《FABLE》


 D茅j脿 Vu

    Just one second,


    A beautiful moment


    I¡¯m falling fast, I can''t forget


    Over and over, your story''s rewritten


    Unbreakable chain, my d¨¦j¨¤ vu...


    The dream always starts off with me sitting at the back of the bus. Everything''s tinted gold with soft fall light, hazy and honey-colored like an old photograph.


    I''m sitting with my two best friends. Just like I was on that day. Evan is to my right, watching the sea cliffs and fir trees roll by outside the window. Mia''s on my left sharing my iPod, each of us with one earphone.


    It''s fitting that we''re listening to D¨¦j¨¤ Vu by Fable, because I feel the strongest d¨¦j¨¤ vu at this moment ¨C like I''ve lived this over and over countless times.


    As is the way with dreams, I can''t remember where we''re going or where we came from, but that''s ok.


    My math teacher Ms. Blythe is at the front of the bus with the driver, wearing the same white blouse and yellow skirt she was wearing on that day. She''s standing in front of a chalkboard drawing the infinity symbol, tracing its curves and bends over and over. Some of the kids near the front are leafing through their textbooks. This is the part where I always forget it''s a dream, and I''m unsure if we''re on a bus or in math class.


    I nudge Evan to ask him what''s going on. I wish I hadn''t. As he turns to face me something wet and cold brushes my cheek. The sunlight sparkles off a stripe of damp green caught up in his curls. I reach into his hair and pull it out.


    A strand of dripping seaweed clings to my hand.


    Evan turns to face me, lifting his finger to his lips with a smile.


    "Shhh....." he tells me.


    He closes his eyes and opens his mouth. Stinking, reddish-brown salty water pours out all over the front of his t-shirt.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Row by row, the rest of the class turns in their seats towards us with water gushing from their mouths, seaweed and broken glass glinting in their hair. Even though their eyes are closed I know they''re all looking at me.


    I can still hear D¨¦j¨¤ Vu playing; Mia tugs the earphone out of my ear. A scream is building up in the back of my throat. I smell salt. Mia''s lips are icy as she presses them against my ear.


    "Ashes to ashes, dust to ¨C" she whispers.


    I open my eyes just before the scream.


    The faces of five beautiful boys gaze down at me.


    I''m lying flat on my back in bed, sweat-drenched sheets tangled around my legs. The scream dies unreleased at the back of my throat.


    Mia. Evan.


    I stare hard at the poster on the ceiling, blinking up at it through the tears. Images of that sunny morning on the bus flicker and fade away as I concentrate on the Fable poster on the ceiling.


    I know it sounds ridiculous, but this stupid poster of a British rock band is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. The only thing that gives me the strength to face every new day.


    "...unbreakable chain, my d¨¦j¨¤ vu..." The ringtone continues for a good ten seconds before I realize that my phone is ringing, and probably has been for a while. Zee. Damn.


    I fumble for the phone next to my bed and almost hang up before hitting answer.


    "Hey Sleeping Beauty. You coming down soon?" She sounds way too chipper for a school morning. I roll over onto my side, shutting my eyes against the line of sunlight creeping under my curtains.


    "What time is it?"


    "It''s 7.15."


    I sit bolt upright in bed. It''s only a five minute drive to school, but I still need to shower and get dressed. At this rate we''ll probably arrive late.


    "Oh my god. I must have slept through my alarm." I''m already dragging myself out of bed, struggling to keep my eyes open. I don''t feel like I''ve slept a wink. "Sorry for making you wait."


    "It''s ok Ashling." Zee''s voice softens. "Was it... the dream again?"


    I hesitate, pulling the curtain away from my bedroom window. In the driveway far below, Alix''s Pontiac is parked dangerously close to the flowerbed. One more inch and he''ll flatten my mom''s beloved Iceberg roses. I make a mental note to tell Alix to park in the road instead of the driveway from now on.


    "Are you ok Ashling?" Zee sounds worried.


    "Yeah," I say as I close the curtains. "I saw Evan and Mia again."


    We''re both quiet for a moment.


    "I''ll be down in ten."


    "Sure," Zee says. "Just take your time."

 Chapter 2

    I make good on my promise and climb into the backseat of Alix''s car with a few minutes to spare.


    "Just in time," Zee says with a glance at Alix. "I was on the verge of murdering him."


    Alix is slapping his hands against the steering wheel in a steady beat, "car drumming" as he calls it. He says it''s to get drumming practice in while he''s driving; I suspect he just does it just to annoy Zee.


    He doesn''t turn around, but I see him wink at me in the rearview mirror before curling his lips into a wolfish grin.


    "Hey Ashling," he says as he puts the car into reverse. "Welcome back to the land of the living".


    Alix is one of the most wanted guys in the senior class, and he knows it. With a tall, tan, muscular physique, chiseled features and dark wavy hair courtesy of his Greek ancestry, he''s built up a reputation as the Adonis of Huntson High.


    At least six girls in our sophomore class have a crush on him. Zee and I know this all too well ¨C as Alix''s younger sister, Zee''s been approached more than once by girls who want her to put in a good word for them.


    I don''t like him in that way, but sometimes the old me surfaces for just a moment. I feel embarrassed that he''s seeing me like this. I look rough. The girl I used to be in middle school would never go out in public looking like I do now. I''m dressed down in skinny jeans, ancient converse sneakers and an oversized red hoodie over a camisole.


    My hair is piled on top of my head in a damp blonde messy bun, still wet from the shower. There are dark circles under my eyes.


    When did I stop caring?


    We reach a stop sign and Alix starts flipping through radio stations.


    "By the way Ashling, still up for band practice tomorrow?" He says as his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. "Our parents are out from six. Which means..."


    "You''re going to make double the racket you usually do," Zee finishes off. "Kill me now!"


    "Yeah, six is fine," I say.


    I started playing together with Alix and his best friend Micah as a band last summer ¨C ever since Zee told Alix that I sing and play guitar. I think she regrets that now.


    The band''s one of the few things I really care about any more, and recently I''m starting to have doubts about even that. It''s been taking up more of my time recently, and I''ve slipped into the routine of spending at least one afternoon a week in Alix and Zee''s dad''s garage, aka our practice space.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    When I''m singing, it''s like I''m not myself. It''s the only time I can drown out the worries, the awareness of other people, the fear... and just be. The band¡¯s become like a lifeline for me.


    That''s why I have to leave.


    Alix is still flipping through radio stations when we hear a familiar voice announce "...up next we''ll be talking with the boys of mega hit progressive rock band Fable, ahead of tonight''s performance at the Rose Quarter. Stay tuned to 94.8 Best of Portland FM for more."


    Zee makes a sound I''ve never heard before, something between a gasp and an inward scream.


    "Ohmygod ohmygod OHMYGOD," Zee shrieks.


    Alix''s hand is already heading to the dial to change the station, and Zee smacks it away just in time.


    "It''s my car," he says, reaching again for the dial "and I''ll change the station if I want to."


    "Don''t you dare, kyrios kalamatianos," she tells Alix, sounding all the more scary for her upbeat tone. I don''t know what the name means, but it works on him every time.


    He sighs but doesn''t try to change the station again.


    "Maybe there''ll be some clue about where they''re staying," she says seriously as she turns to face me. "I don''t know if I can wait until tonight."


    Tonight. The event everyone''s been waiting for forever, and I''m the only one of my friends missing out.


    "Wow, this whole day is going to be torture," I say.


    I instantly regret saying it ¨C the smile slips from Zee''s face.


    "I''m really sorry Ashling. I keep forgetting,¡± she says. ¡°You want me to turn it off?"


    "Of course not!" I reply.  "I want you guys to have fun tonight. Send me some pics and I''ll be fine."


    I already know she''ll probably forget to send me anything. She''ll be too busy enjoying every moment of it. Singing, dancing, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the boys.


    It''s kind of ironic that she''s going tonight and I''m not. When we first became friends two years ago, just after I moved from Southwood Lakes to Huntson High, she had no clue who Fable even were.


    Back then they were still taking off. They were just some unknown group of boarding school boys in Wales uploading their songs to YouTube from the one guy''s dorm room.


    Now the whole world''s in love with them, and being one of their first fans from before they were famous hasn''t helped me at all. Zee''s going tonight, and I''m not.


    What makes it even worse is that it''s the first (and possibly last) time Fable are performing in Portland, and it almost didn''t happen ¨C we were added on right at the end of their world tour.


    There was anarchy at school when the news broke. One tweet was all it took. Singing in the hallways. Girls crying out of happiness. Beth Donklin, Fable''s self-appointed No.1 fan, actually fainted in gym from all the excitement and had to go home early. It was crazy.


    Since then the buzz in the corridors has been building, sort of like the build up to Summer Break, but better. Way better. All for this one magical night.


    Magical for everyone except me, that is.


    I know it''s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I want to go so badly that it hurts. Not just for myself, but to keep a promise I made. The one thing I''m still holding on to and sticking around for. Unfinished business, if you will.


    But I just can''t do it.


    I already have a pretty good idea of what''ll happen if I go, and there''s no way I could do that to my friends. Despite my best efforts, I¡¯ve grown to care about them.


    And that can only be a bad thing for me.

 Chapter 3

    "And we''re back," the radio announces. "If you''ve just joined us, after the ad break we''ll be talking to the boys of Fable. Don''t go anywhere!"


    "No freaking way!" Zee says. "They just had an ad break!"


    Alix lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Well obviously Zee. The station''s squeezing in as many ads as possible around the interview so they can sell more stuff."


    The car jolts forward as it screeches to a stop at the traffic lights. "It goes along with being commercial fake rock sellouts. I mean, they''re basically a glorified boy band with instruments."


    He''s done it now. Zee turns her head very slowly to face him. I don''t want her to start shouting or something and cause a car accident, so I put my hand on her shoulder.


    Zee''s pretty easygoing most of the time, but when it comes to Alix she''s like a banshee.


    "Just because the only thing you''ll listen to is obscure bands with impossible to pronounce names, doesn''t mean you get to trash what I like," she says so slowly and angrily that I swear her words could kill. "Admit it. You hate any band that''s successful."


    Alix might look like a jock on the surface, but underneath, he''s pure hipster through-and-through. To the point of listening to everything on vinyl, playing ukulele on weekends and wearing thick-rimmed glasses during band practice (minus the lenses). At school he''s the spitting image of a clean-cut star quarterback, all straight-edge and preppy Mr. Popular. It''s like he''s leading a double life, and sometimes I''m not sure which is the real him.


    "You wouldn''t get it," he replies, skidding the tires as he turns the car too quickly into a bus lane. "Anyway, you''re under their spell now. You''re not seeing what they really are."


    "And what''s that?" Zee asks.


    "Sell outs," he replies.


    Zee''s face is turning bright red, which is a sure sign she''s angry. Her skin is so tan that most people wouldn''t be able to tell, but I know her well enough to see when she''s furious - and so does Alix.


    "Whoa, looks like I hit a nerve." He mutters glancing her way. "Forget I said anything."


    "Don''t tell me to forget it. I''ve had enough Alix. I''m tired of you ripping on them all the time."


    "Lighten up Zee," he says. "I just want my little sister listening to quality music. Not the teen version of 30 Seconds to Mars." He adjusts his mirror slightly, glances at me for a moment.


    "You too, Ashling," he says. "I mean, we''re making music together, right? It''s really sucks that our lead singer has a massive crush on some lame pop-rock band."


    "Hey!" Zee protests. ¡°Leave her out of it.¡±


    I reach out and squeeze her shoulder, struggling to find the right comeback.


    "We get it Alix, you hate them," I say, trying to sound defiant but stumbling over my words. "If you actually gave their music a chance, you¡¯d see...  they¡¯re amazing. They helped me through a really tough time in my life."


    I barely manage to even whisper the last part. It feels so stupid saying it out loud.


    "Fable helped you? Seriously? You mean like, personally?" Alix smirks. "Did Felix Lockhart jump on a plane to serenade you? Did Lyall Greene cradle you in his arms and wipe away the tears while crooning D¨¦j¨¤ Vu?"


    "Well no, obviously," I say as I feel my face burning. "But they mean a lot¡­ their music I mean¡­ it¡¯s important to me. More than I can really explain."


    I expect Alix to come back with another sarcastic comment, but he''s just studying me in the rear-view mirror, his eyes dark and full of something I can''t quite place.


    Zee and my other besties Jamie and Grace are the only people at school who know about the accident. I don''t blame Alix for not understanding.


    The adverts end and Zee squeals, seemingly having forgotten about Alix''s comments already.


    One of the things that makes it so easy to love Zee - even though she gets angry quickly, she also gets over it just as fast.


    "Welcome back to 94.8 Portland Waves FM. This is Martin Fowles with your Rise and Shine report. For those who''ve just joined us, we''ve got the boys of Fable live in studio to talk about the last leg of their worldwide WISH tour, which sold out within minutes of tickets going on sale. This group of strapping seventeen year olds has conquered the music charts this past year, going platinum in more than twenty-five countries. Welcome to Portland, boys."


    "Thanks," several voices say at once.


    Zee snorts at the radio. "Five seconds into the interview and Martin''s already got his facts wrong. They''re not all seventeen. Lyall''s sixteen."


    Alix rolls his eyes. "Obsessed much?"


    "Shut up," Zee snaps back at him. "I''m trying to listen."


    "So, I understand this is your first time in Oregon," Martin continues over the radio. "How are you finding it?"


    A Canadian-accented voice speaks up. "Awesome. We''re loving every second."


    "Oh my god, that''s Ben," Zee shrieks.


    "Everytin''s really beautiful ''ere," a cute, lyrical Irish-accented voice pipes up, before a smooth Mayfair accent cuts in "...especially the girls."


    "Lyall! Oh my god Lyall and Alastaire!" Zee cries. "I can''t believe they''re really here. In Portland. Right now.  Breathing the same air as us." She rolls down her window as if to get more air. She sounds like she''s hyperventilating or something.


    "So, first things first," Martin says in his smooth radio voice. "Your name. Fable... it''s a bit odd, isn''t it? Not your typical rock band name. How''d you come up with that?"This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "That''s actually a good question Martin," says a boy with a clear, confident voice. Elliot Shawcross. He''s Mr. Responsible, the band''s bassist. Most fans think he''s the most mature of the group, even though he''s only eldest by four months.


    "When we were trying to think of a name, we wanted something that represented all of us. So we put the first letters of all our names together and scrambled them up to see if we could make a word."


    "I see," says Martin "so it''s F for Felix..."


    "Obviously," Felix cuts in. "A for Alastaire, B for Ben, L for Lyall, E for Elliot. Did you seriously not know that?"


    There''s a moment of silence, broken after a few seconds by Lyall''s nervous laughter.


    "Ah. Ok. Gotchya," Martin says, a slight catch in his voice. He sounds suddenly on edge. "So... Elliot. Tell me a bit about how you all met... I understand you were all at boarding school together in Wales."


    "That''s right," Elliot says.


    "And how did the band form? Whose idea was it?"


    All the boys answer "Lyall" almost at exactly the same time.


    Lyall''s soft Irish laugh is sort of warm and infectious. I find myself grinning straight away just hearing it. As the youngest in the group, he''s considered by some to be the "cutie" ¨C the boy next door.


    His big brown eyes and a shock of messy cinnamon reddish-brown hair, plus his ever-present smile, certainly help out in that department.


    "Well I don''t like takin'' de credit," Lyall says, laughter still in his voice.


    "It''s true though," Elliot cuts in.


    "Yeah, he wouldn''t shut up about it for weeks," Ben says.


    "Lyall had his own channel on YouTube where he sang stuff and played songs on his digital keyboard," he says. "He was getting a lot of female fans, subscribers, whatever."


    "But I''m a shite singer," Lyall interjects.


    "Yes, he is kinda," Ben says. "Felix sings really well, so Lyall sort of... pestered him I guess. He made us all join. He knew that I play the drums, Alastaire plays guitar and Elliot plays bass. So we sort of all got to know each other and we formed a band."


    "So you weren''t actually friends before you formed Fable?"


    "No, we barely knew each other,¡± Elliot says. ¡°Except Felix and Lyall. They¡¯ve been friends for years."


    "And how would you describe your sound?"


    It''s Alastaire who speaks this time. "Well, last year Rolling Stone called us theatrical fantasy rock with a dash of progressive electronica. But our music''s still very approachable. It''s even been called fantasy pop. That''s probably the most passable definition I''ve heard."


    Just listening to him speak, it''s obvious why the haters have labeled Alastaire a snob, while the fans consider him ¡°the charming one¡±.


    Even though all the boys met at a prestigious boarding school, Alastaire still sticks out ¨C his accent and way of speaking make him sound like some kind of romantic aristocrat. An aristocrat who happens to have the palest blue eyes, an unusually beautiful face and a halo of burnished gold hair that literally makes him look like an angel from an old painting (hence his nickname ¨C "The Angel".) He''s really taken the whole angel thing on board, and started playing with a pure white electric guitar, embellished with two silver angel wings on the scratch-plate.


    It''s all a recipe for creating obsessed stalker fangirls, and the reason that Alastaire''s fans ¨C or Alastaire''s Angels, as they call themselves - are particularly aggressive and territorial over him.


    When it comes to fan numbers though, the most popular band member by far is Fable¡¯s lead singer, Felix.


    Where Alastaire is sun-kissed and light, Felix is all shadows and mystery ¨C his trademark longish dark brown hair, hazel eyes and vampire-pale skin seem to have half the girls in the world under his spell. The fact that he''s rude, arrogant and unnervingly cold doesn''t seem to matter to his legions of fans. Some girls like jerks. I''m not one of them. I love Fable, but that doesn''t extend to every single one of the band''s members.


    "Ok, so you started off singing covers," Martin continues. ¡°But it didn''t stay that way for long, did it?"


    "No." Alastaire replies. "We got bored of that.  That''s why we started writing our own songs".


    "D¨¦j¨¤ Vu was de first," says Lyall. "An'' probably most Enfablers'' favorite track."


    "Enfablers?" Martin asks, sounding genuinely confused.


    Zee is getting impatient. "Jeez, it''s called research!" she mutters at the radio. "Try it some time."


    But Alastaire''s response is cool and measured. "Yes, that''s the name our fans have given themselves. Enfablers, as in Fable enablers. It''s quite fitting ¨C we''re constantly amazed by how supportive they are... of us and of each other. We couldn''t do any of this without them."


    "It''s touchin'' really," Lyall pipes in. "We ''ave de best fans in de world."


    The boys murmur agreement in the background, and again I feel a slight stab of guilt.


    "In that case, care to sing a bit of D¨¦j¨¤ Vu here on air for them?" asks Martin.


    "I hate to admit it, but Felix is the only one with a decent voice," Ben says. "What do you say, F-"


    Without missing a beat, Felix''s voice cuts loud and clear through the radio waves, slipping into the first line of the song.


    Even though I listen to Fable every day, the sound of Felix''s voice still gives me goose bumps every time I hear it. He sounds amazing, even without the backing of instruments. Jerk though he may be, it''s undeniable that he''s got an unbelievably amazing singing voice. He sings until the end of the chorus then stops.


    There''s a slight pause before Martin finds his voice again. "Well, I can certainly see what all the fuss is about," Martin says. "That was... wow."


    "Damn straight it was," Zee says, shooting a challenging glance at Alix, daring him to contradict her.


    "This is the last concert of your WISH tour," Martin continues. "It''s been twenty-four countries in six months. You must be exhausted. What are you planning to do after the tour wraps up?"


    "We''ll speak to the press about that when we''re ready to," Felix answers. I can picture his deadpan, bored expression now. Poor Martin.


    There''s a long silence before Martin recovers, talking twice as fast as usual.


    "Ok then! Good luck for tonight," Martin hurriedly says. "For those lucky enough to have tickets ¨C have a wonderful evening. Fable will be performing live at the Rose Quarter at 7pm, and judging by what we''ve just heard it''s a concert not to be missed. Thanks for coming on the show boys."


    "That''s a pleasure Martin, thanks for having us," Elliot says. "We hope -"


    Before he can finish Alix has switched off the radio.


    "Hey!" Zee shrieks at him "what do you think-"


    "We''re already at school, idiot," Alix interrupts her. It''s only then that I realize we''re parked and everything ¨C we might have arrived minutes ago for all I know.


    Alix winces as Zee slams her door a little too hard.


    "You could have at least let us listen until the end," she sulks.


    "And let you be late for class?" he answers. "What kind of responsible older brother would that make me? Anyway, try not to burn down the school today."


    He''s referring to last Monday when Zee accidentally set fire to her experiment in chem lab. Even though Mr. Schwartz managed to put it out in five seconds flat and no one got hurt, people kept talking about it and by the end of the day the story in the corridors was that Zee had tried to set the whole school alight and the entire class had been evacuated.


    I know for a fact that''s not what happened. I''m Zee''s lab partner after all.


    Zee sticks her tongue out at Alix quickly.


    "I can''t wait for next year," she says.


    Even though Zee''s turning sixteen and getting her driver''s license next month, she has to wait for Alix to graduate before she can get his car. Her parents can''t afford to buy her a car right away, so it''s basically a waiting game.


    "Bye Ashling." He winks at me as he walks towards his friends on the entrance steps.


    As we walk up through the parking lot, I see it out of the corner of my eye.


    Yellow. Kids streaming out.


    I walk a bit faster and face forward, determined not to look at it. It''s just a school bus, but it feels like so much more. A ghost. Something I can''t forget.


    A high-pitched scream cuts through the air.


    I snap my head back as a cold chill runs down my spine. A little girl is literally being dragged kicking and screaming into the kindergarten across the road.


    Now that I''ve turned around and the school bus is in my line of sight, I can''t stop staring. The last few stragglers are just stepping off the bus, the driver is hunched over his seat, tapping on the screen of his phone. There''s no blood. None of the windows are broken. But still. I feel myself start to shake.


    Zee puts her hand on my shoulder.


    "Let''s go, Ashling."

 Chapter 4

    By the time we reach our lockers it''s just five minutes until first bell. I hear Jamie''s voice before I see her ¨C she sounds like she''s super upset about something.


    Jamie''s what some people might call a drama queen ¨C literally, because she''s the unofficial star of Huntson High''s drama club, and figuratively because she''s totally OTT and melodramatic.


    As we near her I see she''s wearing a sequined silver cardi over a dress with a photo of the Fable boys printed on it. She mentioned that she did a bit of online shopping just for the concert, and I guess this is it.


    Her long brunette hair is swept up in a messy bun to show off the shower of oversized golden stars dangling from her ears.


    It must have taken her hours to get ready this morning.


    Jamie never does things half-heartedly. Last year when she was getting into character for her role as Dorothy in the school production of The Wizard of Oz, she wore her hair in braids every day for weeks.


    And a while before that one of her YouTube fans won a contest where they got to choose what color she wore for a month. She wore shades of green every day head-to-toe until Beth Donklin told her she looked like a cucumber.


    Standing next to Jamie is my other bestie, Grace.


    Jamie told me that in elementary school the other girls nicknamed Grace "Mouse", because she¡¯s small and quiet, with mousy blonde hair in ringlets down to her shoulders. As usual, she''s dressed conservatively (a high collared pale blue dress today) and has a book tucked under her arm.


    When I first met them, I thought they made an odd pair. I still think that. The Drama Queen and the Book Worm. Somehow though, it just works, and they are closer than sisters in spite of their opposite personalities. Go figure.


    "Oh my god, finally," Jamie practically shrieks as we reach our lockers. "Girls, we have an EMERGENCY on our hands."


    Grace shakes her head and gives me a look. Here she goes again, is what she''s saying.


    "Are you ok Jamie?" Zee asks innocently. "What''s wrong?"


    Jamie swings open her locker door. She reaches into the back where she keeps her spare makeup, knocking aside lip-gloss and a bottle of Miss Dior perfume. She pulls out her black pencil eyeliner and brandishes it like a sword.


    "This is what''s wrong," she says, staring intensely at the eyeliner. The nib is nowhere in sight.


    "I tried sharpening it, but it''s just making the wood sharper and leaving the nib behind." The way she''s moaning and staring at the pencil in horror, you''d think someone had just died.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    She takes my hand and stares hard at me, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Ashling, tell me you have eyeliner. My life depends on it."


    Besides Jamie, I''m the only one in my group who ever wears makeup ¨C Zee''s a total tomboy, and Grace isn''t allowed. So I get why Jamie''s pinning her hopes on me.


    Still, I only ever wear eyeliner for a night out, not to school. Jamie collapses against her locker and sinks to the floor as I shake my head.


    "This is beyond lame," she says, hugging her arms around her body. "I feel naked."


    "I think you''re getting a bit carried away," Grace says, pulling Jamie back onto her feet. "It''s just for one day."


    Jamie''s face looks even more panicky and her voice actually manages to rise an octave.


    "Just one day? Hellooo! Have you forgotten what''s happening today? We''re watching Fable tonight. It''s literally the biggest day of my life. Of all our lives. I wanted to slay tonight. And it''s not like I''ll be able to borrow eyeliner at your house when we''re getting ready... there''s no way your mom would lend me some, even if she had."


    Grace lives closest to Rose Quarter, tucked away in the heart of the city along the Willamette River, so the others are going to her house after school to get ready for the concert.


    It was a miracle really that Grace''s parents agreed to it at all.


    They''re ultra conservative ¨C anti-makeup, anti-dating, anti-fun. They treat her like she''s some sort of delinquent, which is ridiculous, because she''s basically a saint. Like if they give her an inch of freedom she''ll go off the rails.


    Jamie says it''s got something to do with her older sister, but I don''t know the full story.


    "Who cares what you look like at the concert," Grace says. "Everyone will be watching Fable. No one''s watching you."


    "Tell that to my followers," Jamie mutters.


    Jamie has more than seven-hundred-thousand followers on Instagram and even more than that on YouTube. All she does really is upload photos and videos of her outfits, hair and makeup every day (plus the occasional rant about hipsters) ¨C but she''s doing something right. Some of her vlogs have over a million views.


    She says she doesn''t care about being popular ¨C it''s all practice living in front of a camera, the perfect preparation for her future career in Hollywood. Personally I think she just likes all the attention.


    "This is the worst possible timing ever,¡± she says with a pout. ¡°I need my eyeliner. I wanted to take photos every hour today, like a countdown to the concert. It''s just not fair. #fableportland is so trending right now and I''m going to miss out." The last part sounds like a squeal.


    Zee squeezes her arm. "Don''t worry Jamie. None of that matters. We''re all going to have an amazing time at the conc-"


    She catches my eye even though I''m trying to look nonchalant.


    "Sorry Ashling. I keep forgetting," she says quietly. We''re all silent for a moment.


    "It''s ok. I''ll be fine," I say, not feeling like I''ll be fine at all. I''m determined not to feel sorry for myself though, and I hate the thought of my friends worrying about me.


    "Seriously, I''ll be ok," I say.


    "Of course you''ll be ok," Jamie says. "It was your decision not to come tonight. And besides, you''ll get to spend time with Jade. Tell him I say hi".


    Jade works for my parents. He''s super hot, super nice and also super unavailable.


    Grace cocks her eyebrow. "You''re dreaming Jamie. He¡¯s twenty-one," she says.


    "Whatever. He''s sooo into me." Jamie says.


    "That''s irrelevant. You''re underage. It¡¯s wrong, and he''d never risk it," Grace says matter-of-factly.


    "Quit being such a prude. Five years is nothing," Jamie says. "Anyway, lets get back to real issues ¨C like my eyeliner."


    "I have a sharpie in my bag," I offer.


    "I might actually try-" Jamie stops mid-sentence and sighs.


    "We have company."

 Chapter 5

    "Hey Ghost." A familiar voice pipes up just behind me.


    I steel myself for a moment. I''m so tempted to ignore her, to just close my locker and walk away.


    I turn around already knowing who I''ll see. Beth, Bailey and Becca ¨C or the Three Bs, as they''re known at Huntson High.


    Beth is the Queen Bee, and Bailey and Becca are sort of like the worker bees. They do everything for her; they even carry her bag and her phone.


    Jamie says the reason people call them the Three Bs isn''t because their names all start with B, but actually because they¡¯re all "Blonde Brainless Bitches". She''s wrong though ¨C Bailey gets good grades and she¡¯s sort of nice, and Beth and Becca aren''t really blonde.


    They only started dying their hair blonde last year after they became obsessed with Fable and Alastaire said in a TV interview that he only dates blondes.


    Alastaire''s elite fans, or ¡°Alastaire¡¯s Angels¡± as the media calls them, are like an exclusive club, and having the right look is a must. That means blonde, skinny and pretty.


    Maybe it''s because I fit the description that on my very first day at Huntson High, Beth actually tried to recruit me into her little clique. I was sitting alone in the cafeteria, feeling totally out of place, when she introduced herself to me.


    The first thing she said to me is that I''m really beautiful, ¡°like a model¡± but I''d be ¡°sooo much hotter with a tan.¡± She also said that I was waaaay skinny and she wanted to try whatever diet I was on.


    The truth was that I hadn''t been eating properly for months. I was still so wrapped up in everything that had happened. Of course, I didn¡¯t tell her that. I just shrugged, said thanks, and started to walk away.


    Then she told me they had space for me at their table.


    I guessed it was probably a big deal to be invited, but I''m not even remotely interested in being friends with someone like Beth.


    Popularity is seriously overrated.


    After I turned Beth down that first day, the taunts started. I guess she figured that if I''m not going to be on her team, I''m a threat.


    She played around with stupid names like ¡°Trashling¡± and ¡°Ashtray¡± before she settled on ¡°Ghost¡±.


    I guess it''s because of how I look. Ashen. Airy. My hair is long and straight and whitish-blonde; my skin is way too pale, and my eyes are the same light green as both my parents.


    Besides my appearance, I was so quiet and detached in those first few weeks at Huntson High that I probably did resemble some sort of lonely specter.


    I didn''t talk to anyone. I drifted along the corridors in my own world. I wanted to be invisible, to fade away. Until Zee and Grace and Jamie rescued me.


    I can see what Beth was thinking with the nickname, but she probably doesn''t even realize how close to home it is. Some days, especially on days like today when I''m thinking about the bus and Mia and Evan, I really do feel like a ghost.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Most of the time Beth and I avoid each other, but sometimes when we pass each other in the corridors or in the cafeteria, the Three Bs make spooky noises.


    Beth''s standing in front of me now, arms crossed in front of her.


    "I heard a rumor about you," she says, twining a long strand of GHD''d blonde hair around her finger as she stares intently at me. She''s ignoring my friends and staring only at me, as if they aren''t even there. "I heard you''re bailing on the concert tonight."


    I just shrug, trying to look like it''s no big deal. "So what? Why do you even care Beth?"


    Beth''s jaw literally drops. "Oh my god. So it''s true?"


    I''m starting to get irritated. I swing open my locker so that the door is between her and me, hoping she gets the message.


    She pokes her head around the side of my locker.


    "No way," she says. "I guess you couldn''t get a ticket, huh? They sell out so fast. You poor thing. You must be devastated."


    Her voice is as sweet as honey. She''s loving this.


    "She had a ticket," Zee says, stepping in front of me, "she''s choosing not to go. For... um... personal reasons."


    I cringe a little. I think Zee''s trying to help, but she''s just making it worse.


    "Seriously?" Beth is now smiling so hard she looks like her face is about to split open. Something about her makes me think of a cobra about to strike.


    "Wow Ghost. I thought you were such a big fan. You seemed so dedicated." She draws out the words, eyes glittering with glee.


    "I am dedicated," I say. "There''s a reason I''m not going, it''s just... personal."


    I''m sure that must sound extremely stupid.


    Beth''s eyes twinkle. "Well, I guess not all Enfablers are for life. There are always gonna be wannabes".


    It''s ironic that Beth would say that. She and the other Bs only really got into Fable at the end of last year, but since then they''ve made up for lost time.


    The Three Bs are the kinds of girls who give Enfablers a bad name. Sending threats to the boys'' girlfriends on Twitter. Hating on other fandoms. Turning fans against each other.


    I just stare at Beth, trying to keep myself composed until Becca starts giggling behind her.


    "Let''s go Beth," she says. "She''s a lost cause."


    Beth shakes her head and turns her gaze finally to my friends.


    "Have fun tonight girls," she says in a sugary voice. "Try last the whole show, ok? I''m sure you''re gonna get tired standing around in general admission."


    "You''re not in general admission?" Zee asks, taking the bait.


    "We''re in a suite," Bailey says from behind Beth. The sound of her voice always surprises me a little ¨C she doesn''t usually talk. Beth does all the talking for her.


    "Seriously?" Zee asks, innocent and wide-eyed as ever. "Aren''t suites, like really expensive?"


    "Yeah, I guess they are," Beth says. "But that''s what makes us real fans... as opposed at posers like you freaks. Money''s no issue when it comes to getting close to our boys."


    "I think you''re forgetting that technically we''ll actually be closer to them if we''re standing on the floor," Grace says. "We''re going early to get a spot near the stage."


    "Whatever," Beth says. "You and twenty thousand other fans. Good luck with that."


    "You probably won''t see them at all," Becca chimes in. "It''s a cesspit on the floor. You''ll be lucky if you can even see them on the screens."


    "You might as well stay at home and watch the show on YouTube," Beth taunts.


    "So what?" Jamie''s getting angry now. "They''re sticking around Portland for a few days. They''ll probably be checking out all the tourist attractions. It''s not like tonight is our only chance to see them."


    "Yeah," Zee says brightly. "We''re all gonna see them. And meet them even. You too Ashling." She reaches for my hand and gives it a quick squeeze.


    "Actually, they''re flying out tomorrow, so no," Beth says.


    "And how the hell would you know that?" Jamie asks.


    Beth flashes a victorious smile. "My mom works for the limo company the boys are using here. They''re getting driven out to the airport tomorrow."


    She could be lying, but she knows we''d find out on Twitter soon enough anyway. I''m guessing there''s no point in asking what time they''re getting driven out, so that we can meet the boys at the airport ¨C Beth wouldn''t tell us anyway.


    "Anyway, I''m done mingling with the riffraff," Beth says, turning her back on us and heading down the corridor. "TTYN bitches".


    "Let''s go," I say to Jamie, Grace and Zee.

 Chapter 6

    The rest of the morning goes by excruciatingly slowly. My first three periods are the worst. Chem, math and physics. The deadly trio.


    The fact that I''m still feeling down about the concert doesn''t help matters.


    My next class is art, which I actually like. Plus it''s one of the few classes I have with Jamie, Grace and Zee.


    We usually meet up at our lockers before walking out to the arts building together, so I''m not surprised when I hear Jamie''s voice as I''m about to turn the corner by our lockers. She sounds upset.


    I stop dead in my tracks when I hear her say my name.


    I''m not totally sure what it is that makes me press my back against the wall and stand listening, concealed around the corner where they can''t see me. I''m only a few feet from them, and they could leave the lockers and turn the corner at any time, and this would be very weird to try and explain to them.


    I don''t usually randomly eavesdrop on my friends. But there''s something in Jamie''s voice. I need to hear what they''re saying about me.


    "I''m just tired of everyone treating her like a freaking porcelain doll the whole time. And it''s getting seriously old defending her. She needs to pull herself together."


    "She''s depressed, Jamie." Grace''s voice. "She''ll get better. She just needs time".


    "Yeah, well, maybe she needs to see someone. She''s getting worse, not better."The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I wait for someone to defend me. Zee can''t have arrived yet. No way would Jamie say stuff like this in front of her.


    "She''s trying Jamie," Grace says so softly I can only just hear her.


    "Is she really though? If she really wanted to come tonight she''d get over her issues. I mean, isn''t she the one that''s always saying how she wishes she could give something back to them? I know we all love Fable, but Ashling basically lives for them. And now she''s going to miss out just because of a bit of claustrophobia?"


    "Claustrophobia? You think that''s what''s wrong with her?" Turns out I was wrong. Zee''s part of this conversation after all.


    "I can''t believe what you''re saying Jamie. Have you forgotten what she''s been through? Just give her a break."


    I thank Zee silently.


    "Ok fine, something really lame happened to her ¨C" Jamie begins.


    Zee cuts in. "More than something lame... It was literally a tragedy."


    "She''s right Jamie." Grace.


    "Ok, whatever, a tragedy," Jamie says. "But how long is she going to let something that happened two years ago rule her life? She''s gotta get over it at some point."


    Even though I can''t see Zee right now, I can tell just by the low, cold tone of her voice that her face is bright red with fury.


    "She is getting over it. At her own pace. She just doesn''t want a repeat of what happened at the Zara Quinn concert. None of us do."


    "Yeah, but she''s missing Fable," Jamie answers. "FABLE! Seriously."


    I''ve had enough. I turn around and walk back the way I came from. The worst thing is, I know Jamie''s totally right.


    I''m irritated with all of them for the rest of the day. Even Zee and Grace, though I don''t know why exactly ¨C they were defending me, after all. But I just hate that they were discussing me behind my back.


    How often do they talk about me like that?


    I try not to show how upset I am, and they don''t seem to pick it up. They probably just think I''m a bit down about not going tonight.


    My bad mood is amplified by all the happiness and excitement around me.


    It''s a Friday, so there''s the usual pre-weekend buzz. On top of that, it''s not just any Friday ¨C it''s the second last Friday before summer vacation starts. Add to that the concert tonight, and the whole school seems to be smiling.


    Everyone except me.

 Chapter 7

    After school I walk to The Night Owl. Most Fridays the girls come with me. Everything''s on the house for us ¨C the Night Owl, along with the restaurant upstairs, is owned and managed by my parents.


    Ever since they met and fell in love at chef school in Seattle (pretty romantic I guess), they dreamed about starting a business together.


    The only complication was that my dad wanted a haute cuisine restaurant and my mom wanted a cozy little coffeehouse.


    So when my gran offered to put money down on a building, they decided on a compromise. Fine dining restaurant upstairs, coffeehouse downstairs.


    When they first moved in eleven years ago, the building had been abandoned for ages. I was only five years old, so I don''t remember much ¨C but whenever I look at it now I can still see the blanket of moss and ivy growing all over the facade so thickly you could barely see the walls.


    Today a small group of tourists in flannels and hiking gear are standing outside the shop peering in through the windows, probably trying to decide whether or not to go in.


    From the looks of it they''ve just been for a long walk and want a bite on the way back.


    I might as well pay my way and rustle up some business.


    I walk up to them smiling, fighting back my shyness.


    "You should go in," I tell them. "They have the best pecan nut pie in Portland."


    A middle-aged woman with dark close-cropped hair turns to me and smiles.


    "You think it''s ok?" She asks. "We''re gonna tramp mud all over the place. "


    I look down at her muddy hiking boots. The rest of the group looks just as bedraggled.


    "That''s ok, there''s a separate entrance for the courtyard," I tell them, pointing to a wrought iron gate around the side of the building. "I''ll send someone out to take your order."


    "You work here?" she asks as the group heads towards the courtyard.


    "Not exactly," I answer.


    Before walking through the door I stop on the step and look up at the sign above the doorway.


    An old slab of wood hanging on iron chains. Two owls painted in bright green and brown sit side by side on a branch, their eyes huge and looped with crazy Celtic patterns. Swirling purple letters spell out "The Night Owl" against a dark blue backdrop, sprinkled with small golden stars. Even smaller letters in gold below say "Open 12 to 12". And below that, my gran''s initials, so tiny you wouldn''t notice them unless you looked really close.


    The bell tinkles as I go through the door. Jade smiles at me from behind the counter.


    "I''ll be with you in a sec Ashling," he says as he switches on the coffee grinder.


    I watch him take down two mugs shaped like owls hanging from hooks above the counter.


    Jade''s a trained barista and he makes a cup of coffee faster than anyone.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    I can see what it is that Jamie likes about him. Besides being handsome in an unkempt, tortured artist kind of way (a vague resemblance to Kurt Cobain with sandy blonde hair tied behind his head and sharp features), he''s also a genuinely nice guy.


    He dropped out of art school before he got his barista qualification and started working for my parents, but he still paints in his free time.


    Today there''s a smudge of bright blue paint on his left shoulder, just below a tattoo of a lotus flower encircled by two brilliant orange Koi fish. Most other people would assume the streak of blue is part of the design but I''ve had plenty of practice staring at Jade''s beautifully toned arms, and he''s usually got paint smudged somewhere on his person.


    I watch quietly as he adds the finishing touches onto a pair of foamy cappuccinos. The new waitress comes over to pick up the order, shooting me a sideways glance as she places the mugs on a tray.


    She has a totally impractical hipster haircut ¨C shaved at the back and on the sides, with a long wavy fringe ¨C that requires her to tuck back her hair every few minutes. To be honest I don''t know how long she''s going to last.


    She''s pretty efficient and hasn''t dropped an order or spilled coffee all over a customer (not yet, anyway), but she has a weird attitude.


    Especially towards me.


    I could be a real cow and say something to my parents about her, but I''m not just about to get someone fired just because they don''t like me.


    "Table four," Jade tells her.


    For the first time since she started, I actually see her smile. It''s really just the hint of a smile but it''s there. A bit of color comes to her cheeks and she flutters her eyelashes as Jade places two honey and oat cookies on either side of the coffee mugs.


    "A group just arrived in the courtyard," I tell her, smiling as warmly as I can. "I told them you''d go take their order."


    The smile immediately slips from her face, and she casts down her eyes, nodding before walking away.


    "Sorry to keep you waiting Ashling," he says. "Where are your friends? They''re not gonna watch you play tonight?"


    For the past year, every Friday at five I sit on the stage ¨C a raised wooden platform at the back of the shop ¨C with my guitar and play a set for the after-work crowd.


    My playing at the Night Owl was actually Jade''s idea. He thought we should have live music on Fridays to give the place some atmosphere.


    Usually on Fridays after school, my friends and I will get a table near the back and spend the afternoon drinking chai lattes, sometimes getting some homework done (almost never) while Jamie flirts with Jade at the counter. They stick around for my performance, and then we go to my house and watch Netflix.


    Not tonight though. Right about now they''re probably getting ready for the concert. Doing their hair, putting on nail polish, probably under the disapproving gaze of Grace''s mom.


    "They''re going to the Fable concert tonight," I say. "Anyway, how are things going here?"


    "Same as usual. All the regulars," he says.


    I scan the room.


    "Where''s Mrs. Leyton?"


    "Oh, yeah," he smiles. "She came in early today. With a guy."


    Mrs. Leyton is an elderly widow who comes into the shop every single day at three thirty for afternoon tea, and usually sticks around until five. She hasn''t missed it in years, as far as I know.


    We always see her sitting at her table by the window, her makeup and hair immaculate, a brilliantly colored scarf wrapped around her neck, with her order of Earl Grey Tea and the cake of the day. She sits all alone and writes.


    I think she''s writing her memoirs, but Jamie says it''s saucy Mills and Boon porn. It''s really odd for her to not be here at this time, and it¡¯s even weirder for her to bring someone else to the coffee shop.


    "Did you recognize him? I mean, the guy she was with?" I ask, suddenly curious about this mystery man.


    "Never seen him before," Jade answers. "They were holding hands across the table and everything. It was actually pretty romantic."


    There''s an awkward silence as I try to think of something to say. For some reason talking about this sort of stuff with a guy makes me feel nervous.


    The thing is, I''ve never actually had a boyfriend, let alone kissed a boy. It might have happened with Evan, if things hadn''t gone the way they had. As it is, I have zero experience.


    I feel like even just talking about love, dating, whatever, will give that away, so I avoid it. I wish I didn''t always over-think everything.


    "I guess I''ll be taking the back room keys," I say, turning my face to hide the blush creeping across my cheeks.


    One of the many problems with being as pale as I am ¨C anytime I blush, the whole world knows it.


    "Sure," Jade says, reaching under the counter and passing them to me. "See you at five."

 Chapter 8

    Upstairs it''s chaos as usual. Biblio only officially opens at six for dinner, but the preparations start in the early afternoon. There''s inventory to take, plates to wash, stock to prepare, gelato to freeze.


    Every time I walk into Biblio''s entrance I love to imagine the first impression diners get of it.


    It''s massive ¨C a double vaulted ceiling with chandeliers illuminating tapestries and old paintings. Oak bookshelves crowded with books bought in second hand stores line most of the walls.


    The cleaner is changing the roses and candles on each table, while a waiter stacks menus on the bookshelf at the entrance. The menus are inside old book covers to keep with the library theme.


    I consider going into the kitchen to say hi to mom and dad, but I know they have their hands full.


    So I spend the rest of the afternoon in the back room working on my school assignments.


    Even though I have a couple of solid hours uninterrupted, I still only manage to finish half what I''d hoped to get done. That''s probably because every few minutes I look out the window, watching birds in the mulberry tree fighting over the fat purple fruit.


    Beyond the mulberry tree, Forest Park stretches out, filled with oaks and maples lush with new summer foliage. And beyond that, the snow-capped peak of Mt Hood. I reckon it might be one of the most beautiful views in Portland.


    And it''s totally wasted in a restaurant back room used for storing paperwork.


    I work this way until the room is infused with buttery late afternoon sunlight.


    At five I pick up my guitar and head downstairs.


    The shop''s started to fill up.


    During the week The Night Owl goes full hipster. Ironic facial hair and sailor tattoos every way you look, and loud conversations about Nietzsche and almond milk versus oat milk. I guess they like all the owls and the twelve to twelve thing ¨C we stand out from the crowd because we''re open strictly midday to midnight.


    Tonight though it''s a bit quieter. Men in identical grey business suits take up one table near the stage, passing around a phone and laughing at something on the screen. They''re talking very loudly. It doesn''t sound like English.


    Near the front counter a bunch of girls around my own age are clustered around a giant mocha bowl. I don''t recognize them, so they probably don''t go to school with me. They''re all whispering and giggling, glancing over at the counter, where Jade is whipping up espressos. All of them, except for one. A girl with curly black hair sits quietly amongst her friends, staring down sadly at her phone. She''s wearing a T-shirt with "Felix Lockhart Forever" printed on it, above a group shot of the whole band. She must have missed out on Fable tickets. She looks like she''s about to burst into tears. I know the feeling.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    The rest of the patrons are a mishmash group of twenty-somethings, local artists, writers, a few tourists.


    It''s a good crowd.


    I push away thoughts of missing the concert, and I mentally banish the butterflies I get every single time before I play. It''s not exactly a bad feeling ¨C just a fluttery anticipation.


    The stage is softly lit, with red velvet curtains draped behind to form a backdrop. There''s a single stool and a mic stand. Jade gives me the thumbs up as I walk onto the stage.


    Mic check done, ready to go.


    I sit down and begin to play.


    I start off with one of gran''s songs. It was the first song I learned to play on guitar, so it''s the first song I play every Friday.


    A hush goes through the tables after the first few chords.


    My aim isn''t to distract people from their conversations, but that''s usually what happens. As I start singing, I look up from my guitar at the audience. I can see the usual expressions.


    The group of school girls is now turned totally towards me, Jade forgotten. The businessmen have stopped their lively debate and are staring.


    I know that I have a talent, and I''m proud of it. Gran made sure of that.


    Having a beautiful voice isn''t enough, she''d say. In order to be a star you also need that extra something. An extraordinary gift. You, my sweetheart, have it. Don''t waste it. A gift like that needs to be shared.


    When I play like this, and I see people''s jaws drop, or their eyes go wide, I know I was right to listen to my gran.


    I''ve had people ask me after my set if I was lip syncing, because they couldn''t believe that the voice they were hearing was coming from a teenaged girl. One guy actually wanted to look at the back of the stage for speakers. True story.


    Ever since I was little, I only really feel like myself when I''m singing. Everything slips away, as the music takes over and I''m pulled into the bubbling melody. Soft, safe, and distant, like being underwater, swaying on the currents.


    Everything feels ok when I sing.


    After my third song, I notice a guy sitting all alone at a table in the dark corner under the stairs.


    I''m not exactly sure what it is about him that captures my attention, but once I''ve seen him I struggle to look away again.


    Maybe it''s the fact that he has his black hoodie pulled right up over his head, as if he''s trying to hide in the shadows. Or the dark shades he''s wearing, even though we''re indoors and the light is pretty muted. Or maybe it''s the intensity of his gaze.


    Even with the sunglasses, I can feel his eyes burning into me.


    It''s the strangest feeling, not being able to see his face clearly, but knowing that he''s staring straight at me. Into me, even. It reminds me of something half forgotten I can''t place, and I feel my skin prickle with goose bumps.


    Then it strikes.


    For just a split second, there''s a dull stabbing pain on the left side of my ribcage, right under my scars. The scars I got that day. I fumble for just a moment, but I find the right cords, and I continue singing, praying my voice doesn''t waver. In a moment the pain is gone, dwindling into nothingness like an echo.


    I scan the crowd to see if anyone noticed, but there''s no reaction. They''re just sitting there, spellbound, oblivious to my momentary freak-out.


    Good.


    I quickly look down at my guitar, and I don''t look up for the rest of the set.


    After several songs I''m done.


    I''m glad that this time there''s just some applause, and no one comes up to me to talk while I''m packing up. I''m feeling too freaked out about just happened on stage to deal with people right now ¨C and knowing that I''m missing my favorite band doesn''t help much either. The girls will already be in line at the Rose Plaza by now. They must be so excited.


    I want to go home and cry.


    Just thinking about it all makes me want to crawl into a hole, so I decide not to go upstairs and say hi to my parents.


    From the steady stream of people going up the stairs, I can see that Biblio''s even busier than usual. Usually I''d be happy to help out, but tonight the last thing I feel like is being roped into waitressing.


    I know it''s selfish, but I just don''t feel up to putting on a fake smile all night.

 Chapter 9

    On the way out I stop to say goodbye to Jade.


    Jade looks up from the latte he''s making.


    "What are your plans for the rest of the night?" He asks.


    "Home. YouTube. Dinner," I answer. What I don''t mention is that by YouTube I mean I''ll be lounging around in my pjs crying over Fable music videos. And by dinner I mean pistachio ice cream. Probably a whole tub.


    With mom and dad working in the kitchens until late every Friday, I basically have free reign.


    "Sounds fun. That reminds me though..." he leans across the counter, tucking a loose strand of sandy blonde hair behind his ear. "Why didn''t you go with your friends to the concert? I thought you loved Fable. Like, a die-hard super fan."


    There''s no sarcasm in his voice.


    One of the things I admire most about Jade is how he''s so accepting, and he actually makes an effort to see from other people''s point of view. I doubt he listens to Fable ¨C he told me once that he mostly listens to old retro stuff from the 80s ¨C but he''s never once mocked me for listening to them.


    Compared to Alix, he''s basically Prince Charming.


    "I do love them. I really wanted to go..." I don''t know how to say it without sounding like a neurotic wreck. "It''s complicated. Crowds, screaming."


    His face suddenly changes. Jade knows the whole story. My parents told him. "Of course. I forgot. Sorry."


    "It''s ok," I try to reassure him, feeling extremely stupid. Jamie''s right. I really am ruining my own life.


    "Anyway, I''ll head off then."


    "Sure, see you next Friday." Jade winks at me.


    I turn around to pick up my guitar where I''ve leaned it against the counter. It''s gone.


    I look up and see that the guy with the dark sunglasses from earlier is standing right next to me, holding my guitar, his face hidden in the shadows of his hoodie.


    "Excuse me, but why are¨C" I begin, before he cuts me off.


    "Just follow me. Don''t make a scene," he says, and strides out the door with my guitar before I can protest. I look across the counter but Jade missed it ¨C he''s already left his spot and is delivering a latte to a table on the opposite side of the cafe.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I have no choice but to follow the guitar-thief outside and get my property back myself.


    The guy is waiting outside the front door when I walk out.


    What''s the hell is he doing?


    I''m losing my patience quickly. For a moment, seething anger eclipses my natural timidity, and I forget to be shy.


    "Give it back," I say, practically spitting out the words. I can feel my whole body shaking ¨C whether it''s from fear or rage, I don''t know, and I don''t care. He has no clue what this guitar means to me. I''m not going to let him take it without a fight.


    I squint my eyes in the gathering twilight, trying to make out his features. It''s not easy, with his face hidden in the shadows of his hoodie.


    There are a couple of people walking down the street, so if he tries to run away with the guitar I''ll yell. He''s tall and could probably easily overpower me, but he''s just standing dead still, staying put. Staring at me through those dark shades of his.


    Scary.


    The handle of my guitar case is still firmly clenched in his hand. His head is cocked slightly to the side, like he''s trying to figure something out. Trying to decide on something. For a moment I''m reminded of a cat watching its prey, and I can feel my heartbeat speed up ever so slightly. Danger.


    Then he turns away and holds his free hand up in a half wave, looking down the road. A signal. Oh my god. He''s part of a gang. He''s calling his friends.


    "Give it back," I say, stepping forward and getting ready to fling myself at him. "Now."


    "Why?" He asks. "You don''t need it. Not where we''re going."


    The words sink in. He''s going to take me somewhere. Him and his gang. He intends to kidnap me. My body tenses, but before I can spring into action and sprint away, I remember that he''s still got my guitar. I swallow down my fear, trying to hide the shakiness creeping into my voice.


    "Look, just give me back my guitar, " I say between clenched teeth, still trying to make out his features in the shadows. I can''t figure out how old he is ¨C he could be anywhere from his late teens to early twenties.


    "No," he says.


    He''s looking down the road in the direction he signaled. I have to get my guitar back now.


    "Give it back, or I''ll scream," I say.


    His quiet laughter sounds almost mocking. "Go ahead. It''s not going to change the situation. Your guitar is coming with me, and so are you."


    He''s taller than me, and I know it''s hopeless, but I lunge at him. He dodges me so quickly that I don''t realize he''s grabbed my wrist and pinned my back against him until I hear his cold, bored voice right next to my ear.


    "Fine. Have it your way then," he says. "It''s not like I need the trouble."


    He releases my wrist roughly, and I swipe my hand up at his face as I stumble backwards and land on the sidewalk.


    I managed to knock his shades off, and they clatter onto the concrete next to me.


    He bends down to pick them up, inspecting them for a moment while I scramble up on to my feet. He mutters a few words that sound like "disgusting" and "ruined", before tossing the shades into the bushes that line the front of the Night Owl. His eyes flash angrily in my direction.


    Without the glasses, I can see his eyes. Cold, dark hazel eyes glinting with disdain.


    He pushes back his hoodie.


    I find myself looking into a face I know better than my own reflection.


    Oh my god. It''s Felix Lockhart.

 Chapter 10

    For a good ten seconds, all I can do is stare. This can''t be happening.


    Finally I feel my lips move. "Felix... Lockhart?"


    "In the flesh," he says.


    I take in the familiar features, looking for some difference which would prove he''s just some lookalike having a laugh.


    I take in the beautiful, perfect face, vampire-pale skin, high cheekbones framed by dark hair. It''s his eyes however that banish any doubts ¨C they''re recognizable anywhere.


    Intense hazel green with a ring of brown around the pupil, with a few gold flecks near the rim. Cold and cat-like, predatory even ¨C but somehow too beautiful to be real. I''ve always wondered if they''re actually contacts, but up close I can see his eyes are perfectly clear.


    No contacts. No Photoshop.


    "They''re real," I murmur. "Wow".


    "What''s real?" He asks.


    I just stare.


    Felix Lockhart is here, standing right in front of me. The real deal, totally legit. Living, breathing, not just in the magazines or on Tumblr or YouTube. Staring at me with his trademark cold, deadpan teenaged rock star expression.


    I can hear him saying something, but the words aren''t registering. His presence is so overwhelming, the shock so intense. His name keeps going through my head over and over. Felix Lockhart. Felix Lockhart. Felix Lockhart. The real Felix Lockhart.


    Ever so slightly, Felix narrows his eyes at me.


    "Is there something wrong with you?" He asks.


    That''s all it takes to snap me out of it.


    A hot flush creeps across my face. I''ve never blushed so hard.


    "No! Yes! I mean, I''m ok." I hate myself for being excited to talk to him. For wanting to impress him. Wanting him to like me. It doesn''t matter that I''ve always thought he comes across like a jerk in interviews. Or that he can be a bit abrasive sometimes. Or that he''s the only member of Fable that I''ve never really liked. Right now, I''m totally star struck.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "I''m sorry about earlier," I say. "It''s just that... you''re Felix Lockhart, and... oh my god. Sorry. I just can''t believe it''s really you... Felix... Felix Lockhart."


    I need to stop saying his name so much. I have to make good impression. Don''t say anything dumb. Be cool. Act normal.


    "What''s your name?" He asks me.


    "Felix Lockhart," I say.


    "No... that''s my name." He says. He doesn''t smile.


    Fail.


    "I mean Ashling, I''m Ashling Shields," I say, hoping he hasn''t noticed that my face is now redder than a tomato.


    A limo pulls up alongside us.


    I half register through my daze that it was the limo driver Felix was signaling a moment ago. Not a murderous gang of street thugs. He goes up to the window and speaks to the driver while I stand glued to the spot, my mind both blank and racing at the same time.


    I''ve imagined this moment a hundred times over ¨C the moment I meet Fable. The whole band, or any one of the boys. I''m sure every fan has. I''d imagined myself keeping my cool, saying something witty, maybe a little mysterious.


    Not standing frozen with my mouth hanging open.


    The driver steps out of the car and opens the back door, giving me a wary glance.


    Felix turns back and opens his mouth as if he''s about to say something, and I awkwardly cut him off, blurting out the first thing that pops into my head.


    "Aren''t you supposed to be at the concert right now?" My voice sounds distant and tinny, as if it''s coming from far away. Maybe I''m about to faint.


    "The concert starts at seven," he says. "And I felt like a decent cup of coffee. Not the noxious swill they''re serving at the hotel."


    I guess that makes sense. The Night Owl is known for having the best coffee in Portland.


    "But why... why did you take my guitar?" I ask.


    "To get you out here," he says.


    "But why?" I ask. "I don''t get it."


    He side-eyes me, and his face stiffens ever so slightly. "I heard what you said to that guy back there," he says. "About wanting to go to the show. I can get you in. Away from the crowds, if they''re a problem for you."


    Felix Lockhart is doing a good deed? The sarcastic, unfailingly rude demon prince himself? No way. It''s a set-up.


    I look up and down the street, trying to spot hidden cameras. Felix Lockhart surprises No 1 Portland superfan, Ashling Shields. Any moment my parents will come running out of the restaurant, I''ll hug them crying while Ellen, or some MTV presenter, bursts out from the limo with a TV crew.


    Nothing happens. Felix stares at me a moment longer, before turning on his heel in one graceful movement and walking over to the limo.


    He climbs in and moves out of sight. Any second, the driver will close the door and they''ll drive away.


    I don''t know if the invitation still stands, and I don''t understand what''s going on, but there''s only one thing to do.


    I practically sprint towards the limo.


    I''m about to get into a car with a guy I''ve never met before, a total stranger.


    But actually, he''s not a stranger. I know Felix Lockhart. Better than I know myself.


    It''s me who''s the stranger to him.

 Chapter 11

    Inside, the limo is cool and softly lit. I slide across the leather seat until I''m sitting opposite Felix.


    There''s a cold, fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach.


    Felix places the guitar case on the floor between us. He stretches back, crossing his long legs out in front of him at the ankle.


    I notice he''s wearing the same outfit (a dark top, black jeans and navy blue converse sneakers) he was wearing in one of Lyall''s Instagram updates from earlier in the day.


    It''s all just so surreal.


    I look down at my own outfit and realize we''re wearing practically the same thing. I didn''t change after school, so I''m still in my skinny jeans, converse and a red hoodie.


    I''d give anything to be wearing a pretty dress right now. Or some killer lipstick or even just eyeliner. I can see Jamie''s logic in wearing makeup 24/7 now.


    But there''s no way when I was rushing to get dressed this morning I could have known I''d be going to the concert, escorted by none other than Felix Lockhart.


    The limo takes off with a slight jolt. I look down at my hands, trying desperately to think of something to say.


    He''s gazing out the window as if I''m not even here.


    I''m shaking.


    After a few minutes of silence, I manage to ask him the big question.


    "Why are you doing this?"


    He looks puzzled for a moment, then looks out the window again.


    "You mean, why am I taking you to the concert with me?" He asks.


    "Yes." Is all I can manage.


    "To be honest, I don''t really know."


    After that, there''s just silence for ages. He''s completely ignoring me. He doesn''t even look my way. Maybe I said something stupid. Or maybe it was because I made such a fool of myself before getting into the car. All that staring and blushing.


    He must regret asking me to come along. A charitable deed misfiring.


    I want to curl up and die right about now.


    After what feels like an hour (but it''s probably more like a few minutes) he breaks the silence.


    "Natural colored hair, no visible tattoos or piercings, total lack of edge or style. You don''t look like a rock band groupie," he says, eyeing me suspiciously.


    I feel my face flush.


    "I''m not," I say.


    "So what do you like about Fable then?"


    Before I can answer, he raises his hand, and talks over me.


    "Actually, I don''t care," he says. "What I do want to know, is where''d you learn to play like that?"


    The sudden question startles me.


    "Play?"


    "The guitar." His face is still turned away, but I see the corner of his mouth twist, like he''s suppressing a laugh.


    I don''t think it''s actually possible to feel any more embarrassed than I do right now.


    "My grandmother taught me. " I can feel my heart racing. I need to calm down. Breathe. "She was in a band in the sixties."


    "She sounds interesting."


    "Yeah, she was," I say without thinking.


    Felix turns to face me. He raises his eyebrow as if expecting me to continue.


    "She passed away a few months ago."


    I inwardly cringe, expecting more awkward silence.


    He doesn''t offer his condolences. He just turns his gaze to look out the window again.


    I''m so nervous and desperate to fill the silence that words rush out of me, almost in one long breathless sentence. First I couldn''t talk. Now I can''t stop.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "The doctors thought it was a stroke. I found her after school one day."


    Felix''s eyes are fixed on mine again. He''s probably wondering why on earth I''m telling him about my dead grandmother.


    "She was just lying on the floor in her kitchen when I found her. My gran looked after me a lot when I was growing up. Not because there''s anything wrong with my parents. I mean, they''re not like... bad parents, or anything. They just work a lot at the restaurant... and ¨C"


    Must. Stop. Talking. I''m just digging myself deeper and deeper.


    "... I spent a lot of time with her. With my gran. We had a lot in common.... I mean, everyone said we''re very similar."


    OH MY GOD I need to shut up right now. I''m telling him all this creepy stuff about my dead grandma and it needs to STOP.


    Felix is just leaning back into the seat, his hazel gaze fixed on me, impossible to read. The image of a cat lazily watching a mouse pops into my mind, and sets off my verbal avalanche tenfold. I know I''m babbling and I want to shut up immediately, but I can''t.


    "What I mean is... we were the same... my gran and me, I mean, she was really young at heart. She was in a band in the sixties, and I''m also in a band. We don''t play sixties music or anything though..."


    This is getting worse and worse. Kill me now.


    "...everyone says I take after her... and I look like her... I mean... not like I look old or anything..." I giggle nervously. "Like, I look like how she used to look, when she was young. Except she had red hair. But I don''t. I''m blonde."


    Oh... my... god. What am I saying? Why am I telling him this? He can see I''m blonde.


    So lame. Incredibly, embarrassingly lame. Why do I turn into a babbling idiot every time I try to speak with a guy?


    "Blonde suits you," he says.


    I''m not sure if it''s a compliment or an insult.


    "I guess," I say.


    Now that he''s spoken again, I''ve finally managed to stop myself gushing out of nervousness.


    I''m not entirely sure what I just said or how much of it made any sense. I''m still shell-shocked just from being in car with him.


    "What''s the name of your band?" he asks boredly.


    "Wild Blue Yonder," I say quietly. He doesn''t respond.


    More silence while Felix watches the traffic go by outside the window.


    I know I should just be grateful that I''m getting to meet him, and it''ll mean that maybe I''ll also get to meet the rest of the band ¨C but why did it have to be Felix? Ben can be sort of wild but he''s fun, Elliot''s an all-round nice guy, Alastaire''s a bit OTT but he''s super charming, and Lyall is a total cutie... but Felix... he''s just mean.


    Still, he''s one fifth of my favorite band, and I can''t help but desperately want him to like me. I''ve got to say something cool. I can impress him somehow. Win him over. If anything, I''ll be that much closer to meeting the rest of the band. I have to try.


    I''m studying his face, wondering what to say, when D¨¦j¨¤ Vu starts playing.


    It''s my ringtone.


    As I zip open my bag I pray that it''s not my mom or something embarrassing like that. I hold my phone up. No calls. Instead, I look up at Felix, who''s taken his phone out of his pocket and is staring down at the lit-up screen in his hand. His mouth is twisted in disgust, like he''s holding a giant cockroach instead of an iPhone. He lets it ring a while longer, then taps the screen, looking annoyed.


    It stops.


    I can''t believe we have the same ringtone. I guess it makes sense for him to be using D¨¦j¨¤ Vu as his ¨C it''s Fable''s biggest hit after all. But still, I suddenly wish my phone would start ringing too so he''d realize that we have something in common.


    "Never stops," he says quietly, as if to himself, as he puts the phone back in his pocket.


    He looks out the window again, watching the scenery pass by. There are so many questions I want to ask him about the band. A million things, but right now, I can''t think of a single one.


    Just when I think I''ve got my nerves under control, a lock of his dark hair falls over his eyes, just like it always does in the videos. He''s so close, I could just reach out and brush it behind his ear.


    The limo veers to the side of the road and stops. Felix raises his eyebrow at me, as if to say "what now?"


    The front door swings open. Steps. The driver opens up the back door.


    "Your manager," he says as he passes Felix a battered-looking BlackBerry.


    Felix scowls, as he takes the phone.


    The driver''s door slams hard and we''re driving again, much faster than before we pulled over.


    I can hear someone on the other end of the line shouting. It''s hard to tell if it''s a man or a woman''s voice, but either way, they are seriously pissed.


    It seems mostly to be a one-sided conversation, with Felix getting yelled at. When he does interject, his voice is so cold and sharp it sounds like it could cut. Whoever''s screeching at him on the other side of the line is seriously brave.


    "Are you done yet?" Felix says. "Yell all you want. It won''t get me there any faster. We''re on our way. That''s all you need to know." In response to this, the shouting on the other end of the line seems to go up a few decibels.


    "I know. I got... sidetracked." More shouting.


    "It doesn''t matter by what," he says in a firm voice. "Now calm down and tell me exactly what''s changing."


    The other voice has stopped shouting, and Felix is listening as something''s explained.


    This would be a good time to text the girls, but I feel sort of shy about him seeing me texting while he''s right here. He''ll know I''m texting about him. Awkward.


    And beside, the girls will think I''m joking. It''s not like they''re going to just believe a text like "IN LIMO WITH FELIX LOCKHART ON WAY 2 CONCERT. 4RL".


    No one''s going to believe I met him.


    That decides it.


    When Felix is off the phone, I''m going to get a selfie with him. I know he''s used to it ¨C just the other night, Zee and I spent about four hours watching videos of fans getting their photos taken with the boys.


    Alastaire''s the one who usually surprises fans by going out for photos outside hotels, but all the boys do it from time to time. Even Felix.


    I feel embarrassed asking, especially because he''s not exactly Mr. Cheerful.


    By the time Felix is off the phone, we''re pulling into the parking lot at the Rose Quarter. I didn''t even realize we''d crossed over the river. It feels like I only just got into the car with him, and we''ve barely spoken.


    The most important ten minutes of my life are almost over, and I blew it.


    I wanted to make an impression. I wanted to ask about the rest of the band. And most of all, I wanted to keep the promise I made with Mia. Before the bus and that terrible day changed everything.


    Instead I ended up with Felix ignoring me the whole way through the trip.


    He might even think I''m a psycho.


    But my thoughts are drowned out by screams coming from all around us outside the car.

 Chapter 12

    As we pull into the stadium parking lot, I realize that the screaming is coming from a huge crowd of girls hanging around outside.


    Zee, Grace, Jamie and everyone else who has a ticket will be inside by now.


    These are the fans who didn''t get concert tickets in time.


    Most of them are standing around waving signs that read "FABLE FOREVER" OR "ENFABLER4LIFE", singing, screaming, showing their support even though they won''t get to see the actual show.


    When Fable first started getting popular, their fans were mostly teenaged girls. The press were quick to label them as a boy band, even though they play their own instruments, and their sound is closer to rock than pop. As they started winning awards and earning respect, the press changed their tune. They were the band that "brought rock back". The cherry on top was when David Bowie, dressed head-to-toe in his Jareth costume from Labyrinth, joined the boys onstage during a performance of D¨¦j¨¤ Vu at Central Park. After that, they were the media''s darlings. Rolling Stone called them the modern Beatles, and said that the past three years will probably go down in music history as the Fablemania years.


    As I watch the mass of crying, wailing girls gathered around outside the stadium, I realize why it is that for every die-hard Fable fan, there''s also someone who hates them with a passion. Some of the girls look like they''re having a heart attack, or like they''re in a religious frenzy. And all the ear-splitting screaming.


    A pack of girls near the front of the crowd in matching black dresses seems to be making the most noise of all. They''re pointing at something in our direction. One starts sprinting, and a moment later the whole crowd is surging towards the limo.


    "They''ve spotted us," Felix says. "Move away from the window."


    "But how do they know -" I begin.


    I shift over to the middle of the seat just as a dark-haired girl slams into the glass. Her friends are pushing her from behind, and her whole face is squashed flat against my window, while her eyes dart around excitedly trying to see inside.


    Within seconds the limo comes to a standstill, totally surrounded. Girls are crowded around every window, their faces and hands pressed against the glass.


    More and more fans crowd around us, until there''s nothing to be seen but a solid wall of Fable t-shirts, phones and body parts.


    Girls are piling up against the limo. I wonder if the windows will hold under the weight of so many bodies, or if the glass will suddenly burst into a million shards.


    For just a moment, the screams and the glass and the chaos all jumble into one, and I remember.


    Something dark and ugly surfaces in my mind.


    Something I''d managed to keep buried ¨C until now.


    My best friend lying at the bottom of the bus with a halo of blood fanning out into the saltwater. A boy splayed out next to Mia with a shard of broken glass through his eye socket, whimpering and crying for his mother. Terrified screaming as we sink deeper and deeper.


    I''d somehow blocked out the exact details of the scene for the past two years, and the regained memory blossoms inside my mind like a poisonous flower.


    Dead dead dead all dead.


    A shiver runs down my spine, and I feel cold all over, like I''ve been plunged into icy water. My chest tightens. I can feel my heart beating out of control, surely faster than a heart should be able to go. I can''t breathe.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Just before I fall over the edge, I realize that I''m going into full-blown panic attack mode.


    That''s when the crowd suddenly pulls away from the car. Men in black suits, probably security guards from the Rose Plaza, are moving the girls back. The limo starts moving again.


    I feel the fear and panic release its grip on me. I take a deep breath and pull my attention away from the window, straight into Felix''s eyes.


    How long has he been watching me like that? He doesn''t ask me what''s wrong, but just stares indifferently. Like a scientist studying a particularly gross insect. His expression is still veiled, and impossible to read, but if I had to guess, I''d say the hardness in his eyes is revulsion. I''m sure he must regret inviting me into the limo. He''s seeing me at my weakest and most vulnerable, spazzing out right in front of him, and I''m sure my lack of self-control must seem pathetic to him.


    I look down into my lap, feeling myself blush for the millionth time.


    The screams of the girls die down and fade away as we enter the underground car park.


    Through the tinted windows I see row after row of shiny sports cars and luxury SUVs. This must be where the VIPs park.


    As we pull into a parking bay near the elevator, a bulky security guard with slicked-back blonde hair and dark glasses opens my door. He''s a mountain of a man, probably over seven feet tall and all muscle.


    The limo driver is already standing outside, talking angrily to someone on his phone.


    I pick up my bag and my guitar case.


    The guard leads us to an elevator, where another guard, even bigger than the first, is waiting.


    Ding.


    The elevator doors open to reveal a small, shiny interior.


    The thought of stepping into such a cramped space with two huge security guards and Felix Lockhart sets my heart pounding again.


    I''m surprised when we all manage to fit inside the lift with room to spare.


    This is the first time I''ve been able to get into an elevator (or any small, confined space for that matter) since the accident, and I''m actually a bit proud of myself for not freaking out and running away down the passage. Baby steps.


    The lift shudders and starts to move. The guards start a not-so-subtle interrogation, looking me up and down. Then the blonde one gestures towards me impatiently.


    "What''s in the bag?" He asks.


    It takes me a second to realize he''s asking about my school bag. I''m about to answer when Felix steps in front of me.


    "Back off Todd. " There''s a casual, latent violence in Felix''s tone. I notice both guards flinch. Felix''s temper is legendary. I shrink back against the elevator wall behind me.


    "Sorry Mr. Lockhart. I''m just doing my job. It''s the same treatment for everyone." He sticks out his hand towards me. "We have to."


    Felix shakes his head, grabs my bag and passes it to Todd. "Make it quick then."


    All I really have in there are some pens, textbooks, house keys, my wallet and my phone.


    Once it''s obvious that I''m not carrying anything that could be used as a weapon or to smuggle in alcohol, the security guard passes my bag back to me.


    The elevator stops at the third floor, and one of the guards gestures for me to follow as he steps out.


    As I leave, Felix sticks his foot in the doorway to stop the lift.


    He stares hard at me for a moment. I wonder if he''s going to say goodbye. Maybe something generic like "enjoy the show" to end off our awkward little encounter.


    He must be so relieved to finally be dropping me off. He''ll be thinking ''Charity work done for the night. Crazy socially-inept girl delivered to the show. Good deed ticked off the list''.


    I couldn''t be more wrong.


    "How well do you know Portland?" He asks.


    "Um... pretty well I guess," I say. "I grew up here and all."


    "Good." He replies. "The boys and I usually check out the local sights the day after a show, but our schedule got changed, so we''ve just got tonight to see Portland. And the tour guide the hotel organized for us is a total idiot. She''s probably being paid by my manager to report back on every last thing we do. And it''s too late to hire someone from outside. Can I trust you to show us around without blabbing?"


    "Yes, of... of course," I stutter, trying to imagine myself playing tour guide, leading a world-famous rock band around Portland on a nighttime sightseeing trip. I must be dreaming.


    "Just you," he says. "No friends."


    I nod my head vigorously, trying to hold back a victory dance.


    I was wrong. He doesn''t think I''m a psycho. I''m just over-thinking stuff like always. He actually trusts me enough to let me show him and the other boys around Portland. OMG.


    Somehow, it seems I''ve managed to make a good impression. I can''t believe I got this far without saying anything really stupid or weird, or falling over, or walking into something, or any of the usual things that happen when I''m trying really hard not to screw things up.


    "Good," he says, stepping back into the elevator. His expression is cool and distant, but I can see he''s studying my face as if trying to figure something out. Like he''s trying to find something.


    "Todd will take you to the friends and family suite to watch the show," he says.


    "You''re not coming with us?" I ask.


    "No... I''m in the show. I''m going to be on stage, remember?" He answers as the doors shut.


    Facepalm. So much for not saying anything stupid.

 Chapter 13

    "This way," Todd says, walking down the corridor at a fast pace.


    As I follow the security guard past several sets of frosted glass doors, I remember Beth boasting that her dad got her a suite.


    If she was telling the truth, it means she and the other Bs are probably somewhere nearby on the same level of the arena.


    I might even run into them.


    Oh hell no.


    Although even if that were to happen, it¡¯s no big deal. Nothing could ruin my good mood. This is shaping up to be officially the most amazeballs night EVER, and it¡¯s only going to get better. I still can''t believe I''m going to meet the rest of the band after the show.


    I''m not too nervous about meeting Lyall or Elliot, because everyone knows that Lyall''s a total sweetie and Elliot''s super nice. Ben has a bit of a "hothead" image going on but he''s really fun, and Alastair is... Alastaire.


    I have no clue what I''m going to say to them.


    Todd finally stops in front of a brightly lit room which has its massive double doors flung open.


    There''s a girl in her late teens or early twenties standing in the doorway, crossing off something on a clipboard while she sips from a huge Starbucks cup.


    Her dark wavy hair is cut into an elegant bob just above her shoulders. She''s wearing a chic black playsuit and stilettos, and something about her screams money.


    In fact, she looks like she could have walked straight off a Chanel or Dior catwalk.


    With Kate Moss cheekbones, pale skin, long dark eyelashes and cherry red lips, she''s easily the most beautiful girl I''ve ever seen in real life.


    I can just see into the suite behind her ¨C a wide brightly lit oval with a table in the centre.


    "Another offering?" she asks Todd without even looking up from the clipboard.


    "Yeah. Take care of this one," Todd says, before turning on his heel and walking away down the corridor.


    The girl glances at me and rolls her eyes.


    "Wow, another blonde," she says in a smooth, bored British accent, her eyes lingering on my guitar case and school bag. "Congratulations. You''re the fourth one Alastaire''s pulled out of the crowd tonight."


    "You''re wrong¨C" I start speaking but she cuts me off.


    "No, I''m not wrong. I''m sorry to have to break it to you sweetheart. You see those girls over there?" She gestures to three blondes sitting in plush seats in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.


    "It''s the same thing at every single concert. Alastaire likes to make himself a little harem for his... amusement... after the show. That''s how he does things. If you''re not happy with sharing him, feel free to leave."


    "That''s not what I meant," I say. "What I''m trying to say is... I''m not here for... for the harem thing. Alastaire didn''t send me. It was Felix."If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    For just a moment, the girl''s eyes widen, and she stares at me intently.


    "Really?" She asks, now studying me more closely. "What''s your name?"


    "Ashling," I answer.


    "Ashling what?" she asks.


    "Ashling Shields," I reply. Why is she quizzing me like this?


    "And you live around here? You''re from Portland?" she asks, flicking her eyes around my outfit, like she''s looking for a flaw or a clue.


    "Um yeah..." I answer. "Why?"


    "This is your first Fable concert?" she asks, ignoring my question.


    "Yes."


    "Let me see your driver''s license," she says.


    "I don''t have one. I just turned sixteen and things have been sort of¨C," I reply.


    "Sure." She cuts me off again, staring straight into my eyes like she''s trying to figure out whether or not I''m lying.


    Finally she shakes her head and tucks the clipboard under her arm.


    "Try to keep up," she says, stilettos clicking as she heads towards the table at the centre of the room.


    It''s covered in hors d''oeuvres on silver platters. Everything is recognizably food, but I have no clue exactly what kind of food it is.


    There''s some kind of translucent red pearls (caviar?) sprinkled over mini crepes with a yellowish foam on top.


    Rows of rolled-up green and purple stuff with crystallized meat, maybe prosciutto or bacon, wrapped around it.


    Little silver forks stuck into slimy orange and white globs, which I suspect are raw scallops, but I''m not sure ¨C I''ve only ever eaten them cooked.


    With two gourmet chefs for parents, I''ve always thought I knew quite a lot about haute cuisine. More than the average person anyway. But everything on this table is just pretentious beyond words.


    Strangest of all, in the centre of the table there''s a huge Christmas Pudding, with custard oozing down the sides, topped off with a sprig of holly.


    I''m about to ask the girl why there''s Christmas food on the table in June, but she''s already turned away and is pointing to a corridor on the far side of the room.


    "The ladies'' room is down that way, and the bar''s to your right." She nods her head in the direction of a line of bar stools in front of a chrome counter, with a large sink and a built in mini-fridge. On a rack above the counter, there''s a rainbow of bottles ¨C just about every type of spirits imaginable.


    "As you can see, there''s no barman," she says. "But don''t let that stop you. Glasses are in the cupboard on the left."


    I wonder whether or not she actually listened when I told her my age. Maybe the rules are different in the UK.


    We walk around the perimeter of the room, until we reach a row of plush leather seats facing the window. The three girls she pointed at before are taking up the seats in the middle.


    As we pass them, I can see they''re all Alastaire''s Angels ¨C each wears a small pair of silver angel wings on a chain around their neck.


    Fable, like most bands, has its own official fan club, plus hundreds of smaller, less official ones ¨C but Alastaire holds the distinction of being the only member with own his personal group run entirely by fans.


    The most elite fans will fork out up to five hundred dollars for the official winged necklace, a sign of their devotion to Alastaire (and their excellent parental-wallet-manipulation skills).


    Two of the angels are wearing very revealing little white dresses, and the third is wearing a tiny mini skirt and a gold-sequined top.


    She must be wearing an amazing push-up bra, because her cleavage is almost touching her chin.


    I can already see why Alastaire spotted them in the crowd ¨C the sheer amount of skin on display makes these girls stand out like porn stars at a church fete.


    My guide stops in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.


    "You girls are lucky," she says. "You''ve got the best seats in the house."


    She''s right ¨C the view of the arena is spectacular.


    Far down below, a massive crowd mills around on the dark, shadowy floor.


    Seeing that many noisy people crowded together sends a momentary trickle of panic down my spine, before I shake it off.


    It''s ok. I''m not trapped. I''m far away from the crowd. I can do this.


    The longer I stare down into the swarm of bodies, the more beautiful it starts to look.


    Everyone''s taking photos, phones held up high. The brightly lit screens of a hundred thousand phones flicker in the darkness like a starry sea.


    It''s sort of peaceful.


    "This is where I leave you," the dark haired girl says. "I''ve got some errands to run."


    She turns away and starts walking, then stops and looks over her shoulder at me.


    "I''m Kitty, by the way."

 Chapter 14

    The moment that Kitty leaves the suite, the three angels swoop down on me.


    I shrink back from the cloying semi-circle of bleached blonde hair, fake tan and too-sweet perfume.


    They look a few years older than me, possibly seniors at another school.


    I was so worried about running into the Three Bs, and instead I''ve ended up with another (possibly worse) trio of angels.


    Unfortunately it''s not as coincidental as one might think.


    Alastaire''s fans always seem to travel in packs. All Enfablers are like a big family, a sisterhood that spans the globe ¨C but the angels take it to the extreme.


    Angels stick together with one goal in mind. Their sole aim is to get chosen. To get noticed by their idol, and to have the honor of being one of the special angels that "Alastaire takes up to heaven" after each concert.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    That''s what the rumors online say, and it looks like there might be some truth to them.


    The girl in the sparkly gold top is smiling sweetly but her voice is cold. "So tell me, jailbait, which one of them was it?"


    I have no clue what she''s asking about. "Which of them was what?"


    She lets out an exaggerated sigh and shakes her head at the other angels.


    What an idiot, she seems to be saying.


    "Are you stupid or something?" She asks me, while her friends giggle on either side of her. "We want to know which member of Fable sent you here. I don''t see any wings."


    She points to her collarbone, where her sparkling silver wings mark her as one of Alastaire''s elite fans.


    "Who are you here for?"


    What I want to do is tell her that I''m here for me, and that it''s no business of hers anyway.


    I want to turn my back on her and walk as far down the aisle as possible, take a seat and ignore them for the rest of the show. I want to show them that I''m not a doormat and they can''t speak to me like that.


    Instead, I look down at my feet and struggle to keep my voice from wavering as I reply. "It was Felix."


    "Felix..." she practically growls his name. "Fine. Just stay away from Alastaire."


    One of the girls, a bit shorter than the others and with messy platinum hair, points at my guitar case. "What''s that for? Bringing a guitar to a concert is sooo lame."


    "It''s a long story," I say, but the angels have already sauntered away in their little clique.

 Chapter 15

    I take a seat as far away from the angels as possible, at the far end of the row.


    The view really is incredible, and I sit for a while just looking down at the crowd. Somewhere in the mass of bodies, Grace, Zee and Jamie are singing, dancing, probably crying (tears of joy, of course).


    I''d love to spot them, but I know the chances are slim.


    As I think of my friends, it dawns on me that since getting into the limo with Felix, I haven''t messaged them even once. They have no idea that I''m even at the concert.


    I try calling Zee first. Her phone rings for ages, and eventually I get through to her voice mail. When she doesn''t pick up I try Jamie, with no luck.


    It must be so noisy on the floor that they aren''t hearing their ringtones.


    Calling Grace isn''t an option ¨C she doesn''t even have a phone.


    Her parents think that cell phones equal sexting, which equals underage sex, which equals teen pregnancy, dropping out of school and a life turning tricks on the street corner.


    It''s amazing that Grace has turned out so normal when her parents are one step away from Amish.


    In the end I send Zee and Jamie a quick text, although I doubt they''ll see it before the concert is over.


    I''m at the show. Level 3 suite 5. Come here asap. I met Felix. No jk. We can meet the whole band. COME HERE. SRSLY.


    Before hitting send, I delete the part about meeting Felix. That''s something I want to tell them in person, just so I can see the looks on their faces.


    They''ll get the surprise of their lives when I tell them we''re going out for the evening with Fable.


    Felix did tell me not to bring friends, but he won''t be pulling the shots anymore after the show. Unlike Felix, the other guys are all super nice, and I''m sure they''ll outvote him if he tries to stop Grace and Zee and Jamie from coming along.


    Still, I just can''t wait to tell the girls. I want to tell them now. I check Instagram in case Jamie''s posted anything from the concert.


    If there''s some photo that shows where they are in relation to the stage, maybe I can get their attention. Even if it''s too dark to see, maybe there''ll be a clue.


    The last photo Jamie instagrammed was over two hours ago, which is like a record time for her.


    It''s a selfie (of course), showing off her pink and lilac ombr¨¦ lips and matching eye shadow, while Grace sits in front of the mirror brushing her hair in the background.


    It has a gazillion hashtags and there are already hundreds of comments underneath.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I give up trying to contact them and turn my attention to the show.


    The opening act is a Canadian band called Darkdream. They''re good, but nothing compared to Fable. Once their set is over, I notice a lot of people dressed in black scrambling around on stage, checking lights and sound.


    After what feels like forever, a hush runs through the crowd as a single pillar of intense white light pierces the darkness onstage.


    From the videos I''ve seen on YouTube, I know that Fable concerts usually start off with something big ¨C a countdown on a massive screen, a crazy light-show, pillars of stage fire.


    You name it, they''ve done it, bigger, brighter and noisier than ever before.


    Which is exactly what makes this so special. For at least ten seconds, nothing happens. The whole arena seems to be silent. Waiting. All eyes are fixed on the stage, drawn to the single beacon of light.


    Out of the darkness, Felix''s voice rings out.


    The opening line of D¨¦j¨¤ Vu hangs in the air.


    I feel goose bumps rise on my arms as the pillar of light widens, spreads, and one by one, each of the boys is revealed. Felix stands dead centre in front of a mic, dressed all in black, with a dark velvet top hat and eyeliner to complete the look. On any other person, in any other setting, it would look totally ridiculous, but in the fantasy setting of a Fable show, it just works. Bathed in cold white light, he looks every bit the sardonic dark-hearted rock god he''s publicized as.


    Pity he''s just as evil in real life.


    Alastaire stands to his left, dressed all in white to match his silver-wings embellished white guitar. His burnished gold hair catches the stage light like some sort of halo. He winks at the crowd, and the stadium is filled with screaming.


    Elliot is to Felix''s right. With his alert posture, close-cropped brown hair and minimalist grey outfit, he looks more like a military cadet than a rock star. He stares stoically out at the crowd, holding his bass guitar like a weapon.


    Lyall and Ben are to the sides, both grinning devilishly as the stage light envelopes them. Lyall''s wearing a cute white and green striped jumper, a perfect contrast with his cinnamon reddish-brown hair and caramel eyes. He runs his fingers over the keys of his digital keyboard, while Ben twirls his drumsticks around in the air next to him. Ben''s wearing his trademark bandana ¨C black with a skull and crossbones print. His kid cousin gave it to him when he was visiting family in Japan, and he''s worn it on stage ever since.


    Ben slams his drumsticks down, and the arena explodes into music.


    From that point onwards, I''m glued to my seat, spellbound by the show.


    I can see why Beth got her dad to rent a suite. I''ve got a clear view of every single one of the guys, and I can hear every note without the imminent threat of getting trampled.


    Perfection.


    The boys go through all their big hits one by one.


    From time to time they pause to speak to the crowd, joke around on stage, answer Twitter questions and dodge flying panties, bras and love letters.


    During Alastaire''s guitar solo in Destined Hearts, he jumps off the stage, and pulls a girl out from the crowd. He runs his fingers through her long honey blonde curls while serenading her. At the end of the song, she''s led away by a guy dressed in black.


    Minutes later, she''s in our suite smiling like she''s just won the lottery.


    I guess that''s the idea of a harem. The more the merrier.


    The trio of angels watches her suspiciously at first, until she shows them her winged necklace.


    Several group selfies later they''re BFFs, swapping Instagram and Twitter details.


    I wonder how this harem thing works.


    Are they going to hang out with the whole band after the show, or just Alastaire? Will he take them somewhere? A restaurant, or maybe... a hotel room?


    I try to be open-minded about most things, but the thought of what these girls are probably going to do with Alastaire (and maybe with each other) in the next few hours... it''s not something I''d ever do with someone I barely know.


    Not something I''ve ever done.


    In fact, I''ve never even kissed a boy.


    Talk about inexperienced.

 Chapter 16

    Kitty comes back before the end of the show, this time holding a sparkly silver purse instead of a clipboard.


    She''s changed out of the playsuit and is wearing an elegant black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline.


    If only I''d put on a pretty dress today. FML.


    "This way, ladies," she says gesturing out the door.


    The Alastair''s Angels push in front of me as we walk to the door.


    Kitty leads us through a labyrinth of corridors and elevators, all the way to the backstage area on the ground floor.


    We''re ushered into a small, brightly lit dressing room, with several leather sofas and racks of clothes.


    The walls are covered in mirrors, and the angels quickly whip out their makeup.


    We haven''t been in the room more than ten seconds before they''re inspecting their reflections, puckering their lips and adding that all-important final coat of lip gloss.


    I don''t have any makeup or even a hairbrush with me, and there''s no way in hell I''d ask the angels if I can use theirs... so I place my guitar case in the corner of the room and take a seat on one of the sofas, hugging my school bag close against my body.


    Looking pretty right now really isn''t that important. All I care about is finally meeting the boys.


    The angels are so absorbed in parading around in front of the mirrors that they don''t even turn around to face Kitty when she tells us that the guys will be through in a few minutes.


    After she leaves, I check my phone.


    Jamie and Zee still haven''t answered me, but it''s only a matter of time.


    They can''t miss this.


    After what feels like forever, I hear footsteps and voices in the corridor outside.


    A crowd of people passes by, too fast for me to see if any of the boys were in the group.


    I''m tempted to get up and look down the corridor after them.


    Before I can even budge from my seat, a head pops around the corner.


    "We''ll be heading off in five. Hope you girls are ready for a party."


    Alastaire leans against the doorway, still wearing the white v-neck top and skinny jeans he wore on stage.


    He always looks sort of angelic in photos and videos, (inhumanely perfect according to Jamie), and the real life version doesn''t disappoint.


    Tall and lean with clear blue eyes and a halo of messy gold hair, beautiful is the only word that does him justice. In fact, he''s prettier than most girls.


    The angels scream his name and surround him in seconds. I''m still glued to the sofa, too overwhelmed by everything to properly react.


    That''s when I realize that Alastaire''s deep blue gaze has alighted on me.


    He detaches himself from the angels and is in front of the sofa in a flash, leaning over me with one hand on the armrest. Locking me in.


    He is way too deep into my personal space.


    "Odd, I don''t recall having my guys pull you out of the crowd," he says with a sly smile.


    Up close, he smells of a spicy, woody cologne, and something else. Baking?


    He brings his free hand to his mouth and I see he''s holding a half-eaten cupcake.


    He lifts it to his lips, his tongue darting out and licking the peachy-pink frosting while his eyes glitter just inches from my own.


    It has the desired effect on the angels ¨C they start shrieking ¨C but I feel extremely uncomfortable, and I slowly shift away from him, looking down at my lap.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    He tosses the cupcake away (I don''t even look but it probably ended up on the floor), and he suddenly grabs my chin and tilts my face up towards his own.


    "Don''t be so scared of me. I just want to know who added you to the line-up."


    Before I can answer, the angel in the sparkly gold top pipes up.


    "She''s not here for you, Alastaire. She''s Felix''s guest."


    At this, Alastaire releases me and steps back from the couch.


    He looks me up and down and nods, like I''m a shiny new toy that''s met with his approval.


    "Really? Felix found you? How interesting. He''s going to have to share." He winks at me, before turning back to face the angels.


    "You girls can go now."


    A moment of silence is followed by squeals of protest.


    "But... I thought..." the girl in the sparkly gold top stammers, sounding like she''s choking back tears.


    "What you think really isn''t of concern, ladies," Alastaire says, his voice as light and charming as ever. "You''re not needed anymore. My most sincere apologies."


    He certainly doesn''t sound very sincere.


    He waves airily at the door. "Now, go home."


    The girls are hysterical, and I feel bad for them.


    No matter how bitchy they might have been acting earlier, they''re still fans, just like me.


    No one deserves to be treated this way.


    And besides... I definitely don''t want to be left all alone in the dressing room with him.


    "Let them stay," I say. "Please." I intend for it to sound strong, but my voice is a bit shaky.


    "Ah, finally. She speaks." He smiles at me, before heading towards the door.


    He doesn''t even turn around as he addresses the cluster of angels. "Fine. The rest of you girls can tag along if you want to. I''ll be right back."


    As he disappears into the corridor, the angels surround me.


    "Bitch." The curly-haired girl who Alastaire pulled onstage during the show practically spits the word at me.


    What? I just convinced Alastair to let them stay. I helped them.


    Before I can shield myself, she slaps me hard across the face.


    I''m still reeling from the shock of this when my bag is ripped out of my arms and tossed aside. My phone and textbooks fly out all over the floor.


    The girls drag me from the sofa and kick my feet out from under me. The back of my head hits the floor hard, and for a moment my vision is filled with dark spots.


    "Whores belong on their backs," the curly-haired girl says, followed by giggles from the other angels.


    My head''s still spinning, and everything seems to be going too fast.


    Girls hold me down on either side, with one girl sitting on my legs and another holding my arms.


    The angel in the sparkly gold top crawls on top of me, straddling my waist and pinning me down.


    No matter how hard I struggle, I can''t free myself.


    She trails her fingers up my chest until they brush my collarbone, up towards my neck, and that tips me over the edge.


    Before I can scream, a hand is clenched over my mouth, muffling my cries.


    "Calm down. I''m not going to strangle you. I just wanna help you get ready for your big date with Alastaire." Her voice is dripping with venom.


    I scream and scream but her hand completely muffles the sound. She tugs at the zipper on my hoodie, and grunts when it holds fast.


    It''s probably caught on my cami or something, and trying to force it will just make it harder.


    "Liz. Pass me your nail scissors." She sticks her free hand into the air.


    Liz, who I now identify as the shorter girl with messy platinum hair, does as she''s told and fishes a shiny pair of manicure scissors out of her bag.


    As she passes them over, I put all my strength into trying to dislodge the girl on my chest.


    "Whoa! Careful! You don''t want me accidentally stabbing you, right?" She dangles the scissors inches from my face, and presses her body weight harder against me.


    I can barely breathe.


    She cuts into my hoodie and in one quick movement slits the fabric off each arm, before cutting away the zip.


    I kick out with my legs, try to shake her off, but it''s no use.


    "Why are you still fighting me?" She asks, practically shouting now as she peels away the remnants of my hoodie in messy red strips of fabric.


    "Can''t you see that we''re helping you? Alastaire likes his girls showing a bit of skin."


    With my hoodie gone I''m down to just jeans, my bra and a flimsy, practically see-through camisole.


    The girl called Liz kneels down and sticks her finger under my cami strap, pulling it away from my shoulder.


    They wouldn''t...


    The scissors snip through the strap, first on the left, then on the right.


    I feel the fabric being ripped off my body, so that only my bra remains. My torso is completely naked, and I know the bra is next.


    I''m crying now, my whole face wet with tears.


    "Oooh! Where''d you get these beauties?" Fingers slither across the scars on my ribcage, tracing a line just below my bra''s underwire. The same dull stabbing pain I felt earlier during my set at the Night Owl is back. I flinch, arch my back as the pain sears through me.


    The hand over my mouth shifts upwards slightly and covers my nostrils, so that I can''t breathe at all, and in that moment I know I''m going to die.


    A familiar sensation trickles over me. Icy water pulls me under, and the room goes dark.


    My chest burns. I can taste salt in my mouth. My head is filled with screaming.


    The screeching of my classmates, the groaning of the bus, twisting metal and crashing waves.


    Sharp, forlorn screams. Sheer terror.


    Then I realize the screams aren''t in my head. Someone is actually screaming right now.


    It''s me.


    That''s impossible. There''s a hand over my mouth. Which is why I can''t scream, or breathe. Which is why I''m back here, fighting the current, dying all over again.


    Suddenly the weight is lifted off me, and I take in a huge gulp of air.


    I''m wrapped up in someone''s arms, and they are gently lifting me up off the floor.


    The icy darkness trickles away, and I can see that the girls are huddled in the corner of the room looking terrified.


    One of them seems to have red dripping from her hand. It looks like blood.


    Even more shocking however is the presence of all five members of Fable in the room with us.

 Chapter 17

    "What the hell were you doing to her?" Felix says, his voice practically a growl.


    He''s looming over the angels as they huddle in the corner of the room. He''s lost the top hat, but he''s still dressed in the vampiric black ensemble he wore on stage, adding to the air of menace. Even though he''s standing casually, almost relaxed as he addresses them, at any moment I could imagine him lashing out and grabbing one of them in a chokehold.


    "Explain," he says. "Immediately."


    "Did they hurt you?" Alastaire whispers to me, his mouth right next to my ear. He pulls me to my feet and steadies me in his arms. I feel faint.


    "No. I''m ok," I say.


    I''m not totally sure that I''m telling the truth. The curly-haired girl seems to have blood dripping from one of her hands.


    Did they stab me with the scissors?


    My body hurts all over and my mouth tastes like salt and metal. I think I might be sick.


    The girl in the sparkly gold top bursts into tears while the other angels cower in the corner.


    Between sobs, she points at me and blubbers "she started it!"


    Big mistake.


    "Three against one? Seriously?" Felix''s voice is so cold it sends a shiver down my spine.


    "Get out of my sight," he says. "And make sure you NEVER come to another Fable concert ever again. Consider yourselves banned for life."


    "But she bit me," the angel with the curly hair whines, holding out her bloody hand.


    I don''t remember doing it, but it explains the bad taste in my mouth.


    "I''m sure she ''ad good reason ter bite yer," Lyall says, his normally sweet Irish accent now angry, hot and full of fire. "Yer were piled up on top of her. And we all heard de screamin''."


    His big brown eyes meet mine, and I feel my heart sink.


    This is how I''m meeting my idols.


    The angels start whining, pleading with Alastaire to let them stay. He just shakes his head.


    The security guard from earlier, Todd, has stepped into the room. He walks towards the cornered girls.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "Before you kick them out Todd, take some mug shots and get their details in case we need to press charges later on," Elliot says.


    His voice is calm and reassuring, and he sends me a comforting smile that I''m completely unable to return.


    Todd nods and steers the angels out the room.


    As their cries and protests fade down the corridor, all attention turns to me.


    "Are you ok?" Ben brushes his dark hair out of his eyes and steps towards me.


    That''s when it hits me.


    I''m half-naked.


    I look down at the strips of my lacy camisole hanging on by a thread, my bra on full display, my whole midriff exposed.


    I wrap my arms around my body but it''s too late.


    They''ve seen my scars.


    It''s over.


    Fable has always been my comforting light. An escape. A fantasy.


    Now my ugly reality is on the verge of shattering that fairytale illusion.


    My last haven.


    These two worlds can''t collide. I won''t let the only pure and perfect thing in my life get stained.


    My body works faster than my mind, and before I know it, I''ve scooped up the contents of my bag and I''m out the door, running down the corridor at full speed.


    I can hear the boys calling after me, but I can''t stop to think.


    I''m sorry Mia. Looks like I won''t be able to keep our promise.


    All I know is that I need to get away immediately. Away from where they can see me. Away from where anyone can see me.


    I pass Todd and the angels, and dash out the exit without a glance back.


    I sprint across the Rose Quarter parking lot, out the entrance and along the road.


    I run for maybe twenty minutes, over the harbor bridge and into the suburbs. When I can''t run anymore, I jog, and when I can''t jog anymore, I walk.


    Eventually I stop at a park to catch my breath.


    I don''t want to stop moving, because that would give me time to start thinking about what just happened.


    And that might make me regret running away.


    But my legs are aching, so I collapse onto a park bench.


    As soon as I have my breath back I realize that I''ve been running basically topless, apart from a few shreds of camisole and my bra.


    I don''t think I passed all that many people, but I definitely ran past a few cars.


    I can''t afford to think about that. I can''t think about anything. I just need to get home.


    I dig around in my bag for my phone.


    I have a general idea of where I am, but if I track a route on my GPS I can probably get home faster.


    After searching every inch of my bag, it dawns on me.


    Oh no.


    My phone must have fallen out of my bag when the angels attacked me. It''s lying somewhere in that dressing room... along with my guitar in its guitar case.


    As I remember about my guitar, I bury my face in my hands.


    I can feel the sobs rack my body, and the tears start all over again.


    This can''t be happening.


    That guitar means more to me than anything, and my phone... well, my whole life is on my phone.


    But there''s no way I can go back there to fetch them.


    Not now, anyway.


    The boys should be long gone from the dressing room, and probably from the arena itself... but I can''t take the chance.


    The shame of seeing them again, especially after running away ¨C it''s just too much.


    I''ll have to go back to the Rose Quarter tomorrow and find my stuff in the lost property.


    Until then, I can cope without a phone.


    By the time I get home, my feet ache from walking. I''m relieved to see that my parents'' car isn''t parked outside, which means they''re still at the restaurant.


    The last thing I feel like now is explaining why I''m walking around half-naked at eleven o''clock at night.


    The spare key is in its usual spot under the doormat.


    I let myself in, drag myself upstairs, crawl into bed, look up at the Fable poster on my ceiling and weep in utter, inconsolable humiliation.


    Why do all my dreams turn into nightmares?

 Chapter 18

    I''m on the bus again, dreaming the same old dream I''ve been stuck on since the accident.


    Everything starts off the same.


    The bus winds through the late afternoon sunlight, jagged cliffs and sparkling sea far below.


    Evan''s on my right, looking out the window. Mia''s on my left, sharing the iPod earphones.


    Our favorite Fable song, D¨¦j¨¤ Vu, blasts into our ears.


    Usually at this point in the dream, Mrs. Blythe starts teaching math on a huge chalkboard at the front of the bus. Which leads to me pulling the glassy seaweed out of Evan''s hair, and him vomiting up seawater, and everyone on the bus turning around and Mia whispering to me before I wake up.


    Tonight, however, the dream doesn''t run its usual course.


    Tonight, the dream is different.


    Tonight, I''m not dreaming.


    I''m remembering.


    Just as it happened on that day, Mia reaches over and turns up the sound on my iPod.


    She mouths out the words to D¨¦j¨¤ Vu, her long dark hair swinging as she mimics Alastaire''s guitar solo.


    She catches me glancing over at Evan, and she gives me a quick wink, which makes me blush.


    I look down in my lap, waiting for my face to stop burning. Out the corner of my eye I can just see his sunlit profile as he looks down at the glittering waves far below. I wonder whether she''s right about him asking me to the Freshman Formal after our field trip. The three of us have been friends since the start of middle school, but recently he''s been treating me differently.


    I wonder.


    Mia takes my hand and squeezes it tight as the next song starts.


    We hold hands through the song, as the music connecting us builds up louder and louder and the bus winds higher and higher up the cliffs.


    The song has just reached its crescendo when the day abruptly shatters.


    It starts with a shock of intense vibrations buzzing up through the floor of the bus, soft at first then more powerful. The entire bus shudders as something rains down on the metal roof.


    I pull my headphone out of my ear as Mia does the same, and the music is replaced by bloodcurdling screams. The driver has slammed on the brakes; a loud metallic screeching cuts through the din.


    I slam hard against Evan.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Mia is thrown into the aisle. She''s just pulling herself back into her seat when a massive boulder the size of a car slams into the side of the bus.


    Landslide.


    Things move very quickly from that point.


    For a split second I think I see a shadowy shape, maybe a person, standing in the road in front of the bus. My mind is racing too fast to make sense of it, and it''s gone in an instant, buried under a hail of rocks.


    Shards of glass fly through the air all around us as the bus swerves out of control across the road. It only takes a moment for us to crash through the safety rails and plummet over the side of the cliff.


    I see the ocean below, closing in fast.


    I''m suddenly weightless; my seat drops away below me. It''s as we''re plummeting through the air, the sea rising up to meet us, that I feel Evan''s arms wrap around me and hold me down.


    The bus strikes water.


    His mouth is against my ear, and he whispers something. I can''t hear it over the sound of the churning water engulfing the bus.


    Everything is moving too fast, but I have just enough time to collect my racing thoughts. The bus is sinking into the ocean. We''re trapped on the bus. We''re all going to die.


    Water is rushing in through the broken windows, and I hear groaning metal as the front of the bus sinks faster, and the back of the bus begins to rise into the air.


    We''re being pulled front-first beneath the waves.


    The aisle tilts until we''re at a steep angle, and a new round of screaming breaks out.


    I see a boy at the front of the bus fall out of his seat and hit the front screen.


    The bus driver is on his hands and knees scrambling out of his seat, his face covered in blood. Other kids hang on to the rails and dangle in the aisle as the floor tilts sideways and becomes a wall.


    The only thing keeping me pinned down safely is the seat in front of me, and Evan''s arms.


    A few rows below me a girl clings onto a handrail as she dangles in the air. I never learned her name, even though we''re in the same class. She''s screaming for her mother, over and over. A fair-haired boy near the front of the bus is shouting at her as he clings to his seat.


    The shrieking and sobbing meld into a single wail, until one scream cuts through the rest.


    One moment Mia''s next to me in her seat. The next moment she''s gone. With no seat in front of her to hold her in place, she falls down the long aisle. In seconds she''s lying against the glass front window of the bus, her head haloed in blood fanning out into the rising seawater. She''s not moving.


    I feel a scream building up in the back of my throat but I can''t release it.


    It''s not possible. This can''t be happening.


    Seawater is filling up the bus quickly now.


    Mia''s floating in the water, rising along with it as it swallows the first row, then the second row of seats.


    I''m so deep in shock that I feel like I''m dead already.


    I go limp in Evan''s arms. I watch the water creeping up the aisle towards us. More and more of my classmates are in the water, which is turning red ¨C from Mia''s blood, and their own. A girl with a long piece of glass sticking out of her eye socket is clawing at the seat above her.


    I don''t know what they''re all screaming for. What they''re climbing for.


    It''s hopeless.


    Evan''s arms wrap tighter around me and he turns around in his seat, moving me with him. His back against the seat, he places his feet against the emergency glass at the back of the bus ¨C and in one swift motion kicks it out.


    In the split second before the glass shatters and water surges in, he hurls me forward.


    My whole body reels as I''m thrown upwards into the freezing water outside the bus. Shards of glass swirl around me.


    The torrent sweeps Evan down the aisle, away from me, into darkness, and he''s gone. Just like that. Maybe he meant to follow me, I think, but the water is rushing into the bus too quickly now; it''s sinking too fast.


    Down, down, down into the darkness while I float suspended watching the bus rush away towards the seabed.


    I need to swim up to the surface, but my arms aren''t working. It''s probably got something to do with the stabbing pain in my chest, like a hot blade jammed between my ribs. Blood blossoms in the water around me.


    I give up.


    Before I pass out, all I can see is red.

 Chapter 19

    Pancakes. Pancakes with crispy bacon and syrup.


    I wake up to the smell of my dad''s Saturday morning specialty. The sudden pang of hunger literally makes me nauseous, as if I haven''t eaten in forever.


    What did I have for dinner last night?


    My appetite is gone in an instant, as the events of the evening come back to me.


    Oh yes, that''s right. I didn''t have time to eat. I was too busy having my clothes ripped off by a pack of psychotic girls.


    And after I went to sleep... I had the dream, but it was different.


    No. That wasn¡¯t a dream.


    That was a memory.


    My mind wanders to the shadowy shape in front of the bus just before we went over the cliff. I''d never noticed that before. I''m sure it didn''t really happen. There couldn''t have been anyone there. Just my dreaming mind adding little embellishments to my memories, as if the actual event wasn''t already horrifying enough.


    I pull the covers over my head, terrified of falling asleep again, but not yet ready to face the day.


    It really happened. I met Felix Lockhart. I met Fable.


    And I ran away.


    I curl up into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut.


    My one chance. And I blew it.


    Moments later my mom calls out from downstairs.


    "Ashling! Breakfast is ready!"


    "I''m not hungry!" I yell, just as my stomach growls back in disagreement.


    A few moments later I hear her quiet footfalls as she moves up the stairs.


    There''s a gentle knocking on the door.


    "Ashling?" She says softly, "You have to eat. Please. You can''t do this again."


    After the accident, I struggled to eat for months. It was a partly due to post-traumatic stress, and the meds the doctor prescribed to numb it.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Mostly though, I couldn''t eat because every bite of food made me think about how my friends would never eat again.


    It only got better after I moved to Huntson High and made friends with Zee and Jamie and Grace.


    Now my mother stands outside my door knocking softly against the frame, probably terrified I''m going to slip back to being that fading ghost of a girl trying so hard to erase herself.


    I can''t do that. For her sake.


    "Ashling?" She murmurs again.


    "I''m ok mom..." I say. "I''ll be down in a minute."


    When I get downstairs, I find my dad in front of the oven, pouring a ridiculous amount of syrup over plates stacked high with pancakes.


    "We had a bumper night at the restaurant last night," my mom says as she sets the kitchen table. "Full house. I was worried when you didn''t come and say hi after your set."


    I decide to ignore her, choosing instead to sit down and trail my fingers over the wooden patterns rippling across our kitchen table.


    The table was a parting gift to us from my gran, just three months before she passed away. At that time, we had no idea that she was sick. She carved the entire table by herself out of apple wood, complete with an intricate border of swirling apple blossoms and leaves and stars. The doctors told us she must have known she didn''t have long. The table was her way of saying goodbye.


    My fingers brush lazily over the table''s minute valleys and rises, remembering my gran''s smile as I watch my parents make breakfast.


    The sunlight steaming in through our bay windows turns my dad''s red hair a flaming vermilion. The same red as my gran''s.


    "How''d you sleep sweetheart?" My dad asks as I slouch down at the kitchen table.


    "Same as always," I say. "Can I help with the table?"


    "That''s ok, it''s under control," my mom answers, grabbing napkins and place mats from the cupboard.


    "You just take it easy." She and my dad share a worried glance between themselves, which I''m sure I wasn''t meant to see.


    Jamie''s right about everything. Everyone really does treat me like I''m made of porcelain.


    "Your mother and I were thinking about visiting that new farmer''s market in Pettygrove a bit later," my dad says. "The Carters said it was great last weekend. Feel like coming along?"


    I''m tempted to make up an excuse. I could tell them I''m too tired. And once they leave the house I''d wrap myself in my duvet and cry for hours about the fact that I messed up and I''ll never see the Fable boys again.


    But telling them I want to stay at home would make them worry too much, so I nod my head and force a smile.


    "Sure, sounds great," I say.


    Besides, it''s no use crying over spilled milk. I need to get on with my life.


    Just then the landline rings.


    My mom hurries out the room to answer, before calling out my name from the hall. "There''s someone on the phone for you Ashling! A boy."


    Oh joy. Back to reality.


    I have band practice with Alix and Micah tonight.


    Alix usually texts me about practice times on Saturday, but with my phone left behind at the stadium (hopefully in lost property by now) he''s probably been trying to contact me all morning and decided to try the landline instead.


    Mom brings the landline mobile handset to me. As she puts it in my hand, the barest trace of a shadow passes over her features, before she turns her back to me and continues setting out plates and coffee mugs.


    I get up from the table and walk out into the hall for some privacy.


    "Hey Alix. What''s up?" I speak into the handset with false enthusiasm.


    There''s a long silence on the other end of the line.


    "Who''s Alix?" Asks a strangely familiar voice.


    Oh my god. Could it be...?


    "Felix?" I ask.

 Chapter 20

    "Is that... you, Felix?" I ask.


    "Obviously," he answers. There''s a long silence on the other end of the line.


    Ok. Calm down. He called my house. That''s a good thing, nothing to freak out about. It''s impossible to embarrass myself any more than I already have.


    "You left your phone in the dressing room last night," he says. "And your guitar. We''re only flying out at noon, so I''ll bring them over to you."


    What? WHAT?


    "How did you get my number?" It sounds more suspicious than I intended it to.


    "I''m calling from your phone. I just selected home in the contacts," he replies.


    Oh. My. God. Maybe I never actually woke up this morning.


    "Are you still there?" He asks, irritation creeping into his voice.


    "Yes! I... are you sure it''s ok?" I ask. "You don''t mind coming here?"


    "It''s fine," he says. "What''s your address?"


    "10 Ariel Terrace," I answer in a daze. "The double story with the white roses in front."


    "Ok. I''ll be there soon," he says.


    After he hangs up I just sit and stare at the phone.


    Then it dawns on me that I don''t actually know where he''s coming from, so he could arrive in just a few minutes.


    I run into the kitchen and tell my parents I''ll be late for breakfast, before dashing upstairs to the bathroom at superhuman speed.


    After I''m out the shower I blow dry my hair, something I never do... but today calls for it.


    Once I''m happy with my hair I scour my wardrobe for the perfect outfit. I need to look nice, but not as if I''ve made a huge effort.


    I know he''ll just give me my stuff then leave, and he might not even come into the house.


    I''ll see him for like a minute tops if I''m lucky. But still. I''m going to make that minute count.


    Eventually I settle on my trusty skinny jeans, ballet pumps and a seafoam green halter-top.


    I finish off the look with a good lashing of mascara and some tinted lip gloss. If Jamie were here she''d insist I wear some eye shadow, maybe a dress and cute wedges...


    Jamie! Oh my god Jamie and Zee and Grace!


    I totally forgot about them. If I call them now, they might make it in time. It''s probably the only chance any of them will get to meet one of the Fable guys. Even if Felix is cold and blunt and infuriatingly rude. Jamie has a huge crush on him, and I know Grace sort of has a thing for him too. Along with every other girl on the planet. I can''t let them miss this.


    I run downstairs to get the landline phone. At the foot of the staircase, I stop dead in my tracks.


    There are voices coming from the living room. First my mom, saying something about how much she loves London, then... Felix.


    Oh no. He must have arrived while I was in the shower.


    I take a deep breath and walk into the room as casually as possible.


    Felix is sitting in the middle of the sofa while my parents sit in the armchairs opposite.


    He''s dressed down in a black v-neck tee and skinny jeans, but he''s just as breathtaking as he was last night. So beautiful.


    Felix Lockhart is the world¡¯s biggest jerk, don''t forget that.


    Right now, he looks totally out of place. He belongs in a music video, in the movies, on a poster... not in my lounge chatting to my parents.


    Even Muesli, my lazy old cat, got here before me. She''s draped over Felix''s legs and staring lovingly up at him, something she never usually does with strangers (or even family, for that matter).If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Felix''s hair looks shaggy and slightly damp, so dark it''s almost black, as if he just stepped out the shower and didn''t have time to dry it. The thought of Felix in the shower brings a flush to my cheeks, and I''m tempted to run back upstairs.


    "Hey," my voice comes out as a croak.


    Felix flicks his eyes over to me lazily. He looks pissed.


    "Ashling," he says. Nothing more; he doesn¡¯t smile. He just fixes me with a cool stare that makes my cheeks flush.


    He''s wearing the same cold, unreadable expression as always. No emotion apart from boredom and maybe a hint of irritation.


    I wonder if he''s told my parents what happened at the show. I wonder if they even know who he is.


    "I''m glad you finally found your way out the shower Ashling," my mom says with a smile. "This young man''s been waiting quite a while to talk to you."


    My dad stands up and hands me my phone and my red hoodie. It was in shreds last night ¨C now it''s miraculously whole again. Sewn up good as new.


    "I''m sure you can explain why he had your phone and your grandmother''s guitar... not to mention an item of your clothing," my dad says, without looking away from Felix.


    My dad''s smiling, but his eyes flash with the murderous look he reserves for Alix, Micah and any other boy foolish enough to so much as talk to me.


    Think. Get mom and dad out of here.


    "Umm... shouldn''t you two be washing up in the kitchen?" I say. It''s the first thing that pops into my head.


    "I don''t know what¨C" my dad start before my mom takes pity on me.


    "You''re totally right hon," she says, pulling my grumbling dad towards the door. "Come on Brian. Let''s go wash the dishes." She winks at me as they leave the room.


    "Come on Muesli!" My mom calls out at the cat. "Stop bothering Ashling''s friend! We''re going to the kitchen now! Come with mommy! Come baby! Fluffbums! Kissywhiskers! Come on!"


    Muesli ignores her, and stretches out in Felix''s lap with a sigh as my parents shuffle out the door.


    Felix just lounges on the sofa looking at me and I stand looking at him. This situation couldn''t possibly get any more awkward.


    "I¨C" we both start speaking at the same time.


    "You go first," I say, feeling my face burning up again. He must think my cheeks are permanently red.


    "I didn''t come here just to drop off your stuff," he says, setting a coffee cup down on the low glass table in front of him. "There''s a reason I came here personally. I had to make sure we''re not going to have a situation."


    A situation?


    "I don''t understand," I say.


    He sighs, cool and calm as ever but somehow weary and impatient, like he''s trying to explain rocket science to a three year old.


    "You could press charges for what happened to you last night," he says. "Not just against those girls. Against the band too. Against me. I came here to let you know not to try that. It wouldn''t be in your best interests."


    Is he... threatening me?


    I bite down my anger, feeling my body start to shake ever so slightly. "I''d never do that," I say. "I''m not blaming anyone else for last night. It happened, and it''s over." And it''s my fault, I think. If I wasn''t such a basket case, so socially inept that I''m practically begging the bullies to have a go...


    There''s another long silence as Felix stares at me, his greenish-hazel eyes searching my face, looking for something. He visibly relaxes.


    "Ok then," he says. "I''m going."


    He stands up quickly, and Muesli springs onto the sofa with a disgruntled meow. He heads for the door without even saying goodbye.


    I lunge forward, grabbing his arm. Jamie and the others will kill me if they miss the chance to meet him. I''ve gotta stall.


    "Do you have to leave right this instant? Don''t you want, um¡± I rack my brain for something to offer him "coffee? Or a... glass of... uh... fruit juice... or... milk or something?"


    Milk? Why am I offering him milk?! He''s not a freaking cat.


    The doorbell rings.


    "I''ll be right back," I say, and hurry to the front door, not really caring who it is but thankful for the interruption. It''ll give me some time to think about what to say to him next.


    I can just make out the blurred outlines of a girl through the frosted glass of our front door.


    As I swing open the door, I see it''s not just one girl on the doorstep, but two ¨C my thirteen-year old neighbor Tammy, with her younger sister Sam peering out from behind her.


    I don''t know all that much about them, apart from the fact that they are both massive Enfablers. I know this because Tammy''s Fable Tumblr following is huge ¨C just about every fan in Oregon knows who she is.


    For just a moment I consider inviting them inside. If anyone deserves to meet the lead singer of Fable, it''s these girls.


    And the looks on their faces when they find Felix Lockhart in my living room... it''s tempting.


    But a wiser, more cautious part of me says that''s not a good idea. Felix came here to talk to me, not to sign autographs and meet the neighbors.


    And if Tammy''s record online is anything to go by, she is totally unable to keep a secret. She''d just need to send out one tweet and we''d be mobbed by half of Portland.


    I can''t trust her.


    "What''s up?" I ask them as nonchalantly as possible.


    "Nothing, probably," Tammy replies irritably.


    "I''m not lying, I swear!" Sam whines, struggling behind her sister. Tammy has her in a lock, holding her back.


    "I know this is stupid, but Sam just won''t shut up about it. She''s insisting she saw Felix Lockhart go into your house," she says.


    "It was him!" Sam says as she squirms around behind her sister, "I know it was him. I promise."


    I force out a nervous giggle, hoping it sounds natural.


    "In my dreams," I say.


    Tammy shakes her head.


    "Satisfied? Honestly, you''re such a moron Sam, you really¨C"


    She stops talking abruptly, and stares past me with wide eyes.


    I turn around and look behind me, following her gaze down the hallway. The living room door has swung open just wide enough to reveal Felix leaning lazily in the doorway.


    "What the..." Tammy says as she steps forward.


    The last thing I hear before I slam the door on their faces is Sam shrieking "let me see!" followed by the doorbell ringing and frantic knocking.


    All the commotion brings my parents out of the kitchen.


    Felix is already walking into the hallway.


    "Trouble?" he asks.


    "Yes, " I answer. "Big trouble."

 Chapter 21

    We move into the living room to get away from the racket Tammy and Sam are making outside the front door. By the time I''m done explaining to my parents who Felix is and why there are two girls in hysterics on our doorstep, those two girls have multiplied into four.


    Mallory Wright, a quiet girl around my own age and who lives opposite me, isn''t being so quiet at the moment ¨C she''s yelling outside my house, calling Felix''s name over and over.


    She must have spotted the other girls from across the street and came over to investigate.


    "Ashling? Mr. Shields? Mrs. Shields? Hellloooo? Is it true? Open up!" she shouts. She''s usually timid and soft spoken. I had no idea her voice could get this loud.


    Another, more familiar voice, chirps up from outside. "Ashling! It''s Olivia, you remember me right? I was a year above you at Southwood Lakes. Is it true? Is Felix Lockhart really in your house?"


    Olivia. How could I forget? We used to carpool together before I moved schools. Since the accident she hasn''t spoken to me once.


    "Maybe we should let them in," my dad suggests. "Or throw him out to them."


    "That''s actually not a bad idea," Felix says without missing a beat. "I''ll go out there and take some photos with them. That''s all they want."


    "NO!" I surprise myself by yelling. "They''ve probably already texted their friends. If you go outside now you''ll be mobbed. We need to get you out quietly through the back."


    Felix shrugs. "Ashling, you''re overreacting. That is not a mob. I''ve fought my way through crowds of hundreds. You''re talking about three or four girls."


    From the voices I can hear from outside though, it sounds like he might be wrong.


    I walk up to the living room window and look out at a small but steadily growing crowd. More and more people are arriving every second. Several cars have pulled up outside our house.


    By now, his location is probably trending on Twitter.


    How many are out there? Twenty? Fifty? They''ve come together so quickly. Every girl in Portland is going to be on my front lawn in just a few minutes.


    I need to think fast but nothing''s coming to me. One thing''s for sure ¨C we need to get Felix out of here.


    "Did you drive here?" I ask him.


    My heart sinks as he shakes his head. "I walked. We''re staying close, at the Rose Inn. If I leave the house now it''ll draw the crowd away."


    As he says this, something smacks hard against the living room window, inches from where I''m standing. I jump back with a shriek. It looked like a cell phone.


    "They''re throwing stuff now?" My dad says. "Felix, maybe you shouldn''t go outside."


    My mom is pacing the living room with her phone in her hand. "Should we call 911?" She asks.


    Just then D¨¦j¨¤ Vu starts playing. Felix takes out his phone and walks into the hallway to answer.


    I can hear bits of the conversation ¨C Felix giving the person on the other side of the line our home address, him telling them to calm down.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Don''t bother calling anyone," he says as he steps back into the living room. "My driver will be here in a few minutes. It''ll all be over soon."


    My dad marches out the room, followed closely by my mom, muttering something about locking the doors and securing the perimeter.


    I turn around to face the window again. Before I can step forward, Felix is beside me.


    "Get back," he says, drawing the curtains closed.


    This is what his life must be like. Every single day. Screaming girls wanting something from him. No wonder he acts so grumpy. I''d also be over it.


    "I just... I really don''t get it," I say, stumbling over my words. "How can you still do what you do... singing in the band I mean... when they... I mean we... your fans... when your fans act like this all the time?"


    "It''s not my choice," he says.


    Before I can ask him what he means, D¨¦j¨¤ Vu starts playing again. Felix takes his phone out of his pocket, but it''s dark. We both look over to my phone, lit up and vibrating on the sofa.


    Zee''s photo lights up my screen. As I answer I can hear the panic in her voice.


    "Oh my god! Ashling, are you ok?" she shrieks.


    How did she find out?


    Jamie and I follow Fable and the fan accounts on Twitter so Zee and Grace don''t have to. That''s because Zee''s about as tech-savvy as an eighty year old, and Grace''s parents think Twitter is the devil, along with every other thing invented after 1960.


    "I''m fine, just a bit shaken," I answer.


    "Turn on your TV," Zee says.


    "Why?" I ask.


    "Just do it. Channel 3," she replies.


    I walk over to the TV and scroll through the channels until I see an aerial view of a house on the news. A very familiar double story white house with an oak shingle roof. My house.


    The crowd outside our house is now more like a sea. Where my mother''s prized Iceberg roses once stood, there are now just bodies. Hundreds upon hundreds of girls, streaming out of our driveway, all the way down Ariel Terrace.


    Either there''s a helicopter or a drone out there, or someone''s filming from the top of the hill. Hopefully this means the police are on their way.


    Felix swears under his breath. "Idiots. This''ll only make things worse," he says.


    Maybe we should have called 911.


    As I think this, there''s a loud crash from upstairs.


    Shattering glass. It sounded like it came from my bedroom...


    I sprint towards the stairs, but Felix is faster. He''s in front of me before I even reach the stairwell.


    "Stay here," he says.


    He heads up the stairs quickly.


    In the direction of my bedroom.


    Where my pajamas are lying in a heap on the floor. Possibly my bra too. And he''s going to see that my walls (and ceiling) are covered in pictures of him. Plus four other boys, but still. Awkward.


    I run up the stairs after him but it''s too late. He''s already gone inside.


    To my relief, he''s not staring at my posters, but rather looking out my bedroom window. The screaming outside goes up an octave as the crowd down below spots him.


    One windowpane is completely shattered, and there are large shards of sparkling glass lying on the windowsill, on the floor, on my bed. The culprit is lying at the foot of my bed ¨C a large, smooth stone the size of my fist, with a crinkled scrap of paper wrapped around it.


    I walk over and pick it up in a daze. I unwrap the note and read it, even though it''s clearly not intended for me.


    Felix I love you please follow me @crystalsloane and call me 503509699 xox.


    The white edges of the paper in my hand are turning red for some reason. I feel dizzy.


    Blood?


    I stretch out my hand and find a shard of glass the size of a quarter embedded in my palm. It must have become wedged in the paper when the window shattered.


    I slump down on the edge of my bed and observe the long trail of bright red trickling down my wrist. I guess this is karma for biting that girl''s hand last night, even though I don''t remember doing it.


    The room goes dim as Felix draws the curtains, which is met with more screaming from outside. I can just see his shadowy silhouette. He''s only a few meters away but it seems like miles.


    I''m quickly slipping under.


    I stare hard at my hand. Blood. Broken glass. Screaming girls. Screaming boys. Mia lying face down in a puddle of red seawater with her arm twisted out in front of her. Evan''s face disappearing in a cloud of bubbles. The dark mysterious shape on the road in front of the bus before we went over, crackling around the edges, morphing, sprouting shadowy tendrils reaching out to me, and me alone.


    Felix is in front of me in a moment, his hands on my shoulders, steadying me.


    He swims in and out of focus.


    Why can''t I be strong, just this once?


    The last thing I see before I fall forward into his arms, into the darkness, is a small scar just below his collarbone, too faint to show up in photos or videos. It''s shaped like a crescent moon.


    Just like mine, I think. With that, I pass out.

 Chapter 22

    Brilliant hazel irises flecked with gold. I know these eyes...


    Felix''s face is hovering inches from my own. I blink, trying to dispel the lingering haze.


    More faces appear as my vision clears. Elliot, Lyall, Ben and Alastaire. They''re all here. Gathered around. Gazing down at me. From the ceiling.


    I stare at the poster above my bed for a split second before sitting up so fast that I get a head rush. After it passes I get up slowly, realizing I''m alone in my room.


    How long was I out?


    The screaming outside is totally gone. I stumble over to the window and look down at my driveway. Apart from one or two stragglers, the crowd has vanished.


    Which means...


    I run down the stairs, already feeling my eyes prickling with tears. My mom and dad are standing in the kitchen, both looking at something on my mom''s laptop.


    "Where''s Felix?" I ask.


    "Thank goodness, we were starting to get worried," my mom says as she shuts the screen of her laptop. "You were out for almost an hour this time."


    "Did he... is Felix gone?" I ask.


    "Yes, thank god," my dad says. "His driver arrived just after you fainted."


    "Oh," I say.


    I try to crack a smile. "Well, that''s a relief, I''m glad the rabid fans didn''t tear the house down!"


    My mom''s not fooled.


    She stands up, wraps me in her arms. Brushes away the tears I didn''t even realize I was crying.


    It''s over.


    *****


    The rest of the weekend passes by unbearably slowly.


    I keep revisiting everything I said, everything I didn''t say.


    I can''t go back, can''t not run out of that dressing room, can''t change the past. I agonize over the thought that Felix and the others will be on their way home now, London-bound.


    Five thousand miles away.


    Still, I check my phone every few minutes just in case he calls me. Texts me. Anything.


    He probably didn''t even take my number ¨C after all, he phoned me at home from my own cell phone, so it''s not like he needed to write it down or anything. And he only came over to my house to semi-threaten me into not going to the cops about what happened backstage at the concert.


    But I guess some part of me stupidly thought he might contact me.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    About what? There''s really nothing more to say.


    I try to look on the bright side. I met my idols. Sure, I spent most of my little adventure getting to know the one guy in Fable I''ve never really been a fan of ¨C but that doesn''t matter. If anything, I saw a new side to him. I think I understand now why Felix is always so rude in interviews, why he built his wall. I get it.


    All in all I really should be grateful. I was extremely lucky to meet Fable, even if it wasn''t the fairytale scenario I''d always dreamed of. Even if I didn''t get to keep my promise to Mia. I''m lucky.


    It''s basically impossible not to dwell on everything that happened though.


    First Jamie, then Zee and even Grace call me wanting details.


    I don''t feel like seeing them ¨C don''t feel like seeing anyone for that matter ¨C so I tell them everything over the phone. I cancel my band practice with Alix and Micah and spend the whole weekend at home in a onesie watching cat videos and playing my guitar.


    I need time to get over the panic attack I had backstage, and the even worse one I had when I cut my hand in front of Felix. And I need to mentally prepare for the craziness that inevitably awaits me at school on Monday morning.


    *****


    I haven''t always been like this.


    Before the accident, I didn''t even know what a panic attack was. The first time I had one was at the candlelight vigil, just one week after the accident.


    It was on the same day I was discharged from the hospital. They wanted to keep me longer ¨C I''d been unconscious for more than a day after I was pulled out of the sea, and the doctors wanted to be safe rather than sorry.


    But I insisted.


    I wasn''t even meant to be at the vigil, but I knew I had to go. I had to see for myself.


    I still couldn''t accept that what had happened was real. I didn''t know what I would find, how I could ever understand or accept any of it, but the vigil was the only thing left. My parents reluctantly agreed to let me go.


    The moment we arrived and I saw Mia''s photograph surrounded by candles and flowers, her mom sobbing at the front of the crowd while Evan''s dad knelt on the ground ... I felt my heart clench.


    It''s difficult to imagine unless you''ve experienced it, but it''s like an invisible hand takes hold of you, and squeezes all the air from your lungs. Slowly at first then faster and faster, until you can barely breathe. You go limp. Your heartbeat races. Your skin turns to ice.


    I fell down shaking and gasping, surrounded by the grieving families of my former classmates. The lone survivor, reduced to a shrieking shaking mess on the grass. My parents pulled me off the ground and took me straight back to hospital.


    The next day my doctor told me I''d had a panic attack caused by post-traumatic stress. I looked up the definition of panic attack on my phone.


    pan¡¤ic at¡¤tack


    noun


    1. unexpected episode of intense fear which may be accompanied by physical symptoms.


    The most common physical symptoms, as I learned first hand, are a racing heartbeat, dizziness, chills, hyperventilation, fainting. All while experiencing the most utter certainty that you are dying, right there and then.


    It''s like a dread that entirely takes over your body and mind.


    It''s the worst feeling in the world.


    Since that first time, the panic attacks have become a regular part of my life. Anything that reminds me of the accident can set me off. The sight of blood. A bright yellow school bus. A broken window.


    Even just the sound of girls screaming, or the feeling of being trapped and surrounded by people can send me over the edge. It happened at a concert I went to with Zee one month after moving schools, soon after I''d met her ¨C the Zara Quinn show, aka the concert that made me swear I''d never attend another one ever again.


    Even for Fable.


    The doctor originally put me on meds, and those helped the panic attacks at first. After a while though, the constant feeling of being in a daze, inside a fogged-up glass bubble, got too much. I went off them and tried therapy. Cognitive analytic therapy. Hypnotherapy. Group therapy. Nothing''s stuck.


    Eventually, I put my foot down and I haven''t seen a doctor in over a year. My parents weren''t entirely happy about that, but they eventually accepted it. I''m not totally sure it was the right decision to make, but I know it was the only decision I could make.


    I''m done trying to get over what happened, to erase the fear and anxiety that filled me up that day and never left. If I''m a nervous wreck for the rest of my life, so be it.


    So long as Mia and Evan and the rest of them continue to haunt me, they are at least still present in some small way.


    That''s the only thing I can do for them now.

 Chapter 23

    Monday morning turns out to be just as crazy as I''d dreaded.


    The day gets off to a bad start and goes downhill from there. I get a ride to school with Zee and Alix like usual, but Alix is quiet all the way there. Zee must have told him what happened with Fable, and if not, he would have seen the crowds mobbing my house on the news or online.


    But he doesn''t say a thing about it.


    I expected him to at least tease me. It''s not like him to miss a chance to mock Fable.


    He''s silent the whole way to school, while Zee chatters away nervously about the weather, soccer tryouts, the traffic ¨C anything but Fable.


    Maybe Alix is just upset that I missed our band practice. I hope that''s all.


    When Zee and I arrive at our lockers a few minutes before first bell, I find the words "GROUPIE SLUT" scrawled over the front of my locker in black sharpie. Jamie''s scrubbing furiously at it with what looks like eye makeup remover and a Kleenex.


    Her face drops when she sees me.


    She sighs heavily as she spots us. "I wanted to get this cleaned up before you got here. I guess you might as well see it for yourself. You''ve got some haters."


    "They''re just jealous Ashling," Zee says.


    She squeezes my hand and searches my face with wide eyes and pursed lips, brows knitted together. I know this expression so well.


    Pity.


    So I put on my most convincing fake smile and swing open my locker like I don''t have a care in the world.


    "I''m great," I lie. "Seriously, don''t worry about me. I''m just glad all the craziness with Fable is over."


    The message on the front of my locker makes it pretty clear though that this is far from over.


    I''ve already filled my friends in on everything, but the rest of the school only knows what they''ve seen on the news, and whatever rumors are doing the rounds online. Who knows what they''ve heard, and what they''re telling each other.


    A lot of girls at my school must hate me right now.


    Like whoever decided to decorate the front of my locker with sharpie.


    *****


    We have fourth period free, so we go to a coffee shop five minutes walk from school. Technically it''s against the rules to leave Huntson High''s grounds during the school day, but we''ve been doing this since last year and no one''s ever caught us.


    Even though the coffee doesn''t have a thing on the Night Owl, proximity to school trumps quality.


    "Four slices of Apple Cinnamon cake, and four pumpkin spice lattes," Jamie tells the waiter. She insists on paying.


    "Pumpkin spice in June?" Grace says.


    "If there''s a rule, I''ll break it," Jamie says with a wink.


    To my surprise, the girls don''t hassle me for details about the weekend.I told them everything over the phone ¨C about meeting Felix, the limo ride, the angels attacking me, the panic attack in my bedroom ¨C but it''s never the same as hearing it in person. I thought they''d have a million questions, especially Jamie.


    But instead of quizzing me on every detail of my weekend from hell, Jamie fills me in on how their night went, and the dramas surrounding it.


    "Just count yourself lucky you didn''t have to deal with Grace''s mom on Friday," she tells me. "That woman is cray."


    "Ugh, I can''t believe you just used the word cray," Grace says. "Not that I disagree with you though."


    "What happened?" I ask, already suspecting the answer.


    "Oh, it was typical," Jamie replies airily. "Just before the concert she told me I was wearing too much makeup. Then she said my dress was too short and tried to make me wear one of Grace''s. They all go past the knee on Grace but on me they''ll be mini dresses anyway. I''m like, double Grace''s height. So she threatened to phone my mom and have her bring over ¡®a more suitable¡¯ outfit."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Did she?" I ask. "Call your mom, I mean."


    Jamie snorts. "She tried. No luck."


    "I wish my mom was more like your mom," Grace says, tucking a dark blonde ringlet behind her ear.


    Jamie just snorts. "No, you don''t. At least your mom gives a shit."


    "Don''t say that Jamie," Zee says softly. "Your mom does... give a shit." Her cheeks flush red at the curse word. Jamie has a mouth like a sailor, but Zee and Grace definitely don''t fall into that category. It might actually be the first time I''ve ever heard Zee swear.


    "You think so?" Jamie says, stabbing at her cake with her fork. "She has a funny way of showing it. She left for Hawaii with her latest toy boy three days ago."


    This is a regular occurrence with Jamie''s mom.


    Since she divorced Jamie''s dad six months ago, she''s been on this "hook up with as many guys as possible" vibe. Basically, she''s a bona fide cougar. Every few weeks Jamie gets left with the AmEx and two irritable chihuahuas for company, while her mom takes some hot twenty-something guy on an all-expenses paid holiday. Jamie made us promise not to tell our parents. Although it''s bound to come out eventually, especially with Grace''s mom being the way she is.


    "Anyway, your mom is about to hate me a whole lot more," Jamie tells Grace as she scoops the cream off the top of her latte. "I''m going pink."


    "Pink?" We all ask.


    "My hair. I''m dying it pink. Electric Bubblegum Pink to be exact." Her eyes light up as she says it.


    "But why?" I ask. Jamie dying her hair is nothing new, but usually there''s a reason ¨C like when she did an ombr¨¦ tutorial on her YouTube channel in spring, or when she went dark red for Valentine''s Day last year. Pink is a little extreme, even for her.


    "I wanted to tell you all last week but I couldn''t do it until all the paper work was sorted." She pauses dramatically and leans forward. "I got approached by... wait for it... NASTY GAL!" She shrieks the last bit out so loud that people at the tables around us turn their heads our way.


    "They''re flying me to LA next month... I''m going to be the star of a blogger fashion shoot with Gianna Wild and Wendy Song! WENDY SONG! And we''re going to guest edit the new season lookbook. I want to stand out so I''m doing something cool with my hair. Amazing, right?"


    It really is amazing, and we all tell her so, while she shows us the email correspondence between her and a PR lady on her phone.


    "I''m going be on their site, Instagram, everything!" Her voice rises to a squeak of excitement. "This is my big break girls. My YouTube channel is going to go insane after this. I am literally hashtag SoBlessed".


    "You''re meant to do the hashtag sign with your fingers as you say it. Otherwise you just sound stupid." A familiar voice cuts into our conversation.


    Beth is flanked by her BFFs on either side of her. I was so focused on Jamie''s news that I didn''t notice them sidling up to our table.


    "What are you doing here?" Jamie snaps.


    "I could ask you the same thing. We''re only here because we saw you leaving the school grounds earlier. You girls are such rebels." Bailey and Becca giggle behind their queen bee.


    "You followed us?" Grace asks.


    "Don''t get all excited about it," Beth says, turning to me. "We just have a few questions for Ghost."


    "That''s not my¨C"


    "Fine. Ashling. Whatever. All I want to know is what Felix Lockhart was really doing at your house. Tell us what''s actually going on."


    "Why would she want to tell you that?" Jamie growls. "Just get lost Beth."


    "We''re not leaving until we know," she replies.


    "It''s private," I say.


    "If you wanted to keep your love life private, maybe you shouldn''t have hooked up with one of the most famous guys on the planet," she says. "Not that I actually think anything like that went on between you two. Looks only count for so much. You''re not just a loser, Ghost. You''re mental, anyone can see it five miles off. There has to be some other reason he was at your house, and I want to know what it is."


    I''m too shocked to speak, but Jamie rises, and swipes her hand through the air at Beth. She''s not fast enough ¨C Beth easily dodges the slap and carries on unfazed.


    "So tell me what really happened. Everyone knows that Felix doesn''t really like getting up close and personal with fans. He''s Mr. I''m Too Good For Everybody so Don''t Even Speak to Me."


    Beth speaking about something she doesn''t understand makes me see red.


    "He has his reasons for that," I say.


    "Uh-huh. You still haven''t answered my question. What was he really doing at your house?"


    "That''s between Felix and me."


    "And his ten million other fans," she says as she slams her hand down on the table in front of me, sending my empty latte mug clattering before falling onto its side.


    I''ve had enough.


    I get up without another word.


    I don''t look back, but I can hear that Jamie, Zee and Grace have risen too, walking out of the coffee shop behind me.


    Enough.


    *****


    When we get back to school I expect more of the same, but luckily not everyone is like the Three Bs.


    All day, I have girls coming up to me to talk about what happened, most of them just curious after what they saw on the news.


    Everyone from freshmen to seniors, and even my pretty thirty-something biology teacher, who I had no idea was into Fable.


    Everyone keeps telling me I''m soooo lucky. And asking if Felix really is as stunning in real life as he is in photos (of course he is). And asking if he really is rude and abrasive in person, or if it''s just an act (it isn''t). And asking if anything ¡°happened¡±.


    No one actually says what they suspect might have ¡°happened¡±, so I don''t give specifics.


    I just tell them I left some of my things in the VIP area, and Felix returned them in person. As he''d do for any fan. I tell them yes, it was awesome meeting him, and no, he hasn''t called me, and yes, it''s true I''ll probably never see him again but I was grateful just to meet him and that''s that. I couldn''t ask for anything more. Nothing happened, and I''m moving on.


    The more I say it, the more I believe it.


    I''m moving on.

 Chapter 24

    Friday night finally arrives, and with it, summer vacation. I skip my usual set at the Night Owl, because we were planning on going to the movies to celebrate ¨C Zee, Jamie, Grace and me ¨C but Jamie has other plans at the last minute.


    For reasons I can''t even begin to fathom, all four of us got invited to a keg party at Aaron Young''s house. He''s undeniably cool, and a senior, but both Alix and Micah think he''s a jerk (and he goes through girlfriends faster than a hot knife through butter).


    Still, the lure of popularity points and cute seniors is too much for Jamie. She and Grace end up going to the party, while Zee and I skip it to watch a Frozen rerun at the cinema near my house (for about the fifth time since it came out).


    It works out pretty well ¨C Zee will spend the night at my place, then tomorrow we''ll go together to band practice at her house in the afternoon.


    It''s as if none of the stuff with Fable even happened in the first place.


    For a few days after they left, I had this weird feeling. It was like Felix, and Alastaire and the others had smashed into my orbit and passed by as quickly as a comet, and now I was floating unanchored watching the light fade away and waiting for my gravity to return.


    It did return, little by little, and things are starting to feel normal. Or at least, as normal as things ever get for me.


    The boys have moved on, and are on holiday in different spots all over the world, taking a break between the tour and their next album. It''s time for me to move on too.


    As we walk home after the movie, Zee and I debate for the millionth time whether a relationship between Elsa and Jack Frost would work out. I don''t see the problem with movie crossovers, but Zee thinks it''s crazy. I turn on my phone to Google some fan art and change her mind.


    Very important stuff. Worrying about OTPs and whether Jelsa has canon potential. Life is well and truly back to normal.


    When I turn on my phone, I find two missed calls from home, and three from an unknown number.


    The ones from home are obvious ¨C the movie ran a bit longer than I thought it would, and ever since the accident, mom gets extremely freaked out any time I''m back late from anywhere.


    And as for the calls from the unknown number, that''ll probably be yet another journalist who found my contact details online.


    They''ve been hassling me non-stop since Saturday.


    I quicken my pace anyway, and we reach my house in just a few minutes.


    As Zee and I walk into my driveway I notice an unfamiliar black Jeep parked next to my mom''s Kia.


    Mom didn''t mention anything about having people over for dinner.


    As I walk through the front door a chill runs down my spine. It''s gone in a flash, but I get the feeling that something bad is about to happen.


    *****


    "Darling! Close the door and come on through!" My mom''s voice rings out across the house.


    As Zee and I step from the hall into the kitchen, we''re met with a scene that knocks the air right out of my lungs.


    First I take in my mom and dad sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of files and a half empty bottle of red wine.


    Nothing out of place about that. It''s Friday night, after all.


    What is out of place however, is the dark haired boy elbows deep in the kitchen sink, his back to me as he passes dishes to the blonde boy on drying duty next to him.


    They don''t need to turn around for me to know who they are.


    Zee doesn''t need a hint either ¨C she shrieks so loudly that Felix and Alastaire whip around to face us, dropping a porcelain bowl in the process. Everyone''s silent as the bowl smashes on the floor, sending bits of foam and dishwater flying into the air.


    "F... F... Fe..." Zee stutters in between hyperventilating. She grabs my shoulders, eyes as large as saucers, and speaks very slowly and seriously. "Ashling. Why are Felix Lockhart and Alastaire Cassiel-Kensington in your kitchen?"


    I''d like to know the same thing.


    "About time," Felix says.


    Even wearing my mom''s lumo pink washing gloves, he looks like he walked straight off the set of a music video, dressed head to toe in black with his dark hair falling over his hazel eyes.


    And of course Alastaire is as stunning as ever. As usual, he''s Felix''s polar opposite, the light to his dark. He¡¯s dressed in skinny jeans and a white v-neck sweater, the light glinting off the burnished gold of his longish wavy blonde hair.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I currently have two of the most beautiful, most famous boys in the world washing dishes in my kitchen.


    The thought alone makes me feel a little dazed.


    Alastaire winks at me as he scoops up the shards of bowl scattered on the floor, then places them on the kitchen counter.


    "Nice of you to join us, Cupcake."


    Oh. My. God. He called me Cupcake. Does that mean... did they see it?


    There is a series of framed photos hanging on the wall in our entrance hall. My dad took them on my third birthday, when my mom decided to throw a ridiculous cupcake-themed party, complete with the birthday girl, i.e. me, dressed in a puffy dress shaped like a cupcake, complete with beaded sprinkles and organza icing. In every single photo, I have icing and crumbs smeared all over my face, my hands, my hair, so thick you can barely see my skin underneath.


    I''ve asked my mom about a gazillion times to take the photos down, but she says I look cute dressed as a cupcake and smeared with food, and they''re her favorite.


    Gotta love parents.


    I can''t believe Felix and Alastaire have seen the wall of shame. Or maybe I''m reading too much into it. It could just be a coincidence. Maybe they didn''t see it.


    "We kept some dessert for you," Alastaire says, placing a bowl of apple crumble on the table in front of me. "Just try not to get it all over yourself."


    They saw it.


    "Are you ok sweetheart?" My mom asks. "You look a little shaken."


    "I''m fine," I lie. "What''s going on?"


    "Probably best to let these two young gentlemen explain that," my dad says, rising from his seat. He emphasizes the word gentlemen as if challenging the boys to dare try anything ungentlemanly on his watch.


    "We''ll be in the living room," my mom says as she heads for the door.


    "Right next door," my dad says, still glaring at the boys.


    "You too sweetie," my mom says as she drags Zee out of the kitchen. I hear Zee''s protests as my mom closes the door behind them.


    I watch them leave the room with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.


    A week ago I would have been overjoyed in this situation. Two members of Fable, my favorite band in the world, in my home, wanting to speak to me.


    But after fainting in front of them in the dressing room, and then passing out in front of Felix in my own bedroom, my embarrassment eclipses everything else.


    It''s obvious why the boys are here. They feel sorry for me after seeing what a loser I am. They think I''m a charity case. Or maybe their management pressured them into checking up on that one crazy fan who clearly has a heap of issues. Maybe it''s like the last time Felix came to my house, and they need to check there isn''t going to be a situation after everything that happened.


    I want the floor to swallow me.


    I wish mom and dad had called me and given me some warning. I would have slept over at Zee''s instead. Although that''s probably what the missed calls were about. Damn.


    "What do you want?" I ask. I know my voice sounds sharp, but right now I just want them to leave before I start crying out of sheer humiliation.


    "Wow, to the point," Alastaire says as he flops down into a chair at the kitchen table. "I can''t believe you''re not thrilled to see us. Are you sure you''re actually a fan of ours''?"


    "No... I am happy to see you. I mean, I''m really happy... and grateful. I''m just... confused. And I can''t believe my mom made you do the dishes," I say. "I am so, so sorry."


    "We offered," Alastaire replies. "It''s only fair, after we ate supper with them. And a really amazing dessert... you mum''s a great cook".


    "You ate dinner with my parents?"


    "Yeah. We''ve been here since six," Felix says. "You sure know how to keep a guy waiting."


    "But... this doesn''t make any sense," I say, searching Felix''s face. "You''re meant to be skiing in Switzerland, not washing dishes in my kitchen. And Alastaire''s meant to be in the south of France, and Ben''s in..."


    I catch myself and stop mid-sentence. I''ve just given away that I''m stalking them on Twitter. So awkward.


    I expect the guys to laugh at me, or be a little creeped out, but they don''t seem to think there''s anything weird about me knowing their travel schedules.


    "Yeah, that''s what the tabloids think," Alastaire says.


    "And our idiot manager," Felix adds. "It''s what would have happened if I hadn''t met you the other night."


    His hazel eyes stare intensely into mine.


    My knees are shaking so I pull out the chair next to Alastaire and sit down at the table. I don''t want them to see that I''m feeling faint from the shock of finding them in my kitchen.


    "I''m sorry," I say. "I''m still totally confused. Why are you here?"


    "I''ll explain everything," Felix says. "But first, where do I put these?" He waves the pink washing gloves.


    "Just leave them on the side of the sink," I say.


    I glance over at the dishes the boys have washed. There are two broken bowls and a cracked wine glass, and everything looks soapy. One plate still has a strip of tagliatelle glued to it. It''s as if neither one of them has ever washed a dish before in their entire lives.


    Although, that''s probably about right.


    Like most of the boys at the prestigious boarding school where they met, both Felix and Alastaire come from immense wealth. They grew up in mansions and manor houses with butlers and maids and gardeners and who knows what else, so it figures that they don''t know how to do simple stuff like washing dishes. In one vlog on the Fable YouTube channel, Lyall and Ben found out that Alastaire had never made a cup of tea, not even once in his whole life, and had no idea how it was done. They teased him about that for ages.


    Oh my god. The other boys. Are they here too?


    "Are you... alone?" I ask.


    I''m met with blank expressions.


    "I mean, are the other guys... the rest of the band... they''re not here, right?"


    I''m imagining Ben, Lyall and Elliot sprawled out on my bed upstairs laughing at my poster-covered walls.


    "It''s just us," Felix says. "The others are nearby."


    "Nearby?"


    "They''re... somewhere close. We don''t need them here right now."


    "What Felix is trying to say," Alastaire cuts in, "is that he tried to sneak away without telling anyone, so that he could see you alone. Luckily I caught him as he was leaving."


    Felix glares at him and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Scary.


    Alastaire ignores the murderous stare and reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his bright blue eyes flickering around my face. "And we couldn''t have that, now could we Cupcake?" He says. "Why should grumpy old Felix get to see you all alone?"


    Felix glares at him with narrowed eyes. "Cut it out Alastaire. Ashling, we don''t have a lot of time to talk. We came here because there''s something you''re going to do for us."


    What the... WHAT?


    I gulp down my anxiety. Try to sound confident.


    "Okay then," I say, leaning forward in my chair. "What do you want?"

 Chapter 25

    "Before I tell you what we''re doing here, take this," Felix says.


    He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, and takes out a small piece of paper folded in two. Alastaire rolls his eyes as Felix passes the note to me over the table, closing my hand over it.


    I''m still in such a state of shock at finding them in my house that it takes a second to register that Felix Lockhart''s hand just touched my hand.


    "Read it after we''ve left," Felix says. "And don''t show your friend. It''s for your eyes only. Understand?"


    I nod, tucking the paper away into my hoodie pocket.


    "Basically, you''re going to help us with a... project," Felix says.


    He''s ordering me. There''s no ''please'', no ''if you want to.''


    "You want me to help you?" I ask, searching his face for some sign he''s joking. His expression is as indecipherable and distant as ever.


    OMG. He''s serious.


    He''s leaning back in his chair now, staring past me into the dark garden outside the window.


    "It''s entirely up to you, obviously," Alastair says.


    "No it''s not," Felix says.


    "Actually, I don''t think¨C" I start to protest, but Felix cuts me off.


    "I didn''t come all this way just to get turned down Ashling," he says. "Besides, you haven''t even heard what it is we need you to do."


    I just nod, feeling pinned down by his eyes. I''m totally unable to speak back, to argue with him.


    "We didn''t randomly decide to cancel our plans and come back to Portland," Felix says. "Usually, just after a tour, we take a few months'' break before we start recording our next album."


    I nod. Everyone who follows Fable on Twitter (or watches TV or reads the tabloids) knows that the boys are meant to be on holiday taking a break from the limelight until October. That usually includes a break from social media ¨C it''s not easy finding internet reception when you''re on a tiny tropical island or half-way up the Alps. Sometimes they''ll go on holiday together, but most of the time they go their separate ways for a month or two.


    Which is exactly what they''re meant to be doing now.


    "When we played the Rose Quarter last week, I got talking to the manager at the hotel we were staying in," Felix says.


    I remember hearing somewhere that the boys were staying at the Rose Inn. So that means... "You spoke to Bea?"


    "Yes," Felix says.


    "More like she spoke to us," Alastaire says. "She wouldn''t shut up actually. That woman can really talk. She pretty much gave us a running monologue on every single rock star who ever visited Portland in the sixties and how she got into bed with all of them."


    Yes. That definitely sounds like Bea.


    Bea was my grandma''s best friend. Ex-groupie, artist, hotel manager, and full-time crazy hippie. Some of my earliest childhood memories are of long summer days on the riverbank with Gran and Bea, armed with easels and oil paints and a picnic basket filled with sandwiches.


    "Bea had a sort of... proposition for us," Felix continues. "She told us about a place she owns that''s totally off the grid... a sort of secret bunker, I guess you might call it, out in the woods. With a recording studio. A relic from her days hanging out with visiting bands. She said it was somewhere the five of us guys can be alone and have time writing songs for the next album without our manager stepping in."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    I don''t get it.


    "Bea owns a secret bunker?" I say. I''ve always known she was eccentric, but this is next level.


    "Yeah, I usually try not to have dealings with lunatics," Felix says. I wince at the casual insult. Bea may be totally weird but she was gran''s best friend. "But I don''t actually care how crazy she is, as long as she''s offering a way for us to get away from our manager for a while."


    "But... what''s wrong with your manager? She seems nice," I say, thinking about the elegant red-haired woman who occasionally appears in the boys'' YouTube videos.


    "You''d be surprised," Felix says.


    "And it''s not just her, Ashling," Alastaire says. "Ever since we released D¨¦j¨¤ Vu, every single one of our songs... we''ll start working on something and immediately they swoop in. Vocal coaches, sound techs, producers... to ''improve it'', according to them."


    "You mean ruin it," Felix interjects.


    "And they keep us busy with parties, signings, events, you name it," Alastaire continues. "We never get time to actually work on our own original stuff anymore. It''s like they''ve taken our music away from us."


    "Obviously we''re eternally grateful for everything BYG Records has done for us," Felix says halfheartedly, sounding decidedly ungrateful. "But it has to stop. We want to start making our own music again, without interference. So, we''re here. We''re going to take Bea up on her offer and start working on our new album solo, without the BYG Records circus sticking their nose into it all."


    Is there something I''m missing? This still makes no sense.


    "I''m sorry," I say, "but I still don''t get it. Why Portland? I''m sure you could have found a recording studio anywhere in the world... and why... why did you come to me? Why are you here?"


    "Because we''re not just going to write the songs," says Felix. "We want to record them too."


    "We''re going to release the songs online for free, before BYG can stop us," says Alastaire. "A sort of gift to our fans."


    I''m getting tired of this. Tired of feeling so far out of my comfort zone. Tired of being toyed with. Why did they come here? "You could have done that in London," I say, starting to feel my face grow hot again.


    "Yes, we could have done it in London," says Felix. "But we need someone to play guitar. Acoustic guitar. We decided the new album needs a folksy sound. That''s our new direction."


    "But.. what about Alastaire?" I ask. He''s one of the best guitarists in the word. What on earth are they¨C


    Alastaire laughs. "I''m not exactly an acoustic kind of guy."


    I think for a moment, then shake my head. It''s true that I''ve only ever seen Alastaire play the electric guitar, but it''s not like acoustic is beneath him or anything. He''d probably be great at it.


    My head is spinning.


    "But surely... surely you could have bought someone along with you who plays guitar... like, a professional? Or a friend who plays the guitar... or something?"


    The guys turn to face each other, and a quick, dark look passes between them. "There aren''t many people we can trust anymore," Alastaire says. "We can''t risk BYG realizing what we''re doing."


    "But you think you can trust me?" I say.


    "I know we can trust you," Felix says, his eyes glinting with something I can''t quite place. "I saw that myself, after you kept quite about what happened backstage after the show. And you never spilled the details for the press after half of Portland tried to tear down your house. You''re the sort of girl who''s good at keeping secrets."


    "I''m not sure what you m¨C" I start to say, before Felix interrupts me.


    "Besides, we''re Fable," Felix says, completely ignoring me. "Not some small-town garage band. We''re not going to work with someone who''s just good or ok... we need excellence."


    "Which is why we came to you," Alastaire says. "According to Felix, your guitar playing at the coffee shop just before our show was the epitome of excellence. Heavenly. Perfection. And it''s not exactly normal for Felix to give out praise. You''d almost think that¨C"


    He flinches and stops talking abruptly as Felix kicks him loudly under the table.


    Undeterred, Alastaire leans over the table and locks eyes with mine, cocking his eyebrow ever so slightly. "Anyway. You better be worth the hype, Cupcake. I''m missing two weeks in Aix-en-Provence for this."


    "I don''t know what to say," I murmur, looking down at my lap.


    "You don''t need to say anything," Felix says. "Just meet us at noon tomorrow."


    "Where?" I ask.


    "It''s on the paper I gave you," Felix says.


    "We''ll let you get back to you slumber party now," Alastaire says, smirking as he rises from his chair. "Just sleep on it. Despite what Felix says, it''s your decision. I hope you do decide to come though."


    I walk the boys to the entrance hall in a daze. Zee jumps up from the sofa as we pass by the living room, but my mom grabs her and shoves her back down before she can leap out at the boys.


    The boys walk out the front door towards the black jeep. Before they get in, Felix walks back to where I''m standing by the front door. He leans down, and says quietly, "One more thing." There''s a long pause, and he glances behind me into the entrance hall.


    "Tell your ADHD friend not to tell a soul we were here. If it gets out and our cover is blown, we''ll have to leave."


    With that, he turns around, walks to the jeep, and drives away.


    Zee comes crashing out of the living room, yelling at my parents for holding her back. As she runs down the road after their car yelping and waving her arms, I slowly fish the folded-up piece of paper out of my jeans pocket.


    My fingers are trembling as I open up the note and stare down in disbelief.


    No way.

 Chapter 26

    The dappled afternoon sunlight is warm against my back as I cycle through Forest Park.


    Everything is threaded with green, and the slow buzz of summer. Every now and again I stop riding to look at the sword ferns and bracken lining the dirt trail, and the thick canopy of firs and lushly leaved maples overhead.


    It feels so good to be back in the forest. We''ve lived on the edge of the park my whole life, and I used to know it like the back of my hand.


    Since the accident, I haven''t visited even once.


    After I''ve been riding for almost half an hour, I hop off my rusty old BMX and pull Felix''s note out of my pocket.


    Unfolding it, I study it for the hundredth time.


    I still can''t believe he drew me a map.


    Two lines intersect at a 45-degree angle. One is labeled ''Wildwood'', the other, ''Chestnut''. There''s a big X where they meet.


    And at the bottom of the map, in an elegant scrawl which I immediately recognize as Felix''s handwriting, are the words ''Look up and follow the silver fox.''


    It didn''t take me long to realize that the lines were paths in Forest Park. I''d walked these trails with my parents as a kid, and I still have a vague recollection of the spot they meet. It''s about an hour''s walk from the park entrance closest to my house, and maybe half that time on a bike. Nothing exceptional about the spot at all, and definitely nothing related to a silver fox.


    In fact, I don''t know if we even get foxes in the park. Even though it''s actually one of the largest urban forests in the whole United States (true fact), it''s not like we have wolves or bears or even foxes for that matter. Not that I know of, anyway.


    I continue cycling up the path, trying not to think about the look on Zee''s face when I told her that she couldn''t come along with me. I promised the guys I''d come alone, and that''s a promise I''ve got to keep. And besides that, I wouldn''t want to expose Zee to Felix''s acid tongue. I want to protect her.


    She said she wasn''t upset about being left out, and having to keep everything a secret, so long as I fill her in on everything afterwards, but of course she''s bleak. Who wouldn''t be?


    Telling her was the easy part though. Alix was the real challenge. He''s already furious with me for missing last week''s band practice, and now I''m pulling out again. Obviously I can''t tell him the real reason, so I had to lie and say I''d be helping my parents out at Biblio.


    He sooo didn''t buy it.


    He hung up the phone while I was busy explaining and wouldn''t even look at me when he came to pick Zee up from my house.


    He''ll probably text me later to apologize for the temper tantrum. I guess because he''s basically the king of our high school, he''s used to always getting his way. It drives me crazy.


    After cycling for a few minutes the path gets narrower. The forest is thicker and darker now; swathes of emerald moss drip from the branches overhead.


    Just as the narrow dirt trail gets too steep for my rickety old bike, it plateaus and branches off in various directions.


    I hop off my bike and stand at the spot where the Wildwood meets the Chestnut Track.


    No silver foxes in sight.


    When I first read the message, I thought the words ''silver fox'' referred to Jeremy Faull, the grey-haired, admittedly hot (for an older guy) owner of BYG Records. I was half expecting him to be waiting for me under a tree, ready to lead me to the boys'' forest hideout.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    In my dreams.


    Jeremy''s credited with discovering not only Fable, but also Zara Quinn, Rose Whyte, The Babydolls ¨C some of the biggest names in music. Meeting him would be like winning the career lottery. I''d be so much closer to achieving my seemingly impossible dream of making it as a professional musician.


    But as I should have expected, there''s no one waiting for me. Just a bunch of trees as far as the eye can see.


    I glance around the leafy trail, wondering if I''ll find another note. A clue. Anything.


    When I come up empty, I look at Felix''s note again.


    Look up and follow the silver fox.


    So I look up, scanning the lush canopy for anything unusual.


    That''s when I see it.


    Sunlight glints off something high up in the branches of a huge beech tree, maybe five or six meters from the path. I leave the trail and scramble over some undergrowth with my bike to reach the tree, and I notice broken twigs and trampled leaves underfoot.


    Someone''s been this way recently.


    With my bike leaning against the massive trunk, standing on my tiptoes, I can just make out the object dangling overhead, peeking out between the leaves.


    It looks like a silver pendant on a thin chain, caught on a branch. Someone with must have thrown it up there.


    There''s no doubt that the pendant is in the shape of a fox.


    Found it.


    I wonder how it got so high up, and whether I''m meant to get it down.


    No way in hell is that going to happen.


    So I walk around the side of the tree, and a small, faint path opens up before me, leading deep into the forest. It''s very subtle ¨C just a slight flattening of the undergrowth ¨C but it''s definitely what I was meant to see. It would have been totally invisible from the bicycle track. Felix was right about one thing. This place is really private.


    Rather than dragging the bicycle along with me, I decide to leave it near the beech tree. A shallow dip in the forest floor filled with holly bushes becomes my temporary bicycle park.


    Once I''m happy that my bike is hidden from any walkers on the main track, I set off down the new, secret path.


    The way gets clearer as I walk, more worn and trampled.


    The only sounds are the rustling of leaves in the wind, the scampering of squirrels, bird song. The trees stretch out in all directions, a lush wall of greenery that disappears into shadow. I slow down to a snail''s pace. Because I want to take in all the beauty. Not because I''m super anxious about meeting up with the Fable guys again.


    Anxious? Me? Of course not. What''s there to be anxious about? I''m only meeting up with the most famous group of people in the world right now, one of whom clearly sort of hates me, after having fainted in front of them half-naked... with the understanding that I''m GOING TO HELP THEM WORK ON MUSIC FOR A NEW ALBUM. Nothing to be anxious about.


    Oh my god. Who am I kidding? Only one way to deal with anxiety though...


    I quicken my pace along the path, determined not to chicken out of the greatest opportunity of my life.


    Shyness, be gone.


    Every now and again I get a funny feeling, like there''s someone watching out of the shadows between the trees. Soft crunching footsteps in the distance. I look back a few times, but there''s no one there. My scars ache a little, and I raise my hand to my ribcage, feel the faint white crescent of pain through the thin fabric of my shirt. I dressed sensibly today, in sneakers, denim shorts and a white gypsy-style top ¨C a good outfit for hiking, but not so much for hanging out with five gorgeous rock stars.


    Maybe I should have worn something cuter. A little black dress. Or a skirt and...


    Relax. That''s not what today''s about. Casual is good.


    I walk for what feels like hours, but it''s probably shorter and my nerves are playing tricks on me ¨C time moves slower when you''re counting every second.


    The longer I walk, the thicker and darker the forest gets. The trees close in, and then suddenly there''s light up ahead.


    I step out into a clearing. Sunlight streams in through a break in the thick forest canopy. The ground beneath my feet is like a thick carpet of moss, scattered with pine needles and early mushrooms peeking out through the undergrowth. Everything smells amazing ¨C like damp leaves after the rain.


    At the centre of the clearing, sunlight illuminates a large double story cabin, with stone walls and dark grey shingles on the roof. It''s like something straight out of a fairytale.


    Wooden steps lead up to a stained glass front door, panes all ruby and sapphire and bright tangerine.


    A climbing rose with deep red flowers in full bloom has wound its way up the wrap-around porch and over the front facade of the cabin. I can smell their perfume all the way from the edge of the clearing.


    Round stained glass windows peep out from between the roses.


    I''ve lived on the edge of Forest Park all my life, and never once imagined it might be hiding a secret like this.


    For a moment all I can do is stand and stare. All I need is Hansel by my side to complete the scene.


    Even though I know I''ve never been here before, something about it reminds me of a childhood memory ¨C maybe something from a storybook or a movie. It''s strangely comforting. As I walk towards the cabin, up the steps, to the beautiful front door, I¡¯m wrapped up in an emotion I haven''t felt in ages.


    Wonder.

 Chapter 27

    Okay. Now or never.


    I knock once on the front door''s wood paneling, peeking into the cabin through the stained glass panes.


    Everything''s a jewel-colored blur through the glass, but I can just make out the shapes of furniture in the hallway and a light at the end of the hall ¨C probably a window or another door.


    I wait a few seconds before knocking again, louder this time.


    There''s a sound like someone falling over something, followed by muttered cursing.


    My heart skips a beat as the front door suddenly swings open.


    Lyall is standing in front of me wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of fluffy pink bunny slippers.


    His reddish-brown hair is flat on one side and sticking out on the other, a cinnamon-colored bed head disaster that he still somehow manages to make look adorable. His eyes are half closed, and he flops sideways against the doorframe with a loud yawn.


    "Sorry for de wait," he says in his thick Irish accent. "Dey said you''d be here at noon, not de crack o'' dawn".


    It''s already after two, I think to myself. "I''m actually two hours late," I say, looking down at my feet automatically. "I''m Ashling. From the other night."


    His warm brown eyes glitter as he cracks a grin. "I know who ye are," he says. "Come on in."


    I follow him into the entrance hall, trying not to stare at his naked torso. He''s not exactly built or buff, and he''s not as tall as the other boys, but he has a great body, lean and toned like an athlete.


    I notice he''s a few inches taller than me. I''ve always imagined for some reason that he was the same height as me or shorter, but I guess I just assumed that because of his ''boy next door'' image. I didn''t manage to get a good look at him on the night of the concert, and I can''t help noticing now that he''s even cuter in real life than in photos.


    Keeping my mind on the music today might be tricky.


    The inside of the cabin is all honey-colored pine wood, stone and high vaulted ceilings. Several rooms branch off the entrance hall, and a wrought iron staircase spirals upstairs to a second level. The sun streams in through the stained glass windows, bathing the hall in patches of soft red and green and amber light.


    Lyall leads me into a large open-plan room. At the far end, a glass chandelier hangs over a huge kitchen island with a granite counter, barstools, cupboards, a stove, a retro fridge, even a walk-in freezer. It all looks top of the range. A chef''s paradise.


    Someone must have spent a lot of money on this place.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The kitchen leads into a living room, complete with a stone fireplace and plush moss green sofas. The walls are covered in a mishmash of paintings in an odd assortment of frames ¨C gilded gold, dark wood, bright shining copper.


    The most amazing thing about the room however is the massive stained glass window that stretches from the floor to the ceiling directly opposite me. The level of detail is amazing ¨C it looks like it''s depicting an entire story in tiny glass panes, with sweeping grass plains and a forest surrounding rocky ocean cliffs. It reminds me of those tapestries hanging in medieval castles.


    There¡¯s something about it. It feels... familiar. Why?


    "Bonny thing, innit?" Lyall says.


    He walks over to the window, and traces the shining panes with his fingers.


    "We''ve been tryin'' ter figure out if it actually tells some sort of fairytale or somethin''," he says.


    "So far we''ve got de sea maiden, here in de centre," he points at a golden-haired mermaid with a silver tail. "An'' we think these are like, her suitors. Five boyfriends. Lucky lady."


    He traces his finger around the figures standing in the forest. They are in a perfect semi-circle surrounding her, each facing inwards. An elegant figure in a dark cape; a man robed in white with feathered golden wings on his back; some sort of vagabond or possibly a pirate; a dragonfly-winged faery prince dressed in green; a knight in shining armor.


    That''s the Portland art scene for you. Someone definitely enjoys their magic mushrooms a bit too much.


    "I''m not sure that they''re courting her," I say, gazing at the figures. The scene looks ominous to me.


    "They''re all clustered around her. She can''t escape. I think... I think they''re trying to trap her. She''s in danger."


    I feel my cheeks flush as I realize what I just said, and how stupid it must sound.


    But Lyall just nods his head thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess yer could see it that way," he says. "Anyway, what part of de old country are ye from?"


    "The old country?" I stammer.


    "Eire. Ireland. Yer name''s Ashlin''. It¡¯s Irish," he says.


    "Oh, yeah," I reply. "My dad''s parents are from Belfast. And my mom''s family''s from Creeslough. My parents met in Oregon though."


    "Irish on both sides den. Who''d a thought," he says. "Can I call yer Ash for short?"


    I don''t know how to answer. No one calls me Ash anymore.


    I don''t let them.


    It''s what everyone called me before the accident. After it all happened, I told mom and dad, and everyone I knew really, that I wanted to be called by my full name only.


    Ash was the carefree girl who had a crush on Evan, whose best friend was Mia, whose biggest worries were math tests and what to wear on a Friday night. Ash was a girl living on the surface of a blissful, sun-soaked dream.


    That girl is gone. I can never return to her.


    Ash is dead. She disappeared that day on the bus along with all my classmates.


    I''m Ashling now.


    But there''s no way I can explain that to Lyall. So I just nod.


    "Ash it is den," he says with a wink. "Anyway, care for a cup of tea while we wait for de lazy bones te get up?"


    I nod, and he gets to work pulling mugs and a pack of cookies out from a cupboard above the fridge, humming to himself as he heats water up on the stove.


    I settle down on one of the barstools at the kitchen island, watching him work. He seems to have forgotten that he''s shirtless, and I hope it stays that way. Not that I''m perving or anything. I''m just... appreciating.


    I''m about to drink a cup of tea made for me by none other than Lyall Greene, world famous keyboardist for Fable. Dream. Come. True.


    One moment I''m gazing at Lyall over the counter, the next moment my vision goes dark. There''s a hand over my eyes, an arm snaking around my waist from behind, and cool lips brushing my ear with a whispering growl.


    "Good morning, Cupcake. I knew you''d come."

 Chapter 28

    A kiss lands on my cheek as the hand is pulled away from in front of my eyes.


    Alastair unwraps himself from around my shoulders and flops onto a kitchen stool next to me. He''s dressed even more scantily than Lyall, in a thin white robe like people wear at health spas.


    I wonder if he''s wearing anything underneath.


    OMG don''t think about that! It''s as if I''m a dirty old man perving on schoolgirls. Breathe. He just kissed me on my cheek. Ignore that. Didn''t happen. Breathe.


    I sneak a glance at his beautifully defined chest peeking out from the robe and my face reacts by turning a fierce, burning red.


    Everything about him just looks amazing. Especially his hair. Messy dark blonde, slightly damp ¨C probably from the shower.


    My cheek is warm and tingling where he kissed the skin.


    Get a grip Ashling. Don''t freak out over one kiss on the cheek.


    "What de hell is wrong with ye Al?" asks Lyall, frowning at Alastaire as he stirs our tea. "Ye can''t just barge in here an'' slobber all over our guest like that. It''s rude."


    "Hardly, Lyall," Alastair says. "It''s called being a gentleman. Something the likes of you wouldn''t know anything about. And yes, a cup of tea would be marvelous, thank you."


    Lyall ignores him and leans over the counter, staring at me sternly. "Trust me Ashlin'', yer shouldn''t let those lips of his get anywhere near yer face again. Yer don''t know where that mouth''s been."


    "Less gutter talk in front of the lady, please," Alastaire says. "And my tea seems to be taking an awfully long time."


    Lyall picks up the milk carton off the kitchen counter, and waves it in front of Alastair''s face. "If she wasn''t sittin'' next ter yer right now, this would be all over yer head".


    "Scary. Just as well you''re here, then," Alastaire says with a charming smile in my direction. "What do you think of our humble abode in the woods? Well hidden, isn''t it?"


    "Yes," I answer slowly, terrified I''m going to say something moronic in front of him. "I thought I might be lost at one stage... but Felix''s map was really helpful."


    "Helpful?" Alastaire says with a roll of his eyes. "Cryptic is more like it. I told to him leave out that ridiculous silver fox and map stuff and to just tell you where we were. But Captain Paranoid thought your friend was listening in on the other side of the door.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Felix was totally right about that. Zee heard every single word we said.


    "I don''t know why he has to be so bafflingly mystifying the whole time," Alastaire says.


    "Cos de birds love it, that''s why," Lyall says with a wink as he places a cup of tea before each of us. "More than that stupid angelic devil act yer always doin."


    "Oh, shut up, leprechaun," Alastaire replies airily, scooping three lumps of sugar into his tea. He turns to me, idly brushing some stray strands of hair behind my ear. "Lyall''s wrong, isn''t he Cupcake? Who do you prefer? Me, or mean old Felix?"


    I gulp so loud that I''m sure they must have both heard it.


    "Well, that''s... an interesting question," I mumble. "I like both of you. As a fan, I mean. I mean... of course I don''t... I mean, I don''t... um... you know. Felix is ¨C"


    "Felix is what?"


    I snap my head around quickly in the direction of the unexpected voice. Dressed in black skinny jeans and a grey v-neck tee, Felix leans in the doorway arching his eyebrows expectantly.


    "Mornin'' Fee," Lyall says. "Come on an'' get some tea."


    Felix saunters over to the kitchen counter, effortless and graceful as a cat. He looks seriously pissed. He pulls out a bar stool on the other side of the counter and slouches down onto it with a stony expression.


    He glares at Alastaire with daggers in his eyes.


    "You''ll have ter excuse our Felix," Lyall says."He''s not a mornin'' person."


    "Or an afternoon, or an evening person," Alastaire says.


    Felix slumps down lower on the counter in response.


    "Where are the others?" He asks.


    "Elliot''s out doin'' laps around de forest," Lyall replies. "An'' Ben''s probably taggin'' along an'' drivin'' him nuts".


    "Well that''s rather inconsiderate of them," says Alastaire. "We''re all sitting around waiting for them while they go gallivanting through the woods like wild animals."


    "It''s for de best," says Lyall. He opens up the huge fridge and stacks eggs, milk and butter on the kitchen counter. "We couldn''t start anythin'' yet anyway. Have yer eaten yet Ashlin''?"


    Suddenly all eyes are on me.


    Brown eyes, hazel eyes, blue eyes, scrutinizing my too-thin frame.


    Zee and the others understand. They get why I had so much trouble eating normally for a while, and why it''s still a struggle for me to eat enough sometimes.


    On my black days, or when I''m feeling particularly anxious, all I want is to curl up into a ball and make myself as empty as I feel inside. Every bite of food makes me feel nauseous. I feel like I''m feeding a dead person. Pointless. A waste.


    It''s not anorexia ¨C I don''t look in the mirror and think I''m fat ¨C so it''s nothing a stay at a clinic or some counseling is going to fix. And it''s not as if I don''t like food. I love it. Which is what makes it all the more lame.


    I like to think of it as the grief diet. A model-skinny figure in exchange for endless panic attacks and crying myself to sleep most nights. Fun.


    "I ate earlier," I lie. Besides, I''m scared I''ll drop food all over myself while they watch, or get something stuck in my teeth.


    "No matter," Lyall says, breaking an egg into a large mixing bowl. "Ye''ll find room for me world famous blueberry pancakes."


    I start to protest, and Alastaire places his finger over my lips.


    "Hush Cupcake," he says while Felix glares at him across the counter. "Breakfast before business."

 Chapter 29

    Thump. Thump. Thump.


    My heart is beating so hard against my ribs I feel like it''s about to jump out of my chest on to the kitchen counter.


    I''ve managed to keep fairly calm up to this point, but the thought of Lyall making pancakes for me... I want to do a crazy fangirl dance.


    Lyall hums quietly to himself while he stirs the batter, and Felix is sitting next to me with his head down on the counter. He hasn''t even touched his tea yet.


    Alastaire flicks through something on his phone.


    There''s no reception out here, so I''m tempted to ask what he''s doing, but I don''t want him to think I''m being nosy.


    The guys don''t seem to notice how nervous I am, and realizing this helps me to calm down. I clutch my mug a little less tightly.


    Everyone''s lost in their own thoughts.


    Apart from Lyall''s softly murmured tune and the clinking of the spoon against the mixing bowl as he stirs, we''re in silence.


    The sort of easy, comfortable silence you only have with people you¡¯ve known for ages. The kind you don''t feel like you need to fill. That fact that they barely know me doesn''t seem to bother them at all. It''s almost like we''ve know each other forever.


    I''d never in a hundred years have imagined that hanging out with them like this could feel so... normal.


    It''s not at all like the frantic, over-the-top videos the boys post to their official YouTube Fable channel. Watching those, you''d think every moment of their lives is one wild roller coaster ride, an endless stream of private jets, trashed hotel rooms and parties.


    Right now they could be any three normal teenaged boys, making breakfast on a Saturday morning.


    Felix lifts his head off the counter and props himself up on his elbows, facing away from me. Lyall is right ¨C he really isn''t a morning person. Even though I can''t see his face, I can feel the dark mood seeping out of him.


    Scary.


    He runs his fingers through his dark damp hair and I catch something faintly woodsy, maybe his cologne or shampoo. A sharp, delicate scent.


    Hazelnut. Pine bark. Acorns. It''s hard to identify, but it''s delicious and earthy. He smells like he spent the whole night under a tree in the forest or something.


    That¡¯s ridiculous. Totally ridiculous. Why does he have to be so goddam perfect? Why can''t he just smell like soap or sweat or Doritos like a normal boy?


    There''s no way I''m going to be able to relax today with Felix around.


    As if aware of my thoughts, Felix snaps his head around to face me. As he turns I notice a little streak of green threaded through the dark tendrils of his hair, just above his left ear.


    Before I even realize what I''m doing, I''m pulling it out and holding it up to the light.


    It''s a pine needle.


    Felix''s hand swoops over mine, and the pine needle is gone. He''s off his bar stool and out the door in seconds. I hear the front door slam closed.


    "Don''t yer worry," Lyall says. "''Fee''ll be back."


    Why on earth did Felix have a pine needle in his hair? Maybe he actually did sleep outside last night...


    No way. That''s crazy.


    Before I can ponder further, I''m startled out of my thoughts by Alastaire waving his phone in front of my face.


    "Earth to Cupcake," he says. "I''ve got something you should see."You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    He''s holding his phone inches from my face, and lets it go as it falls into my hands. It takes me a second to realize that the photo on the screen is of Zee''s favorite solo artist ¨C Zara Quinn, aka the reigning princess of pop ¨C wrapped up in the arms of none of other than Felix. She''s looking towards the camera with a smirk, and he''s turned away, but it''s clearly him. They look like they''re at a house party, judging from the red cups on the kitchen counter behind them.


    I shouldn''t be surprised.


    According to the press, they''ve been officially an on-and-off couple for the past year. I''ve seen countless photos of them together before, but those are always of them on the red carpet at award ceremonies, or shows or big press events.


    Somehow, this feels more... intimate.


    The photo looks recent ¨C her shoulder-length hair is the same light grey she dyed it for her Madison Square Garden concert last month.


    I guess their relationship is back on then.


    I feel a pang of something ¨C jealousy maybe ¨C and it must be showing clearly on my face, because Alastaire takes the phone back and checks the photo.


    "My mistake!" he says, swiping his finger across the screen. "Wrong one."


    He swipes a few times and stops on an innocent photo of his beloved pug Charlie curled up on a chewed-to-bits pillow, like a really big ugly baby bird in a nest of feathers and shredded fabric. I''ve seen this photo like a million times before ¨C it''s Alastaire''s Twitter and Tumblr profile picture. It''s nothing new.


    "Looks cute, doesn''t he?" Alastaire says, eyes darting between the photo and my eyes, like he''s trying to read my reaction. "Don''t be fooled. Girls go crazy for him. But he''s actually a total monster. He destroys everything he comes across. Everything."


    Is he talking about this photo, or the one he showed me before?


    Before I can ask him, a soapy sponge flies through the air over the counter and hits Alastaire square in the face.


    "Al, I could use some help with de dishes," Lyall says. "These pancakes are almost done. C''mon."


    Alastaire hurls the sponge right back at Lyall, missing his head by inches. He mutters something about servant''s work before getting up and going over to the sink. While Alastaire and Lyall argue about who''s going to flip the pancakes and who should get the plates ready, my mind wanders to the pine needle I found in Felix''s hair. Such a trivial thing, but it didn''t seem so trivial to him ¨C he looked furious as he stormed out the room earlier.


    I wonder when he''ll come back, and what he''s doing right now. And where the other boys could be.


    As if they heard me calling them, Ben and Elliot walk into the kitchen, probably drawn in by the smell of pancakes wafting across the cabin. Ben''s wearing a neon pink tee with black skinny jeans, and drying off his shaggy black hair with a towel ¨C while Elliot''s dressed in a laid-back white tank and sporty tracksuit pants.


    "Hey Ashling," Elliot says as he pulls out a bar stool next to me, "glad you could make it."


    "You look waaaaay better than the last time we saw you," Ben says, flashing me a cheeky grin as he settles down on my other side. "Ready to make beautiful music together?"


    I nod, unsure what to say.


    "Watch it Ben," Alastaire says, smashing a soapy plate down in the sink a little too loudly. "Remember our agreement."


    "What agreement?" I ask.


    Before anyone can speak, Lyall whirls around, almost knocking over the steadily growing stack of pancakes.


    "''How was yer jog then?" Lyall says.


    "Good," says Elliot. "We found a lake in the forest. It''s just a few minutes'' walk from here."


    "Like to swim Ashling?" Ben asks, elbowing me gently. "How about the two of us go for a dip later?"


    "You''ll freeze your butt off," Alastaire says.


    "Yeah right," Ben says. "Don''t forget who you''re talking to. Montreal native right here. With the blood of Hokkaido samurai warriors running through my veins. The cold is my bitch."


    "Sure," Alastaire says, muttering about crazy ''jap canucks'' under his breath.


    "Besides, it''s summer," Ben continues. "The sun''s out. It''s perfect swimming weather."


    "Well I for one would prefer it if you don''t give our guest hypothermia on her first visit," Alastaire says airily.


    Ben ignores him, and leans closer to me.


    "I''m not joking actually," he says. "You could borrow a swimsuit from Kitty. She''s probably got a bikini or someth¨C"


    "Breakfast is served," Alastaire says as he puts a huge stack of syrup-drenched pancakes down on the counter.


    I''m about to remind him that it''s actually already afternoon, and technically this is lunch, but the boys are already digging in, piling blueberry pancakes high on their plates.


    I gingerly take two, feeling hungry for the first time in ages.


    In the time it takes me to take just a few bites of one pancake, Ben''s already finished his first round and is going in for seconds.


    "Leave some for Kitty," Elliot says.


    "Yeah, here''s bettin'' she''ll be real starvin'' when she wakes up," Lyall says.


    The boys all laugh then, at some private joke.


    Kitty was the older girl from the other night. The insanely beautiful one. What''s she doing staying in a cabin with five guys? Is she dating one of them?


    "What''s so funny?" A posh British-accented girl''s voice calls from down the passageway. ¡°I heard my name.¡±


    She emerges into the corridor, her dark, chic bob ruffled from sleep, mascara smudged down her cheeks as she rubs her eyes blearily. She''s wearing nothing but an oversized black and red flannel, her perfect, long legs on display as she slips into a bar stool at the end of the counter. The flannel is way too big for her ¨C definitely one of the boys''.


    But which one of them?


    "Where''s Fee then?" she asks, not even glancing in my direction as she shovels pancakes onto her plate.


    I guess that answers my question. Not like I care though...

 Chapter 30

    ¡°Your guess is as good as mine,¡± says Alastaire as he pokes at a pancake with his fork.


    ¡°He went out for a bit,¡± Lyall says in between mouthfuls. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be back soon. Don¡¯t stress ¡®bout it Kit.¡±


    ¡°He went out?¡± says Kitty, her eyebrows knitting together in worry.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get your knickers in a twist,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°He¡¯s just out doing loner junk in the forest. Typical.¡±


    Kitty shakes her head, looking gloomily at the counter.


    ¡°You worry too much,¡± says Ben as he pats her on the back. ¡°It¡¯s not like he¡¯s gonna get run down by a rabid pack of bloodthirsty fangirls this deep in the woods. Unless you told your buddies about us, Ashling.¡±


    He winks at me, and I almost choke on the bite of pancake I was busy swallowing.


    ¡°My friends would never do that," I say while trying not to cough or choke. ¡°And I didn¡¯t tell anyone where I was going. No one else knows where you are.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± says Kitty, acknowledging me for the first time. ¡°It needs to stay that way.¡±


    She focuses her attention on her pancakes again, slicing them up with quick, precise movements. Even her manicure looks expensive ¨C long, perfectly filed nails that look like they¡¯re covered in a thin sheet of actual mirror ¨C more reflective than you could achieve with only silver nail polish. They must be stick-ons or something. A row of cute rose gold rings are stacked on the middle finger of her left hand, linked by a delicate twisting chain. Even with her makeup all smudged, she''s like rock royalty. She could easily be gracing the fashion pages of Vogue right now. So on point.


    She¡¯s the most perfect girl I¡¯ve ever met. Like if Instagram and Pinterest had a love child.


    Jamie would absolutely hate her.


    She catches me staring and shoots me a withering glance.


    I notice for the first time that her eyes are an intense greenish-goldish-brown, the hazel of cats¡¯ eyes. That, along with the aloof attitude, ivory skin against dark tousled hair¡­


    Kitty and Felix.


    Could they be¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember saying you could wear my clothes, Kitty,¡± Felix says. He¡¯s in the doorway, arms crossed in front of him as he leans against the doorframe.


    ¡°Serves you right for stealing my eyeliner all the time,¡± Kitty retorts. ¡°Anyway, I saved you some breakfast and a cup of java. I promised mum I¡¯d make sure you eat properly.¡±


    I feel an instantaneous rush of something. Relief? No, that¡¯s stupid. Who cares if she¡¯s just his sister? Not me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think she had pancakes and coffee in mind,¡± says Felix as he settles down on a bar stool opposite me. ¡°Anyway, how¡¯s your head doing?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you got kinda carried away with the merlot last night,¡± Ben says. ¡°How many bottles did you down?¡±


    For the first time since I arrived, I notice a half empty bottle of red wine on the kitchen counter.


    Kitty just lifts one perfectly manicured nail in response, flipping him off.


    ¡°Guys, let¡¯s get back on track,¡± Elliot says, rising and gathering up our empty plates.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Ashling, the fact that you¡¯re here means you¡¯ve considered our proposal,¡± he continues. ¡°So ¨C have you made up your mind?¡±


    ¡°Good question," Ben says. "Are you going to help us or not?¡±


    Once again, all eyes are on me. There¡¯s a moment of expectant silence as everyone waits for my response.


    I hadn¡¯t really made up my mind before heading here. I hadn¡¯t even thought about whether I was going to say yes. I thought things would be clearer once I arrived, after I¡¯d spoken to the whole band.


    But right now I¡¯m feeling more confused than ever. I don¡¯t fit in here. Kitty seems to hate me, and Felix definitely hates me. The others make me nervous too. I don¡¯t know how I could survive more than a few hours of this.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I actually don¡¯t know yet,¡± I say.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± Felix says. ¡°What¡¯s there to be uncertain about?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just not¡­ I¡¯m not the right person for what you need,¡± I say.


    ¡°That¡¯s our decision,¡± Felix says.


    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry if we rushed you Ashling,¡± Elliot says. ¡°You probably have a lot of questions about exactly what we¡¯re wanting from you. Ask away.¡±


    I don¡¯t even know where to begin.


    ¡°Well¡­ last night, I thought¡­ you said you need me to play acoustic guitar on the new album,¡± I say. ¡°And you¡¯re going to record the whole thing here. I get that. But how long is it going to take? And what happens after that? I just help you and then you leave?¡±


    Realization dawns on Elliot¡¯s face, and the boys shoot glances between each other.


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m sorry we didn¡¯t think of that,¡± Elliot says. ¡°We can pay you whatever you want. Just name your price and we¡¯ll meet it.¡±


    I feel my cheeks flush.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not what I meant,¡± I say. ¡°I just don¡¯t get how it¡¯s going to work. How long are you going to be staying here? How many times do you want me to come here?¡±


    ¡°Every day,¡± Felix says. ¡°For the whole of the summer.¡±


    What?!


    His expression is as deadpan as ever, as he sips his black coffee. He¡¯s clearly not joking.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do that,¡± I say. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m meant to help out at my parents¡¯ restaurant some evenings. And I¡¯m actually already in a band, I sort of have a commitment to them, so I thought this would be more like¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ maybe one or two weekends or something.¡±


    Felix slams his mug down on the table, swishing coffee out all over the wooden surface.


    ¡°You seriously think we¡¯d be able to record our next album in just one or two weekends?¡± He says. ¡°We¡¯re not some lame ass school band. We¡¯re making real music, the sort that sells millions of albums. There¡¯s no half in with this. Make up your mind.¡±


    Elliot places a hand on Felix¡¯s shoulder, nodding his head.


    ¡°Felix is right,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯d need to be with us in the recording studio at least five days a week. An album of this magnitude¡­ it¡¯s a lot of work. But we want to make sure you get something out of it.¡±


    ¡°Take us up on it Ashling,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°Money¡¯s not an issue. Think of it like a really cushy nine to five job where you get to make music all day and hang out with none other than People Magazine¡¯s Hottest Guy of the Year.¡± He does a sort of duck face as he says it, and the rest of the boys all face palm. Ben immediately grabs Alastaire¡¯s head and noogies him.


    "Just you wait pretty boy," he says while Alastaire squirms around in his arms. "This year it''s my turn."ear


    I clear my throat. ¡°I don¡¯t want money,¡± I say.


    ¡°Well then what do you want?¡± Felix asks.


    What do I want? What I want is to get over my issues, start feeling alive again, get signed to a big record label, follow my dreams of making it as a musician. Share my songs with the world, just like gran told me to. Stop feeling like every minute of every day I¡¯m about to fall over a cliff.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say.


    ¡°Let''s not worry about de specifics for now,¡± Lyall says. ¡°Why don''t we show Ash round de recordin'' studio? It''ll help her make her mind up.¡±


    I¡¯m about to take him up on it when Kitty rises abruptly from her bar stool.


    ¡°That can wait until tomorrow,¡± she says. ¡°Ashling and I need to have a little chat. C¡¯mon, I¡¯ll walk you home.¡±


    She takes my elbow, pulling me up from my chair. Felix grabs my other elbow and pulls me back down roughly.


    ¡°She only just got here Kitty,¡± Felix says. ¡°There¡¯s still a lot more to talk about.¡±


    ¡°Not until she thinks it all through,¡± Kitty says. She looks me directly in the eye, very sternly. ¡°Go home for today, think about what you want to do, and let us know tomorrow.¡±


    Everyone¡¯s just silently watching me again. I hate this.


    I nod, as Kitty grabs my arm again and pulls me away from the kitchen counter.


    ¡°Well, I guess that¡¯s back to bed for me,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°See you later Cupcake.¡±


    Felix is staring at his sister with a look that could kill as she sweeps me out the kitchen door and into the passageway.


    ¡°Have you got all your shit?¡± She asks. ¡°No bag or anything?¡±


    I just shake my head, and she pulls me out the front door, like she can¡¯t get me away from the cabin fast enough.


    I didn¡¯t even get to say goodbye to the guys.


    ¡°You and I missy,¡± she says as she drags me into the forest, ¡°need to have a serious talk.¡±

 Chapter 31

    "I''m not buying it," Kitty says as she drags me between moss-drenched oak trees and ferns, over the faint path snaking through the forest. "Why are you really here?"


    She''s holding my hand so hard that I can feel her nails biting into the flesh of my palm. Even though she doesn''t turn around as she asks the question, I can imagine her expression. There''s a growl in her voice, something almost feral.


    She pulls me along behind her at a steady march, further and further away from the cabin, deeper and deeper into the forest.


    My skin prickles with goose bumps as the space between the trees lessens, and the woods get subtly darker. The overgrowth is thicker, the path more difficult to see than I remember it.


    Is this the way I came earlier?


    Then I see it. Just a few feet away, an impossibly dark shape streaks through the trees to my left, skittering away into the gloom. Too big to be a stray cat or a raccoon, but too quick to be human. The space it passed through looks somehow different, the gaps between the trees tinged with shadow. Like an imprint of passing darkness. The scar on my ribcage sears with momentary pain, and I halt dead in my tracks, eyes darting from tree to tree.


    I''m about to ask Kitty if she saw it too, when she abruptly whirls around on her heel, grabs my free hand and shoves me against the trunk of a tree. I''m pinned against the tree trunk with Kitty holding my wrists above me. She leans in close, her face just inches from my own. I fight back the urge to scream, the chilling shadow all but forgotten as Kitty pushes her body up against mine.


    "Listen up," she says. "This is how it''s going to go. You''re going to follow this path all the way to the main trail and then the car park without looking back. Once you get home, you''re going to send Felix a text saying that you are not interested in the band''s little proposal. You''ll tell him you never want to talk to him ever again. Then you''ll delete and block his number. If you ever try to contact my brother again, if you ever try to see him, if you so much as tweet him, goddamit, I will literally rip your face off and have it made into a bloody handbag. Do you understand?"


    Her eyes bore into my own, challenging me to try and wriggle free, scream for help, do anything other than give in.


    She''s holding my wrists above my head so hard it feels like she''s shoved hot needles under my skin. She tightens her grip, and I cry out in pain, but she only reacts by squeezing tighter.


    I''m tempted to nod just so she''ll let me go, but some deep-seated instinct to fight takes over.


    I whip my head forward, head-butting her.


    There''s a moment of searing pain in my forehead, a flash of white.


    She lets go of me immediately, and drops down onto her knees, groaning as she cradles her head in her hands.


    I''m sure my own head must still hurt right now but I''m oddly numb. All I can feel is cold all over my body, like I''ve been plunged into icy water.


    "Why?" Is all I can say.


    "You know why," Kitty says, rising slowly from the ground still holding her head and wincing. "You might have the boys wrapped around your little finger, but I see right through you. The whole fragile clueless princess act isn''t fooling me. I''ve dealt with girls like you before. I know what you want."


    "What I want?" I say, feeling the first tears prickle behind my eyelids and roll down my cheeks. "I don''t know what you''re talking about."


    Kitty just shakes her head, and crosses her arms in front of her as she turns her back to me.


    "I am so over this," she says without looking back. "Hit the road. Remember what I said about trying to contact Felix. Handbag. Now go."


    Everything''s still and silent while she waits for me to leave.


    No way in hell.


    I lunge out, grabbing her shoulder and swinging her around to face me.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "I''m not going anywhere until you explain what just happened," I say, knowing that my voice sounds shaky but not caring much at this moment. "What did I do? Why are you treating me like I have an agenda or something? I only came here because Felix and Alastaire asked me to."


    Kitty raises one eyebrow, transforming her pretty face into a sneer.


    "No hidden agenda?" She says, a mocking tone in her voice. "Sure. Let''s get this straight. You''re going to give up your whole summer vacation to spend every day out in the middle of nowhere without anything in return. You don''t want to be paid, and you can''t say exactly why it is you want to help out."


    She leans in close again, and her voice drops almost to a whisper.


    "But I know exactly why you came here," she continues. "And before you try telling me it''s because you''re a massive enfabler and you''re such a huge fan of the band and all that other BS, let me remind you that I''m there with the boys at every show, every event. I''ve met hundreds of fans. And you, my darling, are not one of them."


    What the actual¨C


    "Why would... what makes you think that?" I ask.


    Kitty sighs.


    "It''s not rocket science. For starters, you weren''t even going to originally go to the concert the other night. No serious fan would ever miss the chance to watch them play. There''s also the way you act around the boys. You didn''t smile once today. Most girls would be doing cartwheels, giggles and smiles and dumbass fangirling every moment they''re with the guys. But you looked bleak the whole goddam time. Totally closed in on yourself, like you''re hiding a secret. It''s pretty obvious you don''t even like them. I''d even go so far as to say... it seems like you actually dislike them. We''ve already established this isn''t about money. You''re too young to be some undercover journo after a scoop. So there''s only one reason I can think of that someone like you would be trying to get close to the band."


    For a moment her steely gaze turns softer, and her eyes well up with tears.


    "I guess I shouldn''t be surprised," she says."I''ve seen it before. I just didn''t think it would happen again so soon. And there''s no way I''m letting another Victoria Webb get close to Felix."


    Victoria Webb... who was she again?


    Realization dawns on me.


    Victoria Webb was a girl ¨C or rather, a twenty-year-old woman ¨C who made all the tabloid headlines two years ago, when the boys were fifteen. The details of the story were hushed up and pretty vague, but speculation was that she got in with Fable pretending to be a super fan. She had some sort of fling with Alastaire, but it''s really Felix she was after. She got him on his own in a backstage dressing room before a show, and tried to stab him with a switchblade (or a sharpened piece of wood according to some news reports) while screaming out Biblical passages. After she was hauled away to a mental asylum, she said she was on a holy quest. Everyone put it down to religious fanaticism, some nutter with an Antichrist obsession who got fixated on a rock star. Like John David Chapman shooting John Lennon, meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer.


    Insane. Kitty thinks I''m like her?


    "There''s no way in hell I''m letting some psycho stalk my brother again," she says. "I don''t know what you said to him to lure him in, but I''m cutting this off now. Whatever you are, whatever your motivations, one thing''s clear to me ¨C you are not a real fan. And that makes you dangerous."


    I''m too shocked to even speak. The accusation stings more than any insult, worse than any stupid taunts or nasty nicknames from the Three Bs.


    Because she''s actually right.


    After everything that''s happened over the past week, I feel my head swirling. This is the final straw. My thoughts are racing erratically, and I wonder if I''m having some sort of mental meltdown ¨C but strangely, I feel oddly clear-minded. Like I''ve finally woken up.


    I''m not really a fan. I''m a slave. How pathetic is that?


    I''ve loved Fable for years, and it''s been a lifeline for me after everything that happened. That one final connection to Mia. To who I was before I lost everything. Maybe that''s why my relationship with their music is so weird, so confused. So much more intense and complicated and melodramatic than it needs to be. At some point it went from being a harmless hobby to being an obsession. Something I probably resent just as much as I love.


    It''s all a fantasy.


    Fable has been my escape. An unhealthy one. A safe pretend world where I could bury myself. Just like how Zee cried after she finished the final Harry Potter book, or how Jamie bases so much of her worth on the fictional version of herself that lives across a thousand Instagram pics, in the comments and likes of a thousand strangers. Just carefully constructed lies to comfort and lull. Dreams.


    It''s time for me to let go. I''m done living in a fairytale. You don''t want me to be a part of your world Kitty? That''s fine. I don''t want to be part of it either. I can''t believe I never saw it before. It''s time to stop running. Time to face things. Time for me to rip the band-aid off. Maybe then I can finally begin to heal.


    Thank you Kitty. You''re a bitch, but I think you might have just saved me.


    Without saying a word, I take one final look at Kitty before pushing past her and heading off.


    I don''t need her to show me the way out. The path to the main track in barely visible, but it''s there, a lightly trodden line through the undergrowth.


    She doesn''t call out to me, and I don''t turn back. I practically glide through the forest, slipping through the trees like a bird as the afternoon shadows lengthen. A few times I feel a slight chill at the base of my spine, and I hear a faint rustling, like crackling footsteps on the path behind me. But I don''t look back, not even once.


    All the way to the Chestnut track, all the way to the car park, all the way home, my mind is fixed on one thought.


    I''m done dreaming. It''s time to wake up.

 Chapter 32

    I''m lying in my bed beneath the covers.


    My grandmother tucks me in. As she leans over me, she blocks out the light from my bedside lamp, and her wild tangle of flame red curls threaded with silver is lit up from behind. A halo fit for an angel. I must be about four years old. By the time I was seven, gran''s hair had turned completely white.


    The memories that flicker through my dreams are soft and shimmering. Everything glows brighter than its real life counterpart, bursting with radiance, swimming in muted light.


    "So, what will it be tonight my bairn?" She asks, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. "Sleeping Beauty? Rapunzel? Or maybe The Little Mermaid? It''s been ages since you last heard that one."


    Most nights I''m perfectly happy to hear any of the countless fairy tales my gran tells. I''ve heard the same stories a million times over, and they never get old. But tonight is different.


    "Tell me a new one!" I squeak from under the covers.


    My grandmother gives me a disapproving look.


    "I mean, tell me a new one, please." I say. "I want a story I never heard before."


    "One you haven''t heard before? That''s no easy task." She walks over to my bookshelves; her fingers trail over Grimm''s Fairy Tales, The Happy Prince, Collected works of Hans Christian Andersen. Even at that age, I had a huge appetite for fantasy. For the unreal.


    Gran sits back down on the bed. She looks thoughtful for a moment, scrutinizing my face before nodding.


    After a long silence, she gives me a strange smile ¨C sort of sad, half-formed. "I was going to wait until you''re a bit older to tell you this one," she says. "But I suppose it''s time you heard it. No time like the present."


    She tucks the covers tighter around me, pulling the quilt up from the bottom of the bed and smoothing it over me like a woolen shield.


    "You''ll tell me if the story is getting too scary, ok? I only told your mum this one when she was much older than you are now."


    "Mommy knows this story?"


    "Of course. All the women in our family know this story. And now you will too."


    "Is it a scary story?"


    "Sort of. It''s scary, but you''ll like it. And you need to hear it sometime anyway. Might as well be now. " Her expression is solemn. "It''s very important."


    "Why?"


    "Because it''s not just a story, my bairn. Not all fairy tales are made up. This one happens to be true."


    Before I can get another question in, her voice changes into the special singsong lilt reserved for bedtime stories.


    A long, long time ago, back when there were fairies in every forest, and princes and princesses ruled over vast kingdoms while dragons slept beneath the earth, there lived an old witch in a cave by the sea.


    Although she was shaped like a woman, in truth she was more sea creature than human, and she was just about the ugliest thing you can imagine. Her hair was long green dripping seaweed, her face was scaly grey and wet to the touch, and her teeth were a row of jagged brown spikes encrusted with fish guts and slime.


    Her heart was as cold as the murky sea cave she lived in, and when she wasn''t brewing potions and poisons, she was using dark magic to stir up the seas and wreck any ships unfortunate enough to pass by her lair.


    But there was one speck of light and warmth in the old sea witch''s heart.


    She had a daughter; a lovely human girl she''d found half-drowned on the tide as an infant. Some say the girl was shipwrecked royalty, marked as the heir of a kingdom, and that is why the old woman had kept her. Other versions of the tale say that the old woman was merely lonely, and kept the girl by chance as if she were a pet. Either way, the girl was as beautiful as her adoptive mother was ugly, with eyes the deep blue green of the ocean and long tumbling hair as pale and glimmering as moonlight on sea foam. The old woman dressed her in faerie fabrics ¨C a delicate dress of enchanted spider''s silk that grew as the girl grew, embroidered with tiny pearls and bits of coral.


    As the years passed by on that lonely isle and the girl grew to be more maiden than child, the sea witch feared that her daughter would be stolen away by some human man or even a sea spirit or a warlock.


    You see, the old witch had come to truly love the girl, and could not bear to be parted from her.


    So she forbade the girl from ever leaving the cave. She kept her hidden away in the darkness, far from the eyes of any passersby.


    Only once a month when the moon was full was the girl able to leave her prison ¨C on these nights the old sea hag swam far out into the moonlit ocean looking for ingredients for her potions. Unattended, the girl would venture out on to the beach, or sit at the cave''s entrance bathed in moonbeams. She was always careful to return to the cave''s shadows before daybreak and the return of her foster mother.


    On one such moonlit night, when the old sea witch was far out at sea, a young man happened upon the cave. He''d become separated from his comrades and ¨C


    "Was he a prince?" I interrupt the story.


    "A prince?" Gran looks thoughtful. "Well, this is a very old story my sweet. There are many different tellings of it. Some people do say he was a prince. Others tell it that he was a wandering knight in service to some ancient king, or else an elvish noble of the Fairy Court, lost and far from home. Some people even say he had wings like a bird, and he''d fallen down from a country above the clouds just to meet the girl.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "An angel?"


    "Yes, you could call it that. It''s just one of so many tellings. I''ve even heard one version where he''s a shipwrecked pirate with a heart of gold, saved from the tides by the old witch out of pity."


    "That''s silly. Pirates are the bad guys. He can''t be a pirate."


    "You think a pirate is bad? That''s nothing, my bairn. There''s a dark telling of the tale that has it he wasn''t a man at all, but a creature of pure darkness. The prince of the Kingdom of Night, riding a pitch black steed."


    "Why was he riding around on the beach?"


    "There were many fishing villages along the coast of that land. Most likely, he was looking for a meal," she says, her eyes going dark. "His kind didn''t eat regular food like you and me. He was out for blood."


    "A vampire?"


    She nods.


    I shake my head, confused now, and more than a little flustered. "But which one''s true? Was he a vampire? Or a knight or a pirate?"


    "I suppose it''s whichever version of the story you want to be the truth."


    "But¨C"


    She presses her finger to my lips and carries on.


    The young man ¨C or angel or elf or prince or whatever you will ¨C saw the maiden as she sat at the entrance of the sea cave combing her long silvery locks that night, singing a song so forlorn his heart broke at the sound of it.


    At that moment he completely forgot why he''d been traveling so close to the sea in the first place, all thoughts of his travels totally blown away in the winds of her sad song. He knew then that every path he''d ever walked, every step, had led him to her.


    He stood entranced at the sound of her song for so long that eventually the first rays of morning light crept over the sands, and the girl began to move back into the cave''s shadows. Broken out of his enchantment, he ran across the beach to the cave''s entrance, calling for the girl to wait. No sooner had he reached the entrance than the old woman swooped up out of the waves and into the cave, pulling the girl far back into the darkness with her.


    Unable to enter the cave, the young man set¨C


    "Why?" I interrupt again. "Why couldn''t he go inside the cave?"


    My gran shakes her head and sighs impatiently.


    "A witch''s lair is always well protected, my bairn. The entrance was lined with magical powders... red chalk and crushed onyx and black pearls, and there were powerful incantations carved into the stone walls. Only the most fearsome of warlocks would have been able to cross that threshold. No more interruptions now. It''s getting late."


    From then on, the young man hid in the forest besides the beach, always watching the cave''s entrance day and night for any sign of the girl. Many days later, when the moon was full once again, he watched as the old witch left the cave and sunk down beneath the waves, basket and knife in hand. Some time later the girl came to the cave''s entrance once more and began to sing. The young man crept across the beach and stood before the girl, asking her name.


    Although she was wary of the stranger at first, they spoke through the night. She had a hundred questions about the world outside the cave, and he had a hundred more about her life within it. As the sun rose and the old sea witch''s return drew near, the young man promised to visit her again on the next full moon.


    And so it was that every few weeks after the witch had left on her oceanic explorations, they would sit before the cave bathed in moonlight, hungrily devouring each other''s company. Little by little, he stole her heart, and before long they''d pledged their love to one another.


    They planned to run away together on the eve of the next full moon ¨C he''d take her away from the damp and lonely cave forever.


    Little did they know that the witch had begun to suspect that something had changed in her daughter, and she had taken to spying on the two lovers from the shallows when they thought she was far away combing the ocean''s depths.


    She took action swiftly. On the evening the two were to run away, the witch hovered at the cave''s entrance. Taking her daughter''s hand in her own, she told her that she knew everything, and all she wanted was her daughter''s happiness. She gave them her blessing.


    "She''s lying." I say. I almost shout it, as if I could warn the girl in the story.


    "Yes, quite right." My grandmother smiles before continuing.


    The old witch, confident she''d won the girl''s trust, said she had a wedding gift for her. It was a shimmering silver ring in the shape of a sea serpent, biting its own tail between needle-sharp teeth. The girl tearfully embraced her mother, promising to return after she was wed and visit her as often as she could.


    But no sooner had she slipped the ring on her finger than silvery scales sprung up and enveloped her lovely skin. Her body shrunk into itself, and she was turned into a giant sea snake, glittering in the moonlight as she thrashed about at the cave''s entrance.


    "I wish I''d done this long ago," the old woman cackled. "I don''t care much either way what form you''re in. Girl or serpent, you are my daughter either way. Which is proof above all else that I, and I alone, truly love you ¨C ungrateful foundling through you may be. My love is a thousand times stronger than his could ever be. You''ll have to see it for yourself, my lovely. See through your own eyes how shallow men''s affections are. He''ll run a million miles the moment he sees you like this, if he doesn''t die of fear first. After that, perhaps I''ll turn you back."


    And with that the witch swooped down into the waves and was gone, confident the young man would flee upon seeing her daughter''s new form.


    Some time later, the young man arrived at the cave''s entrance, ready to steal away with his love. All he saw as he stood before the cave was a massive silver serpent, a monster to his eyes, coiling around the discarded robes of his beloved.


    He cried out and the serpent darted out of the cave onto the beach, racing over the sand towards him. He swung his sword, slashed at the creature in wide deadly strokes. He plunged his sword into its heart, and at last the great snake lay still. The young man ran to the cave, called out for the girl over and over again.


    When she finally answered, her voice was as soft as a dying flame.


    She''d taken back her true form as she lay dying on the cold white sand.


    Tears filled his eyes as he realized what had unfolded. She died in his arms, and he chose to join her without a moment''s hesitation ¨C he carried her lifeless body into the sea and drowned beneath the waves.


    Much later, when the old woman found the lovers entwined, their bodies dancing together slowly on the currents caught in a forest of kelp, she wept for the loss of her daughter. She had only one way to undo the wrong she''d caused.


    There is no reversing death, but it needn''t be the end.


    With a sweep of her hand she gathered up their entangled souls, and she cast a spell over them ¨C the most powerful spell she knew. She freed the magic into the vast oceans, streaking away like shoals of darting silver fish.


    She saw then that everything had played out just as it ought to.


    True love lives forever ¨C her jealous heart had helped them to discard the shells of that first lifetime, just as a snake sheds its skin, and they''d surely meet again many times over.


    Some threads of destiny are wound together tight as the tapestry of the world.


    The end is just the beginning. We all have a million paths, an infinity of beginnings. All she''d done was play her part. As I will. And as you will, too.


    Silence. My gran watches me, as if waiting for a reaction. I bite down on my lip. My eyes prickle with tears.


    I didn''t totally understand all the stuff at the end of the story, but I did understand that both of the main characters freaking died.


    "They''re both... dead?" I whimper as tears well up in my eyes. "That''s not how fairy tales are supposed to go." My gran gathers me up in her arms, smoothing down my hair, kissing me on the crown of my head.


    "There, there. I''m sorry my sweet. Maybe I should have waited until you were older. I''m sorry I couldn''t give you a happy ending."


    A happy ending.


    I wake up.

 Chapter 33

    The last fragments of the dream swirl through my mind and disappear like smoke on the breeze. I wake up to five missed calls from Zee, and a string of increasingly hysterical texts from Jamie.


    16.30: Hey hun. Howd it go? Zee said you should be done by 5. Still up for coffee at night owl? Xx


    16.52: Babe? U there? We''re at the usual spot.


    17.25: BABE WTAF WHERE R U? ANSWER YOUR PHONE


    18.48: K we''re gna bail. Hope ur ok? X


    20.10: OMFG BABE ANSWER YOUR PHONE SRSLY


    21.05: I''m worried can u call me? Did everything go ok with the band? Did something happen babe?


    22.34: HOLY SHITBALLS ANSWER YOUR PHONE GEEZ


    I''ve always been a deep sleeper ¨C my parents say I could probably sleep through the apocalypse ¨C but this is ridiculous. I passed out as soon as I got home yesterday, and I slept like the dead for more than twelve hours, even though my phone must have been buzzing all night.


    That''s right. I was meant to meet Zee and the others at the Night Owl yesterday.


    I think about calling Jamie, but it''s only just past 7am, way too early for her to be awake on a Sunday morning. I turn over and glance at the bright light streaming in through the window, bundling the duvet tightly around me.


    It''s going to be a beautiful day.


    A quick stab of guilt ripples through me as I scroll through Jamie''s texts. The girls must have really been looking forward to meeting up so I could fill them in on how my meeting with the boys went.


    Something cold twists in the pit of my stomach. Dread.


    How am I going to tell them about my decision to turn Fable down? There''s no way I can talk about what happened with Kitty in the woods. It was all just too weird.


    More than that, I have no clue how I''m going to explain to my friends that I''m totally severing ties with everything related to the band ¨C everything I''ve been using as an escape from my problems. No more Fable YouTube video pajama party marathons with my BFFs, no more fanfiction, no more Fable Tumblr, no more obsessive fangirling whatsoever.


    I''ve heard that during the height of Beatlemania, some Beatles fans pretty much lost their minds. Scores of delusional girls lost the plot over them. They weren¡¯t just regular fans, but super-obsessed girls for whom the whole thing became a lifeline. They''re probably still a bit cooked fifty years later.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I almost became that.


    I''m so glad I can see that now. For the first time in two years, everything''s clear. I''ve been trapped in a fantasy land of my own devising. I lulled myself willingly into a beautiful dream filled with music and fantasy, so I could stay asleep and not face the cold, harsh light of reality.


    Not anymore. I''ve finally woken up.


    God, I''m pathetic. How could I lose myself so easily? I should probably go see Dr. Martel again. Ask her to put me back on the meds. Maybe this time they''ll work.


    I pull the duvet up over my head, curl up on my side into a ball with my arms around my knees.


    How do I do this? Kitty will probably tell Felix and the others that I want out. She seems to have made that decision on my behalf anyway. And I don''t have Felix''s number, so it''s not like I can call to tell him. I''ll just have to let my silence speak for itself.


    As I scroll through the messages, a new text pops up.


    It''s from Alix.


    7.05: Sorry I lost my cool yesterday. Want to reschedule band practice? Micah can meet 2nite or 2moro. Let me know when is good for you.


    With all the drama going on with Fable, it''s like I almost forgot that I have my own band to worry about. Micah and Alix and I haven''t played in front of a proper audience as Wild Blue Yonder yet, but we''ve been practicing for months.


    We''d even spoken about starting to gig this summer.


    This is what I need to be focused on. My own life. My own band. Not some passing-by English rock band so far out of my league, so far out of this world, that they might as well be characters in a goddam fairytale.


    But... Felix said they need me. Who''ll help them with acoustic guitar on the next album if I don''t? It''s not like they can just recruit someone. How could they trust they''ll keep the whole thing secret? If BYG Records found out that Fable were secretly recording an album on their own...


    For just a split second I wonder if Alix would do it in my place. Drums aren''t the only instrument he plays ¨C he''s a great guitarist, and I can actually imagine him getting along with Ben, and maybe Lyall. Plus it would probably mean Zee meeting the boys at some point, and she''d love that.


    Nah. Alix hates Fable with a passion. And it really isn''t my problem. None of it is. I have my own life to live.


    The thought fills me with a rush of energy, determination like I haven''t felt in forever.


    I practically jump out of bed, and I''m showered, dressed and out the front door minutes later. I hear my mom call out to me as I leave, but I don''t stop.


    Sorry, no time mom. I''m going to Zee''s house.


    I''m going to tell her everything. I''ve been a bad friend ¨C not just the past few weeks, but ever since we met, with my constant emotional turmoil, flakiness and generally emo behavior. She deserves an apology, and so does Alix. I''ll let him know I''m serious about our band. I won''t ever mess him or Micah around again.


    I''m done chasing unicorns.


    With any luck, when I don''t get in touch, the Fable boys will get the message. I''ll never see any of them ever again, and they''ll live their insane rock star lives, and I''ll lead mine. My own real life, which is no longer being lived for them.


    Zee''s house is too far to walk, so I hurry around the side of the garage, to the spot where I always leave my bicycle.


    It''s not there.


    It''s still in the forest.


    Goddamit.

 Chapter 34

    By the time I get to the part of the forest where the two trails meet, the midmorning sun is filtering down through the leafy canopy.


    I passed by only one hiker on my way here, and I''m grateful for that ¨C I must look really silly, and totally unprepared for a hike. I''m dressed in the outfit I was going to wear to Zee''s house ¨C a white babydoll dress with a print of tiny green flowers, and totally impractical white keds. Or at least they were white before I set out. Now they''re brown, with a green stain on the left one''s side.


    These shoes cost $70. Dammit.


    I stand at the crossroads, looking up and down the trails in case there''s anyone coming, before I leave the path and slip into the forest.


    I walk in the direction of the tree with the silver fox pendant.


    The pendant is still hanging there, twinkling high up in the branches like a fallen star as it catches the morning light. Picking my way through the undergrowth, I walk around the side of the tree to the holly bushes where I hid my bike.


    It''s gone.


    That''s... this can''t be happening. I chose this spot because it''s totally hidden from the main track, so there''s no way a hiker took it. Only someone with a reason to be standing right here, in this one random part of the forest, could have spotted it. Someone who knew where the pendant was.


    That means...


    It must have been one of them.


    If I want to get my bike back, there''s only one thing to do.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    I take a deep breath, turn my back to the path and head into the deep green embrace of the waiting forest.


    *****


    The forest seems quieter than yesterday. Still. Silent.


    I can''t hear a single bird as I head down the faint path through the trees.


    It feels like the woods are holding their breath, watching and waiting as I pass beneath the giant oaks and pines and beeches.


    Unlike the last time I was on this path, I''m in a hurry, and I''m speed walking, stumbling at times over branches but never stopping. Even when my scar starts throbbing, sending icy prickles radiating through my chest. Even when I see dark shapes moving between the trees out of the corner of my eye, urging me to stop, turn around and run screaming back to civilization. I ignore everything apart from my desire to get to keep going.


    It''s all in my mind. Mysterious shadows. Phantom pains in my chest. I guess I really am losing it. The sooner I get back onto Dr. Martel''s couch and back onto the meds, the better. I need to get this over and done with.


    I smell it before I see it. Tendrils of heavy perfume reach out through the air, wrap around me and pull me in like spectral hands, towards their source ¨C the blood red roses that curl around the cabin''s porch.


    Light streams through the trees up ahead as I step into the clearing.


    The cabin''s waiting for me, the front door wide open. Sunbeams glint off the stained glass windows set into moss-encrusted stone.


    Yesterday the storybook sight filled me with childlike wonder.


    Now it fills me with a sudden rush of terror, ancient and primal.


    An echo of that day on the bus, watching my classmates drowned and impaled and cracked open. And of another, older horror. Locked away but just beneath the surface.


    That makes no sense at all. What''s happening to me?


    An icy shard of fear stabs through my scar, embedding itself into my heart. I''m frozen in place. I''m pinned, like a deer about to be devoured by a hungry wolf.


    Get away. Get away, right now. Something''s not right. I shouldn''t be here.


    This is my last chance.


    Whatever''s inside this Pandora''s Box is beyond human comprehension.


    I start to turn around, ready to sprint all the way home, when I see him.


    On the porch, sitting on the wooden steps. Framed beneath the red roses. All in black, his hazel eyes fixed on me, unmoving and watchful as an old painting.


    Felix.

 Chapter 35

    "It''s right in front of you," a faint voice whispers in my left ear.


    I snap my head to the side, but there''s no one there. I swing around and look back into the forest behind me as a shiver trickles down my spine. All I can see are tree trunks, gnarled branches dripping with green, overgrown ivy thickets, shadowy nooks. If someone is out here with me, they could be hiding anywhere.


    Don''t be stupid. There''s no one there. I''m just seeing things, like always.


    I turn back to where Felix is sitting on the porch, watching me boredly across the clearing. A few seconds pass with me frozen in place by a fear I can''t place, and Felix waiting still as a sphinx, measuring me with his stony gaze.


    "I said, it''s right in front of you," he says. "That''s what you came for, right? Just take it and leave."


    I look down at my feet. It takes me a moment to spot my BMX lying on its side in a tangle of mossy tree roots and leaves, just inches from where I''m standing.


    Ok. I just need to grab my bike and get out of here. Get the bike and go. Easy.


    Part of me wants to ask him why he even dragged my bike here in the first place. He could have just left it where he found it. He knew I''d go back for it. Maybe I just need to swallow my anxiety, march myself over to him and get everything off my chest. I''d feel much better knowing that I''ve explained to Felix why I''m backing out of the opportunity of a lifetime. Kitty could have told him absolutely anything, and I know I should make sure he knows the truth.


    At the very least, I know I should say goodbye. I probably owe him that.


    But I''m so tired of goodbyes.


    I crouch down, avoiding Felix''s piercing hazel gaze and trying not think about the phantom voice I heard behind me as I dust dried brown leaves off the bike. I''m about to grasp the handlebars when I notice something decidedly odd.


    My bike is covered in a creeping carpet of moss.


    Crusted around the pedals, and branching up along the saddle like a fine green embroidery. And it''s not just moss ¨C clumps of pale blue Forget-Me-Not flowers have sprouted up in the spaces between the front wheel''s spokes. Countless dusty old spider webs glittering with dewdrops hang between the handlebars, the spokes, the brake. There''s even a messy bundle of dried grass and leaves tucked in under the saddle, which looks a bit like an old field mouse nest.


    This can''t be real. Maybe I never woke up this morning.


    I reach down to touch the cold, reassuring metal of the bicycle, and draw back my finger in pain.


    A delicate rose branch has wound its way around the metal bars, all thorns and small tightly-wound rose buds.


    I watch as a small crimson drop wells up on my finger.


    The red paint is cracking off all over the bike, replaced by silvery lichen and wet rust.


    It''s a wreck.


    This can''t be my bicycle. Decay like this doesn''t happen overnight. This thing''s been out here for years. Maybe even decades.


    Then I notice the Disney princess stickers just below the saddle. Zee and I stuck them on when we were in a particularly silly mood one afternoon last summer, and that''s where they''ve stayed, despite various attempts over the past year to peel them off.


    Aurora and Ariel smile up at me, challenging me to doubt.


    This is my bike.


    Impossible.


    "What''s wrong?" Felix''s voice rings out across the clearing. "You''re not taking it?"


    I scrutinize his face, searching for any hint that this is some sort of elaborate set-up. He just stares boredly at me, raising an eyebrow in disdain.


    "It''s not funny," I say, pulling myself up to my full height. "Where''s my bike?"


    "Are you blind?" He says. "It''s right in front of you."


    "This is not my bike," I say, certain now that this is some sort of twisted prank. He must have peeled the stickers off my bike and put them on this one, which has clearly been lying out here getting eaten by the elements for years.


    But then why didn''t I see this bicycle when I came here yesterday? I was on the same path. I couldn''t have missed it.


    "Oh, I see," he says with a sigh. "When I went to get the pendant yesterday I saw it under a bush next to the tree. I assumed it was yours. Guess I was wrong. My mistake."


    I''m about to ask him what he''s getting out of this ridiculous little game, when I notice how still and unwavering his hazel eyes are as they hold my gaze. He''s telling the truth. Whatever''s going on, this isn''t some twisted prank.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    That really is my bike, half consumed by the forest.


    It''s too deteriorated for me to even think of taking it, so I walk out into the sunlit clearing and stop in front of the cabin steps. Felix''s eyes never leave mine as I approach.


    Closer up I can see he''s wearing a black v-neck sweater and black jeans, and he''s barefoot. He runs a hand idly through his dark disheveled hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and it strikes me again that I''m standing face to face with one of the most famous people in the world.


    A few months ago Zee and I watched a full three-minute video compilation on YouTube just of Felix sweeping his hair back ¨C various shots from movies, concerts, vlogs, red carpet interviews, music videos. It''s his signature thing, sort of like Miley Cyrus''s tongue or Taylor Swift''s hand heart pose. We joked about how much we wished it was us running our hands through those dark locks.


    Now I''m standing just a few feet from him and it''s the last place on earth I want to be.


    Millions of girls would kill to be in my position, and I''m about to turn it all down, and run away.


    At the very least, I''ll try to make him understand.


    Felix doesn''t say a word. He just glares at me from his spot on the steps, waiting for me to say something.


    "I want to expl¨C" I start saying.


    "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?" A singsong Irish voice shrills from above me. "Hast thou come a-courtin so early in the morning? Didst thou bring a breakfast offerin'' perhaps?"


    Lyall is leaning out of the window of an upstairs room, the wooden window shutters creaking as he pushes them wider open. His reddish-brown cinnamon hair''s a mess as always, and from what I can see, it looks like he''s wearing pajamas with ducks on them. He flashes me a cheeky grin as he swoons, hanging precariously over the window ledge.


    "Wilst thou g-"


    "Shut up Lyall," Felix says without even glancing up.


    "Ash, fair maiden, whilst th-"


    "I said shut up you dolt," Felix snaps, glaring upwards. "It''s not the time to be joking around. Ashling''s going to explain exactly why it is that she''s turning us down."


    Lyall''s smile immediately disappears. He''s gone from the window in an instant, and there are sounds like loud crashing inside the house as he barges down the stairs. A few seconds later, he bursts through the front door.


    He stops abruptly on the porch, just behind Felix.


    His expression is suddenly veiled and hesitant, worlds away from the merry prankster mood he was in moments ago.


    "I thought yer were here ''cause yer reconsidered," he says softly. "When Kitty said yer weren''t interested in helpin'' us ''cause yer want ter spend time with yer boyfriend over summer... I thought that sounded kinda weird. Is yer man de jealous type?"


    My man? What the¨C


    "I don''t have a boyfriend," I say, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. Lyall''s face twists in confusion; Felix raises an enquiring eyebrow.


    "I don''t know exactly what Kitty told you, but I just want to set the record straight," I say. "The only reason I''m not going take up this whole crazy offer of helping you guys is because it''s not what I need in my life right now. I realized that I''ve been a bit..." how do I say this without sounding like a nutcase? "... I''ve been a bit... um... obses- I mean preoccupied, I guess, with your band the past few years."


    "Well ter be fair love, not ter be vain or nothin¡¯, but that describes most teenaged girls in de world right now," Lyall says. "Why''s that a problem?"


    How am I meant to make them understand, when I don''t even fully understand it myself?


    "I''ve just... got some important things to do right now," I say.


    "More important than helping the world''s most popular band created a guaranteed platinum album?" Felix asks. "Seriously?"


    He shakes his head, making a soft sound of disgust.


    "You know, I don''t actually care anymore about your reasons," he continues. "There''s just one thing I need to check though."


    He leans closer to me, his hazel eyes scrutinizing my own pale green ones. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that Kitty didn''t say something to scare you away."


    I''m caught by his intense gaze. He knows.


    "Hm. Just like I thought," he says, his mouth curling up in a crooked grin. "She''s the one responsible for this stupid decision of yours."


    "No, it wasn''t¨C" I start to lie, but Felix talks over me, his face stern again.


    "Ashling, forget anything she told you. Whatever she said, it''s bull. Make up your own mind."


    I want to speak but I don''t know what to say. How could I possibly explain that it wasn''t so much what Kitty said, but more what she made me realize? I decided for myself that I need to move on with my life and quit obsessing over the band.


    "Look, it''s really complicated," I say. "If you still need someone in Portland to play acoustic guitar for the album, I''m sure I can find someone you can trust."


    Well that''s a lie. But I can at least try.


    Felix''s expression darkens and he dips his head down for a moment, running his hand through his hair again. When he raises his head, the eyes that meet mine are brimming with raw, seething anger.


    Somehow, for a moment the irises look shadowed, closer to a dark storm-cloud grey, deepening into black before flickering back to his usual gold-flecked brownish-green. I flinch as the scar on my ribcage twinges for just a second, like someone pricked me under the skin with a needle.


    No way did his eyes just change color. I''m seeing things again. Dr. Martel''s going to have a field day with me when I tell her all this.


    "You honestly think that''s enough?" He says. "That''s your solution?"


    "Fee, go easy on her, it''s not like¨C" Lyall begins before Felix interrupts him.


    "Ashling, if you say no to us now, we''re leaving. We''ll go back to London. We came here because I want to work with you, and only you, not some random guitarist you pull off the street."


    "Admittedly, that is true Ash," Lyall says. "We came here ¡®cause Fee reckoned there was somethin'' special about yer music. Somethin'' we''re needin''."


    "You''re the only reason we''re here Ashling. If you refuse to work with us now, you''re sending us away," Felix says. "This is your final chance. What will it be? Are you running away from this, or not?"


    I look from his face to Lyall''s. One set of stern hazel eyes and one set of soft caramel-colored eyes scrutinizes me, waiting for my answer.


    What should I do?


    I can''t concentrate. My thoughts feel suddenly slow, thick and slippery. The perfume of the roses twined around the cabin''s wooden pillars is so heady and distracting that it blocks out any thought, any resistance. I feel lulled, and there''s a growing sensation of swaying on a gentle current, embraced by the deep red sultry fragrance that''s prying at my senses. I can hear distant singing, probably just in my mind, or maybe coming from the forest behind me. A woman''s voice. It''s spellbinding. I feel light. I feel calm. I feel... sleepy?


    "Ok," I half-yawn, not fully realizing what I''m saying. "I''ll do it. I''ll help you create your album. But first, I need to... sit down... or... someth¨C"


    I feel my knees give way. The last thing I see is Felix leaping off the porch towards me, a streak of black as I crash down into the darkness.

 Chapter 36

    There''s no light at the bottom on the ocean.


    I''m swaying on the currents in silence, giving no resistance as I twist gently on the tide.


    It''s so cold here.


    There''s no up or down, no before or after, no here or there. Nothing outside of myself. Nothing to separate me from the endless black depths.


    I''m stuck in an endless oceanic slumber, lulled by the gentle rocking motion of distant waves.


    I could stay this way forever.


    Something''s nagging at the edges of my mind, pulling at my consciousness, demanding attention.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Somewhere, there is more than this.


    I haven''t always been here. I know there was something before.


    Something happened. Something so terrible that I''ve sealed it away, safe in the deepest recesses of my nightmares.


    It''s here with me now.


    I made this darkness myself, so that I don''t have to see what''s right in front of me.


    I reach out, and my hand brushes against cold metal. I trace my fingers over shards of broken glass, twisted steel.


    The bus.


    Mia and Evan and the others are still inside. I have to get them out.


    I reach out, trying to take hold of something, so I can climb inside and find the others.


    My hands fly through empty water.


    I twist around in a panic, clawing blindly through the darkness, but the bus is gone.


    There''s a rush of water, a sudden pull downwards.


    Something slow, slippery and colossal brushes against me. Something ancient. Older than time, darker than black, colder than ice.


    I can''t move. I can''t swim.


    I can only hang still and silent as I''m slowly wrapped up in the freezing, never-ending embrace.


    It''s crushing me, engulfing me, little by little.


    I can''t escape this on my own.


    Someone help me. Please, save me.

 Chapter 37

    I wake up in an unfamiliar room.


    It takes me a moment to register my surroundings. I''m lying on a bed, on top of the covers and fully dressed (thank god), apart from my cardigan, which is hanging over the arm of a wooden chair in the corner of the room.


    It''s a small room, with stone walls, a fireplace directly opposite the single bed and a bunch of yellow flowers in a clay mug on the windowsill.


    Branches and jewel-green leaves suffused with soft late morning light dance outside the window.


    I must be on the upper level of the cabin. This might even be the room Lyall was in before he came downstairs. I wonder how long I was out this time?


    I sit up, swinging my legs around the side of the bed. I stand up too soon and have to sit down again as a rush of black suddenly washes over me and recedes just as quickly.


    That''s right. I was in such a rush to get to Zee''s house, and then to get my bike, that I totally forgot to eat breakfast this morning. I''ll have to wrap things up here quickly...


    My heart skips a beat as I remember what I said to the boys just before I fainted. I say yes to the whole stupid thing. For some unfathomable reason, I went and told them I''d take up their offer and help them with their new album, even though I didn''t really mean to say it.


    Dammit. How am I meant to get out of this now?


    I stand up again, more slowly this time.


    Only one thing to do. I''ll go downstairs, talk to them face to face. Tell them I was delirious. Tell them I didn''t mean it.


    I notice a huge mirror with an intricately carved wooden frame on the wall next to the bed. The wood has been shaped into a swirling design of leaves and roses, almost as if to match the roses growing outside the house. I run my fingers over the smooth woodwork, wondering why it feels so familiar. There''s a memory fighting just below the surface, but I don''t have time to dwell on it.


    I scrutinize my reflection in the mirror. My hair''s a mess. There are dark circles under my eyes. And my skin looks even more deathly pale than usual, probably from having not eaten yet today.


    I look like I''ve seen a ghost. No, I look like I am a ghost.


    I smooth down my long pale blonde hair, wishing I had a brush or even a comb with me. I bite my lips and gently pinch my cheeks, trying to get a bit more color into my face.


    If this is the last time I see these guys, I don''t want them to remember me looking like the living dead.


    Once I''m satisfied that I no longer look like I just crawled out of a grave, I grab my cardigan off the back of the chair and walk into the corridor outside the room. There are several other doorways along its length, probably leading to more bedrooms.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I walk down a narrow iron spiral staircase, noting an ominous creaking sound and slight swaying with every step.


    I glance down into the entrance hall as I descend, and I''m struck once again by how spacious it all is. It''s somehow cozy, with the rustic stone walls and wooden finishes, and yet strangely grand at the same time. This place must have cost a fortune to build.


    Felix mentioned that Bea was the one who told him about this place. He said she owns it. Bea was gran''s best friend as long as I can remember, and in all the years I''ve known her, she''s never once mentioned anything about owning a cabin out in the forest.


    Everyone has secrets, I guess.


    I walk out into the deserted entrance hall.


    Maybe I''m alone. They might have all gone out somewhere.


    I wander into the open-plan kitchen living room, noticing cushions strewn on the floor, empty coffee cups and dirty dishes piled high on the kitchen counter.


    I can hear voices from outside the house. I head over in the direction the sound is coming from, towards the massive floor-to-ceiling stained glass window at the far end of the room.


    I can''t believe it was just yesterday that I was standing in front of this window discussing it with Lyall. It feels like it was forever ago.


    I cast my eyes around the window, taking in the bizarre scene it depicts. It feels so vivid, so real and alive that I almost expect it to have changed overnight. But the figure of the silver-tailed mermaid is still in the centre of the window, surrounded by her five stained-glass captors (or suitors, according to Lyall).


    I can hear voices through the glass, but I can''t make out any actual words. The boys must be in the mossy forest clearing outside the cabin.


    I try to see through to the outside through the stained glass, pressing my face up against a large crimson pane, but it''s all a swirling red blur with flickers of movement, as if the world outside is swimming in blood.


    "Brave of you to come back," a sultry voice whispers in my ear.


    I jump about two feet into the air, shrieking so loud that I''m surprised the glass didn''t shatter.


    I turn around and see Kitty standing right beside me, her arms crossed in front of her chest.


    "I really didn''t think I''d ever see you again," Kitty says. "I''m surprised you''re here."


    You''re not the only one.


    "I just came back to get my bike," I say. "Things got... off track."


    "Yeah, Felix said you fainted," Kitty says, flicking her eyes up and down my body like she''s looking for the source of my weakness, the broken part. "Seems like you do that a lot."


    "I guess," I say, as the image of Kitty pinning me to the tree just yesterday creeps back into my mind.


    "Anyway, I''m going to head off now," I say, turning around and heading towards the door. "Tell the guys to ignore what I said before I passed out. I wasn''t thinking straight. Tell them I say thanks for everything."


    "Not so fast," Kitty says. She lunges forward and grabs my wrist, turning me around to face her.


    "You''re hiding something," she says. "The way you reacted when I got up in your grill yesterday, the stuff that Felix says happened this morning... I know something''s not right."


    She stares hard at me, as if she''s trying to see behind the mask. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.


    "Please Ashling, I really want to give you a chance," she says. "I''m not really a bitch, if you can believe that. I think, maybe I might have been a bit hasty yesterday. But I don''t want to leave things like this, I really don''t. Help me understand. Tell me what your deal is."


    What I really want to do is just turn around, march out of this cabin, and never look back. Why should I share my personal story, my tragedy, with this stranger, a girl who pretty much attacked me yesterday? Why her?


    If not her, then who?


    There''s nothing to lose by letting Kitty in on my secret, except for maybe a bit of weight off my burden.


    So I sigh, sit down in an armchair in front of the fireplace, and I tell Kitty my whole sad, sorry story.

 Chapter 38

    The shadows are lengthening and the sunlight has softened into afternoon''s honey gold by the time I''m finished telling Kitty all about that day.


    She''s sitting still as a statue in the armchair opposite me, bathed in patches of multicolored light streaming in through the huge stained glass window behind us. It''s like she''s in an impressionist painting, streaked with red and green and blue light, and I imagine I''m spilling out my story to a brightly jewel-encrusted portrait of some noblewoman from a bygone era.


    It makes it easier to talk.


    The words rush out of me, a flood of grief that I didn''t even realize I''d been damming up.


    Kitty doesn''t interrupt me, not even once ¨C only nodding her head from time to time, listening in absolute silence. Even as I tell her about how I watched everyone die, how Mia lay at the bottom of the bus with her head cracked open in a pool of blood, or how Evan sacrificed himself to send me to safety through the emergency exit glass. She just gazes at me intently, her expression veiled as I lay myself bare.


    The only thing I leave out is all the craziness with the dreams, the feeling of being followed, the strange time warp thing that happened with my bicycle in the forest. I''m saving those details for Dr Martel''s couch. Kitty will definitely think I''m nuts if I tell her about my hallucinations.


    Because that''s what they are. That''s all they could possibly be. Fantasy. Delusions.


    I do however tell her my reasons for deciding not to get any more involved with Fable than I already am. I try to explain how I realized that I wasn''t just an ordinary fan ¨C maybe I was before the accident, but afterwards, it became my whole life. I''ve been obsessed, like a Star Wars geek walking around dressed like Darth Vader. I was using the whole thing as a sort of band-aid for my trauma.


    It wasn''t normal, and she''d helped me to see that. The reality check yesterday had made it all so clear.


    I just need to get on with my life. No more dreaming away the pain.


    I''m about to ask her for the hundredth time not to tell the boys what I''ve just told her, when she suddenly lunges forward and wraps her arms around me.


    She holds me tight, and I feel her body heaving with silent sobs.


    "You''re wrong," she says.


    She lets go of me, wiping her eyes and smearing mascara down the side of her face.


    "Walking away now won''t solve anything," she says as tears roll down her cheeks. "Things happen for a reason. I know it sounds like New Agey bull, but I really believe that. You were meant to meet us. You''re meant to be here now."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    I nod, not sure what to say. I want to believe her, but I don''t know what to make of the sudden turn-around. Yesterday she had me against a tree in a choke-hold. Now she''s Dr Phil.


    "You want to be a professional musician, right?" Kitty says. "Felix told me you''re in a band. Sitting on some doctor''s couch dosed up to kingdom come isn''t going to get you any closer to making your dreams a reality. Stick with us, be a part of what we''re doing here, and I promise we''ll make it worth your while."


    "Thanks," I say. "I just... this is really sudden. Why are you being so nice to me?"


    Kitty sighs, and her eyes well up with tears again.


    "I can''t take back what happened yesterday," she says. "I didn''t know the full story. And I had my reasons. Like I said before, contrary to how it might seem, I''m not really a bitch. Sometimes I just have to be one. I''ve gotta protect the people who matter to me."


    The memory of Kitty telling me about the psycho girl who attacked Felix backstage surfaces again.


    I think I understand.


    "And it''s not just for you," she continues. "I want you to stay for him. Recently Felix seemed to be drawing away from the band. From everything they built up. You probably heard rumors in the news about him leaving Fable."


    I nod. There are constantly stories flying around in the press about Felix or Alastaire going solo, but in the past few months the speculation has been going wild. He''s been even snappier in interviews than usual, more sarcastic and colder than ever before. As if it''s all just a massive waste of his time.


    "Well, for the first time in ages he''s actually invested," she says. "He actually cares again. Enough to ask you for your help. And trust me, that''s not something I''ve ever seen Felix do before. With most people, it''s like he couldn''t give a damn. But this is different. He sees you."


    She reaches out and places her hand on my shoulder.


    "We need you, ok?" She says. "Stick around a bit longer. No pressure."


    We both laugh nervously.


    There''s no going back. She''s right. Whatever this is, I need to figure it out myself. I can step away from it at any time. But it''s too early to back out.


    "Ok," I say. "I''m in."


    "Thanks," she whispers. "And sorry."


    She swoops in for another hug, and I can feel that she''s crying again.


    I guess sometimes the toughest shells are protecting to softest hearts.


    She''s sobbing quietly but steadily, and I wonder where I can find a tissue for her. Not sure how to comfort her, I smooth down her hair, the same wild dark midnight brownish-black as Felix''s.


    "Nice," a voice rings from across the room. "A bit of girl on girl action in front of the fireplace. Just what the doctor ordered."


    Alastaire slips onto a bar stool at the kitchen counter, grinning at us while Kitty jumps out of my arms.


    "Don''t stop because of me," he says. "Please, by all means, carry on. I''m not even here."


    "As if!" Kitty snaps at him, dabbing at her eyes as she turns bright red.


    "How was your nap Cupcake?" Alastaire asks me. "Did you see me in your dreams? I know I''ve been seeing you in mine."


    "Gross!" Says Kitty. "Save the lame pick up lines for your groupies Al. And put on some clothes."


    "Do NOT call me Al," Alastaire says with a pout.


    It takes me a moment to realize he''s totally shirtless, his lightly tanned skin beaded with perspiration and his golden blonde hair held back messily in a headband.


    "Hey Ash!" Ben says with a cheeky grin as he walks into the room. He''s shirtless like Alastaire, his trademark skulls and bones bandana tied around his head. "Do you like marshmallows?"


    Errr... what?

 Chapter 39

    ¡°Marshmallows. Do you eat them?¡± Ben asks as he slips onto a bar stool next to Alastaire.


    ¡°I guess,¡± I say. ¡°They¡¯re nice in hot chocolate.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± he says. ¡°We¡¯re running out of food and all we have left is a jumbo-sized bag of marshmallows until Kitty can get to the shops tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful planning as always Kitty,¡± says Alastaire. ¡°You had one job. ONE JOB.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Kitty says as she punches Alastaire in the arm. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have run out if you guys hadn¡¯t eaten an entire week¡¯s worth of groceries in one weekend. It¡¯s not my fault you¡¯re all such gluttons.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Ben says. ¡°Anyway, I would kill for a pizza right now. Remind me again why we¡¯re camped out in the middle of the woods hours away from civilization.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all in the name of music my friend,¡± Alastaire says breezily. ¡°Which reminds me. Cupcake, no more napping today, okay? We thought we¡¯d show you around the recording studio this afternoon. We¡¯ve got a few tracks in the works we can play for you. And if you behave yourself and help us make lots of pretty music, I¡¯ll let you have some of my Mo?t at the bonfire.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I say, feeling pretty lost.


    ¡°Mo?t & Chandon,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°I have Rose Imperial and a few bottles of the 1943 cuve¨¦ if that¡¯s your scene.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean, you said there was a bonfire?¡± I say. Am I missing something?


    ¡°Yeah, it was Elliot¡¯s idea,¡± Ben says.


    ¡°That¡¯s why they¡¯ve been forcing me to do manual labor like a middle class pleb all morning,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°We¡¯ve been out collecting wood. If we''re going to eat our weight in marshmallows for supper, we might as well roast them over a bonfire under the stars. Washed down with equal amounts of vintage champers of course, to make the whole experience more bearable."


    ¡°Marshmallows, beer and champagne are literally all we have left,¡± Ben says. ¡°That, and coffee.¡±


    ¡°You want me to stay for the bonfire?¡± I ask, worried about where this is all going.


    ¡°Yeah, of course,¡± Ben says while the others nod in unison.


    ¡°But¡­ won¡¯t it be dark by the time we¡¯re done?¡± I ask. ¡°I don¡¯t know about walking home through the forest. That seems sort of dangerous. Even with a flashlight.¡±


    ¡°Who said anything about you going home Cupcake?¡± Alastaire leans closer to me, twirling his finger around a strand of my hair. ¡°You¡¯re spending the night.¡±


    ¡°Alone in a locked room of course,¡± Kitty says as she shoots Alastaire a scolding glance. ¡°That bedroom you were in earlier is empty. You should just stay over.¡±


    Should I do it? My parents are going to freak. No way can I ask them if it¡¯s ok for me to sleep over in an isolated cabin in the forest with five teenaged guys. Literal, actual rock stars to make it even worse. One of whom is a world-renowned manslut. I¡¯ll definitely need to make up a cover story.


    ¡°I think it''s ok,¡± I say. "But I have to make a phone call."


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Ben says. ¡°Haven¡¯t you noticed yet? There¡¯s no service out here. I¡¯m having serious internet withdrawals.¡±


    I fish my phone out of my cardigan pocket. He¡¯s right ¨C there aren¡¯t any signal bars.


    ¡°Actually, I found a spot with signal near the house,¡± Kitty says. ¡°It¡¯s really weak but you should be able to make a call.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Ben and Alastaire both gasp at the same time.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think to share this information?¡± Alastaire asks, staring daggers at Kitty.


    ¡°I thought it would be good for you to have a bit of a data detox,¡± Kitty says. ¡°You¡¯re meant to be focusing on the music during this break. Not sitting glued to your screens.¡±


    ¡°Like you can talk,¡± Ben says.


    ¡°Whatevs,¡± Kitty says, gliding towards the door. ¡°You guys are the ones out here on band camp. You¡¯re the ones who need to stay hidden away on the woods in case one of your cray fangirls spots you, not me. I¡¯ve still got a life to live, thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°No one asked you to come, Kitty,¡± Alastaire says.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need anyone to ask me,¡± she says, her voice taking on a hard edge for a moment. ¡°Anyway, Ashling, just walk around the back of the house and go to the tree with the love seat hanging from it. If you stand around there you should get reception. I¡¯ll see you later.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She gives me a quick wave and leaves the room, while Alastaire flips her off behind her back.


    ¡°Sweet!¡± Ben says, grabbing his phone off the counter. ¡°Last one there¡¯s a ¨C¡±


    ¡°Ladies first,¡± Alastaire interrupts him, winking at me over his shoulder. ¡°Maybe Cupcake wants to make a private phone call.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry Ash,¡± Ben says, settling back down on the bar stool. ¡°I¡¯ll wait till you¡¯re done.¡±


    I almost tell him it¡¯s ok, but then I imagine my mom fighting back about me spending the night, arguing with me over the phone, with me pleading my case. No way do I want Ben to overhear that.


    So I just say thanks, and I head out of the room, along the entrance hall and out through the front door.


    I pause for a moment on the porch, looking down at the spot I fainted just a few hours ago. The last thing I remember before I passed out was Felix rushing forward to catch me.


    I look up at the cluster of rose branches, thorns and blood red blooms that blanket the front of the cabin. The fragrance is just as strong as it was earlier, a heady sea of bewitching scent. But somehow, it¡¯s different now. Not as overpowering. Before, something about it had made me feel sleepy. I could have sworn that the roses actually drugged me.


    That¡¯s impossible. Magic roses. What¡¯s next? Are Sam and Frodo going to fly out of the forest on Harry''s broomstick waving around lightsabers? I really need to get a grip.


    I take a deep breath, banishing any crazy thoughts as I set out down a narrow leafy pathway that cuts through the thick moss blanketing the clearing. Around the back of the house, I find a huge open area covered in leaves. The trees are maybe a hundred feet away. Massive rocks covered in moss and lichen lie scattered around the clearing, with ferns sprouting up haphazardly between the stones.


    About halfway to the trees, a pile of wood has been stacked into a bonfire. An axe is embedded into a log next to it.


    It takes me a few seconds to spot the tree Kitty was talking about. A wooden love seat hangs by ropes from one of the lower branches of a gigantic oak. The twisted, ancient trunk has got to be at least ten feet wide, and must have taken hundreds of years to grow.


    I bet it''s the oldest tree in the entire forest.


    Its emerald cloud of foliage radiates a soft green glow, each leaf lit up, illuminated by the late afternoon light like the panes of stained glass inside the cabin. A gust of wind sends the leaves flickering, and for a moment it looks almost like the tree is leafless and burning with iridescent green fire. The flames lick at the air, dancing hungrily down the ropes towards the love seat, crackling with a vibrant, eerie energy.


    I stand dumbfounded, realizing that I¡¯m not seeing an illusion caused by the light.


    The tree is literally on fire.


    And the fire is green.


    A bright, otherworldly, magical green.


    Whether it¡¯s a hallucination or reality, this is what I¡¯m seeing at this very moment, with my own eyes.


    A blast of heat from the strange fire rushes over me, and a now familiar sharp stabbing pain shoots into my ribcage, piercing my scar with such intensity that I double over clutching my chest. The wave of pain subsides in just a moment, leaving a dull echo of the sensation ebbing away.


    I stay hunched over for a moment, my eyes squeezed tightly shut.


    I¡¯m afraid to look again. But I have to.


    So I pull myself together, open my eyes and look dead ahead.


    The fire is gone. It¡¯s just a normal tree at the edge of the clearing, covered in normal midsummer leaves.


    Maybe I¡¯m making a mistake carrying on with all this. The whole situation is clearly doing something to me. The safest place for me now is in a psychiatrist¡¯s office. Heck, maybe even the loony bin.


    But I have to try move forward. Crazy or not.


    I consider going back to the house, away from the creepy tree. But that would be admitting defeat. Right now, I have to focus on what I know is real. And that''s the opportunity in front of me. I''ll help Fable with their album, I''ll make connections in the music industry, and I''ll start living the life I always dreamed of. That''s what''s real. That''s all I need to worry about.


    But first, I''ve got to get the parentals'' permission to stay the night.


    So I gingerly pick my way across the clearing, moving closer and closer to the edge of the forest.


    I take my phone out and hold it up in front of me, hoping that maybe I¡¯ll get a signal in the clearing.


    Maybe I won¡¯t have to walk all the way up to the tree.


    But my phone is still showing no bars. Only when I¡¯m right on the forest¡¯s edge, a few feet from the formerly flaming oak tree, do some bars appear on my phone. The signal is still too weak, so I move even closer. Finally, I have a decent signal.


    I¡¯m standing right in front of the love seat, so I sit down. It sways ever so slightly, and my fear dissipates with the gentle rocking motion. Under the cool green shade, it¡¯s impossible to even imagine that I thought this tree was on fire just moments ago.


    I¡¯m just tired. And hungry. A few hallucinations and paranoid thoughts about shadows following me doesn''t equal crazy. No siree.


    I scroll down to my mom¡¯s mobile number. I¡¯m about to hit call when I realize that I don¡¯t actually have a good cover story ready.


    I should probably just tell her I¡¯m spending the night at Zee¡¯s, or Jamie¡¯s. Maybe Jamie. With her mom away on some love cruise with her latest toy boy, it¡¯s not like my parents can check up with her.


    My mom¡¯s phone rings. And rings.


    After half a minute I hang up.


    I shouldn¡¯t be surprised. It¡¯s not like she ever answers it anyway. Seriously, the woman might as well not even have a phone.


    So I try calling my home phone instead. Someone picks up the call immediately.


    ¡°Ashling?¡± A familiar voice asks, full of panic. It sounds like¡­


    ¡°Jamie?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s me,¡± she says. ¡°Ashling, where are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¨C¡± I catch myself before I can slip up and reveal the boys¡¯ location. I promised them I¡¯d keep that secret. ¡°I¡¯m ok. Why are you at my house?¡±


    ¡°Ashling, listen to me,¡± she says, her tone urgent. ¡°You need to come home. Come home. Right now.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask, feeling the panic rising. ¡°Jamie?¡±


    It sounds like she¡¯s saying something, but all I can hear are jumbled sounds, then white noise. The call disconnects, and the dial tone rings in my ear.


    With shaking hands, I struggle to keep a hold of the phone while I call her back, but my phone says there¡¯s no signal.


    A single bright green leaf flickers through the air in front of me, falling down to the ground. There¡¯s a faint rustling from the tree above me.


    My skin prickles over with goose bumps.


    Slowly, I look up.

 Chapter 40

    "I guess you won''t be staying the night then?"


    Felix is in the tree above me, stretched out languidly on his back along a wide branch. There''s a book in his hand.


    He jumps down and lands right in front of me in one swift graceful movement, and I stumble backwards, until my back is pressed up against the huge tree trunk. He leans forward, placing the palm of his hand against the wood right next to me, leaning down until his hazel eyes are just inches away from my own.


    "How much do they know?" He says.


    He must be talking about the phone call. Does he know it was Jamie?


    "Nothing," I say.


    He leans closer in, as if to lock me down, maybe trying to intimidate me. Scare the truth out of me. But the thing is, I''m already telling the truth. I haven''t told anyone where Fable is or what they''re doing.


    If there''s one thing I''m good at, it''s keeping secrets.


    "Tell me what''s going on." He says, his eyes glinting in the scattered light. "Something''s wrong. I can tell."


    He doesn''t say it in a comforting way, like he wants to help. He says it like it''s an annoyance. Like I''m an annoyance.


    "I don''t exactly know what''s going on," I say, wishing I had the courage to lift my hand and slap him. Not that I can imagine myself ever actually doing something like that. But if there''s anyone in the world who deserves a solid slap in the face, it''s definitely him.


    "I phoned to let my mom know I wouldn''t be coming home tonight, but my friend answered," I say, averting my eyes so I don''t have to look him in the face. "She seemed really freaked out. I think something''s wrong."


    Without warning, Felix swoops in closer, and grasps my chin, tilting my face up to his. With our faces less than inch apart, he stares intently into my eyes.


    After a few seconds of his penetrating gaze, I feel a hot blush creeping across my cheeks. I twist to the side, trying to turn my face away, but he grabs my chin harder and forces me to face him again. His eyes are hard and unblinking as they peer into my own with a ruthless intensity.


    It''s like he''s trying to read my mind.


    By the time he lets go and takes a step back, my whole face feels like it''s on fire.


    I reflexively shrink back against the tree and cross my arms across my chest, while he looks away and runs his hand through his dark hair, the intense gaze replaced with the same cold, disinterested expression he usually wears.


    "I''ll walk you home," he says. Before I can respond, his hand is around my wrist, and he''s dragging me behind him, away from the clearing and into the forest.


    I stumble along behind him for a moment before digging my heels into the dirt, pulling him to a sudden halt.


    "I don''t need an escort," I say, struggling to free myself from his grip. "Really. Just let go."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    His hand tightens around my wrist for a moment before he frees me.


    "I''m not letting you walk alone," he says.


    WTF? It''s not like this would be the first time I do this trip on my own.


    "Seriously Felix, I''m ok¨C"


    "No," he says, "It''s getting late. It''ll be dark soon."


    His eyes subtly dart around the forest surrounding us, and I notice a stiffness, an alertness, in his posture. Like he''s on guard. Is he seeing something I''m not seeing?


    I scrutinize our surroundings but there''s nothing there, just an army of moss-encrusted tree trunks, and thick vegetation stretching out into the late afternoon shade.


    "You have two choices," Felix says, stepping forward and getting way too close to me again. His breath is hot against my ear. "First option ¨C let me walk with you back to your place. Second option ¨C return with me to the cabin. What are you going to do?"


    Without even thinking, I place both of my hands on his chest and push him away roughly. He barely budges, and instead I go stumbling backwards, and land on my butt in a bed of ferns.


    I expect him to laugh, but he just stares down at me, like I''m the stupidist girl in the world.


    I immediately spring to my feet and begin dusting myself off, hanging my head low to hide the deep blush burning on my cheeks.


    "Fine, I give up," I say. "Walk me home. Whatever."


    And with that I charge past him, through the trees and into the dark forest.


    *****


    The sunlight is almost gone by the time we reach the quiet maple-lined streets of my suburb. We walked in silence the whole way, not a single word passing between us.


    If it were anyone else, I''d be worrying that maybe they''re upset with me. But this is Felix Lockhart ¨C world-renowned jerk, arrogant elitist and the guy who made an E! Entertainment host cry live on TV one time. I haven''t seen the video clip, but I heard that she asked a question he thought was stupid, and he ripped her to shreds. It went viral, and cemented his reputation as meanest guy alive, which actually just helped his popularity with his masochistic fangirls.


    Yup. Probably better that we don''t try to make small talk.


    As we turn the corner into my road, I realize that a few of my neighbors are out and about. Mrs. Peters is poking around with a trowel in the soil under her bay tree, and she raises her hand in greeting as I walk past. I wave back, and she goes back to her gardening, oblivious to the fact that I''m walking alongside one of the most famous people on the planet.


    Even if she did know who he was ¨C which is likely, even though she''s pushing seventy ¨C she probably wouldn''t recognize him, with his hoodie pulled down low and dark glasses hiding his face.


    I guess he doesn''t want a repeat of what happened the first time he came to visit.


    Still, he''s risking a lot coming out in the open like this. The hoodie and shades routine might fool Mrs. Peters, but it wouldn''t work on my younger neighbors if they were to spot him.


    Tammy and Sam from across the road recognized him the moment they saw him. Even with his face hidden, they''ll know.


    His height, the dark messy hair peeping out from under the hoodie, his stride, the stiff yet graceful posture, and the air of cool, predatory confidence he seems to radiate.


    Felix Lockhart is unmistakable.


    This is stupid. Someone''s going to recognize him. The band''s cover is going to get blown. We need to get out of sight, stat.


    I quicken my pace, hurrying along the sidewalk towards my driveway, ready to pull Felix into the bushes at the first sign of a potential Fable fan.


    Felix is right next to me, sticking to my side like a shadow.


    Stepping into my driveway, I notice Jamie''s sixteenth birthday present, the brand new Volvo she got last month, parked next my mom''s Kia. More surprisingly, there''s a white station wagon parked next to it.


    It takes me a moment to click.


    That''s Grace''s mom''s car. What on earth is she doing here?


    The front door is slightly ajar, which is totally normal for my house ¨C but I can''t hold back the rush of foreboding that trickles over me.


    I try not to let the worry show on my face, but somehow, Felix knows.


    He stops me a moment before I walk through the front door.


    "Wait for me here," Felix says.


    I watch him disappear through the door, and I stand fidgeting on the front porch, fighting the urge to burst in after him.


    It''s my house after all. Why''s he calling the shots?


    After only a few seconds of waiting, I decide to follow him.


    As I walk through the front door, high-pitched screaming tears through the house.


    It''s coming from the kitchen.


    I run.

 Chapter 41

    I rush into the kitchen, and I''m met with the last thing I expect to find.


    My mom and dad are sitting down at our kitchen table with Zee, Grace, and Grace''s mom. A pink-haired girl is clutching onto Zee, her face twisted in shock, her mouth hanging open in mid-scream. It takes me a second to recognize Jamie.


    That''s right. She said she was dying her hair for the Nasty Gal blogger shoot. What''s she doing here? What are any of them doing here?


    All eyes are on Felix, as he stands glowering near the doorway.


    Zee''s expression is glazed over and I''m guessing she''s in shock from seeing Felix again.


    I can see the realization dawning on her, and as if to follow Jamie''s cue, she gasps and her eyes widen. I can see the scream before I hear it. I swoop forward and wrap my hand around her mouth just in time.


    "Where the hell have you been?" My mom asks in a shaky voice.


    Her eyes look red and puffy, like she''s been crying.


    All eyes leave Felix and are now fixed on me, and everyone speaks at once.


    We tried to call you. We didn''t know where you were. Your phone. The episodes. Selfish. We were worried. Missing a full day. Irresponsible. What were you thinking?


    Ever since the accident, my parents have been way over the top about my safety. They didn''t want to let me out of their sight for months after it happened. If I went out anywhere, I had to text them at least once every hour.


    It was suffocating.


    They''ve gotten a lot better since then, but they still insist on regular text message check-ins, and every now and again my mom has a freak out over something like this and it gets blown way out of proportion.


    I mean, I was only gone for a few hours. Ok, a day. But this is overkill.


    "Why on earth didn''t you tell us where you were going today?" My dad asks. "Your mother and I were at our wit''s end. We thought something might have happened. Especially when none of your friends knew where you were either..."


    So that''s why they''re all here. And Grace''s mom must have invited herself over. No surprise there I guess.


    "I was planning on going to Zee''s place this morning, but then I¨C" I start explaining, stopping myself a moment before revealing Fable''s hide-out in the forest.


    I turn to Felix to see if he noticed my near slip-up, and he shoots me a withering glance.


    Stop talking, he seems to be saying.


    "I must say Ashling, we are all very disappointed in you," Grace''s mom says.


    She''s sitting bolt upright next to my mom, her dark grey hair scraped back in a harsh, matronly bun. "I really didn''t take you for that sort of girl. Whom might the young man in question be?"


    Her eyes are darting around Felix suspiciously, probably trying to figure out if he''s a punk or an emo or a meth head or anything else scandalous she can relay to her church group later.


    Before I can speak, Felix steps slightly in front of me, and he does the strangest thing ¨C he smiles.


    A wide, charming smile that transforms his whole face from stoic thundercloud to enraptured angel.


    It''s beautiful.


    Grace''s mom''s eyes widen at the sudden transformation.


    "I should have introduced myself sooner," Felix says in a perfect American accent, all hints of his real British voice gone. "I''m Max. Ashling and I go to school together. I asked her over today to tutor me in math, seeing as how she''s top of the class and all."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Me tutoring math? No one''s going to buy that.


    But Grace''s mom swallows the story hook, line and sinker. Her mouth is hanging open, and after a moment she starts nodding.


    "I should have asked for your permission first, Mr. and Mrs. Shields," Felix says, smirking slightly as he addresses my parents. "Sorry."


    What''s he trying to do? My parents and Grace and Zee and Jamie already know who he is. What''s with the act?


    "That''s totally ok Max," my dad says hesitantly. "Academics is our youth. I mean, our future. The youth and the future are¨C"


    "Ok, thanks for your help then Janice!" My mom cuts my dad off, pulling Grace''s mom up as she stands. "She''s back safe and sound, hallelujah! We really appreciate all your concern."


    She''s hurrying Grace''s mom out the door. Grace follows obediently behind her, but gives my hand a quick reassuring squeeze as she passes me.


    As she leaves, Grace''s mom is muttering about having to inform the members of her crochet club and the church committee and The Concerned Citizens of Portland Action League that the search is off. She sounds almost disappointed. Poor Grace probably isn''t going to hear the end of it.


    She gives Felix a suspicious glance as my mom tugs her out through the doorway.


    The realization that we just avoided a potential disaster hits me.


    Grace''s mom is the queen of busybodies ¨C there''s no one''s business she''s not sticking her nose into at any time. If she were to realize that a world famous rock band (aka satanists) were hiding out just a stone''s throw away... there''s no way she wouldn''t spread it all over town, and possibly organize a protest demanding they leave before they can infect the young minds of Portland.


    I wouldn''t put it past her. She''s kicked up a fuss over smaller things. You''d think she lived in an Amish homestead, not in the heart of one of the most alternative, liberal, coolest cities in the world.


    Thank god she didn''t recognize Felix.


    Moments later I hear the front door close, and my mom comes back into the kitchen.


    "That woman is exhausting," she says, slumping down into a chair at the table. "I called Grace''s landline to ask if you were at her house, and of course Janice had to come marching over here."


    "Mom, I''m really sorry for making you w¨C" I begin, before Jamie cuts me off.


    "I''m Jamie," she says breathlessly. "This is Zee. We¡¯re your biggest fans. We love you so, so, so much."


    She and Zee both got up from the table at some point and are standing so close to Felix that they''re practically on top of him.


    Zee''s eyes are as big as saucers.


    Felix cocks his eyebrow ever so slightly, and then turns to me with a deep sigh, totally ignoring them.


    "I''m going," he says.


    Without even saying goodbye, he walks out of the room.


    We all wait in stunned silence for a few seconds.


    "I''ll go after him," I say.


    "You have one minute Ashling," my mom says sternly. "Don''t take too long."


    "One minute," my dad repeats.


    Jamie and Zee don''t even try to follow me. They''re probably too shocked by the immense diss they just got handed to them.


    The front door is wide open. I practically jog out the door, thinking he''ll be a good way down the road by now.


    But as I cross the threshold I see him leaning against the trunk of the huge maple tree in the middle of our lawn, hoodie drawn down low over his features. Not that he needs it anymore. It''s totally dark outside now, and our road doesn''t have streetlights.


    I walk over to him, feeling inexplicably shy all of a sudden.


    "You waited for me?" I ask.


    "We''re starting at nine tomorrow," he says, completely ignoring my question.


    I don''t say anything. I just nod and stand in silence, unsure of what to say.


    "What?" He asks suddenly.


    "You''re going back to the cabin?" I say.


    "Of course," he says.


    "Maybe... maybe you don''t need to," I say. I should be angry with him for how he treated my friends, but I can''t help worrying about the fact that it''s now nighttime. Even for a guy, walking alone through the forest in the dark probably isn''t a great idea.


    "You can spend the night here," I say. "We have a spare room."


    "You really think your parents would be cool with that?" He asks. "After what you put them through today? Not a chance in hell."


    He''s got a point.


    "Um... well maybe they don''t need to know," I say. I look up at the lushly leaved maple tree above us. "This tree''s really easy to climb, and one of the branches goes right outside my window. It''s a breeze to sneak in. I''ll leave my window open, then we wait until my parents have gone to sleep."


    "Sounds like you''ve done this before," he says. "Tell me, how many boys have you snuck into your room this way?"


    "It''s not like that," I mutter, grateful for the darkness to hide my flaming red face.


    "Does your room have a spare bed?" Felix asks, his upper lip curling up slightly in an amused grin.


    "No," I answer.


    "We''ll, correct me if I''m wrong, but I''m pretty confident you''re not inviting me to share yours," he says. "So where would I sleep?"


    "On the floor," I say.


    "Yeah, I''ll pass," he says. "Be there at nine sharp. See you tomorrow."


    "Well, can I at least bring you a flashlight?" I ask, wondering how he''ll possibly find his way through the woods back to the cabin on a dark moonless night like tonight.


    "No need," I hear him murmur as he sets off down the street.


    I watch him until he disappears down the road, into the darkness.


    I turn back towards my house, and try to figure out my game plan for getting some alone time with my laptop.


    Mom and Dad should be heading off to Biblio soon to supervise the kitchen staff, and I can probably get Jamie and Zee to go home after I fill them in with the bare minimum of details. This can''t wait.


    I have some serious Googling to do.

 Chapter 42

    I watch from my bedroom window until I see the taillights of my dad''s car disappear into the darkness. It took ages for my parents to leave.


    They asked Jamie and Zee to go home as soon as Felix left, and then they interrogated me for almost an hour. They probably would have carried on longer if they didn''t need to get to Biblio for the late night Sunday supper service.


    That''s one perk of having chefs for parents ¨C it''s always just a matter of time before they have to rush back to the kitchen.


    With my phone on silent and a giant mug of chai tea on my bedside table, I sprawl out on my bed with my laptop in front of me.


    It''s time to clear some things up.


    First I check the official Fable fansites, then the most popular Tumblrs and Fable Twitter accounts. As expected, everyone thinks the boys are spread out across the globe on vacation during the hiatus between albums.


    A lot of fans are posting theories about where they are, speculating about why all five of the Fable guys have gone quiet on social media over the past few days ¨C but no one seems to suspect the truth.


    The truth being that the Fable guys aren''t taking a break. They''re renting a cabin deep in the woods in Portland to record a secret album.


    Not exactly an easy one to guess. Still, all it would take is one local fan to recognize the boys and post their location online, and it''s game over.


    Once I''m satisfied that the boys'' secret is still under wraps, I think back on the dream I had last night, about my gran telling me a bedtime story. She said it was a fairy tale, but it''s not one I''d ever heard of, or have heard of since.


    I don''t know why, but I feel like it''s one piece of a much larger puzzle.


    So I start typing keywords into the Google search bar, not really expecting to find anything of use.


    irish fairy tale witch beach sea cave girl serpent full moon


    The first few results are irrelevant ¨C an advert for a book of fairy tales, the wiki of a popular anime about mermaids, a review of a new Irish poetry anthology ¨C but the fourth result down catches my eye.


    Welcome to Mythology.org, home to scholarly papers by Britain''s most renowned academics. Our archives include...


    I click the link, and I''m taken to a page with a photo of a middle-aged lady, with short reddish-brown hair, red-rimmed spectacles and a stern expression. The caption beneath the photo reads ¡®Eagla McAuley, PROFESSOR EMERITUS, Ph.D. (RUI)¡¯.


    Next to the photo, there''s another picture. It''s not clear, but it looks like a close-up shot of the pages of an old book or a manuscript. The paper is covered in strange symbols in thick black ink, possibly in Gaelic or some ancient language. There''s no caption or description for the photo, but something about it seems important. So I right click and save it to my desktop.


    The rest of the webpage has a lot of text, so I skim through it. The first few lines are an introduction to her academic paper, and about three paragraphs down I find what I''m looking for.


    It''s widely acknowledged that the myth of the Creeslough Sea Maid is endemic to the northernmost villages of Ireland, but variations of the story can be found as far South as Kilkeel. The fable is assumed to be more than three thousand years old, and has long fascinated scholars of Celtic folklore ¨C both for its longevity in oral tradition, and for its links to several older, more obscure mythologies. Each telling of the tale varies, but the central theme is always that of a sea witch or sorceress who finds or kidnaps a beautiful girl, and raises her until fate intervenes in the form of a young man.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Of particular interest to students of Celtic mythology is the male character, a romantic yet disruptive force. He is always depicted as either a seductive demon in the form of a beautiful young man, or a celestial angel, a pirate, a faery prince or a chivalrous knight. In light of this, the myth is notable for its connection to the band of heroes known by several names (most commonly the Fiacha Rudraigh or the Fianna) ¨C a group of five warrior princes who appear in the Mythological, Ulster and Fenian cycles, far predating many better-known legends.


    Although the circumstances and mission of the characters varies between tellings, most scholars agree that the Fiacha Rudraigh is canonically comprised of the princes of five mythical nations or realms ¨C the Prince of Darkness, the Prince of Heaven, the Prince of the Seas, the Prince of the Tuatha D¨¦ Danann (fey folk) and the Prince of Men. This band of heroes is mentioned throughout Irish folklore, and their purpose as a group is never clear. In the myth of Ligh and Argetl¨¢n they are hunters of giants, and in the Fomorian stories they banded together to overthrow a common enemy, the Ciorcal Airgid or Silver Circle. Despite these differences, it can be...


    My eyes pause on the words "Silver Circle". I''ve seen that somewhere before. After racking my brain for an answer, I open a new tab and type:


    ¡°silver circle¡±


    There are a few links to conspiracy theory websites, and countless eBay and Etsy listings for silver circlets and bangles. So I add "Irish myth" on to the search.


    The first result that pops up is a link to an old newspaper article, so I click on it. A chill runs down my spine as I read the words on the screen.


    The Daily Herald Online


    Talia Durham


    London ¨C Victoria Webb, the twenty year-old fan arrested on Friday night after she attempted to stab Fable front man Felix Lockhart, has told police that she is a member of the elusive Silver Circle cult.


    Webb revealed her connection to the organization during interrogation by senior officers. She claims to have been under the control of an unnamed cult leader. According to author and cult expert Louise Cook, the Silver Circle originated in Europe and has underground branches in England, Sweden, Russia and Japan. Devotees believe that they are ¡°holy knights in a divine war¡± between good and evil.


    An inspector at the scene told journalists that Webb attempted to stab Lockhart through the heart with a ceremonial dagger made of sharpened rowan wood.


    Lockhart sustained only minor injuries and was treated at St. Etain''s Hospice following the incident.


    Webb is currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation, while investigators search for...


    The words on the screen blur together, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a sharp stabbing pain buries itself between my ribs. It''s as if something is slicing into my scar. It''s been happening so frequently this past week that I almost feel like I should be getting used to it, but it''s pure agony every single time.


    Almost as painful as when I got the scar in the first place, on the day of the accident.


    I''ve never been able to remember exactly when the long blade of glass embedded itself in my ribs ¨C it could have happened when the boulder first hit the bus, or when Evan kicked out the emergency glass underwater to save me. All I know is that the doctors said it missed my heart by millimeters.


    I push my laptop away and curl up in fetal position as the pain intensifies, as if someone is twisting a hot knife inside my chest. I reach out blindly to the top of my bed and grab my pillow, and then I bury my face in it and scream as the pain rips through me. Seconds later, the stabbing sensation fizzles away, leaving only the tingling of pins and needles in its place. I lie still for a few moments, swimming through blackness.


    I can hear my own heart beating, too loud and too fast.


    BA-DOOMPH... BA DOOMPH... BA DOOMPH


    It''s beating really loud. Too loud.


    That''s when I realize that the sound I''m hearing isn''t my heart beating. There''s someone downstairs at the door. Knocking hard enough to break it down.


    Of all the times for someone to show up... and why can''t they just use the doorbell like a normal person?


    I''m tempted to ignore the knocking, crawl under my duvet cover and call it a night. But the sound carries on, getting louder and louder.


    So I stand up somewhat unsteadily and I walk out of my room, moving slowly down the staircase towards the front door.


    The moment my foot touches the landing, the sound stops. For just a second I consider running up the stairs and locking myself in my room, but I know that''s stupid. I''m sixteen, not six.


    And besides, it might be Felix.


    Maybe he changed his mind about going back to the cabin. Maybe he''s going to take up my offer of sleeping on my bedroom floor. Which would be incredibly lame of course, because he''s a jackass and he''s mean and rude and a million other things.


    But still, I look down at my pajama set ¨C frilly white lace shorts and a matching cami. I look cute.


    I should probably go upstairs and get into something more decent, but a rush of confidence overwhelms me.


    I reach for the doorknob.

 Chapter 43

    Unfortunately, it''s not Felix on the other side of the door.


    There''s a rake-thin woman in a long black dress standing in the doorway. Even though her face is concealed by a red scarf wrapped around her head like a shawl, I can tell immediately that she''s really old.


    She''s holding a basket filled to the brim with gleaming red apples. A gnarled hand reaches into the basket and strokes one of the apples, the fingers lazily tracing the plump crimson fruit. The old woman appears to be muttering something over and over again. It sounds like the word fated, or maybe hated.


    Nope, not happening. It''s too early for Halloween.


    I start closing the door, ready to lock it and run upstairs, possibly even call 911.


    Just before the door shuts, I hear a voice say my name.


    "Ashling?"


    She pushes the scarf back, revealing a familiar face.


    It''s my grandmother''s best friend, Bea.


    I used to see her all the time before my gran passed away.


    There was a time when my parents were setting up Biblio ¨C getting the restaurant off the ground, establishing themselves in the Portland culinary scene ¨C where I''d spend most afternoons and some evenings at gran''s house.


    Bea used to visit a couple of times a week, even though she was always super busy managing The Rose Inn.


    I spent so much time with Bea throughout my childhood that I eventually started thinking of her as some sort of great-aunt. But ever since gran died earlier this year, I''ve barely seen her. In fact, the last time I actually spoke to her was at gran''s funeral.


    Standing before me now with dark circles under her eyes and her long gray hair all tangled up in an unruly mess, she looks like she''s aged twenty years since then.


    And there''s something wrong with her eyes. There''s a glassiness in her gaze ¨C like she''s looking through me, rather than at me.


    Before I can react, she drops the basket with a loud thud. Apples roll out across the front porch as she swoops forward through the doorway and wraps me up in a tight embrace.


    "It''s so good to see you again sweetheart," Bea says. She squeezes me tighter before leaning down to gather up the spilled apples. "It''s been way too long. Are your parents home?"


    "They''re at the restaurant," I say.


    "Oh, I see," she says. "I suppose that''s no surprise. Biblio''s doing so well nowadays, isn''t it? Imogen would be proud."


    I feel my chest tighten at the sound of my gran''s name.


    "Anyhow, mind if I come in?" She asks, peering into the hallway behind me. "I wanted to drop these off, and the walk was longer than I expected."


    She holds up the basket, and I realize that her arms are trembling slightly under its weight. There must be at least twenty apples in there, and she''s looking more fragile than I''ve ever seen her before.


    I quickly reach out and take the basket from her, feeling terrible for not noticing before.


    Even though she gave me one hell of a fright, it''s only Bea after all.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Of course, come in," I say. "Can I get you some tea? Or some coffee?"


    "No, I''ll pass on that," she says, gliding suddenly into the hallway much faster than she looks capable of moving. "I''ll just sit down a moment."


    I follow her through to the living room, where she settles down in an armchair. I perch on the sofa, placing the basket of apples on the floor between us.


    "I thought your mom would like them. Crisp and sweet. They''re from the same one," Bea says, staring down at the basket. "You remember climbing it? You were so little then."


    It takes me a second to realize she''s talking about the huge apple tree behind her house. So many golden summers were spent under that tree, me lying on my back staring up at its leafy boughs while gran and Bea set up their easels in the garden and spent the afternoon painting.


    "So little... just a sweet little thing..." she says quietly, almost as if to herself.


    "It''s been a while since I last saw you," I say, stating the obvious but at a total loss for words.


    Think. Ask her how she''s been doing. Ask about the hotel. Talk about the weather. Anything.


    "How are the boys keeping?" She blurts out suddenly.


    "The boys?" I repeat.


    "Yes, the boys," she says, her face creasing into a faraway smile. "Those lovely lads renting my little house of music out in the forest."


    Of course. Felix said that Bea owns the cabin and offered it to Fable when they were staying at the Rose Inn during their tour. I wonder what other secrets gran¡¯s BFF is hiding.


    "I guess it''s about time," she says. "Has it started yet?"


    "Has what started yet?" I say, feeling more confused than ever.


    She gives me a strange half smile, and chuckles quietly to herself.


    "The reason they came here, sweetheart," she says. "You''re involved, after all. You should know. Has it started?"


    "I don''t... understand..." I say.


    "The music," she says. "Have they started working on the album?"


    Realization dawns on me.


    "No, not exactly," I say. "Or... sort of, I think. I''m meant to help with some of the acoustic guitar, but things have been kind of¨C"


    "Yes, yes, better get a move on then," she says, interrupting me. "Have you seen the guest book yet?"


    "No," I say, wondering where on earth this is leading.


    "It''s downstairs. Have a look next time you''re there," she says. "We had some wild nights in that cabin, Imogen and me. Before she met your grandpa, of course. Did you know it was her idea to convert it into a recording studio?"


    I shake my head, and she continues.


    "Back in the sixties, Portland was the place for bands and musicians. Still is. But back then, it was like everyone who was anyone wanted to record an album here. In those days it was all about connecting with nature, the Flower Children and hippies and so on. So Imogen had the smart idea of converting my grandfather''s hunting cabin into a private haven for visiting musicians, far from the press and the fans."


    "It was a hunting cabin?" I ask incredulously.


    "Yes, up until hunting in the forest was banned in the twenties," she says. "It was in such a state when we got started on it. The whole renovation had to be done on the sly. We got contractors to come in from out of town. Painting, plumbing, everything. Didn''t want anyone around here to know our secret."


    I nod, wondering why she''s telling me all this.


    "Even some of the woodwork and the stained glass windows... did you know, your gran made those?" She''s staring intently at me now, and her glazed expression looks almost feverish, ecstatic. "Some of the paintings are hers'' as well.


    That explains why the cabin feels so familiar. It''s filled with gran. With her art. I really should have realized it sooner.


    "Did you see silver girl yet?" She asks. "And the circle?"


    I shake my head, wondering if Bea''s age is maybe catching up with her.


    She''s making no sense. Unless... maybe she''s talking about the huge stained glass window in the cabin''s living room. The one with the silver-tailed mermaid surrounded by a circle of guys. Why would she be asking about that?


    As I picture it, I feel the same old familiar prickling pain shoot through my scar. It''s not as intense as usual, but I flinch, trying to hide it from Bea.


    Her eyes widen, and she leans forward in her chair. She nods, and suddenly she springs to her feet, faster than any eighty-year-old woman should be able to move.


    "I''ll let myself out," she says, hurrying to the front door.


    It takes me second to get past my shock. I run after her, but by the time I get onto the sidewalk, she''s already far in the distance, disappearing up the hill around the corner of our street.


    That''s... impossible. It''s at least a hundred meters away. A whole football field. Even if I ran, it would take me at least ten seconds to get there. But she got there in a split second... and she''s an old lady.


    Right, that''s it. I''m officially losing my mind.


    I think about calling my mom, but that seems pointless. What would I tell her anyway? Gran''s bestie is acting weird and she can run faster than an Olympic athlete?


    No. I just need to get some sleep. It''ll all make sense in the morning.


    Somehow.


    So I go back inside, lock all the doors, curl up in bed and fall into a deep, dark dream.

 Chapter 44

    I''m standing beneath a starry sky on the edge of a jagged cliff.


    Ocean waves crash against a rocky shore far below, churning up swirling sea foam bathed in silvery moonlight.


    My hair whips around me; the wind stings my eyes.


    I stand for a long time, looking down at the raging seas.


    Somewhere in that dark ocean, the bus is sinking, a metal coffin falling forever.


    I can feel the cold interior slick with blood; I can hear my classmates calling me.


    There''s a tug in my chest, like an invisible string pulling me forward.


    Somehow I know that if I look too long, I''ll float out to sea, and I''ll never be able to swim back.


    So I focus my attention on the pale white ribbon of sand that stretches like a snake out along the base of the cliffs far below, glowing faintly with trapped moonlight.


    A procession of figures in silver robes wind along the beach in a line, single file, as small as ants from this distance.


    I lean over the precipice to get a better look, and a gust of wind knocks me right over the edge. I fall screaming.


    Torrents of freezing air wrap me up, rake over me like cold fingers.


    The ground rushes up to meet me; I try to close my eyes but I can''t.


    At the last moment, time seems to slow, and I drift down to the beach like a feather on a gentle breeze.


    Sand billows into the air as I touch down, glinting and sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds.


    I look up and down the beach.


    The silver-robed people are gone, but their footprints are pressed into the sand.


    So I follow their tracks up the beach, until a dark mass looms on the horizon. As I move closer, it takes the shape of a huge cathedral of twisted metal, driftwood and sea-glass windows, tucked into the side of the cliffs like a bird''s nest.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    I don''t want to go in, but I''ve been following the footprints for too long, and I no longer have a choice.


    An invisible force pushes me forward, and I stumble along the sand, through the open doors of the strange church.


    It''s pitch black inside, save for a single lit candle planted in the sand at my feet. I kneel down and pick it up, bathing the far end of the aisle in a halo of golden light.


    I move forward slowly, past the empty pews. Row by row, empty seats covered in shattered glass and the stink of dried blood.


    I reach the darkness at the end of the aisle.


    Where the altar should be, there''s a funeral pyre of worm-eaten wood and dried brown kelp.


    I smell rot, salt, decay.


    Blood and saltwater.


    That''s when I see her. Bea is standing next to me, staring at the pyre, her eyes monstrously large and glassy, like the eyes of a fish.


    Her grey hair is wet and wreathed with slimy green seaweed.


    She raises one skeletal finger, and points at the pyre in front of us. I raise the candle, casting the light forward. The pyre grows, stretching from one end of the church to the other.


    Bea clicks her fingers, and a row of naked bodies on their backs appear, stretched out in a line, packed head-to-toe as tight as sardines.


    I walk down the line, kneeling down and illuminating each face with the candlelight one by one.


    I recognize them all.


    Ana Edwards.


    Payton Brown.


    Oliver Chan.


    Melanie Tyler-Jones.


    Evan.


    Mia.


    His face hidden in shadows that even the candlelight can''t dispel. Her face twisted in confusion, mouth open mid-scream, pale and drowned, a crown of blood soaking into the kelp. I watch as blood bubbles up around her dead blue lips, trickling down her chin, swirling into the shape of a single red rose, which unfurls out of her mouth, releasing a sickly sweet perfume into the air.


    I feel a scream rising in the back of my throat, and I want to snuff out the light, return this scene to the darkness where it belongs.


    Where I can no longer see it.


    "That won''t do any good," Bea whispers into my ear. "It''ll always be there. The rot''s burrowed deep, my sweet."


    Suddenly I know what I came here to do. I touch the hungry candle to the bed of kelp. Tongues of flame leap up, devour the funeral pyre, twisting and tasting.


    A deafening, thundering sound rings out behind me.


    I turn around, and I see that the church is flooded with brilliant golden light, and the pews are suddenly full of people. They''re dressed in dinner jackets and fancy suits, cocktail dresses and fine jewelry, as if they''re enjoying a night at the opera.


    They''re clapping.


    Horrified, I recognize Evan''s parents, sitting next to Mia''s mom and dad and brother and sister. The parents of all my dead classmates applaud me as their children burn.


    They start to cheer, a babble of frantic sound.


    Slowly, the words become clear.


    "Into the fire. Into the fire. Into the fire."


    They are all looking at me, expectant, waiting for the finishing act.


    I look to my side but Bea is gone.


    The inferno blazes before me, and I know.


    I didn''t deserve to live. I shouldn''t be here. I belong with them.


    So I turn back to the chanting, clapping crowd, and I bow low to the ground, flashing a triumphant smile before stepping backwards into the fire.


    As the flames swallow me, I see a figure on the far end of the aisle, running towards me, arms outstretched.


    He''s screaming my name.


    Too late.

 Chapter 45

    I wake up crying.


    The image of Mia with a bloody rose blooming from her lips makes my stomach turn, and I realize I''m about to hurl.


    I make it to the bathroom in the nick of time, and I throw-up up until I taste bile.


    Afterwards, I take a hot shower, scrubbing away the night''s memories and terrors.


    If only I could forget it all.


    Forget the nightmare. Forget the accident. Forget Evan and Mia.


    Once I''m done in the shower, I change into skinny jeans, a white cami, and my red hoodie.


    The same hoodie that the Alastaire''s Angels tore to shreds the night of the concert. I never did ask Felix how he mended it so quickly. Although it''s not like he would have mended it personally. Maybe someone at the hotel did it.


    I run my fingers over the seams, looking for some stitch out of place, a clue, but it''s as perfect and whole as it was the day I bought it.


    I check the time on my phone. It''s 8.16am ¨C at least an hour earlier than mom and dad usually get up during the week. With the restaurant open until late every night, weekdays mean long lazy sleep-ins for them until 9 or even 10am.


    Just in case, I tiptoe down the staircase, wondering if it would be too risky for me to make a cup of coffee.


    No, safer to buy coffee on the walk there. I can''t risk waking them up. After what happened yesterday, who knows how they''ll feel about me going out today.


    I''ll text mom once I''m far away from the house, so at least they''ll know I''m safe and I''ll be back before dark ¨C and then I''m turning off my phone.


    No way am I letting anything or anyone keep me from seeing the boys today.


    The fragments of the dream are all jumbled up inside my head, but there''s one thing I''m sure of.


    It''s connected.


    All of it.


    Everything happening to me, and everything that has happened to me, is somehow connected to these five boys and their music.


    If jumping headfirst into the mystery is what I need to do to get some answers, then I''m doing it.


    I reach the end of the stairs, peer into the empty living room.


    The coast is clear, and I let down my guard and walk into the entrance hall towards the front door.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Big mistake.


    "Where do you think you''re going?"


    My mom sounds tired. She''s sitting at the kitchen table, still in her dressing gown and slippers. My dad''s in front of the stove, stirring something in a pot.


    "Sit down Ashling," he says. "We need to talk."


    "About what?" I say, lingering in the doorway.


    "Just come over here," my mom says. "Sit down, have some breakfast. We made french toast."


    The thought of food reminds me of my earlier puke-a-thon, and I fight back my nausea as I take a seat at the kitchen table.


    "I''m not hungry," I say. "And I''m running sort of late. Felix asked me to meet them there at nine."


    "Meet them where, exactly?" My dad asks, placing a cup of hot peppermint tea in front of me.


    Peppermint tea ¨C great for digestion, nausea and soothing an upset stomach.


    They heard me.


    "Where are they staying, Ashling?" My dad asks gently.


    "I can''t... I promised the guys I wouldn''t tell anyone," I say.


    Although it probably wouldn''t hurt to just tell my parents. Surely they don''t count? It''s not like they''ll go off to TMZ with it.


    "You need to see things from our perspective, hon," my mom says. "This whole weekend, you spent both days with a group of older boys who we don''t even know, with no way of us contacting you. We know it''s an amazing opportunity you got handed, and we''re not trying to crush your dreams. We''d never do that. But we''re still worried."


    "Don''t you trust me?" I ask, looking from my mom''s to my dad''s faces.


    "Yes, we trust you¨C" my mom begins.


    "¨Cbut that doesn''t mean we trust them," my dad says, finishing her sentence. "Heck, we haven''t even met them."


    "But you have!" I say. "You met Felix. And Alastaire."


    "That''s not enough," my mom says. "If you''re going to be spending time with them, then we have to meet them. All of them. We want them to come over. We''ll cook a nice dinner, and we can all get to know each other."


    That sounds like the worst idea ever.


    "Try understand Ashling," my dad says. "We don''t know anything about these boys."


    "Well then Google them!" I say. "Seriously. Their whole lives are online! You can find out Ben''s favorite breakfast cereal. See baby photos of Elliott. Go stalk them. Just don''t ask me to do this. Please."


    "We''re not backing down hon," my mom says. "Trust me, you''re lucky we even agreed to you helping them with this ''album'' in the first place. How many parents do you think would let their teenaged daughter hang around a bunch of strange older unsupervised boys?"


    "But... what about Wild Blue Yonder?" I say. "I''m at band practice with Alix and Micah all the time. They''re boys. They''re older than me. You''ve never complained about them."


    "We know them. We know their parents," my mom says. "And Zee''s there with you."


    "Yeah well, this is the same. It''s not like I''m alone out there with only guys," I say. "Felix has an older sister. She''s staying with them. And she''s super mature and responsible."


    And prone to threatening me and strangling me in the forest, but that''s better left unsaid.


    "Great, bring her along too," my dad says.


    "We''ll make it fun," my mom says. "We''ll cook something delicious, have a good chat, maybe a game of Star Wars Monopoly after."


    "Kill me now," I say, lowering my head onto the table.


    "C''mon honey, work with us," my dad says. "We thought Thursday was a good night. See if that suits them."


    I know my parents well enough to know that they''ve made up their mind, and there''s no changing it. So I nod, and get up to leave.


    My mom insists on kissing me on the cheek and my dad wants to hug me before I can get out of the house.


    They take clingy to a new level. Seriously.


    As I head up my road towards the forest, my head is buzzing with worries.


    The nightmares. The memories. The strange Irish myth that feels closer to home than I''d like. The shadows in the forest.


    And now, the dinner.


    FML.

 Chapter 46

    By the time I reach the boys¡¯ hideout, it¡¯s already past 9am.


    Someone¡¯s gonna be sooo pissed.


    A mental image of Felix impatiently sitting on the steps outside the front door with a scowl plastered on his face pops into my mind, and I find it oddly satisfying.


    Let him wait. I¡¯m not his slave.


    But as I leave the forest and walk across the clearing towards the cabin, I can see that the steps are empty. He¡¯s not waiting.


    Maybe he forgot.


    I¡¯m glad to finally be finished the long walk ¨C I bought my guitar along in its case today, and it gets surprisingly heavy after almost an hour of carrying it.


    I pause at the foot of the steps, looking up at the carpet of brilliant red roses clinging to the front of the cabin.


    As the princess lay slumbering, around the castle there began to grow a hedge of thorns, which every year became higher, and at last grew close-up round the castle and all over it, so that there was nothing of it to be seen.


    My gran¡¯s bedtime story voice echoes through memories made long ago.


    Bea said that gran helped her with the cabin. The stained glass windows, the paintings on the walls, the carved wooden furniture ¨C it¡¯s all her. Could she have planted this rose too? Is that why I feel so connected to this place?


    I climb the steps, and stop before the front door. I¡¯m about to knock when I hear voices through the stained glass. Voices coming from inside.


    ¡°What are you waiting for? Just ask her, you dolt,¡± Alastaire says. Or at least, I think it¡¯s Alastaire. The sound is muffled, but the poshly accented British drawl sounds like his.


    ¡°Easy for yer ter say,¡± Lyall says. ¡°She¡¯ll think¡­ yer know¡­¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± Ben says, his Canadian accent instantly recognizable. ¡°C¡¯mon, just be a man, ask her. She¡¯ll be here soon.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s going ter say no,¡± Lyall says. ¡°It¡¯ll be right embarrassin¡¯.¡±


    OMG. It can¡¯t be what I¡¯m thinking. No freaking way. That¡¯s impossible. Calm down Ashling. Calm the hell down. I should wait outside for a few minutes. I¡¯ll wait for them to stop speaking or something. Then I¡¯ll just knock, and they¡¯ll let me in, and they¡¯ll never know I heard.


    ¡°Thank god,¡± a voice rings out behind me, causing me to jump about a foot into the air in shock. ¡°Finally.¡±


    Kitty is struggling up the steps to the cabin with about ten grocery bags in each hand. Each bag looks stuffed to the brim. It¡¯s a miracle she made it this far. Once she reaches the porch, she lowers the bags down, grimacing in pain as she flexes her fingers and then flops onto the floor.


    ¡°Dammit that¡¯s painful,¡± she says, clenching her hands into fists.


    She looks me up and down, as if noticing me for the first time since arriving. ¡°Why are you hanging around outside the door?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Umm, that¡¯s sort of...¡± I stumble over my words, not wanting to admit that I was eavesdropping. ¡°It just sort of¡­ happened.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Kitty says, sounding unconvinced. ¡°Well, do you mind calling the boys out for me? My arms are about to break off, and some of this stuff needs to get in the freezer before it melts.¡±


    Kitty stretches her long legs, sprawling out along the wooden porch like a lazy sunbathing cat, knocking over a bottle in one of the grocery bags.


    She yawns and closes her eyes, muttering about having to play housemaid because the boys can¡¯t be seen in public.


    Surrounded by groceries and bathed in the mid-morning light beneath the twisting roses, she looks almost like some weird modern day Sleeping Beauty.


    ¡°Get to it Ash,¡± she says. ¡°The rocky road¡¯s going to melt.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, wondering when she started calling me Ash. It¡¯s Ashling, I want to say. But I don¡¯t. I knock on the door, then turn the handle and step into the cabin.


    I walk into the living room to find a shirtless Ben draped across the sofa, while Alastaire, Lyall and Elliot sit at the kitchen counter on bar stools. Lyall and Elliot are drinking what I assume is coffee out of large colorfully-painted mugs. Alastaire¡¯s sipping sparkling golden liquid out of a champagne flute. The empty bottle of Mo?t & Chandon next to him confirms my suspicions.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It¡¯s not even 10am. Sheesh.


    Felix is nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°Mornin¡¯ Ash,¡± Lyall says. His face looks slightly flushed, and he stares at me a moment too long. What were they talking about before I came in?


    ¡°Did everything work out ok?¡± Elliot asks, his brow creasing slightly in concern. ¡°Felix said you had some sort of trouble at home yesterday.¡±


    Before I can answer, Alastaire¡¯s curling his index finger, gesturing for me to come over to him.


    ¡°Just in time, Cupcake,¡± Alastaire says, running his fingers lazily through his messy blonde hair. ¡°Care for a morning ap¨¦ritif?¡±


    He holds his champagne glass up high, and winks at me with a devilish smile.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t if I were you, Ash,¡± Ben says, sliding off the sofa and wandering over to the kitchen counter. ¡°Alcoholism''s all fun and games until you wake up in bed with the prime minister¡¯s wife, and half of Scotland Yard after you for driving a Porsche through the window at Harrods.¡±


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Alastaire says airily, taking a smooth gulp of his champagne.


    ¡°Kitty¡¯s outside,¡± I say. ¡°She got groceries. She said the ice cream¡¯s going to melt.¡±


    ¡°Ice cream?¡± Alastaire says. ¡°Good god woman, why didn¡¯t you say something earlier?¡±


    All the boys are up in a flash and out the door to help bring in the shopping.


    After the final bag is inside, Elliot carries in Kitty, bridal style, before dumping her unceremoniously on the sofa.


    ¡°I think I might have broken all my fingers,¡± Kitty says.


    ¡°Don¡¯t expect us to feel sorry for you, Miss I Can Do It Myself,¡± Ben says between mouthfuls, scooping up ice cream and eating it straight from the tub.


    ¡°Yeah, we offered ter help,¡± Lyall says. ¡°Just let us go into town with yer next time.¡±


    ¡°That defeats the whole purpose of us being out here,¡± Kitty says. ¡°Are you really that desperate to get spotted?¡±


    ¡°We could try disguises,¡± Ben says thoughtfully.


    ¡°Not a chance,¡± Kitty says. ¡°I¡¯ll think of something. Just try make this stuff last. I¡¯m not doing this again tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Aye aye captain,¡± says Ben.


    Even with all the commotion, there¡¯s still one person missing.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Felix?¡± I ask, trying to sound like I don¡¯t really care.


    ¡°Oh, Grumps is down in the basement, probably sitting alone in a dark corner or something,¡± Alastaire says.


    ¡°He¡¯s in the recording room,¡± Elliot says, ignoring Alastaire. ¡°I told him we¡¯d come down once you got here.¡±


    Yikes. I wonder if he¡¯s been there since nine on the dot. Scary.


    ¡°Ready to join him?¡± Elliot asks.


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± Ben says, following Elliot out of the room with the whole tub of ice cream still in his hand.


    ¡°You kids have fun,¡± Kitty says, lying back on the sofa. ¡°I¡¯m getting some beauty sleep.¡±


    I pick up my guitar and follow the boys through the entrance hall and into a room at the back of the cabin.


    It looks like a perfectly innocent study, with a carved wooden desk and an old fashioned Art Deco-style reading lamp. Now that I know my gran helped with the furnishings, I¡¯m seeing her taste everywhere. It¡¯s as if she¡¯s here, in every nook and cranny of the place. From the bright jewel colors to the ornately carved finishes ¨C every detail screams her name, and gives me a dull ache of longing in my chest.


    I miss her so much.


    Golden green light streaming in through the stained glass windows illuminates a massive bookshelf stacked with a rainbow of books. They all look ancient, worn and tattered, and they smell amazing.


    For a book lover like me, the whiff of old books is like opium to a drug addict.


    I want to stop a while and explore the bookshelf, but Lyall is pulling me over to the far end of the room.


    A faded tapestry hangs from a rail on the wall. On it, there¡¯s some sort of medieval scene, showing a dark forest with thin shafts of starlight shining between the trees. Other than that, there¡¯s nothing. No figures, no focal point, nothing in particular to draw the eye.


    Something about that seems strange, and I¡¯m about to say so, before Elliot pulls back the tapestry to reveal a vividly purple door behind it.


    The door is slightly ajar.


    Elliot pushes it open and goes down first, followed by Ben and Alastaire and Lyall, and finally me at the end. Overhead lights softly illuminate the narrow passage, but it¡¯s still gloomy, and I¡¯m grateful for the handrail.


    I count twenty-seven steps all in all by the time we reach the recording studio. We step out into a wide, modern control room, fitted with mixing tables and workstations. Behind a glass window, there¡¯s a smaller room with a drum kit, amps, guitars and a few chairs. Felix is sitting on the floor against a wall in the smaller room, writing something in a book. He glances up as I approach the window, and says something, totally inaudible through the glass.


    I can tell what he said from his ticked-off expression.


    You¡¯re late.


    ¡°This place is amazing,¡± I say, turning my back to the glass.


    ¡°Yeah, the old duck who owns the place says she bought in Geoff Harley himself to design it,¡± Alastaire says. He waits for my reaction, and when I stare at him blankly, he continues. ¡°Geoff Harley is practically the godfather of modern sound recording. He¡¯s a master acoustician.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t have been cheap,¡± Ben says.


    Who knew Bea had so much money. Or such good connections. She¡¯s full of surprises.


    ¡°Look at this Ash,¡± Lyall says, ushering me over to a guest book lying open on a small table in the corner of the room. ¡°See any names yer recognize?¡±


    Oh my god.


    I take in name after name, feeling my heart beat faster with every one.


    ¡°Bea and Immy ¨C it was magic. We¡¯ll be back soon.¡± - Janis, 1st October 1968


    ¡°Thanks for everything.¡± - Kurt, 22nd February 1991


    Kurt? As in Kurt Cobain? I really don¡¯t belong here. I¡¯m about to play acoustic guitar for a group of guys who just recently got inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in a recording studio which has been blessed by literal gods of rock. I¡¯m not good enough.


    As if sensing my thoughts, Elliot places a steadying hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± he says. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have chosen you if we didn¡¯t think so.¡±


    He¡¯s right. Even if I don¡¯t trust myself, I should at least trust them. They know what they''re doing. They chose me to help them for a reason. Better not make them regret it.


    So I take a deep breath, muster up all my courage, and follow Elliot into the recording room.

 Chapter 47

    By the time we wrap up and leave the recording studio, I¡¯m feeling on top of the world.


    Elliot was totally right. As soon as we started jamming, everything just fell into place.


    The boys had already written most of the music and lyrics for the new album. They¡¯d been practicing the songs for weeks, and the only thing missing was the acoustic guitar.


    At first they just played through what they had, and I slipped in, adding the sound of my guitar to the music they¡¯d already created.


    It was clear to see why Felix was so determined to include acoustic guitar on the new album. Without it, the songs had the same old familiar indie rock sound of their previous singles. But with the addition of the extra sound, everything seemed to take on a mystical, romantic, almost eerie quality.


    After hours of revisions and experimentation, we have the first song ready to record.


    Now, as we sit around the kitchen counter discussing the plan for the next few days, my mind wanders to my own, real band. The one I¡¯m actually a member of.


    Alex and Micah, Wild Blue Yonder ¨C the band I¡¯ve neglected.


    I feel almost guilty about how easily and effortlessly I slipped into Fable¡¯s songs. It¡¯s almost like cheating.


    For the past year, every weekend meant at least one band practice in Zee and Alix¡¯s garage. We¡¯d planned to start practicing several times a week over the summer break, and Micah was going to try organizing some gigs.


    This was meant to be the summer we¡¯d start playing in front of people.


    I haven¡¯t spoken to Alix since I cancelled our practice last weekend, and he hasn¡¯t tried to contact me.


    He must still be pissed.


    Of course, he doesn¡¯t know what¡¯s going on with me and Fable, unless Zee told him, which I doubt she would.


    If I can just hold out a bit longer, and Alix doesn¡¯t lose his head and kick me out of the band, it¡¯ll be so worth their while.


    Getting credited on the new Fable album isn¡¯t a big deal for me. What I really care about is the chance to have the boys pass some Wild Blue Yonder demo tracks directly on to their manager.


    Getting signed with BYG Records is like winning the lottery. Once you¡¯re in with them, you¡¯re on the road to stardom.


    My dream of being a professional singer, sharing my music and my voice with the world, is closer than ever. And I¡¯m going to take Alix and Micah along for the ride.


    I hear someone say my name and something about singing, but I¡¯m too lost in thought to answer.


    ¡°Earth to Cupcake, do you read me?¡± Alastaire says, waving his hand in front of my face.


    ¡°She¡¯s totally zoned out,¡± Ben says.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I say, feeling my cheeks turning red, realizing that all of the boys are looking at me with expressions ranging from worry to puzzlement.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°We were just wondering if you¡¯d be happy to grace us with your singing tomorrow. Lyall reckons we should try the chorus of Hallowed with some female backing vocals.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, come ter think of it, Felix is de only one who¡¯s heard yer singin'',¡± Lyall says. ¡°How about yer give us a demo?¡±


    ¡°Right now?¡± I say.


    There¡¯s silence as everyone stares at me, waiting.


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re keen to see what all the fuss is about,¡± says Ben. ¡®Felix said that- OUCH!¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He stops talking and shrieks as Felix punches him hard in the arm, his expression spelling murder.


    ¡°Ahem, we¡¯ve heard that you have a great voice,¡± Alastaire says, shooting Felix a look that says I dare you. ¡°And keep in mind, that feedback comes from someone who has Zara Quinn, the harlot starlet herself, serenading him in just about every one of her hit singles. As much as I detest the girl, even I have to admit she has a great set of pipes. It¡¯s quite the compliment.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say to Felix, but he¡¯s avoiding eye contact, looking at Alastaire like he wants to kill him. ¡°I don¡¯t mind singing tomorrow, I guess. If it¡¯s just back-up.¡±


    I¡¯ve never been shy of singing in front of other people before. It¡¯s probably the only thing that I don¡¯t ever feel shy about. So why does the thought of doing it in front of them make me feel like I¡¯m about to have a heart attack?


    ¡°Anyway, enough music talk,¡± Ben says, going over to the fridge and swinging it open loudly. ¡°Who wants guacamole and nachos? Speak up now.¡±


    ¡°You just ate a whole tub of ice cream,¡± Elliot says.


    ¡°Yeah, well, smashing those drums takes it out me,¡± he says.


    ¡°Are you staying for dinner Ash?¡± Elliot asks.


    With a start I realize that I haven¡¯t checked the time in hours. I fish my phone out of my hoodie pocket. 4.05pm. Dammit.


    ¡°I need to get going,¡± I say. ¡°My parents are going to freak out if I¡¯m not back by sundown.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s your cue Lyall,¡± Alastaire says, rising from his seat. ¡°We¡¯ll give you two a minute.¡±


    All the other boys, even Felix, follow his lead and follow him out the door. All except Lyall, who is left sitting down on the opposite side of the kitchen counter from me, fidgeting nervously with a straw.


    Am I imagining it, or is his face¡­ turning red? Does this have something to do with the stuff I overheard on the porch earlier? OMG.


    After a few moments of silence, broken only by the snickering and sniggering I can hear coming from outside the room, he speaks.


    "Ash, this is really dense, but I have ter ask," he says. "I said they should just ask yer themselves, or whatever, but I lost this stupid bet with them an'' I guess... it¡¯s real stupid an'' all. It doesn''t mean anythin'', I¡¯m just askin'' if yer want ter start sleepin'' over in de spare room overnight, so as yer don''t have ter lug all yer things through de forest every day. No funny stuff of course. But de lads made it a big deal an ''all an''... an''...


    His last few words are so high pitched and jumbled that in combination with the thick Irish accent, it¡¯s totally impossible to hear what he¡¯s saying.


    Howling laughter rings out from the entrance hall, and Alastaire falls into the room, clutching the doorway as he doubles over in fits of hilarity.


    ¡°That was so worth it,¡± he says, wiping tears away from his eyes. ¡°Lyall, you can stop.¡±


    ¡°You lost a bet?¡± I ask Lyall. What the hell is going on?


    He nods his head, and Alastaire smirks as Ben and Elliot walk back into the room and join us.


    Felix is nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°Yer such an unbelievably immature git, Al,¡± Lyall says.


    ¡°I can¡¯t disagree,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°Anyhow, Lyall¡¯s pathetic fumbling and bumbling aside, what do you say, Cupcake? It must take you a long time going back and forth between the burbs and the woods every day. Why not just stay the night with us sometimes? We¡¯d love to have you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough Alastaire, she gets it,¡± Elliot says. ¡°Anyway, there¡¯s a spare room. It would make a lot of sense for you to use it, rather than heading back home every day. Would your parents be cool with it?¡±


    My parents. Damn. I have to ask the guys about the dinner. Well, no time like the present.


    So I tell the guys about this morning¡¯s conversation and the ultimatum my parents gave me. They meet all the boys over a home-cooked meal and an embarrassing evening of board games, or I can¡¯t continue helping with the album ¨C and definitely can''t commit to any sleepovers.


    I expect the boys to think it¡¯s lame, but to my surprise they¡¯re all totally up for it.


    ¡°Your parents are chefs, right?¡± Ben says. ¡°Trust me, by Thursday we¡¯ll be dying to eat something other than microwave meals and Kitty¡¯s home cooking.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s actually a good idea, I get why your parents want to check us out, make sure we¡¯re ok,¡± says Elliot.


    ¡°Yeah, we can show them we''re decent upstandin'' lads," Lyall adds, before narrowing his eyes at Alastaire. "Well, most of us anyways."


    Unperturbed, Alastaire reaches out and takes my hand across the kitchen counter. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Ashling my angel,¡± he says. ¡°I will personally take your parents aside to assure them that we are nothing if not trustworthy young gentlemen with pure and noble intentions, who would never endanger a young woman¡¯s innocence."


    Ben lazily karate chops Alastaire¡¯s hand, forcing him to let go of mine. "Yeah, you¡¯re the only one of us they need to be worried about.¡±


    ¡°That settles it then,¡± Elliot says. ¡°Dinner at seven on Thursday, your place.¡±


    ¡°How are we gonna get there without gettin'' recognized?" Lyall asks eagerly. "D''ya reckon we''ll need disguises?"


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure that out later,¡± Alastaire says. ¡°Our first challenge is to convince Lord Grumps and his control freak sister.¡±


    ¡°Easy as pie,¡± Ben says.


    Later, as I¡¯m walking home through the woods (alone, despite Alastaire¡¯s protests), I go through all the things that could possibly go wrong. Worst case scenario, my parents say something stupid and embarrass me. Or they take out the photo albums or something like that.


    That¡¯s not so bad. On a scale of one to ten, getting embarrassed by one¡¯s parents in front of your favorite band really isn¡¯t all that high. It¡¯s like a two, at most a three. A ten would be the accident. A ten is when people die. There¡¯s no reason for me to be worrying about one stupid evening so much.


    Hopefully.

 Chapter 48

    The rest of the week slips by, and Thursday night arrives way before I''m ready for it.


    After practicing with the boys for hours on end from sunrise to sunset, plus the long walk to the cabin and back every day, I''m exhausted.


    The last thing I feel like is having to sit through a long dinner while my mom tries to convince the boys that she''s "hip" and "knows how to use the Facebook" ¨C while my dad cross-examines them like a detective in an 80s cop show.


    Plus, knowing them, they''ll have prepared a ridiculous feast of epic proportions for the boys. The last thing I want is to give off the impression that we''re trying too hard.


    To make matters worse, I''ve barely seen my friends this week, and I know I should ask them if they want to come over tonight. They could show up after dinner, and hang out with the guys a bit.


    But the memory of Felix blatantly ignoring Zee and Jamie the other day keeps popping back into my mind.


    I need to keep tonight as non-awkward as possible. Felix doesn''t react well to getting fangirled over, so keeping my friends out of the loop is for the best. Probably.


    Still, I feel awful about it, and it''s hard not to text Jamie and Zee and Grace and tell them to come over.


    It''s 6pm, an hour before the boys and Kitty are due to arrive.


    I''m upstairs in my bedroom, changing my outfit for the umpteenth time. I finally settle on a comfortable, casual white romper, covered in a print of pale pink roses. It''s relaxed enough for wearing around the house, but still cute and trendy. As I scour my wardrobe for a decent pair of shoes, I hear my mom calling me from downstairs.


    "Ashling! Sweetie, can you come down?" She yells, an edge of panic in her voice.


    Oh joy. Here we go.


    I grab a hair tie off my dresser, and maneuver my hair into a makeshift messy bun.


    After a final inspection in the mirror, I head downstairs to the kitchen.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    My dad''s placing something into the oven, while my mom stirs a huge pot on the stove. Something smells delicious.


    I take in the kitchen table bedecked with a white tablecloth, candles, and even handwritten place markers and neatly folded menus, and my fears are confirmed.


    My parents went way overboard.


    I pick up one of the menus, fearing for the worst.


    It''s bad.


    The menu is like an itemized list of all of the boys'' favorite foods.


    We''ll be starting with an Irish potato soup and beer bread, which Lyall famously said on The Tonight Show he couldn''t live without. Followed by Ben''s favorite ¨C poutine and cheeseburgers, with saut¨¦ed truffles on the side, no doubt inspired by Alastaire''s love of truffles. Dessert is homemade cherry pie ¨C Elliot''s dessert of choice ¨C served with Felix''s preferred gelato flavor, which every Fable fan knows is bittersweet dark chocolate.


    It couldn''t possibly get more mismatched or more obvious.


    At the bottom of the menu, in my mom''s looping cursive, is written plus lit Gucci strawberry cupcakes at the end!!!


    Alastaire''s all-time favorite snack. This whole thing is the exact definition of trying too hard. Especially the lit Gucci part. I''ll have to Jamie about that later, she''ll frikkin love that.


    "What do you think sweetheart?" My dad asks, as he fiddles with the temperature on the oven. "Do you like the menus?"


    "We''re going to have a totally fleek night," my mom says. "Right Ashling?"


    Ugh.


    "You mean it¡¯s going to be on fleek," I say. "Although I highly doubt it will be. And I appreciate the hard work and all, but this is totally creepy. Did you stalk them?"


    My mom pouts, looking slightly affronted by the suggestion.


    "Of course not sweetie," she says. "We just took your advice and Googled them. I''m actually quite the cyber sleuth. We found out a lot."


    "Yeah, more than we bargained for," my dad says, suddenly sounding grumpy. "That one called Alastaire, we¨C"


    "¨Ccan''t wait to meet him! And the others!" My mom interjects, shooting my dad a warning glance. "I''m sure they''re all super cool dudes. Right Ashling?"


    "Sure, just don''t say the word dudes for the rest of the night," I say. "Or ever again, actually. Just... just talk how you usually do. Like... be normal. Don''t be too conspicuous. And don¡¯t interrogate the boys. Just keep things chill."


    "Sure thing honey," my mom says as she grinds black pepper into the pot she''s stirring. "I can STFU."


    "What?" I ask, wondering if I misheard.


    "I can STFU," she repeats. "Stay Fun. S-T-ay F-U-n. Jamie had it on her shirt the other day. I asked her about it, and she said that¡¯s what it stands for. Being cool and all like, whattup."


    "Umm... no mom," I say.


    "Really?" She asks. "What does it mean then?"


    "Google it," I say. "Anyway, you called me down to help you? "


    "That''s right," my mom says. "Could you get started on the strawberry buttercream frosting? The cupcakes look like they''ve risen. They''re probably ready to come out the oven."


    "Yeah honey, it''s the yeast you could do to help us," says my dad.


    Lame dad jokes have commenced. And so my night from hell begins.

 Chapter 49

    I''m putting the finishing touches on a strawberry cupcake when I hear the doorbell ringing, followed by frantic knocking.


    I run to the front door, and swing it open.


    Kitty''s standing on the front porch, looking like she just stepped out of The Great Gatsby. She''s wearing a chic forest green silk dress, and her bob of dark hair is tied back with a filmy white scarf, which trails down her back. Fluttering in the breeze, the scarf makes it look almost like she has a set of translucent wings. A pair of huge dark glasses ¨C the sort celebs wear when evading the paparazzi ¨C in combination with the scarf wings makes me think of a bug.


    In fact, Kitty looks a lot like a dragonfly right now ¨C a dragonfly crossed with a gorgeous glamazon heiress.


    As soon as I open the door, she''s visibly relieved.


    She turns towards the road and gestures behind her, at a black Jeep parked just a few meters away.


    All the car doors swing open at the same time. The boys jump out of the car, slamming the doors behind them. They''ve run across the driveway and through the front door before I even realize what''s happening.


    With a sigh, Kitty shuts the front door closed behind her.


    "Thank god," she says. "I don''t think we were spotted."


    To my relief, the boys aren''t nearly as overdressed as Kitty is. Lyall, Ben and Elliot are all wearing jeans and sweaters, while Alastaire is in a white blazer jacket, a vest and skinny jeans. Felix is in jeans and a midnight green v-neck sweater, which perfectly matches the rims of his hazel eyes.


    Eyes which right now are frozen in the space between my collarbone and my chest, just above my right breast.


    The floral print romper I''m wearing is pretty low-cut compared to what I''d usually wear. I expected my parents to have something to say about that, but they seem to have been too busy cooking to notice.


    Let''s hope it stays that way.


    The extra inch of skin on show has caught Felix''s attention, but not for the reason one would expect. His gaze is fiery and intense, yet strangely distant, and I know that somehow, he''s staring at one of my ghost scars.


    Unlike the one over my ribcage, this scar is so faint and shallow that it''s practically invisible. In fact, I have a couple like that, all over my body ¨C on my back, my ankle, my wrist.


    It''s no surprise really, considering the whirlwind of glass that I was swimming through when the bus went down.


    I think of these secret scars as invisible reminders, ghostly tokens, forgotten save for when I run my fingers over their indiscernible ridges just to check they''re still there.


    Without warning, Felix steps forward, closing the space between us. In full view of Kitty and the other boys, he reaches out and trails a finger gently over the line of the scar, just above the rise of my right breast.


    I gasp and jump back, clutching my hands over my chest.


    The skin tingles slightly where he touched it, a cold buzzing like an electric aftershock.


    "Whoa, slow down player," says Ben. "At least wait until after dinner." With that, he walks out the hallway into the kitchen. Elliot gives Felix a stern look before following Ben.


    "Fee, what are y¨C" Lyall begins, looking from Felix to me nervously.


    "Come on Lyall, let''s go say hi to Ash''s parents," Kitty says hurriedly, pulling Lyall out of the room with her.


    I''m left alone with Felix and Alastaire.


    One look at Alastaire''s face clearly tells me why she was in such a hurry to leave.


    He''s staring at Felix, and his usual demeanor of rakish, easygoing, charming amusement is replaced by an expression I''ve never seen him wear. His face is twisted in a dark, murderous fury. Even his bright blue eyes look suddenly cold and icy. His voice when he speaks is low and menacing.


    "Touch her again and I''ll¨C" he says.


    "You''ll what?" Felix cuts him off.


    I feel my skin prickle over with goose bumps, and the temperature in the room suddenly seems to plummet. I start to shiver.


    Think. They look like they''re about to kill each other. I need to break this up.


    "Wow, it''s freezing in here!" I say as cheerily as I can. Both boys immediately turn their attention to me. "How about we join the others in the kitchen?"


    Without thinking, I grab each boy by the hand, and I drag them behind me, out of the hallway and towards the rest of the group.


    Everyone is seated at the kitchen table, apart from my dad, who is ladling soup into bowls, and Kitty, who is enthusiastically telling him about the best spots to buy designer stilettos on King''s Road.


    My mom is in her element, quizzing the guys about their lives in London, their music, and my involvement with their new album.


    Casting my eyes around the table, it looks like everyone took the seating plan seriously, and all the guys are sitting in the seats assigned by the handwritten place markers my mom put out.


    By some stroke of luck, Felix and Alastaire are seated on opposite sides of the table.


    I on the other hand am seated right in between my mom and dad.


    Over protective much? Yeesh.


    I slide in next to my mom, watching nervously as Felix and Alastaire settle down into their seats. They don''t take their eyes off each other for even a second.


    Even when my dad places a bowl of steaming hot soup in front of each of them, they keep their eyes fixed on each other, staring each other down.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Luckily, no one else seems to notice.


    "Help yourselves to beer bread," my mom says, gesturing to the plate of freshly baked bread in the centre of the table. "Lyall, we used Guinness. We thought you might like that."


    Far from being creeped out by my mom''s culinary stalkery, Lyall seems absolutely delighted.


    "Awww thanks Mrs. Shields, this is such a treat," he says between mouthfuls of bread. "An'' de potato soup''s just like me mam always makes. Real thoughtful o'' yer."


    "Wish we could offer you a pint of Guinness to go with it," my dad says. "But we used it up on the bread. What do you guys want to drink? Heinekens?"


    "I''ll have red wine," Alastaire says airily. "Merlot, if you have it."


    "Not so fast," Kitty says to Alastaire, before smiling apologetically at my dad. "Thanks for the offer Brian, but I''m responsible for these guys. There''ll be no underage drinking on my watch."


    "Are you serious?" Ben says. "Alastaire''s been downing half a bottle of champagne every day since we arrived. Even at breakfast. Didn''t see you complain then."


    "Yes, well, we''re in polite company now," Kitty says, looking slightly flustered. "It''s different. I on the other hand am nineteen. So I''d love a glass of wine, thank you Brian. The guys can have fruit juice or something."


    "Sure thing," my dad says, rising to get a bottle. "Red or white?"


    "Hold up Mr. Shields," Alastaire says. "Kitty darling, sorry to break it to you, but we''re not in Britain any more. The legal drinking age here in the states is twenty-one. Mr. Shields, Kitty will have water."


    Kitty opens her mouth as if to argue, then sighs heavily, rolls her eyes and mouths ''whatever''.


    "Mrs. Shields, Ash tells us you and Brian are chefs," Elliot says. "Is that how you two met?"


    My mom launches into her favorite real life love story, the totally OTT tale of the first time she spotted my dad while chopping leeks at chef school in Seattle and fell for him at first sight.


    And so dinner ticks along slowly and smoothly. My parents are visibly impressed by the boys'' stories about performing with David Bowie in last year''s summer Band Aid concert, and Kitty tells them all about her year at Oxford studying drama. The evening slips by with no major disasters or awkwardness, save for the dark undercurrent between Felix and Alastaire.


    From time to time I see my dad watching Alastaire suspiciously, but I''m sure it''s not so much that he''s picking up the bad blood at the table ¨C rather, I suspect that his Googling turned up more than just the boys'' food preferences.


    My suspicions are confirmed during dessert, when my dad goes in for the kill.


    "So, Alastaire. I hear you have your own personal fan club," my dad says. "That''s quite an achievement by the age of seventeen. What are they called again? Cherubs?"


    "Angels actually. Alastaire''s Angels," Alastaire answers, smiling as easily and confidently as if my dad''s asking him about the weather, and not his super dodge harem of groupies. "They''re a sweet group of girls, really. Contrary to what you might have read online, I''m not officially involved with the group at all. The whole thing was set up by fans, run by fans etcetera. Sometimes rumors get out of hand, but I''m sure you know not to believe everything you read on the Internet. They''re really great girls."


    My dad looks unconvinced. He''s still eyeing Alastaire warily, as if he expects him to make a dash for me and drag me away to the nearest brothel at any second.


    Oh god. What exactly did my dad''s cyber stalking turn up?


    Picking up on the tense atmosphere, my mom tries to fill the awkward silence. "Well, good for you Alastaire," she says. "It sounds like you really love your fans."


    "Yeah, he loves them alright," Felix says. "All night long. Usually two or three at a time."


    OH. MY. GOD.


    My mom''s jaw drops down, and she stares open mouthed, while my dad''s face turns red.


    Lyall starts laughing nervously, as he slaps Felix on the back a little too hard.


    "Good one Felix!" He says. " Mr. an'' Mrs. Shields, I assure yer, our old Fee here is an infamous joker. Seriously, he''s just pullin'' yer leg. We''re nothin¡¯ like that. None of us."


    Lyall''s attempt to lighten the atmosphere goes down like a lead balloon.


    "Excuse me?" Alastaire asks Felix, glaring at him across the table. "If you''ve got something to say to me, say it."


    "CUPCAKES!" My mom shrieks, jumping out of her seat. She hurries over to the strawberry cupcakes on the kitchen counter, babbling some nonsense about how she found the recipe on Buzzfood with her iPad, because she''s "hip like that".


    Nice try mom. It''s Buzzfeed. And no amount of chitchat is going to defuse the situation.


    In fact, I can tell that at any moment, Felix is about to say something really bad. He might even take a swing at Alastaire. He''s that angry.


    I need to separate them, stat. Before mom and dad see something they shouldn''t. Before it all goes to hell. Before things go too far and I can kiss my plans with the band goodbye.


    With my mom out of her seat, there''s no one in-between Felix and I.


    So I do the only thing I can think of.


    Rising from my chair, I pick up my bowl of half eaten cherry pie and chocolate gelato. Praying that no one sees through it, I turn towards Felix, stumble and pretend to trip over my mom''s chair.


    I smash into Felix, knocking his chair over backwards. We end up on the floor, with me sprawled over his chest, chocolate and cherry pie all over his sweater.


    Felix is up in seconds, pulling me to my feet. Everyone''s watching in silence, shock written across their faces. Everyone, that is, except Alastaire. He narrows his eyes, and sends me a pointed, penetrating stare.


    "Oh my god, what a mess," I say, ignoring Alastaire''s unspoken question. "Dad, can Felix borrow one of your shirts? Thanks. Follow me Felix."


    I quickly retreat from the insanely awkward situation. For the second time in one evening, I grab Felix''s hand and pull him with me out of the room.


    I don''t let go until we reach my parents'' bedroom upstairs. I swing open their wardrobe, looking for a shirt that doesn''t say fifty-year-old golfing enthusiast. Part of me is sort of tempted to make Felix wear my dad''s hideous frolicsome-kittens adorned "Meowie Christmas" sweater as punishment for being such a jerk, but I know it''s not in my best interests to rile him up right now. I turn around to hand him a plain grey sweater, and he''s gone.


    Oh no. Maybe he went to the bathroom.


    I run to my parent''s on-suite, but it''s empty. I rush along the hallway, past the guest room, and into my bedroom.


    Felix is standing with his back to me, looking out the window.


    I can''t believe it''s been less than two weeks since he was last in my bedroom, standing in this exact same spot, while a sea of fans trapped us inside my own home. So much has changed since then.


    "Downstairs. What was that all about?" He asks the question without turning around.


    "I slipped and fell," I say. "I''m sorry. I brought you a ¨C"


    Before I can even register what''s going on, my bedroom door slams shut behind me, all on its own. Felix is in front of me in a flash. He grabs my wrists, throws me down on the bed. I land on my back. In seconds, he''s on top of me, pinning me against my duvet, his breath hot against my neck.


    "You thought you''d get me alone, is that it?" He whispers. "Thought you''d separate me from Angel Boy. Well, you''ve got what you wanted. Do you regret it? Are you afraid?"


    I am, but I shake my head slowly.


    He grins darkly at that, cocking an eyebrow as if challenging me.


    His dark hair has fallen forward, hiding one side of his face, and I feel this sudden urge to reach up, sweep it away, so I can gaze into both of those hazel goldish-green eyes of his, but my arms are totally pinned underneath me. He tilts his head, and I feel his fingers twine through mine, holding me fast. Our faces are just inches away from each other, and for a moment, I see a burning hunger in his eyes. He looks every inch the wickedly beautiful vampire prince his fans worship him as.


    He''s still for a moment, watching me quietly, before releasing me and walking away from the bed.


    "Thanks for the sweater," he says, his voice suddenly cold and dismissive. "You go downstairs first. I''ll follow in a few minutes."


    I stand frozen for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. The door slamming on its own; him pinning me to the bed. I should walk over to him and slap him. He deserves it.


    But I''d be lying if I said that a small part of me didn''t want it to happen again.


    So I just nod, trying to clear the confusion in my head, smoothing down my hair as I open my door and step out of the room.


    I turn around to ask him if the sweater fits ok, and that''s when I see it.


    He''s shirtless, about to pull the grey sweater over his head. Just below his collarbone, in the same spot as my own ghostly scar, a small white crescent moon stands out against his already pale skin.


    It''s the same scar I noticed the last time he was in my bedroom, as he caught me moments before I passed out.


    I quickly step away from the doorway, pressing my back against the hallway wall.


    A faint scar, almost invisible to the naked eye. The same shape as mine. The same place as mine. What does it all mean?

 Chapter 50

    The forest is bathed in bright silvery moonlight as we make our way along the trail from the car park.


    Despite Felix and Alastaire''s spat, the evening served its purpose.


    Satisfied now that they''d met ¨C or rather, interrogated ¨C the band, my parents were totally happy to send me off with them at the end of the night with my overnight bag, a flashlight and the remaining strawberry cupcakes in a tupperware.


    We agreed I''ll stay with the guys as long as it takes to get the album recorded ¨C maybe up to a week or longer ¨C and I''ll phone my mom to check in every day.


    It''ll be so much better not having to do this long walk twice a day. And staying over at the cabin''s gonna be fun. Like a summer camp. Even if I''m feeling sort of nervous about being around Felix after the¡­ thing¡­ that happened in my bedroom.


    Now, as I pick my way along the trail shining my flashlight onto the path in front of me, my mind keeps wandering over to what happened.


    He acted totally normal when he came downstairs afterwards, ignoring me as if nothing had happened at all.


    From time to time, I try to make him out in the darkness ahead. The others are easy to spot ¨C Kitty and Ben are sharing a flashlight, followed by Elliot and Lyall who are carrying a solar lamp borrowed from my dad.


    Alastaire insisted on walking behind me with another flashlight. He says it''s so that he can guard me in case wolves or hobos try to steal me away from the back of the line; Ben says it''s because he wants to check out "the view".


    Judging from the amount of time Alastaire''s spending shining his flashlight directly at my butt, I suspect Ben¡¯s right on the money.


    Felix is walking ahead of the group, just beyond the collective glow cast by our torches and lamplight.


    Even with the full moon hanging low and bright in the sky, the forest is so thick and overgrown in places that no light penetrates the blackness at all.


    And yet Felix is seamlessly moving through the shadows, with far more grace than I can manage even with my way perfectly lit.


    "You ok?"


    I almost jump out of my skin as Kitty drops in beside me.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "You''re quiet," she says. "Quieter than usual I mean. Is something bothering you?"


    I shake my head in the darkness, even though I know she won''t see it.


    "I''m fine," I say. "Really. I''m just... tired, I guess. Thanks though."


    Kitty doesn''t respond. We walk in silence for a few minutes, before she suddenly speaks up.


    "You know, he wasn''t always like this," she says.


    "Felix?" I ask.


    "Yeah," she says. "When we were kids... before th-... I mean, when we were little, he was different. He was so happy all the time that it actually got kinda irritating. Like literally, non-stop laughing and joking and smiling and singing. I guess the singing part hasn''t changed."


    Felix acting happy and laughing and smiling? Even as a kid, that''s hard to imagine.


    "What happened?" I ask.


    There''s a long pause. "You''ll have to ask him that yourself," she finally answers. There''s another long, heavy silence as we walk through the dark woods, torch fixed on the leafy trail ahead of us.


    "Your parents are good people," she continues. "And kind. They really love you."


    That''s sort of a weird thing to say... but, ok.


    "Sometimes I feel like they love me too much," I say. "I wish they''d just back off a bit. Give me some breathing room."


    "You don''t know what you''re saying," Kitty says. "Trust me."


    I want to ask her what she means, but there was a strange undercurrent in her voice. Was it sadness? Longing?


    "Anyway, isn''t your ass getting hot?" She asks, peering behind me.


    "What? Why?" I ask, feeling my face turn flaming red.


    "Because Al''s had his flashlight fixed on it for the past five minutes," she says, glancing back at him. "Hey! Manwhore! It''s not funny any more. Quit it, or you''ll burn a hole right through her."


    The light instantly swings away from my body and shines on the path a respectable distance away, while Kitty bursts into a fit of giggles.


    "Ash, me darlin'', crack open de tuppewares an'' pass me one of those cupcakes," Lyall calls out from ahead of us. "I could do with a snack on de road."


    "Fat chance!" Kitty calls back. "Wait till we get to the cabin. It shouldn''t be too much longer. I think I see it now anyway."


    There''s a light shining through the trees up ahead. As we near it, I can see it''s too big, too high up, to be the gaslight we left on the cabin porch.


    In fact, we''re still deep in the forest. Possibly deeper in the forest than ever before. The trees are unfamiliar ¨C huge, dripping with ferns and finely spun spider webs that glitter in the strange silver light.


    I look down and realize that I can''t see the path any more.


    "What the¨C?" Kitty mutters, as she takes my hand, pulling me towards the light.


    Up ahead, the ground slopes downwards from all directions toward a central point, forming a sort of crater. Small round stones crusted over with grey lichens and a thick carpet of moss cover the forest floor. I can see a shadow just ahead of us, silhouetted by the light.


    Felix.


    More shadows join him, as Ben and Elliot and Lyall stop walking. I feel a hand on my arm, and Alastaire is suddenly beside me, eyes wide as we reach the others, staring at the thing floating high up in the air.


    A ball of silvery light as big as a car. No, bigger.


    For a moment I think it''s the full moon, hanging impossibly low in between the trees.


    Then it moves. Or rather, it unfurls.


    Alastaire¡¯s voice is barely a whisper. "What the actual¨C"

 Chapter 51

    This can''t be happening.


    The massive ball of silver light hanging in the air unfurls, opening up like the petals of an incandescent metallic rose.


    In the circle of luminosity, a wavy ribbon of radiance seems to move in a slow pattern, weaving in and out of itself like a twisting knot of smoke.


    As my eyes adjust, I make out its real shape.


    Impossible.


    A long, coiling body covered in glinting scales like a thousand tiny mirrors, reflecting the light of the full moon. A coffin-shaped head bobbing slowly on an invisible current. Two wide, glittering green eyes shining like emeralds.


    Even though it must be at least twenty feet above us, I can clearly see a series of markings on the underbelly of the serpent, darker scales or scarring, running down its length like Hieroglyphics or some ancient script.


    A figure-eight on its side. A cross looped on top. A stylized wing. A skull and crossbones. A three-leaved clover. Two swords crossed.


    "Are you seeing this?" Ben asks, his voice barely above a whisper.


    "Yeah, we''re seeing it," Felix answers, without taking his eyes off the creature overhead.


    "Bollocks," Lyall mutters a slew of curses. "Maggots an'' bogballs. Doran''s ass."


    "What... the... hell... is that thing?" Kitty says hoarsely. I squeeze her hand tighter. She''s shaking.


    We''re all frozen in place, entranced by the hypnotic movements of the thing above our heads.


    Quietly at first, then louder, a woman''s voice of otherworldly beauty rings through the cold night air.


    It''s singing.


    The melody is sad and slow, full of loss and longing. The words are strange and yet familiar.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    From the icy North they came


    princes five their quest the same


    slay the sea-witch, steal the girl


    her hair of gold, her skin of pearl.


    But only one would claim that prize


    he stained his soul with blood and lies


    betrayal of brothers, deeds so dark


    they left the never-ending mark.


    Though she set his heart to mend


    fate must balance in the end


    his punishment took his reward


    she died upon his very sword.


    She lost her heart on the silver shore


    and now we weep forever more.


    Lost forever, wandering light


    until the old one brings the night.


    The final notes of the strange lullaby fade into a low hiss.


    With a lazy flick of its head, the serpent stops its winding dance through the air. For a moment it simply floats, frozen in space, like an eerie glowing marble statue. Then I feel a cold, tearing sensation in my chest, over my scar. It''s worse than ever before, less like stabbing and more like something ripping inside of me.


    My heart. Something''s happening to my heart.


    Then, quick as the blink of an eye, the creature uncoils itself, and streaks down through the air towards me, a bolt of immense and electrifying power.


    I fall back as it hits me square in the chest.


    Strong arms catch me mid-fall. Alastaire steadies me, holds my face in his hands.


    His expression is wild and panicked.


    "Ash, oh my god Ash," he says. "You''re ok. You''re ok."


    My whole body feels cold, numb. Memories of floating above the bus, engulfed in the icy ocean water, flood into me. I screw my eyes shut, as Alastaire pulls me to his chest, smoothing down my hair. There''s commotion all around us; I can hear the boys shouting something to each other, someone running through the forest, yelling, but I''m too deep in shock to register what they''re saying.


    "Kitty, take her back to the cabin," he says. Then he grasps my shoulders, wiping away my tears. Gently, he tilts my chin up.


    "Ash, listen to me," he says. "What we just saw... that wasn''t real. Elliot saw a shadow running into the trees. We think... someone''s playing a trick. It was just a hologram."


    His eyes are wide and slightly feverish as he speaks, as if he''s trying to convince himself as much as he''s trying to convince me.


    "We use them in our shows all the time," he says. "There''s got to be someone messing with us. And we''re going to find out who. Ok?"


    He''s waiting for me to nod, but I can''t. I just stand stiff, frozen in place.


    "I''m going after the others," he says gently, letting go of me with a smirk. "I can''t let Felix catch the bastard and get all the glory, now can I?"


    And with that he disappears into the dark forest.


    "I think I know the way back to the path," Kitty says, wrapping an arm around me. "C''mon."


    As we stumble through the undergrowth, she turns back, shaking her head.


    "I¡¯ve never been so scared in my life," she says. ¡°Thank god that''s over.¡±


    But it''s not over.


    That was no prank. That thing wasn''t a hologram.


    A coil of ice slithers and knots around my heart, tightening, squeezing.


    This is just the beginning.

 Epilogue

    She sits high up in the branches of an ancient blackthorn tree, draped in a darkness blacker than midnight.


    They¡¯re still searching for her.


    She can hear the faraway shouting, the breaking of twigs underfoot, even the beating of their hearts.


    Now she watches those five blazing hearts dancing through the dark far below, glowing like red embers in the dying fire.


    Her eyes travel further afield, to the heart of the forest, where a nimbus of brilliant silver blooms in the shadows.


    She smiles as the cold wind tugs on her hair, and she sends a tune out along the breeze, towards the silvery light.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    The oldest song she can remember.


    A lullaby.


    Soon, she¡¯ll be free.


    She¡¯ll destroy it. Music made magic, the chain unbroken for a thousand years.


    All the players are assembled.


    The hour is late.


    The first move is hers.


    Let the game begin.


    Author¡¯s Note


    Hi! I¡¯m Saskia Snow, the author of Fable. The saga continues with Book Two, Lullaby.


    If you¡¯d like a paperback copy of Fable for your bookshelf, check out the print version on Amazon ¨C it¡¯ll make an enchanting addition to your book collection ;) Just search for ¡®Fable by Saskia Snow¡¯ on Amazon and you¡¯ll find it.


    And if you enjoyed reading Fable as much as I enjoyed writing it, please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

 Chapter 13

    I break my ¡°no creepy mysterious stuff for one afternoon¡± resolution almost immediately.


    Within seconds of me arriving at the Night Owl, I hear Mrs. Leyton calling my name across the room. I can see my friends waiting for me at our usual spot ¨C Jamie¡¯s newly-dyed bubblegum pink hair has its uses ¨C but they haven¡¯t spotted me yet.


    I¡¯ve already kept them waiting thirty minutes. A few extra won¡¯t make much difference.


    So I put on my best fake smile and walk towards Mrs. Leyton¡¯s window-side table. The wealthy elderly widow has been a regular customer as far back as I can remember ¨C every single afternoon since her husband died, she sits at the same table with a slice of cake and a cup of tea, and writes.


    She¡¯s known locally as a ¡°colorful character¡±, which is really saying something in Portland, home of The Vacuum Cleaner Museum and the world¡¯s only vampire-themed vegan strip club. It¡¯s not just her habit of wearing the same figure-hugging black velvet dress every day, or her fondness for intricate bejeweled brooches shaped like insects (today¡¯s is a golden praying mantis with emerald wings), or her love of Pomeranians, of which she has more than twenty apparently. Her reputation has more to do with her intense personality. She either loves you, or she hates you. Luckily, I¡¯m in her good books, but there¡¯s one person who I know isn¡¯t.


    Bea.


    They¡¯ve been archrivals as long as I¡¯ve known them, not even frenemies, just straight-up, no frills enemies. They can¡¯t even stand to be in the same room together, after Bea dumped a whole bowl of punch over Mrs. Leyton¡¯s head at a fundraising dinner a few years ago. My mom told me once that they actually used to be friends ¨C along with gran, back in the day ¨C but something happened. I never thought about it much, but now I see an opportunity.


    If anyone has any dirt on Bea, or knows anything dark in her past, it¡¯ll be Mrs. Leyton.


    She smiles warmly as I approach her table, her crimson lipstick slightly smudged, long grey hair pinned up in an elegant bun.


    An older grey-haired man dressed in a smart suit is sitting opposite her. He rises up to greet me, pulling out a chair for me.


    A few weeks ago Jade mentioned that Mrs. Leyton bought a mystery man to the Night Owl with her. This must be him.


    ¡°Ashling, sit down darling!¡± Mrs. Leyton says.


    ¡°That¡¯s ok, thanks,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m running late to meet some friends, so I can¡¯t really be too long.¡±


    Mrs. Leyton¡¯s whole face crumples with disappointment as her male companion sits back down again.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s a pity,¡± she says. ¡°Robert, this is the girl I was telling you about, Ashling Shields. Brian and Anna¡¯s daughter. Pretty little thing, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Quite lovely,¡± he says, his eyes flickering instantly to the spot just below my left breast, where my scar is ¨C even though it¡¯s completely hidden beneath my dress. His eyes linger there only a second, but its long enough for me to feel a slight stabbing, an echo of the original pain when a shard of glass embedded itself in my ribcage during the bus accident.


    I instinctively wince and gasp, clutching my chest, and Mrs. Leyton grabs my wrist, her face creased with worry.


    ¡°Perhaps you ought to sit down after all, dear,¡± she says.


    The grey-haired man is watching me with sharp eyes, silent and alert as a hawk.


    Keep it together. Don¡¯t show them any weakness.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, totally fine,¡± I say. ¡°Just my underwire poking me. Haha.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Now they¡¯re both picturing my bra. Good one, me. Real smooth.


    ¡°What a nuisance, that¡¯s why I go without,¡± Mrs. Leyton says, her smile returning. ¡°Stupid fidgety things. Anyhow, have you met Robert? He¡¯s here on holiday, all the way from Oxford. He¡¯s a professor there.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± I say, trying to sound suitably impressed. ¡°What do you teach?¡±


    His eyes twinkle as he leans over the table, smiling widely in a way that I¡¯m sure Mrs. Leyton finds utterly charming, but I find ghoulish and slimy.


    ¡°History,¡± he says, quite vaguely. History of what? I almost ask him, before Mrs. Leyton pipes up.


    ¡°Robert¡¯s taking me to England next month,¡± she says, taking his hand across the table. ¡°I feel like the luckiest old duck in the whole wide world. I can¡¯t wait to see your home, Pumpkin.¡±


    She blows him a kiss across the table, and he catches it with his hand, before putting it into his pocket for safekeeping. He winks at her, and she giggles.


    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to show it to you, Sugar Puff,¡± he says with a sleazy smile, which makes Mrs. Leyton¡¯s cheeks turn pink.


    Gross.


    ¡°Enough about us,¡± she says, sounding a little breathless. ¡°What have you been doing with yourself Ashling? It¡¯s been ages since I last saw you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been busy,¡± I say, hoping she won¡¯t pry further.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve found yourself a nice boy?¡± Mrs. Leyton says, leaning in closer to me. ¡°What¡¯s his name? Do I know him?¡±


    ¡°No, nothing like that,¡± I say, not entirely sure whether or not I¡¯m telling the truth. ¡°Just... um¡­ music stuff.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± she says, sitting back disappointed. Her male companion, however, seems unwilling to drop it so easily.


    ¡°I find that hard to believe,¡± he says. ¡°Surely a captivating young lady such as yourself has a whole horde of suitors? There must be some handsome young devil who¡¯s caught your eye. Pretty girl like you.¡±


    I don¡¯t know whether to blush or vomit.


    ¡°Oh Robert, you¡¯re embarrassing her,¡± Mrs. Leyton says, tapping his hand as if to scold him. ¡°She¡¯ll run away if you keep it up.¡±


    ¡°Actually, there¡¯s something I wanted to ask you about,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s about Beatrice O¡¯Cahill.¡±


    Mrs. Leyton¡¯s mouth immediately twists into a sour grimace, her eyes go hard as pebbles.


    ¡°Gran told me you were friends,¡± I say, which makes her cock an eyebrow. ¡°Used to be friends, I mean. She¡¯s been acting really¡­ strange¡­ and I feel like maybe something¡¯s bothering her¡­ something that happened a long time ago. A really, really long time ago. I thought you might know something.¡±


    She stares hard at me for a moment, and I quickly add, ¡°I¡¯m worried about her. Earlier on today she said some-¡±


    ¡°Well of course she¡¯s on her worst behavior today,¡± she says. ¡°Today¡¯s the anniversary, after all.


    ¡°The anniversary of what?¡± I ask.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± She asks, sounding surprised.


    I shake my head, and her face softens slightly, her eyes seem to glaze over somewhat with memory.


    ¡°It¡¯s the anniversary of Hugh¡¯s death,¡± she says.


    ¡°Hugh?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes, my fianc¨¦e. Her brother,¡± she says, as Robert reaches out and squeezes her hand across the table. ¡°It was forty-seven years ago today. She still blames me, of course.¡±


    Well this is new information. No one ever mentioned Bea having a brother before.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault, Sugar Puff,¡± Robert tells her, his voice dripping with sweetness. ¡°He wasn¡¯t well.¡±


    ¡°No, he wasn¡¯t,¡± Mrs. Leyton says firmly. ¡°Anyhow, I really do detest talking about that woman. I¡¯m sure your friends are waiting for you, Ashling dear.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say, relieved to be able to get away bit disappointed I didn¡¯t get more from her.


    ¡°It was an absolute pleasure,¡± Robert says, rising from the table, clasping my hand in his.


    ¡°Before you go, one last thing sweetheart,¡± Mrs. Leyton says to me. ¡°I¡¯m helping out at the July Jubilee this year. You¡¯ll be there, won¡¯t you?¡±


    The July Jubilee is an annual party my school puts on near the end of July. It sounds lame going to a school event during summer vacation, but it¡¯s always awesome, and everyone¡¯s there even though it¡¯s totally optional. It¡¯s the perfect way to see your crush again half way through the break, and there¡¯s always a fancy dress theme. Because it¡¯s not technically during term time, teachers turn a blind eye to any inappropriate or revealing costumes, so it¡¯s understandably popular with the entire student body, girls and boys alike.


    I hadn¡¯t even thought about this year¡¯s July Jubilee. It¡¯s the 8<sup>th</sup> of July now, and the event is usually around the last week of the month. The Fable boys will probably be back in England by then.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± I say, nodding my head. ¡°I should get to my friends, I¡¯ve kept them waiting ages.¡±


    ¡°You do that darling, take care,¡± Mrs. Leyton says, pulling me in suddenly for a very wet kiss on the cheek.


    ¡°Till we meet again,¡± Robert says with a wink. He waves me a polite goodbye, and that¡¯s when I see it.


    For just an instant, but it¡¯s enough.


    As I walk away, my mind is replays the moment over and over.


    A flash of silver, as the sunlight hits a thin band wrapped around his ring finger.


    Tiny indentations in the silver, which may or may not have been text.


    It could be a coincidence. It could be just a ring. It could be nothing.


    Or it could be everything.

 Chapter 16

    It¡¯s 8.45pm.


    Today¡¯s Thursday, which is always a busy night at Biblio. So the earliest I should expect my parents back is 11pm. That gives me plenty of time.


    Walking quietly up the stairs so that my friends in the living room don¡¯t realize where I¡¯m going, I try to picture the last time I rummaged through mom¡¯s jewelry box. I would have been a kid back then, maybe five or six years old.


    I clearly remember one sunny afternoon in Fall, left at home with gran while mom and dad were at the restaurant. While gran was in the kitchen making our lunch, I crept upstairs to my parent¡¯s bedroom. I went for mom¡¯s makeup drawer first, smearing first my lips, then my eyelids, with her pale silver eye shadow. Then I took the talcum powder from her dresser and sprinkled it all over my head, watching the snowy clouds of talc floating behind me in the mirror. I think I was trying to turn my hair whiter, which was pretty ridiculous, because it was already a very pale blonde. The finishing touch was a pearl necklace from my mom¡¯s jewelry box, which I wrapped around my head like a diadem.


    Pleased with my work, I ran downstairs to show gran.


    I¡¯ll never forget the look on her face as I stepped into the kitchen.


    She immediately dropped the plate she¡¯d been holding, her lip quivering as the porcelain shattered into a thousand pieces.


    Her face turned pale as death.


    She looked like she¡¯s seen a ghost.


    I began to cry, and she smiled then, weakly and distantly, wiping away my tears. She told me to go wash my face, and that lunch was ready.


    But I knew I¡¯d done something terribly wrong, and I¡¯ve never looked inside mom¡¯s jewelry box ever again.


    Until now.


    Closing the bedroom door quietly behind me, I walk over to the vanity. I sit down on the plush velvet stool, running my hands over the lid of the jewelry box perched in front of the mirror. My fingers explore the grooves in the rippling apple wood, carved by my gran as a wedding gift to my mom. I never noticed before, but the carvings are different to her usual subjects. Most of gran¡¯s work has a woodland or a floral theme ¨C oak leaves, acorns, irises and wild hares peeping out from dense foliage. Her art is inspired by the forest, the land. But these carvings are an ode to the sea, an oceanic love song wrought in wood and careful hours.


    Just above the latch, a cluster of delicately carved seashells encircles two fish, swimming together to form a circle. The top strip is a riot of tiny sea snails, sea anemones, crabs and corals.


    Taking a deep breath, I click open the latch on the box.


    Inside, fine gold necklaces spill out of their trays, tangled up with diamond earrings, an emerald bracelet, and the pearl necklace I wrapped around my head as a child.


    I lift the tray out of the box, and find more gold necklaces, a mother-of-pearl brooch, more pairs of earrings.


    No silver rings shaped like sea snakes biting their own tails.


    Damn.


    I take every piece of jewelry out of the box, untangling the whole mess in case the ring is hidden in a clump of necklaces and earrings.


    But a few minutes later, I¡¯ve picked through the entire collection and I¡¯m still no closer to finding the ring.


    Fine. On to Plan B.


    I swing open my mom¡¯s wardrobe doors, standing on my tiptoes to reach the hatboxes she keeps at the top of the cupboard.


    I open each of them up one by one, searching through old family cutlery, wristwatches, an azure blue silk scarf folded neatly around a large pocket watch on a chain.


    But no ring.


    I turn my mom¡¯s entire wardrobe inside out, placing everything back perfectly in place afterwards.


    Normally, I¡¯d feel bad about scratching around in her stuff like this. But I¡¯m still reeling from the discovery that she threw away all of gran¡¯s things without telling me. My anger dampens my guilt, and I work quickly, searching her bedside table, the pockets of her spare handbags and purses, even the bathroom cabinet in my parents¡¯ ensuite bathroom.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The ring is nowhere to be found.


    I give up. Maybe she sold it or donated it to charity like the rest of gran¡¯s things.


    I sit down at the vanity, picking up mom¡¯s empty jewelry box. I¡¯m about to start returning its treasures, placing it back down on the vanity, when I notice a slight clinking.


    Faint, muted. The sound of metal hitting against wood.


    I look again inside the box, removing the light wooden tray.


    Empty.


    I turn the box over, shake it gently.


    Clink. Clink. Clink.


    Delicately, feeling like Alice peering down into the deep, dark rabbit hole, I feel around the box¡¯s interior. There¡¯s a momentary shiver against my fingertips. I sweep them over the same spot, and they brush against a filmy, feather-fine filament. It¡¯s just long enough to pinch. I take a deep breath, and pull on it.


    The wooden panel lifts up, revealing a secret compartment at the bottom of the box.


    And there, lying bare against the rosy wood, is the silver ring.


    My hands are shaking as I lift it up out of the box.


    The metal is cold, as if it were made of snow rather than metal.


    Holding the ring between my thumb and forefinger, I hold it up to the light. The sinewy serpent seems to twist, radiant silvery scales shifting and slithering, flashing between light and shadow as I turn the ring round and round.


    I¡¯m tempted to try the ring on. I want to wear it.


    But an image flashes through my mind. The girl from gran¡¯s story, turning into a sea snake as the sea witch placed a silver ring upon her finger.


    This isn¡¯t the same ring ¨C it can¡¯t be, I saw photographs of my gran and my own mother wearing it, human as can be, no scales in sight ¨C but still.


    Some dread boils up in my stomach at the thought of putting it on, even though I feel like it¡¯s meant for me, has always been meant for me.


    This ring was made for me.


    I look at my reflection in the vanity mirror, as I hold the ring in the palm of my hand. I have this sudden, intense urge to hold the ring up to my eye and look at myself ¨C at my reflection specifically ¨C through it. I have no clue where the bizarre idea came from, but it tugs at the corners of my mind. Some memory, perhaps.


    I raise the ring, and ¨C


    CRASH.


    The sound rips through the house.


    It came from downstairs.


    I drop the ring, springing to my feet in an instant.


    I¡¯m down the stairs and through the living room door in just a few seconds, my hands pulled into fists, ready to go all Karate Kid on whatever it is I find.


    What I find, however, is Jamie kneeling over the glass coffee table, which has finally shattered as my mom long ago predicted it would.


    Jamie¡¯s clutching my dad¡¯s bottle of fifty-year-old Isle of Sky Whiskey, cradling it like a baby.


    Almost half of it is gone.


    Zee¡¯s on the sofa, her hand over her mouth as she fights back giggles, while Grace sits stony-faced next to her.


    ¡°Ashling, oooh my god Aaaashling, babe,¡± Jamie says, reaching out to me. ¡°S-sorry. I think I might have¡­ might have¡­ broken your table.¡± He giggles then, snorting with laughter.


    ¡°Why is Jade so lame?¡± She says, more to herself than anyone else. ¡°Why does he look at every other goddam girl except meeee?¡±


    ¡°Jamie, put down the bottle,¡± Grace says. ¡°You¡¯ve had too-¡±


    ¡°Grace, Grace,¡± Jamie gasps, interrupting her. ¡°You know¡­ you know how much I fucking love you, babe. Seriously. But you¡¯ve got to.. hic¡­ you¡¯ve gotta let go. Relax. Your mama¡¯s not here now. You don¡¯t need to be a good little¡­ little¡­ hic¡­ church mouse for her all the time. I know how much you struggle, to be her perrrrfect little angel every¡­ single¡­ day. I love you.. so¡­ sooo much and it hurts me to see¡­ see you hold back so much. Don¡¯t keep it¡­ hic¡­ bottled¡­ Let it go. Let it go, can¡¯t.. hold it back anymore¡­¡±


    And with that she launches into a slurring rendition of Let it Go, until Zee starts laughing and clapping so loud that Jamie bows dramatically, falling over in the process.


    ¡°See, Zee understands. Right Zee? Yooou get it.¡±


    Jamie pulls herself up, sloshing whiskey across the carpet as she swings the bottle in Zee¡¯s direction. Zee responds by screaming with laughter behind her hands, her eyes watering with mirth, as Grace¡¯s frown grows deeper, her posture stiffer.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been gone five minutes and you¡¯re already wasted?¡± I say, grabbing the bottle from out of Jamie¡¯s hand. ¡°What the hell Jamie?¡±


    ¡°F-fffive minutes?¡± Jamie slurs. ¡°Try fifty. You were gone aaaages.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Ashling, we didn¡¯t know what she was doing in the kitchen,¡± Grace says. She rises from the couch, pulling Jamie to her feet, which is quite a feat considering how tiny Grace is compared to Jamie¡¯s leggy, statuesque height.


    ¡°We¡¯re in the spare room, right?¡± Grace says.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°Zee, you¡¯re with me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back and clean up the mess after I get her into bed,¡± Grace says, leading Jamie to the door.


    ¡°No need,¡± I say. ¡°Just make her drink water. A whole lot. And make sure she goes to sleep without breaking anything else.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m rreally sorry Ashling, I really am,¡± Jamie says. ¡°My mom will pay for it. One thing she¡¯s good for. I wish she could b-buy me love. Then I could have him.¡±


    Tears well up in her eyes, and Grace quietly says goodnight, gently leading Jamie upstairs to the guest bedroom.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do this tomorrow,¡± I say, stopping Zee as she bends down to pick up a shard of glass from the coffee table. ¡°I¡¯ll send a text to my parents so they know what happened. I¡¯m too exhausted to think about any of this right now.¡±


    Zee nods in agreement, yawning loudly as she drags herself upstairs.


    I follow behind her, knowing I should be worried about the parental wrath that¡¯s sure to ensue in the morning, but too tired to care right now.


    Before I crawl into my bed next to Zee, I go back into my parents¡¯ room, and place the silver ring back in its secret chamber, just like I found it.


    Later, I toss beneath my sheets, drowning beneath the waves of sleep.


    A dark ocean of slumber.


    A troubled, stormy sea of interwoven, bewildering dreams, haunted by a solitary figure.


    Him.

 Chapter 39

    Warm. It¡¯s so soft and warm here.


    I¡¯m curled up on my side, cozy as a caterpillar wrapped up a cocoon of velvet sunshine, sleepily waking up to greet the new day.


    It¡¯s a new day.


    I bolt upright in bed, the events before I passed out rushing back to me.


    I was in a clearing in the forest with Felix. He kissed me. And he changed, or at least he appeared to ¨C he became the figure from my dreams, the dark prince from Gran¡¯s fairy tale.


    What the hell is happening to me? Was I hallucinating? Having some sort of vision?


    He called me a name ¨C Odin or Onion or something ¨C and then¡­ nothing.


    It all went black.


    And now I¡¯m back in my bedroom at home, far from the forest and the cabin and (hopefully) Felix.


    He must have carried me here after I fainted.


    What about my things though?


    I toss the covers away, jumping out of bed as I stumble to my ensuite bathroom. I¡¯m relieved to see I¡¯m still wearing the same clothes I was when I fainted ¨C my lacey white pajamas and a woolen shawl.


    I almost trip over something on the floor.


    My overnight bag.


    Unzipping it with bated breath, I find my belongings from the cabin inside.


    My change of clothes. House keys. Toothbrush. Wallet. Phone charger (useless, seeing as my phone¡¯s still missing).


    And at the very bottom, the sparkly silver clutch bag and matching stilettos Kitty bought me to wear with the silver dress, which is folded carefully and wrapped in a thin sheath of white tissue paper.


    I pull away the paper, unfolding the dress with the dreadful fear that it may have creased, or some of the sequins might have fallen off.


    The silky silver fabric pools and shifts like molten metal, perfect as ever, not a crease in sight.


    I fold it up and place it back in the bag. I probably won¡¯t come home before the concert ¨C I¡¯m meant to meet up Alix and Micah at the Zavaras¡¯ garage at 10am, so we can practice ahead of the July Jubilee ¨C and then Grace and Jamie are coming over in the evening so we can all get ready together.


    10am¡­ and the time now is¡­


    Dammit. I have no clue.


    This is why losing my phone is the worst. I¡¯m clueless without it.


    I go over to my desk in front of the window and power up my MacBook, surprised by the unfamiliar feeling. This is where, over the past few years, I¡¯ve sat until the early hours of the morning finishing homework. It¡¯s where I¡¯d spend hours watching Fable videos, where I used to spend way more of my time than should be considered healthy.


    But somehow, it all feels so strange now.


    This room, this house, this aloneness.


    I¡¯ve gotten used to spending all of my time with them.


    And in a few days time, they¡¯ll be gone.


    The laptop screen blinks to life, and I push the thought from my mind, noting that it¡¯s only 8.50am, so I have plenty of time until I need to be at Zee¡¯s house.


    After checking my emails (nothing new), messages and notifications (lots of new stuff but nothing really important) and looking at the latest #fable tweets by fans (plenty of rumors and speculations about where they are, but nothing mentioning Portland, so their secret is still safe), I jump in the shower, washing away the worries of the past few days.


    Once I¡¯m done I get changed into denim shorts and a white gypsy-style top, light and airy enough for the warm weather outside.


    Fall seems to be in full swing at the cabin, with the leaves turning golden-red, the first mushrooms peeking up through the undergrowth ¨C but here it still feels warm and summery, full of sunshine and morning birdsong.


    I zip up my overnight bag and head downstairs, wondering if I should eat something here or wait until I get to Zee¡¯s house. Her grandma¡¯s always at home, and she¡¯s always trying to feed me. I definitely wouldn¡¯t say no to a big slice of baklava for breakfast.


    Or I could swing in by the Night Owl on my way and get some free food¡­ it¡¯s on the route to Zee¡¯s house, and I might as well say hi to my parents and Jade. The caf¨¦ won¡¯t be open yet, but they¡¯ll all be there getting ready for the Friday night dinner service at Biblio upstairs, which is always fully booked out. I could probably convince Jade to make me a coffee and fill me in on how things are going with Kitty, seeing as she¡¯s being so tight-lipped.


    I close the front door behind me, enjoying the warm morning sun on my arms as I hurry across the driveway.


    ¡°Ashling?¡±


    My mom¡¯s head pokes up from behind the thick hedge of iceberg roses lining our driveway. Her flaming crimson hair is tied back in a messy pony, which matches the color of her ruby red gardening gloves and flushed cheeks.


    ¡°I was wondering what time you¡¯d be up. Why did you come home sweetie?¡± She asks, dropping back to her knees as she prunes the roses. ¡°We thought we¡¯d only be seeing you tonight.¡±


    ¡°Tonight?¡± I say, trying to remember my last conversation with her ¨C which would have been on Kitty¡¯s phone a day or two ago, under the old oak tree at the cabin.


    ¡°Of course hun, your dad and I are coming to the July Jubilee,¡± my mom chirps from behind the roses. ¡°You didn¡¯t think we¡¯d miss Wild Blue Yonder¡¯s first live performance, did you?¡±


    ¡°First and final,¡± I mutter. ¡°Anyway, aren¡¯t you meant to be at Biblio tonight? If you and dad are both at the Jubilee, who¡¯s going to look after the restaurant? I mean, it¡¯s Friday. You don¡¯t need to come. Really.¡±


    Get the hint mom. Do. Not. Come.


    ¡°Biblio¡¯ll be ok,¡± my mom says. ¡°That new line cook we hired in from Seattle is super. Dad agreed we can leave her in charge tonight. We just don¡¯t know about costumes yet¡­ I was thinking Pinocchio for your dad and-¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I say. ¡°I mean, you can come and watch me, but no crazy costumes!¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    My mom guffaws.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly honey, dressing up it the whole point of it,¡± she says. ¡°What are you wearing tonight? Dad and I are going to King Kostume this afternoon, we could find something really funky for you.¡±


    Ugh. Funky. No thanks.


    ¡°Kitty bought me a dress,¡± I say, wondering if it¡¯s a good idea to tell my mom that it¡¯s not just any dress, but a lavish $3000 couture gown from Portland¡¯s ritziest boutique.


    Probably not a good call.


    ¡°Well, if you need fairy wings or a crown or something to go with it just let me know, Mrs. Leyton was pretty insistent about the fancy dress theme. You know how pedantic she can be when she¡¯s made up her mind.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s pretty stubborn,¡± I say, thinking about how she never misses her daily mid-afternoon tea and cake at the Night Owl.


    ¡°She¡¯s really fond of you,¡± mom says, snipping a fat red rosehip off with her secateurs. ¡°I just wish her and Bea would get along. Your gran was such great friends with both of them, you¡¯d think after all these years they could just let it go.¡±


    Why didn¡¯t I think of this before? Mom¡¯s sure to know why those two hate each other¡­ and if either of them have any connection to the Silver Circle, that¡¯ll have something to do with it.


    ¡°What happened between Bea and Mrs. Leyton anyway?¡± I ask, fiddling with the strap over my overnight bag, trying not to sound too interested.


    My mom wipes her gardening gloves on her jeans, getting up and walking around the side of the rose bushes.


    ¡°I was right,¡± she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure how much you knew about it all,¡± she says, sitting down on the front door step to admire her work on the clipped-back rose bushes. ¡°It¡¯s really not a nice story hun. Maybe now¡¯s not the best time...¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say firmly. ¡°I want to hear it.¡±


    My mom looks at me thoughtfully, before nodding.


    ¡°Ok,¡± she says. ¡°You know Mrs. Leyton was engaged to Bea¡¯s brother, Hugh?¡±


    I nod, remembering how Mrs. Leyton told me about that when I saw her at the Night Owl a few weeks ago. She was there with some creepy old British guy who wore a ring. A silver ring.


    ¡°It was ages ago, it would have been in the sixties,¡± she continues. ¡°No one knows exactly why Hugh killed himself, but Bea blames Mrs. Leyton, and the rest is history.¡±


    ¡°He hung himself?¡± I say.


    ¡°Yes,¡± my mom says, her eyes widening in momentary surprise. ¡°So you do know about it then.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡­¡± I struggle to find the words. The image just struck me, cold and raw as a jolt of electricity, clear as day. A crisp Fall day. The cabin in the forest, wreathed in red roses. A handsome young man swinging from the lowest branch of the giant oak tree on the edge of the clearing. The tree with the love seat. That same tree I¡¯ve stood beneath countless times, checking in with my mom on the phone, oblivious to the shadow, the lingering dark. I can see him now. The noose is tight around his neck as he kicks at nothing and swings around wildly, dancing through the air, a silent scream as he goes still. His eyes are the deepest midnight blue.


    ¡°No one knew why he killed himself,¡± she continues. ¡°There wasn¡¯t a letter or anything. But if you read between the lines, it¡¯s pretty obvious.¡±


    She sighs, peeling her gardening gloves off with a faraway look in her eyes.


    ¡°Mom told me that it was during the time when they were all living together,¡± she says. ¡°They had this sort of¡­ insane musical commune thing set up in the forest. It was all very artistic. Your gran was a certified hippy in those days, you know. Your grandpa too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± I say, remembering the photo I found in the attic of them with Bea at a picnic when they were young, a fat joint between granpa¡¯s lips.


    I wonder if mom¡¯s seen that one.


    ¡°Hugh and Sybil ¨C Mrs. Leyton, I mean ¨C they were engaged,¡± she says. ¡°But he started suffering from delusions. Maybe it was an underlying mental illness bought to the surface after all the acid and shrooms and god knows what else. Mom said he was a nightmare to live with near the end. He¡¯d ramble on and on about a secret society that was contacting him through his dreams. He¡¯d wake up screaming. He was convinced that your gran and Bea, his own sister, were reincarnations of some sort of¡­ I don¡¯t know, fairy stories I guess. And to make matters worse, Bea actually agreed with him. She told your gran that our families have been connected through some magical spell mumjo-jumbo that¡¯s been passed down through our bloodlines, mother to daughter and so on, and they were all in mortal danger. Crazy, right?¡±


    My mom chuckles sadly, shaking her head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ever do drugs Ashling,¡± she says.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± I say impatiently. ¡°Anyway, what happened next?¡±


    ¡°Well, it was all too much,¡± she continues. ¡°And who can blame her? The groom had basically lost his mind. So Sybil called the whole thing off a week before the wedding. It was going to be spectacular¡­ three hundred guests at the Ninth Order of Angels Catholic Church¡­ it was the talk of Portland. Mrs. Leyton¡¯s parents weren¡¯t exactly thrilled about their daughter¡¯s bohemian lifestyle, but they were old money, and that meant a big traditional wedding. Hugh had loved Sybil so much, and all those jitters, the build-up to the wedding, and then it all falling apart like that¡­ he was shattered. They found his body hanging from the old oak tree the next morning. He was only twenty-five.¡±


    She pauses, shaking her head with a deep sigh.


    ¡°Gran said that Bea blamed the whole thing on Sybil, for breaking his heart like that. And Sybil blamed the whole thing on Bea, because she¡¯d encouraged him, insisted that all the stuff about reincarnations and magic and whatever was real, rather than pushing him to get help. And of course things only got worse between them when Sybil met Adam Leyton a few years later and moved on with her life like nothing had ever happened. I don¡¯t think mom ever went back to the cabin after that.¡± She sighs again, muttering something about ¡°a waste¡± and ¡°tragedies¡±.


    ¡°Are you ok?¡± She asks suddenly.


    I realize slowly, as if through a fog, that I¡¯m shaking from head to toe. My legs feel weak beneath me.


    Anger, unexpected and unwelcome, overwhelms me.


    ¡°So someone died at Bea¡¯s cabin, and you knew about it,¡± I say, each word coming out heavy and sharp. ¡°But you didn¡¯t tell me? You just let me go there? You didn¡¯t think I needed to know about what happened there? Hugh¡¯s dreams and visions and how Bea- how she¡­¡± I choke on my words.


    My mom¡¯s eyes widen in surprise; she jumps up from the step.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand-¡± she says, but I cut her off.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand,¡± I say. ¡°That place, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s not right.¡±


    ¡°Honey, I¡¯m sorry,¡± she says somewhat timidly, reaching out to me, trying to touch my arm, before I pull away and step back.


    ¡°We just¡­ well, we thought you needed something good to happen, for a change,¡± she says, her eyes welling up. ¡°It all just seemed so¡­ perfect¡­ your favorite band, asking you to be a part of their next album. I mean, how crazy is that? You needed something new and exciting, to take your mind off everything you went through. I didn¡¯t want to freak you out by telling you about the suicide or Bea¡¯s crazy ideas or anything. We didn¡¯t want to worry you.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t want to worry me?¡± I say mockingly, hating the petulant tone of my own voice, but unable to stop now.


    ¡°No, we didn¡¯t,¡± she says, pleading now as a tear rolls down her cheek. ¡°The timing wasn¡¯t good for us to be talking to you about that sort of thing. Death, and dead bodies¡­ and¡­¡±


    She reaches out to me again, and I step back, feeling my face flush with anger.


    ¡°You¡¯re still struggling,¡± my mom says, her voice soft, hesitant. ¡°You¡¯re not in a good place. Your dad and I were talking¡­ we want you to go back to Dr. Martel. We think maybe¡­ we think you might have been too hasty in getting off the meds.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I whisper, the betrayal bitter under my tongue.


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best¡­ please sweetheart, just listen,¡± she says, wiping away another tear from her now puffy eyes. ¡°I¡¯m so worried about you. Your dad and I, we both are. We thought the Fable thing would help you, but you¡¯re just getting worse. You look like a ghost. You clearly aren¡¯t eating properly, just like after the accident. And Father Joshua said he saw you sitting on Mia¡¯s grave at the crack of dawn talking to yourself, and then you climb in through the window last night-¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t me!¡± I snap. ¡°That must have been Felix! He brought me here. I passed out in the woods, and then¡­¡±


    I stop mind-sentence, as my mom wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly to still my trembling body.


    ¡°Have you been seeing things?¡± She asks, her voice shaking with sobs. ¡°Hearing things? Are you having nightmares again? Please honey. Speak to me.¡±


    I shudder, memories of Mia¡¯s ghost and the silver serpent swirling through my mind.


    I can¡¯t tell her. I just can¡¯t.


    ¡°Ashling,¡± she says, staring hard into my eyes. ¡°Forget about it all tonight. Have fun. And go back to the cabin tomorrow if you want. We¡¯re not going to force you to break your promise to the Fable boys. Just promise me that you¡¯ll see Dr. Martel after you¡¯re done helping them.¡±


    I nod, biting my lip to stop myself crying.


    ¡°You said they¡¯re leaving next week sometime, right?¡± She continues, her voice sounding more cheerful now, but artificial, like she¡¯s just barely holding it together. ¡°As soon as you come back home we¡¯ll go and see the doctor. Ok?¡±


    ¡°Ok mom,¡± I whisper, turning my head to the side, trying to avoid her eyes. ¡°I need to go. I told Zee and Alix I¡¯d get there at ten so we can practice.¡±


    She clings on to me a moment longer, her arms wrapped tight as chains, as she stifles a sob.


    ¡°Let me drive you there,¡± she says.


    ¡°No, I need the walk,¡± I mumble. ¡°Fresh air and all. Clear my head¡±


    ¡°Ok,¡± she says quietly, giving me one last quick hug. ¡°See you tonight sweetheart.¡±


    ¡°See you tonight,¡± I say.


    And with that I turn around, marching down the road with my overnight bag slung over my shoulder, crying silently to myself as the winds of fate take me where they will.