Free The Enchanted Writes Book One by Odette C. Bell

again.
    She balled up a fist and went to hit him,
but the lithe and quick man ducked out of the way in a flash.
    “Why would you punch me?” he asked, surprise
obvious.
    “You are being so bloody obtuse. If you want
me to help get rid of these witches, and if you're meant to assist
me in that task, then bloody well assist me. What are witches, and
what kind of spells should I use to defeat them?”
    The two of them kept walking through the
forest, and at that moment, they found the path, but they also
found something else. As Henrietta finished asking Brick what kind
of spells she should use, two surprised-looking old ladies rounded
the corner.
    They stopped, and they stared.
    Henrietta couldn't blame them, because she
was dressed in ways that an old lady could never approve of. What
was more, she was walking around with a man in a ridiculous leather
jacket and hat, with billowing, puffy clothes.
    The two old ladies stood there, exchanging
glances and staring at Henrietta and Brick.
    Brick didn’t stop; he nodded their way, gave
them an affable smile, and waved Henrietta forward.
    She was horrified. Her eyes grew larger
under her mask. She wanted to clamp her hands over her face and
hide behind them, because there was no way she was going to manage
to hide behind the scraps of fabric she was wearing.
    Brick looked at her and shrugged further
along the path, the move quick. It was obvious he wanted her to
hurry up.
    So, cold embarrassment still wrapping around
her, Henrietta turned away from the women and ran up the path.
    “Oh my god,” she mumbled when she was sure
they were out of earshot, “oh my god, I have ruined everything.
Those two ladies saw me!”
    Brick shrugged. “And?”
    She looked at him, her cheeks growing hotter
with every second. “They saw me in this.” She clutched a hand onto
her bodice and tapped it there.
    Brick looked down at the bodice, but not
once did it seem as if his gaze was lecherous in any way; it was
cold and pointed. “Do you have a problem with the national dress of
the Witch Hunters?”
    “Yes,” she said after a pointed pause. “But
isn't this meant to be secret?” she added, getting to her real
question. “Aren't people never meant to find out about me or the
witches?” She brought up her wand and waved it around. “Or
magic?”
    Brick nodded. “They won't find out about the
witches, and they certainly aren't meant to find out about your
true identity. This is not because you require anonymity from the
public. It is because the witches might find out, and if the
witches find out, they will come to your house in the night and
surround you in so much flame that you can't get out.”
    Her hand gave a violent twitch, and she
clutched it to her chest as she conjured that mental image.
“Sorry?”
    “But as for people finding out about magic,
frankly, it's not going to happen. They will think you are a loony
running around in a costume. Plus, that is where the wand comes
in.”
    She was ready to hit him, but she paused.
“What do you mean that's where my wand comes in?”
    Brick pointed to it. “You are right, Warrior
Woman Henrietta – you do have the sacred task of keeping magic, the
witches, and your true identity secret, but you have several
powerful tools to assist you in that area. Also, you must remember
that no witch would ever fight in front of an ordinary human. It is
a witch's last desire to become known by humanity. They live in the
shadows, and though they come out to do damage, they do so
secretly. All magical races, I think you will find, enjoy their
anonymity from humanity.” Brick nodded sternly as he spoke, and he
had the kind of tone that suggested he was a teacher conveying his
wisdom to his attentive pupil. Except the only problem was
Henrietta was more gob smacked than attentive.
    “I thought you said that the witch in the
forest is about to set it alight? That kind of sounds like the type
of behavior—” she began.
    Brick brought up a hand.