trees would function as guards, keeping the graveyard rooted to the ground. They would stand for the great cycle of life – the symbolic growth of the living among the dead.
Now the trees were cast into such darkness from the billowing skies above, they could easily be mistaken as lifeless marks on paper.
Her group took the white path with quick, careful steps. Ebony was always at the lead, her senses feeling out before her in great arcs of concentration.
The path led up the softly ascending hill, the interspersed gravestones giving way to the older section of the cemetery. It wasn’t so ordered here. It wasn’t so neat and nice. It was like walking back through the past. The gravestones on the perimeter were from more modern times; for, as Vale had changed over the centuries, so had her aesthetic, her ideal. Town planners now liked neat, orderly, countable rows. The same couldn’t be said of the inner section of the cemetery. Things were older here, less maintained, more chaotic. Gravestones were littered about, as if someone had gathered them together and thrown them into the air – not bothering where they landed. The headstones weren’t all turned in the same direction either. They were all erratic, with stone angels turned to face winged cherubs and statues with their backs to each other.
Something came at them suddenly from behind a broken, aged headstone. It ran low along the ground, like a cat at full-speed. It was dark, quick, fat, and had a touch of red.
Before anyone else reacted, Ebony spun to the side, gun at the ready. She waited until the creature, whatever it was, was almost on top of her. The beast leaped into the air, aiming for her throat.
With a duck, she rolled to the side, coming up right beside the creature. Rather than shoot it on the spot, she flicked her gun around in a circle, right above its head. A blue light appeared in a blazing circle of powerful magical symbols, both at the foot and above the head of the creature, trapping it in place.
Ebony, her breath stuck in her throat, let it out in a gasp. “What have we got here?” she asked through clenched teeth, gun grasped tightly in her grip. “Come for a magical feast?”
The thing, whatever it was, wasn’t fond of talking and replied with a violent, primal hiss. Its fat, wide jaw snapped open. Its lips stretching back to reveal row after row of dented yellow fangs.
“Well, if you’re going to be like that, you can just stay there.” She turned back to the group, barely registering the shock on their faces before she motioned them on.
Her heart rattled around, shaking her chest like a prisoner at the bars. That was the thing about operations like this – you never got used to them. Yes, Ebony had worked for the police department now for a couple of years, and yes, her mother was a witch and her father had always been sure to teach her what she needed to know. But no, that was never enough to make it easy. There were so many risks, so many unknowns, and the only thing it seemed possible for her to do, was to keep on her toes and keep moving.
Up ahead the path twisted to the side, more gnarled oaks standing sentinel at its edges. This would lead to the flattened top of the hill where all the crypts stood. It was perhaps another strange accident of Valian architecture, but it had never escaped Ebony’s attention that the cemetery was built as a circle within a circle. The wall that surrounded it was almost perfectly rounded, and within – separating the ordinary headstones from the crypts of the once-wealthy – was another small circular wall. While the wall was hardly an impediment and wasn’t intended to keep people out, it was still a low circle – which made the whole blasted place a circle within a circle.
She ran her teeth over her lip hard enough that it brought prickles of pain to her skin.
She hoped with all her might that whatever loon had chosen to break into the cemetery on this terrible stormy evening hadn’t been dumb enough to draw another circle around the crypt. That would make a circle within a circle within a circle; which just so happened to combine two little things magic thrives on – circles and threes.
Could this day get worse?
She could now make out the sound of cracking stone filtering in from somewhere between the crypts. No doubt, the ghost of whatever poor victim the maniac was using to summon Death. Deranged, frustrated, and pulled from its final dreams of life – the ghost would be seeking to destroy everything it could. Not because it was evil, but because it was confused. It had died and now was being called back to protect everything it had ever lived for.
Playing jokes on the sleeping was one thing, but what was happening here was playing jokes on life itself. Ebony was suddenly reminded of those frustrating movies or books that would end with the character either waking up and realizing everything had been a dream, or dying a pointless, soulless death. They were endings that rewrote a once meaningful story into standing for nothing. You thought it all meant something, but in the end, you were wrong.
An oak just off the path gave a peculiar shudder as if it was a cold security guard who’d stood too close to a gutter and received an icy shower down the back of his collar.
“Duck!” Ebony screamed, not waiting to find out what lurked amongst the branches.
As she floored herself, flattening her stomach onto the uneven stone path, a horde of birds erupted from the tree. These were no ordinary birds, she realized with a wince as she caught a glimpse of their glowing hollow eyes.
With a shudder that threatened to turn her limbs to jelly, she gasped, rolling to the side as the birds dipped low over the group. “Oh no,” she said to no one in particular.
There was something off about this whole situation, something rank, something rotten. And Ebony was finally starting to realize what it was. Those birds, whatever they were, weren’t normal. It wasn’t the soulless eyes that gave it away. It was the way they moved. The way they felt. In fact, now Ebony took the time to feel into this whole situation, she realized none of this was normal. There was a strange magical fog sitting over the cemetery, like a smothering blanket.
It felt as if something was here. It felt as if something was watching them. It felt as if—
Suddenly a hand descended onto Ebony’s shoulder, and she realized she was still lying on the ground. Long after the strange birds had swooped off into some other part of the graveyard, she’d remained motionless on the sodden grass.
She pushed to her feet, trying to ignore the pressed, confused, worried look in the eyes of Detective Nate as she rose.
“You okay?” he asked.
Ebony dearly wished she had some gum, or a candy, or a darn leather bit to bite down on. “Yeah,” she said through clenched teeth, “Just birds.” She faked a dose of confidence and stared forward. “Good to go,” she said as she started off again.
As they entered farther into the area of crypts, the storm began to grow more intense. While it had previously only offered the occasional thunderous rattle to accompany the drenching rain – loud, frequent lightening now flashed in the distance, with deep claps of thunder punctuating the air with ear-splitting booms.
Finally, Ebony caught the scent of ghosts. Though scent wasn’t the right word, it was close enough. Ghosts left a trail that tickled the inside of your nose. It was as if your nose knew it should be picking up some smell, but simply couldn’t. It was the smell, she reasoned, of something that just didn’t smell at all.
She motioned to the side at a darkened path that led between close, low crypts. “Ghost,” she turned and mouthed,
“That way.”
Now she was aware of it, her eyes were starting to pick out the ubiquitous ectoplasm – a common residue of otherworldly creatures – covering the grass in clumps, or sliding off the sides of standing-stones. She leaned down, running her drenched fingers through the yucky, sticky stuff. Though her mother had taught her everything she knew about ghosts, her father had taught her the patience and timing of a tracker.
“It has got friends,” she said to the rest of the group, her voice low but still strong enough to carry over the calamitous sound of the storm, “Maybe three or four. They aren’t powerful though.” She righted herself and continued slowly toward the narrow space between the crypts. “They’ll be very ready to cross over.”
Not that this would mean anything to the brash Detective Nate, but the rest of the group should understand. In ordinary circumstances, a ghost only ever hung around its body for a week. When the dreaming was done and the memories of a life collated, the ghost would depart to the Other Side. The further into the process a ghost was, the less power it had. It was the memories of the life-once-lived and the emotions associated with them that still anchored the ghost to the body. The more memories it had been able to process, the less of a ghostly punch it could still pack.
Ebony carefully, silently made her way between the crypts. The space was barely wide enough for her to fit through, so she wasn’t surprised when several of her cohort had to peel off to circumnavigate. Somehow, the broad-shouldered Nate managed to squeeze in behind her. Perhaps he was a cat, she thought in an inappropriate moment of levity, or an octopus, or maybe he was made of putty under all those chiseled features.
With a whoosh, which she felt before she could hear, a ghost emanated from the wall of the crypt to her left. Barely centimeters from her face, the thing seeped out of the wall as if the once-solid stone was merely a hologram or an optical illusion.
Nate had a hand on her shoulder and yanked her back, but with nowhere to go in such a tight space, she fell against his chest, like a maiden swooning at her knight.
“Get back,” he hissed, somehow managing to position an arm around her, gun pointed at the ghost.
“Not yet.” She clamped a hand over his arm. “Not until—”
The ghost was a mixture of colors, shapes, patterns – all whirling around in a disembodied swirl of wafting smoke. It was like someone was projecting broken scenes from a movie right onto the steam wafting off boiling water, or the smoke from a raging fire. Somehow the thing managed to form a face and then a jaw that it opened to screech out a howl. The face wasn’t biological. It was made of the coalesced smaller images of before. Each tiny memory as it played out on the wafting smoke, moved together at once to form the outline of a human head.
The ghost didn’t attack. It screamed its unearthly, deeply frustrated scream, and then disappeared into the wall of the adjoining crypt. Ebony, heart pounding and arms still shaking, took a moment to steady herself. She was still pressed up against Nate’s chest, but she was hardly in the mood to recognize the feel of his arms, the cut of his torso, or the cling of his wet shirt. All she was thankful for, and all she had the ability to concentrate on, was that she was somehow okay, for the time being.
She heard a blustered shout from beyond the crypts. She propelled herself forward, shooting from the narrow passage with the speed of a hawk on the hunt. “Ben!” she screamed, rounding the corner with her gun pressed into both hands.
She saw a rock hurtling toward the other four members of her team; a giant headstone thrown on a direct collision course with her team-mates. Time slowed down, thankfully, allowing her just the moments she needed to plunge into the object’s path, firing off three rounds into the heart of the stone until it shattered into pieces.
As time righted itself seamlessly, the shattered chunks of rock erupted in her face.
Though the rocks were too small to do any real damage, she still reeled back on her feet, balance stolen as her eyes filled with dust, her cheeks and arms stinging from the impact.
After a blurry moment, she managed to shake her head and run a quick hand over her eyes, trying to rub out enough dust so she could see again.
“You alright?” Ben asked by her ear, clasping a hand over her shoulder. “Eb, that was close.”
She nodded. Luckily time had stretched for her, otherwise Ben and the others would be….
That was the funny thing about witches and time. Maybe it was due to all their magic, but time didn’t always behave around a witch. For an ordinary, everyday, non-magical person, time was as steady and reliable as a Volvo. It didn’t waver, only sped up sometimes and only slowed down when you were bored.
For a witch, time would sometimes hiccup, slowing the world down to moment after moment, as if it had shifted from a movie to a picture book – and some child was patiently flipping each moment over to the next, wondering at the still, colorful pictures.
At other times, time would shoot ahead like an arrow on its way to a target somewhere off in the distance. A witch might be carried with it, living a life that hasn’t yet happened in a present that only had time for now.
But it was at those moments when time slowed down, allowing a witch precious seconds to bring about some change in reality, that made time sacred. Though it didn’t always happen, and you couldn’t count on it, all witches would experience it on occasion. They would be granted just enough time, plus a little more, to do whatever they had to do.
Ebony spluttered through several deep coughs, running the back of her hand over her mouth. “We’ve got to keep going,” she said through a rasp. “The crypt must be close by.” She kept her gun at the ready. “So keep your eyes peeled, things are going to get nasty now.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a tremendous clap of thunder roared from above. It shook the ground as the heavens shouted down in their powerful bellow. Several faint, wispy ghosts shot off the roofs or walls of nearby crypts, spiraling away on their paths of chaotic destruction. One ate into the side of a roof, spewing out a mouthful of roofing tiles onto the ground below. Another delved deep into the earth, then reappeared, trailing long clods of dirt up into the sky.
Ebony could see things at the edges, too, both at the corners of the crypts and at the corners of her senses. Various beings, attracted by the loose magic and the powerful storm – skulking at the edge of reality, waiting for the right moment to—
Nate slammed into her side, knocking her to the ground and firing off several rounds as he went.
She landed on the grass with a thud, breath escaping her lips with a gasp. Off to the side, she caught sight of Nate’s target: a squat stone gargoyle. It was perched on top of a crypt gutter, staring down at them with its hideous head tilted to one side.
It swooped again, coming in much lower, its claws stretched out with the intent to rip, shred, grab, or all three.
Nate looped an arm around Ebony and pulled her up, pushing her to the side just as the gargoyle made its second dash. He managed to squeeze off another round. The rest of the team took up position as well, shooting with perfect accuracy at the demonic stone-creature. The bullets dashed into its wings, its face and the side of its outstretched legs. Though they ate away at the stone with each impact, they didn’t stop it.
“Switch rounds!” Ebony screeched as she ducked to the side, barely missing another swoop. “Use the magic-sucking bullets!”
Andrews and the two guys from the SWAT team seamlessly switched ammo, snapping up their guns quicker than a sapling recovering from a push. They emptied their rounds into the creature, letting the bullets eat into the sides of its earthy flesh – sucking the magic right out of it. Though the bullets weren’t enough to kill it, they grounded it. Its flight began to slow, its height deteriorating until it landed, claws outstretched, onto the grass.
Ebony tossed her gun to the side, letting it fall against the grass. When she was sufficiently close to the creature to see its lifeless eyes, but far enough away so as not to have h
er own pulled out by its sharp talons, she fell to a knee.
With some of the magic sucked out of the creature, it wouldn’t have its usual defenses. Leaving it open to attack not just from Ebony, but from other creatures too. She didn’t have time to take this creature down herself – gargoyles were strong, lapidary creatures, after all. They weren’t just lapidary in the sense they were layered like the very rock they were cut from – they had layers and layers of defenses that had to be whittled down over time.
Time, Ebony repeated to herself. Right now it was a blessing to be used wisely.
With her hands pressed together and one knee pressed into the wet grass below, she closed her eyes. Though anyone sane would think closing your eyes so close to a vicious creature was as dumb as wearing a dress made of money at a meeting of poor and desperate criminals – Ebony had a plan.
With a breath that rattled through her body, she let out a quick prayer. It wasn’t something a witch usually did. Praying was something for Believers. But just because Ebony followed the creed, art, and religion of the witches, didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the realities that existed for others. So she said a quick but powerful prayer to the assembled angels, gods, saints, and whichever other beings looked over this cemetery. If the Valians buried underneath the grass were Believers – and their families had buried them under the auspices of their gods, religions and hopes – then those very same gods had a duty to protect the dead.
There was a chance it wouldn’t work, a chance the gods and angels would simply ignore her. They had every right to. They didn’t owe anything to Ebony.
But there was still a chance they would come to the call of their dead.
Ebony snapped her eyes open, just as the gargoyle swiped viciously toward her, its claws catching her vest. She jerked back just as Nate fired a timely round right into the creature’s eyes.
With the tingles of barely avoided death pumping through her, Ebony scrambled to get back.
“Are you mad?” she heard Nate spit. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Suddenly a single feather floated down from the storm above, its trajectory and speed unaffected by the violent winds and rain. It touched the ground in front of the gargoyle with the soft press of a tender kiss.
The gargoyle shifted its head down, staring at it, even though its eyes were hollowed out from Nate’s bullets.
A circle opened out in the thick clouds above, a beautiful, clear light shining down with the strength of a dozen blessed-candles. Even though she didn’t Believe, Ebony couldn’t help but let her heart soar with the sight. In a hushed second, an angel floated down from above.
Angels weren’t quite the creatures humans envisioned them to be – no wings, halos, and flowing robes. While they had what could be recognized as a body, in the place of skin they had light. They were solidified, formed light, much like the ghost, but solider – stronger. The light swirled beneath their forms with sudden flashes and bursts, like gas igniting in the night. You could make out each feature of the angel – it still had eyes, eyelids, lips, a nose, hands, even pupils. But instead of skin, it simply glowed.
The gargoyle let out an ear-splitting howl as the angel descended from above.
Ebony turned, studying the faces of her teammates, watching their expressions as they saw an actual angel descend from the heavens. Ben’s face was radiant, his eyes wider than a child who’d just found out Santa Clause was actually real. Andrews sported a similar look of adulation. But Nate, she realized with a strange kick of her stomach, just looked on. Yes, she could tell he was amazed, but not overpowered like the rest of them.
Somehow, the irritating detective was, once again, taking it all in his stride. It was as if… he’d seen it all before.
The angel descended, clamping a hand around the gargoyle’s wing. Once it had a firm grip, it leaped back into the air, unaffected by the gargoyle’s lashings, and floated back up beyond the clouds. With a snap, the light extinguished, and the storm tumbled back in. It took several minutes of soaking rain, thunder, and cold before the wonder waned from the rest of the teams’ eyes.
“God,” Ben mumbled, hand on his mouth.
“No,” she corrected trying to motion them on. “Just a representative. But come on, no time left.” She pointed forward, finally sure she knew which crypt they were after. “Time to end this.”
It was a curious word to use, she realized as she blinked back the rain and streaked toward the darkened crypt; because endings, when Death was involved, tended to be final and complete.
Witch's Bell Book One Page 6