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“Yes, you do. Kellen, that was Saoirse. She shows you things. You know this. It wasn’t a hallucination. It was real. Tell me what you saw. Please.”
“Damien,” he corrected softly before tapping my shoulders with both hands. “Arms up, angel.”
Spinning around, I glared up at him, feeling crazy, feeling gaslit. But the sadness and genuine concern that stared back told me that he believed what he was saying. He hadn’t seen what I had.
I felt like Crazy Clover all over again.
“It was real,” I declared to him, to myself, to the forest itself. “Whatever you saw, it was real. I promise.”
“Clo.” Damien ground the word out through gritted teeth, holding Kate’s dress up for me to slide my arms into. “Please. Can we talk about this at the train station? It’s almost dark, and we still have to find our way back to town.”
Rage and despair pumped through my veins as I reached up and snatched the garment out of his hands.
“You don’t believe me.”
Turning away from me, Damien grabbed the dripping wet backpack off the ground and slung it over his shoulder, scanning the woods for a way out. He didn’t argue with me, and that was what hurt the most.
“Damien”—I tried again, tempering my tone, pleading with him—“please. Please tell me you believe me. Tell me what you saw.”
Glancing at me over his shoulder, Damien kept his features neutral as he extended his hand. “Come on, love. It’s getting dark.”
Angry tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and my chest ached under the weight of his implication. “I’m not crazy.”
“I know.”
He took a step toward me, and I immediately took one back, shaking my head.
“I’m not.”
“Clo, please.”
“I’ll prove it.” My anger turned to desperation as I swung my head from left to right, searching my surroundings for anything that might support my claim.
Glancing up at the branch that I’d been perched on in my vision, I noticed that the rope was missing. It must have rotted over time and …
My eyes darted to the overgrown blackberry bushes beneath that branch, and I practically dived for them, plunging my bare arms into their thorny depths until I found what I was looking for.
“Clover, stop. What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Spinning around, I held up the proof of my sanity—a filthy, frayed length of rope.
And Damien didn’t react.
“It’s your rope swing,” I panted. “I told you one used to be here, and look.”
Again, Damien said nothing. And that was when it hit me.
“You think I read about all of this in Darby’s books, don’t you?”
“Clover,” Damien sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I think. All that matters is—”
“Yes, it does,” I interrupted. “Look. Look at this. Come here.”
I stomped over to the bench we’d just made love on, remembering something I’d noticed when I first sat down.
“Kellen carved this bench for me—for Darby, whatever. Do you see that date in the middle? June 14? That’s the date that Saoirse bonded us, but it’s also the date that Russia attacked Howth. We met on June 14, Damien. And those three dots below it? Those represent our freckles.” I held up my finger again. “I’m not crazy. You have them too.”
I stared at his face, waiting for recognition to dawn, but it was as if he wasn’t listening to me at all. His eyes were fixated on the bench. I watched his pupils swoop back and forth, tracing the intricate lines of Kellen’s Celtic knot. Turning and glancing at it again, I realized what had him so spooked.
