Grounded

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Lightning. In Hemlock Hollow we make up loads of stories about how it came to be. God fighting angels. God playing baseball. Mary and I sometimes lie in the attic and watch out the window in wonder as fire sliced through the sky. But I never understood it. Not really.

I sit at the table in the library of Stuart Manor in front of a stack of open books, riveted. If I retain a quarter of what I'm reading, I'll count myself lucky. Here's what I've learned. Far above me, particles of ice and water tumble around inside the clouds. When these particles collide, they build up an electrical field. Electrical fields can be either negatively charged or positively charged, and the ones in the cloud are negative. I think of them as looking for trouble.

Meanwhile, on the ground, invisible particles spin and dance, causing a positively charged electrical field. Mutual attraction draws the particles on the ground toward the particles in the sky and when they touch, crack! The collision creates lightning. Lightning travels at sixty-two thousand miles per second and is hotter than the surface of the sun. I have a hard time believing what the books say. How could anything burn so hot or move so fast?

Electrokinesis, this thing I have, works in much the same way. My cells bump into each other, building up a charge. The atoms buzzing around everything else do the same. Even the air. When I want my electrokinesis to work, the books say I can move my charge to the outside of my body and flip it to either positive or negative to connect with objects around me. In theory, it's mutual. The electrokinetic individual "asks" the object to accept the charged particles, and zap.

It's so much easier to believe what happened in CGEF was a miracle from God. A miracle has a purpose. But seeing my strange cells and learning about my electrokinesis makes it feel like one giant accident. It frightens me to think that everything that's happened has been a product of my genetics and nothing more. How did I get like this?

All this questioning leads me full circle. My mutation must have been a miracle. There's no other explanation. Which leads me to the ultimate question: why did God make me this way? And what about Korwin?

Korwin. I hardly know him but every time we're together it's like an invisible hand is shoving me in his direction. It's too fast and entirely inappropriate. But just like the particles between the cloud and the ground, I suspect our attraction has more to do with science than affection. As I flip the page of the book I'm reading, I wonder if I have any control over my attraction to him or if, like lightning, it's simply a matter of time before it strikes.

"Have you had enough yet?" Korwin stands in the doorway. Funny, I didn't hear it open. By the way he leans against the frame, it appears he's been there for some time.

"I think so," I say, closing the tome in front of me.

"Good, because it's time for dinner."

"Give me a minute and I'll clean up this mess," I say, walking the book in my hands to its space on the shelf.

"Leave it, Lydia. Jameson can do it later," he says.

I close another volume and return it to the shelf. "I prefer to do it myself. I'm sure Jameson has better things to do than pick up my books."

"Like what? This is his job, and my father pays him very well for it."

Retrieving another book from the table, I scowl at him. "Many hands make light work. Caring for a home is a burden to be shared. Everyone should pick up his or her own mess." Geez. I sound like an old Amish maam. Why does the thought of Jameson picking up after me bother me so much?

Korwin laughs and grabs a book from the table. "You said you're a seamstress on the preservation, right?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"How would you feel if one of your customers demanded to help sew her own dress?"

I finish shelving the book and rise to my full height, hands on my hips. "That is completely different."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I'm trained as a seamstress. The buyer might do more harm than good."

Korwin raises an eyebrow. "Jameson trained to be a butler at a professional school. He's an expert who keeps this library in tiptop shape. Frankly, I hope we've put these books back in their proper places or there might be hell to pay."

"I... Uh..."

"He's not my mother. He won't give me a hug if I fall down and skin my knee. He's a butler and this is what he's paid to do. Why not let him do it?"

I return to the table but there are no more books to shelve. Gripping the back of the chair, I toss the idea around in my mind. Is this my way of clinging to Hemlock Hollow? "Maybe you're right. This world is different. We don't have servants on the preservation." I grin. "Instead, people have children. We're the servants."

"Well, it's time to put down the broom and go to the ball, Cinderella," Korwin says.

"Who's Cinderella?"

His face falls.

"I'm kidding. Even I know that one."

He hooks his fingers into mine. "Speaking of Jameson, he's going to kill me if I don't get you to dinner on time. Come on."

I let him lead me from the library, my hand in his. I know I should fight it. Holding hands is a promise I'm not ready to keep. But I can't. I can't bring myself to let go.