The Enchanted Writes Book One (5 page)

With that, Henrietta Gosling, dressed in
clothes she’d never before worn and would never ever consider
wearing again, ran to her French doors and pulled them open. She
followed the crazy warrior monk called Brick out of her garden and
into the night.

Henrietta Gosling was not good at sport. She
was terrible at athletics, she was horrible at gymnastics, and
she’d given up on most forms of exercise by the tender age of 15.
She couldn’t run and she was so uncoordinated that she’d always
trip over everything in her path, from dustbins, to dogs, to old
lady’s walking frames.

Tonight it was different. Tonight she could
run. She could also jump, fantastically stupidly high. As Brick
sprinted before her, managing the kinds of physics-defying moves
that were relegated to video games and Hong Kong action movies, she
matched pace. At one point Brick jumped on top of a building. He
went from standing in an alleyway, to jumping up, planting his
hands onto a wall, pushing himself off, and then somehow flinging
himself onto the opposite building, despite the fact it was two
stories tall.

Normal human beings couldn’t jump that high.
Normal human beings had knees and legs and hips and bodies that
were built for modest heights, but tonight that didn't matter.
Somehow she followed his move. She planted her hand into the
ground, her ankles sturdy despite the fact her heels were high
enough to be considered penthouse apartments, and then she forced
herself into a magnificent somersault. She jumped from the ground
to the top of the building, and even though she stumbled when she
landed, her skirt revealing an indecent flash of underwear, she
still made it.

Incredible. This was all incredible.

The sensible, reasonable part of her brain
tried to tell her she must be on drugs, but the rest of her brain
was very much enjoying it all.

It was a dark night, which she was extremely
thankful for. She hadn’t forgotten what she was wearing, and
several times she had run past people in alleyways as they shot her
wide-eyed looks, their eyebrows shooting off their faces as their
gazes raced down her figure and clothes.

Henrietta could be thankful for one more
fact: she had a mask on. She brought her fingers up to feel it a
few times, and it seemed large enough to do a good job of hiding
her identity.

Her hair felt different, too. Instead of
being a wild red angry clump at the base of her neck, it was
smoothed up into a fabulous bun at the top of her head. It felt
elegant and was held in place with several clips.

Her mask was one of those Venetian
masquerade jobs, with all the fancy trimming and details. How it
was staying on her face, she didn't know, as there wasn't any
elastic holding it around her head. It sat there, and no matter how
high she jumped or how fast she ran, it didn't fall off.

She felt like she was wearing make-up, and
as she ran along, she caught sight of herself in a shop window. She
almost stopped.

She looked so different.

Her eyelashes were long and shaded a deep
black. Her lips were covered in a dark-red wet-look gloss. She also
had eye shadow on, and it matched the color of her black mask.

Before she could stand there and stare at
herself for the rest of the night, Barney’s soft bark filtered back
to her.

She set off again.

Soon, Brick began to slow down, and she
realized they’d run all the way to the other side of town. A trip
that would have taken a good few hours on foot had taken her 10
minutes of jumping and running along the rooftops.

Incredible.

Before she could distract herself with how
amazing this was, she realized where they’d stopped.

They were at the abandoned docks. She’d
heard Patrick Black talk enough about this area to realize the
place was infested with crime. The city had plans of tearing it
down and building something far more respectable, but for now it
still stood, dark and forlorn at the edge of town.

She looked at the water to her left. It was
dank and impenetrable, and no doubt cold.

The shadows of the buildings around her were
long and cast the area into even deeper darkness. There were no
city lights out here, and the closest streetlights were kilometers
away.

There was only one good thing about being in
this area: there was no one around to gawk at her.

Henrietta looked up to see that Brick was
now sitting on top of the building to her left. How he’d managed to
get up there, she didn't know, but she was starting to realize it
was magic. While Brick could jump high and run fast, he also had
another trick up his sleeve: he could transport, if that was the
right word. He would go from standing in one place, to standing in
another place close by in the blink of an eye. Either he put on a
fantastic burst of speed, or else he could travel between two
points without moving through the space between.

Henrietta Gosling had never been the kind of
girl to believe in magic; she liked to think her head was screwed
on right.

Well tonight her head was un-screwing.

She took several steps forward, clapped her
hands on her hips, and tightened her grip on her wand. “Alright,
I’ve followed you here, now give me my dog back.”

Brick let his legs flop over the edge of the
roof, and he kicked them back and forth. “I'm afraid you’re going
to have your hands full soon. How about I keep hold of Barney, and
how about you have your first fight with the witches?”

“Give me back my dog!” she roared. It was
loud, it was angry, and it was unlike her.

Brick chuckled. “Those clothes are changing
you, Warrior Woman; you’re beginning to embrace your natural
power—” He stopped and swiveled his head to the side.

A noise echoed from the building beneath
him.

At first it sounded like fingernails
scratching over a blackboard, then it arced up and teetered like
only a voice could. It sent a cold rush and a prickle of surprise
jumping up her spine.

She blinked, snapping her head towards the
sound.

“I will stay up here, Warrior Woman, and I
will direct you,” Brick said, voice quick and loud, and maybe a
little afraid.

The voice cut out and a vortex of wind
rushed past Henrietta's cheeks.

The funnel of air was sucked into the
abandoned warehouse.

Within the building, black shadows
danced.

She tightened her grip on her wand, her
fingers curling around until they dug into her palm.

“You will be okay, Warrior Woman, but you
must be forthright. Go in to meet the enemy,” Brick suggested as he
stayed up on the roof, several soft barks emanating from his
jacket.

Fight the witches? It was starting to dawn
on Henrietta what was happening to her. From the fantastic to the
fearful, she was realizing that maybe, possibly there was a witch
in that abandoned warehouse and that she was going to have to fight
it.

She started to freeze up, her muscles
tightening and her eyes opening as wide as they could.

The screeching scream returned again. At
first it sounded like a child sobbing, then halfway through the
noise twisted up, reverberating high into a keening cry.

Whatever was inside, it didn't sound normal;
it didn't sound human.

A light started to filter out from the
building. At first it was dim, then grew brighter and brighter. It
also crackled and smelt of sulfur.

“Quick, run in before the witch can set
defensive spells.” The man was usually calm and nonchalant, but now
he was on the edge of his seat, his voice betraying a tight
fear.

This served to heighten her own panic. She
had never felt as scared as she did now.

The door to the abandoned warehouse creaked
further open. She could see several fingers curl around it, long
fingernails tapping against the metal with spine-tingling
squeaks.

“Duck,” Brick screamed.

She fell to her knees, crumpling her arms
over her head.

Something hot and fast rushed over her. She
twisted to the side, flopping on her back and rolling in time to
see an actual fireball whiz past and slam into the dark water
beyond the dock. It sizzled, steam erupting with a hiss.

“Duck again,” Brick roared.

Henrietta threw herself to the ground, and
once again a sodding great fireball zoomed past.

She whimpered and whined, clutching her
fingers over her head.

“Bring out your wand, defend yourself,”
Brick commanded.

“How?” she screamed back, her voice tight
with pleading.

She could no longer deny what was happening
to her. In the face of imminent death, she was starting to lose all
incredulity for her circumstances, and she was gripping onto her
wand, ready to use it in any way she could to defend herself.

“Write the name of the spell you want in the
air with your wand,” Brick announced.

She didn't understand. She didn't have time
to clarify either, as yet another fireball came whizzing towards
her. This one was so close it collected the side of her jacket and
seared right through the fabric, even catching the edge of her
skirt on fire.

She gave a pathetic scream and tried to pat
down her skirt, but soon it didn’t matter. The fire picking up
along the fabric disappeared and something fantastic occurred: the
fabric grew back. At one point there had been a sodding great
singed black hole in her jacket, and then the thing had fixed
itself.

“Stop patting your skirt and duck!” Brick
roared at her.

Henrietta looked up in time to see a
fireball hurtling right at her face. She stopped. Time seemed to
stretch out before her. Things slowed down. She could see the
crackling fire bursting over the girth of the fireball as it came
towards her.

It did not reach her. It did not slam into
her face, knock her off her feet, and kill her dead in a
second.

No, because at that moment somebody jumped
in front of her.

Brick. In the blink of an eye, he appeared
before her, face turned her way, back turned to the soaring
fireball. It struck him, slamming into his back and shifting him
forward with a ferocious force. Brick stumbled towards her, and she
brought her arms up to catch him (despite the fact he was a dirty
home invader who had stolen her dog).

He rested in her arms, and she caught a full
glance of his face as he ached through a wince.

As quick as he could, he pushed himself up,
shook his head, straightened, and gave a cough.

“Forgive my blasphemy, but goddamn that
hurt,” he spat as he stretched out his shoulders and turned his
head. Though the fireball had struck him neatly on the back, his
leather jacket was not damaged. It did seem to emit steam in
places, but there was no hole torn through it, and there wasn't a
clump of Brick's exposed and bloody flesh to be seen. In fact,
apart from swearing at how much that had hurt, he appeared to be
fine.

Henrietta still had her arms and hands in
exactly the same position they'd been in when she'd opened them to
catch Brick.

This was happening so fast.

Before she could try to shake her head and
catch up to the situation, there was another terrible whooshing
noise, and Brick grabbed her roughly by the arm, pushing her to the
side. In a snap, he plunged his hand into his jacket, the ends of
it flaring out dramatically, and he whipped out his crossbow. He
aimed it towards the fingers that were still curled around the door
of the abandoned warehouse, then he fired.

Something rushed forward from the crossbow,
and it jolly well wasn't a bolt. It was a small spark of light, and
it landed right on the half-opened door, spreading over the whole
metal frame with a horrible crackling sound and with the speed of a
bullet.

She watched in horror and fascination as the
door gave way. In its place a wall of magical symbols and squares
stood instead. The symbols were not one-dimensional; they appeared
to be 3D and thick, taking up the same width as the door had.

The witch screamed, if indeed it was a
witch. The creature with its claws on the door yanked them back,
and while at first it gave a cry like a child's, the sound of it
twisted up into the ferocious call of an animal.

It made Henrietta scamper backwards, her
heels snagging against the uneven ground, sending her toppling
backwards onto her butt. She landed with a thump, but didn't waste
her breath on moaning out an oomph.

For all the time she'd chased after Brick,
for all those fantastic jumps she had managed to pull off, she
hadn't tripped once. Yet here she was stumbling backwards and
falling over like a total klutz.

Brick turned to his side and looked down at
her. “Get to your feet, Warrior Woman Henrietta, and stop falling
over.” He leaned down to her, put his right hand on her arm, and
pulled her to her feet. “If you let the fear take hold of you, you
will lose your magic,” he warned, his eyes sparkling, despite the
dark night.

Henrietta swallowed through a nod, then she
stopped. What was she doing? What on earth did Brick mean?
Magic?

All in a rush, she started to shake and
shudder. She couldn't deny the situation was real; the skin along
her hand was cut and singed, and Brick's back still steamed where
the fireball had struck it.

“I know it is hard, but unless you act to
contain that witch, she could move on to harm others.”

She couldn't ignore that, could she?

Brick reached out a hand and clutched his
large palm over her fingers as she held the wand. “Write in the air
the word of a spell. Whether it be fire, water, ice, blizzard,
wind, tornado – any ferocious force you can think of. Write it in
the air, Witch Hunter, and it will appear. You can use it to
contain the witch. To fight her off, to overcome her.”

There was a steely magical quality to his
voice. His words bypassed her ears and ate straight into the
imaginative side of her mind. As he spoke, it was as if she could
see each spell he was talking of. Fire, ice, wind – all she had to
do was bring up her wand and write the words before her, then they
would appear.