I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1)

  I didn't stop to knock at the blue door—'haint blue', Mrs Cranford had called it, meant to ward off evil spirits. Over the last six weeks, I had been to see Mrs Cranford so often that she had given me a key. She was far faster than she should be for an octogenarian with a healing broken hip but it was easier if I just let myself in. These days Mrs Cranford needed her cane, much to her disgust.

  "Aunt Mary?" I called. Mrs Cranford had insisted I start calling her that. It was nice, when I got over the awkwardness. Like gaining family.

  "In the kitchen, Emily." She called back. I made a face and hurried down the hall. She probably wouldn't try to carry a tea tray again… Not yet at least… Not after last time...

  I found her loading a teapot and cups on to a tray next to a plate of biscuits.

  "I'll t-take that." I said cheekily. Mrs Cranford gave me a sour look and moved aside. She followed me into the parlour. I thought she was leaning on her cane less today.

  "Huh how's the hip?" I poured tea into the cups as she settled herself into the armchair.

  "How's the arm?" She replied tartly.

  "See for yourself." I held up my right arm, the cast had come off earlier that day. It looked strange. Thin and pale. It didn't feel as strong. I had exercises to do to build it up again. The joy at being able to play my piano again had turned to frustration at the weak notes my right hand produced. Worse, my hand had ached like fire after only a few sets. It was going to take time. Lots of things were going to take time.

  We talked about inconsequential things. Mrs Cranford was always appalled at how behind I was on current affairs and took great delight in bringing me up to date. We practised the exercises she had taught me for strengthening my gift sometimes too. Some of these she had discovered years ago from a friend she had once known with a similar ability to me. The more bizarre ones I was sure she made up herself. They were all aimed at me learning to discipline my mind. There was a lot I had to learn.

  According to Mrs Cranford, I had been ‘extremely reckless’, not to mention ‘very fortunate’, in travelling to and from the ‘between’ place. I was more or less under orders not to attempt anything so dangerous again. At least not until I was in complete control of my gift.

  Mrs Cranford poured through journals and web sites with zeal, searching for anything that might be relevant. Privately, I thought I wasn't going to need it too much. How likely was it that I would come across a group of the Dead, caught in a Pattern so complicated and lethal again? The quieter Dead, as I called them, were easy to send on their way. Like giving someone directions. The one time I'd voiced that opinion had earned me a thorough scolding from Mrs Cranford's waspish tongue, so I wasn't going to say that again.

  Eventually I said, "He's n-not here, is he?"

  "No, Emily." Mrs Cranford sighed. "He went out on the moor as soon as I was up."

  "G-guess I'll f-find him there then."

  "Emily, he's probably going to go home." Her bird-bright eyes held sympathy for me. I'd never told her how I felt about Ciarán, but then you wouldn't need to have Mrs Cranford's ability for seeing the true nature of things to work it out. Grace was right when she said I shouldn't play poker. I'd been expecting what Mrs Cranford said so it didn't hurt as much as I expected. I smiled at her before I left.