The Lost Daughter of Thaumaturgy

The Lost Daughter of Thaumaturgy - Chapter 1

I dedicate this book to one of my closest friends, Amy. I am so proud of her and I love her to pieces! Don't change, ever babe. love you soooo much xxxxxxxxx

The Lost Daughter of Thaumaturgy 

By

Emily Oakes

1

            Paris is beautiful in the winter. The trees glistened with the layers of frost gathered on each branch when the lights from the across the field hit them just so. The evening sky painted in purples and blues and swirled together with the silver sheen of the gathering clouds warning the town that night is near.

            I sat shrunken, crouched on my toes under the canopy of grey clouds and stars that hung over the cemetery like an awning adorned in twinkle light, a few splashes of water fell on my face and neck as light rain started to fall. My scarf fluttered from the light breeze so I tucked it back into my black over coat.

            The grave I was stood in front of was nothing special, simple granite stone, slightly chipped and weathered. But there was a quotation written on the stone in silvers and greys, making it look almost 3-dimensional. It read: “You gain strength, experience and confidence by every experience where you really stop and look fear in the face. You must do the thing you cannot do – Eleanor Roosevelt”.

            My mother would always tell me a new saying every night when I was young, to help me get to sleep, along with lullabies she’d sing to me in French and Spanish. But that quotation was one of my favourites, so it stood to reason that I had it put on her grave.

            My mother loved Paris so much more than anywhere else we’d stayed. Venice was nice, but too hot she’d say: London was too crowded, Mississippi had too many s’ in it, Miami was too beachy – if that’s even a word – and Italy was way too religious to her liking.

            I resolved late last night that I needed to get out of Paris. We were scheduled to leave in a week, that was one of our rules, “never one place for too long”. I’ve never put down roots anywhere, mum always taught me that once you do there’s no more freedom as you always return to the same place where ever you go. So with that in mind, I rang the travel company and bumped my flight up to the next evening.

            So I had a taxi waiting with my bag, a passport and a one way ticket to England. It’s been a while since I went up north so maybe I get the train from Leeds Bradford to North Yorkshire? I had that calling to see some hills breathe fresh new air and just relax.

             I kissed my fingertips and caressed them over my mother’s name. As I turned away I threw my bag over my shoulder and I pulled the collar of my coat up to hide my face. A lesson my mum had taught me, “Blend in Gabe dear, the people who stand out are the people who get targeted”.

            She was a truly amazing woman my mum: She could look a man dead in the eye and rob him blind in one minute flat. She could down three bottles of Shiraz then drive us back to the apartment like she was driving Miss Daisy, just because she could. And some of the things she said were truly amazing. She could throw an insult together in less than a second and every one was flawlessly delivered with just the perfect amount of malice that it left any person speechless and utterly stunned.  

            I slid into the back seat of the taxi, keeping my head down and my long blonde hair swung freely around my face, my fringe brushing my eyelashes slightly. “Bonjour, me conduire the Hilton please.” I told the driver. He nodded and exited the Cemetery, headed towards the airport where I had a reservation under a false name. My mother had taught me many tricks that she had picked up on our travels: I now know how to forge any legal document, speak thirteen languages fluently, and can fly a small aircraft.  I could drive when I was twelve and by the time I was eight I could fire a Colt M1911 at a moving target over a range of 200 meters. As you can guess, my upbringing was less than normal, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.