Lullaby (The Fable Series, Book 2)

Chapter Four

There's a somber mood in the car as we drive across town to the Ninth Order of Angels Catholic Church.

Kitty doesn't ask me about what happened at the shops. She doesn't need to – it's pretty clear what went down.

A few months after the accident, after it became obvious that Mia's parents were avoiding my mom and dad and me, I tried to see it from their perspective. I figured that every time they looked at me, they were seeing the girl who survived instead of Mia. How many times had they wished in the small lonely dark hours of the night for history to rewrite itself? For me to be at the bottom of the ocean with the others, while their daughter got to live on instead? How fervently had they bargained, begged, prayed?

I forgave them long ago, but they clearly haven't yet forgiven themselves.

A flock of blackbirds flies noisily out of a tall cypress tree as we park in front of the church.

The parking lot is empty. It's not surprising – apart from on Sunday mornings, the pretty little stone church is as quiet as the graveyard behind it.

"I'll wait in the car," Kitty says.

I nod, stepping out and closing the door behind me.

I walk around the side of the church, following a thin cobblestone path through the carpet of moss and leaves. The sun is low in the sky, and soft late afternoon light dapples the way, illuminating the fallen golden leaves like pooling sunbeams.

I stop before a black wrought iron fence topped with tarnished bronze spikes, which runs on a straight line on either side of me as far as the eye can see, before disappearing into the forest.

Behind it, the city of the dead stretches out into the distance.

Weathered limestone crosses, mausoleums, moss-encrusted tombstones, marble angels whiter than moonlit snow.

And at the heart of it all, Mia.

I follow the path along the fence until I reach the visitor's gate. There are cobwebs all over the latch, and it's wet to the touch, as if there's slime or algae growing on the iron.

When was the last time anyone visited this place?

It's not a popular parish – bordering on Forest Park, it's a bit too far out of town for most people. And as far as I know, new burials in the church graveyard are rare. Mia was only buried here because it's the final resting place of several generations of her devoutly Catholic family.

I unlatch the gate and step though.

A shiver immediately runs down my spine as my feet touch the graveyard soil.

Maybe it's only because the cemetery is in the shadow of the forest, but it feels immediately colder and darker on this side of the fence.

I follow a lightly trampled path, noticing that there are no flowers in sight, except for the fragile snowdrops sprouting like pale white ghosts between the headstones. Usually in a graveyard, you'd expect to see bunches of flowers in various stages of decay placed on at least some of the tombstones by mourners. But these graves are bare, neglected, forgotten. I don't remember them looking so decrepit.

I pass a group of elaborately carved grey granite stones under a circle of weeping willows before spotting the name I've been looking for.

Robbins.

Mia's family members have always been buried on this family plot. I cast my eyes over the weathered headstones, running my fingers over the cold smooth stone as I pick my way between the graves.