Fractured | The Portal Series book 1

Chapter 3 - Claire

6:10 a.m. BTS – 7/15/341 U.M.

6:10 p.m. SET – 7/15/341 U.M.

"Alright, where is my load of darks?" Roland looks comically upset, standing there in his pajama pants and a long button-up shirt. He is holding up a lone gray sock, and is glaring around the living room as though the place has done him wrong.

I walk the rest of the way down the steps, but stand there for a moment to watch the scene unfold.

"I put them on the couch dear," Aunt Lila says, bending over a glass laundry basket to grab more clothes.

"Where?" he demands, sounding grumpy but some-what hopeful. He whips his head around to the piece of furniture beside him, scrutinizing it.

Today, forty-eight hours before the Keeper Eligible Ceremony, we will find out who will get a Protector-in-training position. I don't have the slightest idea if Roland will or not. I suppose that it really depends on how many Tuhiynians enroll. We never did find out how many they plan on recruiting this year.

Roland really, really wants to be a Protector. Always has, for as long as I can remember. He's never talked about it much, because the chance to become one has always been so far off. The age that you can become a Protector-in-training is seventeen, a year older than Keeper Eligibles. It has something to do with the fact that the Protectors have to be more mature.

So, the two of us can be on edge together during the same week. I feel sorry for Aunt Lila.

Sure, I have resigned myself to the fact that I cannot, and will never be, a Keeper Eligible. But, if I am completely honest with myself, the idea of becoming one seems kind of interesting. It is the fact that my fate is already chosen for me that really makes me angry. Aunt Lila thinks that I should have signed up, but it was too late for arguments. Still, she's making me and Roland go to the ceremony.

"I don't see anything, Mom," Roland continues.

"I put it right there," Aunt Lila replies mildly, folding another one of her t-shirts.

Shaking my head, I move to the kitchen and start fixing myself breakfast. I have just begun pouring my milk when something bumps into me from behind at knee–level. Milk sloshes from the bottle, covering the pristine counter in opaque, white liquid.

Grumbling, I set the bottle down, and hold my dripping hands over the wet counter. Looking down, I see Aussi sitting beside me, panting happily and gazing at me as best as she can through the holes of what appears to be underwear. A sock is stuck on her wagging tail, and a shirt is draped across her back.

Aussi and I stare at each other for several long seconds. Behind me, I hear Roland still complaining about his missing laundry.

Slowly and deliberately, I take my dripping hands to the sink and rinse them off, never taking my eyes off Aussi. As soon as I am clean and suitably dry, I lunge after the dog.

"Mom, they aren't here! I need something to wear!"

"Roland, I told you where I put them. Are you sure that the pile didn't fall anywhere?"

"Yes."

"Well," Aunt Lila says, sounding confused and exas-perated, "Did you already take them upstairs?"

"No, I looked in my drawers before I remembered we did laundry."

Aussi, looking quite happy about giving me a chase, leads me upstairs, into any open rooms, and then back downstairs.