Page 166 of Once Upon a Fable

It’s not even his real name, just an address from a book.

I’d been so grateful to finally know his name.

But it wasn’t his.

Not truly.

Lifting up his copy of the identical book, I shook as I opened the front page.

Kassen. Chosen from the Fable of Happiness. Chapter Twenty-Three: The Poor Cousin & His Wishes.

Racing to chapter twenty-three, I read with tears streaming down my cheeks about a selfless, poverty-ridden man who gave up his magical wishes to benefit his villagers, friends, and even his enemies. He gave away each one without any malice or expectation.

And in return, he earned the greatest gift that couldn’t be wish-given. Something that had to be fought for.

Happiness.

My knees gave out, and I sat on his lumpy, squeaky bed.

I allowed wetness to streak my face as I hugged the book to my chest and vowed upon a vow that one day, someday, Kas would be happy.

He would smile.

He would laugh.

I’ll make sure of it.

* * * * *

I never did go check on Kas.

Guilt coated me like tar every hour that I stayed away, but I had my reasons.

My personal locator beacon being the main one.

After I’d left his bedroom, closing the door on the awful books and painfully neat beds where only ghosts slept now, I carried my broken PLB and cell phone back to the main level. I’d fully intended to return to Kas. To hope he was a nicer version of himself and would be amenable to me assessing his arm. However, as I’d headed toward the library, I’d stopped.

I’d looked at the smashed screen of my cell and the snapped antenna of my PLB and I’d grown angry, frustrated, and full of burning rage that we were stuck out here.

I wasn’t capable of giving Kas the medical treatment he required. He needed a doctor—multipledoctors. And, instead of giving him an hour of my time—time that was utterly useless in fixing him—it would be better spent trying to fix my locator beacon.

Changing course, I’d cut through the foyer and headed outside. Walking down the neat vegetable rows, I’d entered the garden shed where seedling pots, watering cans, and other propagation paraphernalia existed. Tucked in the back were tools. Drills protected in plastic, hammers hanging off nails, measuring tapes, screws, saws—everything a handyman required to keep a hidden house like this running.

And that was where I stayed until dark.

I’d moved outside as it grew gloomier, hunched beneath gray clouds, and done my best to use tools I wasn’t familiar with. Carefully unscrewing the casing of my PLB, looking at wires that made no sense, and fiddling with computer chips that looked complicated—blindly hoping I had enough dumb luck to somehow repair the piece of technology and send an invisible signal bouncing into space for help.

Once I’d poked and prodded my PLB, I turned my unskilled attention to my cell phone. The screen was past salvageable, so I worked on removing the rest of the glass. None of the touch functions worked without the pressure-sensitive glass, and the side buttons merely turned the device on with a soft chime but none of the features needed to call home appeared.

Not that there’s reception out here anyway.

The phone was pointless, but my PLB still held a minuscule amount of hope.

Once it was too dark to see any longer, I grabbed an eggplant, two courgettes, and a small head of frilly lettuce before heading into the kitchen to prepare a lackluster dinner. The other ingredients I’d picked earlier went into the ancient fridge.

I needed something warm.

Something that felt like a meal and could give comfort.