FABLE

Chapter Thirty Five

"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.

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 dishevelled 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 - 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-" 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 is 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.