What they don't Know (REWRITTEN)

Prologue

  No I suppose I don't remember much about my mother, but I remember her kind words, soft skin, and red wool scarf. She was born in New York and came here to England with my father to have me, growing up I would understand why.

  My father worked for bad men, bad men who always got their way. However, my father was a very important man in this business. Which was why he was gone so often, but for this I did not hate my father, our relationship was peaceful and I understood his work required him to be gone for long periods of time. I valued him as a father, but my mother was always special to me, with her kind words, soft skin, and red wool scarf.

  I discovered I was a mage about the age of 3, which is 2 years earlier than most people learn, my family immediately knew I was special. I was sent to England's finest Mage academy, Cirillo Academy. It was here that I learned about the different types of mages; Telepathic, Manipulative, Elemental, Fos, and Skotadi. I had a manipulative type of magic, I could warp the speed of objects within a few feet of me. I could make the fastest fly stand still in midair. But just as any young mage, I knew my powers could grow greater, the academy helped expand my power so that soon I could control anything with 3 miles of me, even people. But the larger the distance the more tired I felt, so I stuck to what was near me. 

  My father was proud I carried some of his magic blood, and declared I would make an incredible addition to the Italian Mafia, the largest and strongest group of Mages the world has ever known, also known as my fathers workspace. 

  I was prideful of my magic, but mages were meant to be secret, forgotten by the world, after the Skotadi and Fos were wiped out, the ways of magic became unbalanced and the gods turned their backs on us. So now, we must practice our gifts in silence.

One night while sitting at dinner, my father told me and my mother that he would be gone longer than usual for his next trip, when we'd asked how long he shook his head and insisted he wasn't sure. 

  I spend many nights wishing I'd hugged him tighter, or asked for something to remember him by, or even told him how thankful I was for him. Many nights passed and not a word was heard from him, we received word from one of his trusted coworkers that he was shot and killed, and his killer was never found. My mother didn't take this news lightly, her once kind words now turned to mumbles and sorrowful wishes. Her once soft skin was now covered in bruises and scars she left on herself to let her feel something again, but her red wool scarf stayed on her neck, at all times.

  I was 14, but I believed I could solve the case of who killed my father, solve a case that even the best men in the mafia couldn't crack, I wanted my mother back, and I wanted justice for my father. I lay awake in my room late at night trying to find ways to write a note for my mother, promising her my safety and fathers justice. Telling her how much I love her and how I was going to make things right finally. 

  I heard screams downstairs, I immediately shot out of bed and rushed down the stairs, a group of hooded men surrounded my mother, her beautiful face was now beat and bruised. One pulled her hair and held a gun to her head, she was on her knees with her hands held high in the air, her glossy lips quivered. I boiled with rage and ran to them, thinking I could take them in a fight, I was foolish and cocky, and not to mention young, I believed I could take on the world.

  "Jack.." My mother whispered with her eyes becoming as glossy as her lipstick. I looked her in the eyes and realized I couldn't move.

One of the men was holding his arm out at me, I knew these men were mages, and they weren't kind.

"Let her go.." I grunted out the best I could, I felt completely paralyzed. The man was using his magic to keep me still, refusing to let me get near my mother.