Page 52 of Fire Touched

Why do our mothers leave us behind? Why are they taken from us?

I wish had something of hers. My mum. It takes a lot of effort to refrain from tracing the gouges in the hall, but Prescott’s warning rings in my mind. I set my mother gently in the back of mind for safekeeping, promising to return to her shortly. But for now, there’s something I can do for someone else.

**scene break**

The chisel is slimmer than I would have expected, but the woman in the supply cabinet swore it was Ivy’s favourite, and there were none other like it. I run my thumb over it, again and again.

I was directed to what the citizens of Terran call the Scrap: a place of bits and pieces, mostly metal or wood, that people can go to collect what they like. I tuck the chisel into my back pocket and create a ball of fire in the palm of my hand to illuminate the Scrap’s heaving, disorganised piles of… well, scrap.

They must collect odds and ends from travelling peddlers. As I walk around, I notice a loose system: they’re sorted by material, at least. There’s stone, sandstone, varying kinds of wood, some beat up, old furniture, bricks and mortar from what looks to have been a small building. Then—there. My firelight gleams as it washes over a pile of metal. There’s a piece of an old, chain-link fence, a few poles.

I kneel, sorting through it. I need something more solid. I search through the pile, trying not to cut myself on anything too sharp, until I find it. About as long as my hand, a little jagged. Good.

It takes me the rest of the night to set up my work station. I light two torches with old rags on metal posts to see by, then start a slow-burning fire with the right amount of kindling. The workbench and stool are made from scraps, and the hammer was just a stroke of luck.

I don’t dare start too early, lest I wake the citizens of Terran and have the whole pack come and hunt me down. So I take my time melting down the metal, side by side, pressing it, moulding it into the right form.

When everyone has woken, I smile. From here, I can hear them—not just the birds and other animals singing, but the people. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts into my nose, making me salivate, and a few raised voices pierce the cool, morning air; people calling good mornings and how are yous.

Now, I can start the real forging. I set the heated piece of metal on the work bench and start forging it into something like the chisel in my back pocket, hoping Ivy won’t miss it for just a little while.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Katie

I don’t know why I thought everything had changed in the span of our dance, but I had expected Killian to come to bed after his talk with Verron.

I’d thought we’d started mending what he had broken.

I reach out, the bed cold beside me. I guess I was wrong. A dance is just a dance.

Loneliness grips me as I yank the covers up to my cheeks. I don’t want to get up yet, to face another day, at odds with him.

Then I remember he asked me to the beach. Tonight. Before sunset. A slow, tentative smile creeps at the edges of my lips, but soon falls away.

Where was he all night, if not in my bed?

A treacherous voice in my mind whispers, In someone else’s?

No. I clamp down on the thought and mentally kick it in the face. No, he wouldn’t do that. A stabbing, cold shiver passes over my body anyway, making me draw the blankets even tighter around my body.

I turn to stare at the Killian-shaped space beside me. Where my mate should be.

Why didn’t he come to me after that dance?

After a while, my thoughts doing their damned best to make me feel worse, I crawl out of bed and into a warm shawl. I peek out the window. It’s still early-morning, the sun’s warm, golden rays bathing Terran in a buttery-yellow glow.

My stomach clamps down. Butter. Food?

Yes, okay, I am hungry. I pause to contemplate having a shower before going down for breakfast, but the thought of the water still makes my heart race. I’ll have breakfast, then deal with that. I managed a bath last night, I can handle a shower. Of course I can.

My hands shaking slightly, that voice comes back. Deeper, deeper. The voices of the Tide Witches trying to drown me. My stomach tightens. I run my fingers through my hair, but don’t even bother getting dressed. I need company. I need to get out of my head.

A smile tugs the side of my mouth when I start down the stairs. Something smells amazing, which means at least Ella is up and already cooking, bless her. Rounding the corner, I stick my nose out first, trying to identify the yummy smells.

Ella chuckles. ‘Good morning Katherine’s nose.’

I walk fully into the room. ‘What is that?’ I peer over her shoulder into the frying pan.

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