Lullaby (Fable Saga Book 2)

the

t who I need to speak to. I only know one angel, after all, e

He’s going to think I’m crazy if I start asking him about witc

edge of the forest clearing where I found my bicy

ieve that the crumbling old headstone could possibly be Mia’s, but at least i

ll that’s left of the bike are a few flakes of rust and red paint chips beneath the thorns. The

it’s almost nightfall anyway, and the dark makes everything look different. She

groceries, plus Kitty’s ten thousand dollar clothes shopping spree. I suggested we leave her bags in the car – it’s not like

Alastaire sprawled out on one of the plush green velvet living room sofas, reading

ping his finger across his phone. “Sweeping his hands through his ravishing locks of shining golden blonde hair, his spellbinding sapphire sky blue

this is. The groceries are out on the porch. Yo

hone into his pocket. “First you steal my Cupcake away for a whole d

out, hoping he’s never read any of mine. Although ev

. “The vain git loves anything that has to do with him. Anyways, thanks for

hy’s it always Lyall and Alastaire getting all the action?” He asks with a frown. “Ser

f royally when you went public with that aussie girl last spring. That’s why I keep things casu

s Twitter account that they were dating, and the girl apparently got hundreds of death threats within a few hours. Someone even set up a Kickstarter to

to buy some food,” Alastaire says. “Where ha

ht Owl,” I say. “I mean, the

the

t the right time to bring it up with Alastaire. I need to get

forward on the sofa, suddenly int

’m leaving a surprise for you next to the bath, make sure you use it. I’ll be very upset if you don’t.”

hauls in the shopping. “Come help w

es and lumbers t

e counter and starts unpack

?” Lyall asks Alastaire. “Feels like

just upset that his sister stole away our lovely songs

peering out the window past me. “It’s almost dark, and ye must be tired Ash

, stacking plums and pears in

y pud in those bags,” Alastaire says. “You t

,” Lyall says. “It’s gotta be de most disgustin’ thing you British eejits

aire says. “I have a very refined palate. Anyw

ish eggs and snails is d

” Alastai

Lyall

e sofa and walking over to me. He starts searching through the

ried fruits that people set on

oth-wrapped pudding Kitty picked up for him at the German delicatesse

one of those things I’ve always avoided, on accoun

know,” I admit. “I

pulls me down to sit on

Did you hear that Lyall

out?” Ben asks, setting some

irginity,” A

my face grow hot. “I wasn’t t

e not a virgin?

ies in the fridge and is watching

umble over my words. “A fruitca

ns ever redder than mine. Ben laughs, seemin

ial someone. And even if I wasn’t a… a virgin… there’s nothing wrong with that either. A girl’s body is her own to… do… what sh

sex, something I know absolutely nothing

in that case,” Alastaire says sweetly

eckin lame, seriou

r cheesy br

taire says, flicking his hand at Lyall. “Bring me

reath but brings us the bowls and s

asks. “How about m

Now, it’s tradition to heat up the pudding for a few hours before eating it. And I always like dousin

th fall

mound of Christmas pudding in front of us. He

to my bowl, alon

ks dis

ring how Alastaire would react if

d just try it at least. It’s not

nful of the pudding

a hint of spice, treacle, figs, liquorice, light and sticky, steeped in brandy or sherry as it melts

ict?” Alas

I smile as I scoop up anothe

a grin. “I’ve been addicted

cted to,” Lyall says. “Those things

dding, I become aware of how uncomfortably piercing Alastaire’s stare is as he watches me eat.

s,” he

are watching us. There’s an awkward silence, and I can

some air

ts of eyes following me as I

” I hear Lyall

n. The cool night air wraps around me, drawing me out to the steps that lead down into the cle

the past? How many of these stars died eons ago, and now all that’s left is their pale ghostl

a voice say

his hand over his close-cropped light brown hair