Chapter 1
I sat on the country bus; its lone passenger for the last five miles to Bamburgh.
A village which, i had been assured, would best suit my talents.
Talents? Never heard of them.
Much like Bamburgh my so-calle\/d talents had not been mentioned until my Adoption day.
After that, I was assured by many of the ministries representatives that :
Bamburgh has been specially selected with regards to your particular background and talentsâŚ
That word.
Suddenly the things I did were talents instead of 'curses from the divine!'
I looked forward through the windscreen to see that we would soon be in sight of the shore-which meant that my journey would soon be over.
I caught sight of the bus drivers eyes as he stared at me through his mirror. I held his stare knowing my silvery-blue eyes would put him off.
And they did- his eyes soon returned to the road.
I tossed my long red hair back over my shoulder and tucked the fly-aways behind my ears. I huffed deciding to root in my satchel for a drawstring bag. From within I retrieved a mirror. It was silver framed so when I gave myself a cursory glance to see that blush had come to my cheeks.
I mentally chastised myself for showing I was flustered. My porcelain skin, red hair and steely eyes attracting so much attention for decorating Asian features.
My Chinese heritage had always been used to hurt me in the ministry's orphanage.
Though I had been in a town with one of the largest populations in Britain of those with Asian heritage it was not always an easy place to live.
But Liverpool had at least allowed for me to stray into Chinatown and experience some of the cultures I had missed out on in the ministry's care.
the ministry classified me as; Wupo.
Witch in other words.
They only ever told me the very little that they thought 'i needed to know' about my origins.
''A Chinese gentleman gave you to us for your care and he left you two things; a photo of a woman with wild red curls and a pearl and jade inlaid hand mirror.''
I could recite it verbatim.
In fact it became so boring to hear that in the end I just stopped asking.
The photo was safely tucked in my journal and the hand mirror never left my side. It had only been given to me upon my graduation from ministry care to a probationary agent.
in Bamburgh, I would meet my 'grandparent' who would watch, teach and assess me in the interests of the ministry. I had two years to convince them that i was an asset - not a failed project.
The bus swung to the left and from the back of the bus i watched as the sun danced on the gentle waves of the sea.
It was early march, though the air still had a bite to it, no one could say it was not a marvellous day.
Well in theory at least.
I would have to wait and see how the rest of the day unfolded.
Soon enough the bus came into view of the village that sat on the mount next to the sea.
And one could not overlook the great silhouette the domineering castle etched into the blue sky.
I had read what I could find in the ministry's eclectic library about the village. It had quite the footnote in history.
From being the supposed residence of sir Lancelot to that of Grace darling- a daring sea witch if ever there was.
The bus stop was soon upon us and as I moved to pass the driver he suddenly grabbed my arm.
I was about ready to hit him with the suitcase in my other hand when I saw that his face was one filled with anxiety, not lechery.
''Please, take care miss-'' he hesitated looking into the tall fallow field around us, before finishing '' there are strange things in these moors⌠the sea the sky and the land- they don't belong to us, you see? These don't play by the same rules.'' he quickly released my arm and returned to facing forward with desperation as he asked me to depart the vehicle.
As the bus made a risky U-turn on the country lane and shot away into the Northumbrian landscape I chewed my lip; mulling over his strange behaviour and even stranger words of warning.
They don't play by the same rules âŚ
Who could they be?
The bus zooming away back to the station kept me in a daze as the sun warmed my cheeks. The plumes of vapour clouded the air from my breath, the cold nipping my nose. I wore a navy tea dress with a white bodice which my knee-high socks. But if not for the hooded pinned jacket I would not have been able to endure the vicious gust that hit me from across the far-stretching moors.
I stared into the open space with a peculiar feeling of being watched - though, my human eyes could not discern anything untoward.
I could change my perspective
but if I was being watched I didn't want to give them a show.
And so I turned to face the village, suddenly realising that the bus stop was at least a country mile out of town, I began walking with my small suitcase.