Free The Rise of the Fourteen by Catherine Carter Page A

the ground in front of Luna. Luna delicately takes a few
steps back. They’re not the sort of people you see wandering around London
any time of the day, and certainly not at one in the morning, no sir!
    “Luna, I’m sorry for us to show up like this — ” the woman begins.
    “Sorem, we don’t have much time as it is; enough with the
chatter!” Sorem sticks her tongue out at him. “Luna, you have to trust us. You
are very powerful for one so young. Your magic will send out a ripple of power. That ripple will have the Maghta running here in moments.” Luna
is tempted to ask if Maghta is a type of throat cancer based on the way
the word sticks in Sorem’s throat, but instead just raises an eyebrow. Sorem
throws her hands up in frustration. “The Maghta? The dark deities that
threaten to destroy you and everyone you love? You must come with us so that we
can train you. And we must get your brother too.”
     Luna wonders if Sorem is talking about more literal demons,
such as being crazy or unbelievably drunk, when her thought is interrupted by
a sudden, deep, chestnut glow. A flare of light goes up near the center of the
city, stretching hundreds of meters up into the sky. It casts a russet
effulgence over London. Little branches fork off the flare and expand. A
sparkling sepia dome covers the city as the trio looks on in amazement.
    “Demetri, that must be Arden!” Sorem exclaims, pointing
upwards.
    “Then there’s no time,” he says grimly. “We must run.”
    “Arden? What does he have to do with this?”
    “Luna, if you want your mother and brother to live, you will
come with us.” Luna sprints alongside them. A part of her really hopes that
Demetri is joking. But his voice says that he isn’t.

9
boarding school and other ways to kill optimism
    The peach bedspread is the first thing that Arden notices,
as he walks into the room. The musty perfumed smell of a coifed old lady
permeates the room. And what is that? lace? He runs his hand over the
fraying curtain. He shudders, and yanks the curtain back. The metal rings
screech against the curtain rod. He expects to be washed in a wave of light.
But there is only gray — the
gray of dirty laundry and resignation that fades into blackness. He
remembers Luna’s words. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” What, get used to
this life? If you think that, you don’t know me at all.
    Arden tries his hardest to fall asleep, but the raindrops
will not let him. They are the pesky birds, chirping through the night, luring
sleep away. The scratchy apricot blanket is suffocating, and he throws it off.
His mouth tastes like pasty chocolate cream and humiliation. Bleh.
    He swings his legs off the bed, his feet quivering as he
clomps across the oaken floor. Is that the bathroom? The door swings
open with a slight creak. The grimy fluorescent lights come on as he flips the
switch, casting a sea-glass pallor over the ceramic tiling. Arden grabs for the
small tube of spearmint toothpaste. He opens the medicine cabinet and fumbles
around for a bit. His hand emerges and he is triumphant, clutching a yellow
plastic toothbrush wrapped in brittle cellophane.
    He pulls off the covering and squirts a generous amount of
toothpaste onto the toothbrush. Why is it so watery, he wonders. Only
moments after he begins to brush, he realizes something is wrong. Retching
noises ensue as he clutches at his throat, trying to spit out as much paste as
possible. Why is it so slimy? He hears feet coming up the stairs. No!
No, I don't want to talk to either of you!
    “Arden, Arden, honey what’s the matter?” Maybe Arden
imagines it, but there is the faintest sound of sniggers coming from the other
room. Who knew that spearmint toothpaste could taste so much like defeat.
    ***
    There is sharp clinking and some creative swearing as Arden
breaks yet another cup. If he had been trying to make ceramic snow he couldn’t
have done much better. Arden’s nerves are already shoestring as it is,