Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery)

by Taylor, Helen Scott

  Wildwood

  By

  Helen Scott Taylor

  *

  Copyright © 2012 by Helen Taylor

  Cover design © Helen Taylor

  *

  The right of Helen Taylor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Copyright owner.

  Acknowledgement

  Thanks to Mona Risk, Joan Leacott, Liz Jasper, and Ginger Calem for their valuable feedback on this story. A wonderful editing job as always by Pam Berehulke, and the lovely book cover is the work of Su Kopil at Earthly Charms.

  Chapter One

  "Freak!"

  Todd Hunter stood on his pedals and pumped his legs, weaving his bike through the rush hour traffic. The two Goss brothers and their minion stayed close on his heels, taunting him. A car horn sounded as he cut across the lanes of vehicles and darted down a walkway, and a woman with a baby in a stroller swore at him as he shot past.

  He came out on quieter roads, streets lined with houses. The only way to shake the Goss brothers was to go up Dinnaton Hill. The lazy punks weren't fit enough to cycle to the top. But Todd was.

  Stay fit, stay sharp. You never see a fox lazing around. His body is lean and strong, his will focused. Dad's words ran through Todd's memory, followed by a familiar pang of sorrow and hopelessness.

  He breathed through gritted teeth as he hit the bottom of the hill and powered up. His father would be proud of how strong he was, how hard he worked at school. If he ever came back.

  Tears pricked Todd's eyes and he blinked them away, angrily.

  "Hey, Hunter," Eric Goss shouted from the bottom of the hill where the brothers had stopped. "Going to Feltsham to dig up your dad's moldy old bones?"

  "Shut up," Todd hurled back over his shoulder.

  He reached the top with a surge of relief and swung around to stare down at the three boys below, leaning on their handlebars, watching him. "Losers," he shouted, safe in the knowledge they couldn't catch him now. Even if they made it up the hill, there was no way they would follow him into the grounds of Feltsham Manor.

  Eric Goss flipped him the bird and Todd turned away. Feltsham Manor's boundary fence was less than sixty feet away. Todd could already feel the pull of the place, the whisper of the wind in the trees, the call of the creatures that lived in the green oasis in the middle of the city.

  The ache of effort in his thigh muscles faded quickly and he pedaled the last few feet to the broken fence. He shoved aside two planks of wood that hid the opening and pushed his bike through the gap. The moment he stepped across the boundary, the noise of the city faded. His senses resonated with the hum of the plants and the pulse of tiny beating hearts. A strange excitement zinged along his nerves.

  This was his world and Dad's world. When he came here, he could almost imagine his father was just round the corner, cutting the hedge, hoeing the vegetable patch, or watching the foxes. Todd threaded his way between the rambling shrubs along the overgrown path and halted beside the dry fountain. Years ago, water used to trickle out of the hand of the moss-covered dryad. But after Dad had disappeared, the old guy who owned Feltsham hadn't employed another gardener to maintain the place.

  The old man was apparently confined to his bed, too sick to go outside, and the garden had been reclaimed by nature. A short distance away, a badger ambled out of the undergrowth and paused to look at Todd. They acknowledged each other silently before the creature went on his way, snuffling between the cracked paving slabs for beetles and grubs.

  Todd sat on the edge of the lichen-encrusted fountain and closed his eyes, extended his hunter's radar as his dad had taught him, and let his awareness spread across the garden. Tiny sparks of life force pinged his web of energy as he came across mice, voles, shrews, rats, a stoat, and the vixen and her cubs in their earth beneath the old yew tree.

  The essence of his dad seemed to hang in the air as if he had only stepped away for a few minutes and not disappeared five long years ago.

  Todd still didn't understand what had happened that day. The two of them had been here together. It was the first time Todd had been allowed to use the electric hedge clippers, and they were cool, skimming away the branches like a giant razor. When he'd finished, he'd searched for his dad. His old pickup was still parked in the drive, his hat was still hung over the handle of a spade, and his gloves were balanced on the wheelbarrow. But Dad had disappeared.

  A burst of Doctor Who theme music cut through the peace. Todd snatched his phone out of his jacket pocket and stared at the screen. Mum. He noticed the time and silently cursed. He was going to be in trouble. He pressed the phone to his ear with a resigned sigh. "Hi, Mum."

  "Where are you, Todd? You know we're leaving today."

  "I'm on my way home."

  "If you're not home in ten minutes, I'm going to be very cross."

  "Okay. See ya."

  Todd shoved his phone back in his pocket, the mood ruined. And now he wouldn't get back to the garden for weeks, not unless he persuaded his mum to let him stay home alone. He climbed on his bike and bumped over the rutted, weed-choked path, ducking under rhododendrons, kicking aside brambles. He snuck out through another opening in the fence on the far side of the garden and turned towards home.

  Ten minutes later, he stopped in front of the paved area outside his house. Every time he saw the decorative pink paving, it annoyed him that his mum had covered Dad's lawn and flowerbeds.

  The blue Citroën belonging to Mum's boyfriend sat on the road outside. Suitcases lay on the sidewalk beside it, waiting to be loaded. Todd braced himself for an argument and wheeled his bike around the back of the house to the shed.

  He paused for a moment to let his annoyance fade, then opened the kitchen door and dropped his backpack on the table. Mum looked up from where she stood at the counter making sandwiches. Her gaze shot to the clock above the fridge. "Why did you insist on going to the swimming pool this morning when we're trying to get ready to leave?"

  Whatever Todd said would be wrong, so he settled for a brief shrug.

  Bad decision.

  "Don't give me that disrespectful attitude, young man. Answer me when I speak to you."

  "I need to train if I'm going to keep my times up." Todd pulled the wet towel and swim trunks from his bag and hung them in the back porch.

  Mum cast him a sideways glance while she arranged the food in a cooler. "You'll have plenty of time to swim when you get to Grandpa's. His shop's right next to the beach."

  "I can't train in the ocean."

  "Don't argue with me, Todd. We're already behind schedule." She pulled some plastic cups down from the cupboard. "Go and pack your bag now or you'll be walking to the railway station. I'll not have you making the rest of us late for the ferry."

  Mum's French boyfriend wandered in from the hall, holding a bag of toiletries. "Margaret, which suitcase do you want me to pack this in, chérie?" His tone was friendly; the critical glance he cast at Todd was not.

  Turning his back, Todd pulled a soda from the fridge, and popped open the can. "I can look after myself. Let me stay here."

  Mum sighed and hung her
head for a moment. "Please don't start this again. I'm not leaving you here on your own for six weeks. What would you do if the smoke alarm went off, or there was a water leak?"

  "Fix them."

  Mum laughed wearily. "I can't spend my time worrying that you might have burned the house down, when I'm supposed to be getting to know Philippe's family. You refused to come to France with us, so you'll have to stay in Cornwall with Grandpa like we arranged. Go and pack your things."

  "I'm fifteen, Mum. I can look after myself. And what if Dad—"

  "Do what your mother tells you. Now!" Philippe jabbed a finger at the stairs.

  For long moments, Todd held Philippe's gaze, refusing to back down in his own home. He wasn't the interloper. "Don't tell me what to do. You're not my dad."

  "Impertinent boy." Philippe let loose a few angry sentences in French. "Get out of my sight."

  Deliberately, Todd kept his expression blank. He would not be ordered about by a stupid French chef. He turned back to his mother. "What'll happen if Dad comes home and there's nobody here?"

  Mum had been washing apples. She turned off the tap and closed her eyes. "If Dad hasn't found his way home in the last five years, he's hardly likely to turn up now. Give it up, Todd." She made a hiccupping sound and a tear rolled down her cheek. The sight smacked him in the chest, knocking out his breath. He hadn't meant to upset her. He wanted his dad back so she'd be happy again, so they'd all be happy together like they used to be.

  "Sorry," he mumbled, backing towards the hall door. "I only want…"

  Philippe scowled at him and growled out something in French as he went to Mum's side and put an arm around her.

  Todd ran upstairs to his bedroom and threw himself down on the bed. He rolled over and stared at the woodland scene hanging over the desk that Dad had painted for him. He threw his forearm over his face with a sense of helplessness. He wanted to make things right but all he did was screw them up.

  "Todd, you okay?" He uncovered his face to find his younger sister Emma leaning against the doorframe. She wandered in and plopped onto the bed beside him.

  "Mum won't let me stay here on my own."

  "I heard the shouting." She touched a fingertip to the silver stag's-head ring Todd wore that had belonged to his father. "You know he's not coming home, don't you?"

  "Don't you want Dad back?" It was all right for Emma. Philippe liked her.

  "Of course I do. But I know he won't come home. I had another dream." Her eyes flicked to his face and he tried to smile and be supportive even though he hated that she dreamed about Dad and he didn't.

  "You should go to Grandpa's. If anyone can tell you more about Dad, it'll be his own father. Maybe something happened years ago that will give you a clue where Dad went."

  "You think I'm meant to search for him?"

  Emma heaved a sigh. "I don't know. My dreams are confusing."

  She pulled some strips of leather from her pocket and untangled them, then lifted his hand into her lap. "Keep still. I'm going to braid you a bracelet and make you look pretty for the Cornish girls."

  He rolled his eyes, but settled back, a hand behind his head, and watched her plait and knot. Her slim fingers danced nimbly as she wove the leather strands in a braided pattern around his wrist. She counted off seven knots in the leather circlet and tied it off. "This bracelet will protect you from curses and bad energy."

  "Todd, Emma, hurry up and get down here." Mum's voice sounded normal when she shouted up the stairs, so she'd obviously stopped crying.

  Todd breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to have bad feelings between them when he said goodbye.

  Emma went to her room and came back dragging a new pink suitcase, with a matching backpack slung over her shoulder. Todd stuffed the last of his things into a sports bag. He'd already packed most of his clothes before he went swimming, but he hadn't told Mum. He'd still hoped she'd let him stay home.

  Todd carried Emma's suitcase downstairs, then ran up and fetched his own bags. Emma linked her arms around his middle and hugged him. "I'll miss you. I hope Grandpa can tell you lots of stuff about Dad."

  "Yeah, that's what I'm hoping. Call me if you need to talk about the dreams." Todd smiled at his sister. But a shiver of foreboding raced through him. Grandpa had invited him to stay every summer since Dad disappeared, yet his sixth sense had kept Todd away. In the back of his mind, the same old warning bells chimed, but if Todd was ever going to piece together the puzzle of where his father had gone, it made sense to start looking in Dad's childhood home.

  Chapter Two

  Warm air carrying the smell of the sea rushed in the open windows of the taxi. The vehicle wound its way down a hill towards the small fishing village of Porthallow. As they turned the final bend into the village, Todd had a scenic view of the small slate-roofed, whitewashed cottages against a backdrop of the steely-gray Atlantic Ocean.

  A massive gnarled oak tree stood beside a patch of grass, shading a bench where people could sit and take in the view. Two mean-looking guys leaned against the tree trunk in the shade, eyeing him sullenly. Todd's hunter's senses usually picked up the feel of the people and wildlife around him and hummed quietly in the background of his mind, but at the sight of these guys, his instincts screamed in warning. It would be just his luck to come three hundred miles to Cornwall and still be picked on by bullies.

  The taxi driver cursed and stopped behind a row of traffic as they reached the first of the shops lining the main street. The narrow road was partly taken up by a silver Mercedes sports car parked half on the sidewalk, half on the road. A crowd of people blocked the rest of the street.

  Todd pulled out the earphones of his iPod and poked his head and shoulders out the car window, straining to see what was happening. A man in a gray suit jabbed his finger at the sports car and shouted something about his paint job, while a man wearing jeans and a t-shirt with tattoos on his biceps faced up to him as if he was about to throw a punch.

  A woman with curly blonde hair rushed out of a shop door and grabbed the tattooed guy's arm. After a few more angry words, the owner of the sports car drove away, tires squealing.

  When the traffic started to move again, a tall boy who looked to be about Todd's age slunk out from the shadows between two cottages and headed down the road. Within a few seconds, the tattooed guy was on him, dragging the kid back to the gift shop by his collar. Todd only needed one guess to know who'd scratched the Merc. He wouldn't want to be in that boy's shoes.

  "Here we are," the taxi driver said as he bumped two wheels onto the sidewalk and cut the engine.

  Todd stared at the front of a small convenience store occupying the ground floor of one of the whitewashed cottages. He grabbed his backpack and climbed out.

  Unfolding money from his wallet, he watched the driver dump his sports bag on the ground and then paid his fare.

  "Thanks, kid. Enjoy yourself."

  The driver wedged his big belly back behind the steering wheel, then the vehicle disappeared down the road.

  A tingling awareness seared across Todd's senses, something he'd never felt before. He glanced around to see what could be causing it. The shop front was the same as others all over the country with its orange sunburst special-offer posters in the window, a rack of newspapers beside the door, and a selection of cut flowers in a plastic bin.

  His gaze rose to the block of ancient granite above the door. A spooky face with empty eye sockets and branches growing out of its mouth was carved in the stone. He recognized it as a Green Man. There were quite a few dotted around Feltsham Manor, and he'd seen faces like this inside a cathedral once when he went on a school trip. It was an old pagan symbol from years ago.

  Some strange compulsion made him raise a hand to touch the face, but at the last minute he thought better of it. With a shiver, Todd hefted his bag and stepped through the door into the cool interior of the shop. Narrow aisles ran between shelves crammed with packets, cans, jars, and boxes. Freezers hummed in the backg
round, their fluorescent lights lending the shop a surreal, blue-white glow.

  "Todd!"

  The shout drew Todd's attention to the checkout at the far end of the room. The tall gray-haired form of his grandfather came into view at the end of an aisle. Todd hadn't seen Grandpa since the memorial service his mother had held for Dad. That had been a terrible day, and Todd had only gone to keep his mum happy. He was convinced his dad wasn't dead, but nobody except Emma believed him.

  Grandpa angled his bulky body down the narrow walkway and headed towards Todd. They hugged awkwardly, and Grandpa slapped Todd on the back. "Look at you, growing like a weed. You'll be taller than your dad."

  And there it was, that word "dad" casually thrown into the conversation during his first few seconds with Grandpa. Mentioning Dad at home had become a mortal sin, sure to anger Philippe and upset Mum. He wanted to be able to talk about his dad and ask questions. Maybe he'd been wrong to put off visiting Grandpa for so long.

  "Come on." Grandpa took the bag from Todd's hand and led the way around the counter where people lined up to pay, then through a door into the private area. Todd scanned the small living room with a kitchen at the far end. Through the windows he noticed a conservatory filled with greenery, and gulls wheeling against the blue sky beyond.

  "Have a good trip?" Grandpa asked.

  "Yeah, thanks." Todd pulled out his mobile phone. "I'd better call Mum and tell her I arrived safely."

  "You'll have to use the landline. There's no mobile phone reception in Porthallow, I'm afraid."

  Freaking wonderful. Todd sighed. He already knew Grandpa didn't have a computer so that meant no computer and no phone for six whole weeks.

  Grandpa eyed him with curiosity, maybe a touch of worry. "You tired, lad?"

  "A little."

  "Hungry though, I'll bet." Grandpa pointed towards the bottom of the staircase. "Let's get you settled in, and I'll rustle up some grub."

  "Sounds good." Todd was hungry, although another feeling he didn't recognize had his stomach in knots, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to eat yet.