Ethereal: An Illumine Series Novella (The Illumine Series) by Alivia Anders Page B

of bullseye on your back. Her arm lightly brushed a dumpster bruised with grime and gunk, Rinae swiftly turning a corner and hurrying down a thin ribbon of road before coming to a crumbling, exhausted pile of rock.
    She flicked her head left and right before taking a moment to pause, like always, and drink in the sight before her. The house, or what was left of a house, probably had been something spectacular in its time. Judging by the clusters of mustard yellow brick and dusty red rose bands of steel, it had been some time since the building had last seen any real life. Drops of glass, scattered among the rubble, littered where windows once stood, tall and intimidating. The whole neighborhood around her was this way; forgotten, used and abused and left to rot in some distant memory. The thought alone was enough to twist her hands into fists.
    A moment passed, and she slipped into the crumbling mass. Past splintered chunks of a door, around a swath of dingy blue fabric frayed beyond repair, Rinae pushed aside a small pile of trash and rock, revealing a small door in the floor. Round, and made of random metal parts welded into one, she nervously looked around before pounding twice, flipping the door open and descending inside, pulling it shut behind her.
    Makeshift steps, what were really planks of wood jutting out of the ground, led Rinae down a short, tight spiral that opened to a large, theatre deep room. The theatre wasn’t so much a theatre as it was a messy heap of red fabric, loose plush chairs swiped from abandoned buildings, and rotting wooden floorboards to serve as a floor. It was old, ruined, and revolting. It was home, as close to a home Rinae had in over seven years.
    Swinging her way into the room, she slipped the hood off her head and gave her hair a good shake. With each step into her home, she made it a point to unwind and shake off everything that had happened for the day.
    “You’re some kind of freak! No normal person moves that fast!”
    Starting with that punk’s stupid words. Grumbling, Rinae kicked at the ground, spinning around on her heels. Maybe if she went back and re-did the kid’s face, she’d feel better.
    “Yo, Slayer, back so soon?”
    Rinae froze for a second, cringing. Of course she was here, she never left the damn nest. Turning around slowly, Rinae made sure to put on her best smile to hide the boiling rage rolling under her skin.
    Sitting in one of the moth-eaten recliners clustered to the left of the room, a bubblegum pink-haired teen waved. She was decorated in as many piercings as she had tattoos and ugly colored scars, bits of chain dangling from several studs linked in her ears and neck. One hand lingered on her swollen, pregnant stomach, gently moving up and down in soothing waves.
    “Delphine,” Rinae said, nodding. She came closer, resting her arms on the head of a nearby recliner. It was then she noticed two other boys, far younger than the pink-haired teen, sitting with her. They tilted their heads up, grinning at the sight of Rinae. “Loyal and Carson? Don’t you two brats have school?”
    At that, the boys both scowled. Loyal, sporting a mess of short and spiky black hair, glittering amber eyes, and dark olive skin, looked no more than twelve. In reality, he was older than Rinae, and had long since graduated from one of the local public schools by the skin of his teeth.
    The second boy, Carson, was purely Loyal’s opposite. Shaggy, long sandy blonde hair, and dark brown eyes that swallowed the soul, he was every part a surfer boy, minus the actual surfing board. He claimed to Rinae once that he had, in fact, lived in California, right up until his mother blew her brains out in front of him with a revolver.
    Carson blew away the bangs hiding most of his face, sneering. “Funny, last time I checked, aren’t you still somewhere around 14?”
    “Still beats you, little 12-year-old.”
    “Age is just a number.”
    “Tell that to your 25-year-old cougar of a