Kennedy Awakens

Chapter 1:-1

Chapter 1:

Kennedy crouched low behind the facade of the abandoned gothic building. Below, the streets were full of revelers celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day. Even the residents of the Italian section of Boston, the historic North End, became Irish one day a year. Any excuse to party was enough. Not that they needed a reason to celebrate and carouse, most pubs were busy on any day that ended with a Y.

Nighttime in March, the frost still hung in the air. Many of the revelers shed their outer layers, having imbibed enough alcohol to compensate for the freezing temperature. The wind caused cheeks to turn pink, while the liquid did the same to most noses.

The freezing breeze tousled Kennedy’s short bangs that poked from under her black hoodie. Even though the black sweatshirt screamed emo cliché, the garment achieved its intended task. The color helped break up a silhouette against the night’s sky, making a body difficult to spot from the ground. The norms didn’t need to know about magic children running about the rooftops of the city. They had enough problems keeping tabs on their day-to-day lives without wasting concern on the forgotten few that made the dark places their home. Those leftovers from eons long gone.

Kennedy was out tonight because of a rumor. The street spoke of a creature out to cause some mischief under the cover of darkness. It was not the task of the coven to monitor the magic and the creatures, but it was better to know who caused trouble before The Authority came looking for answers.

There was an uneasy truce between the Fae, the witches of Massachusetts, and the norms. Kennedy had caught wind of a plot to create a false-flag attack in the North End to grow the war between two competing groups of Fae. If The Authority found out about the brewing war, the ramifications would be bad for all magical beings.

In the grand scheme of things, there was little a single witch could accomplish if the long-seething hatred grew hotter, but the coven swore an oath to keep the norms from learning about magic. There was simply too much the mortals didn’t need to know to go about their days working, paying taxes, and keeping the world turning in its haphazard fashion. The norms had The Authority to keep tabs on the magical world. The witches of the world were allowed a small safe place in society if they continued to conform.

The few normal humans who knew about the magical world feared, maybe even loathed, those who had the gift, or curse, of magic. The street even whispered about secret government-run operations where Fae and witches alike were held and experimented on. Like most of nature, the norms wanted the ability to control those who bent magical power about them. That which couldn’t be controlled became a liability.

A centuries old curse left the soul of an old woman trapped in the body of a child. Kennedy was the last-born human with magical powers. If not for the witches’ long lives, human magic would have disappeared from the world. Over the years, Kennedy had witnessed the worse of human and Fae kind. Time taught her to distrust everyone.

The twitch of a scent caught Kennedy’s attention. That whiff of magic most Fae did little to hide drifted over the night’s wind. The problem was it didn’t come from the streets below but from the brightly lit white cables of the Zakim Bridge. It smelled of fresh-cut cedarwood, a smell she had yet to encounter.

On the tower nearest to the North End, a single figure scaled the first outstretched cable. The motorists below would never notice the lone creature as it worked its way to the top. The aura of magic hid most Fae from the observation of norms. Kennedy would never have caught sight of the thing if it had tried to conceal the scent of magic about it. At this distance, there was no way of knowing what manner of Fae roamed amongst the norms. It was a safe bet the creature was up to some mischief or another. One thing all Fae had in common was causing trouble for norms.

A pair of drunks started a vocal scuffle on the street below. For an instant, Kennedy’s focus returned to the street where the attack was meant to take place. Where the norms had gathered, milling from one tavern to another, made a tempting target.

Below, there was another whiff of magic. The smell about this one, different too. It was a witch not from a local coven, of that Kennedy was certain. The smell of magic was wild, spicy, untrained, unlike anything experienced by the witch in all her decades of traveling the small city. Something was afoot below and on the bridge, but a decision needed to be made at once. With no indication which was the intended attack, Kennedy thought it better to observe for a moment longer before making a leap of faith.

The two drunks trapped an Asian boy between them. Even from a distance, it was apparent the men took umbrage to a male of Asian descent walking the streets of the Italian North End alone on Saint Patrick’s Day. The pair must have been irony impaired, as the thought was too much to overcome in the land of immigrants. Long ago, Kennedy concluded most norms sucked and would do little to evolve themselves from the knuckle-dragging Neanderthals from which they came.

Kennedy stood, ready to jump into action, ready to help a fellow witch escape the clutches of the heavy-browed norms, when several things happened, stopping her.

From below, a flash of light blasted from between the men who had circled the Asian man. The force of the attack flung their bodies apart with force enough for the one nearest the street to fly through the windshield of a passing yellow cab. The other bounced off the red brick wall of the nearest tavern up the street. The few people who stood by taunting the bullies were rewarded by being cast to the icy sidewalk like twigs thrown asunder. The man below had some power, but not much sense, to throw magic about like that. Too many witnesses could finger him to The Authority.

On the bridge, a series of explosions torched off along the span. Louder and brighter than fireworks. Kennedy expected the norms would take the explosions for illegal skyrockets, but she knew better. The Fae who climbed the bridge stood atop it, casting powerful magic into the air. In his hands, he held what looked like a staff, or perhaps a wand that looked large next to the tiny man, it made little difference. The meaning or purpose for such an obvious display was beyond apparent reason. Strange creatures concealed still stranger motivations.

In both instances, people broke the code of magic that kept the world safe, and there was little Kennedy could do to stop it. Heads would roll after this night of magical display. A soft curse under her breath and a shake of her head was Kennedy’s response. Someone would need to be held accountable for this breach of the peace. Now was the time to make sure it wasn’t the local witches who took the blame. Better to find the responsible party than become a scapegoat.

History was rife with examples of witches blamed for the actions of others. It was much easier to blame the usual suspects than do any real detective work to discover who caused the problems. “Neanderthals…” Kennedy muttered softly.

Quick as possible, her right hand pulled a wad of twine from a concealed pocket. “Seek,” she whispered into the small ball of string. In a thought, the young male below was the target of a follow spell. The twine unrolled into the shape of a bat. With determination, it flapped in the direction the young man fled from the scene of the confrontation. If the twine were not dispelled, it would find Kennedy and report back all observations. If the man were smart, he would flee the area, perhaps even the city, and go to ground somewhere safe till the search for him died down.

It would be impossible for the man to escape if he stayed in the city proper. A combination of installed cameras, smartphone footage, and eyewitness accounts would make following his movements easy. The Authority would scoop him up in no time if he weren’t smart or lucky.

If the man were blessed, he would remain free long enough for Kennedy to find him before The Authority. It would be worse for the man if Boston’s finest picked him off the street first… Now was not the time to worry about such things. There was a Fae to identify.

In the opposite direction, there was a rogue Fae escaping the scene of a very overt display of magic. If the creature had half a mind to, it could have brought down the bridge and created a nightmare for all magic-using members of the city. The Authority did not take kindly to overt displays of magic and didn’t take too kindly to anything that upset the status quo. Anything that might threaten their hold on power or bring magic and its relationship to the world into the light of day was strictly verboten. A person would be labeled a terrorist and shipped off to a dark hole if suspected of bringing fear to the population.

If there was to remain some semblance of peace, Kennedy needed to identify the Fae and take the matter to the appropriate family leader. If that didn’t work, the information might prove to be an invaluable bargaining chip the next time the coven ran into a misunderstanding with The Authority. As sure as the sun would rise tomorrow, the coven would have a visit from someone questioning the use of magic this night. Better to have some other person to shift the focus to.

A witch’s first allegiance was to the brothers and sisters of the coven. Kennedy belonged to a branch of the oldest coven in the Americas. All direct descendants of the first Salem witches, those in the coven were considered closer than family. They had to be. Given the long life most witches enjoyed, they would be together for many more decades, even centuries. Aging much slower than the norms around them, they needed to seclude themselves or be discovered by their agelessness. The only individuals Kennedy might rely on were the members of her coven, and those ageless creatures, the Fae. Though there was little love or trust with the Fae.

With a leap, the witch bounced from the secluded protection of the façade to the next building two stories lower. Individuals were not the only things that possessed magic ability in Kennedy’s Boston. The shoes that covered a witch’s feet, if they were powerful enough, could be imbued with any number of powerful abilities. The black and white high-tops gave Kennedy the footing and grace of a feline. The roofs of the local buildings turned into a highway for the properly equipped. It was how the children of the night moved about the city unseen.

Tonight, the added prowess of a cat was needed. The creature atop the tower used a cable as a slide to make his escape from the scene. It became clear the thing hadn’t spotted Kennedy yet. The path of the slide brought it closer to the North End and the line of rooftops that Kennedy crossed over. By the angle, they would meet right about Haymarket Square.

The little man bounded from car top to car top, uncaring who discovered his escape. The norms might not be able to see him specifically, but the weight of his body would leave indents on each car top he landed on with a thud. A trail of pint-sized footprints would be left behind as the creature fled the scene.

Once Kennedy drew close enough, a positive identification would be her first priority. There should be no need to confront the hooligan, that would be a task better left to the creature’s family patron. The last thing the witches of Massachusetts needed was a confrontation with one or more of the Fae syndicates.

They were notoriously more dangerous than the norms’ organized crime families of the past decades or the current color-coded neighborhood gangs that roamed the streets. Each group defended their territory with ferocity, and those proven to be a danger to the family, or the leadership, would find a quick death at the bottom of the Charles River or Boston Harbor.