Lullaby (The Fable Series, Book 2)

Chapter Eighteen

Passion. That's what divides them. Felix is too passionate and serious about everything, too heavy and deep. And Alastaire isn't serious enough about anything, he's light and airy and devil-may-care. They're polar opposites, and I'm caught in the middle.

Too much light. Too much dark.

The thought drifts through my mind as I slowly regain normal consciousness.

The sound of crashing waves is replaced with sparkling birdsong; the smell of briny seaweed fades and is overwhelmed by the deep red fragrance of the roses.

My eyelids flutter open, and I find myself looking directly at a wall of twisting silvery-brown willow wicker.

It takes me a moment to realize that my face is about an inch away from a wicker basket sitting at the top of the steps on the porch.

I pull myself up onto my elbows, propping myself up so that I'm sitting on the top step. My overnight bag is lying on its side at the bottom.

I turn back to the basket, and feel a shiver whisper through me as I take note of what it's filled with.

Apples. Plump, red apples, just like the ones Bea grows in her garden.

There's a note tied to the basket handle with string, a single piece of folded white notepaper. I reach for it, unfolding the paper with shaking hands.

The elegant looping scrawl is unmistakably Bea's.

Be sweet like apples. Be strong like the twining rose.

I study the words for a moment, wondering why they feel so familiar.

The apples look innocent enough, but I should probably throw them out, just in case.

Until I've spoken to Professor McAuley and I know more about the myth, I can't trust anyone or anything.

The thought of her makes me itch to check my phone for a reply.

The HR woman from the university said that the professor was interested in talking to me, and would be in touch on email. But she still hadn't sent anything when I checked my inbox this morning before setting out for the cabin.

She might have replied by now.

I scramble down the steps to my bag, unzipping the front pocket and pulling out my phone.

No signal. Of course there's not. There's only one place to get it out here.

I glance at the cabin, which is still and silent as a stone. I'm grateful that the boys didn't hear me collapsing on the steps. That would have been awkward to explain.

Leaving my bag at the bottom of the steps, I pick my way across the clearing, walking slowly and carefully over the slippery, moss-cloaked stones and fallen oak leaves.

I'm holding my phone out in front of me, waiting for the moment that the bars flicker to life on my screen. There's something about this tree that gives me the creeps, and I want to avoid going too close to it.

Ever since the time I thought I saw this tree on fire last month, it's given me an uneasy feeling. It feels almost... watchful.

If I can avoid going too close, I will.

I stare at my phone screen, praying for signal.

I'm a few feet from the giant oak when I hear a low, angry voice speaking hurriedly and urgently. I stop dead in my tracks, looking all around until I realize that it's coming from behind the tree.

It's Ben.

I can only make out a few words, but it's enough to recognize his unusual Japanese Canadian accent.

"No. Don't you... I SAID NO. I know, but listen. No, I'm not going to hang up. Just listen. You think it's just gonna be smooth sailing. But that's not... what? No. What the actual... you're joking right? I'm not doing it. You can't expect me to do that, after she was just gone. She left us. She'll leave again. We can't trust... no. Just hold up ok. You keep repeating yourself. You're not a fucking parrot. Think about what you're saying. She doesn't deserve that. Not after..."

His voice is hot and sharp, an angry hail of words, barbed lightning striking the ocean. I've never heard him swear before, or even raise his voice in anger for that matter. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.

I turn around and dart back to the cabin, as quietly and quickly as possible.

Who was he talking to? Who was he talking about? It couldn't be me... could it? He's not part of it, whatever it is. Not Ben. Not hilarious, wacky, fun-loving Ben. I can't believe that. I won't.

I bend down to pick up my bag, and I freeze at the top of the steps.

The basket is gone.

"Thanks for the apples," a voice says right next to me. I swing around and see Kitty leaning against the wooden porch railing, beneath the cascading roses, a bright red fruit in her hand.

"So, I sort of got stuck into a bottle of Hennessy last night and called up your friend Jade," she says. "We're going out tonight. And you're coming along."

Time seems to slow down as she lifts the apple to her lips. I step forward, raising my hand to swat the fruit from her grasp.

The last thing I hear before she sinks her teeth into the crisp flesh are two words.

Double date.