The Power Borne

Chapter 01

“It’s funny how the thing you fear the most sets you free.”

Jade Usher didn’t register the words to begin with. Her mind was elsewhere, entrenched in the fictional world of her favourite novel. The weight of the leather-bound first edition, its yellowed and dog-eared pages, always offered her sanctuary. But the curious line pulled her focus out of the book to the unknown film her husband, Matt, was watching. Before she could ponder the lines’ meaning, the picture turned red, and a white banner scrolled across the screen.

“We interrupt this Film4 presentation to bring you a breaking news report live from New York.”

Next, the image showed a handsome reporter outside a burned-out warehouse.

“The scene here at East 14th Street and Avenue D more closely resembles a war zone than an industrial city neighbourhood. Three blocks in every direction show ruined buildings; fires smoulder under the rubble. It’s ground zero of a catastrophic event that people of New York are still struggling to comprehend.”

“Dozens of eyewitness reports describe a similar string of events… a ‘battle’ of epic proportions between five unidentified individuals. As incredible as it sounds, each account reported no evidence of weapons. Yet the devastation surrounding me on this once muted industrial street is absolute.”

“CNN received this exclusive footage from a passing eyewitness. Be warned, the following images may be disturbing to some viewers.”

The screen flickers to a shaky smartphone video. Background shouts accompany the wobbly scene near a parked vehicle. A black-clad figure stands in the street, daring anyone to defy him, then points offscreen. Without warning, an electric blue flame erupts from the figure’s outstretched fingers.

Another yell echoes in the distance, and then the person holding the camera swears.

Jade gasps, her book falling to the thick carpet at her feet with a heavy thud as she brings her hands to cover her mouth in shock. She watches as the car on the edge of the shot lifts off the ground and flies towards the mysterious figure. Hurled as if it weighed less than a child’s toy.

A deep-seated fear for the person wielding the smartphone unfurls in her stomach as the footage tilts. The perspective of falling jolts the image before crackling into static, then cutting to black, and the reporter comes back into focus.

“Throughout my ten-year career as a journalist, covering natural disasters and wars across three continents, I have seen nothing like this in my life. Reputable news sources, such as CNN, would dismiss claims of magic. Given the substantial eyewitness testimony and video evidence supporting these unbelievable assertions, the definition of reality seems questionable.”

“Dan Westinghouse reporting.”

The screen faded back to black before returning to the unknown movie as if nothing untoward had happened. Jade’s gut knotted, and the warmth drained from her now-empty fingertips. She bent to retrieve the book, her movements wooden and mechanical. A glance at Matt confirmed he had returned his attention to his film, but his jaw ticked, teeth grinding.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not come. She hadn’t felt reluctant to confide in him for a long time. They shared it all. But this seemed different.

This surpassed them, yet felt deeply personal. Jade sensed profound implications in the news, yet couldn’t articulate her apprehension. What response could follow such a statement? No words existed that would do justice.

Instead, she tried to turn her attention back to her book, but the letters blurred together into a sea of grey on the page. She could not say why, but her skin prickled like something inside her had woken up, putting her on edge. Jade, discarding the novel for her phone, opened the BBC News app. She hunted ‘magic’ references, hoping this wasn’t real, that nobody would find her.

***

Two days later, a mass of reporters gathered outside the front steps of THe Savoy Hotel. A hushed din of crackling mic cables, whispered voices, and equipment being set up added to the uneasy tension. Major networks worldwide received the press release. It suggested vital information about the bizarre New York events would be revealed. Experienced journalists felt history unfolding; everyone desired a front-row seat.

Just past noon, a man approached the microphones clustered on the lectern atop the steps. His well-tailored and expensive three-piece suit of charcoal grey pinstripes fitted like forged armour. His crisp white shirt was immaculate, his tie a perfect Windsor. Despite his anonymity, his presence commanded attention. A simple cufflink adjustment silenced all conversation, drawing everyone’s awareness.

“I’m Gideon Oswald, head of the Festori organisation,” he stated. “I deeply apologise for how I must announce this news; I had planned for this statement to be better prepared. However, the events in New York have forced my hand.”

“The world faces transformation far exceeding anyone’s expectations.” Gideon paused. “Witches and the magic that they can wield are very real.”

The word ‘witches’ struck the crowd like a physical blow. Reporters lurched forward, shouting questions that tangled into an incomprehensible roar, while others stumbled backwards, their faces draining of colour. Somewhere in the sea of bodies, a coffee cup shattered as it hit the concrete.

Gideon held his ground and waited for the worst of the clamouring to subside before raising his hand for silence.

“What happened in New York resulted from an operation by four of my agents to prevent a rogue witch named Damien Thorne from attacking, and potentially destroying, the UN building. Thankfully, they were able to apprehend the witch; however, that apprehension was unfortunately more destructive than intended.”

Gideon, taking a deep breath, noted the occasional trembling notepad, the nervous sidelong glances, and the low wave of mutters. But despite that, the crowd of reporters still held pens poised and recording devices at the ready, so he continued.

“I assure you that as a race, we mean humans no harm. We formed the Festori to understand our new reality and explore our sudden emergence.”

Gideon felt his molars grind as he clenched his jaw. He considered the worst over, relieved they hadn’t stoned him... yet. The press conference’s failure, should it occur, would happen now.

He squared his shoulders, then announced, “I have time for one or two brief questions.”

A tsunami of hands erupted; reporters jostled for first pick.

Gideon adjusted his tie. He had hoped that the crowd would be too stunned to put forward any coherent questions, allowing him to beat a hasty retreat. He should have known a group of the world’s most tenacious journalists would prove him wrong.

“Sue Everink, from the BBC. I believe you have a question about the assailant?” Gideon said in his clear, ringing voice as he pointed at a woman three rows back in a blue silk blouse and black trousers. With ease, he pulled her name, her workplace, and the core of her question from her thoughts.

Everyone fell silent. Cameras dropped a few centimetres. A pen stopped mid-scribble, and colleagues exchanged some furtive looks. A palpable tension rippled through the crowd as they acknowledged they had just witnessed magic first-hand.

Sue Everink recovered her composure enough to ask her question, her voice cracking on the first word. “You said that you captured the, um, witch responsible for the attack. What can you tell us about her?”

“Him,” Gideon corrected. “Contrary to common folklore, the term witch applies to both female and male. The Festori took him to their private facility. He will remain detained there pending an internal investigation. I assure you, Thorne will not be able to escape. Next question.”

This time, fewer hands rose, and the few brave enough showed apprehension. Gideon sighed. Public fear following this revelation was to be expected. Although he had hoped it wouldn’t manifest so soon and not in response to his presence. To prevent any further discomfort for those in attendance, he played dumb. “You, in the blue shirt and red tie.” Gideon pointed toward a man near the back, who raised his hand first this time. “What is your question?”

“Dan Westinghouse, sir, from CNN.”

“Ah, yes,” Gideon said, “you broke the original story.”

“Ummm, yes,” Dan replied in a small voice, “Ummm, my question is how common is it for… err… your kind… to have as much power as we witnessed the other day? Do we need to be worried?”

And there it is, Gideon thought, the million-pound question. “I wish I had an answer for you, Mr Westinghouse,” he said aloud; “I really do. We’re only beginning to understand this new reality. Among known witches, Damien Thorne exhibits unparalleled power. But we are doing everything in our power to prevent a repeat of the events in New York.”

From the lectern, Gideon collected his notes before again facing the audience.

“I’m afraid that is all I have time to divulge today. My office will issue an official report of the incident in New York in the coming days. It will also include a more detailed explanation of what I have just shared with you.”

“Before departing, I offer a final comment. If unexplained experiences have plagued you, strange occurrences that appear not to make any rational sense… know that you are not alone. Seek us out and we will show you the way.”

Gideon left the stunned crowd, entering the hotel foyer. A faint click sealed off a world forever altered.

Chapter 02

Celeste Winter stood, her fingers drumming on the spine of the folder in her hand as the elevator numbers ping upward to the top floor of Festori headquarters in London. She could feel the power of her mentor and master approach as the numbers above the lift doors clicked higher.

As she waited, she resisted the urge to attack her half-bitten fingernails. Normally cool and collected to the point of coming across cold, Celeste was not accustomed to her emotions being such a mess. However, the longer she stood, the more dread, shame and defensive resolve roiled in her stomach.

She had watched the press conference, both on TV and through her mind’s eye, as she followed Gideon’s thoughts since he departed for The Savoy some two hours ago. His unhappiness was clear; she knew she owned a share of the blame.

A pleasant yet slightly piercing ‘ding’ pierced the silence, and then the polished brass doors slid silently open to reveal Gideon in all his commanding presence. Not waiting for the doors to complete their motion, he marched out of the elevator; his cashmere coat swishing around him. Celeste fell into step in her customary place: on his right hand, one pace behind.

“I thought that went very well, Gideon,” she ventured. They walked the length of the empty hallway leading to the private chambers of the head of the Festori, the one they called Domini. The cream-coloured walls that flowed past were mostly bare except for the occasional oil painting depicting one of the more notable Dominis from history.

“As well expected, I suppose,” Gideon said, sounding tired, “but it was foolish to flaunt my power so carelessly.”

Celeste knew he was referring to answering that reporter’s question before she had even asked it. Since the ordinary world had learned about them, they all needed to exercise caution.

“But still, at least they didn’t stone me to death,” Gideon said, a wry smile flickering across his features; clearly attempting to lighten his mood.

A small, breathy laugh attempted to escape Celeste’s throat, but she tamped it down. Within Festori’s walls, comparing their plight to Salem’s witch trials had become a recent, recurring jest. Though, those with witch blood grieved the slaughter of so many innocents.

Without slowing his pace, Gideon raised his hand before the imposing double doors of his chambers, which opened silently at his command. The pale walls gave way to dark, polished mahogany and antique bronze. The room inside was dim, lit only by a few table lamps. Bookcases march wall to wall, filled with orderly row after row of books. Curious artifacts from around the globe occupied overflowing shelves, several possessing mysterious energy.

Gideon stopped in front of the pair of matching wingback chairs in well-worn dark chocolate leather and removed his jacket and folded it carefully in on itself. He tossed it over the back of one of the chairs before loosening his tie and sinking into the chair. He gestured to the opposite chair, which Celeste took with a slight nod of appreciation.

“I’ve read your report on what happened in New York, but I want to hear it directly from you,” he said.

Celeste ran her sweaty palms down the thighs of her black cargo leggings as her pulse skipped in her throat. For days she had dwelt on the event, seeking a solution to salvage the operation. A way to keep their secret a secret. But she couldn’t see another option, so she told the truth. Not like she could hide the truth from the powerful witch opposite her; embellishment or face-saving was futile.

“I have no explanation for why the operation went so wrong, Domini,” she began. “We received an anonymous report that a powerful witch was planning to attack the UN building. Neither I nor any of the scryers heard or felt anything amiss. But the source seemed credible and genuinely scared, so I took three members of my coven with me to investigate.”

“When we reached New York, I could feel a potent hatred in the currents and followed it to an industrial neighbourhood on the river south of the UN complex. That was when the attack came. No warning, no discussion, no subterfuge… he just strolled out of one of the warehouses and attacked. No spells either, he was a Power Borne.”

Celeste tried to fight past the memories, and lost; they remained too painful. She could still hear the shouts of her coven mates, the crackle of magic in the air, and she could feel the desperation mounting. His eyes during the attack revealed cold, calculated cruelty. She felt certain he would have done anything to achieve his goal.

The sound of Gideon clearing his throat pulled her back to the present.

“We barely contained him, and it took considerable power to do so. I wish it hadn’t been so messy, but we had no choice. I know that if he had escaped, he would have levelled the UN Building. Probably everything within a three-block radius as well, without hesitation or remorse. Though, to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced that the target was the UN Building. Perhaps it was a lure, maybe a diversion.” She fell silent, wondering if this was a debriefing or an interrogation.