James
May Twentieth
9:23 A.M.
Los Angeles, California
"No means no, Bri," James said grabbing another box with his name on it. "I just
moved. Why would I want to go through it again?"
A woman in her early thirties sat in an armchair by the fireplace. She stopped
filling her nails, smiled sweetly and said, "Because this move comes with a
view, a car space, and hunky Brazilian men who carry out all your heavy, heavy
boxes." She winked at him.
James nodded a full head of black curls towards his rather large living room
window overlooking the San Gabriel Mountains. "I have a very nice view, I don't
own a car, and it comes with hunks?" he asked incredulously.
"Well... no. But we could always conjure them." Brianna Jackson smiled brightly.
"No, thank you," he replied in a distracted tone, trying to remember why he had
boxed a copy of Moliere plays with a Jane Austin. "I've had enough magic in my
life, you know that."
She threw her nail file at him and huffed when he moved his head aside as it
sailed harmlessly past. "James Elijah Tanner if I hadn't known you for three
years and if you hadn't dated my cousin, I'd swear you were-"
"But you have, I did, and I'm not," he interrupted smoothly. "And I'm sure
you're very familiar with my family's stubborn streak." He stood and put the two
books in their respective bookcases. "So, I implore you to kindly drop
it. I could really use someone on my side right now."
Bri flipped her red hair over her shoulder with a manicured hand. She leaned
back in her chair, letting her voice soften. "It was really that bad, huh?"
James gave up trying to unpack. Shoulder's slumped, he sat in the love seat
beside her chair. "It could have gone better. Then again, it could have gone
much worse."
"Jamie, sweetie, your dad sucker-punched you," she proclaimed, gently touching
the bandage on his cheek. "I'd call that worse."
"Not so," quipped James with a weak smile. "It could have been Mum."
She winced sympathetically as she moved his bangs out of his eye. "Too true, too
true. You never did tell me the whole story. What exactly happened?"
"Nothing spectacular, luv," he said with an uncomfortable shift. "I simply told
them of my decision."
"With better tact than that I hope."
"Of course," James said, feeling slightly stung. "I was very gentle."
"Meaning you told them you were going to go through with it whether or not they
approved, knowing it would break their hearts."
"I am not that heartless and you know it, Brianna. But yes, I'm afraid I may
have come off a bit confrontational. I should have been more subtle, I suppose."
"Ok," interrupted Bri. "The suspense is killing me. Give me details, what did
they say?"
James smiled at his friend. She had always been too impatient and too nosy for
her own good.
"I'm sure you can guess how it went, but if you want a rehash, I'd like some
coffee."
She pinched him on his arm hard. "Look at you. One day in a new job and you're
turning into William Shatner. I was going to make some anyway. You
unpack that new maker I gave you?" she asked, standing up.
"It was the first thing out, luv."
Bri sauntered into the kitchen while calling back, "That's the caffeine addicted
James I know and love."
James smiled after her and leaned his head back against the couch. He wanted to
tell her the details, he really did, but he didn't want to worry her. She always
worried about him. James vaguely heard the odd ring from Bri's cell phone
emanating from the kitchen before she picked it up. He closed his eyes and tried
to remember exactly what had happened. The memories came easily.
debating whether or not they had heard him correctly. Surely he hadn't just made
them tea, sat them down in the sun room, and told them he was turning his back
on everything they stood for. Yes, this had to be a joke. Their son would never
give up magic.
If the situation had not been so serious, James would have laughed at the
expressions on their faces. Stacy was a small woman with a slight build. but
under the soft skin was muscle. She was a gymnast. Her clothing was simple.
James liked that about her. Stacy always wore plain jeans and a t-shirt. She was
usually so collected and steady. Right now, however, Stacy looked like someone
just torn up her Anne Rice collection. Compared to her, Louis looked like a
giant hairdresser. He wore bright colors, but nothing over the top. He was a
painter but he never got any paint on his clothes. He liked to wear his heart on
his sleeve and he urged others to show their true feelings. Why the two had
ended up together, James still couldn't fathom. Whatever his parents were
feeling right now, James couldn't tell. It seemed, for the moment, they had
decided to keep a calm quiet demeanor when dealing with
their son.
"Jimmy," his mother started in a too-even voice. "But you- you can't- It's your
destiny."
"Mum, you don't know that. I may have been born this way but I don't have to
like it, nor do I have to entirely embrace it," James tried to explain
rationally.
"'This way?'" Louis asked, standing to tower over James. "This way saved your
life!"
So much for calm and quiet, James thought.
But Louis wasn't done. Not by a long shot. "You were born into something great.
You aren't some low born Normy. You have a larger-"
"I swear, Father, if you finish that sentence, I'm leaving right now." James
looked him square in the eyes.
"Don't you dare talk to your father that way, young man!" They were all
surprised at Stacy's outburst. She was outwardly calm but underneath, a storm
was brewing. "If it weren't for him, for us, you wouldn't be here right now."
"I wish everyone would stop bringing that up," James mumbled under his breath.
Bad idea.
"We keep reminding you because you seem to keep forgetting," she said in an icy
calm voice.
James decided to try another tactic. "I can't live like this, Mum. It's all too
much. I just want a normal life. I can't handle anymore..." He stopped, trying to
think of the right word.
"Anymore what, James?" Louis pointed a long finger at him. "Truth? Or is it that
you've finally gotten bored of us? Just like everything else. You have amazing
talents, amazing potential, an excellent education, but because it takes a while
to adjust, to learn, you throw it all away. What do you plan to do out there,
hmm? You can't survive on that pretty face of yours out on the streets. Or maybe
that's what you actually plan to do. You're certainly delicate enough,. I'm sure
you could get at least..."
James couldn't hear anymore. This was crazy. Louis was accusing him of
prostitution. Stacy had her hand over her chest as if her heart was breaking.
James's head was spinning. So, he did the one thing he could think of to stop
those incessant, hateful words. James hit his father square on the jaw. He
didn't go down though. Something in Louis seemed to snap. He lunged at James,
fist flying. James caught the first right punch, but he didn't see the knee
coming towards his abdomen. Stunned from the blow, he didn't have time to block
as another fist came out of nowhere. It hit James right below his eye, on the
left cheekbone. He fell with a harsh "thud."
For a few minutes, everything stopped. No birds were singing outside the window.
The wind had ceased. All that any of them could hear was James's shaky
breathing. Realization dawned on Louis's face.
"James," he said breathlessly collapsing back into his chair. He bent over and
covered his face with his hands. "Good God, Jimmy, I am so sorry."
Stacy had the sad expression on her face again, albeit she seemed a little
stunned. She had just seen her her husband get into a fist fight with her 19
year old son. She put a hand on Louis's back and said to James, "Is this what
you really want? Do you intend to go through with it?"
James stood up . He tried not to wince but he wasn't very successful. "I'm
sorry, Mum. This is something I have to do for myself. I can't live off of you
two anymore."
He called his luggage from upstairs. It appeared in a shimmering of blue lights.
He vowed that that would be the last spell he ever used. Reaching into his coat
pocket he pulled out a card. He handed it to Stacy. Louis still had his head in
his hands. James had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was crying.
James didn't let his unease show on his face as he said to her, "I don't know my
new address so if you'd like to send a letter, use the one on the card. It's
where I'll be working. I'll call to tell you my number when I get a phone line
hooked up. Don't worry about me, please. I'll manage somehow." He turned around,
grabbed his luggage, and left out the front door. He couldn't look back. He
didn't want to see his parent's expressions when they saw the title of his new
job.
********
He was pulled out of his reverie by a voice from the kitchen. "So what's the
name of this agency again?"
?Kontroll Inc. It's supposed to be one of the best modeling agencies in town.?
"That's right," Bri said, coming back in the room with a tray of coffee, milk
and sugar. "I forgot. Kinda creepy."
"How so?" he asked while pouring some cream into both of their cups. "Everyone's
very nice there."
"That is what is so creepy," she replied immediately. "This is Los Angeles. They
should be dipping your hair in ink and calling you funny names."
"So in your world my coworkers should be five years old?"
"Stop changing the subject! Guess who just called me."
"I didn't realize that was one of our topics on the list for discussion," he
said while spooning out the proper amount of sugar in her cup. When he looked up
to find her glaring at him, he couldn't hide a low chuckle. "All right. Mercy.
Who called you, my dear?"
"Oh, come on, Jamie! It's no fun if you don't guess."
"Yet somehow, I think you can live with the disappointment of boredom. Just tell
me, Brianna."
"That was Roy," was her simple answer. She was grinning again. Not good.
James decided to play along for the ride. "Roy who? And what did Roy want."
"Roy as in the Roy Allonder, Principal of IMIG. Roy Alonder, my boss, the nice
man who signs my paycheck. He just called and asked me to pick up and show
around a new student in a few months. Roy wants me to ask 'Lenna to tutor the
kid." She seemed pleased.
"You? Why you?"
"Aw, Jamie, I love you too."
"No, I mean, doesn't Alex usually show them around? And why does this new
student need to be picked up?"
Her face fell as she contemplated her coffee cup. "Alex was attacked. She was
Scarred."
"As in..?" he trailed off too stunned to continue.
"Yeah. Doc says she may not recover anytime soon."
James sat for there a moment, completely stunned before his brain kicked in.
"What are they going to do for her class?"
"Well, a sub is gonna take over for the rest of the summer and then Roy's gonna
try to find someone for when the year starts."
"I see." He didn't know what else to say
"Let's stop playing like this is Les Miserable. What happened with Lou and
Stacy?"
He sighed. James really didn't want to tell her what he had done. Louis never
exactly approved of his friendship with Bri, but they hadn't been hard enemies
either. Bri and his mother had always gotten along. So in the end he decided he
might as well take a leap and tell her the truth.
"I should tell you, it wasn't a sucker punch, Bri. As I'm sure you can guess, I
started out by telling them that I was quitting magic for good..."
Marcus
July Fourth
11:06 AM
Altur, Lorili, England
The night sky was filled with dark clouds that drenched the street in an almost
surreal kind of darkness. It seemed that all decent people were asleep and
resting comfortably in their soft fluffy beds located in their similarly square
houses. All except one; a 15-year-old boy living in a small England town. He had
unconsciously flung off his covers in an attempt to cool his sweat-drenched
body. His strawberry blond hair stuck to his forehead making him look sickly.
That night, like so many nights before, Marcus Harding was having a nightmare.
He had to hurry or they would find him. Find them. The low branches cut into
his face and tore at his short, light-brown hair but he hardly noticed them. All
he knew was that he needed to run faster, hit harder, and be smarter than The
Others. He thought that it was all over. The Others had promised! They had-
Suddenly he ran into something hard but soft, a human body. "No!" He cried out
in fear and despair as he shielding the bundle of cloth in his arms from any
possible danger. The stranger grabbed his arms seemingly trying to hold him
still. Only when he heard his name did the boy look up. He stopped struggling
and just stared. But it couldn't be. He was dead! He saw Them murder him! Not
waiting for a response the other man pulled him in for the sweetest kiss he had
ever experienced. Without realizing it tears started falling down the boy's
dirty, scratched cheeks. They were together again. He never wanted those strong
arms to let him go.
Without warning he felt something grating his insides coming through right below
his package, propelling him forward into the other man's chest again. The look
in his lover eyes made him want to comfort him. To tell him it was all right. He
had only seen that look once before and he had promised himself that he would
never cause it again. Those were his last thoughts as the darkness consumed him.
Marcus woke up with a start, lurching into an upright position. He had to cover
his mouth so he wouldn't scream. The tears came quickly enough. They always did,
after all. He leaned against the headboard in resignation. Why was this
happening every night? After the year he had, he'd expected to have disturbing
dreams but not these. He had expected dreams about... someone else.
He cried harder and hugged his knees to his chest as the memories came flooding
back. He remembered what had happened, where he was, and most importantly, where
he was not. He wasn't at the Institute, where he was adored by his peers. He
wasn't in the Courtyard playing a ridiculously hard game of Go. He wasn't
cuddling with the woman who he called his girlfriend. He would rather have been
in any of those places doing any of those things. But he was here, in a house
where his own family didn't even want him.
Not that this was anything new. Terence and Felicia Harding had always detested
Marcus. The only time his parents had shown him any kind of consideration was
when he had practically killed his older brother Matthew. It was an accident.
Almost. Matt had deserved it, mind, but that was apparently beside the point.
The only amusement Marcus had had all summer was when Matt had kept running out
of the room when Marcus walked into them. And it was especially cool to see Matt
trying to keep his posse from going down any street where he saw Marcus walking.
This had happened on more than one occasion in the last month. Matt hadn't even
invited his friends over yet.
These memories cheered him up slightly to where he wasn't crying anymore. He
hadn't even noticed he stopped. Once he trusted his legs enough, he thought a
midnight snack was in order. Being as quiet as possible, Marcus made his way
down the stairs and into the anally clean kitchen. For the last few weeks he
had been doing most of his goings-on at night when the others were asleep. Everyone
seemed happier with the arrangement. Marcus didn't really mind. It was just quieter this way.
As he looked through the ridiculously expensive refrigerator with more
attachments in it than a Japanese sports car, his mind once again turned toward
the dreams. Every night he saw more and more detail and every night he got
closer and closer to the ending. This was as far as he had ever gotten.
Questions were reeling through his mind. Who was the Runner, as Marcus had come
to call him. What had he been carrying? Was that man really his lover? Who were
"The Others" he was running from? And what had "They" promised? Marcus knew he
wasn't going to have answers any time soon but that didn't make the dream any
less puzzling or disturbing.
He shivered from the cold and realized he had been standing in front of the
fridge for quite some time. He rummaged through the thing, pushing aside
grapefruits and health bars and grabbed some V8. His mother bought the drink
religiously for Matt ever since she had seen that stupid American commercial.
The entire fridge was full of them. Marcus loathed the foul concoctions but the
only thing left to drink was his father's beer.
He sat down at the kitchen table facing out the window and shuddered again. The
consumption of alcohol was a nasty, new habit that Terence had picked up a few
days after Marcus's return from the Institute. For the most part, all the over
sized man ever did was yell but it still made Marcus nervous. In all honesty it
made everyone nervous.
Felicia was more worried actually. Marcus didn't blame her. He secretly wondered
if Terence would turn that anger physically toward him. He found that when his
dad was at his worst he verbally took his frustration out on Marcus. Marcus put
up with it knowing he would get in serious trouble if he fought back.
He threw the bottle away, and was about to go back to his room when he heard a
semi-loud thump and curse behind him. He stood and swiveled around to find a
disheveled and very inebriated Terence. The man was still wearing his business
suit. A horrid sickly-yellow outfit that seemed to be at least one size too
small. It gave Marcus a headache every time he looked at the damn thing.
Marcus quickly glanced at the clock to see that it was 11:40 at night. What the
hell was an uptight asshole like his dad doing getting home at this hour? When
he looked at Terence again, the man had pulled out his whiskey flask that he
never seemed to be without anymore and was looking at Marcus in a feral sort of
way.
"You..." He said it so quietly the boy almost missed it.
"Me," Marcus replied, completely confused. What was this about?
They both stood there for what, to Marcus, felt like an hour before he finally
mumbled a peeved "Whatever," and tried to walk past. He was almost to the door
when he felt a hand grab his forearm to throw/push him into the counter across
the room.
"Son of a-" Marcus didn't get a chance to finish the insult or collect his
bearings, as he felt a pain along the entire left side of his face. He opened
his eyes to find he was on the floor. Terence had backhanded him. There was a
metallic taste in Marcus's mouth. He reached up to touch his lip and his fingers
came away bloody. Quickly getting over his initial shock, Marcus frantically
reached up to his neck and froze. He had left his Focus Stone upstairs! He
couldn't use magic without it.
"Shut up, you little faggot!" The Terence slurred out, staggering slightly.
Before Marcus could do anything, Terence knelt down and curled his hands around
Marcus's slightly muscular neck. "You deserve this and you know it! You went too
far this time you little sod! Do you think I would let you stay here after you
pulled-"
He was cut off by Marcus's foot impacting his flabby abdomen. Terence fell back
with a loud "oomph" giving Marcus a chance to get by. What the hell was going
on?! The man had gone crazy! Marcus ran as fast as he could toward the
staircase. He had to get to his room. Once he got his Focus Stone this would all
be over.
Just when he was about midway to the top there was a hard tug on his pant leg.
He fell back to the bottom of the carpeted stairs hitting his head on the way
down. He tried to get up but all he saw was stars. Marcus deftly heard Terence
yelling, but the man seemed so far away. Unfortunately for young Marcus, he was
not.
"You've gone too far!" The fat man yelled again as he started bringing his hands
down hard on any part of flesh he could find. "How do you expect me to take care
of my family?! I'm the only one with a job! You think Felicia can work! Well?!
Do you, you faggot?!"
Marcus had a feeling that Terence wasn't talking to him anymore but he didn't
really give a shit. All he knew was that he had to get this man off him. He was
a witch for crying out loud! But right then, that didn't seem to matter much to
his father. Marcus tried to shield himself from the onslaught only to hear a
sickening crack as Terence successfully broke his right arm. The pounding on his
chest and legs was pushing his back into the staircase. It felt like he was
being attacked from every direction and he was having a hard time breathing. He
heard a woman's scream from somewhere above him. He was also vaguely aware of
the fact he was yelling for help. Probably screaming, too. If he had a moment to
think he would have been mortified with himself. But all he knew was that he was
in pain and he wanted it to stop.
And without warning, it did. He started to hear yelling again but this time it
wasn't coming from him. There was a flash of red light followed by a scream that
would have terrified him if he had not been paying attention to the ominous
donging of the hallway clock. It was midnight. In the recesses of his mind, the
part unconsumed by pain and fear, Marcus realized that it was 17 years to the
day of his birth. Happy birthday to me, he sang silently to himself as
another red flash resounded the room and then there was nothing.
Lucien
July Eleventh
10:12 AM
San Fransisco, California, United States
Ok, it was official, Lucien Portillo-Martinez was annoyed. He normally liked
having a family of 14 but this was all too much to bear. The twins were having
their 16th birthday soon and he had completely forgotten. Just a few days ago it
was Rosa's 6th and he had gotten her the biggest, pinkest present he could find.
Within his budget, of course. Which made him feel even more like a cabron. He
didn't mean to play favorites, it just happened.
Thus was the reason a 17 year old boy with a braid down to his ankles was
standing in front of the mall in naught but his yummy-sushi jammies, fuzzy blue
slippers, and his white faux fur trench coat; wracking his brain and trying to
remember what he had gotten the little hellions last year.
Well, Angel wasn't as much of a hellion as Angela was. She could be downright
evil when she wanted to be. That morning she had awoken him to the sweet sound
of a large Chinese gong... Don't ask. When she was 5 she had put green food dye
in his shampoo. His once beautiful hair was the color of algae for 3 weeks. When
she was seven, she had mixed Elmer's Glue with his toothpaste! Lucien sighed and
wondered what the next day would bring.
Lucien started making his way towards Hot Topics when the little hairs on the
back of his neck began to rise. Something was wrong. He spun around nearly
knocking over over a kid with a stupid Batman shirt, but he didn't see anyone
suspicious. However, suspicious for San Fransisco was a pretty small category.
Plus, it was a crowded mall and he didn't exactly look "normal" even for Cali.
standards. Of course people would watch him. Okay, Lucien, no more jalape�o
chili burritos before bed...
The rest of the shopping trip was a blur. He had finished and was walking home
while still discretely keeping an eye out for any potential stalkers. Though the
feeling had come and gone with the first sensation, he didn't want to take any
chances. He was vaguely aware the he had bought Angela a tight shirt that said
"QUIT STARING AT MY BOOBS, YOU PERV!" on where the chest area was.
She would love it, Lucien was sure of that. And for Angel, he got a book titled "What
Herbs Should you Plant and When." The kid liked gardening and plants.
Lucien thought, What the hell, if he doesn't like it he can refund it.
It wasn't until he was standing in front of the red door that he realized he had
made it home. He took a moment to look around. Angel had done most of the
renovating in the yard. It was beautifully trimmed, with rose bushes snaking
their way up the drive way. Trees of all kinds were scattered across the
premises, front and back. Ivy snaked up the side of the old Victorian house.
If you climbed up to the roof and slowly turned in a circle, you could see that the
vegetation circled the house in the pattern of an intricate octagon. Why Abuela
had wanted it in that specific pattern, Lucien thought they would never know,
but she had insisted on it not long before. A little over a year ago in fact.
Behind that red door he could hear crashing and screaming. He gulped and turned
the fake crystal knob. He was immediately bombarded by senses one could find no
other place in the world. He loved this house with it's weird smells of
chamomile and smoke. Color pervaded everything as it wrapped you in a warm
rainbow of emotions. In the Portillo-Martinez house it always felt like
Christmas. Everyone was welcome. You're always loved.
Lucien was adopted. Though, that didn't mean his family loved him any less. They
treated him the exact same as everyone else in the household. His Abuela,
Grandmother, had chosen him in an orphanage when his Mamasita and Papi thought
they couldn't have kids. Oh how wrong they were.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Lucien started walking through the multicolored
living room toward Alejandro. Lucien smiled at his little brother. Alejandro
loved looking at the stars. His room was a myriad of constellation charts and
space photographs. Many books about space adorned the bookshelf of his room. The
room itself was one giant space station. Complete with star-painted walls,
meticulously crafted to look authentic.
The boy was lazily stretched out on one of the couches, reading through a book
about the different legends behind the constellation Cassiopeia. It was his
favorite book. That's when Lucien noticed the screaming and crashing was the TV
up full blast. When Alejandro finally saw him, he quickly sat up and switched
off the sound by remote. He looked up sheepishly at Lucien.
"It got too quiet," Alejandro explained in Spanish. He cleared his
throat. "So, what did you get them?"
Lucien grinned, plopped down on the couch across from him and tossed him the
bags."Where is everyone, anyway?"
"Abuela made them all go to a movie so you could have time to wrap the
presents. She knew you would forget." Glancing in the bags, Alejandro
ignored Lucien's sputtering. After a minute he looked up and raised an eyebrow
at him. "You do realize that this is almost exactly what you got them last year,
right?" he questioned, reverting to English.
Lucien sputtering stopped and his face fell. "�Que?" he said stupidly.
Scrambling over the homemade coffee table, Lucien snatched the bags back and
glared into them. "You have GOT to be kidding me!"
Just then a wizened yet sharp, accented voice called from the kitchen, "Lucien!
Een heere!"
"�Si, Abuela!" He threw the bags against the couch and rushed into the
large, Mexican styled kitchen. He loved the kitchen more than any other room in
the house. Something was always on the stove because someone was always hungry.
Spices, herbs, and flowers greeted you as you walked through the threshold. The
earth tones created a warmth that could only be described as "home."
The decor appealed to Lucien, sure, but the thing he loved the most about the
room was that it fueled his most fervent passion; cooking. Although Lucien had
hobbies, he especially loved to cook. If you asked him to he could bake, boil,
sautee, flambe you name it. He was a master chef in the making. The first time
he had tried his hand in the kitchen, he had brought tears to Papi's eyes, and
Jose Martinez was not an emotional man.
Lucien also loved that he could spend time with Abuela. No one dared enter her
domain when something was cooking. That would mean certain death, or at least a
good 4 hours of housework. Same thing as far as Lucien and his siblings were
concerned. For some strange reason, he seemed to be the only one she would allow
to help her.
Which was exactly what she had in mind as she silently pointed to the pot of
chili boiling on the stove. She didn't seem to mind that he was still in his
night clothes. Lucien could see that her hands were full chopping celery. He
bounced over to the rather large cauldron-like pot and started stirring, before
something very green and very pink obstructed his view. Pulling it off his head,
he saw it was his usual ?pink tulip? apron. He sheepishly gave Abuela an
apologetic look as he pulled it on over his head and tied it one handed. He
never stopped stirring.
"Diablo," she called, using her nickname for him.
He turned, expecting her to give him another task, just as a large kitchen knife
came hurtling at his head. Reflexively he shielded his face with his arms and
waited for the pain. After a few seconds he noticed nothing had happened. Lucien
looked up to find the knife had stopped in midair, mere inches from his face,
while his Abuela was giving him a thoughtful look.
Lucien couldn't move. His brain had gone numb. It wasn't until the knife
clattered to the floor that he remembered to breath. The force of the large gasp
of air made him crash to his knees. All he could do was stare at Abuela, who was
still giving him a pensive look.
This was not happening. Abuela did not just throw a knife at his head. This was
all some sick joke. Lucien brought his eyes to focus on the knife as if
verifying its existence.
"What in the seven hells was that all about?!" He didn't know if he was
shouting at Abuela or the offending object now lying helpless on the floor.
"You could have killed me!"
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you hurt?"
He stopped to think for a moment. "Well... no," Lucien answered, not knowing he
had changed to English. "But what made you think I wouldn't be? I could have
been sliced in half!"
Abuela rolled her eyes in exasperation and made a move towards him. He flinched
and almost scooted backward, but long conditioning had taught him to obey.
However, all she did was lightly wrap her hand around his arm and lift him up.
When he was on his feet she pointed him towards the living room.
"Go upstairs," she said. "I'll explain everything after you are
cleaned and dressed."
He nodded, feeling a migraine coming on. Without another word, Lucien walked
through the living room towards the stairs. Alejandro took one look at his face
and threw down his book. It was obvious that he hadn't heard anything. Alejandro
walked up to Lucien to stare into his eyes.
"Are you alright, bro?" he asked, putting a hand on Lucien's shoulder.
Lucien shook the hand off and stepped around him. "Yeah," he answered, "I'll be
upstairs. I just need some time alone."
He was trying really hard not to freak out. He had the feeling that he wasn't
being very successful. All that was going through his head, over and over was
the thought, This is not happening. I can't be a Parry. I cannot be a
Paranormal.