True Blue (Book Two in the Blue Crystal Trilogy) by Pat Spence

Author:Pat Spence
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy, paranormal romance, shapeshifters, high school romance, superpowers, prom, eternal youth, paranormal horror, teenage love story, beautiful beings
Publisher: Pat Spence

19. Conduit

As the family convened in the library to discuss Emily’s disappearance, Mr Nelson returned, creeping through the grounds of Hartswell Hall. He’d abandoned the white van in the long stay car park at a nearby mainline railway station, about five miles from the village. Its multi-storey car park was full of vehicles, including a number of white vans. He’d left the ignition key concealed in the wheel arch, just in case, and made his way back to the village on foot. Tired from his earlier exertions and stopping every so often to take a quick mouthful from the small silver hip flask he carried in his raincoat pocket, it had taken him some time to reach the Hall.

‘I’m too old for this,’ he muttered to himself breathlessly, wishing he hadn’t been such a voracious pipe smoker in the last few years. ‘Still, I’ve done everything I’ve been asked. Soon I can look forward to the pay out.’

His mouth salivated at the thought of what he could do with the promised money. Buy an Aston Martin, he’d always fancied one of those; take a long holiday in the Bahamas, that was a definite; acquire an attractive young girlfriend - he might not be God’s gift, but money always had appeal. His face leered at the thought of a pretty young thing hanging on his arm and he was so enamoured of this particular daydream, he almost fell into a ditch.

‘Focus, Nelson,’ he cajoled himself. ‘Time enough for fancies later.’

Hidden by the bushes and keeping to the shadows, he crept up the hall’s main drive, taking the path past the rose garden to the old walled garden. Nearly there. All he had to do was get inside. It didn’t take him long to find the ancient carved door. He turned the handle, but it was locked.

Quickly, he pulled out a coil of thin nylon rope with a small hook attached to one end. He threw the hook over the wall, watching it arc high and hearing it land with a thud on the other side. He pulled hard until the hook caught. Giving it a sharp tug to make sure it was anchored and donning a pair of suede gardening gloves, he grasped the rope and, puffing loudly, began to pull himself upwards. He was soon on top of the wall. Now it was simply a matter of swinging down to the ground below.

Inside the walled garden it was dark and shadowy, despite the early morning light. Taking out a flashlight, he discovered an overgrown pathway leading through the jungle of bushes and brambles and slowly made his way forward. After a few hundred metres the pathway opened out into a natural clearing and there before him stood an ornate ruined building, its ancient brickwork silhouetted against the brightening sky.

‘A gothic folly,’ he declared, staring up at its arched recesses, surprised it hadn’t been renovated like the rest of the grounds.

Seeing an old log that had fallen inside the folly’s walls, he sat down and took out his hip flask.

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