Marshall hated his life, it didn't matter that he was just freed from Foster care at the Ripe old age of eighteen which had been his goal since he was fourteen. Dropped like yesterday's trash, he had nothing... no food, no money, no hope... 

He was homeless, hurt and filled with hate. 

And oh boy did his head ache something fierce. It was like a hammering in his temples, starting the moment woke up and getting worse as the day progressed. When it started to rain, as he dragged his sorry ass into an alley, the pain became impossible and he actually collapsed. He ignored the bruising of his knees as he fell, holding his head. 

"What is this?" He managed to pant out. "I think I am having a stroke or something."  Curling into himself, the pain burning in his head like magma. Closing his eyes, he prepared to die... hoping to finally get the peace that life never gave him. Then he froze, the pain settling as a new force blossomed in his heart. "No... NO!" His eyes tore open, anger burning past searing pain. "I will not give in, I have endured too much bullshit. I won't let this kill me."

Sitting up, he actually growled, only stopping as a package fell from seemingly nowhere onto the ground in front of him. "What?Is that my name?" Grabbing it, he gently opened the box, not really caring if it was dangerous. He was in too much pain to really give a damn, his curiosity too much to ignore. "A book... and an athame?" Bringing it up, he started to read the book, feeling an odd warmth etched onto the pages. "It's not in English..." He said, before what looked like a letter fluttered out of the book.

Grabbing it, he turned it up, reading the words aloud.

To Marshall Michaels.

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Before I write another word, how have your migraines been? They have been getting worse by the day? They started three days ago, right?

"How could they know that? I haven't told anyone that I've been having migraines..." Fearful but also deeply excited, he dug into the letter. 

You, dear boy, are a witch. We witches often suffer misfortune, your parents poor treatment of you and your own misery seems to be a part of this. The pain of recent days has awakened your potential, one born of the life you've lived and your desire for power.

In you, as of this moment, powers are surfacing. You are developing your access to your internal wellspring of magic, a power that allows you the means to cast spells and use various powers. I am sure you do not believe me, so I suggest you hold out your hand and say this word. "Incendia

Curious, he obeyed the words of the paper, holding out his hand and whispering. "Incendia." And focusing. To his shock, a tiny flame flickered in his palms in that instant before puttering out, leaving his head clear of any pain.

Turning back to the paper, eyes wide, he finished reading.

Power comes at a cost, so always be careful. If you choose to fulfill your urge toward power, study the book hard ( which is written in Latin ) and become all you can. However, know that many hate us, blaming us for our forebearers actions.

I will find you one day, once you are ready to meet the rest of us, and become part of our people. If you do not wish to join us, simple repackage the book. The magic will tie your memories, but if you wish to be a part of our world, read all you can. Learn of the monsters that hide in this world, and the powers in your soul.

Yours,

Alice

P.S. Burn the Letter, it is better if no one knows what you are just yet.

Stunned, he put the letter down. "Well... I was wondering what I was going to do this Winter.. and now I guess I know. Wonder what I can do with all this, if I can find myself a place to live with all the powers I have in my hands now."