Eshe was the mother of Grace Abel, a girl Emeline grew up with. Like Emeline, Grace had fled Edgewood at the earliest opportunity. Only she’d done it on a scholarship to Oxford, where she was now studying.
“I take it you heard the news about Ewan,” said Tom.
“Yes.”
“And you came home to look for him.”
Emeline glanced away. “Yes.”
Tom sighed a tired sigh. “Emmie, listen to me: Maisie and I, Corny and Anya, Eshe and Abel, we spent all night searching with the police. Driving down back roads. Walking through fields. He’s not here.”
Tom glanced towards the woods looming behind the house, almost wistful.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re not going to find him.”
He was right; she didn’t want to hear it.
“If Ewan had truly attempted to leave Heath Manor, the locked doors would have stopped him. If he managed to get through the doors, there’d be footage on the cameras. But there’s nothing. No trace of him.” Tom reached for her shoulder, squeezing gently.
His face said what he wouldn’t:The Wood King has him.
Frustration coiled through Emeline.
The Wood King and his woodland monsters—things likeshadow skinsandember maresandshiftlings—were fairy tales she’d left behind when she drove away two summers ago.
But he was right: the nurse had gone over all of it. How everyone was scratching their heads. How it shouldn’t have been possible for Pa to escape.
But neither was it possible that some fairy-tale king abducted him either.
“Don’t you have to drive Eshe to her appointment?” she said, abruptly changing the subject, suddenly wanting him gone so she could start searching.
He nodded. Backing away, towards his truck, he said, “How long are you staying?”
As long as it takes to find him.
“When I’m done driving Eshe, I’ll come over and we can talk.”
She thought of the old days, when Tom would come over to the farmhouse in the evenings and Pa would let her stay up late, eating cereal and joining in their conversation.
“Just stay here and wait for me, all right?” said Tom. “Don’t do anything rash.”
“Fine,” she said as he got back into his truck. She watched him drive down the long dirt laneway between Pa’s vineyards, then turn onto the main road.
As soon as he was gone, the forest whispered.
Emeline.
She glanced beyond the house—to the dark and looming wood.
Don’t be crazy, she told herself.It’s just a forest.
She turned towards the farmhouse—and halted. Between her and the front door, the For Sale sign glared at her.
Betrayer, it seemed to say.How could you?
Half a dozen people had put in offers on the house. Mostly foreign investors. People who weren’t planning to move in, only looking for a place to stash their money.
Emeline turned them all down.
