The Lumen Chronicles

The Fallout

This chapter refused to cooperate.

Also, I hate exposition.

Carry on.

Chapter 2: The Fallout

First copy finished March Second, 2014.

"What?"

Alex could not seem to properly grasp the English language. His jaw hung open, even as his eyes flitted between his English teacher sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of herbal tea. The bag was still stewing in the mug, and Alex could see the limp tag draped over the thick porcelain rim.

"How did you get into my house?!"

The ominous buzz was back in his head, a strange heat behind his eyes that made his skin crawl. He grabbed the doorway, searching for some sort of stability. His knuckles bleached white from the force.

Mr. Huntington took a long, ponderous sip of his tea. Vaguely, Alex noted that he was using Asper's favorite mug. The coincidental observation, when he remembered the relations between his guardian and English teacher, was strangely funny.

"The door. Or did you not see my little piece of handiwork?" Mr. Huntington frowned lightly, long fingers idly plunging the tea bag in and out of his mug. "I thought it was a rather excellent demonstration of Manifest."

Nothing was making any sense.

Mr. Huntington sighed and sat back in his chair, arms held out wide, suggesting innocence. He was still wearing his teacher-edition St. Anthony's uniform. The charcoal-gray jacket seemed out of place in the airy kitchen.

"I don't have any weapons on me, Alex," he said soothingly, but his mouth quavered with an amused smile. "And that chair hasn't been booby-trapped either. So I'd suggest you be seated for what I'm about to tell you."

Alex pulled out the chair and sat, eyes flitting between his teacher and the hallway.

"Now then," Mr. Huntington said, but before he could continue, a rough basso voice cut him off.

"Eric, that kid here yet?"

Alex twisted in his chair and his mouth fell open for the second time in two minutes.

A man who looked to be around his late twenties padded around the kitchen/hallway junction and lazily leaned against the doorway that Alex had only seconds ago vacated. He was tall and his musculature, though not grotesque, was so defined that the curves and dips of his muscles showed themselves through his long-sleeved underarmor shirt. His face was handsome in a rugged sort of way; a shadow of stubble darkened the tan skin of his strong, angled jawline, and he had sleek blonde hair that fell to his shoulders and complemented uniquely shaped hazel eyes.

His hair was also dripping water all over the kitchen floor, splattering a mess all over his hyper-cleaned linoleum tiles.

Alex's startled gaze flicked from the stranger's coolly assessing expression to the damp towel held loosely in his left hand.

He wanted to ask a lot of things. He wanted to ask how they had gotten in his house, what 'Manifest' was, and why they were even in his kitchen, at 3:03 in the afternoon.

Instead, what came out was, "Is that my towel? Were you using my shower?"

The stranger directed a surprised expression towards the cream-colored cloth in his hand. "Oh, thought I left that in the bathroom. Nice shower head, by the way. The massage setting was great." He had a bit of an Australian accent, but it was so faded that Alex would not have caught it if he hadn't been hanging onto every nonchalant word. The man tossed the damp towel on Alex's head as he passed him, sauntering towards the kitchen counter. Alex spluttered and peeled the offending wet object from his face.