Elliot sits next to me on the steps in silence.
We look out across Kitty’s vegetable patch. The forest surrounding the clearing is cloaked in darkness, but closer in, silvery starlight bathes the lettuces and cabbages in a soft glow. The light glimmers on the still surface of the water in the birdbath at the garden’s centre. For the first time since Kitty unearthed the secret garden from its prison beneath the brambles, I notice that the birdbath’s column is actually a stone figure, covered in ivy. A beautiful face, a flowing robe, two arms outstretched, holding the water-filled bowl – and two perfect, folded wings sweeping the ground.
An angel.
That’s right. The angel doesn’t necessarily need to be Alastaire. It could be a statue. Or a painting. Or a lingerie-clad supermodel in a Victoria’s Secret show. Maybe Mia wants me to get in the phone to Gigi Hadid? Nice one, Mia. You could have been a bit more specific.
“Are you ok?” Elliot asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You seem bothered by something.”
“That obvious, huh?” I say. “It’s nothing. Probably. Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”
Elliot’s quiet again, staring out into the pitch black trees.
I sneak a glance at him, noticing that as usual, he’s giving off an aura of cool, composed confidence. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look really worried, or upset, or even super happy, come to think of it. He’s the strong and silent type, and when he talks, it’s usually important.
Which makes me all the more nervous for what he’s about to say now.
Finally, he speaks, his light grey eyes still fixed on the dark forest crowded around our oasis of starlight.
“Before I joined Fable, I thought I’d grow up to be a soccer player like my dad.”
He says it without sadness or regret. His voice is calm, thoughtful, matter of fact.
He must know that I’m aware of that. It’s common knowledge amongst Enfablers, and even non-fans too, that Elliot’s dad is one of the world’s most famous soccer players. That’s how he ended up at the private boys school where he met the other band members. Why’s he telling me this now?
“This time we’re spending with you, here, now… it’s the first time in a while that I haven’t had a million cameras in my face every moment of every day. I’m not saying things would be any different had I followed in my father’s footsteps. But the music industry… it’s different. You’re selling every part of yourself. Your voice. Your image. Your soul.”
He keeps his eyes fixed on the darkness, as if he’s watching something out there. I strain my eyes, trying to spot something, anything at all – but all I see is the unbroken blackness of night between the trees.
“It’s been six months since I last saw my family,” he says. “Four months since I last saw my girlfriend.”
“You have a girlfriend?” I say, before I can stop myself.
“Not a lot of people know about her,” he says. “Only people I can trust. At the very least, I wanted to give her a normal life. A private life. Which is something I no longer have.”
Thoughts of what happened with Ben and the girl at the Melbourne show race through my mind. Hell, even the crazy mob of fans that formed outside my house after my neighbors spotted Felix. The paparazzi would be the least of this girl’s concerns if news of the relationship were to leak out.
Elliot’s protecting her.
Suddenly I want to know absolutely everything about her. How old is she? Where does she live? Is she serious and sincere like Elliot, or is it a case of opposites attract, and she’s wild and sociable?
I want to ask him a million questions about her, but it’s obvious that her privacy is important to him. So I hold back my curiosity.
“You must miss her,” I say.
“I do,” he says. “But that’s what this industry’s like. The music always comes first. I’m not even eighteen yet, and my career is my whole life.”
I nod, wondering why he didn’t just ask his girlfriend to come stay with us at the cabin.
Maybe because he's still protecting her. From something even worse than crazy fans and photographers.
“If we give your demo to BYG after we’ve finished this album, you know your future is made, right?” He asks, watching for my reaction.
I nod.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go for it. I’m just saying that while you still have privacy, your family, a chance to have a normal relationship… a normal life… you should think about how much all that means to you.”
“Elliot!” Ben yells from inside the cabin. “I’m eating your dinner if you don’t come and claim it.”
Elliot rises up from his spot on the step.
“Think over what I said,” he says, before heading inside.
As I hear the door shut, a sudden movement in the darkness of the trees catches my eye.
I can’t be sure, but for a moment, I thought I saw two glinting golden eyes staring out of the woods.
Perfectly round with a long black slit in each centre.
Snake’s eyes.
I leap up, and stumble backwards, not daring to take my eyes from the dark spot where I saw the lights. I feel behind me for the doorknob, twist it, and make a dash for the safety of the house.
Once inside I lock and bolt the door, checking it twice.
It’s just my imagination. It can’t be real. It’s all PTSD. It has to be. The eyes I think I just saw, Mia’s voice at the grave, everything – it’s nothing that a visit to Dr. Martel’s couch and a solid dose of meds couldn’t sort out. Right. As soon as the Fable guys are on their flight back to London, I’m paying the head doctor a visit.
For now, a hot bath is probably all I can do to calm my nerves.
A hot bath and a glass of champagne.
Let’s live a little.
I should do this more often.My ensuite bathroom at home has a shower, so I hardly ever take baths. Even here at the cabin, I’ve been showering upstairs every evening out of habit, totally ignoring the beautiful porcelain clawfoot tub in the downstairs bathroom.I hold my champagne glass in the air, admiring the way the warm candlelight glints off the bubbling golden liquid.The boys looked mildly shocked earlier when I passed on supper and instead took a crystal champagne flute out of the cupboard. I half filled the glass with sparkling champers, then reconsidered and filled it to the very brim. Ben and Alastaire were thrilled – they’ve been trying to get me to drink with them for weeks now. They weren’t as thrilled when I said I was drinking it alone, in the bathtub, and I was locking the door behind me to keep out any unwanted visitors.The fruity bubbles sparkle on my tongu
My sleep is anything but peaceful.Half awake, I toss and turn for hours, stuck in the delirium between dreams and reality. At one stage I think I hear footsteps next to my bed, but I can’t move, can’t open my eyes.I feel the duvet gently lifted away, and cool lips touching the bruise on my chest. I slip deeper under the tides of sleep, and for a while I’m wandering in a cool green forest, with fir trees as tall as towers, and distant silver birds high up in the branches. They call down to me, and I will my arms to turn into wings so that I can fly up and join them.Just as the first snowy white feathers break the surface of my skin, a whisper pulls me from my dreams.“Wake up, Cupcake.”I open my eyes to find Alastaire sitting on the end of my bed, his face illuminated by the pale light of the crescent flooding in through the window. I can see stars ou
Felix’s love bite is gone the next morning.Not healing, not faded – just gone. As if it was never there in the first place.I run my fingers over the smooth patch of skin, still feeling the touch of his cold lips.If it weren’t for Alastaire seeing the mark and losing his shit over it, I might have thought I’d imagined the whole thing.Great. Yet another lovely incident to add to the long list of ‘Impossible Things That Can’t Be Happening To Me But Somehow Are.’Unfortunately, the other, older bruise over my ribcage is still right where it was, as darkly purple and painful as ever.Even though there’s no longer a need for me to cover up, I still choose a high-necked skater dress with a button-up collar. My neck and shoulders are totally hidden, and I won’t have to wonder if Felix or Alastaire t
I hear her before I see her.I’m making my way along the trickiest section of the path – a faint steep zigzag through the ferns and bracken – when the sound of a woman singing catches my attention.The song is slow, sad, beautiful yet somehow broken – like the words are drowning in sorrow, too heavy for the singer to bear.She can’t be far – just a few yards from the path – so I walk as quietly as I can in the direction the song is coming from.As I draw nearer, I can hear the words more clearly.Once again the threads pull tightA promise made, an oath to keepRivers of song creep through the nightFlow like the bloodlines she must reap.
By the time I reach the edge of the forest, my legs feel like they’re about to collapse beneath me.I catch my breath for a moment under the shade of a huge oak tree, trying to process everything that just happened.I ran into Bea. I tried to speak to her. Then she burst into flames and disappeared.Impossible. Just… impossible.It’s hard to accept the finality of what I saw. I need to know for sure whether or not that thing was really Bea. Even if it means I might be putting myself in danger.I step out into the road, looking down Greenbriar Terrace. Bea lives just a short walk away, in Arlington Heights, neatly sandwiched between the forest and the Japanese Gardens. During the day, she’s usually one of two places – managing the Rose Inn, which is on the front of her property, or doing random hippy stuff at her cottage hidden away at
I’m standing alone on a beach at night.A cold winds blows around me, whipping the dark ocean into a roaring maelstrom. My whole world is sand and sea and the freezing air, but my mind is lost in the distant patterns high above me.I lift one hand to point at the black sky, tracing a curved line between five glimmering stars to form a perfect ring.Silver flame snakes through the distant spaces where my finger passes.The heavens are burning.The stars are screaming.“Silver circle,” I whisper.I wake with a start, bolting upright in my bed. I’m having a panic attack. My heart is racing; my skin is cold and clammy. I must have been crying in my sleep, because my cheeks are wet with tears.Struggling for breath, I try to remember what happened and how I got here.A hand touches my shoulder,
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 – Jamie’s newly-dyed bubblegum pink hair has its uses – 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 – 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 Clea
I hurry over to where Jamie, Zee and Grace are sitting at our usual spot near the Night Owl’s stage.“Oh my god, finally!” Jamie exclaims, jumping up and pulling me into a tight hug. “We were getting worried. What with your fainting habit and all. Your coffee’s probably cold by now, and Zee ate half your cranberry muffin.”I give Zee and Grace a quick hug before flopping down into a faded burgundy velvet armchair.“Sorry,” I say, taking a sip of my lukewarm but still delicious coffee. I steal a quick glance back behind me. Mrs. Leyton and her spidery suitor have left. Thank god. “I got sort of… caught up in something.”“Oooh, do tell!” Jamie says, her eyes widening. “It doesn’t have anything to do with five super hot boys you’re mingling with, does it?”I hesitate for a mom