I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1)

by J. A. Ironside

  I was changing before dinner, trying to make a bit more of an effort since Ciaran was coming round, but nothing looked good with the huge white plaster cast. My favourite jeans need washing. Also Grace was cooking tonight. That was rarely a good thing. I hadn't seen Grace all day. I still felt weak and drowsy but I should have tried to keep tabs on her. Just because things had been going well with Ciarán, didn't let me off the hook in solving the Pattern. And I was no closer. Too many jumbled bits of information. I should be trying to keep Grace away from Haze, or Hardiman as he was really called. It was impossible to do that without help. Maybe I should tell Amy. But then I shuddered at the thought of putting Amy in harm’s way. My last encounter with Haze didn't go so well. I glared vengefully at the cast on my arm.

  All my plans with Helen had fallen flat so far and I wasn’t quite up to another trip back into her memories to see if she would again let something important slip. I needed to speak to someone outside the Pattern. Perhaps I could go to Mrs Cranford after church tomorrow. Perhaps Ciarán would come too…

  The smell wafting up the stairs was far too appetizing to be Grace's cooking. I wondered if she'd coaxed Amy into helping her. At least Ciarán wouldn't be eating burnt pasta. Excitement and tingly anticipation made it impossible for me to sit still. As I skipped down the last flight of stairs, arm in sling bouncing lightly against my chest, I automatically avoided the cold spot. Strangely, it felt as though it also pulled away from me. Helen really didn't want to tell me anything more. It was odd though because if I let my mind drift, memories which weren't mine, rose up to the surface. I could almost reach them…

  A laugh stopped me cold on Helen's step. Or rather, the sound of mingled male and female laughter. Ciarán was here? Why hadn’t anyone called me? And he was alone with Grace in the hall…Of course there were any number of reasons why they might be there like that. No need to worry. Grace probably just let him in.

  It was just that he laughed like that with me, only a day ago. I told myself I was being silly. I shouldn't always assume life was going to crap on me. But it was very hard to continue down the stairs. I crept down, slow and silent.

  They didn't see me. I had a brief glimpse of them standing in the dim hallway. Grace laughed up at Ciarán, while he smiled down at her.

  Then everything doubled. There was an extra layer of reality overlaid on the present.

 

  Grace-Kate wears a sweeping green gown. Ciarán looks handsome in breeches and a greatcoat, as though he's just got down from his horse. Her hair stirs in a gentle draught, glossy chestnut curls waving.

  "So what say you, Kate? You have given me no answer." It isn't Ciarán's voice. Isn't really Ciarán's face. Or not entirely. But my heart plummets anyway. "Tell me you will say yes? Relieve my suffering, I pray you."

  "It is too soon for me to go away again." Kate is demure. I can see something sly in her expression.

  "If I do not ask you now, you will forget me. Your father would like to see you settled."

  "You certainly know how to express yourself. First you say you must be sure of me now, for I am inconstant. Then you say it would please my father! I've a mind to refuse you on those grounds alone!" She tosses her head pertly.

  "Oh Kate, forgive my clumsiness!" He seizes her hand in both of his. "I do love you. Desperately. I cannot do without you now. You like Larkacre don't you? You enjoyed living there?"

  "It is a most handsome house…" I can almost see the calculation in her sherry-dark eyes.

  "Then say you will be mine? Give me an answer I beg you!"

  Poor spooney never asked if she loved him in return. Helen's thought cut in drily.

  I miss whatever Kate says next but it has made Clayton happy. He is gathering her close and pressing his lips against hers.

  See. See what men are? See what he is? Why interfere? Why endanger yourself?

  The strange doubling effect lifted, leaving me watching Ciarán kiss my sister. A strangled sob escaped my throat. Ciarán looked up. His eyes were pale blue and blank; he didn't recognize me at all. Grace turned; her dark eyes sparkled with malice.

  It could be Grace doing this or it could be Kate. Right now I didn't care. Ciarán kissed her. He kissed Grace.

  I hate her.

  I hated them and I never wanted to see either of them again.

  I turned and stumbled back upstairs. For the first time, I locked my door. I refused to answer to Amy's pleading tones or Grace's harsher words. At last I was left alone. Pacing, boiling with rage and hurt. It didn't matter that they were both caught in the Pattern. It didn't matter that perhaps they wouldn't have kissed otherwise. They had betrayed me. No, Ciarán had betrayed me. He was weak. Weak!

  I didn't care about breaking the Pattern anymore. I didn't care about Grace. Had she had a single kind word to say to me since Mum died? No. She’d blamed me for Mum's death. For not being able to speak to Mum afterward with a gift I had never wanted and could barely control. I paced faster.

  The scent of rosemary and violets threaded through the air. A sense of anxiety fluttered at me, at my mind. It too, was weak. And if it was Mum, why the hell was she interfering now? I'd been deluding myself. I was an idiot. No one wanted me. Not Dad. Not Ciarán. Not Grace. Not even Mum, or why did she try to kill me?

  Screw them all. I was done with it. I thrust out with my will, and the scent and sense of my mother was shoved away.

  The effort left me breathless and empty. No, the room felt empty. Less safe. I didn't care. I didn't care! Let the Pattern just happen. Helen was right. It couldn't be stopped. Why get in the way.

  Save yourself, Grace, if you're so much better than me.

  The thought came out of no-where and I refused to take it back. A small reasonable part of me tried to butt in and point out that it wasn’t Ciarán’s fault. It wasn’t even Grace’s fault. But I didn’t want to be reasonable. I needed someone to blame. For the first time since Mum’s death, I’d trusted someone and let him in, and at the first opportunity he’d stabbed me in the back and kissed my sister. It didn’t matter if he meant to or not. He did it and now he’d proved me right: you couldn’t trust anyone not to let you down. Fine. I'd be on my own side and stay out of everything else.

  Good. Helen's voice was a whisper.

  Good. The sense of the watcher on the moor was a dark note of approval.

  Good, I replied to them coldly and switched off the light.