Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Todd decided it was time to leave. "I'm off for a run. I'll check out the ancient woodland on the hill and see what sort of vibes I get from it." Picasso got to his feet, his claws skidding on the tiles as he followed Todd to the door.
    "Hey, Casso. Stay here, you daft old thing," Shaun called.
    "Can I take him with me?" Todd patted Picasso's head. He loved dogs. He'd wanted to keep his father's dog, Bella, but wouldn't you know it, Philippe was allergic to animal fur.
    "Good idea. I took him for a walk first thing, but it won't hurt him to go again. He needs to be on a diet and get more exercise." Shaun tossed Todd a blue dog leash.
    "I'll be a couple of hours."
    "Don't run so fast you give my dog a heart attack." Shaun waved his brush cheerfully, his bad mood seeming to have passed as quickly as it came. "Tell that cutie, Marigold, I said hi."
    Once clear of the busy street, Todd let Picasso off his leash and ran along the coast path with the dog at his heels. Todd's trainers pounded the dry dirt path. The steep gradient up the cliff raised his heart rate and made him puff enough to give him the burn of satisfaction he always felt when he pushed himself.
    Hawthorn bushes and brambles grew in green waves along the inland edge of the path. On the other side, wiry grass dotted with clumps of pink sea thrift covered the top of the cliff. In a few places, the cliff top had eroded, leaving only a few feet of bare rock beside the path before the sheer drop down to the sea.
    To the left, the vast expanse of the churning, gunmetal-gray Atlantic stretched to the horizon. Small white triangles in the distance marked out yachts that had sailed early with the tide. One of the fishing boats from Porthallow rocked gently on the waves about half a mile out to sea while herring gulls circled hopefully as the fisherman pulled up crab pots from the seabed.
    After about a mile, Todd neared the edge of the ancient oak woodland. A thin spiral of smoke drifted up from behind the tops of the nearest trees. He slowed, glanced behind to make sure Picasso had kept up, and then peered between the branches for the source of the fire.
    A small thatched cottage surrounded by a colorful flower garden nestled among the trees a short distance away. Todd pulled up. Picasso stopped behind him, tongue lolling, panting damp doggy breath on the back of Todd's legs.
    The place looked like something out of a fairy tale. Golden honeysuckle covered the walls surrounding the garden. Deep pink and yellow rambling roses draped the front of the cottage, framing a blue wooden door. Boxes bursting with scarlet and white geraniums hung beneath each of the four windows, while the garden itself was so stuffed full of flowers, he doubted anyone could get in between the beds to weed. A horseshoe hung over the front door and shells threaded on string dangled from the corners of the porch, filling the morning air with strange, jingling music. He could easily imagine a witch inside bent over a caldron whispering a spell. It must be the Turpins' cottage. He'd like to stop and see if Marigold was there, but after what Shaun had said he wasn't sure he wanted to meet her mother.
    A chicken wandered onto the path ten feet in front of him, clucking and scratching the dirt. Picasso's ears pricked. He woofed, spraying Todd's leg with dribble. "Shush, boy." Todd grabbed the dog's collar, holding him for the next few paces until they reached a gate in the hedge. Once they'd turned off and the chicken was out of sight, Picasso relaxed.
    Keeping a wary eye on the cottage and its back garden, Todd ran along the edge of a small grassy field beside the woods until he found a narrow path that led between the trees. The temperature dropped immediately as he ran beneath the leafy canopy.
    Todd slowed to a walk to let poor, exhausted Picasso catch up, and surveyed the forest. The ancient oaks were like no trees he'd seen before; the trunks gnarled by time and bowed landward by centuries of