Newport: Gateway to Wales. Well it looked like any other dump out in the sticks to her. It wasn’t even on a par with Glasgow, Manchester, Birmingham or Cardiff, which was only up the road a bit but was strictly off limits.
What was it Mister Oblique had told her?
“Your mother was an English White Witch and your father a Welsh Warlock. Your magical powers are growing from the planted acorns of such a heritage. To nullify your aura we need somewhere rejected by your birth-right.”
Ayesha had suggested New York. If she had to flee London then at least let it be somewhere palatable.
“Merely going to a different country won’t cut the mustard for this,” the UKXD Section Head stated firmly. “It has to be a place both Welsh and English, yet neither.”
She’d shrugged at that. Oblique was too humourless for jokes or riddles; yet what he was suggesting seemed a conundrum of sorts, but one without an answer.
“The Monmouthshire border area is one that has been claimed and rejected by both at various periods in its history. At different times, it has been Welsh and English, and therefore alternatively rejected and condemned by each in turn.
“Here, and here alone, you will shed your magical powers. In this way, your very ordinariness will shield you from your unknown adversaries and would-be assassins.”
“Shed my powers?” The very thought made her go cold as ice.