Lullaby (The Fable Series, Book 2)

Chapter Twenty Six

He would probably murder Alastaire. Literally. I need to get out of this without waking him up, and quickly.

I exhale deeply, and tuck my arms in as close to my body as possible. Then I slowly wriggle myself downwards, terrified that Alastaire's going to open his eyes at any moment. After a few seconds I manage to get my head under his arms, which slump against his chest as I pull myself free.

I roll over onto my back next to Alastaire, as he mumbles "nmmm... m... cupk..."

I belly crawl away from him across the living room, like a soldier in enemy territory. I'm probably being an idiot, but there's always a chance that one of the other guys passed out in the room woke up after the ruckus I just made, so it's best to stay low.

I finally round the corner of the doorway, and stand up. I look back into the living room at Alastaire and realize with horror that the knitted blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders for warmth is now in Alastaire's arms, a detail I missed earlier. It must have slipped off when I maneuvered myself out of his embrace.

It's too risky to go back and get it.

And it's not like anyone's going to realize the blanket is from my bed.

Hopefully.

I turn my back on the living room and move down the entrance hall, opening the huge stained glass front door as quietly as I can.

As I shut it behind me, I let out the breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

I look out over the clearing.

The sky is still a deep, dark blue studded with white stars, but I can feel the building energy of the new day about to burst over the horizon.

There's not long until daybreak.

I have to hurry.

I run down the cabin's steps, and sprint over the fallen leaves and mossy stones that litter the glade. I don't understand why, but somehow I know exactly which direction to go, like there's an invisible thread pulling me forwards.

Even though the moss-slicked stones are wet and slippery, my footing is sure, and I seem to glide over the ground, faster and more gracefully than I've ever run before.

My pale blue dress, still wet from the storm earlier, clings to me coldly, but I ignore it.

The forest seems to race by on either side as I run, and the smell of wet earth is replaced for a while by the briny scent of salt; I can hear waves crashing against rocks, the echoing cries of seagulls, and a distant lullaby – but I ignore these distractions, focusing on my destination.

The forest is playing tricks. But I won't be lured off my path.

Gradually the sound of the sea dies down, and I can see light up ahead, a new clearing.

I step out into the graveyard. I've never entered it from the forest, having only come here before through the gate behind the Ninth Order of Angels Catholic Church.

And yet I know exactly which direction to walk in, as the invisible force pulls me through row after row of tombstones, decrepit mausoleums choked in ivy.

The starlight shining off the marble and ancient white sandstone illuminates the scene enough for me to see my way, and I stride confidently through the soft silver afterglow.

She's here. I can feel it.

My heart stops as she comes into view, several yards away.

Mia is sitting on her gravestone, her feet tucked under her as she quietly plaits her hair.