Free The Rise of the Fourteen by Catherine Carter

slightly as she brushes past.
    Ms. Hughes sighs wearily and sinks to the floor, gathering a
handful of tea-stained papers. One of them is a yellowed photograph of two
babies, one swathed in pink, the other in blue. Beside them are the happy
parents. Another paper says Royal London Hospital, in big curvy letters at the
top.
    Luna Lewis Wt. 3.4kg .
    There is an emerald slash through “Lewis” and a hastily
scrawled “Hughes” next to it.
    When Luna comes back downstairs, it is dark, and the whole
house is quiet. Arden has been asleep for ages, and Ms. Hughes has just dozed
off over an engrossing paperback.
    Luna pulls on a rain slicker and some galoshes. Usually,
when she goes out, she closes the door slowly, so only the faintest click is
made when it locks. Tonight she slams the door shut behind her. The window cutout
in the door shatters, but Luna doesn't look back; she keeps walking.
    Ms. Hughes bolts upright, startled. She moves to her bedside
window, frightened by the thought of a break-in. She sees a lone figure in a
yellow slicker retreating into the shadows. Then the figure pauses and turns
around to look back at the house, and a flash of recognition passes over Ms.
Hughes's face.
    Luna realizes that she has lingered too long and begins to
run. She runs until the shadows engulf her and the harsh streetlights no longer
glare against her yellow slicker. Ms. Hughes puts her palm against the window,
gasping as if struggling for air. “Luna” forms on her lips, but her throat
feels sticky with the taste of lemon drops and shame.
    She presses her face against the window as raindrops begin
to slap the glass. It’s like the day Arden first came here . Ms. Hughes’s
body begins to shake with racking sobs. She does not notice Arden peering
through the door crack, nor does she see him sprinting back to his room.
    Luna is wishing she was wearing a warmer jacket as cold
droplets stroke her face and hands. She tries to wipe her hands on her jeans,
but they are damp too. The trees that line the streets do little for warmth and
shelter, but Luna still takes the time to pause at each one for some imagined
wisp of warmth. She thinks of the fire at home. The hearth must be black and
ashy now. Luna pushes away the thought and trudges on. Mother would ask
my destination , she thinks . Going is all I need, where is not important.
    Arden is gazing into the pages of an embossed cream-colored
photo album. There is a picture of him and his dad sitting by a beach bonfire.
Arden’s dad is playfully ruffling his hair while Arden stares in glee at a
flaming marshmallow. That was only three years ago.
    He flips the page. It’s a picture of a glorious beach
sunset. The sky is filled with hues of deep plums and ambers. The water is
crimson around the sunken half circle. If only teleportation were real. Even
a sunset is brighter than this bleak prison. If only there were more light. Arden continues to flip through the album absentmindedly. His bronzed fingers
are shaking as he turns the pages. The bronze is slowly turning to a glowing
gold.
     At this point, Luna would have been happy to walk home and wrap
herself in blankets, Mum or no Mum, but her resolve has hardened like cooling
steel. Pressing forward is the only path. As she steps into a patch of
moonlight, she feels the most peculiar sensation. Is it … warm?
    Luna holds her hand out to test it. Glowing pearly tendrils
snake down her arm. They wrap around her torso, faster and faster until her
whole body exudes an eerie glow. Luna ties to rip the strands away but fails
miserably. She claws furiously, but she is only further enveloped. Her limbs
slowly absorb the coiled shining threads. Luna is grateful for the warmth but
terrified of the “living moonlight.”
    “She’s ready Demetri! Look!”
    “I can see you know.”
    “Oh, don't rain on my parade!” Two people drop down from the
trees. A pale woman with steely gray eyes and a man with coppery tints in his
hair land softly on