Illusive by Emily Lloyd-Jones EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Available For Free Download
- Author: Emily Lloyd-Jones
- Language: English
- Genre: Science Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
CIERE
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Ciere Giba wakes to pounding on her hotel door. “This is the NYPD! We
have a warrant to search this room.”
Sitting up is more difficult than it should be—the sheets are tangled
around her naked body. Clutching the duvet to her chest, she frantically
takes stock of her surroundings. A teenage boy is facedown on the carpet,
one arm thrown out, and a miniature bottle of tequila clutched in his fist.
His shirt is missing, and there’s a tattoo of a Celtic knot on his left shoulder,
the black ink just visible on his dark skin. Ciere would know that tattoo
anywhere—it belongs to her best friend, Devon Lyre.
The pounding starts again.
Ciere leaps from the bed. Any second now, NYPD will burst into the
room. The first thing they’ll do is trip over Devon, and the second is that
they’ll see her pink backpack—the one currently holding hundreds in stolen
cash.
Bracing herself, she heaves Devon under the bed. He goes with a soft
mumble of protest. Good thing he’s out—she can only hope he won’t wake
during an inopportune moment.
After kicking the backpack beneath the bed, Ciere leaps atop the
mattress and crouches there, poised for action.
She draws in a long breath and brings a single memory to the forefront
of her mind: the hotel room when she first entered it—the faded white
carpet, the duvet stretched tight across the bed, and the floral artwork on the
walls.
Holding that memory firmly in place, she reaches out and overlays the
room’s current reality with that image. The illusion is like throwing a sheet
over a table—it covers everything. The room’s appearance transforms from
messy to pristine in a matter of seconds. It’s her talent, her immunity.
The illusion flickers and vanishes.
Too bad she’s not very talented.
A hard voice rings out. “We’re opening the door!”
Ciere hears the click and whirr of the lock; the police must have
retrieved a master key from the front desk.
She swallows a curse. Panic flares in her chest, and it gives her the
motivation she needs to try again. Concentrating hard, she once more
projects the image of the pristine hotel room from her mind and over her
surroundings. The illusion slides over the bed, the walls, the table, the
chairs. It even extends into the bathroom.
All at once, pressure builds behind her eyes and temples. She’s pretty
sure this is what divers feel when they go too deep underwater—like being
squeezed from every angle. But the illusion is in place, and it’s not a
moment too soon.
The door is flung wide, and a cop’s expansive girth appears framed in
the doorway. He peers into every corner of the room before edging farther
inside, his gun held at the ready.
“Clear,” the cop says, and two more follow him inside.
“There’s no one here,” the first cop says as he stares into the bathroom.
“Looks like the place hasn’t even been slept in.”
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