Free Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet by Tasha O'Neill Page B

his dark hair greased to one side of his head. Below was the mention of a public meeting about the proposed development as well as an online petition, encouraging people to sign it. Charlotte tossed the paper onto the coffee table.
    â€˜This place could do with some livening up, Cicero,’ Charlotte whispered, smiling as the cat simply yawned and curled into a ball on her chest.
    There was no contest, a run-down old park or an array of fun facilities, but she couldn’t help wondering if the oak would escape such development. If it was as famous as Etienne said, it would be preserved, surely? Doubt gnawed at her and there was one person she trusted over anyone. Edessa had told her she needed to protect the tree, that something bad was coming. Was this it? Charlotte’s instincts told her it wasn’t that simple – but it was a place to start. ‘It begins and ends with the tree,’ she whispered to herself.
    Charlotte was dozing off when Cicero pressed himself tightly against her and mewed, staring intently into thin air. She heard the same fizzing noise she had heard in the garden and saw a shimmering outline forming at the other end of the room.
    A translucent figure appeared and started to slowly make its way across the room. It was a boy about three or four years older than herself with light green skin, wild blond hair scraped roughly into a ponytail and swirling patterns on his arms and face. His nose was his most striking feature, elongated and wider than her own, while his ears were slightly pointed underneath his hair. But it was his eyes that Charlotte was drawn too most, piercing and brooding – and they were looking straight through her.
    He was not like the silhouette she had seen in the garden or at the train station, she was sure. For a start he was much bigger. Could this be one of the Fey? He seemed more like a ghost.
    The boy was focused on something in the corner by the television, completely oblivious of Charlotte and Jude. Soon, he began striding purposefully through the furniture, stopping about a foot from Jude’s shoulder. He slowly raised a spear to the side of his head before, quick as lightning, he launched it through the air. Charlotte watched as it disappeared through the wall. The boy darted after it before fading behind the TV.
    Suddenly, Jude let out a loud moan and a flash of light burst out of each of her palms. Cicero dug his claws into Charlotte’s chest in alarm before shooting across the coffee table, sending Jude’s bag flying.
    Makeup, a tub of dental floss, crystals, corn pads and glass vials of flower remedies spilled across the pale rugs and Charlotte watched as a tin of pink blusher rolled across the wooden floor at speed before colliding with the skirting board and exploding in a puff of pink powder. Crystals bounced on the wooden floor and still more stuff poured out of the bag: a wind chime, dowsing rods, mala beads, keys, phone, a virtual avalanche of postcards and pictures, incense sticks and finally, a copy of
The Little Book of Calm
.
    A bottle of tonic had smashed on landing and spilt over some of the pictures which Charlotte noticed seemed to be of a young man in army uniform, his nose sunburnt as he stood in various desert locations smiling, thumbs up at the camera. This must be Adam.
    â€˜Oooh, my pictures!’ Jude howled as she hurriedly swept all her belongs into a single pile of clutter. She wiped the pictures dry but the liquid had already started to do its work and they were beginning to blister. Charlotte looked on helplessly as the older woman howled and blubbed.
    â€˜Haven’t you got other pictures at home?’ she offered weakly, trying to comfort Jude, but it just made her howl even more.
    â€˜My word, what is going on here?’ Aunt Clarissa announced from the main door. ‘Jude, dear, what’s wrong?’ Jude was so beside herself she couldn’t speak and just offered the pictures as