Twelve years have passed since I was discovered in that ancient tomb and introduced to the world. Ever since, my life has been one nonstop whirlwind. I’ve sparked controversies, endless debates, even international political spats—and I’m not even a teenager yet.

  My family and I have appeared on talk shows, radio programs, and viral internet clips. We’ve turned down movie deals, book offers, reality TV pitches. I’ve been invited to star in films, guest on series, even launch a singing career—all because of what I am. (Okay, fine, I am pretty good at singing. I proved it—reluctantly—on The Austin Rivers Show after they basically begged.)

  It’s been exhausting. We’ve moved constantly because the attention got out of control. People camped outside our houses just to catch a glimpse. There were two close calls where strangers tried to snatch me right out of the yard.

  And now, here we are moving again—third time this year. We’re all hoping this one sticks. I know Kylie does. I do too, mostly for their sake.

  After a long, bone-rattling drive, we finally turn onto the gravel driveway that leads to our new home. The drive is so long I’ll probably need my bike just to get the mail. Huge pecan trees dot the massive front yard like friendly giants. I already love them—free snacks and perfect climbing branches.

  At last the house comes into view: an old two-story plantation-style beauty. From a distance it looks a little creepy, I’ll admit. The white paint is chipped and faded, giving it that weathered, forgotten vibe. Two large bay windows stare down from the second floor like curious eyes, and the wide wraparound porch with its tall columns almost makes the place look like it’s grinning at us. A lone rocking chair on the porch creaks back and forth in the breeze.

  I really hope it’s just the breeze.

  Mom, Kylie, and I arrive first in Mom’s silver SUV, pulling a small U-Haul trailer packed with boxes and smaller furniture. Dad follows right behind in the big rental truck. We park off to the side while he maneuvers to back up close to the porch.

  In the front passenger seat, Kylie finishes tying her long golden hair into a ponytail. She scowls at the house. “Is this seriously the place?”

  Mom stops the car and smiles up at it like she’s already in love. “Yep. Don’t you like it? Look at all these trees, the mountains in the distance… and it’s right on the lake. We thought you kids would love that.”

  Kylie crosses her arms. “It’s ancient. And it looks exactly like the house from that horror movie we watched.” She twists around to me in the back seat. “What was it called again, Meleek?”

  I study the house, running through my mental horror-movie catalog. There are a few contenders. “The Conjuring?”

  “That’s the one.” Kylie turns back to Mom. “This place better not be haunted. If I hear creepy footsteps or see shadows moving, we’re out.”

  She hops out, grabbing the fuzzy pink pillow and blanket she’s been cuddling the whole drive.

  I grin, slide on my favorite anime ball cap, and thread my waist-length platinum ponytail through the back before climbing out after her.

  “It’s not haunted, I promise,” Mom says, giving me a pointed look. “And when did you two watch The Conjuring? I specifically said no horror movies. Meleek, you know they give you nightmares. I’m disappointed.”

  Kylie smirks at me over the hood of the car. Busted.

  “But—” I start, ready to throw my sister under the bus for daring me and calling me chicken.

  Mom cuts me off. “Meleek, go help your dad with the truck. Kylie and I will handle the trailer.”

  I glance at the massive furniture Dad’s already wrestling with. “I can’t lift the heavy stuff.”

  “Then start with the lighter boxes. Uncle Carl and his family will be here soon for the big pieces.”

  Kylie clicks her tongue. “Is Luna coming too? I hate when she visits. She’s always grumpy and picking fights.”

  I snort. “You mean he. Luna looks more like a boy than I do.”

  Kylie fires back instantly. “Pretty much everyone looks more like a boy than you do.”

  “Hey!” I protest, turning to Mom for backup.

  Mom sighs as she hauls a box labeled “Meleek’s Room” from the trailer. “Kylie, stop teasing your brother. You know he’s sensitive about his looks.”

  I kick at the gravel and mutter, “I’m not sensitive.”

  Mom keeps walking. “And yes, Luna’s coming. Be nice to her, both of you. Things have been rough for her family lately.”

  Kylie lowers her voice—just loud enough for my sharp elven ears to catch. “Rough? They’re loaded.”

  I nod in silent agreement.

  From the truck, Dad calls out, straining under one end of a heavy dining table. “Mary, honey, did I give you the house keys?”

  “They’re in my purse,” Mom answers. Then louder, “John, wait for Carl! You’ll hurt your back. Kylie, grab the keys and unlock the front door—the big copper one.”

  Kylie digs them out, steps back, and dangles the keyring in front of my face with an evil grin. “First pick of rooms!”

  She bolts toward the house.

  “No fair!” I yell, sprinting after her.

  We burst through the front door and skid to a stop in the huge living room. It’s way bigger than any place we’ve lived before, and surprisingly nice inside—fresh paint smell still lingering, hardwood floors gleaming.

  But rooms are what matter right now.

  Kylie takes off up the wide staircase. I’m right on her heels, ponytail flying behind me like a silver banner.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Let the battle begin.

  Up on the second floor, there are three bedrooms, a huge hallway closet, and a bathroom at the end. Kylie wastes no time—she bolts straight into the biggest room, the one closest to the stairs. It’s got a walk-in closet and french doors that open onto a private balcony overlooking the lake. Of course she picks that one.

  The other two rooms are mirror images of each other, both facing the front yard with those big bay windows and built-in window seats perfect for curling up. They each have walk-in closets too. One smells faintly of fresh paint mixed with something musty—like old cat pee that never quite went away.

  I pick the non-stinky one.

  After a quick exploration, I discover my room has a secret bonus: way in the back of the closet, behind a panel, there’s a tiny utility door that opens into a hidden cubby built into the wall. It’s cramped, dusty, and just big enough for me to sit or lie down in. Instant secret hideout. Score.

  Rooms claimed, Kylie and I head back downstairs to help unload. We focus on hauling our own stuff up first—boxes of clothes, books, my gaming setup. Eventually Uncle Carl’s truck rumbles up the driveway, followed by another truck with a couple of extra helpers.

  Uncle Carl, Aunt Amber, and Dad were part of the team that found me as a baby. Carl and Amber aren’t actually related to us—they’re just family by choice. Dad and Carl have been best friends since freshman year of high school. They met Amber in college, and apparently both crushed hard on her. Cue an epic (and hilarious) rivalry. Carl won her heart, but Amber—being the matchmaker she is—set Mom up with Dad on a double date. The rest is history.

  “Can you just let it go? Damn, you’re annoying me with your constant bitching,” Carl growls as he climbs out of the truck and slams the door.

  He’s still built like a mountain—several inches taller than Dad, shoulders like a linebacker, beard now long enough to reach his chest.

  “No, I’m not letting it go! You’re going to apologize for what you said,” Aunt Amber snaps, slamming her own door and rounding the truck.

  Mom sighs from the porch where we’re taking a water break. “Oh boy. They’re at it again. What did Carl do this time?”

  It’s honestly kind of entertaining watching them fight. You’d think a guy Carl’s size would dominate every argument, but tiny, fierce Aunt Amber wins nine times out of ten.

  Carl glares over the hood. “Whatever. Not apologizing. Keep bitching all you want.”

  Amber growls—actually growls—and storms toward Mom. Carl rolls his eyes and heads for Dad.

  The twins climb out of the back seat: Lucian and Luna. Fraternal twins, but right now they could almost pass for identical. Both have short hair—Lucian’s neatly parted, Luna’s slicked back. Both wear baggy boy clothes. The biggest giveaway is their eyes: Lucian’s are deep chocolate brown, Luna’s a striking golden hazel.

  They look like they’re in sour moods too. Maybe they got dragged into the fight. They spot Mom and me on the porch and head our way while Carl joins Dad at the truck.

  Amber reaches the porch steps. Mom offers her a glass of iced tea with a sympathetic smile. “Fighting again? What’d he do?”

  Amber waves off the drink, arms crossed, still glaring at Carl. “You know what that asshole said—to me and the kids.” She glances at me and winces. “Sorry, language.”

  Mom smiles. “It’s fine. Meleek, break’s over. Go say hi to Lucian and Luna.”

  I gasp dramatically. “But I wanna hear what Uncle Carl said!”

  Amber ruffles my hair. “Better not, kiddo. I’m about to drop a few more bad words. Besides, Lucian’s been asking about you.”

  I pout. “Fiiiine.”

  I hop off the porch and jog toward the twins—still listening, of course. Elven ears don’t miss much.

  As soon as I’m out of sight, Mom asks, “Okay, spill. What happened?”

  “Luna was in a mood all day and picked a fight with Lucian in the car,” Amber says. “Carl lost his temper—as usual—and started yelling, dropping every curse word in the book at them.”

  Mom chuckles softly. “You both do that when you’re mad.”

  “Yeah, but I’m trying to stop. And I’ve been on him to stop too. Anyway, I told him to calm down and quit cussing at the kids—especially since he’s the reason Luna was cranky in the first place. And do you know what that man said to me?”

  “What?”

  “That he can do whatever the hell he wants. He’s the ‘alpha of the family.’”

  Mom groans. “Oh no. He actually said that?”

  I’m dying to hear more, but Lucian and Luna reach me. I give Lucian a quick hug—he hugs back enthusiastically. Luna brushes past without a word and heads straight for Mom.

  With the extra hands, unloading speeds up dramatically. About twenty minutes later, I’m heading out for another box when I spot Luna struggling with a heavy round end table, arms shaking but determined.

  I jog over. “Hey, let me help.”

  I reach for the opposite side.

  She jerks it away. “I got it. You’ll just get in the way.”

  The corner bumps my arm—hard.

  “Ow—sorry,” I mutter, rubbing the spot.

  I trail after her anyway, watching in confusion. How is she carrying that thing alone? I definitely couldn’t.

  We reach the living room and she carefully lowers the table, brushing dust off her hands.

  I try again. “So… how’ve you been? Haven’t seen you guys in forever.”

  She turns, golden eyes flat. “How do you think? I’m stuck here helping you move.”

  Then, quieter: “Why do you even care?”

  I rub the back of my neck, suddenly wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. “I was just asking. Moving sucks—I get it. This is our third time this year.”

  “And it better be the last,” Kylie chimes in as she breezes past with a box of her stuff. “I’m tired of starting over at new schools and making new friends every five minutes because of you.”

  The words hit like a slap. “Sorry,” I mumble, staring at the floor as she climbs the stairs.

  Luna lets out a short, dry laugh and shakes her head. “Why do you let her talk to you like that?”

  I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat up. “She’s my sister. And… she’s not wrong. We move because of me.”

  Luna crosses her arms, golden eyes narrowing. “Who cares? You need to stand up for yourself. You can’t be a pussy your whole life.”

  My jaw drops. I glance around in panic—did anyone hear that word?—and my gaze lands on Aunt Amber just as she walks in with a huge box labeled “Kitchen.” She freezes, fixes Luna with a death glare.

  “Luna. Language. What did I tell you about cussing around Meleek and Kylie? Apologize. Now.”

  Luna huffs, rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out, and mutters, “Sorry,” in my general direction. Zero sincerity. Then she stomps off, growling something under her breath that I pretend not to hear with my super-sensitive ears.

  It doesn’t take long to get the last of the boxes inside. Furniture rearranging and unpacking take a bit longer, but with everyone pitching in, we make decent progress. After that, the adults collapse in the living room to catch up and sip sweet tea while Kylie, Lucian, and I head upstairs to set up our rooms. Lucian helps—mostly Kylie’s room, because she keeps finding excuses to drag him in there. Luna, unsurprisingly, disappears outside and ends up down on the pier behind the house, alone with the lake and the sunset.

  Eventually Carl and Amber decide it’s time to head home, but they leave the twins with us for a sleepover. We’ve got enough beds to make the third bedroom workable, so it’s all good.

  The evening actually starts out pretty chill. We pile onto the couch in the living room, flip through channels, and binge a couple of dumb comedies. Everything’s fine until Lucian suggests we hook up my console and play some games.

  Big mistake.

  Lucian and Luna are competitive on a normal day. Put controllers in their hands? It’s war. They start trash-talking, then hogging the turns, then refusing to pass the controller to anyone else—especially each other. I try to jump in a couple times, but they’re locked in full sibling-rivalry mode.

  Kylie, who was never super into gaming anyway, lasts about twenty minutes before she bails. “You three are insane,” she says, heading upstairs to scroll on her phone in peace.

  That leaves me alone in the crossfire.

  Bedtime rolls around, and I learn something kind of hilarious about Luna: she still can’t sleep alone. Like, at all. If there’s no one in the room with her, she gets anxious and just… lies there staring at the ceiling. Kylie and I were sleeping solo by age two. Luna’s almost thirteen and still needs a buddy—or her parents—right there beside her.

  I only find out because I overhear Mom and Amber whispering about it while tucking everyone in. Mom offers the solution: Luna can crash on an air mattress in Kylie’s room tonight. Kylie groans but doesn’t fight it too hard. Lucian gets the third bedroom to himself (lucky guy), and I retreat to my new secret-cubby-equipped sanctuary.

  As I pull my blanket up and listen to the old house creak and settle around us, I can’t help but smile a little.

  New house, same chaos.

  Wouldn’t trade it, though.