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 – 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 – 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 – an advert for a book of fairy tales, the wiki of a popular anime about mermaids, a review of a new Irish poetry anthology – but the fourth result down catches my eye.

In Search of the Creeslough Sea Maid, Prof. Eagla McAuley

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 – 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 spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

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) – 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 – the Prince of Darkness, the Prince of Heaven, the Prince of the Seas, the Prince of the Tuatha Dé 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 Argetlán 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

Crazed Fable fan admits to being part of Silver Circle cult

Talia Durham

London – 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 – 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 – 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.