“Perfect timing,” a voice like warm velvet growls from an open door across the hallway. “Come on in, Cupcake. Join us. I like your outfit, by the way.”

I turn around slowly, imagining Alastaire sprawled out on the bedroom floor, lying nude on a polar bear rug with a red rose between his teeth, surrounded by a harem of naked girls he somehow smuggled into the cabin. That’s what the sultry ‘come hither’ tone of his voice brings to mind, anyway.

The reality isn’t quite that, but it’s pretty close.

Alastaire’s sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s wearing slouchy grey sweat pants, but he’s naked from the waist up, and I catch a glimpse of his chiseled chest and toned arms, a beautiful light tan despite him spending the past month in the eternally gloomy shade of the forest.

He’s drying his head with a towel, and I feel a lump rise in my throat as the light from his bedside table lamp sparkles and glints off his blonde hair.

Hair like an angel.

An image forms in my mind, cloudy and half-formed, like the faint whisper of a memory.

A young man on the beach.

Strange white robes.

Hair like a brilliant halo, wet from the sea – salty droplets sparkling on strands of spun gold, heavenly blue eyes as deep as the sky he fell from.

The memory disappears, and I’m standing frozen in the corridor, staring into Alastaire’s bedroom. I gulp, realizing that the taste of blood is gone from my mouth, as if it was never there in the first place.

I thought I bit my tongue in my sleep. I could have sworn I could taste blood in my mouth a moment ago, lots of it. What the hell is happening to me?

“Alastaire to Cupcake,” Alastaire says, waving his hands in the air. “Come in Cupcake. Hello? Do you read me?”

I shake my head, trying to clear the foggy half-remembered moment on the beach.

“Loud and clear,” I say, faking a yawn. “I’m really tired actually. I’ll just be on my w-“

“Don’t be such a drag,” Alastaire says. “The more the merrier. Come on. Join us.”

“Us?” I ask, peering into the room.

A sudden stirring at the foot of Alastaire’s bed makes his duvet bunch up slightly.

The covers crease and shift as someone moves around, maybe turning over in their sleep.

OMG. There’s someone there. Which means…

Alastaire has somehow – despite being stuck in a cabin miles away from civilization, despite the fact that Fable are meant to be totally undercover, despite the fact that the walls in the bedrooms are basically paper thin – he’s somehow snuck a girl, or maybe even, several girls, into his bed.

OMG. I’ve walked into some kind of orgy.

“No thanks, I don’t-“ I stumble over my words, backing up from the doorway slowly until a familiar voice interrupts me.

“God-damn-good-for-nothing-piece-of-bull-phone!” Ben hisses from somewhere in Alastaire’s bedroom, tossing the duvet over as he rolls onto his side at the foot of the bed. His head pops out from under the covers, his shaggy black hair in disarray.

“The frikkin red guy just killed me again!” He mutters, swiping angrily across his screen before slamming his phone down. “Dame this stupid addictive game. Pfffft. Oh, heya Ash.”

“Um… heyyyy…” I answer hesitantly. “What’s… what are you guys doing?”

“Chillin’”, Ben says nonchalantly, like that explains it all. “And beating Al’s high score on Rage 2.”

“I think you mean trying to beat my score,” Alastaire says pointedly. “And failing.”

“Whatevs,” Ben grunts “It’s my stupid phone. It’s been spazzing out on me recently.”

“Cry me a river,” Alastaire says coolly. “Anyway, move up Benji. Make space for Cupcake.”

Ben sighs and sits up, folding his legs underneath himself.

I settle down next to Alastaire, trying not to get too close – he’s still half naked, after all. Finished towel-drying his hair, he does the typical boy thing and throws the damp towel down on the floor, before leaning back against the bed’s headboard. His eyes linger for a moment on me, sweeping over my very sparse, borderline sheer white silk pajamas.

It’s too late to cover up now, so I just cross my arms over my chest, feeling my face flush under Alastaire’s inquisitive gaze.

“What ‘av we got ‘ere then?”

Lyall pops his head through the doorway.

“I hope he’s not harassing ye,” he says with a suspicious glance at Alastaire. “Better safe than sorry with this one. Especially at 1am in the mornin’.”

I snort back a giggle, as Lyall walks into the room and goes over to Alastaire’s window. As usual, he’s wearing ridiculously adorable pajamas – dark green with Adventure Time characters printed all over the pants.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“How’re they doin’ Al?” He asks, peering out of the open window. “Aaw, aint that sweet. Best mam in the world.”

I crane my neck to see what he’s talking about. With all the craziness of the past few days, I’d totally forgotten about the little dove family Alastaire had shown me nesting in-amongst the roses just outside his windowsill.

“You seen ‘em yet Ash?” Lyall asks, turning to face me with a smile. “You’d like this.”

“Yeah, a few days ago,” I say, going over to join him at the window. “They got big so quickly.”

The last time I saw them they were newly hatched, tiny and pink and naked. Now they’re at least double the size, covered in a light fuzz of soft grey down. I can see one sticking out from underneath the mother bird, squirming its way clumsily out from under her white feathers. Without even opening her eyes, she stretches out her wing, folding up the escaping baby against her breast.

“Blimey, bloody onion ninjas at it again,” Lyall says, sniffling as he settles down in the armchair next to the window. “Now that’s a mother’s love for ye. Good job, dove.”

He sounds sad. He always mentions his mom in interviews, so they must be really close. He must miss her.

“Birds are booooring,” Ben says. “Let’s decide what we’re doing tomorrow.”

“True,” Alastaire says. “Ash, you know Portland better than any of us. Got any ideas?”

“What’s so special about tomorrow?” I ask, settling back down on the bed. “Aren’t we just doing the usual? Recording and stuff? I thought Felix wanted to finish by Saturday.”

“Ouch,” Alastaire says.

“Ooooh awkward,” Ben says.

“What?” I say, looking from Alastaire and Ben’s grinning faces to Lyall’s slightly pouting one.

“It’s no big deal,” Lyall says, his face flushing slightly.

“Turning seventeen’s no big deal?” Ben asks, aghast. “In one more year you can legally drink.”

“We drink all the time anyway,” Lyall says, gesturing to an empty champagne bottle and a tipped over wineglass on Alastaire’s bedside table.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” I say stating the obvious. OMG. How could I have forgotten? I didn’t even buy him a gift, and it’s too late now. Dammit.

My feelings must be showing on my face, because Lyall frowns, his eyes filled with concern.

“Don’t worry about it Ash,” Lyall says. “Really, there’s been a lot goin’ on. Just spendin’ the day with ye tomorrow will be enough.”

His face immediately flushes bright red, and he tries to backtrack, mumbling his words in a quick stream, which only seems to intensify his already thick Irish accent.

“I mean only if ye want te and it’s no inconvenience fer ye and de other guys’ll be der so it’s not jus de two of us anyway an what I meant anyway was-“

“Ash, I know exactly what you should give Lyall for his birthday,” Ben says cheekily, with a wink in my direction. “Something only you can give him. Amirite? Heh. ”

There’s a moment of shocked silence; even Alastaire looks somewhat taken aback.

“That’s not…” Lyall stutters, his face turning an even deeper shade of red while mine burns, catching up to his in no time. “Ash, don’t… don’t list-“

“A song!” Ben says, doubling over with laughter. “You don’t have time to get him anything before tomorrow, and he’s always asking you to sing for him. So give him a song.”

“You could ‘ave said,” Lyall splutters, his face still vivid red.

“I shouldn’t need to,” Ben says sneakily. “It’s not my job to keep your mind out the gutter.”

“And you accuse me of being a pervert Lyall,” Alastaire says haughtily, earning a rare murderous glare from Lyall. “Honestly. Never trust an Irishman. Anyway, lovely Cupcake,” he says, turning his attention back to me. “What should we do to celebrate Lyall’s birthday tomorrow? And remember, we can’t do anything in town or where there’ll be too many people around. We can’t have anyone recognize us.”

“Let me think for a sec,” I say, feeling everyone’s eyes on me.

I have to suggest something cool; they’ll laugh at me if I say something lame, like mini putput or going to the petting farm at Anbury.

“How are the beaches around Portland?” Ben asks. “Know any good ones?”

“They’re beautiful,” I say, picturing the long stretches of sand along Ocean Drive, the seagrass-encrusted cliffs, thick fir trees growing tall in the salty air. “But… I dunno. It’s been a while since I went to the seaside. Ages, actually.” I picture the glittering ocean, and the glint of metal sinking beneath the waves, the screams of my friends all around me, trapped inside, the taste of seawater and blood. I haven’t been anywhere near the sea since it happened. And that’s how I intend for it to remain.

“That’s right. It’s been a really long time since I last saw the ocean,” I say out loud, my voice heavy with sad memories. “A long time.”

I see a look pass between Lyall and Alastaire, and I feel a flash of embarrassment at having spoken to myself out loud, so I jump up off the bed, knocking over Alastaire’s beside lamp and the empty champagne bottle in the process.

I’m making a fool of myself, like always. Acting like a weirdo. I need to get away before I embarrass myself even more.

“Anyway, I’m off to bed now, you guys just pick something, I’m sure we’ll have fun no matter what we do,” I say as I pick up the stuff that dropped off the bedside table, placing it back in a hurry.

“Cupcake, w-“ I hear Alastaire say behind me, but I’m already marching out the door, all the way down the hall.

For a moment I remember the whole reason I came out here in the first place – I needed some water from the bathroom, because I thought I might have bitten my tongue after I fell asleep reading Gran’s poetry book. But the taste of blood is totally gone now.

Just like how the bite mark Felix gave me on my neck completely disappeared. Just like how my foot miraculously healed up overnight after I injured it in the storm.

So I head back to my room, closing the door quietly behind me.

The moment I step into the room, I can feel that there’s something different.

There’s a cold feeling all over my skin, a slight prickling beneath the scar on my chest.

Something’s wrong.

It only takes me a moment to spot it.

I left Gran’s book, The Poems of Francis Ledwidge, lying closed next to my pillow. But now it’s lying in the center of my bed, open.

I step towards it slowly, half-afraid it might suddenly flap its covers like wings and start flying around the room like an emerald green butterfly.

With all the other madness going on around here, it would hardly be surprising.

But the book lies still as a tombstone, the faded black ink staring up at me as I reach down to touch the thin paper.

There’s a page missing.

The jagged remnants of a torn page stick out from the spine, a clear sign that someone ripped a page out.

And it must have happened just moments ago, because I would have noticed it before.

Someone came into my room and did this.

They might still be in here, with me, right now.

I breathe deeply, swallowing down my fear as I look around the room.

I look in the wardrobe. Behind the vanity. Even underneath the bed.

Nothing.

Taking one final glance around to reassure myself that I’m alone, I sit down on the bed and pick up the book.

Who would do this, and why? Why rip out only one page?

I read the numbers in the corners of the pages on either side, noting that they took page sixty-three.

So I turn to the contents page at the start of the book.

I skim down the list, until I find it.

Song of The Sea Maiden ……………………… p63

The sea maiden.

The beach.

The dreams.

The answers are right in front of me.

I just can’t see them yet.