Lydia was never raised by parents nor had a proper education. All she knew was what she was, how she came to the orphanage, and that the best thing she could do was to accept it.

Lydiana was not a ghost, although sometimes she thought that would be much more convenient than what she really was. Lydia was obviously not human, either; not a normal one.

The head mother of the orphanage, Ms. Sweetnam, told Lydia the story of how she found a little girl wrapped up in a bundle of blankets, wailing on the front doorstep of the orphanage at break of dawn.

Lydia did not believe this. Perhaps it was her intuition, or perhaps it was how overused and unoriginal the story was: a child abandoned on the doorsteps.

If she was going to be abandoned, why would her parents (she assumed it to be her parents) take the time to find an orphanage to take care of her?

"Lydiana, you give your parents little gratitude. They did love you. They just could not have kept you," Ms. Sweetnam assured Lydia when she was six-years-old and already scorning her mother and father 'til her tongue was dry.

"How would you know?" she snapped at Ms. Sweenam. "You did not even meet them."

The child honestly expected Ms. Sweetnam to argue back. To come up with another lie to counter her accusation, but she said nothing. Instead she patted the top of Lydia's tiny black head so gently, so affectionately, that she burst into tears. Lydia cried because she wondered why her mother was not there rubbing her head instead of Ms. Sweetnam.

Since then Lydiana had not shed one tear. She did not cry when her first roommate was adopted before her, or her second, or third or fourth. She did not weep when she was framed by Lilly for staining the musty, yellow, 50-year-old rug in the entrance hall with cranberry juice nor did she cry when she was lectured for getting revenge by cutting Lilly's hair. And she especially did not cry when she slipped out of her body for the first time.

Any normal nine-year-old child would naturally be traumatized to find themselves walking freely outside of their unconscious body, but Lydia was merely surprised.

She shouted into the ears of the children crowded around her human self, knocked out by a ball swung too hard, leaping and waving her arms like she was doing jumping jacks.

Then the idea that she had died slowly dawned unto her. But that was ridiculous-who dies from a ball to the head?

Lydia clumsily tangled her feet together and flopped onto her body, sinking into it like quicksand. When she felt grass tickling her bare arms, Lydia opened her eyes and looked straight into Ms. Sweetnam's frantic hazel ones.

Instantly, the Head Mother grabbed Lydia's arm and squeezed tight, making the child cry out in pain.

"Do not ever do that again," Ms. Sweetnam warned, chilling Lydia to the bone.

Regardless of Ms. Sweetnam's eerie warning, Lydiana practiced how to exit and reenter her body, this time without causing a scene. All the while Kylee would be present, protecting her soulless body from being caught by suspicious witnesses; specifically Ms. Sweetnam.

People with abnormal, supernatural powers should keep their ability a secret, but Lydia was so excited (not to mention a child) that she could not help but to blurt everything to her closest group of friends.

That and Whining Wyatt caught her one day, leaving her no choice but to confess.

For a full month Lydiana would haunt citizens every afternoon and Wyatt was sure she had joined a cult of some sort.

Unwilling to join him on his risky adventure, the rest of the orphans remained home, and he stalked Lydia. All he saw was Lydiana hiding behind the stone wall that divided the graveyard from the crowded downtown streets of St. Austin. Then he saw her body collapse rather suddenly, like she was anemic.

Wyatt rushed to her side and felt no heartbeat, instantly concluding she was dead. Panicked, he hid her body under his jacket and searched for help. By the time he brought back Roel, Ty, and Kylee, she had slipped back into her body, inspecting Wyatt's jacket, confused.

Lydia assured everyone Wyatt was being overdramatic, but he was adamant that she had died. He was so hysteric that he had convinced himself Lydiana was possessed by a demon. Lydia, worried that he would take his concerns to Ms. Sweetnam, felt she had no choice but to reveal her secret.

She expected screams, spits of disgust, and a rush to the orphanage to rat her out. Instead she was circled by children who demanded to know everything and wanted to be a part of it; a part of her other life.

That should have been the end of things. But the orphans wanted to test Lydia's ghostly abilities and see how much further she could take them. Even when it came to breaking the law.

"I don't know...steal? Is that not...," Kylee trailed half a year ago.

"Illegal?" Wyatt finished impatiently. "And?"

"It isn't like we are hurting anyone." Roel nodded to the crowd of the upper class. "They won't notice if a few coins goes missing."

"We will put it to better use," Lydiana assured Kylee while ruffling Ty's greasy hair.

Kylee bit her lip before nodding in reluctance.

"Okay. Somebody pick someone," Lydia ordered.

"How 'bout 'em?" Wyatt shot his arm out, finger aiming straight at their very first victim.

"Got it. Take care of my body," Lydia made them promise.

"I can't look," Kylee moaned, covering her face with both hands.

And then Lydia was out of her body, creating a secret band of thieves.

...

"And you are sure he saw you?" Kylee asked as she sat beside Lydia on Lydia's flat, cramped, twin-sized bed.

"Well..."

"That is impossible," Roel interrupted from underneath the doorsill. "He must have been looking through you. You are overthinking it."

It was the same day Lydiana robbed the chubby man of his wallet and a footman caught her in action. As a spirit.

"I dunno," Wyatt jumped in nervously. "There are people that can see ghosts, right? Maybe he did see her."

The dark haired orphan's stomach lurched in sickness.

Kylee wrapped a reassuring arm around her friend and said, glaring at Wyatt, "Even if he did, that does not mean that he knows what you are. He would have thought you were a normal ghost, and it is not like you will see him again. So everything is fine."

Lydiana hesitated, tempted to argue but restraining with the hopes Kylee was right. "I hope so."

"If it makes you feel better, it is almost your birthday. Next week," Roel encouraged, only to be stared at with seething red eyes. "What?"

"Yeah. That makes me feel so much better," Lydia grumbled.

"What is it? What did I say?" he whispered to Wyatt beside him.

"She'll be eighteen," Ty answered simply from his seat on the floor beside Lydiana's feet, staring at the scratches with sadness.

"The orphanage'll kick her out," Wyatt completed, as if that wasn't obvious.

Lydia sighed and plopped her chin onto her palm. She had not been a target for adoption her entire life. Who would want to adopt an old woman within this week?

...

"Wake up...up! For the love of Ignis Caelestis, wake up!" a soothing voice screamed into his ear, waking him up instantly.

"God, Felicia, could you be any louder?" Destery groaned, rubbing his ringing right ear. "My head feels like it has been stabbed by a pitchfork."

"That would be the courtesy of The Ash Order," Felice sneered. "Now get up. You are being disrespectful."

Suddenly, past memories dawn on Destery, and he vaguely recalled what had happened. The meeting with The Ash Order was called and he was dragged before the court to describe exactly what he had experienced.

Only described was not enough.

It never is.

Destery pulled himself to a sitting position on the black marble throne, directly across from rising rows of giant red flaming birds.

"Thank you again for your cooperation with us, Number 164," the maroon bird sang from its golden beak.

"Of course," the victim answered bitterly, knowing he had no choice in the matter.

"We will take it from here."

"Take what from here?"

"Number 150," the same bird turned to Felicia, who stood like a soldier in her ivory ball gown beside Destery, "please take Number 164 and Number 165 with you."

"Yes," she answered with a sweet smile before turning to where an unconscious boy slumped in a similar smooth rock chair.

"Number 164, will you help me?"

Destery scowled, disliking how Felicia was taking advantage of this opportunity to call him by that title, but obeyed by climbing out of his seat and helping lift Kasey out of his.

"You will hear from us soon," the scarlet bird assured. "For now, continue with your duties."

With that, all the birds exploded into dozens of piles of ash and the dark room was flooded with white light.

Blinded, Destery had to squint his eyes to take in the scenery: A giant marble-made cool air room in the shape of a bird cage with no windows and only one door; Iron, black, huge and locked in thirty different places. As soon as the birds left it automatically opened.

"I hate those phoenixes," Felicia mumbled, disgruntled. "They boss us around like we are their slaves."

Destery said nothing. It was not like he didn't agree with Felicia, but he was just too weary to have another heated discussion about The Ash Order.

"It was nice of you to come for Kasey and me. Having The Ash Order read my mind seems to become worse every time they do it," Destery confessed, embarrassed.

Felicia sighed. "Why can't they ask like normal people?"

Because they are not normal. Nor are they people.

"I suppose seeing it from our point of view is easier than hearing us describe a moment-and they will not miss any details."

"Are you suggesting that they think we lie to them?" Felicia asked, incredulous.

"No," Destery lied.

The two of them walk in silence, both thinking the same thing: What did The Order want this time? Did they find anything worthwhile?

The ghost girl.

Kasey said that it was possible she was one of them, but there was no way. The Ashes would know. But that is the only remotely interesting event that Destery had experienced lately.

But what about Kasey's life? He didn't tell Destery anything. Why was he there?

"Felicia! Where have you been? You left me for...those Numbers?" a girl demanded in the distance of the bright lit hallway, hands on her hips.

Her presence made Destery's metaphorical feathers ruffle and he fought the urge to snap back.

"Sorry, Chlo," Felicia threw the remaining of Kasey onto Destery like a sack of flour and glided towards Ophelia. "I had some orders to follow."

"Well, if they are over," her bitter friend scowled at Destery and Kasey, "then we should get back to our own affairs."

"Of course."

Destery watched Chloe's copper eyes linger on Kasey's unconscious body before she flipped her dark brown wavy hair and spun around. Her abnormally tight black dress squeezed her waist to the point Destery was surprised her body had not been cut in half, and her dark heels were dangerously sharp, promising (specifically to Kasey and Des) puncture wounds, should she be bothered. The ruffles of her gown scattered down the hall, moving like thousands of spiders as she disappeared down the hall.

Felicia may be a snake, but Chloe was the venom. All it took was one brief relationship with Kasey and it has been war between the girls and the two boys for centuries.

"She is psychotic," Kasey hissed as he hid from Chloe during a Scintillation Ball. "I have to get out of her clutches. You have to help me."

The next thing Destery knew, Chloe had clawed him across the face with her excruciatingly painful nails; the only way she knew how to express her appreciation of Destery's "help".

"Thank you," Kasey patted Destery's shoulder in relief. "You are a true friend."

More like a scapegoat, but Destery was thankful he now only saw Lia the occasional times she hunted for Felis.

Destery dropped Kasey onto the red floor of the hall and slapped his cheek hard, receiving no response. Then he punch Kasey in the gut, making him lurch forward and cough in agony.

"What the hell, Des?!"

"Interrogation ended half an hour ago. You did not even wake up when Chloe came for Felis."

Kasey cringed and flopped back onto the hall, patting beside him. Destery followed his command and wiggle comfortably onto the cushioned floor, allowing it to massage his stiff back.

"I am glad for that," Kasey breathed. "Women are dangerous, Kasey. Especially Incendia Volucris women. You and I, we need to start dating normal ladies."

Destery's smile washed away. "You know that is not possible."

"Why? We are both very attractive and-"

"Kasey," Destery interrupted softly, "just stop."

Kasey should know best why relationships with normal girls would not work. He has, after all, died because of one.